#Following a seer's words of warning maybe?

[prythianpages]

I've Been Waiting For You | Bonus

Azriel x Reader bonus scenes based off of this one shot. These are some scenes/ideas that didn’t make it to the final cut.

warnings: just some suggestiveness with the last one (but not really, it's just the morning after you and Az spend the night together but the scene itself is just fluff.) all of these scenes are purely fluff 🤧

Thank you so much for all the love you showed this imagine! I'm so happy you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing ♡ I tried to keep all of this roughly in chronological order.

Azriel groveling after snapping at you.

Azriel found himself in a situation that required more than just words to apologize to you, especially with the look of hurt he had seen in your eyes. Determined to make amends, he decided to enlist Elain's help, knowing that you had a sweet tooth and that snickerdoodles were among your favorite treats. Elain was happy to help, agreeing to bake them for you.

Azriel carefully left the freshly baked cookies in the kitchen, accompanied by a note expressing the sincerity of his remorse.

**

However, the next morning took an unexpected turn when Cassian stumbled upon the kitchen with Nyx in his arms. "Cas-see-an," Cassian kept repeating to Nyx, enunciating his name so slowly in an effort to get the infant to repeat it.

Nyx babbled in response as Cassian gently set him down on the counter. He kept a hand on the baby while his other reached for a mug, missing the way Nyx's curious gaze landed on the colorful note resting atop delicious cookies.

His tiny hands grasp at the note, squeezing it in his hand before it it falls from his grip. Nyx watches as the note falls to the floor, landing under the cabinets. He lets out a small whine.

"Are you hungry?" Cassian asks, turning back to his sweet nephew and follows Nyx's gaze.

"Oh!" Cassian exclaims with a gleeful grin when he spots the plate of cookies. "Don't tell your mother."

Cassian quickly uncovers the plate, thanking the Cauldron for gifting him with a wonderful sister in law that loves to bake. He offers a cookie to Nyx while he takes a couple for himself.

**

Sensing your presence nearby, Azriel dispatches his shadows to investigate the kitchen. They quickly report back to him with the unfortunate news that the cookies had been devoured. He's then rushing into the kitchen himself.

"Morning, Cassian," he hears you say and then with a much lighter and excited tone, "Good morning, Nyx! Whatcha got there?"

"Morning y/n," Cassian greets back, brushing crumbs off his shirt.

Azriel's eyes narrow, gaze flickering between the empty plate and the crumbs on both Cassian's shirts and Nyx's face.

"Oh! Good morning, Az."

At the mere sound of his name, he notices the subtle tension in your body. Before Azriel can utter a word, you swiftly conjure up an excuse and make a hasty exit from the kitchen. As Azriel turns his gaze to Cassian and Nyx, he finds himself unable to muster any anger.

A sigh escapes him. His first effort to make amends had not gone as planned.

**

Undeterred, Azriel decides to try a different approach for his next apology. This time, he chose to give you flowers, intending to leave it somewhere for you to find. However, in his haste or maybe his distraction, he accidentally placed the flowers in a spot where someone else stumbled upon it. Amren, of all people.

"What are these, boy?" She asks sharply, eyeing the colorful arrangement warily as her hands wrap around the vase.

"Flowers."

"I know they're flowers."

"They weren't for you."

"Oh, thank the gods," Amren says in what sounds like relief.

And just as Azriel is about to take them back, his shadows sense you approaching. The Cauldron must not favor him, he thinks. He hears the sudden pause in your step as your gaze lands on him and catches the way your fingers tighten against the book in your hand. He catches a glimpse of Seers in Prythian etched across the cover.

Azriel knows you want to turn around but given it'd be absolutely obvious that you're avoiding him if you did, you find yourself frozen. When he meets your gaze, you turn your head, focusing your direction on Amren instead.

"Nice flowers, Amren."

"Thank you," Amren smirks, silver eyes flashing between you and Azriel. "Aren't they lovely?"

"Lovely as you!" You reply with a smile and then leave.

Once again, Azriel finds himself sighing deeply at another failed attempt in apologizing to you.

"Do better, boy."

"I know."

**

Azriel's third attempt in making amends is cornering you so he can finally talk to you. He sits in the living room, perched on the couch that directly faces the door to Rhysand's office, with a book about the history of seers similar to the one he had seen in your hands the other day. You're currently inside with Elain as you both debrief Rhysand and Feyre on your progress with Elain's powers.

Elain is the first to step out, eyes widening in surprise. "Azriel," she greets with a smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Reading," he replies simply, gesturing toward the book in his hands.

"About seers...?"

"Just thought I could help..."

Elain's eyes narrow at him and Azriel finds himself sinking further into the couch. Though he's apologizing because he genuinely feels remorse and wants to make things right, he can't escape the fact that Elain had chastised him for not doing so already days ago.

"You haven't apologized yet, have you?"

"I'm trying."

Elain's gaze softens and she lets out a small chuckle. "She'll be out in a couple of minutes."

Azriel feels a wave of relief as you step out alone, prompting him to rise to his feet and call your name.

"Hey, Azriel," you greet politely, and his shadows seem to dance with delight at the acknowledgment of his presence. Finally, they whisper eagerly into his ears.

"Can we talk?"

"Oh, um...," Your gaze shifts over his shoulder, seemingly fixed on something that his shadows report as nonexistent. "I think someone else is calling me. Maybe another time? I have to go!"

As you attempt to maneuver around him, Azriel subtly moves with you, blocking your path. "No one called your name," he points out softly, suppressing a smile as your eyebrows furrow. He senses you scrambling for another excuse.

"The future!" you exclaim, your eyes brightening as you tap the corner of your eye. "The future is calling me. I must go."

As you move, Azriel doesn't have it in himself to block your path again. He doesn't even have it in himself to be upset. Not when he finds your excuse amusing and your presence itself endearing.

His shadows, however, aren't as forgiving. They whisper harshly into his ears, growing impatient with each failed attempt. "Next time," he promises them quietly.

(And almost two weeks after him snapping at you, he finally succeeds in asking for your forgiveness during his fourth attempt when he brings your dinner to you in the library.)

Elain gets a vision, where she finds out you and Azriel are mates.

"Close your eyes and focus on your breath," you instruct her softly. "Feel the rhythm of the earth beneath you. Attune yourself to the heartbeat of the world around you. What do you hear?”

Elain closes her eyes in deep concentration and as her head grows quiet, the world around her seems to awaken. She can feel the power coursing through her veins as she says, “I can hear the wind and the tremble of the grass beneath it. I can hear the wind carry all the way to the sea.”

“Good. Now feel the whispers of the unseen.”

“I can’t.” Elain’s eyebrows furrow as she struggles to delve deeper into her power. She finds herself stuck amidst the wild sea of the unknown. Wave after wave crashes down on her, knocking her down before she could even get back up.

“Here, take my hands,” she hears you say and then she feels your hands reach for hers. “Imagine a pool of water within you, calm and reflective. Use me as a vessel to carry you through it. I’ll guide you to where your visions will manifest.”

Elain does as told, bringing herself back to that sea of unknown in her mind. This time, she's not alone and she's able to rise from the water. You're there with her, the two of you standing knee deep in the waters that are beginning to calm in your presence. The world stills around you two and Elain feels her body relax as she allows you to guide her to the center.

And suddenly, the dark sky around her begins to brighten with visions, dazzling her like the stars in your eyes do. She finds herself overwhelmed by the all the flashes and voices. She takes deep, steadying breaths like you always do and the visions begin to slow, developing before in a way she can discern.

Her eyes widen she realizes they're all of you.

In the first vision, you're sat at the breakfast table, making small conversation with Cassian and Nesta as you bite into your pancake. The next couple of visions are mundane, just you going about your daily routine.

Then, you're seated at one of the tables at the garden, basking in the sun while Elain gardens a couple of feet away.

"Did the Suriel ever say anything about Lucien?"

"Many things," you answer her with a grin. "Called him his Fox boy..."

And Elain wants to linger in this vision longer, itching to know more. But as quickly as it flashed before her eyes, it's fading away and a new vision is brought forth.

Now, she stands within a resplendent ballroom nestled within the House of Wind. Fae lights adorn the ceiling, casting a celestial glow that lets her know its Starfall. Amidst the enchanting scene, you and Azriel gracefully twirl on the dance floor. Elain, intrigued, takes a step forward, captivated by the mesmerizing dance unfolding before her.

“You should stay.”

“Why?”

She watches as a wistful expression takes over your features and she has to stop herself from reaching out for you. The music comes to a gradual end and you free yourself of Azriel's hold before the next song starts, missing the way Azriel frowns at the loss of your warmth.

“There’s no one here for me.”

There's a deep, haunting sadness to the laughter that follows your words. Elain also finds herself frowning. She didn't know you were feeling this way, or rather, going to feel this way.

Elain detects a subtle twitch in Azriel's hand from the periphery of her vision, as if he longs to reach out to you but is held back by fear. Redirecting her focus to Azriel, she observes the tender and affectionate gaze he bestows upon you, while you remain unaware, fixated on the ground. This sight tugs at Elain's heart.

It's surprising because she thought she would feel hurt by it. But she doesn't. Instead, empathy floods her, accompanied by a silent wish that you would lift your gaze and witness the profound way Azriel looks at you in this very moment.

Please, she wants to scream but even if she opens her mouth, she knows no sound will come out. Please look up!

“I’m right here.” 

Elain exhales with relief as you finally meet Azriel's gaze, but the moment has passed. Azriel's expression transforms into one more guarded, his eyes now concealing what was once openly displayed. A subtle frown settles on your lips, and Elain witnesses a fleeting trace of hurt that crosses Azriel's face. Whatever you sought in that exchange, it appears you did not find it.

The scene before her blurs, shifting into another. Elain is now standing at the foyer of the river house, watching as you make your way down the steps. Suddenly, the door slams open and Azriel's chest is rising and falling as if he's been running. His eyes are wide and frantic, relaxing only when he spots you.

"It's you. All this time. It's been you."

“You know?”

"You're my mate."

A warm smile graces Azriel's lips as his gaze meets yours, and the tender expression Elain previously observed during the Starfall vision reappears on his face. She feels her heart melt at the sight because this time, you don't miss the way he's looking at you.

And just as she's about to dive into another vision into your future, she finds your connection abruptly broken. The warmth of your hands leave hers and you disappear from the depths of her mind. The sky around her darkens and though the waves begin to lap at her again, they remain calm and soothing.

"Stop!"

"I'm not hurting her!"

Elain blinks her eyes open and widen at the sight before her. You wear a pained expression on your face and there's blood trickling down your nose. Guilt courses through her, making her skin pale. She didn't know she was hurting you. Oh gods, if she knew, she wouldn't have lingered in the visions of your future. She didn't even know she could do so and judging by the look on your face, you're completely unaware of her accidental intrusion. Maybe, it's best if she didn't tell you...

"Are you okay?"

Elain doesn't have time to dwell on it as Azriel is urging her to go grab a towel while he guides you forward with a worried expression. When she returns with the towel in hand, she finds her apology dying at her throat, reluctant to disrupt the tender moment between you and Azriel.

"Like what?" She hears Azriel asked in an amused manner.

"Don't make me answer that."

At that moment, your gaze locks onto hers, and Elain assumes an air of nonchalance as she finally approaches the two of you with the towel in hand. Azriel takes it from her, carefully wiping at the blood on your face, and as Elain silently watches, she can't believe how she didn't see it before.

You and Azriel are mates and she feels nothing but pure joy for you both. She only wishes she had known sooner.

Elain confesses to you about Lucien and then asks you about Azriel.

The vibrant streets of Velaris hum with excitement as you and Elain approach one of the bustling markets. Amidst the lively atmosphere, you find yourself marveling at the enduring beauty of the city. You inhale, taking delight in the sweet blend of fresh flowers.

There's a certain lightness to Elain's steps, more so than usual today. Catching your gaze, she turns to you with a soft smile, intertwining her arm with yours and drawing you closer.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

Your eyes light up involuntarily, driven by your insatiable curiosity for gossip. "Of course," you reply and though this is a secret you promise to keep, it doesn't dim your desire to hear it.

"I wrote to Lucien. I think I'm ready to give him a chance."

You stop, halting her in the process as well. A frown creases your brow as you look at her. "Are you sure?"

"I used to think mating bonds were precious," you speak again, mind drifting to Azriel briefly, before redirecting your focus back to Elain. "But I've come to realize there's an even greater beauty in choice."

"I want to give him a chance," she reassures you. "It's my choice."

"Okay then," you reply and the two of you resume in your walk toward the markets. "As long as you're happy, I'm happy."

Elain's gaze lingers on you, a fleeting trace of guilt flickering in her eyes so briefly that you wonder if you imagined it. Curiosity takes hold as she ventures, "What about your own happiness? Is there anyone special you fancy here?"

"I like you," you smile, completely missing the point. "I like Feyre, I like Nyx, I like--"

"No," Elain giggles beside you. "Anyone you like, like?"

"Maybe a certain somebody...," she hints, her voice trailing off and when you stare blankly at her, she adds, "Like maybe Azriel?"

At the mere mention of his name, your body tenses. You're silently hoping Elain doesn't pick up on it, but given she still has her arm wrapped around yours, you're sure she felt it. Still, you feign nonchalance.

“What about Azriel?”

“Do you like him?”

“He’s beautiful, yeah.”

"That's not what I asked," Elain laughs, wearing a knowing grin as if she's already privy to your response.

Your heart skips a beat, prompting an abrupt halt once again. At this rate, you won't reach the stall that sells your favorite pastries in time.

"The other day," you start, and she instantly understands the reference to the day she accidentally glimpsed into your future. "Did you see anything?"

"No," she responds a bit too hastily. "Did you?"

"No," you say with a shake of your head and that dull ache from that day returns. "All I saw was a dark void."

Elain asks what the Suriel had to say about Lucien.

Nestled on one of the lounge chairs in the garden, you close your eyes as you bask in the sun. Elain, rests a couple of feet away on the soft grass, as she tends to the gardens.

"Did the Suriel ever say anything about Lucien?"

"Many things," you reply, opening your eyes. Your lips curve into a grin as you remember all the late nights you spent talking about said Autumn male. As emissary to the Spring Court, who often got sent on a lot of missions, the Suriel had a lot to say about him.

"Called him his fox boy...What are you itching to know?

Turning your head toward Elain, you catch the way she blushes. "I don't know," she admits sheepishly. "I was just curious."

"Did you know he told Amarantha to go back to the shit-show she'd crawl out of?" Elain's lips begin to twitch upwards, but your next words prevent the smile from fully forming. "It cost him his eye, unfortunately. "

"Lucien is good male," you speak again, swiftly shifting the topic to something lighter. "He has friends everywhere, in every court. He's the type to do anything for those he holds dear. From what I've heard, he's a pretty generous lover and given he's from Autumn Court, gods are you in for a treat. One night, the Suriel told me that he took a female to--"

"That's okay!" Elain cuts you in sharply, making you laugh.

"Autumn males have fire in their blood and I heard they fuck like it too."

"Feyre!" Elain gasps with wide eyes, her face growing as pink as the roses she just planted.

You're turning to face Feyre with a delighted smirk. "So you know too!"

Elain stands up, brushing her hands on the dress, indifferent to the dirt staining the fabric.

"Where are you going? We were just about to get to the good part." You muse.

"I'm actually going to go see him," Elain admits and before you can any anything, she adds, "I think I'll just ask him what I want to know myself."

You respond with a shrug of your shoulders and wish her good luck. "Have fun!" Feyre calls after her.

After Elain disappears from view, Feyre gracefully settles into the lounge chair next to you. Her blue eyes carefully assess you for a moment. "What else do you know about him?"

You meet her gaze, detecting an unspoken knowledge. "What else do you know?"

You feel her presence asking for entrance in your mind and you let her in, smiling when all she mentally utters is one word. A name, actually. Helion.

His father, you reply back with an all-knowing gleam in your eye. Did you know the Lady of Autumn and him are mates?

Feyre's eyes widen, and she releases a gasp. There's more isn't, there? She speaks into your mind.

Of course there is, you reply back. With a graceful wave of her hand, a complete tea set materializes along with an array of snacks upon the iron table between you.

I sense we'll be here for awhile, she muses to you, blue eyes glimmering with anticipation.

You chuckle as you start to sweeten one of the steaming cups of tea to your liking. Your attention shifts to the untouched third set on the table, and a dull ache settles in your chest as you envision the Suriel, absent yet somehow still present at the table.

As you bring your tea cup to your lips, you proceed to indulge Feyre with every bit of knowledge and gossip you possess about Helion's affair with the Lady of Autumn through your mind.

You don't realize it then, but this day, marks the beginning of what you and Feyre would later name "the Suriel fan club." As time passes on, the club grows more and more, until it becomes a monthly meeting amongst the inner circle.

The morning after you and Azriel spend the night together for the first time.

Your eyelids flutter, like delicate butterflies stirring from slumber, as the muffled whispers of morning dance in the air. You stir and turn to your side, bringing the warmth of your sheets with you. Your movement causes a chain of reaction and your entire body freezes when you feel an unfamiliar weight come to rest over your side.

It's instinct, the way your fingers grasp for the dagger you keep under your pillow. In a moment of panic, you find yourself straddling a body and pressing your dagger against what you initially thought was an intruder.

"y/n, what are you doing?"

Your eyes snap wide open and memories of the night before flood your mind. You find yourself looking down at Azriel. Your mate, Azriel. Despite the dagger pressed at his throat, he smiles lazily up at you.

"I'm so sorry!" You exclaim with a heated blush, throwing the dagger onto your nightstand, relieved that you didn't knick him on accident. Judging by the way he's looking at you, you don't think he'd mind anyway.

"I'm not used to sharing my bed," you admit sheepishly, sliding off of him and wishing your bed would just swallow you whole at this point.

Taking advantage of your shift in position, Azriel turns on his side and hovers over your body, hazel eyes gleaming down at you. "You sleep with a dagger under your pillow?"

"Yes and?" You retort, a touch too defensively, eliciting laughter from him that sends an infectious warmth coursing through you. A smile tugs at your own lips. "You were listening when I told you I lived between Prythian's forests and shady Inns for many years, right?"

"Of course, I was. I listen to everything you say," Azriel responds smoothly. "It's just..." His voice trails off, and though your gaze remains fixed on his face, you notice him reaching for something in your peripheral vision.

He flashes you a grin as he pulls out his beloved dagger from under the pillow his head was resting on earlier.

"I sleep with a dagger under my pillow too."

a/n: hope you enjoyed these little scenes! I also wanted to clarify that Elain was starting to think about giving Lucien a chance, even before she found out reader and Az were mates, and it's her finding out about your bond that gives her the confirmation to move forward. She realizes that Azriel won't be alone as he has someone waiting for him (:

tagging: @stormhearty @shinyghosteclipse @justvibbinghere @mybestfriendmademe @aandweaa @loveareum @hellodarling1357

@sassybluebird, @crookedcrusadestranger, @xlosttdreamss, @peachcontour-blog, @shadowandlightt, @waytoomanyteenagefeels, @darlingbravebelle, @scooobies, @je-suis-prest-rachel, @toobsessedsstuff, @kaysav608, @idkitsem, @coffeebeforewater, @rinalsworld, @elissanatok, @mischiefmanagers, @paranoidhwks, @meshellexplosionmurder, @skylling, @irismoon, @addieslibrary, @wildrosewhiskey, @aneekapaneeka, @mx13sworld, @vixemi, @strangersreadingcorner, @aristocrrat, @olive-main, @moonyscherry, @stressed-reader, @alysena2, @heartysworld, @aomi-recs, @vardda, @awritingtree, @sillysillygoose444, @spideytingley, @aria-chikage

I tried tagging everyone who had left a comment or reblog with comment/tags, just in case you were curious to read more about Az & seer reader. Idk why not all tags worked out :(

[joelscurls]

feel it in your bones

next part

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12.5k

summary: Two years ago, you finished your PhD and moved to Vermont. In the time since, you’ve gotten a job as a college professor, had your heart broken, and sworn off relationships entirely. Enter Joel, the father of one of your students, here for Homecoming Weekend – and too attractive to resist.

warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), alcohol consumption, fluff, smut, masturbation (f), mutual pining(?), sexual tension, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay / cum eating, some light biting, use of pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, etc.), reader has an asshole ex, no use of y/n

a/n: my first Joel fic! This is honestly a bit self-indulgent but I love fall and academia and Joel Miller so sue me okay. ty to my bby @caffeinated-validation for reading through this and offering your insight -- get you a partner who will beta your filthy Joel Miller smut for you lmao <3

You’ve gotten used to being alone. 

You don’t mind it as much as you had a few months ago, the breakup still fresh, every touch of your own fingers seering into your skin when you’d remembered the way he’d touched you, the sound of your voice almost unrecognizable as you’d convince yourself each day to get out of bed and go to work, where you’d inevitably run into him. It was painful then, having to come home to the quiet, always far too aware of the sound of your own thoughts drumming against the inside of your skull. 

Now though, you revel in that quiet. Sip your coffee in silence each morning. You’ve learned how to stay lost in your work, bringing home stacks of papers to grade and eating through texts to support your research while your dinner gets cold on the table in front of you. You’re well aware that this isn’t the healthiest way to cope, to just avoid it all, but it’s better than feeling. 

You’ve sworn off relationships entirely. It’s a silent promise to yourself – that you’ll remain married to your work. You will devote all of your energy to making sure your students excel and that your research is strong. That is your life’s purpose, to make use of the PhD you worked so hard to get – not to be someone’s girlfriend or wife. And you’re fine with that, really. You’ve become immune to loneliness – or numb, maybe.

Regardless, you welcome the independence. You don’t have to worry about anyone else’s thoughts or feelings when it comes to the way you spend your own time. You’re free to do whatever you want. You can draw yourself a bath, fill it with bubbles, sit in it while you drain a bottle of wine into your mouth until the water runs cold. You can eat an entire box of dry cereal in one sitting while you re-watch your favorite show for the twentieth time. You can make yourself cum at any hour of the night with your vibrator or your shower head or your hand – and then go to work the next morning without a semblance of guilt.

Really, you like being alone. 

Until you don’t.

It’s Homecoming Weekend at Sarah’s school. 

She had insisted that Joel didn’t have to come, that it was mostly an opportunity for the college to milk donations out of sentimental alumni. But he’d missed her for the month she’d been gone, the house far too quiet with just him in it. In previous years, Joel had busied himself following Sarah’s departure with home projects. Three years in, though, he’s updated just about every room in the house,  re-done the floors, built a brand new back deck. 

In other words, he’s fresh out of distractions.

So, he’d made the trek to Vermont,  with the excuse that he’d always wanted to experience a New England fall. It’s a lie, one that Sarah can probably read right through, considering he vocalizes his discomfort whenever the temperature drops below 70 degrees in Texas, but she goes along with it. 

Besides, he wants to see what his tuition money is paying for.

In truth, Joel had been nervous when Sarah announced what major she’d decided to pursue. She had just finished her freshman year, prerequisite courses all completed. When she’d said the word – anthropology – Joel hadn’t even been sure what it meant. Since then, she’s explained it to him many times and in truth, he’s still none the wiser. Really, he’s just happy that she’s happy. Her passion for it is evident on her face any time she talks to him about the courses she’s taking, how great her professors are. 

Especially you – she talks about you all the time – her mentor. 

You’re supervising her on her thesis project – a qualitative assessment on students’ views on feminism and gender politics in the classroom. This past summer, Joel swears Sarah had mentioned your name more than her own friends’. She’d told him what courses you teach, what research you’ve conducted, all the countries you’ve traveled to for fieldwork. And she gives the best advice – Sarah had said one night over dinner – she’s like, my lifeline at school. 

Joel doesn’t know you, but he’s thankful for you – for the guidance you so clearly provide Sarah.

There’s an Open House today for the Social Sciences college, which Joel tags along with Sarah to. He’s hopeful that he’ll learn something, come to understand the field and why Sarah loves it. 

A buffet table stocked with refreshments sits on one side of the lecture hall. Sarah grabs them both cups of water infused with cucumber while Joel saves them seats at the back. There’s a slideshow projected onto the white board at the front, the current slide reading: An Introduction to the Social Sciences College & Our Current Research Efforts. A group of professors gathers at the front, name tags stuck to their button-downs and blazers. Sarah spots you as she sits down, pointing you out as she hands Joel his water.

“There – that one’s my mentor – the one in the plaid pants.” 

Joel’s eyes follow her finger to the group at the front,  scanning down the line. There’s a man, short and stocky with noticeably small hands hooked by the thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. Next to him, is a woman, taller than him, wearing a bright turquoise silk shirt, gold bangles decorating both of her wrists. And next to her is you, in the plaid pants.

Sarah had told him a lot of things about you, but she’d never mentioned that you’re fucking gorgeous. You’re smiling at something Turquoise Shirt has just said to you, and it’s like your entire face is glowing. Joel has to take a sip of water to collect himself.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you for the entirety of the presentation. 

The dean of the college starts by briefly covering each department and what research efforts they have planned for the semester. Joel should be listening, he came here to listen – but he can’t get himself to focus on anything other than you.

You’re mostly focused on the presenter. Every so often, though, you distractedly toy with the buttons on your cardigan or twirl a strand of your hair between delicate fingers. And Joel is suddenly realizing how touch-starved he is after years of refusing to date – because just watching you, your hands – is about to send him into orbit.

You’re well-spoken too, he learns, when you take the microphone to discuss your current research project. 

“This semester, I’ll be delving into the presence of food deserts in Vermont, and the effects these are having on the overall health of youth in the state,” you say. “We have received a sizable grant for this research, and I am thrilled to get started in a matter of weeks. This project will span the better part of the academic year as I speak to locals and craft surveys that will provide qualitative data to support my findings from the field.”

You press down on the clicker in your hand. A new slide projects onto the whiteboard. It’s a photo of you against the backdrop of a jungle, lush, green trees stretching past the top of the frame. The wide-brimmed hat you’re wearing covers most of your face – but that damn smile radiates through the makeshift screen.

“This is me last summer, in Peru. My research here was much more self-indulgent – I studied the important role that food plays in the average family there – and ate wayyyy too many sweets.”

The crowd laughs. It’s the first reaction they’ve expressed this entire time. 

It’s entrancing, the way you command the room. You have such a calm confidence about you as you speak, words never once faltering as you stride back and forth across the front of the lecture hall.  Joel isn’t much of a talker – maybe that’s why he feels like he could listen to you for hours on end. He thinks that you could read the damn phone book and his focus would remain unwavering. That your voice, velvet-soft, could spellbind him without much effort.

When your portion of the presentation ends, he’s more than a bit disappointed.

Students and their families filter out of the lecture hall. You situate yourself in a corner of the room for the actual Open House portion of the event, at the ready to answer any questions or, more likely, offer directions to another part of campus.

You smile as familiar faces and strangers alike pass you, reach for your to-go mug on the table behind you, and take a sip. The coffee is pretty much ice-cold now, but you still gulp it down, only after the caffeine anyway.

You place the mug back down with a light thud against the tabletop. Suddenly, a voice you’ve come to know well rings in your ear. 

“Professor!” 

When you look up, Sarah Miller is bounding down the aisle, signature smile plastered across her face. And there’s a man behind her, you notice, moving much slower. 

He’s tall, broad shoulders pulling taut against the green flannel he’s wearing. He cradles a beige workwear jacket in the crook of his bicep,corded muscle visibly bulging against fabric. His other hand rubs at the scruff along his jaw, pointedly sharp in the patches where hair doesn’t grow.

He has a distinguishable nose, you notice as he gets closer,  strong – large and hooked at the center of his tan face. It’s complemented perfectly by his plush, pink lips that seem to be set in a permanent pout.  

In other words, he’s handsome – almost distractingly so, as he stands next to Sarah in front of you.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she beams – turns to the man next to her.

“Dad, this is my mentor,” She says your name. 

He nods. His eyes meet yours. They’re deep brown, almost black – and undeniably entrancing. 

“‘‘ts nice to meet you, Ma’am. I’m Joel.”

Ma’am.

It’s not like the word is foreign to you, given your profession. There’s something about the way he says it, though, that makes your head spin, his southern drawl dripping in honey-butter and bourbon. 

Joel outstretches a hand. You shake it – try to ignore the way it dwarfs yours.

“Joel,” you repeat, eyes locked firmly on the space between his eyes. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“That was a great presentation you gave up there. You’re a good, uh – talker.” His expression is unreadable. His hands fidget at his sides.

You offer him a smile. “Thank you – I think? My students probably wish I would shut up sometimes. Right, Sarah?”

“Oh please,” she scoffs, “as if you’ve never seen your rating on Rate My Professor.” 

She’s not wrong – you pride yourself on having pretty stellar reviews – but you also try your hardest not to let them get to your head. Sarah isn’t helping that, right now.

“Anyways,” she exaggerates the word, “what are you up to tonight, Professor? They’re holding an exhibition at the art center later, all student work – d’you wanna come with us?” 

Your reflex is to say no. After all, he’ll probably be there. Your ex, Quentin, works in the art history department. And even though you’re over him, you’re not exactly looking for an excuse to be in the same room as him. But you technically don’t have plans tonight, and you can’t even think of a good lie right now with Sarah staring you down. 

And then there’s Joel, standing in front of you, all broad shoulders and chiseled jaw – and you think, what a great opportunity to get to know him, you know, as the parent of your student. Definitely not as anything else, anything more. It is Homecoming, after all.

So, you say yes. 

“Cool!” Sarah smiles, “Meet you there at 7?”

You nod, tell Sarah that sounds perfect, and that you’ll see them tonight. 

Sarah starts toward the door. But Joel stands there for a moment longer. His eyes linger on yours, his wordless stare threatening to burn a hole in your head. You can feel the heat of it, beads of sweat beginning to form at the base of your neck. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying your hardest to conceal them. 

A beat passes. It looks like he might say something, his mouth opening then closing again.

He gives you a courteous nod, turns on his heels, and follows after Sarah.

Joel hadn’t remembered the food being this bad when he’d visited for orientation. He struggles to keep down a particularly rubbery bite of chicken and reaches for his water bottle, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he focuses on not vomiting. 

Sarah laughs next to him. “Hey man, at least you don’t have to eat this shit year-round.”

He grunts in agreement. “Gonna cancel your meal plan next semester and jus’ give you the money to buy groceries.” 

She hums. Cocks her head. “That means I’m gonna have to learn how to cook – do you think Student Housing has fire insurance?”

Joel wants to roll his eyes, but it’s definitely his fault – after all, he can barely fry an egg without setting off the fire alarm. Their freezer has always been well-stocked with TV dinners and tater tots. So instead, he just shrugs. 

“So what’s this art thing tonight?” He moves on to the salad on his plate, decidedly much safer. 

“I don’t really know – my roommate asked me to go, she has some pieces in it, I guess.”

He nods. “And your professor – that was nice ‘a you to invite her.”

Sarah nods, smiles. “Yeah – you like her, right? I mean, you’re sure you’re cool with me asking her to come?” She asks, a mouthful of lettuce.

“‘Course,” he says, attempting to keep his voice level, nonchalant.

“I know you’re not really one for meeting new people,” she teases.

He mock-glares at her. It quickly softens into a smile. “Nah – she seems cool.” It’s an understatement, but Sarah doesn’t need to know that.

She doesn’t need to know that her dad is attracted to her professor.

Joel thinks that he might not have been so great at hiding it, though, when a few hours later, in the middle of watching an unarguably bad student production of Macbeth, Sarah turns to him and whispers that she’s not feeling well. 

“Hm, is that right?,” he whispers back, unconvinced. 

“Yeah, must’ve been the food.”

“We ate the same thing, Sarah.”

There’s a shout on stage. The actor’s voice cracks.

“Well I dunno,” she continues, “My stomach just doesn’t feel good.”

“Yeah, and what about that thing with your professor?”

He can see her smirk even in the dim lighting. 

“Shit, you’re right. And I don’t have her phone number, so it’s not like I can text her...” 

She groans. Joel thinks she should be on that stage right now. 

“We can’t just ghost her.” Joel has no idea what that means. He doesn’t bother asking. 

“Sarah-” he starts.

“Please. She’s such a nice lady, she doesn’t deserve to be stood up.”

He could say no. It’s not like he knows you, owes you anything. But in truth, Joel does want to see you again. And he’s well aware that Sarah might be trying to set the two of you up – ever-perceptive and hell-bent on her dad being happy – but he tries not to think about how embarrassing that feels, his daughter playing matchmaker for him. Because he wants to spend more time with you, get to know more about you, if you’ll let him.

He’s barred himself from forming any kind of real relationship with a woman since Sarah’s mother left. Not because she’d broken his heart, but because he’d needed all of his energy to go to Sarah. As a single father, he had always feared that he wouldn’t be enough for his daughter – wouldn’t give enough – that growing up in a broken home would leave her half of a person. That fear had fueled him to be the best dad possible – to work overtime so that he could provide for them, to never miss one of her soccer games or dance recitals. And so, he had never even considered dating, not seriously, anyway. It would take attention away from Sarah, and he couldn’t risk that. 

He’s found it difficult to shake this principle, now that Sarah has grown up. He often grapples with the fact that Sarah doesn’t need him as much anymore – that she’s her own person living her own life. He knows he could date now, could meet someone new, open his heart to them. But he’s so used to fighting that human need for companionship, that it feels almost unnatural to let his guard down.

But now there’s you – your megawatt smile and your impressive intelligence and your care for his daughter – and suddenly he’s forgotten his own rules. 

“Okay; I’ll go.” It comes out entirely too enthusiastic.

He can practically feel Sarah’s accomplished, shit-eating grin burning into the side of his head.

You leave campus around four pm, once the last of the Open House participants have gone. 

You take a shower when you get home. Then you order sushi – stuff rolls of yellowfin and salmon into your mouth as you sit at the dining table still wrapped up in your towel, trying your best not to spill soy sauce on the half-graded essays that litter the tabletop. When you’re done, you retreat to your closet, treading on damp feet across the waxy hardwood floor.

And you definitely don’t think about Joel – not when you debate what to wear to the art exhibition, not when your fingers accidentally graze one of your nipples as you put your bra on, not when you get distracted while pulling your panties on by the pool of wetness that has formed between your thighs. 

You definitely don’t think about him – because he’s Sarah’s dad, and that would be wrong.

So it’s accidental when his name falls from your mouth, fingers pressed against your clit, visions of large, calloused hands flashing behind your closed eyelids. 

You cover your mouth with the curve of your palm to prevent it from slipping out again. Sink back into the mattress.

Then you press your fingers down harder. 

Joel feels like a first-year student, wandering aimlessly across campus in search of the art center. Sarah’s directions had been, well, brief. She’d insisted he’d be able to find it no problem. Now though, in the limited light of dusk, all the structures look the same, bleeding together like watercolors against the evening sky. 

He does find it, eventually, a three-story brick building tucked between the library and what looks to be a dormitory. Bright, artificial light seeps through the windows that line the bottom floor. The double doors at the front are propped open, people slipping in and out of them as he approaches. 

He looks for you outside, searching for a familiar head of hair, the brown cardigan you’d been wearing earlier. When he doesn’t see you, he reluctantly makes his way up the stairs and into the building.

He spots you almost immediately affixed in front of a painting, studying it intently.

You’re wearing a different outfit than the one you had on this afternoon – a merlot-colored slip dress and a cropped leather jacket. He struggles to ignore the way the satin clings to you, the curves of your body excruciatingly accentuated. He has to remind himself that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, shouldn't expect you to stick around for long once he lets you know Sarah isn’t coming. You’ll probably make an excuse to leave shortly after, and he’ll be back on Sarah’s couch within the hour. 

After all, why would you stick around just to talk to him?

You don’t see him when he sidles up next to you. He clears his throat and you startle. 

“Sorry,” he brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to spook ya.” 

You take a step back to face him and put a hand to your chest, your breath beginning to even. His eyes wander, for a moment, to where your fingers rest against your collarbone. 

“Shit – it’s okay. Where’s Sarah?”

“She wasn’t feeling well, but she said I should still come. Is that – uh – is that okay?” He’s suddenly worried that this was dumb, that he shouldn’t have come, should’ve just let Sarah explain to you on Monday.

But your features soften then, a small smile forming between rosy cheeks. 

“Joel, it’s fine; I appreciate you not ditching me.”

“‘Course,” he manages. He’s waiting for you to say something else – that you need to leave. But you don’t, and you both stand enveloped in the pregnant pause that lingers, bright overhead lighting and nerves giving Joel the start of a migraine he’ll have to ignore for the rest of the night.

He clears his throat. Turns to the painting in front of you. “So what’s this one, then?”

The painting in question is a mish-mash of shapes and colors. Joel can’t distinguish any one thing on the canvas. It’s all just a lot of…nothing. He knows it’s not for him when he thinks a preschooler with finger paints could’ve done this.

You bring your hand up to cradle your jaw, brows furrowed in contemplation. It looks like you’ll offer an actual, intellectual interpretation. So Joel isn’t prepared when instead, you say: 

“Looks like a bad trip.”

A laugh bubbles out of him, the corners of his eyes creasing. 

“Sorry,” you say, between giggles. “That was stupid.”

“No,” he says, swiping a hand over his jaw, trying to physically rub the embarrassing smile off his face. “You’re funny.” 

He means it. He’s not sure how it’s possible that you’re funny, when you’re also so smart and interesting and gorgeous. It’s almost unfair. He thinks, fleetingly, that you’re way out of his league – a boring, old man like him.

You continue to the next piece, Joel following closely behind. It looks like it must be by the same artist. The same variation of shapes fill the canvas, just in different colors.

“Alright Cowboy, what’s your take on this one?” 

Joel studies it for a moment – tries to find something he can pull out. Something tangible. Something funny, even. 

He comes up empty.

“‘ts interesting f’sure. Lots of…colors,” he tries. He realizes how ridiculous he sounds. Laughs. “Shit…art ain’t really my thing,” he admits, arm stretched behind his head.

“So what is your thing?” Your voice is tinged with something – Joel tries his hardest not to let himself believe that it’s flirtation. 

Your eyes are still fixed on the canvas in front of you. And Joel is thankful, because he thinks if you looked at him, let those eyes meet his, he’d break – tell you that right now, you’re his thing.

He doesn’t get a chance to answer either way, though, because he’s interrupted by a man’s voice behind the two of you. 

“Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here!”

You whip around to face him. Joel turns too. The man is taller than you, but shorter than him. He’s wearing round, wire-frame glasses that sit like a suggestion on his nose, and a full suit, with a tie that has some god-awful, ugly pattern all over it. It looks like the art here, Joel thinks.

Joel’s eyes flit back to you, and he watches as your hackles go up. You back up, bumping into the canvas behind you. You curse under your breath.

“Quentin. Hey.”

“Glad you could make it,” the man, Quentin, says. He swirls a cup of what appears to be red wine in one hand. He leans in closer, brings the other hand up at the side of his mouth to conceal his words. “I know this isn’t really your scene.” 

You shift uncomfortably. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m uh, venturing out, I guess. Trying new things.” 

He laughs. It’s an asshole laugh, Joel notes. Everything about this guy screams asshole. 

“About time!” The asshole puts a hand on your shoulder. You flinch. Joel’s hands instinctively bunch into fists at his side. 

“So proud of you,” Quentin says. “Finally letting yourself be a little cultured.”

This guy can’t be serious.

You scoff. Grab his hand and flick it off your shoulder. He looks wounded. Good, Joel thinks. 

“Yeah, because traveling the world has left me so very uncultured, Quentin.”

“Hey,” he puts his hands up. “Don’t take offense, baby. I know your little field trips are important, too.”

It’s the last straw.

In one movement, you’re pushing off the wall, shoving past Quentin, and making your way to the exit. Joel doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at the asshole, just follows after you out the door. 

It’s gotten colder in the short time he’d been inside, he notices. A gust of wind nips at the exposed skin on his hands. He stuffs them haphazardly in the pockets of his jacket.

He finds you perched on the front steps, arms wrapped around your body protectively. He takes a few cautious strides forward. When you look up at him, you’re visibly distraught. 

You groan as he sits down next to you. “Sorry. That was embarrassing.” 

Joel wants to touch you, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but he knows he probably shouldn’t – not right now. 

“‘ts not embarrassin’,” he says, instead. His warm breath materializes in the cold air. “Not for you, anyway. That guy was clearly an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That was my ex-boyfriend.” You’re  both quiet, then. The two of you sit there, side by side on the stairs, in comfortable silence. A few minutes pass. Joel notices you chewing on your bottom lip, like you’re considering something. When you speak again, your voice wavers.

“Would you want to go for a drink or something? It’s just, I really don’t want to be here anymore.” 

For a moment, he can’t believe what he’s hearing – you’re asking him out? He takes a second to respond. You start to backtrack. “It’s okay if you don’t wan-”

“Hey,” he stops you. Makes sure you’re looking at him. 

“I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Great.” Your hand drops to your side, brushing against his. He expects you to move it. He’s thankful when you don’t.

“I know a place–” you continue – “one that won’t be full of drunk college kids.”

“Great,” Joel parrots you. He stands, extends a hand to help you up. You take it, letting your palm rest against his for a moment longer than necessary when you’re upright.

“Cool,” you say, clearing your throat. You pull up the Uber app on your phone. Joel watches you book a driver. Then you turn back to him with a smile. It’s different from the one he’s seen before. It’s smaller, shyer.

“Larry will be here in 4 minutes,” you say.

The bar is a twenty minutes’ drive from campus – fifteen with Larry’s lead foot.

It’s more of a lounge than a bar, really – leather armchairs accompanied by low cocktail tables arranged throughout the single large, open room. A brick fireplace sits on the back wall, currently roaring with warm orange flames. 

On either side of the fireplace are floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with vintage books, their illegible titles etched in gold along weathered spines. You can imagine that their pages are yellowed and dusty, and it’s so tempting to swipe one off the shelf to see, to smell.

The light in here is warm, a stark contrast from the bright white of the art gallery. It’s comforting, and you feel your body immediately relax when you walk through the entrance next to Joel.

The bar at the front is busy (it is Saturday night, after all), so you and Joel stand at the back of the crowd for a few moments, waiting for the people in front of you to get their drinks. When a group of men start forcing their way through right next to you, Joel immediately puts a large hand on your shoulder, turning your body towards his. He’s just being chivalrous, making sure you don’t get shoved, but it still sends a shockwave up your spine.

When a spot clears in front of the bar, Joel steps forward, bringing you with him. He orders a whiskey neat, then turns to you, asking what you want. 

It’s difficult to think with his hand still on you, so you go with the first words that come to mind. 

“Same as you.”

He stares at you for a moment, amused, like he can see right through you and the fact that you’ve never had whiskey in your life. But you hold his gaze, challenging him with your eyes, and he drops it. “Make that two,” he tells the bartender.

Once you have your drinks, Joel slaps a few bills down on the bar. You can tell he won’t let you do so much as offer to pay him back, so you don’t. You lead him through the lounge to a couple of chairs tucked away in the back corner, partially hidden behind an antique wooden partition – far enough from the main seating area, but still close enough to the fireplace that you can feel its warmth.

This is where you always sit when you come, usually with coworkers, once or twice with him. Quentin had been pretty critical of this place, like he is with everything. He’d complained that the wine selection could be larger – that they could have more French options. When you’d explained that most of their wines come from local vineyards, he’d just rolled his eyes.

You’re still reeling a bit from your interaction with him at the gallery, even as you settle into soft leather and feel a burst of warmth against your cheek. He was such an asshole, you think, taking a cautious sip of whiskey. You’re immediately repulsed by the taste of it, and you do a poor job of hiding the grimace that automatically spreads across your face in the crook of your arm.

Joe laughs across from you. “Not your thing? I can go grab ya somethin’ else,” he offers.  

“No,” you insist, “this is fine. Just need to get used to it.” It’s a lie – you both know it – but he doesn’t push it. 

Instead he leans back, swirls his own glass – which looks comically tiny in his grip – and lets out an exaggerated sigh. 

“So, your ex is a real dick, huh?”

“You can say that again,” you mumble. 

He quirks a brow at you. “Why’d you even date him?” 

It’s a fair question. Why had you dated him? Loneliness, maybe? You’d like to blame it on that, but it’s not the truth – not entirely. Quentin had been kind, at first. He had seemed so interested in you and where you came from and what you were passionate about. He was a relatively good boyfriend, all things considered – until he’d grown tired of hiding who he really was.

You’d gotten a substantial pay raise at the end of your second year at the university. When you’d told Quentin, he’d gone quiet – practically gave you the silent treatment for days on end. When you’d finally worn him down, gotten him to talk, the most he could utter was that he was happy for you; he just wasn’t sure why he hadn’t gotten a raise like that yet. 

It’s not like you were in competition – you worked for two entirely different departments, in different colleges. But it had been a constant losing battle nevertheless, to get him to stop comparing your successes. And when he’d found out you actually made more money than him – that had pretty much been the nail in the coffin. 

You tell Joel all of this. You’re not sure why you do – it’s not like you can blame the alcohol after one half-sip of whiskey. You feel comfortable with him though, here, like this. He’s a good listener, too, attentively nodding every so often as you ramble. 

When you’re done, he’s quiet. He stares at his drink, pursing his lips. 

After a beat, he looks up at you. 

“You deserve better than that, darlin’.”

You almost crumble under his gaze. His eyes are at least two shades darker than they had been a moment ago – and there’s something lingering behind them that you can’t quite place. Whatever it is has you feeling weak.

“You barely know me,” you joke. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I know enough, though. Could do much better than him, I reckon.”

You want to ask him if he has anyone in mind, if he would be better for you, but you can’t – not yet – not this sober. You take another sip of your drink, breathing through your nose as it burns its way down your throat. 

You talk for hours. He asks about your family; you tell him how you moved out here two years ago on your own after you finished your doctorate program. He’s impressed by that, says you’re brave. You tell him you’ve never felt very brave. 

It’s all so easy, talking to Joel in the dimly-lit bar you’ve been to so many times before. Sipping on whiskey as if you actually enjoy it. It’s never felt so much like home — not the bar, not this town. The thought is dizzying.

He asks about Sarah, too, how she’s doing in school. He insists that she doesn’t tell him much, and if she does, it’s about you and how great your classes are. 

“I had never even heard of anthropology before she decided to study it,” he admits. “But I’m glad she did. It’s her thing, f’sure.” 

You smile, knowingly. “Yeah, it is. She’s a great kid, Joel. You raised her well.”

He shakes his head humbly, but you don’t relent. You want him to hear this, really hear this. Because you get the feeling he hasn’t been told enough. 

“She’s not just smart, Joel. She’s good. She’s a good person. That’s kind of rare nowadays — especially among her generation.” 

Joel chuckles, his head hanging between his shoulders. 

“I mean, shit,” you continue, “she brings me pancakes from the diner just off campus whenever she knows I’m stuck in my office working late. My other students barely even ask how I’m doing most days.”

Joel hums in amusement. His eyes are locked on a wrinkle in the leather of the arm of his chair.

“Joel,” you say, pointedly. You wait for him to look at you. When he does, his gaze is uncertain. “She’s a good person —“ you repeat — “and that’s because you raised her to be.”

“‘ts just southern hospitality, is all,” he mumbles. 

“No Joel – it’s you.”

He stares for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing. His jaw twitches. And then he breaks, finally, a smile pulling at his lips. 

“Thank you.”

His voice is so soft suddenly. It throws you off. It also turns you on – like, a lot, the gravellyness of it scratching your brain and your loins. You dig your nails into leather in an attempt to steady your quickening heart rate.

“No problem,” you mutter sheepishly.

Suddenly, there’s a buzz on the table – Joel’s phone. He picks it up, squinting at the bright screen.

“Sarah?,” you ask.

“Nah, ‘ts just my brother, Tommy.”

He types out a quick response and re-locks the phone, placing it back down on the table.

“Everything alright?” 

“Yeah, jus’ asking if I think hookin’ up with a client is a bad idea,” he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

You don’t know Tommy, but you like him already – seems like a fun guy. And clearly values his brother’s opinions. It’s telling, you think.

“That’s right – you’re a contractor. You and your brother work together?”

“Yeah, we got our own business back home.”

“And you like it?,” you ask. 

“Used to,” he laughs, “when I was more limber.”

You laugh too. You can feel the heat of slight intoxication, and something else, in your chest, your inhibitions dissolving in your bloodstream. And suddenly that horrible idea you’d had earlier to flirt with Joel doesn’t seem so bad anymore. 

“Still look plenty limber to me, Mr. Miller.” The words leave you before you have the chance to stop them.

Joel’s hands tense on either arm of his chair. Despite your buzz, you still have half a mind to worry that you’ve fucked up, that there’s a chance you’ve misread this whole thing.

But then he sinks back in the chair, the leather groaning under him. He rakes his dark eyes over you. And the way he’s looking at you is unmistakable. He looks hungry. You feel like your entire body has been set ablaze. 

Without thinking, you stand up, take a couple of steps toward him. Scan the lounge. Most of the remaining patrons are huddled by the bar, talking boisterously among themselves. Tucked in your little corner, the two of you might as well be in a different zip code.

“Whatcha doin’, darlin’?” Joel smirks up at you as you stand unmoving in front of him. He takes one of your hands in his and traces gentle, reassuring shapes along the back of it with his index finger.

Without a word, you hike your dress up to your thighs and straddle him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his legs. He hums approvingly as you sink onto his lap and cup his face in your hands. He places his own on your lower back, just above your ass. “This okay?,” you ask. It comes out breathy and wrecked.

“C’mere,” he says in that syrupy drawl, and then one of his hands is on the back of your head, pushing you gently against him, your lips slotting to his. 

It’s messy and all-encompassing. He kisses you with a fervency that confirms this hasn’t all been in your head –that he’s been wanting this too. 

The voices of bar-goers and the clinking of glassware are suddenly muted. All you can focus on is Joel — the way he tastes like whiskey and cinnamon gum, the way one of his large hands comes to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers tangled in the hair there while the other remains on your back, steadying you. The way he licks into your mouth after a few seconds with a groan, causing you to reflexively bare down on his lap.

You feel his cock swell underneath you and you grind against it, laughing low and quiet against his lips when his entire body tenses. He pulls back, blinking up at you with glazed-over eyes. Joel, all six feet of him, looks wrecked.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants. He looks down at where you’re hovering over his now fully-hard cock. “Gotta stop. Otherwise you’re gonna make me cum in my pants like a damn teenager.”

You pout at him, lifting your lower half off of his. You don’t stand up, though – not immediately, anyway. Instead, you take his head back in both of your hands. He lets you, blinking up at you wordlessly. 

You’d known when you’d first seen him earlier today that he was handsome, but right now, his face so close to yours – you’re seeing all of the little details – the scar indented in his forehead, just above his right eyebrow; the flush that stains his cheeks, which you can guess is partly from the alcohol, but maybe also from you. He’s biblically gorgeous, which makes it difficult to pry yourself off of him.

You do though, after a minute, smoothing down your dress once you’re back on two feet. You feel a bit breathless, suddenly. And exhausted.

What time is it? 

You retrieve your phone from where it’s been lodged in the cushion of your chair. 

You tap on the screen, waking it up. 

12:47?! When had it gotten so late?

Joel stands, adjusting himself in his pants. You can’t help but giggle at him — big, tough man looking positively ruined after just a few minutes of being under you. You feel pretty accomplished. He rolls his eyes at you. 

“Shut up — just get us an Uber.” You don’t miss the smile that sprouts between his cheeks when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You wait outside for your driver — John M.

The cold Vermont air is sobering. You feel almost normal by the time the car pulls up, save for the dull, throbbing ache between your legs. You will it away as you crouch into the back of the silver Nissan behind Joel. The sound of the radio playing soft rock hits is a poor distraction on the drive home.

“Wanna come in?,” you ask Joel when the car comes to a halt in front of your building. You watch him ponder it, eyes glued to the roof of the sedan. But ultimately, he shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says. “Gotta check on Sarah.”

You nod, try to hide your disappointment. “Right.” 

You open the door. Just as you’re about to get out, Joel stops you. 

“Wait,” he says. “Can I see your phone?” You’re confused, but you hand it over. You watch as he pulls up your contacts and clicks the ‘plus’ button in the corner, an understanding smile pulling at your lips. 

When he hands the phone back, his contact now in it, you grab his from off the seat next to him and do the same. 

“I’ll text you,” he promises as you step out. 

You turn back to him. “You better.”

He’s smiling when you shut the door.

You’re smiling when the car pulls away. 

It’s only when you’re tucked into bed, phone charging securely on the nightstand that the thought crosses your mind: you’re catching feelings for someone again. 

And then you feel sick.

Joel wakes up the next morning feeling giddy. It’s like he’s a teenager all over again – waiting by the phone for a pretty girl to call him back. Only this time, he’s waiting for a text.

He had messaged you almost as soon as he’d gotten back to Sarah’s apartment last night, asking if he could see you again before he goes back to Texas. He has no shame about it, he can’t – not when his entire mind and body are consumed by his overwhelming attraction to you. 

He’d found it difficult to sleep last night, and not because the springs in Sarah’s cheap couch were digging into his already-damaged back. It was thoughts of you, and the borderline-painful erection they caused, that had kept him up.

Now, with the sun seeping through the living room windows directly into his eyes, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to be awake. He checks his phone immediately, and tries to ignore the way his heart sinks when he sees you haven’t responded yet. You’re probably still asleep, he tells himself.

He tosses his phone aimlessly back onto the couch and stands with a groan. His legs feel worse than his back, if that’s even possible. 

Sarah still isn’t awake, so Joel meanders into her kitchen, in search of something to eat for breakfast. It’s pretty much what you would expect from a college student’s kitchen – bare bones. There are a few suspicious containers of leftovers in the fridge along with a Brita water pitcher and a package of cookie dough. In the freezer, several cartons of ice cream (all chocolate) and half a loaf of bread. And finally, in the cabinets, a few boxes of mac & cheese and an unopened jar of peanut butter. 

Toast it is, then.

Sarah appears just as he’s raiding her drawers for a butter knife. “Morning,” she announces sleepily behind him. 

“Hey, Kiddo,” he says, turning to face her. “Hungry?”

“Yeah. There’s a diner down the street. Thought we could get pancakes.” She yawns.

Joel grins. That must be the place you’d told him about – the one Sarah brings you leftovers from when you’re working late. 

“You buyin’?,” he jokes. 

“Only in exchange for the juicy deets from last night.” She pauses. “Okay, maybe not all the deets. There’s some things I don’t need to know – like why you got home so late.” 

“Sarah,” Joel warns, but she’s undeterred, smiling like a Cheshire Cat with every one of her unbrushed teeth on display.

“Just get changed,” she says, and skips out of the room.

You’ve been staring at the text for twenty minutes now.

Had a lot of fun tonight. Can I see you again before I leave? Let me know if you’re free tomorrow (today I guess). - Joel

You should say yes – you want to say yes – so why can’t you get your fingers to move? 

It’s a stupid question. You know why – it’s Quentin and your inability to shake the fear that someone  else will hurt you like he did. If you keep Joel at arm’s length – continue to ignore his message – he can’t do that. You can just take last night for what it was – a fun time, a hookup – and stop this before it goes too far, before feelings get involved.

Because it never ends well, once they do.

You get out of bed without responding, but you leave the text open on your phone. You attempt to busy yourself with housework and grading. Again and again though, you find your fingers hovering over the screen, your mind wandering to the way Joel’s lips had felt on yours, the way the bulge in his jeans had felt against your clothed heat, the sound of his southern drawl when he’d called you darlin’. 

Then you snap yourself out of it and place the phone face-down on the table.

This goes on for hours, a vicious cycle. You feel your resolve slipping more and more each time you pick the phone up.

The sun is high in the sky by the time you break, light bathing your kitchen and revealing all of the spots you’d missed when you’d dusted earlier. Your phone is heavy in the palm of your hand like a bomb – like if you don’t hit send right now, you’ll lose the motivation and it’ll detonate, taking any chance of you seeing Joel tonight and not self-sabotaging with it. 

You close your eyes when you press the button and toss your phone somewhere across the room.

Well – you think – no going back now.

Joel is sitting on cold, hard bleachers at the Homecoming football game when he sees you’ve responded, the shouts of people in the stands around him not enough to avert his attention.

Hey, yeah, that would be great! Do you want to come to my apartment later? I have a bottle of wine we can crack into if you’d like. And I can order pizza.

The announcer is saying something about player #72 over the loudspeaker. He doesn’t tune in. 

Joel types his reply and sends it:

Sounds perfect. I’ll come over around 7?

Sarah groans next to him. “You wanted to come to this game, dad. If you’re bored already, can we leave?”

His eyes shoot up. “No, uh – sorry. Just had to answer one text.”

Sarah narrows her eyes at him. They dart to the phone just as another message rolls in, your name flashing across the screen before Joel can hide it.

“Is that my professor?”

Joel doesn’t answer. His silence confirms enough. 

“I knew you guys hit it off last night! See, dad, even though you didn’t wanna tell me at breakfast, I still found out. I always find out. Because Sarah knows all.” She attempts a maniacal, Disney villain-esque laugh. 

Joel raises an eyebrow at her. 

“You done?”

“So you going out again later? Do I need to make your bed on the couch, or should I just not bother?”

He ignores her. Someone gets a touchdown and half the crowd goes wild. He doesn’t bother to check what team scored. 

He opens your latest message, instead.

Perfect. See you then, Cowboy ;)

His breath hitches at the nickname, at the thought of you calling him that again in person. The thought of kissing you again, if you’ll let him.

He doesn’t catch who wins the game.

Joel arrives at your apartment at seven o’clock on the dot. 

Punctual, you note.

He’s holding a bottle of wine, gripping the neck with long, calloused fingers. 

“Know you said you had some already,” he says as he steps over the threshold. “Just didn’t wanna come empty handed.” 

The sentiment takes you aback. You’re not exactly used to dates bringing you gifts, especially ones this expensive, if the minimalist yet fancy label is any indicator. 

“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, taking the bottle from him. You can’t quite make out the name – something foreign, etched in cursive. 

“‘ts Italian, I think,” he mumbles, as if he can read your mind. 

Your eyes shift from the bottle to Joel, standing in front of you in his Carhartt jacket, brows furrowed, gaze trained on the floor at his feet. 

“Thank you,” you say more genuinely this time. 

Joel smiles appreciatively. You motion to the space behind you.

“Come in.” 

You lead Joel to the kitchen, just off the entranceway, and place the bottle down on the counter, gently. You tuck yourself in the corner, leaning back to rest your arms on cool granite. Joel mirrors you against the adjacent island. 

“How’s Sarah?” you ask. “Feeling any better?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his scruff. “She was askin’ about you. Saw me textin’ you.”

“Yeah – guess you couldn’t exactly hide this from her, staying at her apartment and all.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Guess not.”

You pop open the bottle of wine. Pour glasses for both of you. Then you order pizza: one cheese, one sausage and pepper. The person on the other end of the line tells you it’ll be thirty to forty minutes. 

“Gonna be a bit of a wait,” you tell Joel when you hang up. “Busy night, I guess.” 

He nods, takes a sip of wine, and then places the glass down, his eyes unmoving from yours. 

You realize then that he’d been staring at you the entire time you were on the phone. The way he’s looking at you – gaze the same as the one from the bar last night when you’d straddled him – has you feeling suddenly nervous.

“What?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.

Oh.

You breathe out a laugh. It’s not funny – really, the opposite – but you hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. “Joel-” you’re going to say yes – fuck yes – but he interrupts you. 

“Been dyin’ to since last night.” He’s so open, so earnest. It’s fucking hot.

“Joel,” you say again, louder this time. He freezes. His eyes widen, like he’s anticipating your answer. 

“Please.”

It’s all he needs to hear. In an instant, he crosses the distance between you. He places his hands on the counter behind you, framing your body with his. You peer up at him and, fuck – he looks ravenous. 

He kisses you – hard. His teeth crash against yours. It’s messy and hurried, but you don’t care – you want him closer, need him closer. 

Your head swims with memories of the feeling of his bulge against your clothed core. The need to feel it again is all-consuming. You’re greedy for it. And with the time constraint, you don’t want to wait another second. 

You pull back abruptly. Joel furrows his eyebrows where he looms over you, concerned.

“Joel,” you pant,  “I need you.”

It takes him a second to compute what you’re asking. And then he’s nodding furiously.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, darlin’.”

You pull him back in with a hand at the back of his neck, digging your nails into the skin there. His tongue slips into your mouth with a groan. You’re minutely aware of him shrugging his jacket off, hearing the light thump it makes when it hits the linoleum. And then his hands are on you, wandering up and down your body like he needs to feel every inch of you. He tugs at the base of your t-shirt impatiently. 

“Off,” he mumbles against your lips. You pull back only to do as he’s asked, and then you’re right back on him, sucking a bruise into the skin below his ear, your body claiming him subconsciously. His head falls back momentarily, revealing his bobbing throat. You scrape your teeth lightly along the skin there, eliciting a groan from Joel. 

Your mouth continues exploring his neck as his fingers find the clasps of your bra, unhooking them quickly and tossing it aside. You don’t see where. You don’t really care – you’ll find it later.

He grabs your now-naked sides and steps back, pulling you with him. Then he turns you and pushes you back against the island. 

He slaps the countertop behind you. “Up,” he breathes against your neck. You don’t argue. You don’t want to argue. You’re so used to being the one in charge, the one in control — right now you’re happy to bend to Joel’s will.

You grip the edge of the island with both hands and hoist yourself up so that you’re perched there, legs dangling.

Joel’s fingers immediately go to the button of your jeans, popping it open before moving to tug the zipper down. And then he’s helping you lift your hips so that he can pull them down and off. He adds them to the pile at his feet.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear splayed out on your kitchen counter in front of him. You feel like you should be self conscious, maybe even embarrassed by your depravity. But you can’t find it in you to be either, not when Joel is slotted between your legs, his dark eyes scanning over you hungrily. Showing you he needs you just as bad as you need him.

He rubs his hands over your thighs and up the sides of your body, mapping your curves with great concentration. “God damn,” he whispers, what seems to be, mostly to himself. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

You whine pathetically. Your patience is growing thin.

He smirks up at you, likely seeing in your face how desperate you are for him right now. 

“‘ts okay baby, I got you,” he coos, suddenly sinking to his knees in front of you. His hands move closer to your clothed pussy, but not quite there, tracing light circles along your inner thighs. Then he replaces his fingers with his mouth, sending your hips bucking off the counter, chasing him.

The coarse hair of his mustache scratches the skin surrounding where he sucks and bites. You don’t care. You just want to feel it lower, against your dripping folds.

“Please,” you breathe, shakily. Through hooded eyes, you catch Joel’s satisfied grin. You realize then that he loves this — making you beg for it, for him. It’s a dizzying contradiction to the way he was practically begging to kiss you just moments ago.

He presses a chaste kiss against your skin, his lips infuriatingly close to where you need them most.

“Whatcha need, darlin’?” he purrs. The vibration of his voice just next to your core has you spiraling. 

“Need your mouth,” you cry. “Please.”

“Where?” He nips at you, half an inch closer to your swollen clit. You can feel his breath. Your cunt reactively clenches around nothing. 

“On my pussy, Joel” you plead. 

He pulls away from you completely, looks up at you with devilish eyes.

“Good girl.”

He dips one finger into the side of your underwear, pulling them aside to reveal your glistening core. “Damn baby, you’re soaked,” he drawls. You catch the hint of pride that tinges his voice. 

“Please,” you beg again, your voice wanton and broken.

Joel gently pets your throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb. The pressure he applies is feather-light, barely there. But still, after all the teasing, you can’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes you.

He chuckles darkly. “Alright sweetheart, I know – enough teasin’.”

He hooks both index fingers in the top of your panties, pulling them down and off in one swift movement. And then his tongue is on you, exactly where you need it. 

He holds you open with fingers digging deliciously into the meat of your thighs as he licks long, languid stripes from your leaking cunt up to your clit, over and over again until you’re a whimpering mess underneath him. You struggle to hold your weight up on your elbows, watching him as he works you with his mouth.

He’s so good at this – too good at this. You tell him as much, between broken moans. 

“Sofuckinggood Joel – holy shit.”

You swear you can feel him smirk against your heat. 

He buries his face into your cunt then, nose pressed against your clit, and swivels his head back and forth, coating his mustache and beard in your arousal. He groans against you, like this is getting him off just as much as you. It’s all so obscene, so filthy.

You’ve never had a man go down on you like this – like they actually enjoy it. But then again, it doesn’t come as much of a surprise, not when it’s Joel. You’ve quickly come to learn that he’s attentive in every sense of the word. Knows just what you want, what you need – evident by the way his lips latch back onto your clit when you keen for him.

He keeps his attention there, switching between suckling on it – which is enough to make you see stars on its own – and lapping at it with short, shallow flicks of his tongue. He experiments with different angles, licking at different spots on the bundle of nerves until he finds the one that makes you cry out, your babbles of there Joel, yes, right fucking there, don’t stop, letting him know exactly where to focus. 

You feel yourself quickly hurtling toward the edge. You just need a little bit more to get you there.

“Fingers,” you pant. “Need your fingers in me.”

Two of his fingers are at your entrance before you can even blink. You’re so wet that he slides them in easily, curling them against your walls. He expertly finds your G-spot, massaging it as his tongue continues to lap at your clit.

You gasp at the combination. It’s so good – so much.  “Oh my god Joel, I’m so close,” you cry.

He doesn’t let up, doesn’t even look at you. His eyes are closed in concentration, fingers and tongue unrelenting. He’s lost in your pussy. You can tell he’s not going to come up for air until he’s given you an orgasm. 

And it doesn’t take much longer – one, two, three more strokes of his fingers and you’re cumming hard.

Your vision blurs and your ears ring in your head. You’re vaguely aware that Joel is pinning one of your thighs down with his free hand to hold you in place as you thrash against the countertop. 

He fucks you through it, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he continues to curl them against that spot, your clit throbbing against his tongue. 

It is – without a doubt – the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. 

He doesn’t stop when you’ve come down, eager to milk every last drop from your weeping cunt. The overstimulation is too much. Your grip tightens in his hair, weakly attempting to pull him off of you as you whimper nonsense above him. You manage to exhale his name, or something close to it, and he finally lifts his face.  

His eyes meet yours, dark and hooded. He looks absolutely pussydrunk.

The entire lower half of his face is soaked with your slick. His shiny, pink lips pepper kisses along your inner thighs, smoothing over the spots he’d marked with his teeth just minutes ago. You feel so sensitive – you shiver under his touch. 

His smile curves into your skin. He leaves one last light peck and stands up, grunting at the ache in his knees. You laugh, but you can tell by the darkness still looming in his gaze that he’s not done with you yet.

He helps you off the counter, steadying you with hands gripping your sides as you find your footing. Your legs feel like Jell-O, a welcomed side-effect of the earth-shattering orgasm you’ve just had. You lead Joel to your bedroom, leaving your clothes scattered across the kitchen floor.

He backs you toward the bed as soon as you’re in your room, lips latched to the side of your neck. The backs of your legs hit the mattress, and then he’s lowering both of your bodies onto it, cradling your head in his hand as you settle underneath him.

He sits back on his knees, pulling his t-shirt over his head to reveal his broad, tan torso. You’re pretty sure you’re salivating, lost in the slope of his shoulders and the wide expanse of his chest. Your eyes trail lower as he undoes his belt, followed by the button of his jeans. He shimmies them off along with his boxers, his large cock springing free, tip shiny with pre-cum, and hovers back over your eager body. 

He dips down and presses his lips to yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue. He’s remarkably patient for how hard he is, his erection pressing into your thigh as he kisses you, slow and wet.

One of his hands grips your jaw, the other pressed firmly against the mattress next to you. Minutes pass like that, you and Joel losing yourselves in each other. Then you remember that you don’t have all the time in the world – that your delivery driver could get here any minute. In truth, you’re not even fucking hungry anymore – not for pizza, anyway.

You snake your hand up to the back of Joel’s head, pulling at his roots lightly. “Joel,” you breathe when he lifts off of you, “please fuck me.”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice.

“How do you want it, baby?” he purrs in your ear, his warm breath skating over your skin. “How do you like it?”

You breathe out a moan. No man has ever asked you how you like it. They usually just give you a few sloppy, ill-timed thrusts, whatever they can muster before cumming and leaving you unsatisfied. 

But Joel isn’t just any man. 

“Hard,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me hard.”

He growls, low and dark. “‘ts right, sweetheart.”

He lines himself up with your entrance, rutting against your folds a few times to gather some of your wetness with the tip of his cock.

Then he sinks into you, slowly, stretching your walls as he notches further and further in. There’s a sweet, stinging pain, one you hope, fleetingly, that you’ll be able to feel tomorrow – like a keepsake from him. 

You sigh when he reaches the hilt, his tip nudging your cervix. He stills, letting you get used to his girth and you have to dig your nails into his back to keep from writhing under him. You don’t mind if it hurts – you just need him to move. 

“Please,” you whine, unable to stop your hips from bucking any longer. “I can take it, Joel.”

“Know you can, baby,” he coos, beginning to rock slowly inside of you. The pleasure is immediate, washing over your body like a warm wave.

He picks up the pace when he’s sure it feels good for you, dragging his cock halfway out of you and thrusting back in, over and over again. 

He grabs both of your legs, bending them so that you’re spread wide open for him, and grips the backs of your knees tightly as he slams into you. He can get so much deeper like this, his cock hitting a spot you didn’t even know you had. You let out a labored moan, fingers anchored into his delts.

“Talk to me darlin — tell me how it feels,” he pants.

“So – fuck, Joel – so fucking good.”

Joel drops his mouth to your shoulder, nips at the skin there. 

His voice is in your ear, a low snarl.

“‘Better than that fuckin ex, I bet.” 

You’d be annoyed by his cockiness – if he wasn’t so right.

But he is, and so you parrot, “So much better.” And then, because it’s the truth, you add, “the best.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips stuttering at your words. “Can’t say that angel, you’ll make me cum.”

He pulls out and slams back into you again, setting a new, devastating pace. He fills you up just to leave you empty, over and over again. You’re a babbling mess underneath him, couldn’t string two more words together if you tried. Luckily, Joel is happy to take over and do the talking. 

“So fuckin’ pretty, babygirl. Make the most gorgeous noises, too.”

You’re so fucking close, you can only whimper in response. You feel your walls tighten around him.

He presses your foreheads together, his sweaty curls sticking to your skin. His eyes bore into yours. 

“C’mon baby, show me – show me how pretty ya are when ya cum on this cock.”

He brings one hand down to your clit, rubbing sloppy circles over it as he continues spearing into you. You hike your newly-freed leg up over his lower back.  A white heat licks at your spine. You barely have time to tell Joel you’re about to cum, your warning coming out a single cry of his name. He gets it, though, bringing you over the edge with his words. 

“I got you, baby, I got you; you can let go.”

Your orgasm barrels through you, from the tips of your toes all the way up to your ears. Joel doesn’t let up his ministrations, talking you through it as you writhe under him. 

“Thaaaats it. Good – ahh – good fuckin’ girl.” 

The only word you can think of in your state of euphoria is his name, chants of Joel, Joel, Joel spilling from the back of your throat as you cum.

You’re squeezing his cock through your aftershocks, and you can tell he’s close by the way his thrusts become more and more uneven. 

“Fuck – where do you want it?” he braces both palms against the mattress on either side of you.

“Inside – please, Joel,” you beg. “I’m on the pill.”

He curses in ecstasy,  cumming seconds later with a series of low grunts. His hips stall as he spills inside of you. There’s so much of it – he’s nearly drowning your cervix, coating your walls with rope after rope of his spend. 

He softens inside you, staying there for a long moment as you both come down from your highs. You’re sweaty, panting messes, and you can’t help but giggle at how spent you both sound. 

“Good?” he asks, nosing at the space just below your jaw. It’s so soft, so gentle. Your stomach does a backflip.

“Yeah,” you say. “Really fucking good.”

He pulls out of you with a low, guttural noise. You sigh at the loss of him, your hand coming down reflexively  to feel where he’s leaking out of you. His fingers graze yours, and he bumps them aside to scoop up some of your combined fluids. 

He brings his wet, sticky fingers to your lips, humming when you immediately take them into your mouth and suck them clean, eyes unmoving from his the entire time. You bat your eyelashes at him, innocently as he pulls them out with a wet pop.

“Fuck,” he curses, “gonna get me hard again, angel.”

He lays down next to you, letting his head thump against the pillow, and flexes his biceps behind his head. You kind of hope he does get hard again, despite the fact that your whole body feels like liquid. Like if you were to try and stand, your legs would most definitely give out on you. They’re trembling right now, where you have them half-bent, heels dug into the mattress.

Your phone rings, then, snapping you out of your post-coital bliss. Fuck – the pizza.

You answer, trying your best to hide the undeniably fucked-out lilt of your voice as you tell the delivery person that someone will be right down.

Joel laughs next to you when you hang up. “I’ll get it – hold on.”

He jumps out of bed and dresses quickly. You’re gawking at him as he does. You can’t help it. This man – probably the hottest man you’ve ever seen – was just inside of you. You want to pat yourself on the back. He notices you staring as he’s zipping up his jeans and shoots you a wink.

Joel deadbolts your front door and disappears into the hallway. He returns moments later, shutting and re-locking the door, and strides back into your bedroom with both boxes. You can see the steam coming off of them through the cardboard. 

He sets them down by your feet.

“In bed?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard. 

“Well I’m not sure you can walk to the kitchen, darlin’.”

Your face heats. He has a point. But he doesn’t have to be so smug about it. You roll your eyes at him and mumble something nonsensical under your breath as you tuck yourself in under your duvet.

“What was that?” He quirks an eyebrow.

Long gone is the shy Joel from earlier this evening. He knows your body now, knows how hard he makes you cum. He’s a whole different man post-coitus – bolder. It makes you damn near melt.

And maybe you’re different now too. Because you’re pretty sure you’d give up your vow of solitude for him, if he asked.

It’s crazy, probably. You’ve only known Joel for two days, after all. But you can’t help the way that he ( and his dick) makes you feel. Like maybe there’s a promise of something down the line, however serious that something may be. You just know you want to give yourself the opportunity to experience it, no matter how it ends.

“Nothing.” You break, grin pulling tight at the corners of your mouth. “Just get me a slice of cheese.”

He lets his gaze linger for a second longer, the faux-threat of it heating you from the inside out. And then he’s vanishing into the kitchen, returning with two plates and a stack of paper towels. 

He dishes up slices for the both of you, climbing into bed next to you and handing over yours. 

He settles in with a content sigh.

You both eat in happy silence for a few minutes, Joel giving you a satisfied nod when he finishes up his first slice. “‘ts good,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food. 

“Right?” you retort. “It’s my favorite pizza around here.”

He hums in agreement. Pulls the box of sausage and pepper onto his lap to grab another slice.

“So,” you start, “you’re heading home tomorrow?” It’s more of a statement than a question. You know he is. But still, part of you wants Joel to say no, tell you that he’s canceled his flight, that he’s decided to stick around for a bit longer. 

“Yeah,” he says. You feel your heart sink. You silently curse yourself for being delusional. 

“Are you excited?” you try. “To be home?”

He doesn’t respond right away – his forehead wrinkling and his lips falling into a small frown. You watch as he thinks on it. 

“Not really,” he admits after a few seconds. 

“I know you’ll miss Sarah,” you say, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. 

He peers down at you with a heavy sigh. “So much…” His voice trails off, like there’s something else he wants to add, but can’t. 

The air feels thick, suddenly – heavy. You try your best to lighten it.

“Can’t stay a bit longer? Let Tommy run things for a while?”

“No,” he laughs. “Pretty sure he’ll just end up screwin’ every client we got.” 

“And you’d end up screwing every one of Sarah’s professors,” you tease. 

His mouth falls open in mock-offense. He grabs at both your sides, suddenly, letting the open box of pizza slide off of his lap and onto the bed. He tickles relentlessly just under your ribs, causing you to squeal and squirm under his grip.

“Joel,” you cry in between fits of laughter. “Stop!” 

“I don’t think so, darlin’,” he tuts. He removes one of hands momentarily, to toss your plate aside, and then he’s hooking one of his legs over your body, straddling you. He looks so big like this, his body hanging over yours. You feel content – safe. His hands release you, finally, coming to settle on either side of your head on your pillow. You blink up at him. He’s staring down at you with narrowed eyes. 

“What?” 

“Nothin,” he mumbles. “‘ts just, I wouldn’t, ya know. Sleep with anyone else, I mean. If you didn’t want me to.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You know that if you respond, it’ll come out way too eager. So you just blink at him again. 

“Would you want to keep talkin’ after I get home?”

Yes, you want to say. Please. I don’t think I could go on without knowing if I’ll get to see you again – fuck you again.

You swallow. Collect yourself. 

“Yeah. I would.”

You shimmy under Joel so that you can sit up. He straightens out, shifting his weight onto his knees. Takes both of your hands in his and pulls you up.

His eyes are still locked on yours. “I know we just met this weekend,” he says. “But I had a lot’a fun with you. I like you.” 

Your cheeks warm. “I like you too, Joel.” 

He smiles. “‘m glad.”

“Doesn’t have to be anythin’ serious,” he continues. Lets his fingers trace aimlessly along the inside of your arm. “We can jus’ see where it goes.”

“Yeah,” you nod, your heart squeezing in your chest. “See where it goes. I like that.” 

And it’s the truth. You do. In the stillness, your legs tucked under the covers, Joel caressing you, you feel, for the first time in a long time, happy to not be alone. And you know you will be again, very soon, when Joel leaves to go back home. But then again, you won’t – not really. His voice will be there, a phone call away, and his body will be there, in the divot he’s left in your mattress. And you’ll have the promise of taking this slow, seeing where it goes. 

You’ve never been so excited for the future. 

end notes: tysm for reading! I may turn this into a series if people want more of these two <3 lmk hehe

[kazbrekkerscrutches]

Xavier Thorpe - Take my hands

Warnings: Mention of burial, dark humor(like at one place), overall fluff, scratches

Words: 1.8k

GN PRONOUNS

Trope/Context: Reader is antisocial, not related to Wednesday Addams, but is the MC (storyline modified), Childhood friends to lovers <3, slowburn (A/N: One of my favorite tropes lmao, enjoy!)

Black settled into my room. Not the usual morning sunshine.

Rain and clouds.

Ever since I got to this school, nature has been turning darker and darker everyday. My own room, shared with dear Enid feels even more hollow than usual.

“You have to wake up, Y/N!”

“Yes Enid, you could wake up the dead with that perfume you spray on everyday.” I replied snarky.

“Rude.” I watched her get out of the room after I took off the covers from me.

I liked her, maybe it was a secret to anyone in my life, but I do like her. She is nice. Probably the nicest person you could ever meet that doesn’t kill people for fun.

My visions have been more intense recently. Anything I touch makes me afraid that I will discover something about it. It is scary; that pleasant feeling of being touched by a live wire, but not every minute of everyday.

For some obscure reason, I could not get a certain person out of my head.

Not Enid, you may ask, but a certain seer.

Xavier.

It is not for the usual teenage gossip type of thinking. He is my prime suspect as of whom the beast may be. The Hyde. The hidden Jekyll.

Everything about his behaviour, timing, thinking seems to fit so perfectly. Too perfectly.

“Thing. Please write something to you know who. Don’t make it cheesy. Make it brief.”

I turned my head to look at Thing only to ear a thumbs up from him. Well, that may be good enough to talk to a hand.

As I walked to go to class, that darkness felt even more closer. Like it was following me from behind my back. It felt like a tick was tickling my brain, to try and tell me something.

I arrived in class, only to find Xavier sketching something in his book. I approached silently only to find him adding shading to a cello.

My cello.

My instrument.

My brain cannot deal with this right now.

“Hi Y/N, always a pleasure seeing you around.” Xavier turned around, offering me a warm smile. That turned something in a stomach. Good? Bad? Weird?

I’ll take weird.

“Felt inspired by my serenade?” I offered him my signature glare, looking over his shoulder to see his drawing.

“Truly inspiring.” He turned back to his drawing, leaving me behind him.

Those scratches on his neck, so curious. No wonder he is my primary subject.

“Stop glaring and sit down. I don’t bite.” He whispered. I snapped out of my mind, sat down besides him.

“I do like biting.” He looked up from his drawing, my Y/E/C eyes. His beautiful green eyes. He smirked a little bit before Ms. Thornhill started her class.

I don’t know what I was supposed to feel. How I was supposed to feel. Yes, he is my prime suspect but he saved me from Rowan. He was always somewhere, lurking in the shadows. My shadow not longer felt like one.

[Flashback]

“Help! Please someone help!” I heard screams coming from the casket. Hell, did that boy’s godmother come back from hell?

That thing did not sound like a women. More like a boy. I moved around the purgatory only to find a big red button with STOP on it.

“Ridiculous.”  I pressed on it; the coffin stopped its way into the pit of fire. I opened the coffin only to find the boy. We were supposed to play hide and seek.  

“What are you doing in here? This isn’t a place to hide” Xavier looked up at me with weary eyes.

“I thought it was original. Thank you though.” He got out of the coffin, still towering me with his height.

“You lost.” A smirk appeared on my face and we both walked away to back out there.   

[Present, time skip]

I was wondering where Xavier had run to. He always abandons me for some random artistic calling of his. Thing appeared before me, updating me with some desperate news.

He handed me the note I had mention to give to Xavier.

Awn, Y/N Y/L/N has feelings for me.

Cute, though I know Thing wrote that.

Meet me in the cabin. 9 p.m.

Xavier

Weirdly, I felt my heart beat way faster than it normally should. I feel ill, not in a pleasant way, terrible ill way.

“I will end you, Thing.” He apologized immensely before pointing to something around the place.

He pointed the note, which looked like it was covered in some kind of dust. I did not look like dry paint or led dust. Ashes. How thoughtful.

He must know that I am suspicious of him; that I think he is the Hyde.

The darkness settled again, as if it was telling me that I was wrong; that my track was far from where I was headed. I pushed it away, snapped a glace at my clock only to find the time running fast. 8:51 p.m.

I have to go. Hopefully I make it out alive, and sane.

[Xavier’s art studio]

I knocked two times.

I’m hilarious, I’m aware.

“My favorite dead body has arrived!” He almost screamed as he opened the door.

He was wearing a red shirt, hair still damp and sweatpants low on his hips. As much as I hated to admit it, he had some sort of effect on me. I suddenly felt hot, uncomfortable in my own skin. I almost felt a smile creep up on my face.

“Tad bit dramatic.” I snarked, passing through him and the door. “I hope those weren’t you godmother’s ashes you sent.” His clean and fresh scent filled my head. Comforting.

He turned to me, closing the door behind him. He leaned on the door frame, crossed his thin long arms around his chest.

“Maybe, maybe not.” He looked at me dead in the eye. “What did you want to talk about?” The paintings surrounding me were dark and were all filled with the Hyde’s face. I had never actually been in here before but he caught me trying to get in.

“What is it of the Hyde that captivates you so, Xavier?” I turned around every wall to have a better look at his artistry.  

“I keep having dreams about it. The only way I can get it out is by drawing it, even if it ends up with me getting scratched by my own drawing.” I snapped around to look at him rubbing his neck. There were three long scratches along it. I had noticed.

“Do they hurt?” Is a question I never thought I would’ve asked in my entire life. He tilted his head, approached me softly. He towered me even more than I would’ve thought.

He bent down to whisper in my ear. “Why aren’t you asking if I did this to myself?” He bent a little; looking at me dead in the eye.

“You have no reason to do this to yourself. I know you.” His gaze softened.

“You don’t think I’m the Hyde, then?” Shoot. He figured it out.

He stayed right where he was and I did not give him the satisfaction of fear or yet defeat in my eyes.

“Prove me you're not the Hyde, Xavier. Tell me I’m wrong.” I almost pleated, blinking endlessly.

“How can I prove this to you, Y/N? You are stubborn yet so deep into your theories.”

“Where were you when Eugene was attacked? If you tell me, you were here, and not wondering in the middle of the forest, I will believe you and drop this.” I sighted. “Please, tell me you weren’t out there.”

He stared almost blankly into my eyes. He stood up straight, passed his hands into his long hair and turned back to face me. “Take my hands, seek your answers.”

I could tell he was disappointed that I had asked him that. I dropped my bag on the floor, approaching him as slowly as he was.

His touch felt comforting and warm against my feverish skin. My head pulled back as I felt myself going under.

…

I woke up only to find Xavier hold me in his lap, passing his fingers in my hair softly, still holding one of my hands with his.

“Did you get your answers?” I nodded, proving to myself that he was not the Hyde.

“I’m… I’m sorry I doubted you. I shouldn’t have. You were the only person loyal to me, maybe except Thing.” I sat up from his lap, looking at him, both of us sitting on the floor of his Art space.

“Don’t be. We aren’t ten anymore. You know I’m innocent and I would’ve never, on my godmother’s grave have hurt all of those people and I think you may know that better than anyone.” Thunder roared behind us, I still felt his hand on mine but I did not pull away.

His Adam’s apple bobbed down a couple of times, as he looked at me deeply in the eyes.

“What did Thing tell you, in the note?” I nervously swallowed, his presence making me feel like a hormonal teenager.

“He told me that you, missy, have the biggest crush on me but is way too shy and antisocial to tell me. Is that true?” He tilted his head a little, making his hair brush his cheek.

I felt my own heart rush out of my chest. Thing was not lying.

“Thing isn’t lying.” I whispered lowly, tilting my head down. He reached his hand to tilt it back towards him.

As we were still close, he bent down to reach my ear, breathed in, and out making shivers run down my back.

“I hope you liked my godmother’s ashes or shall I say charcoal powder in the reply note.” He paused. I smirked slightly against his fiery skin.

“I like you too, Y/N.” He didn’t pull away but tilted my head once again towards him; making me look at his lips, green eyes, soft yet strong features.

I breathed shakily and leaned towards him. I felt his lips brush my own before he softly placed his lips upon mine. Electricity ran through me, with the satisfying after burn which was my heart heating up.

The darkness I had felt slowly pulled away, leaving my soul, and leaving at a certain state of peace.

His hand was soft against the skin of my cheeks, his lips soft yet delicate and passionate felt incredible on mine. He pulled away only to do it again, and again, and again.

I pulled away after a few second, feeling my heart flying like a hummingbird. “Not so bad?”

“Not bad at all, incredible if I must.” His gaze lightened, as he pulled me to kiss him again.

Two teenagers kissing on the floor of an art studio, two childhood best friends turned into…

Lovers.  

[helionpegasus]

ceilings part 2

azriel x reader

Part 1

summary: Reader always had lucid dreams, due to her Seer heritage. But everything changes when she stats dreaming with a misterious male she have never seen before.

warnings: mention of blood, mention of death, beginning of anxiety attack. i think that’s it. :)

words count: 1489

author’s note: this took quite some time, i’m sorry :’) uni have been wild these past days. but i really hope you like it! i guess we have a series now!!!

I couldn’t see anything. It was a dark place, like I was surrounded by mist and shadows. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but it took me some time to become conscious in the dream.

The place was silent. But it was not a silence of bliss, it was a silence of awareness. Like the shadows trapped in my ankles were telling me to be careful.

I got the courage to start moving. Maybe there is an exit and I’m just in a dark room, there could be a door somewhere.

I only take 5 steps before being crushed by the voices. It came from everywhere, all of them saying at the same time, probably thousands of them. It was suffocating, getting too much information all at once, like my head was a hundred feet under water.

“Help him.”

It’s the only thing I understand. The voice is sore, like it’s strength is falling apart and this was the last try.

“Help who?” I asked. No answer.

The shadows had become a lot more aggressive. Twisting and turning around me like a storm. Almost like it was expelling me from the place.

“Who do I need to help?”

The voices only got louder. My head was not bearing it anymore, it was too much to handle.

I woke up in a blink, the sheets soaked with my sweat. My hair sticking everywhere they could. It was hard to breathe, like I’ve been holding my breath all of this time. The window in the room was closed, I remember closing it last night. I jumped outta bed going straight to open it, getting a full inhale of the fresh air. The day was cloudy, the rain coming anytime by now.

Once my heartbeat slows down I go downstairs in the shared apartment. Bryce was almost never here with all the things she’s been doing, and today was no different.

Deciding to make a tea to calm my nerves, I go directly to the stove and heat the water. 

The sound of the boiling water was the last thing I heard before the silence. Complete silence involved the room, my fae ears not able to listen anything.

Then it came. The sound of a chord. A deep one like those that begins in orchestras. And everything went black again.

When I woke up in this unknown place, I don’t remember exactly what happened. I just remember feeling like I was in a free fall, and nothing more. I must have blacked out.

I looked around me and found myself in a forest. The sky was dark, a storm probably coming, a sign to find somewhere to hide.

My back hurts when I stand up. I try to not be anxious and think straight.

How to get out of this situation?

Where am I?

Was the only thing I could think about.

The smell of my fear must have gotten strong. Because I heard a screech from behind me. My eyes shot everywhere trying to find something that I could use as a weapon, but there were only trees everywhere.

“Fuck.” I curse under my breath, and start running.

I knew this was not the best choice considering that I had no idea where I was heading. But my body was reacting out of instinct at this point, hearing the loud steps behind me. I didn’t dare to look back and face the creature following me.

My legs and lungs were burning, Ruhn’s voice coming to my head saying that I should be more active and not just stay in labs and libraries, that I would need this sometime. His theory proved that when my legs fail me, my body collides with the ground.

That’s when I see the creature. With dark big eyes, slender figure and pale skin. Coming with their claws directly at me. I found a rock beside my arm but had no time to react before one of the creature’s hands met my ribs. The sharp pain sent an electric shot through my body. 

I hit the rock with all my strength in the side of their head. They come off of me with a high shriek. I lose no time before hitting it again, now directly in the middle of his face. My arm in a constant move ‘til I be sure they’re unconscious, although it didn’t save me from multiple little cuts from their claws. I catch my breath, letting go of the rock. The cut in my ribcage hurt more than before.

There was a cave a few meters from me. I didn't know if it’s empty but the rain started to pour and I’m in no condition to deal with any more creatures.

I arrive in the cave soaked. The bleeding on my side with no show to be stopping any time soon, and I had nothing to put pressure on it. I was only in leggings and an old t-shirt, even barefoot.

My body was starting to feel tired from all the happenings and the blood loss.

“Not even breakfast.” I say to myself, clicking my tongue. “What a morning.”

The dream from earlier flashes my mind.

Help him.

“I guess I’m the one needing help now.” A weak smile appears on my face. 

I couldn’t help the tears. Gods, what the fuck just happened?. 

I was trying not to black out, but my body was so sore, my eyelids heavy.

Found myself in the dark space again. The voices were so much calmer now, nothing more than whispers.

“Where am I?” I asked to the emptiness in front of me. Met with no answers. Again.

“I cannot help if you also do not help me.”

“What do you need help with, traveler?”  A dark voice says. My face twitched in confusion.

“Take me somewhere safe.” That’s all I thought to ask. I couldn’t help unalive.

A soft breeze brushes my face before I go unconscious again.

*

Azriel

The chaos of the River House was setting down. The High Lady and the Heir are no longer in danger.

I felt like I could finally breathe after holding it for too much time.

We were reunited in the living room, waiting for Madja news. Mor’s leg bouncin’ nonstop besides me.

“I’m sure they’re all okay.” I said to her. The golden eyes meet mine searching for comfort.

“Yeah, I know. But it’s been quite a night, I’m still on my nerves.” She says to me. I only nod agreeing.

We all stand up when we hear footsteps. Madja and her assistants finally leave the bedroom they’ve been stuck in the whole night.

“They’re completely fine.” It’s the first thing she says. The sighs of relief came from all of us instantly. “I’m gonna monitorate them for the week, but they seem perfectly fine. Like all those things didn’t happen at all. Nesta really made a miracle.” 

The healer left, and everyone got to their own course slowly. Cassian, Nesta and I went back to the House of Wind right after. 

I was drinking water in the kitchen when I received the barrier warning.

Someone got in.

Cassian appeared in the door seconds later.

“You got it too?” He asked me. I only nod.

When I open my mouth to say something, the shadows start to increase and I become agitated. Swirling around my shoulders and legs.

They all started saying at the same time. Cauldron, it’s been a long time since they acted that way, and I could only think the worst.

Help.

Bleeding.

Dying.

Was the only thing I could fully understand from them.

“She’s on the training ring.” One of them says.

“This blood smell doesn't come from you, right?” Cass asked. The wings going up, body going straight in alert.

I found myself mirroring him before heading straight to the balcony.

My hand finds the truth teller out of muscle memory. The warlord found a weapon in the way of the house. None of us in leather, just the hand siphons. Both of us were heading to bed.

“You got it?”  Rhys spoke in our minds.

“Already on our way.”  I answered.

Once we got to the training ring, the blood smell got so much stronger. The shadows detected no harm, so we got in straight to the edge.

I couldn’t hide to be surprised to see a body there. A female body.

But I was certainly shocked when I realized the shadows protecting her body. My shadows.

“Shit.” I heard Cassian curse under his breath.

“What in Mother’s sake is this?” I looked at the female. Hair messy, face pale for the blood loss, and shirt soaked by the open wound in her ribs. But she was beautiful.

“Somewhere safe.”  The shadows said. But that didn’t answer anything.

“Rhys…”  I said in my mind to him. “I think your ‘dad moment’ will need to wait a little more.”

taglist:

@humanpersonlasttimeichecked

[happynowyo]

Free choice

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairing: Aemond x Lucerys

Summary: The new generation of gods follows the same path, so Aemond and Luke should face their own fate as the new versions of Hades and Persephone.

Warnings: angst (but with happy ending in the second part)

Word count: 2k

Aemond didn't like to go up to the surface and pretend to be someone ordinary, clutching a glass of wine in his hand at some fancy bar in New York, Berlin, or Sydney. Aegon was excited about such pastimes and travelled easily through countries, hiding from his mother's strict supervision, but Aemond was too used to the dark solitude of the underworld to feel comfortable among the noisy crowds of the livings, who annoyed him with pointless clutter.

He looked to the core and felt the presence of death everywhere he went, and invariably brought a plume of asphodels around him. Light and quick to envelop, like a fog, granting a moment's forgetfulness.

He had once worried about being tormented by his own loneliness, as the ruler of Hell he was doomed to be in the underworld, avoiding the feast of life. No fun, no joy. Aemond remembered the grief and sympathy that splashed in his mother's eyes when she escorted him away for the first time, using Otto as a guide. God of deceit and trickery - Aemond had mentally blamed his grandfather hundreds of times for giving him blind hope for the best, fueling his belief for years that he might get something different. There were hundreds of choices, he could have been a patron of seers or doctors, but instead he took on his heaviest burden.

His eyes went blank and his movements were smooth and unhurried. There was nothing in hell but countless souls, like an assembly line, waiting for their fate. The bleak fields and the deadly rivers - Aemond had studied all the scenery during the first week and had long since stopped noticing it, shutting himself off completely. He concentrated only on business, on the exhausting routine, occasionally allowing himself to see his sister and brothers, but even that didn't save them from the grave coldness that was destroying their relationship.

Aemond was hiding his envy deep down inside, where even blind Themis couldn't find it, and yet he agreed to attend Luke's party on his eighteenth birthday. The lavish feast Rhaenyra had thrown was worthy of all praise, but it wasn't the painted decorations of the manor that caught his eye. It was the air of life, the energy and hope in Luke's eyes, the joy that drew his attention. As Aemond stepped closer, modestly handing over a pendant with a ruby as a symbol of kindred courtesy, it seemed to him that a chasm separated them was far deeper than the one in which the icy Cocytus had been held.

— Does Rhaenyra still hold you close, like a child? I've heard Jace is doing quite well, and the exhibitions he curates are very popular, but it would be hard to expect otherwise from a god of truth and a patron of the arts. Maybe his success will be an example to your mother.

Luke could hardly remember the last time he'd seen Aemond. They'd spent a lot of time together as kids, learning tricks and playing teammates against Jace and Aegon. The accident that led to the loss of Aemond's eye separated them, leaving Luke with boundless guilt. They began to see each other less often, and Rhaenyra contributed to this by limiting their trips to King's Landing. Luke had almost convinced himself that he didn't care about how Aemond lived, but his interest returned instantly when Aemond turned eighteen and the Moirs determined his lot as the new head of the underworld. The new Hades.

Luke was familiar with the order of things. Some events were inevitable and repeated from generation to generation. Hades and Persephone determined the fate of their descendants and condemned them to the same bond. Their new versions were drawn to each other in the same way and went through the same stages of denial, anger, bargaining and acceptance. The result was always the same - a new marriage and a new division of the year.

Deep down, he held out hope that he would be the one to play the role of the new Persephone, just as he feared it with all his heart. Luke was no fool and judged his chances soberly. His mother was a fertility goddess like Demeter, and she had enough children that one of them would be Aemond's partner. It could have been Luke. And he wished, in a way, that it had turned out to be true, and he saw it as an opportunity to mend their former bond with Aemond and get rid of the resentments that hung as a burden between them.

He preferred not to think about the fact that he really liked Aemond, even when he was alone with himself. It was wrong. Incest had been practiced in their family for generations, but Luke kept thinking it was wrong. Dirty. And therefore especially attractive. At night he closed his eyes, imagining how Aemond could jam him in an empty room, press him roughly against the wall and kiss him, claiming his rights, and Luke's body instantly gave a reaction. Every single time. Desire pierced through him and pulsed just under his skin, preventing him from being distracted by anything else.

Or anyone. He tried, really tried, to go on dates with someone else, and it never worked. He was bored, he felt empty, and his thoughts kept going back to Aemond. Ever since he started spending almost all of his time in the underworld, their meetings had become almost priceless because of how rare they were. Once or twice a year. And Luke always waited, deluding himself with the hope that during the next break he would forget Aemond, put him out of his mind and fall in love with someone else. But each time he continued to be like a naive puppy, greedily catching his uncle's every look.

His birthday was a good reason for the whole pantheon of gods to gather in King's Landing. Aemond was going to show up, and Luke was ready for it, nervously searching the spacious hall with his eyes, where guests were feasting noisily, but eventually he met him near the garden alone. The gift from Aemond became a pleasant surprise and brought a faint blush to Luke's cheeks. The ruby pendant looked so much like a pomegranate seed sparkling in his palm that Luke was glad for the fact that Aemond could not read his mind.

"Take me away. Forget about everyone else and take me away, hide me in hell itself and lie to everyone. Mark me, make me yours. Let me be there and bow my head obediently, swearing allegiance for decades to come."

In some way it was an opportunity to close the gestalt and make things right between them. To be close again. In his best dreams, he called it "sacrificing yourself," because few people in reality would agree to voluntarily go down to hell for six months. But Luke's selfishness was strong enough to make him admit the truth. He wanted Aemond for nothing, and all the reasons "why not" were losing all meaning when he saw the ice in Aemond's blue eyes or the luxurious platinum of his hair that Luke wanted to burrow his fingers into.

And now, alone with him in the garden, Luke felt the expression "blind love" at its fullest. He didn't know much about Aemond, there had been no games or trusting conversations between them for a long time, and Rhaenyra would probably have wrung his neck personally for the very thought of leaving his old life behind and sacrificing everything for the bleak emptiness of Hell, but he was willing and ready to risk anything. Aemond seemed deep and interesting, he remained incredibly attractive, and the long scar didn't ruin his beauty at all. Lucerys was sure he could bridge the gaps between them after a while and love Aemond even more, if he had the chance.

— We're all still children to our parents, aren't we? Even when we grow up, — Luke remarked softly after a long pause, turning his back so that Aemond could clasp the ruby chain on him.

— Maybe. But my mother looks at me differently now. She only sees death, but I can't blame her for that, — Aemond answered with a note of familiar melancholy in his voice, and Luke nodded briefly, understanding the implication.

Aemond was the death itself, and the wilted lush rosebuds from the nearest bush were the best proof of that. Luke ran his fingers lightly over them, and the flowers immediately bloomed as before. It was so strange and so fascinating. They were opposites in nature. One was diligently giving life to everything around them, and the other was taking it away, coldly and mercilessly. Luke suddenly wondered if anything could grow in the underworld but asphodels, whose ghostly scent he could smell on Aemond, and then realized that he had never seen them in person. Only in pictures from old books.

— Do you think I could grow something in your realm? There are different laws there, obviously, but my power would remain the same there. Would I be able to use it? I've come across passages in the diaries of our previous generations. I've read that this had happened.

Luke turned back and stared at Aemond, studying him. So simple and naive, so young. So alive. Aemond would have given a lot to feel that way just once more. The subtext lurking in his nephew's words was all too easy to detect. Fate itself was bringing them together again. Aemond didn't believe anyone was capable of loving him, and he was convinced that pure and soft Luke would simply wither away in the underworld within weeks. He wanted something different for Luke, something better. Just as he wanted for himself.

— Hell is alive, as strange as that sounds. It can change to suit its master. New rooms may appear at the snap of a finger in my house, fields of asphodels alternate with fields of fire. But it's all darkness and chaos, it's primordial energy, much older than us. Even if you grow something there, even if I were to allow it, it would die soon. Don't get your hopes up, Lucerys. You should stay on the surface, here, with your family. Keep the others happy, keep the soil alive after the winter. It's better for both of us.

Aemond's cool fingers gently touched Luke's collarbone, tracing the ruby pendant, and instinctively gave him the creeps. Luke felt like taking a step back, but he forced himself to stay where he was. All sounds instantly disappeared, as if he had gone deaf, and there was no longer the chirping of birds, no sound of the spring breeze, no sound of waves from the neighboring beach. There was only Aemond, with his emphatically perfect posture and endless hollowness in his eyes, with a smile so sad that Luke swallowed hard at the bitterness that gathered on his tongue and squeezed his eyes shut to hide the appearing tears.

The hint was so blatant that Luke could physically feel his heart breaking. He was often referred to as Rhaenyra's favorite. A spoiled child who had been bathed in attention and compliments since childhood. In fact, he often faced rejections, but this one.. This one was the worst.

The phantom touch continued to burn his neck, even when Luke opened his eyes and stumbled into the void. Maybe that outcome was to be expected. Aemond wasn't blind, and he had certainly noticed the admiration in Luke's eyes. The way Luke reached out to him and spun around, constantly trying to strike up a conversation or get a share of his attention. But Luke was young and inexperienced and deserved something better than Aemond could ever offer to him.

Part 2

[ursawastricked]

The Glimmering Pearl

Silco x f!reader Moulin Rouge inspired fan fiction

The Dens Delight, a nightclub, one tucked between the undercut of Zaun and its sister city of Piltover, is the secret delight of the rich and poor of Runeterra. The call of loud swing music, the smell of cheap booze, and the warmth of the dens dancers draw in crowds by the hundreds every night, in attempts to lure them into spending.

You call this place home, it loves you like its daughter, and you take comfort knowing that the people love you just as much. That doesn't change that tonight,,you meet him. The eye of Zayn, the kingpin of the undercut,,and he might just be your ticket out of here.

warnings for fic: Drinking, lewd behavior, night club activity in general

word count: 3,289

total wordcont: 3,289

Silco found little joy in places like this. Despite The Drop's atmosphere of bright lights, loud music, drugs, thugs, and alcohol all surrounding him in most of his day to day life, he at least had the luxury of it being muted beneath his office. It didn't bite him like it did here. The sickeningly intense stretch of “rose” perfume stung his nose, and the booze sprinkled about on the floor and patrons stung the rest of his senses as he fought his way through the sea of under city patrons that flocked to places such as this when they needed to feel worth something.

Perhaps it wasn't his scene, but for Finn it was like home ground, which would be the only reason Silco had crawled here to begin with. With him he dragged some extra hands, but found that they too had quickly been washed away in a sea of drunkards, or pulled away by half clothes workers, each one's skirt a differnt brightly colored pattern to draw the attention of whomever had money to spend.

That is what made this place so aggravating. It wasn't like the brothels, those at least held some class in Silcos opinion. At places like Babbettes, attention was requested, then provided, it wasn't demanded, it did not result from a sudden “mis-step” that landed a women lewdly in your lap, or sneaking hands of a pretty face taking inappropriate hold on someone to weasel them into spending hard earned coin. He didn't worry about randomly spilling cheap beer on his silk vest, nor did he have to worry about them then offering to take it off for him. Simply put, he wasn't having fun. He wasn't enjoying the festivity filled floor below, packed not only with thousands of Pilties, desperate for depravity despite them sharing the house with Aunties who too had ventured here for that reason. He less enjoyed that now as he finally found sanctuary in a box seat above, that he could see Sevika, sitting back in a plush armchair, a lady hiking up her peacock colored skirt in his muscles lap, and as she would put it “Having friendly conversation”.

He grumbled lightly, offering a light from Finn as he sat finally. He accepted the silent offer, tucking a cigar between his lips and allowing the flames to lick at the end of the expense tobacco roll. He closed his eyes, another failed attempt to drown out the numbing sound of the ballroom below, as he inhaled a thick cloud of smog into his lungs. He held it for a moment of ease, letting it burn his throat and maybe even seer away the dreadful taste of whatever that wicked bartender considered ‘top shelf brandy’, before he willed himself to exhale the black smoke and let it ribbon away into the ceiling above. His good eye followed its path lazily, finding it curling around a collection of ropes and scaffolding tucked above the box seats and further toward what appeared to be the old placement of a chandelier. He wondered what monster had decided removing such a piece would make this palace look better, clearly a chandelier would vastly improve the facade of class in a place like this, but who was he to judge interior design. He was sure the random placement of ropes and wood made for a much better design choice, not to mention against an old classically crafted glass ceiling. Indeed, why would a chandelier be a valuable piece to keep. 

 His discomfort was quickly caught by Finn, who smirked at the rare entermainted of an uncomfortable and out of control Silco,“Is it too much for you, old man?" he taunted, flicking closed his lighter before snapping it open again, keeping in time with the current music. “I suppose after so many years, the sound of fun can be too much to bear.” he continued, leaning over the ledge and watching as workers danced about with unknowing citizens, unaware of how much each of those stolen kisses would cost them. “Perhaps you, Finn, confuse mindless noise for entertainment..” Silco snarled back, low, controlled. He tapped the ashes of his cigar into a provided bowl on the small table they were given.Finn only offered him a chuckle in response, shrugging off the large gold coat he had worn as he approched and placed himself into the opposite chair of Silco. “Mindless noise? Do you not hear the laughter? The singing of the entertainers?’ “The drunken howls, the croud whistles at the passing waitress, the belch of vomiting patrons…” Silco added bitterly, taking another deep breath of his chosen grounding tool tonight. Finn only stared back, aggravated quickly by the negativity. But to Silco, truth came in positives and negatives, if one side was to be ignored, then you were missing the picture. In this case, missing the picture of a loud, over decorated, overrated, and overly fancy club, one that looked pretty to hide the shady work it openly offered. The two watched each other's expression for a long moment, as two predators would in a territorial competition, who could remain standing their ground longer. But it was Finn who broke the silence first, rolling his hand over the table as he reached for his empty glass and held it up in signal to the standing by server. “I must admit, I had hoped for at least a little down time with you, Silco. Perhaps a meeting that doesn't require a rehearsed debate over the constant work and stress of running our little empire,” he began, maintaining their locked gaze as the server approached and poured a generous amount of amber liquid into Finn's waiting glass. He gestured for Silco to have his glass filled as well, before dragging it to his lips and letting it pass over his tongue during the pause in speaking.

“My empire..you still find yourself in the habit of forgetting where you come from. Where I came from.” Silco sneered, not given the courtesy of a glance to the server as they filled his glass and retreated back behind the curtain.

“Again with the age debate, ‘remember our lives before’, ‘the mines from which we came’, It is always your age that defends your power Silco..and I had just told you, I had hoped for down time with you.” Finn reminded him, placing down his glass with a soft ‘tink’.

Silco rolled his eyes slowly, taking his own glass and leaning back in the seat he had. He felt much more at ease then he would like to admit when the liquor passed his scared lip and spread over his tongue. He was elated to taste actual brandy, not the gasoline he had been fed not thirty minutes ago when he had first arrived. The flavor was rich, a velvety, warm taste, the whispers of the imported fruits it was made with still ghosted into each drop as he swallowed and let the liquid warm his belly, further drawing him into a more comforting position in this prison he found himself in. Embarrassingly enough, it had tamed him enough to cease the fight against Finn and just relax into his seat.

“Besides, the show tonight is one I think is best enjoyed when you have only her to focus on.” Finn cooed, reclining and gazing off into the crowd below. Silco took another blissful sip, considering the words Finn had said without much worry. Yes, this place was well known for its exotic performances, dancers, singers, usually half clothed like the rest of them. But now, with a drink in his hands, smoke in his lungs, and the sound of music slowing down, he welcomed whatever performance was interesting enough to catch Finn's attention as often as it seemed too. Let the show begin,

“Im sure.” he hummed, in reply, closing his eyes and clutching to the comfort of good brandy and an expensive cigar.

Another thirty minutes passed, Sevika arriving back beside Silco, dragging along the peacock lady and sitting her comfortably on her knee as she resumed her guard over the kingpin. He offered her a nod of acknowledgment, earning a satisfied nod back from her, enough of one that he had noticed the smudge of lipstick across her cheek and further down her neck.

He lifted his glass back to his lips before he saw the light dim, and following it immediately was the hush of the loud music, the hush of patrons and the awful howls of laughing girls. He followed all their gaze, to the lowering figure from the ceiling. Above the world, like a bird descending, a swing lowered just level with the box seats where the eye of zaun had found himself. Perched on the seat was a figure, one he had not quite expected. You. You sat above the crowd, your eyes closed tentatively as you held tight to the ropes connected to your seat. You held your breath, still finding your breath a bit constricted by the tight costume they had pulled you into tonight. It was a torturous thing, tight, stiff with what must have been a thousand false pearls, expertly patterned to trace your figure and accentuate your curves. You cross your legs expertly, earning a whistle from below and giving you a little boost of confidence. You straighten your back, take in a deep breath and start your usual performance.The silence breaks with a silk like voice, one Silco didn't expect as the swing slowly sways, and allows for the limited light to shimmer off the pearls stitched to your costume. His gaze locked first onto the tall black heel you wore, but slowly trailed up long legs, to the start of your costume just above your hip, and dragging slowly to your shoulders. But what broke the facade of his disinterest was when you suddenly dip your head back, catching his gaze in yours and revealing the face behind the vision he had been blessed with, as you reached out a hand toward the booth, and the swing slowly began to swing, descending down into the crowd below. His heart raced at the limited eye contact, and he found himself now like Finn, leaned closer to the edge of the box, chasing you to keep your figure in his sights as the music swelled slowly around the hall, reaching its peak when your heel clicked too the floor and you stood at the center of it all. The center of a once chaotic hell scape, had ceased and created a pool from which this divine thing could fully shine, and he was enraptured. This was entertainment indeed. Especially as your voice rang through the sound and your feet followed a practiced little prance around the crowd grabbing playfully at random from time to time and dragging them into your next little move before abandoning them in favor of another. You held the entire hall in the palm of your hand, those not too awestruck to speak offering your whistles, howls, and the occasional help in the song. You chuckle as you allow for a lucky customer to dip your weight, teasingly snatching his cap and placing it on your head for safe keeping. You leave his head spinning and Silco finds a light smile on his scarred lip as you step away, leaving everyone around you chasing your touch, one he imagined was heavenly based on how the other visitors clamored for a chance at it. He rested his glass against his lips as you retreated back to your swing, standing on it with a tight grip on the flimsy ropes before it lifted you again in the air. “Quite the show isn't it, Silco?” Finn murrmered on, stealing a peak at how Silco had become so focused after spitting so much distaine for this place earlier. Silco chuckled lightly, feeling just as relaxed as Finn insisted he be tonight, humming a quick “mhm”, and inhaling a deep breath of smoke. You smiled teasingly at the patrons that flooded where you once stood moments ago, spreading your stance a little for balance as you began to lean back and let the swing move carefree above them, using enough force so that the trajectory of it had began to circle and allow you a to give those in the boxes a bit of a closer look as you. Janna, this always felt so good, yes the height was a little frightening, but the way the people flocked to you, around you, starved for any glimmer of your attention, you felt like a god among them. But as always, the best part of a performance was engaging the audience, and you had been looking out all night for people to play with. About an hour ago you had been doing one final walk around before being dressed, when your eyes caught something particularly interesting moving through the club. A familiar Burgundy colored coat that swept over the dance floor and up the stairs into Finn's box. He was a regular, one you had a few run-ins with in the past, the occasional dance, invitations to his bed after a paid for “chat”, all of which you had politely declined. It wasn't in your best interest to leave the club with patrons after all, you were higher class then that, The Glimmering Pearl of the undercity. But this not so mystery guest, he was more your interest tonight. A ‘big catch’ as your den mother would put it. So you pulled your swing back, aiming directly for that box, and swinging back and propelling yourself toward the balcony. You hooked your legs over the lip of the ledge, sitting yourself nice and pretty in front of a very startled Eye of Zaun. He stared, dumfounded, the snicker of his accompanying crowd. How delightful, the king of the undercity, positively flustered at your sudden appearance. You could swear there was a hint of pink appearing across his skin, through it could just be the lights. You offer him a sly smile, tilting your head and kicking a foot up to rest the tip of your heel just under his jawline. He stared forward, completely enchanted as the satin of your shoe dragged against his skin, causing him to involuntarily lean forward into it. His eyes met yours finally, half lidded, hazey with a building desire as your heel was now placed on his shoulder. It was an easy transition to slip off the ledge slightly, and push more of your weight into his chair as you rested your one leg other his shoulder and leaned close enough to truly see if it was the lighting that resulted in that exquisite rosey color in his cheeks..it was to your excitement, not a trick of the light.  “Good evening, I do hope I didn’t startle you” You hummed, drawing your hand to your chest dramatically, feigning apologetic.Silcos good eye caught the movement effortlessly, taking a moment to admire how the lace of your gloves looked against your skin tone. Only then did he flick his mismatched gaze to yours, ignoring that his face was warmer then he would have liked. You looked into the infamous gaze, finding yourself a bit frozen when the burning orb of his bad eye focused itself on you, a gaze that had often resulted in the blood-spill of maybe thousands. It made you nervous, but quickly you tried to psyche yourself back up, back to flirting, maybe earn a little favor from the royal head of the undercity. “I can’t say I mind,” he replied, training his gaze on you before putting his half finished cigar to his cracked lip, maintaining eye contact as he took a long inhale. Despite your expertise in this, the game of flirtation, you held your breath. It was caught in your throat like you were preparing for something that wasn't coming, and you weren't able to hide it before he had seen it. The roll in his  mouth escaped its hold, and you failed to keep your eyes seedy, as they had now locked on his mouth. Silco cracked a half smirk, titling his head back to exhale the long cloud of smog from his lungs. It was an offered opening, one you hastily took to breath and return to your usual practice routine. You were able to bring back your coy smile, and bring your hands to his tie. You played with it between your fingers, as you expected it was fine silk. With a little smirk, you went with your usual game, loosening it before pulling it away from his throat. You waved it in front of his face,“I expect that back Madame,” he hummed, catching Finn's far too satisfied smirk in the corner of his eye. You giggle lightly, “Well,” as you drag the fabric over your chest, causing Silco to squirm lightly in his seat beneath you. Far more in your element now that you had an in, you tuck the scarf into your cleavage and push your weight back onto the ledge, “I expect i will be seeing you again then.” You tease, watching the hint of challenge in his good eye as you turn and give Finn a fast wink of acknowlagment, waving a little goodbye before you were back on your swing, being pulled back by gravity far away from the Eye of Zaun. As you vanish and drag the warmth in his lap away, Silco gives a disappointed sigh, watching you fly off with his scarf..He breathed in the last breath of his dying cigar before tapping it out in the ashtray. To his left, he can see Finn's stupid smirk still plastered on his artifical jaw.

“How much did it cost you?” Silco asked, refusing to give him anymore for the question, he didn't plan to disrupt his viewing experience just to address a constant thorn in his side. “Not a single coin.” Finn purred, leaning forward to follow you in time with Silco. Silcos raised his eyebrows lightly, trying to hide it, fruitlessly. It wasn't a feeling he would have admitted too, the burning feeling igniting deep in his chest, in the pit of his stomach, the top of the flames licking at his heart. You land again on the ground floor, enveloped almost immediately by the crowd of waiting fans, allowing light touches, lifts, and dips as you make your way to the stage. You strut, trying to keep up your sultry energy, lips softly pursed, eyes lidded, but you struggle as you fight away the growing heat in your cheeks, you try to convince yourself it's all the action. As you huff in a deep breath, tiptoeing up the stairs and clicking your heels loudly on the stage with a loud hollar into the crowd. Silco feels a hum deep in his chest as the sound echoes into him, and his pupils dilate. You give a few playful steps back, up the further stage steps into the feather like bed at the back with a deep call of your final verse. You lay down your weight, flirtatiously flicking your leg over. “MMMwah!” You call, with a dramatic kiss thrown into the crowd. You pull out your stolen scarf from your cleavage, waving it playfully toward Silco, whom you are pleased to see, just as focused as before. You feel the burn in your cheeks win, just as the curtains flutter closed in front of you, and you feel the heat finally reach you, the heat of that single burning eye that now knows about you. Your way out of here.

Yippie! my first big fic!

I really enjoyed working on this one, and I hope to write a part two if it goes well. 

If you enjoy for would like more please lmk, I'm finding for pretty Silco content 

[redux-iterum]

Burning Hearts: Chapter Twenty-Seven

(AO3 counterpart here.)

It was a generously warm night when Fireheart came into camp holding a woodrat in his jaws, following along after Willowpelt and Speckletail as they dropped their catches on the prey-pile. He was about to go over to Tigerclaw and chat when a voice hissed, “Hang on.”

It was Ravenwing, he found, as he turned around. The skinny black tom sniffed the rat over, squinting in suspicion.

“That one didn’t get bit, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Fireheart joked, light but muted.

Ravenwing took another sniff and stepped back with a nod. “I was just worried.” He crooked the white tip of his tail, beckoning Fireheart closer, before murmuring in his ear, “Greystripe should be done in the dirtplace by now. We’re going on a walk.”

On impulse, Fireheart glanced back at Tigerclaw. His back was turned to the younger toms, and he seemed to be deep in a conversation with Darkstripe (the only time the sour warrior ever looked happy). Taking the opportunity, Fireheart followed Ravenwing out of camp, not looking to either side but desperately hoping no one saw them go.

On cue, as soon as they entered the wider forest, Greystripe came around the corner. He didn’t look remotely surprised to see either of his friends; in fact, he nodded curtly and followed along after Ravenwing without a word. Fireheart silently marveled at the way Ravenwing led them—he strode with unusual confidence and purpose, like he was marching the entire Clan to a war they were destined to win. He hardly looked like the same shivering, anxious tom Fireheart had known all this time. He even seemed taller.

A shame it had to be this that brought that out of him, Fireheart thought.

“I’m guessing we’re investigating?” he said aloud. As he expected, Ravenwing nodded. “So where are we going?”

“Snakerocks,” Ravenwing said. “I figured now is the best time, since it’s warmer.”

Fireheart half-coughed a weak chuff. “You’re not looking to get bit, are you?”

Ravenwing frowned at him over his shoulder. Fireheart, to his own surprise, shrunk back a bit, like he was actually in trouble. At this, Ravenwing’s face relaxed.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m just thinking. Maybe we should have brought that rat.”

“What rat?” Greystripe asked.

“Fireheart brought in a woodrat while you were gone.”

“Oh. Yeah, that would have been good to bring.” Greystripe stepped over a fallen branch that Fireheart had to hop to clear. “As a test.”

Fireheart hesitantly probed. “What exactly are we testing? Or… were going to test.”

“Remember that rat that Swiftpaw almost brought to Bluestar?” Ravenwing said, waiting for Fireheart to nod before he continued. “I want to see if it was feasibly just a mistake that someone brought in poisoned prey.”

“We don’t know who brought it in,” Greystripe said. His voice darkened. “But we might be able to guess.”

“It can just be an accident,” Fireheart protested. “No one smelled it until Cinderpaw did, and she’s a seer apprentice.”

Greystripe and Ravenwing shared a look. Fireheart’s claws unsheathed in anxiety trying desperately to disguise itself as frustration. He forcibly withdrew them and walked along in silence.

Snakerocks was, reasonably, a good distance away from camp. They ended up running to conserve time and it still took a while to get to it. Fireheart remembered the times he had been warned as an apprentice to not go near the place alone. Even grown warriors were nervous to approach it when the weather was warmer and drier. Apparently snakes liked the daylight better, but there was still a risk of accidental encounters at any time, so the amount of times Fireheart had been to Snakerocks was, though uncountable to him, barely above the number of legs he had.

They reached Snakerocks both slower and quicker than he would have liked. The toms stood together in a row, silently staring at the piles of stones lazily leaning against each other, casual in their secrecy about the dangers curled up within them.

“So what’s our first move?” Greystripe asked, turning his head to Ravenwing, which Fireheart copied.

Ravenwing clicked his teeth together and then nodded to himself. “Spread out and see if you can scent anything. Prey especially. Fireheart, go around this way—” He waved his tail to the left “—and Greystripe, take the other way. I’ll circle directly around the rocks.” As both of his friends opened their mouths to argue, he held up a paw. “I’ve got the quickest reflexes of all of us, and the best ears. If anyone’s got a chance to avoid being bitten, it’s me. Plus, this is my idea. I don’t want you two in danger for my own hunches.”

Reluctantly, the others split up and went their directed ways while Ravenwing, dutifully keeping his steps light and his ears perked, closed in on the rocks and sniffed. Fireheart stayed exactly on the border of the clearing, using his nose and tasting the air to pick up the slightest inkling of suspicious scents. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find anything but the smell of earth and wilting plants. He made a face, not sure whether to be genuinely frustrated or relieved.

Greystripe met up with him at the halfway point, and Ravenwing finished his search quickly, getting away from the rocks at a smart trot.

“What did you smell?” he asked immediately.

Fireheart grimaced. “Just plants and soil.”

“Same here,” Greystripe said. “What about you?”

“Nothing but snakes.” Ravenwing’s eyes sparked. “And that’s important. You didn’t smell a single animal? No prey, no predators?”

Greystripe and Fireheart shook their heads.

“I thought so,” Ravenwing muttered. “Then I’m on the right trail.”

“What trail is that?” Fireheart asked, slightly afraid of the answer.

Ravenwing’s face was grave. “How did a rat get bitten if no prey comes around here?”

Greystripe narrowed his eyes.

“Maybe—” Fireheart piped up quickly. “Maybe a snake wandered into the woods and bit a rat then.”

“No, that wouldn’t work either,” Greystripe said. “Because the rat would’ve been eaten by the snake at that point.”

“It’d be looking for food, not a threat,” Ravenwing agreed.

“And a rat isn’t so stupid that it’d show up here to pick a fight or get eaten…”

“So someone would have had to bring it here—”

“Or chase it—”

“Or chase it, and let it get bitten—”

“And scare off the snake!”

“Exactly.” Ravenwing bobbed his head almost eagerly. “It’d be so easy to catch one and bring it here alive, and then chase it into the rocks. I bet the snakes were barely awake, so they got startled and bit on impulse.”

“Then the rat ran out again and died?” Greystripe proposed, to another fierce nod from Ravenwing. “And then the hunter brought it to camp.”

“And that rat was specifically going to Bluestar, wasn’t it?” Ravenwing said to Fireheart.

Fireheart was nowhere near as enthusiastic as his friends as he mumbled, “It was.”

“And with the calls to the border…” Ravenwing shivered, but spoke steadily. “Bluestar’s in trouble. I’m certain of it now.”

“We should ask Swiftpaw who told him to bring it to her,” Greystripe said, oblivious to a sagging Fireheart. “That was probably the hunter.”

“Although he might have had someone else tell him to do it too,” Ravenwing mused, equally unaware. His tail danced around behind him. “And if that’s the case, it was probably Darkstripe as a proxy.”

Greystripe growled and flexed his claws into the loose soil. “I’ll bet you it is.”

“This is ridiculous.”

The toms blinked in surprise and looked down at Fireheart. He was trying to speak calmly, but the fur along his back was flaring up and his tail shook with tension.

“No one would do that,” he said, looking between his friends. “No one would set out to hurt Bluestar. She’s a good leader and a good cat. Who would want to– to…”

He struggled, but he couldn’t finish the sentence. He just kept looking from Greystripe to Ravenwing and back to Greystripe, desperate for a reasonable explanation.

Ravenwing’s energy left him, his eyes half-shut in glumness. “There’s only one cat that would benefit from her dying.”

“And from Lionface dying,” Greystripe said, just as subdued. “And from Redtail falling into the Gorge when no one else saw.”

“Tigerclaw,” finished Ravenwing.

Fireheart shook his head, like that would negate everything. “No, it– that can’t be. He’s not like that. He’s kind, and he cares about the Clan.”

“I’m sure he does,” Ravenwing said softly. “But he’s the only connection between all of these things.”

“He isn’t!” Fireheart’s claws unsheathed again. “We don’t know who brought the rat in! It could have been anybody!”

“Look—” Greystripe started.

Ravenwing cleared his throat.

Greystripe glanced at him, took a breath and started again, speaking more gently. “Look, I know he’s your dad and everything, I get it. I don’t like this any more than you do. But who else would benefit from this? And why isn’t Tigerclaw himself dead, if someone other than him wanted to be deputy and had already taken out Lionface and Redtail?”

“Redtail fell,” Fireheart snapped, a more detached part of him dryly surprised at his tone. “A rogue pushed him. That’s what Tigerclaw said happened.”

“That’s the thing,” Ravenwing said. “‘Tigerclaw said’. No one else saw.”

Fireheart opened his mouth to argue, but his throat failed him. He moved his mouth several times, fighting for words that would not come. His friends looked at each other and then him with sympathy. He viciously hated that. But all he could do was shake his head, his nose gradually pointing to the ground.

There was a painfully stretched-out moment of silence before a paw carefully landed on Fireheart’s shoulder. By its size, it was Ravenwing.

“You can ask Swiftpaw about the rat yourself,” Ravenwing said softly, and Fireheart looked up—yes, it was his paw. “Just ask him who gave it to him and who told him to bring it to Bluestar. That’s our main mystery right now.”

“If it’s not Tigerclaw, or Darkstripe, or someone else he could have ordered, then we can find another lead,” Greystripe added.

“Either way, we can agree that Bluestar’s in trouble.” Ravenwing removed his paw. “Cinderpaw saw it when she ran out and got hurt, right? That’s the story I heard.”

“She did,” Fireheart mumbled without thinking. “And she and Yellowfang keep having visions of Bluestar. They think there’s danger in the Clan.”

Greystripe’s face hardened. “Why didn’t you tell us that?”

Fireheart sighed and raised his head. “They didn’t want me to say anything. But I guess it’s appropriate now.” He perked up a little at a realization. “They don’t know what the danger is, or who it could be. So maybe—”

He faltered at the solemn expressions on his friends’ faces and hung his head again.

“StarClan wouldn’t lead us wrong,” Ravenwing said after a moment, seemingly to Greystripe. “If the seers are having visions, then we can’t reasonably deny this.” After a pause, he spoke again, directed at Fireheart. “We need to keep this a secret until we’re completely certain about it. Don’t tell Tigerclaw, especially.”

Fireheart’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

“I’m going to keep doing some thinking and looking things over,” Ravenwing continued when it became clear that Fireheart wasn’t going to respond. “The two of you, just be casual. Do your tasks and eat your prey. And Greystripe, be more subtle about Sunningrocks. I know you’re worried about Silverstream, but—”

“No, I know.” Greystripe sighed. “Bluestar found me out. She told me to stay away from there.” His tone lightened a little. “Apparently Fireheart admitted everything.”

Fireheart, relieved for any distraction, lifted his head again. “She asked me, yeah, but she wasn’t mad. She said she went through the same thing with Silverstream’s uncle.”

“Really?” Ravenwing leaned forward in interest. “How have we never heard about this?”

“ThunderClan kept it a secret,” Fireheart said. “RiverClan knows about it.”

“So that’s what Silverstream was talking about,” Greystripe almost whispered, eyes wide in understanding. Louder, he continued, “Once she said something about her uncle doing what we were doing. She didn’t elaborate—I don’t think she really wanted to talk about it.”

“Well then, I’m amazed that Bluestar even told Fireheart.” Ravenwing looked down at the ginger tom in question. “But then again, you seem to have a knack for getting people to open up.”

Fireheart twitched his whiskers with little enthusiasm. “I guess so.”

“Oh! Then—” Greystripe stomped a paw on the ground, a bit of dust and earth scattering. “Fireheart, maybe you could talk to Tigerclaw and see if you can get anything out of him. If he’d tell anyone anything important, it’d be you.”

“Woah, hold on.” Ravenwing’s ears turned back.

Greystripe belatedly realized his mistake and hurried to add, “But, I mean, not that you should, you don’t have to, it’s just a suggestion, I, uh—” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Sorry.”

“No…” Fireheart’s eyes unfocused as he thought unhappily. “I do want to talk to him. I won’t say anything about this, I can promise that. But…I’ll talk to him.” His eyes cleared again and he met Ravenwing’s. “And I’ll find out myself what he’s thinking.”

Greystripe relaxed his fur.

Ravenwing looked both relieved and worried at the same time, which was quite the combination. “Alright. Then Tigerclaw and Swiftpaw are your mission. Is that okay?”

“It is,” Fireheart said.

“Then I’ll keep looking around,” Ravenwing said. “Greystripe, can you be on standby to cover for us if we need you to? You wouldn’t be able to check the border as much, but—”

“I can do that.” Greystripe nodded firmly. “I’m doing what Bluestar said and keeping away. I’ll check in a few days and leave it there. Should I be in camp more, or just in a certain area where you can find me?”

Fireheart didn’t hear what Ravenwing replied with. His eyes were unfocused again, his mind on Tigerclaw and his task ahead.

They were mistaken. They had to be.

[gayforjosephquinn]

can i request a auther Havisham x m reader where the reader gets beaten instead of auther by compesyson(I don't know how to spell his name lol) maybe because he caught auther and the reader kissing and auther holds his boyfriend and treats his wounds❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Arthur Havisham Comforting an Injured S/O HCs: Hurt/Comfort

This is a Certified Compeyson Hate blog

Warnings: Abuse, non-graphic description of injuries, blood, Compeyson (he deserves his own warning tbh) | Spoilers | Requests are closed!

You were searching for Arthur, hoping to talk to him about why he had been borrowing money

The man of the hour came stumbling back to his flat, where he greeted you with slurred speech

Due to his inebriation, you decided to can the conversation

Removing his coat and boots, you help guide him to his bed.

"Y/N, lay with me," Arthur whined, tugging on your sleeve

Of course you couldn't refuse him like this

Settling on the cheap mattress, he unceremoniously threw himself over you, not caring for anything but your presence

With his warmth enveloping you and running your hands through his lovely curls, sleep almost overtook you

almost

That was until Compeyson threw open the door, the sound popping your bubble of domestic bliss

Even in his drunken state, Arthur still jolted at the slam.

Time blurred

Compeyson picking Arthur up, leading him to the wall opposite of you, yelling, a large hand on the nape of your neck, seering pain, tears

Eventually, the crack of Compeyson's belt ceased, leaving only your's and Arthur's choked sobs filling the tense silence.

Hands grabbed at your shoulder, causing you to flinch

Lowering himself to your level, Arthur stared into your eyes

He continued sobbing as he pressed your forehead against his, causing more tears to fall onto the blankets below you.

Few words were exchange--Arthur helped you to a small wooden chair, removing your bloodied shirt, dabbing a small cloth into a bowl of warm water as he cleaned your injuries, then later, antiseptic

Every hiss or wince that left your mouth was followed by a soft kiss to your shoulder, neck, and face with a whispered, "I'm so sorry, I'm almost done, love. You're doing great."

After the two of you had shed all your tears and cleaned your wounds, Arthur led you back to his bed, laying on his back while you rested your head on his chest

A/N: Thank you so much for all the requests! I promise I'm trying to work on them! Hope you enjoyed

[streets-in-paradise]

Fate - Chucky (2021) Oneshot

Word Count 1.8 K

Characters: Junior Wheeler, Jake Wheeler, Chucky/Charles Lee Ray. 

Warnings: References to greek tragedies. 

Summary: Chucky is stucked on a literature class of Junior and Jake. He hopes to get a good chance of reading them both together and evaluate the most fitting candidate for his plans, but some things he didn't sign for emerge through it.

Tags: @losersclubisms​​

The hyperfocusing on sports that Logan demanded of his son had some consequences on the academic balance. The exigences of competition would take a lot of time from Junior and it wasn’t weird to see a parade of personal teachers coming to help him prepare for some exams. His literature teacher was particularly nice with Jake as well, even when he wasn’t her student. Coming back after his tragically circunstancial move to his uncle’s house showed her a situation that made her worried for both kids. Caring for them was part of the work of any good teacher, she couldn’t and wouldn’t be a mere reciter of curricular content. 

“ Do you want to join us?” She asked directly to the boy at one time she saw him passing by when her class was about to start. “ You have to take the test as well, it’s good for both.” 

Junior wasn’t very fond of that plan, but he wouldn’t complain. If she would comment on that with her father he would get in trouble for making him look bad. Jake stayed, but sat away from him placing Chucky in the middle like a divisory line. 

It was a strange attitude that the teacher noticed, he sat the doll as if he would be a third student. 

“ As I was saying, we are going to follow the thread that connects the pre and post trojan war related tragedies together. It’s important for me that you understand things in context and it will make it way easier for you on the test. Greek tragedies are a chain of events that follow families through generations. Self fulfilled curses tied one with another in deliciously cruel ironies. “ 

“ I’m not going to get lost, I read the Percy Jackson books as a kid.” Junior interrupted. “ I know enough about the gods and some about a few mortals.” 

“ Riordan is to greek classics what Disney is to the Grimm Brothers: kid friendly versions that serve as a great startpoint to get little ones familiarized and invested. “ She kindly corrected, trying to show she was not being demeaning of his contribution. “ Those books wash out a lot of darker details that can be hard to swallow for our modern tastes. You will see it in our first play for today, ‘ Iphigenia in Aulis’. It tells the story of how the greeks managed to sail to Troy after a long wait in the port of Aulis because of bad weather. The huge army gathered was growing impatient because many days were passing and the winds wouldn’t blow, so their leaders consulted a seer and he had terrible news for their commander in chief, King Agamemnon of Mycenae.” 

“ …The goddess of hunting was angry at him because he killed a sacred deer.” Jake followed, recuperating scratches of the few things he got to hear in class during his short span of attention. “ She was stopping the winds to paralyze the ships and the seer said that she would only let them leave if the king would sacrifice his daughter.” 

“ … His favorite daughter, princess Iphigenia.”  She continued, then smiled in approbation before getting into the more proper explanation. “ She was the eldest of her house, around your age when the play takes place. The argument focuses on the trick that leads to her sacrifice.” 

Junior was deeply disturbed, surprisingly even more than his cousin. 

“ Wait… Did he kill his daughter?” 

“ In some versions he gives the deathly strike by his own hand, but Euripides says that the goddess had mercy on her at the last hour and took her away before she could be killed.” 

“ Is there any version where the king thinks ‘ Well, maybe I will not kill my daughter to save my ass’?” 

“ It’s his reputation, Junior.” She corrected, trying to help him challenge what she thought was just a modern bias. “ He was the King of Kings among greeks, he would have lost everything if he would have refused to give Iphigenia when all the other parents were giving their sons for the war. A war that he and his brother cared about the most, since they gathered all the greek forces through an old oath.” 

“ Well, I think Agamemnon should have killed himself before making his girl die for his pride. He could have offered Artemis his own life, sacrifice himself and leave his brother to lead the army, but I bet he didn’t do that because he liked the power. A good father would have died for her, not sacrificed her to his ambition.” 

“ Woow, woow, woow. Slow down, Achilles.” She stopped him with a subtle mock. “ I have to play devil’s advocate on Agamemnon because you have to get all the viewpoints if you want to understand what’s next. Queen Clytemnestra, the girl’s mother, never forgave her husband and that wound sealed the fate of the entire family. “ 

Junior was too invested in the story because he couldn’t help feeling identified with Iphigenia, seeing in both of her parents his own. The descriptions of the bond between the queen and her princess during the Aulis events reminded him of the special bond he had with his own mother. In Agamemnon he would see Logan killing a little bit of him every single day for the sake of his wishes. A child sentenced to death for the achievement of the father’s goals, the perfect son he was forced to be in sacrifice of his truest self to please him. 

When the narration and discussion advanced another argument started because, on the topic of Clytemnestra’s revenge and its consequences, Jake showed understandment of Electra and Orestes. As if the cousins could never possibly agree on anything, they exposed their points to one another in a pretty heated tone that showed too much investment for a simple literature lesson. 

“ The queen abandoned her other two children for the one she lost. They were her siblings, they had lost Iphigenia too, but she only cared for her pain over her one dead daughter.” Jake was attempting to correct one of Junior’s interventions. “ Her grief made her abusive, Electra and Orestes needed a mother but she could only be Iphigenia’s. For the love of her memory she made their lives miserable.” 

He was thinking of his father, projecting into the characters the situation he faced with him after his mother died. Lucas focused too much on his pain of husband, abandoning himself to grief and neglecting him in every possible way. Junior was indignant to hear that the younger siblings sided with the father, the killer of their sister, but he had no idea of what living alone for years with a parent consumed by grief was. 

“ Agamemnon manipulated his children from beyond his grave to kill their mother… How was it even possible? Clytemnestra did nothing wrong, she avenged their sister and released them from their prick of a father who would have killed any of them if their names would have been on the list. if I was Orestes, I would have killed him.” 

Chucky observed the situation very carefully, so fortunate for his planning that he was barely able to believe his luck. Murder was being discussed and both kids were opening crossed point views,  Junior being the surprise of the evening. 

He wasn’t expecting the self satisfaction to end in the way your explanation almost killed it. 

“ Agamemnon is for them the absent father. In absence he is idealized, Electra was barely a little girl the last time she saw him and Orestes practically a baby boy. Their dad left on a killing spree for ten years, a time in which they knew nothing about him.” 

It hitted too close to home to not get an involuntary reaction. If the kids were thinking of their parents, Chucky got reminded of his children and the void he left with his absence.To some extent, he wondered if they had fabricated any idealized images of him that he could appeal to in case of need. Surprisingly, the class was giving him a lot to think about. 

The doll moved his head and blinked his eyes to the teacher, who wondered if it was somehow broken. 

" Is that normal?" 

" I like to imagine that, when he does that, it means he is getting invested. " Jake lied carefully. " It gets activated too easily, most people find it creepy." 

She did find it disturbing, but wouldn't want to admit it. 

" We can leave the topic of the children for later. Commiting either parricide or matricide is the breaking of a fundamental law on greek lore, to the eyes of ancient greeks that makes you a monster. Things get more complicated for Orestes after that, but there are other aspects you have to understand first. Let's get into some character analysis of a very important player on Agamemnon's downfall.  He didn't come back alone from his victory in Troy, he had Cassandra."

" The girl who was taken for crazy because she told the truth. '' Junior added, commenting from his bits of overall knowledge. " Nobody believed her and she ended up the only survivor of her whole family. " 

" The cursed seer, exactly. " She confirmed. " During the fall of Troy she was raped by Ajax the lesser, but Agamemnon took definitive possesion of her. She arrives in Mycenae as a slave, her will and body belong to the man who slaughtered everyone she cared about. The ironic point here is that Agamemnon has no idea that, from the moment he crosses his gates with her, his fate is sealed. " 

" Life is short... hahaha" the recording voice of the doll called. 

Chucky couldn't help thinking of Nica, who he possessed ríght after finding her pervert doctor on the act. Whose entire family he killed, who he pushed to be seen as crazy. 

" Well, little buddy. In that you are ríght. Life was, indeed, short for Agamemnon after that. " She continued in a mock, marveling at how on point was the strange recorded catchphrase of the doll. " The interesting thing I find here is how, in his lack of self awareness, Agamemnon puts two women he wronged deeply in the way of each other to indirectly fulfill that dark fate. Cassandra knows that he is going to die and her warning triggers everything. For the first time ever she can weaponize her curse and she does it even though she knows it's going to bring her death too. Clytemnestra is her enemy, her eventual killer, but there is a silent complicity in wanting that man dead that goes beyond that. " 

" She has nothing left to live for, he took everything from her and when he ran out of things he took her. " Jake followed. " That's devastating, she is not a person anymore at that point, but a thing. "

" Nothing left to live, nothing left to lose." Junior concluded. " Agamemnon you dumb asshole, how could you think that was going to work? "

Chucky's mind was circumstantially tangled in paranoia, feeling as if her words were direct warnings to him. It couldn't be, she was just giving the damn class to the kids. 

Whatever that was, it saved her life. He could have pulled on her a deathly trick as soon as she would be alone exactly like when he killed the housekeeper, but he was too haunted by the moment to try anything. 

[alexagirlie]

September Song Challenge

Day 11: a song that reminds you of fall

Ghosts and Monsters by Saint Chaos Fandom: The Last Kingdom Rating: T tags/warnings: ghosts. spirits. seer sihtric. spooky.

"Sihtric, you will go no further, not until we are at the hall and inside." Sihtric felt his heart plummet as they stopped on a cliff overlooking the skalds hall and Uhtred ordered him to stay behind. "At all times, you will remain unseen."

"Yes, Lord." He hoped that he would be ordered to watch from a distance but he would do as his lord commanded. He had never told his Lord about his curse of seeing spirits and graveyards always kept the worst of them.

"If the dead man rises, when he returns to his grave, you will keep watching."

So in the graveyard it was. Sihtric held back a shiver. "What if he sees me, Lord? What if… what if he knows that I'm near?" If he was truly a dead man then he would see. They always noticed him.

"Then you shit yourself." Clapa, the big bastard piped in, laughter clear in his voice. Sihtric scowled at him.

Uhtred answered Sihtric as though Clapa had not butt in. "You will remain unseen and keep watch." There was no room for error. Sihtric would just have to live with the nightmares that always followed him after being in a graveyard.

"Yes, Lord." Sihtric answered and dismounted his horse to lead it into the bushes as the rest of the men continued down into the valley.

The first couple of hours of waiting were not too bad as Sihtric watched from the cover of the forest and did his best to ignore all the spirits he could see haunting their graves.  They hovered around nearly every grave there, trying to get his attention but he knew that if he acknowledged them it would only serve to make them stronger. 

Strangely there was no spirit hovering over a grave near the center of the graveyard. The earth looked recently disturbed and Sihtric guessed this must be the grave belonging to the man they were there to see.

As night fell the presence of the spirits there grew louder and more persistent. Breathing in his ears, labored and raspy, the sound of a dying man taking his last breath. Footsteps crunching on dried grass, the feeling of an enemy warrior sneaking up on him from his blind spot. They spoke to him, whispered words at first then louder and louder until they were screaming at him. Promises of glory and valor, of death and ruin. He ignored it all.

Everything goes quiet when Sihtric spots Uhtred, Finan, Clapa and Aethelwold leave the hall, led by a tall, thin, bald man. Whoever he was, the spirits did not like him, they seemed almost… afraid of him.

He couldn't hear what was being said but he watched with wide eyes as a man was dragged into the circle fighting and screaming and had his throat slit. Most likely an offering to the gods. Sihtric watched as his spirit immediately rose from his body and began to circle around the gathered men, agitated and vengeful. He shivered.

He waited for a spirit to come forward and go into the grave but nothing happened… then the ground moved and heaved and a long bony hand shot out of the earth, followed by a bony man.

It was strange… not that Sihtric had ever seen someone come back from the dead but he would assume they would need their spirit to do it. 

The dead man gave Uhtred whatever message the lord had been summoned to hear then fell back to the earth, a corpse once again. Some of the men moved to begin putting him back under the ground and Sihtric watched more closely to see if a spirit would leave the man's body now that he was being reburied. Maybe he just couldn't see a spirit when it re entered their body. 

He waited and waited. The man had been put back in his grave and the graveyard was now empty of the living and still no sign of a spirit. Sihtric crept closer, one foot placed after the other, staying low to the ground and making not a sound. 

The other spirits that haunted the graveyard had started to whisper to him again. So low that he could not even hear the words spoken, had he been inclined to listen. If he had he would have heard them warning him to keep back, to watch, that it was all a lie but he wasn't listening and so crept, closer and closer.

tags: @softhecreator @gatoenlaciudad @almostg

[starlitangels]

Lord and Lady - Part 2

This one’s POV swaps around a bunch. Who’s POV is it will be in italics at the beginning of their section I wasn’t intending for this story to get a Part 2 but I got obsessed with the concept and I think I’m gonna keep going with a Part 3 and at least 4. We’ll see about what happens beyond that. 3.6k words (Part 1)

—

—

Baaabe

“Who are they?” I asked, peering over Asher’s shoulder at the worn-down photo he occasionally slipped out of a pocket. It had always disappeared too fast for me to catch a glimpse of what was on it.

It was a small photo of four people. I recognized Asher and his beta, Milo. But the other two were strangers. One a tall, muscular man with short, straight brown hair and the most vibrant green eyes I’d ever seen. The other not quite as tall in a tank top, torn jeans, and combat boots with their exposed skin littered in too many scars to count.

“The wolves we lost to Quinn,” Asher growled, shoving the photo back in his pocket.

“David and Tank,” I said. He nodded. “Your alpha.” Another tight nod. “I’m sorry.”

Asher growled and jumped off the couch like I’d struck him. “What’s there to be sorry for? The Imperium takes and takes and takes and gives nothing back. We’ve all lost people to it.”

“I’m sorry because I know how it feels!” I retorted sharply. Loudly. Leaping off the couch myself to stand toe-to-toe with him. “You lost your best friend who was also your alpha—I lost both my younger siblings! You’re not the only one in this room who’s lost family, Asher!”

He went rigid. “What?” His voice had gone soft.

Around a clenched jaw, I explained, “Both of my siblings fell prey to Mass-Maker vampires. My younger brother was jumped in the street. My baby sister went to a new dentist who was a Mass-Maker in disguise. I haven’t seen them in years. Don’t even know if they’re still alive.” I closed my eyes and shook my head. “If they are, I don’t know if seeing them again would even be safe for me. No powers.” I met Asher’s sharp amber gaze. “You’re right. The Imperium takes and takes with no return. It’s our time to take from them.”

He stared at me.

Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock! Knuckles echoed off the door to Asher’s suite. He slid around me fluidly and went to answer it. He bent to look through the peephole.

“Oh. It’s you,” he said flatly as he opened the door. “What do you want?”

Xavier stood there, hands in his pockets. The symbol of the Imperium pinned to his shirt next to the house crest of Lord Kyne.

“I told you I’d come get you both for a proper meeting with Lord Kyne and Lady Tanner today,” Xavier said.

“Well, you can tell Lord Kyne and Lady Tanner that they are more than welcome to kiss my—”

“Ash,” I interrupted. “Maybe don’t piss off a pair of Seers?”

“Listen to the human, alpha,” Xavier said. “They’re right.” He smirked. “Not that I’m surprised. Humans without magic always know when to submit.”

Asher snarled. “I’m an alpha. I don’t submit.”

“Asher,” I warned.

He clenched his jaw. “Fine. We’ll finish getting ready.”

“You can wait in the other suite if you want,” I said, indicating to Xavier the door that led to my suite. He gave me a polite nod and followed my pointing into the other suite. He shut the door behind him, giving us privacy.

“I’m going to go put my nicer shirt on,” Asher said, stomping toward the bedroom of his suite. I gave him a thumbs-up. The door slammed shut behind him. I stood alone in the living room of Asher’s suite, rocking up onto the balls of my feet and back down again, debating what to do. Wait for Asher to change and then swap him so I could put my nicer clothing on in the privacy of the bedroom, or just change out here in the living room. All of my bags were here. On the flight here, he’d made it very clear to me that we needed to stick close together for our own safety.

I ultimately decided just to strip off the T-shirt I’d had on and switch it for a polo shirt while standing in the living room. It didn’t take long. Nor did fixing up the last little bits of my appearance to at least be presentable for high-ranking members of the Imperium.

Asher emerged from his bedroom, hair damp and a different shirt on. He’d probably run his head under the sink to get his warm black curls under control.

“Do I even dare ask how I look?” he grumbled.

I shrugged. “I think you look nice.”

“High praise.”

“Cut the sarcasm. I’m trying to help,” I snapped.

He gave me a look. A few weeks ago I never would have dared raise my voice or use a sharp tone with him. But he didn’t reprimand me or try to put me in my place. There was almost a wry amusement in the twist of his mouth. “Fine,” he muttered. “Are you ready? I’m sure we don’t want to keep the lord and lady waiting.” The sarcasm wasn’t lost on me.

I smiled. “I’m ready.”

Asher stalked over to the door to my suite and knocked on it. “Let’s go,” he said.

Xavier appeared within moments. “Outstanding. Follow me. We have a car this time.”

“Greeeaaat,” Asher drawled.

—

Angel

I sat, curled up on the bed, staring blankly at the wall. I’d turned the TV off before Damien’s rally had even started. I picked at my nails. He wouldn’t even notice if I told him he’d done a great job with his speech and hadn’t watched it.

I knew Damien fought hard to be where he was. I knew he kept fighting hard for he and I to even keep being together in a world that would always see me as less than even a second-rate citizen. In a world flooded to the brim with magic, someone like me—someone with none—was barely even viewed as human. Damien and I had become friends by chance as children. My parents had worked for his mother, Sofia, when she was Queen-Imperial, and we’d quite literally bumped into each other. We were five. I’d been at the Imperial palace with my parents in the childcare room. I snuck out. Ran into Damien. And I’d snuck around the palace ever since. Stealing him from lessons and goofing off.

We were in love, once. As we got older, those childhood feelings of friendship had blossomed into something deeper. I loved him so dearly.

But that was gone. I still loved him, and I probably always would. But the closeness—the emotional vulnerability and intimacy we’d shared—it had vanished the moment Damien’s mother passed away. He wasn’t the passionate, kind, sweet boy I’d grown up teasing. He’d turned into a tyrannical, iron-fisted man who wouldn’t let me go. Wouldn’t let me budge an inch.

My phone started ringing, jarring me from the ever-darkening thought spiral I’d found myself in more and more often lately.

I recognized the name that came up from the contacts list in my phone. Not my personal list, of course, but Damien had put a special folder of contacts in my phone of everyone in the Imperial government so that I would know when to answer, and when not to.

The contact name came up in red. Don’t answer the red names, Damien had said.

I snatched my phone off the bed Damien and I shared—so cold, even with a Fire Elemental sleeping just beside me every night—and slid the answer option.

“Lord Kyne. A pleasure to hear from you. How may I help you?”

—

Everly

Morgan chuckled, running a hand up and down my half-exposed thigh. “A pleasure to hear from you as well, Your Grace. It’s been too long, truly.”

I heard the king’s consort’s voice vaguely on the other end of the call, but couldn’t make out any words.

A smile grew on Morgan’s face. “Indeed. Listen, Your Grace, how do you feel about a little trip up north? A visit to me and Everly, as it were?” He paused, listening to Damien’s consort. He gave me a look with a mischievous smirk. “Oh, you don’t think Damien will let you leave?” He started to laugh. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing, Your Grace. But... I think you’ll find Damien can do nothing to stop you, this time.” He paused briefly. “Because he can do nothing to stop me. I’m the only person in this government who scares him. I can do... Whatever. I. Want,” he continued flippantly. “And Damien can’t do a damn thing to stop me. Even if he could, he wouldn’t. If I say I want you to come up north whether he likes it or not, I think you’ll find he’ll let you.”

I leaned a little closer to his head to hear the consort say, “I think you underestimate how possessive he is.”

Morgan met my eyes, but stared right through me, his irises glowing a slight shade of violet. His smiled widened.

“No, my suzerain,” he replied with a chuckle. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Have you forgotten I’m a Seer, Your Grace?” He kept laughing. “I know exactly which pressure point to push to get him to let you go for a few days.”

The consort was silent for several long moments, during which Morgan gave me a wink and continued stroking my leg.

“Get me out of here,” they said.”

Morgan started to laugh in earnest. “Oh, with pleasure, my suzerain,” he replied. “We’ll see you in a couple hours, then.”

“See you then.”

Morgan hung up the phone, still grinning, and slid it into his inner jacket pocket. He turned his gaze on me. “We’re going to have more company, gumdrop,” he said.

I smiled. “Delightful. It’s ben a while since we hosted guests properly.”

“Speaking of...” Morgan said quietly as a pair of auras came into range on the other side of the closed door.

A knock echoed off the wood. I slid off Morgan’s lap and back into my own chair. “Enter, Xavier,” I called.

The door opened. There was Xavier with the shifter alpha—Asher, I think his name was—and the unempowered he was in love with. But hadn’t admitted it yet. The human felt the same but also had said nothing to him.

“Good morning,” Morgan greeted with that tricky smirk of his. The one that showed everyone he was always up to something. Always had a string to pull and an angle to play. The smirk that showed everything was a game to him, and he intended to win.

Asher glared at the table between us and them in the door. “What’s all this?” he growled.

Morgan’s arm swept the spread as though the answer should have been obvious. “Breakfast,” he replied.

Xavier indicated for Asher and the human to come in. They preceded him and then he stood at attention before the closed door. Relaxed, but at attention. Asher and the human sat across the table from me and Morgan.

“Nice to see you minding your own personal space,” Asher drawled to me.

“Asher!” the human warned, looking terrified.

Their expression morphed to one of confusion as I started laughing. “Oh, this one is funny, darling,” I said to Morgan before turning my attention back to Asher. “Why, if you weren’t an alpha, Asher, I’d have half a mind to keep you. Hire you on as one of our security team.” I rested my cheek on the heel of my palm. “I do love a good laugh.”

“Now now, my dear,” Morgan said, his hand under the table sliding possessively high up my leg. “I’m sure Asher here has plenty of business to attend to back in Dahlia once these two return home.”

“I knooow. But apart from Xavier none of the rest of the security team has any sense of humor.” I lounged back dramatically on my chair.

“I don’t think he meant it as a joke,” the human informed me under their breath

“I know,” I repeated, giving both of them a smirk. I gestured to the table. “Now can we eat? I’m famished.”

Morgan chuckled. “Yes. Please. Let’s eat. Dish up.”

At that moment, his phone started to ring. I groaned as he pulled it out of his suit coat pocket. “Darling, please. Not at breakfast.”

Morgan was already getting out of his seat, moving to answer the phone. “It’s Damien, gumdrop. I must answer it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Make him wait. It’s more fun that way.”

“Would that I could. But it’s time to get the ball rolling.” He kissed my hairline. “Be back in a minute.” He answered the phone with a, “Morgan Kyne,” and dodged out of the doorway Xavier had cleared for him. The door shut.

I sighed and crossed my legs dramatically, leaning back. “Ugh. If the consort wasn’t arriving, he’d be getting hell from me for abandoning me at the breakfast table,” I muttered.

Asher and the human exchanged a look.

The unempowered human leaned forward, folding their arms on the table. “Why do you pretend to be little more than a trophy wife even though you’re his most trusted lieutenant?” they asked, seeming genuinely curious. “Everyone knows you’re ruthless and vicious—yet you act like... I don’t know...—like you want to be treated more like an object than a person.”

A smile formed on my mouth. “Ohhh, my dear, unempowered friend. I assure you, I am no wife, trophy or otherwise. But when you’re in the position I’m in, you find safety in pretending to be less than you are. In every aspect of who you are.” Including pretending to be an Illusory, I added silently. “Plus, then everyone underestimates you. No one who walked through the door to the reception chamber actually believes my reputation as Lord Kyne’s merciless lieutenant when they see me in his lap or on the arm of his chair in a dress that barely covers my modesty. All they see is an airheaded Illusory who’s just there to giggle and fawn over Morgan. And while he’s definitely a man worth fawning over, that’s not why I stand by his side for every meeting.”

“You’re a Seer too,” Asher said. I glanced over his head at Xavier, who was looking blankly into the middle distance, quietly thanking the Sovereigns that he already knew.

I adjusted my sitting position to meet Asher’s hard amber gaze with a straightened spine and smiled. “Clever wolf,” I crooned. “Told you you’d figure it out.”

Asher rolled his eyes. “Why are you and Lord Kyne still wasting time?”

“Oh, I assure you, we’re not. We got cogs in the machine moving the moment you left our audience chamber yesterday afternoon. The consort is arriving, Morgan has Damien on the phone—ah, sorry, the King-Imperial—and we are well on the way to putting some pressure on him.”

“You’re on a first-name basis with the King-Imperial?” Asher asked sarcastically.

“No one is, alpha,” I said. “But you’ll find that Morgan and I tend to be... brash. Dangerous. We can get away with it, when it comes to Damien.” I laughed. “He’s too scared of us to tell us off. As he should be. I mean, there’s only so much he can do when the only two Seers Obscurae in existence happen to be as... close as Morgan and I.”

“Wait—you’re Obscura too? How is it possible for there to be two in one lifetime?” Asher demanded.

“Pure dumb luck. Or unluck. Depends on your viewpoint.”

“Well. Certainly explains a lot about your and Lord Kyne’s personalities, given most Seers are dour, detached people,” Asher said.

The unempowered human raised a hand. “Hang on. Unempowered magic curriculum only covers basics. What’s a Seer Obscura?”

“I can See all futures but my own,” I explained. “Well, actually, my own, Morgan’s, and any other Obscura of other magical races I bump into. It’s rare to be Obscura—a person whose magic blocks them from being Seen in the time stream. The chance of an Obscura—already a rare phenomenon— to also be a Seer is astronomically small. Seers are the rarest magical race. The only other Seer Obscura that I.D.L.E. has on record lived two hundred years ago. The very chance of Morgan and I existing as we do in the same lifetime at nearly the same age? It should be damn near impossible.”

“... Oh.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Morgan came back in. “He agreed, gumdrop,” he announced, kissing my hairline again.

I beamed. “Really?”

“Well, I talked him into a corner. He realized he really had no choice.”

I laughed low in my throat. “Outstanding!” I raised a hand to catch Xavier’s attention. He looked to me immediately. “Tell Wexler to get our finest guest room prepared. We’re going to have a very important guest.”

“Yes, my lady.” Xavier bowed and rushed from the room.

“Mm. He is a good follower, isn’t he?” I mused to Morgan.

“Indeed. You do know how to pick them, my dear.” He set a hand on my knee and patted it. I chuckled. “Now,” he continued, “I’m famished. Let’s eat.”

—

Angel

I left the Imperial royal compound before Damien got back from some other... something. Meeting. Rally. There was always this, that, or the other thing keeping him busy. Keeping him away. I could barely remember the last time we’d actually talked for more than just a few minutes before going to sleep. I barely talked to anyone, anymore. I left a note on his pillow before I left our bedroom with a packed bag.

I love you. I’ll be back soon. ~Me

Slinging my backpack over my shoulder—my bigger suitcase had already been taken to the car—I slipped out of our bedroom without looking back.

“Your Grace,” the chauffeur sad as he opened the car door.

“Thank you, Dallas,” I said, ducking into the car.

“Of course.” He shut the door behind me.

Dallas was humanborn, and one of the only staff members I could always count on to be kind to me. A Freelancer who’d hid his powers for years—like a lot of them, if I understood correctly. And he treated me with respect and equality no matter what. He’d told me once that I reminded him of his family back home that the Imperium had torn him away from. I’d never breathed a word of that conversation to another soul, and I never would.

“Excited for the flight up north?” Dallas asked as he got into the driver’s seat and shut the door behind him.

“Excited to get out of the palace for a few days,” I muttered under my breath. I heard him chuckle.

“I don’t blame you. You really should engage more with His Majesty in public. Let him show you off at rallies and such.”

I scoffed so hard I hurt my throat. The car pulled out the garage and started heading for the private airstrip. “He’d never go for something like that,” I said.

“Well... you don’t know that for sure.”

“Yes, I do, actually.”

“If you say so.”

“Trust me, Dallas, the only reason he’s letting me leave the palace for this trip is because Lord Kyne and Lady Tanner essentially forced his hand and made him let me.”

“Alright, Your Grace.” He sounded like he didn’t believe me.

Dallas was a good man, but one whose belief in the equity of unempowered and empowered people sometimes blinded him to the reality of our nation. I didn’t push him on it.

I rolled up the divider between the front and back seats and played on my phone for the rest of the drive to the airstrip.

—

Baaabe

“When Kyne and Lady Tanner were talking about ‘the consort arriving’... they didn’t mean... that consort, did they?” I asked.

Asher shrugged. “Hell if I know,” he said.

“The King-Imperial’s consort hasn’t left Dahlia in years. Everyone knows he doesn’t let them leave.”

“Ye-up.”

“Does Kyne have that kind of sway? That he can make the King-Imperial let his consort leave the capital?

“Ye-up.” Asher nodded.

“So why are both of them humoring us if they have all this power?”

“They’re playing a power game with the King-Imperial. Showing him that he can’t touch them, I imagine. And...” Asher swore under his breath. “I guess he can’t. Two Seers who are Obsured from the time stream and have no love for the Imperium. Two... no wonder the King-Imperial is scared of them.” He shook his head and pushed a hand through his shaggy hair as he paced the suite. “I guess we gotta get fancied up for meeting the consort tonight.”

I pulled the plastic covering protecting the clothes Lady Tanner had instructed us to wear open. “Guess so,” I remarked.

Asher looked at the suit in the covering meant for him. There was disgust in the way his lip drew up over his teeth like he was going to snarl. “This is not a dinner I’m looking forward to. I hate wearing clothes like this.”

“Because they’re fancy?”

“Because they’re restrictive, and not conducive to shifting,” he corrected.

“Well... all we can do is survive tonight.”

“We can try.”

“Hey.” I set a hand gently on Asher’s arm. “It’ll be okay. We’re making progress, right?”

Hard amber stared down at me. Before the look softened a bit. “I guess so.”

“Get changed. I’ll do the same. We don’t want to jeopardize our shot of saving our world.”

“Guess not.” Asher snatched the hanger with the suit on it and stalked to his bedroom, shutting the door louder than necessary. I picked up the outfit that had been provided for me, sighed, and went back to my own suite to change.

—

Tag list: @zozo-01​ @thegoldenlittlerose​ @ryn-halo26​

[rpgadverts]

Site name and link: Charmingly Splendid, https://ecs.jcink.net Site genre: Based On TV Show Site info: Charmingly Splendid is a Charmed AU roleplay site based in modern era. Our plot started in between season 2 - 3, before we lost Prue Halliwell, most of the story from here onward is our creation so regardless if you've watched Charmed or not, you'll be able to make a character to fit into this new world we are creating. Your name: Paige Contact info: Discord Paige Yin#0119 Role(s) requested: All characters requested below would have plotting opportunities with my character(s), sometimes multiple of them and might be involving in some major site plot if you choose to use them that way. Some of these characters has a more complex plots that I'd like to work out, while others are more open. Either way, you may always contact me on Discord and we can hash out the ideas either of us have and make an even better, funner plot to write! Looking forward to chatting with you!

For Leo Wyatt This is more of a plot wanted than an actual wanted ad. So here we have Leo Wyatt, who I believe everyone following the Charmed franchise is familiar with! However, Leo we have here is not exactly like the Leo we have in the show. Our Leo here is a little rougher on the edges. He's still kind, he's still wise, and he still loves Piper more than anything in the world, but no one would call Leo a pacifist. His experience with Piper and realizing that the Elders' way being a little more than outdated, Leo isn't someone who would obey their rules and instructions anymore. Our Leo here is willing to fight. He will fight along with his charges if that's what he needs to do to protect them. He has also gained hand-to-hand combat skills and know how to use his Whitelighter powers in an offensive ways (like using orbs to levitate, orbing-telekinesis etc). So where did Leo learned all these skills you may ask, because from what we know of the Elders, they are not going to train their agents to fight. No, Leo actually found a band of Whitelighters who have been training to fight, Whitelighters who believe in more than just guiding and hiding behind witches' backs. This band of Whitelighters are called "The Rogues", and I am thinking there should have about 9 - 12 members. Let's keep it to a small group for now. I don't think The Rogues are evil, they just have their own freewill and have different believes than the Elders. They practice to fight and practice to use their powers to help the Greater Good in a more active ways than traditional Whitelighters would. They each could have their own stories that lead them down on this path.

"Lydia Martin" ❥ Original ❥ Whitelighter ❥ Open Age ❥ Strength: A Seer

Here we have "Lydia" which of course, does not have to be the name you pick. What I have in mind is that she has the ability of foresight and is able to warn the group about it, but if you'd like to change her ability, I'm open for it as well. Open personality and history, I am also leaving her age open, so she can be older or younger than Leo, but she would have been in the group longer than Leo because Leo was one of their newer recruit. I'd suggest the lovely Holland Roden as an FC, if you'd like to use someone else though, of course, feel free to run the idea by me. Suggested FC:  Holland Roden.

"Malia Tate" ❥ Original ❥ Whitelighter ❥ Open Age ❥ Strength: Snark and ways with words

Let me introduce you to "Malia", who I'd imaging being the snarky one in the group. I'd like her to be like, the trouble child of the Whitelighter and maybe even one of the few who has started with The Rogue. But like the other two, I'd leave her details to be mostly open so that you can have freedom to create this character. I'd definitely imagine her to be older than Leo, but still open age, open history, personality (if you do not like her to be snarky). Suggested FC is Shelley Hennig, you don't have to use her but I'd like to see more Teen Wolf actors/ actresses around the site and also for plotting purpose. Suggested FC:  Shelley Hennig.

"Cora Hale" ❥ Original ❥ Whitelighter ❥ Open Age ❥ Strength: Lie Detector

This is "Cora", which I imagine to be quite a young Whitelighter to have joined The Rogue, she is probably very skilled and very much in deep troubles that they recruited her early. Again, most of her details are open, including but not limited to her history, personalities, age. I'm thinking perhaps because she is able to detect lies that she was the first one to spoke up for Leo when he requested to join the group, and maybe the two of them have a bond (give Leo and Piper some dramas please!). Suggested FC is Adalaide Kane, but once again, you can use someone else, if you'd like to use anyone who has tons of GIFs with Leo's FC, Daniel Sharman, I'd be more than happy too. Suggested FC:  Adalaide Kane.

For Keenen Bauknecht

Kiefer Bauknecht ❥ Original ❥ Demon ❥ 406 years old ❥ Open profession Meet Kiefer, older twin brother of Keenen who's also the Demon of Dreams. His power is similar to Keenen's although with a little twist. Kiefer's ability would be able to influence dreams, however, when it comes to creating nightmare/ twisting a good dream into a nightmare, he is slightly weaker compared to Keenen.

Most of Keenen's history with his brother is listed on Keenen's app, long story short, the were born in currently Bamberg, Germany, from a long line of witches and warlocks. The family was nice and happy until they the witch hunt caught up to them and condemned them all to die. Burned to death, Keenen and Kiefer became a pair of demons. Their transformation and the abilities over someone's dreams are a manifestation of their mortal conjuring and hallucikinesis abilities.

Keenen and Kiefer are not in good term right now, Keenen is jealous of his big brother's goodness while he prefers to walk the darker path in life. All the rest that's not mentioned here or in the application, you'll have free reign to create.

Face claim, I'd recommend Lucas Bravo (esp if you're keen on having someone more mainstream and have tons of gifs), Janis Danner (since they are twin), Valentin D'Hoore and Giorgos Mavrogiannis.

For Haori Tsukioka This is a request for the Tsukioka siblings. Brief intro on the family, the Nomura is quite a renowned and respected family in Japan, especially in the Sorcery profession/ Sorcery world (魔道). Their father, Aoshi Tsukioka, is stern and a bit of a sexist/ genderist (this is quite common in the culture) so he wants to get a boy to pass his knowledge onto. To the girls, even though he doesn't have as high an expectation from them, he does expect a lot from them, like to excel academically and otherwise; their mother, Kiku Ohara, is a quiet lady, gentle but also obedient and careful. I can see her being very kind towards everyone equally, though she won't go against their father's words. Their parents have no love for each other, their marriage were arranged by their parents since before birth.

The Tsukioka has 4 children, 3 girls and a boy. Of course, the boy would be getting all the attentions from their father as well as all the responsibilities. I am playing the oldest sister, haori tsukioka, who's like a typical first born: confident, outspoken, protective, and like, never really fear of anything. She is pretty close with most of her siblings, but I am also open for conflict, perhaps one of her siblings (maybe the boy) dislike and envy her (and the rest of the girls) for the freedom he could never have.

If you have any questions about the plot, the family, the characters, Japanese's culture, feel free to poke me via DM or Discord.

Saori Tsukioka ❥ Original ❥ Witch/ Human ❥ 28/ 29 ❥ Middle Sister ❥ Open profession

I always feels Saori being a little more reserve and quiet as a middle sister. She probably wasn't too confident in her middle/ high school year and needed Haori to help her come out of her shell, but she can go the total opposite way as well! If she was the quiet/ shy one, I can see her having that big-sis worship syndrome and followed Haori to the States when her big sister had the chance. She could also be the down-to-earth one who constantly try to keep Haori from getting into troubles or spending too much.

FC suggestion:  Tao Tsuchiya(image), Kasumi Arimura, Emi Takei, Alice Hirose, Haruna Kawaguchi, Yuko Araki, Nana Komatsu.

Minori Tsukioka ❥ Original ❥ Witch/ Human ❥ 24/ 25 ❥ Youngest Sister ❥ Twin: Yuori Tsukioka ❥ Open profession

I can see Minori being the baby of the family, a little spoiled, a little whinny, but also pretty out-going and confident and kind of a wild child. I can see her being closest to Yuori and actually be able to understand her twin brother better than the other two sisters. If you want to take her and have drama, we can totally have her ran away with Yuori to the States and never wanted to go back home ever since.

FC suggestion:  Ayaka Miyoshi(image), Minami Hamabe, Sakurai Hinako, Ayami Nakajo, Suzu Hirose, Mei Nagano, Nana Komatsu.

[gnosticreign-a]

PIERRO, a history

The Eclipse Dynasty had been ruled over by several generations, with the second-to-last being that of the warrior-king Odinn Alberich and the wise queen Frea. Their two sons were Shankara and Hari, the former of which would eventually rise to be the final king of Khaenri'ah, and the latter his royal advisor.

Shankara's fighting spirit made him the favored son of Odinn, while Frea took Hari aside and taught him much about how people coexisted with the world beyond that of the gods. When the king and queen died of old age, Hari attempted to convince his brother to allow him to rule, fancying that the wiser of the brothers would be best for the throne, but Shankara refused him. Instead of executing his brother for such a treasonous suggestion, Shankara instead gave Hari the position of royal advisor.

For several years, the nation of Khaenri'ah thrived. The new queen was soon laden with child, of which seers said would lead a new age of Khaenri'ah. However, Shankara would be disappointed in the child being born a daughter; Hari, on the other hand, was delighted to see that his brother's progeny proved him to be a poor choice for the throne.

Soon, the alchemist known as Rhinedottir approached the king, seeking funding and materials to continue her experiments with various creatures around Teyvat. The king was pleased with her work, but Hari sought to dissuade his brother. "Won't these abominations spit upon Celestia's territory? To distort life itself, rather than remain satisfied with our automatons, would be asking for war!"

Shankara wouldn't hear of it, reminding Hari that it was his decision and generosity that allowed him the mere position to speak ---- but not the guarantee that his advice would be taken. "You are cowardly, brother, but that is why I reign as king, and follow in our father's footsteps."

The night of the Cataclysm struck without warning, and he and Shankara briefly shared glances ---- and Hari had seen his brother in the form of a monster. It was only the presence of his niece Kaeya in the creature's arms that he knew this was his brother, but before either could speak, the castle began to fall apart.

They were separated, and Hari's fleeing was cut short by a pillar landing upon his leg. His leg was broken, and he found that he had been bleeding, perhaps from the destruction that had taken place around him, or the gods' wrath come to claim him. Without the adrenaline to guide him, the pain began to set in, and all he could do was curse the gods.

He had tried to save his nation from them, after all. Now, he would die for trying to respect the gods, and his heart grew bitter.

That was when she arrived.

Cold, but tender. The chills of winter surrounded her, yet her smile was warm as she spoke to him. She brought him to a shelter and began to tend to him, conversing with him even as she spared no effort in helping him recuperate. Their conversations were long, lasting well into the night, and the advisor began to believe that maybe there was a god he could worship.

When he recovered, he swore his loyalty to her. She bestowed the title of Pierro upon him. "They thought of your loyalty and your words as foolish, and of you as mere entertainment. You will be more than that to me, my Pierro, my Jester."

And he would be granted the title of the First of the Eleven Harbingers, the closest to the Tsaritsa and privy to her plans. He recruited several Harbingers over the years, including Il Dottore and La Signora. Soon after recruiting Signora, though, his goddess drew him aside to speak with him alone.

However, a new revelation came forth as the years went by. The Tsaritsa one day commented, "Have you realized, Pierro, that you have barely aged since I had tended to you?"

And lo, he barely looked a few years older than he'd been that day. He ordered some men to research what had happened to the people of Khaenri'ah, his people, and was promptly horrified.

They were all cursed. Not merely with immortality, but the possibility of becoming monsters. He had seen the monster his brother had become, but only briefly, and was shaken to his core. This further entrenched him both in his hatred for his brother and his loyalty to the Tsaritsa, looking forward towards the glorious new age that she was planning.

[babuniaczarownica]

@demonstigma // here.

Soooo...she can probably read minds. Kage doesn't know what to think of that. Can she read him right now? Even wondering about her ability to read minds. Maybe she's just reading his expression really well. Maybe she's just that old. She looks that old. Kage watches her, eyes darting down to her activity and back again. He imagines she could take a fully human shape if she wanted, but with him she didn't bother despite the fact that he was. She clearly knew what he was...or maybe with her next words...where his ambitions lay. "That's a matter of what you're asking me for in payment, right? No riddles...No tricks...no 'you won't miss what i take' and you snatch out one of my kidneys or something." But it doesn't hurt to hear a warning he supposes. Maybe she had insight into the future. "Are you a seer?"

"To a thing that simply is, what is it to separate oneself from another? What is it to be the same?" She slips from the chair to the floor, walking toward him with her many arms with many fingers and many legs with many toes, centipede-like. Her body shifts in a way that is wrong, nausea inducing, not meant to be confined to any shape at all.

"I take only what one is willing to give," she cackles, lifting her nose to the air and sniffing, and then following her nose as it brings her to her full height-- about halfway up his chest, and filling the whole room. "If there is a trick there, it is only a trick that they themselves play."

She reaches out and takes Kage's hand in one of her own and two thumbs stroke over the back of it. The hands are so cold that they hurt but her grip is unbreakable as she lifts his hand to her mouth and turns it over and drops her tongue on it like a fat, wet slug. She licks his palm from the tip of his fingers to the heel of his hand and back, and then she pulls away smacking her dry, crumbling lips. Up close, she smells like earthen things and steel and snow and chamomile.

She releases his hand.

"Hmmm... a seer, I don't think so. Nothing so petty as that. What I am doesn't matter, dearie. I am nothing. You are nothing. Why don't you be a good boy and sit down, and we can discuss what you have to offer." It's phrased like a question, but her tone is hardly that generous.

[helionpegasus]

ceilings part 5

Azriel x Reader

masterlist

summary: Reader always had vivid dreams due her Seer heritage. But things take a twist in her life when she wake up in a world that is not hers and the loving male that were always in her dreams shows to be very different from what she known him to be.

warning: none. but let me know if you find anything :)

words count: 1979

author's note: we're baaaack! now things will start happening more quickly and i'll try not making it too slowburn haha. i'll also include my personal theories in the story. anyway, hope you like it ❤️‍🩹

A whole month had passed.

The dream with little Azriel never happened again, and you didn’t know if this was good or bad. Because it wasn’t the only one to disappear, all the other dreams you used to have did.

All that surrounded your mind was what could that possibly mean. You came to Velaris because of those dreams, so it’s logical that you must need them to go back. So the possibility of not dreaming ever was starting to get the best of you.

The Shadowsinger being so wary of your being was not helpful at all. Once you talked about it with Nesta and she only said that “He’s like this. It’s nothing personal.”, but it feels extremely personal to you.

How he would stop talking about something once you enter the room, or send a bunch of his shadow to follow you through the House of Wind, and even look at you in a weird way during dinner.

Today you woke up to the rain pouring outside, the thunder humming low. When you enter the dining room to have breakfast, you find Nesta there, with a cup of tea in hand and a book in the other.

“No training today?” You ask sitting across from her and already putting a piece of strawberry pie that you found to be your favorite thing in this world.

“Headache. I’ll take the day off, since dealing with Cas and Az the whole day would only make it worse.” She said, taking a little laugh from you. You can’t even imagine what it was like to work with both of them.

“Well, today seems like a good day to relax. I don’t think the rain is gonna pass too soon.” You took the last bite from the pie.

“You’re right.” Nesta sighs. “I’m gonna give myself the privilege I didn’t have for so long: Spend the whole day in bed.”

“You deserve it!”

“Thank you! See you at dinner.” She took the last sip from her tea and exited the room going directly to the main hallway.

Unlike Nesta, you weren’t feeling so useful lately. So you think the best decision was to take your cup of tea to the library and continue your search, which you started last week but ended up in nowhere.

The floor you use to study wasn't much visited, you assumed the first time you went there. Even after having your presence for a whole week handling books and discovering shelves, all of them still have a layer of dust. And maybe the people who live here simply didn’t hold a curiosity in learning Prythian history, you thought that it would be a better option than the fact that this floor was so close to the darkness under it.

After hours of hard searching, because you are dealing with history and most of the books were written in the oldest language, your mind gets tired of it. Your tea was no longer hot and your eyes hurt from reading.

When your mind starts questioning if it was lunch time already you felt the presence. His presence. You could ignore how much it makes you uncomfortable, like you have been doing for all this time. But, today you were tired of it.

“You know I can feel when you are spying on me, right?” You say closing a book. Your back is still fronting him. “I’m just saying that, in case you didn't know, I think it would be good the information that I knew you were there all those times.” Then you finally turn to face him.

Azriel tried to not show the shock in his eyes, since this was the first time something like this was ever happening. He decides to stay silent, trying to form a sentence that wouldn’t make him sound like a stubborn child.

“Look, I don’t know what you have against me. But I already said a bunch of times that I’m willing to answer any question you have and I also said that Rhysand or Feyre can look in my mind if they want to.” You said looking into his eyes, hoping that he could see the truth in them.

You never stop being surprised with how his eyes could be so different looking at the same person. You.

“I don’t trust you.” He simply said.

Those words cut deep that you wanted to. With his low voice echoing in your head.

“Well…” You start, still gathering the right words to say and not betray how hurt you felt. “If I could help to change that, you certainly know where to find me.” You gave him a small smile that did not reach your eyes, and left the library not in the mood to continue your research anymore.

*

Azriel went straight to the River House after the quick conversation. Calling Rhys through his mind to an emergency meeting.

“You should look through her mind.” Azriel said when they entered the High Lord’s office.

“We already had this conversation a million times, Az.” Rhys says massaging his nose bridge. “She never was suspicious and never made any harm to any of us or the court.”

“Yet.”

“For Mother’s sake, Azriel.” Rhys rolls his eyes.

“I’m just saying that I think we should treat her like any stranger that enters the court out of nowhere.” Azriel said firmly with his opinion. “We gave her a roof the first day she came here. We don’t know anything about her, and I think this decision can put us in danger.”

“I wouldn’t make a decision to put any life in this court in danger, Azriel.” Rhysand's look was not friendly anymore. “And I don’t know what is happening with you lately. This is not the first time I say that you are having weird behavior.”

The Shadowsinger still remembers every word they shared in this same office in the first week you spent here.

“I’m just worried.” Az's voice was calmer this time. “I have noticed some things about her that I found strange.”

“And what would it be?”

“She can sense me around while I’m still hiding in the shadows.”

“She always had a weird connection with your shadows, we’re all working with that and she included.”

“Right. But I noticed that during her first nights, she disappeared.” 

“What do you mean?”

“When she went to sleep, she just disappeared for a few hours and then came back still sleeping. She did this for two or three nights and never did it again.”

Rhys was processing the information Azriel just said, his mind working on how she was capable of doing that on the House of Wind, a place that you could not winnow in or out.

“I can ask if she gives me the permission to look into her mind.” The High Lord says. “But if she doesn't, I will not force her to do so.” 

Azriel let out a sigh of relief, only nodding at his friend before leaving the office.

*

You weren’t expecting a reunion today. So when Nesta knocked on your door saying that everyone would meet in the living room, you needed to take time to fix yourself.

Everyone was already there when you arrived, and Feyre invited you to sit by her side.

“You must be wondering why we decided to do this unplanned meeting.” Rhysand says and you only nodded in confirmation. “We all want to help you to find answers and we need answers as well…”

“You want to look into my mind.” You finish his sentence.

You couldn’t keep your eyes from looking at Azriel for half a second. Remembering the convo early this morning.

“I’m only doing this with your permission and firstly, if you are comfortable with it.”

“You can look at it.” You look into his eyes, transmitting all the confidence you could gather.

Rhys took the spot in the chair in front of you. The first thing he did once he entered your mind was make himself present. He could be sneaky if he wanted to, you knew that from other experiences with Ruhn even if he only entered to communicate.

“I’ll show you everything and some things may need an answer. But I would prefer to answer all questions you may have privately.”

“You have my word.”

And you showed him everything.

The first of your dreams, the work you have been doing with your friends in Crescent City, your life with them and the University. Till what happened the day you came to their world, the fight with the strange creature and your last dream.

“The creature that attacked you was a kelpie.” Rhys said once he left your mind with all the information he needed.

The atmosphere of the room that was thick with expectation suddenly turns into shock and worry.

“A kelpie? In my world they look very different.” You say mostly to yourself.

“What do they look like?” Nesta asks to you.

“They are species that belong to the House of Many Waters. They are shapeshifters that appear mostly as a black horse and sometimes in a human form.”

“If those things were supposed to look like humans they are in the wrong shape.” Nesta says remembering her own fight with the creatures. That got a fit of laughter from everyone in the room.

“Thank you for showing me, (Y/N). Now that we have more details, maybe we can help you more.” Rhys said, offering you a soft smile.

“Since everyone is here, we should all take dinner together.” Cassian says and we all agreed.

“I will take Nyx and be back.” Feyre says going to the balcony with wings already appearing in her back.

“We can talk now if you want to.”  The High Lord offers and you give him a nod.

He leads you to the private library of the house. Much smaller than the one the priestesses work, but as beautiful.

You both sit on a couch near a window. You loved every view of this place, because Velaris was beautiful in every angle and every weather.

“I put a sound barrier and a shadow barrier, so we can talk freely.”

“What do you want to know?” You ask the male in front of you.

“You only dream with Azriel specifically, do you have any idea why?”

“No. I’ve been waiting for this answer and a bunch of other ones for a long time too, but the only one answer was learning his name when I arrived.”

“I’ve dreamed with Feyre before we met each other too…” He says with an expecting look that makes your cheeks warm.

“You think we are mates?” Rhys only smiles. “Well I bet that your dreams with Feyre were not like those, and I am certain that she wasn’t from another world.”

“Well, you’re right. But that can still be a possibility.” He took an invisible dust from his pants. “Warn me if those dreams return, we see what we can do to help.”

“I’ll let you know.” 

“Also, Azriel commented to me that you disappear while sleeping. Do you have any explanation for that? Because people weren’t supposed to be able to winnow from here.”

You gave him a questioning look. A million questions going through your mind.

“Disappear? I don’t have the power to winnow.”

“He said that it happened on your initial nights.”  Rhys was also confused. “You don’t remember exiting in the middle of the night?”

“No. Those nights I only dreamed.”

Then Rhysand started to connect all the points. He also didn’t see you in any other place besides your dreams, so you disappearing did not make sense. And he would know if you manipulated any of the memories.

The fact was that there were only dreams. Vivid dreams.

“I think that your dreams are where you disappeared to.”

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[luxmaeastra]

Bron scoffed looking out over the High Lords. The images they'd taken of Dunyasha painted a picture of blood and ruin. 

"She's isn't just some child Helion. She is the Wyrdchild. Even if you forgot what that means the Seasons remember."

Helion leaned back in his chair, the cavernous halls of the Mountain quiet. His fingers traced his jaw taking Beron in. He'd call this ridiculous council meeting. They should be licking their wounds not worrying about what some witch was doing. 

Though of course Amarantha had listened, why wouldn't she listen to her Paternal Uncle? He bet Beron was just as cruel as she'd been in the war. Still he'd take Amarantha as their queen over Aiofe or worse Luda. At least Amarantha didn't seem to have any love for her degenerate witch peers. 

"I know what you speak of Beron. A prophecy that the Wyrdchild will give us equal if not greater damnation to the salvation it gave our ancestors. The Seasons may remember but the Celestials do not heed such nonsense. We follow the words of the stars Beron. The Firmament has not lead us astray yet. Besides how do we know this witch assasin is even this infamous Wyrdchild? It hasn't been seen in over a millenia."

Viren listened letting them all talk. He focused on little Aura and Thesan at their uncle's right. Helion would be acting Regent till one took Dawn. Though Viren privately assumed he'd hold on till he could no longer do so. Still the children seemed fed and well cared for. A little bored but that was to be expected from children so young their feet couldn't even touch the floor. 

He looked to Rhysand he was to be his heir. And he wanted Rhysand to slowly take on the role. He smirked at him, his voice soft in his head. 

Do you still find High Lord meetings magical? You used to beg to come to these things. I told you they were tedious and boring.

--------

Narcissus sprawled on his chair next to Amarantha listening. Khione, High Lady of Winter fixed him with a gaze. 

"Do you think our warnings are nonsense Narcissus? Do you think we shouldn't be wary of what Aleksander can do?"

Narcissus's fingers twitched. He loved his cousin but he was making his own life very difficult. He would much rather be home marveling at all the various spells and potions Amarantha was preparing so they could have a child. 100 years without an heir would anyone anxious. He straightened and braced his ringed hands on either side of his chair. He wished his beloved could be here but this was beginning to turn into nothing. Besides her health was more important than these superstitions. Besides he could probably do worse than Aleksander with his ascension. 

"I think there is merit to everything you all say. I remember the lessons Winter taught me young High Lady Khione. However how do we know this assasin is what the court seers prophesied? How are we so sure this is what we'd feared and she isn't just some Merzost tainted thing?"

He reached out silently to his mate, fighting the soft smile. 

I hope your resting darling. I told you, this whole meeting is extremely tedious. They're all worried for some prophecy that may not even be real...how are you feeling?

He still could smell the blood on their sheets. Her body was strong, it would carry a child. Perhaps the herbs and potions Beron's mate helped her make would do the trick. She would be blessed with a child, if there was anyone who deserved it, it was her. 

//High Lord meeting 400 years ago after the Fold and Dunyasha's debute by Sasha?//

Rhysand remained quiet, listening to everything that was being said. Information was important, even if they deemed this threat frivolous and without merit. Their concerns and worries, the way they presented themselves, they all revealed much more to them than they knew. Weaknesses, areas that could be exploited.

His attention turned to his own father, his words in his mind as he listened. Yes, he had once begged him. Maybe they were not magical now, but they were informative.

They are still interesting.

Khione leveled a firm gaze upon Night when the question came, the question of how they knew. There were ways to know, ways to determine if the being they had once lovingly promised to protect was the same creature now determined to destroy them. It wasn't as if she didn't have her own spies in every court, those who fed her the information she needed and gotten to close to who she needed tabs kept on.

The connection was there, she knew very well how they could test if the prophecy was right, but she knew Night would not be welcoming to the idea. Both options she knew would not be handed over easily, nor did she think they would willingly assist in turning against the one they deemed their friend.

"Regardless if this assassin is the one who is prophesied, she is becoming dangerous while she isn't being kept in check. As much as I respect that he is related to you Narcissus, also the brother-in-law to your Mate, Aleksander is becoming a bigger problem as well."

----

Resting, healing. Even as she lay there she couldn't keep her mind wondering, from traveling over what she had been through, what had happened. Spiraling and spinning down a slippery slop, a hundred years of waiting and hoping would always wear someone down eventually.

Amarantha relaxed when she felt him reach for her, her mind eased as she grasped the bond between them.

I am resting, I just wish you were here. Maybe they should have gotten proof before demanding this meeting. I am as well as I could be...please return to me soon.