#but he is here now! look at him! beautiful! resplendent!

[profound-imagination]

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived - Azriel Shadowinger

A/N: Guess who's back? It's me! Should I be packing up to move house right now? Yes, yes I should. Am I? No, no I'm not.

I hope you enjoy this, Azriel does not come off well.

W/C: 4.2K

Azriel hated himself on a good day. Today, today he absolutely loathed himself. He knew how much she cared for him, hel, how much she loved him, that had made his job easier in the beginning, when Rhys had first sent him here as a spy. “It’ll be easy, Az,” Rhys had said, “She's already smitten with you, you’ll be able to walk right into the palace under the guise of courting her and she’ll ensure you have a room and you’re treated as an honoured guest!” Azriel had to agree, it would be easy. She had made it so painfully obvious from the day they had met.  

They had grown closer over the months he’d spent on the Continent with her. She had even gone as far as to source creams for his scars. “I know they won’t be as fancy as the Fae ones you probably use, but the man at the apothecary said they were the best for burns!” She had told him bashfully with a blush crawling over her cheeks. His shadows immediately moving to soothe them without their master's permission. He smiled down at her gently, playing the part he had been assigned, “Thank you, my love, what a thoughtful gift.” He said as he lifted one of her perfect hands to his mouth. Her smile was dazzling. Little did she know he spent his nights at home, in Prythian, an arm wrapped around another woman as they slept or danced or ate with their family.  

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you!” She was breathless as she approached him in the garden. Azriel having just landed in the furthest part of it. “Here I am!” He smiled down at her, she linked their arms and continued to walk alongside him, “There’s to be a ball! For my 21st Birthday, Father has sent invites all over, even to your family in Prythian!” She beamed up at him, as if inviting his family was the best thing to ever happen. Did she really not know the depths of her father's depravity? “That’s wonderful, I’m sure they’d love to attend, Rhysand does love a party.” He told her, “I’m nervous to see them again,” she confessed, “It’s so different now than it was when I last met them.” He patted her hand gently, “You have no reason to be nervous my love, they’ll adore you as I do.” Her eyes sparkled at his comment, and she preened from the compliment. He was never going to forgive himself.  

Cassian and Rhys flanked him as he waited at the bottom of the stairs for her. “You’ve told her, you’ve told Elain?” Rhys nodded, “Yes, she knows the part you are playing here and knows what to expect to see tonight.” Azriel nodded stiffly at his brother once and focused back on the staircase. She looked like an angel floating down the stairs towards him. An angel and a demon he mused to himself. “I’ve never seen a human look so beautiful.” He said to his brothers quietly, “Feyre did.” Cassian snorted a laugh at the High Lord, “Feyre was covered in worm shit and the mating bond was there.” Rhys elbowed him in response, “Both of you stop it!” Azriel hissed at his brothers, “This is her night.” Both brothers held their hands up in surrender. He took a step forward as she approached the bottom of the stairs. His shadows raced to meet her & danced around her in a way he had never seen. “You look resplendent, my love.” He told her as she took his offered hand. “Thank you, you too,” she said, a blush across her cheeks again, two shadows broke off from their dance to soothe her cheeks. “I mean, handsome! You look very handsome tonight Azriel, not that you do not always look handsome- “Cassian’s laugh cut her off and she blushed even harder.  

“You remember my brothers, Rhysand and Cassian?” Azriel introduced. “Of course,” she smiled at the two males and dropped into a courtesy that Azriel quickly pulled her up from. “It is your night, you bow to no one tonight, my love.” He told her, “But Azriel,” she protested, “He’s a High Lord!” Azriel shook his head, “Not tonight, tonight, he’s just Rhysand, my brother.” Rhys met her eyes and nodded, “Okay,” she smiled at them both, “It’s lovely to see you both again, did you bring your wives? I would so love to see them again!” She rambled, “Nes and Feyre are here,” Cassian told her, “As is Mor and Lucien and Elain & I think Eris is here to somewhere.” Azriel tensed at the mention of Elain’s name, and she shot him a questioning look that he shrugged off. Rhysand sauntered forward before Cassian could continue to talk and offered her his arm, “Shall we?” He purred at her & with a reassuring nod from Azriel she took the High Lords arm and allowed him to escort her into her birthday ball. Azriel took a deep breath and followed, steeling himself for what he was about to do.  

Azriel watched as Rhys spun her round the dance floor, smiling at the sight of his brother and the woman that he was supposedly courting. “She looks happy.” Elain’s words pulled him from his thoughts, his shadows abandoning him completely, in favour of the human dancing with his brother. He hummed in agreement, “Will you be coming home tonight?” She asked, Azriel met her doe eyes, the expression in them begging him to go with her. “Not tonight,” he said quietly. Elain’s face faltered and then she spoke again. “Why do they do that? Your shadows I mean? They seem to adore her but yet completely disappear when I’m around, as if they hate me.” He faced her, “I don’t know, they talk to me yes, but they don’t tell me their own motives if they don’t want too.” She searched his eyes and upon finding nothing there, she said, “You should get back to her.” And with that she vanished into the crowd.  

Azriel forced a smile onto his face as he approached them and bowed to Rhysand, “Mind if I cut in?” He asked, Rhys smirked at him, enjoying Azriel’s display more than he should. Azriel took a note to give him shit for that later as Rhys passed her hand into Azriel’s ruined one. He pulled her into his chest as he began to dance to the song, he knew Feyre had ensured would play and she beamed up at him. “You’re a wonderful dancer.” She said quietly, “I just have a wonderful partner.” He replied without missing a beat as he spun her. “Azriel?” He hummed at her to continue, “Will you leave here soon?” She asked bashfully, “Why do you ask, my love?” He spun her again as the song was reaching its end, “I just, you must miss your family, and despite your smiles and efforts, this is not your home, is it? It never will feel like your home, will it?” Gods, she was setting him up perfectly for what was coming next, and she didn’t even know it. The song ended and Azriel could hear Rhysand in his head telling him it was time as he dropped to one knee in front of her. She gasped but he started talking, “My love, my wonderful little human, my home is wherever you are, I would be the luckiest male on any continent if you would do me the greatest honour of being my wife?” He asked as gently as he could, looking in her eyes the entire time and he hated himself as he watched them fill with tears. He knew all she had ever wanted was someone to sweep her off her feet and that is exactly what he had done. She sniffled, once, twice, then let out a watery laugh as she threw herself towards him. “Of course I will! Yes Azriel, I will marry you!” He stood, bringing her with him wrapped in his arms as he spun them in a circle & over her head, he watched Elain slip from the party.  

Feyre was fawning over the ring he had given her, despite it being one that came from Feyre’s own jewellery box. Azriel stood with his brothers, “She’s never going to forgive this.” He told them both. Rhysand raised an eyebrow at him, “Which beautiful lady are we talking about?” Azriel sighed, “Y/N.” He said, “Elain knew what was coming tonight, but we need to find her, I saw her leave.” Cassian put a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, “Go, we can keep Y/N busy while you find her.” Azriel smiled gratefully at his brother as Rhysand called Eris over. “Congratulations, Shadowsinger.” The newly crowned High Lord of Autumn crooned, “Not that you deserve her, I see right through this plan, Rhysand, so what do you need me for, I wonder?” Eris had always been too smart for his own good. Azriel was sure Eris was where Lucien got it from. “Right now,” Rhysand gritted out, “I need you to dance with her, keep her busy for a little while.” Eris nodded once, “I can do that, but for the record, I am against using a woman like this, especially one so young and clearly smitten, she's innocent and she doesn’t deserve to have her feelings played with like this.” Rhys nodded back, “Noted.”  

“I still find it hard to believe he wants me, boring human me!” You gushed to Feyre who beamed at you, “Why wouldn’t he?” She laughed. “Why wouldn’t he indeed?” A voice crooned from behind you, and you turned and then let out a squeak, dropping into a courtesy, “High Lord, how lovely to see you again!” He smiled and pulled a small, wrapped box out of his pocket, “Happy Birthday, Y/N.” He said, taking your hand and placing the box in it. “Thank you, High Lord, it is very kind of you to get me a gift when your presence here is honour enough.” He smiled gently, “It’s just Eris, and it is me who is honoured to be able to share in not only your birthday celebration, but it would seem your engagement as well, now open your present and honour me with a dance?” You giggled and opened the parcel and, in the box, sat a beautiful silver necklace with a teardrop pendant hanging from it, the size of your thumb nail. Contained in the pendant, a singular flame.  

“I do not know if you remember your father bringing you to visit Autumn when you were a child, but I remember your visit. You were captivated by the forests, the trees, and the wildlife, so much so you wondered off one evening and I, knowing my father would blame me for you being missing, frantically came after you. When I found you, you’d been cornered by one of our nastier creatures and in my panic I sent my flames straight towards it, well that was it, you weren’t phased by nearly being eaten by a monster, you just wanted to know more about my fire so I sat in that clearing with you and I showed you and I told you-,” you cut him off “Even the smallest flame can start a blaze.” Eris smiled and nodded, and then you gasped. “Is this? Is this one of your flames?” He nodded again, “To keep you safe and to guide your way if you’re ever lost in the darkness.” You grinned at him, “Thank you, Eris, this is the most thoughtful and wonderful gift I’ve ever been given!” He snorted a laugh, “Remind me to rub it in the Shadowsingers face that he proposed but my gift was still better. You rolled your eyes at him, “Would you like to dance?” he almost purred, “I would love to!” You grinned and allowed him to sweep you into a dance.  

Eris was the best dance partner you had ever had. He was graceful and accurate in his movements as he guided you around the floor. You couldn’t help the smile that was spread across your face as he span and dipped you. His gentle laughter filling your ears. “Do you all move so gracefully?” You asked as he span you back into his chest, he grinned, “I’m 538, I've had years to practice.” He said and your smile fell a little, “I, I don’t have that kind of lifespan, I’ll be lucky to see 100. Why would he put himself through that?” You asked quietly, thinking about how many of your lifetimes Azriel had already lived. Eris’s thumb came up and soothed the frown in your brow. “Because you’re the most captivating little human I’ve ever met, he is an incredibly lucky bastard to get to call you, his wife. If I was him, I’d be honoured to spend whatever time we had together.” Your face softened, “Really?” He smiled again, “I’m positively green with jealousy.” His words poured over you like honey, smooth and sweet and you snorted a laugh quietly. “I think I need a drink.” You told him and Eris nodded, leading you from the dance floor, “I’ll be right back with that drink.” He said and you nodded your thanks at him, looking around the room for your fiancé who was nowhere to be seen.  

You did however see Feyre and Rhysand having some kind of discussion in the corner, Rhys’ nod towards the door was enough to tell you where Azriel had gone. He had left the party and you moved across the room to go and check on him, you knew these events were loud and often overwhelming for not only him but his shadows as well. You slipped out of the room unseen. You wandered down hallways a love drunk smile on your face. You weren't sure how a plain human such as yourself had caught the eye of the elusive Shadowsinger but you had, and you wouldn’t ever take it for granted. A singular little shadow raced towards you, you smiled at it, raising your hand so it could dance between your fingers as you had learned they liked to do. It danced through your fingers happily for a moment or two before racing down the hallway again and waiting for you at the end. You laughed quietly to yourself, never understanding how anyone could ever fear the shadows that had never been anything but playful towards you. You caught up with it, allowing it to hide itself on your shoulder, tangled in your hair and you continued to walk, it seemed your little friend had been sent to bring you somewhere and you grinned at Azriel’s thoughtfulness.  

You turned a final corner, your grin making your cheeks ache and then your world imploded. Azriel had his back to you, his wings splayed out behind him, but you spotted the arms around his neck and the legs wrapped around his waist, feet locked at the base of his wings. The shoes that were discarded behind him you recognised, you had been gushing to their owner earlier about how beautiful they were, and they had promised to send you a pair as a birthday gift. “I love you.” He was murmering between kisses as you watched, frozen in place, his hips moving in lazy thrusts. “I love you so much, Elain.” She was clawing at his back; one had moving up and down the apex of his left wing as he shuddered. A majority of his shadows were nowhere to be seen, a handful had remained and were hissing at the one hidden in your hair, that lone little shadow had picked you to be loyal to rather than its master. Tears spilled out of your eyes just as a hand wrapped over your mouth and another around your stomach and pulled you backwards into a warm solid chest. Darkness filled the hallway, and those hands span you and pressed you into the wall, their chest pressing into your back.  

“Azriel!” Rhsyand growled and you watched as High Lord pulled his brother away from Elain. “Right yourself!” Nesta hissed at her sister. It was Eris who had you pressed against the wall, and he gently pulled you away from it but didn’t move more than a step away from you. Wildfire danced in his eyes as he stared at the Shadowsinger with contempt. You took a deep breath and turned to face what was behind you. “Y/N,” Azriel said quietly, taking a step towards you and you took a step backwards, as did Eris in turn. “No.” You said your voice not as strong as you wanted it to be. The pendant warmed on your clavicle. “I’m here. I’ve got you.” It seemed to say. “Why?” Was all you asked. Azriel looked to Rhysand, the two of them having a silent conversation. “Out loud.” Eris ground out. “The lady has been hurt enough don’t you think?” Rhysand levelled him with a look before he began to speak. “We received word, your father has a plot, one that endangers our people, not just those of the Night Court but all Courts, I know this is hard to believe for you, but your father, he’s-” You cut him off. “You think I don’t know what kind of man my father is?!” You hissed and Rhys continued talking, explaining your fathers plot. Your stomach turned and the tears continued to fall. You couldn't hear much over the thumping of your crumbling heart. “Was any of it true?” You asked Azriel, interrupting Rhys again. He shook his head, “I’m so sorry, I-” You didn’t hear the rest of his sentence as you turned and ran. “Why didn’t you stop her?!” Rhys snapped at who you assumed was Eris. “I told you; I don’t stand for using innocents like this.” He said coldly, absentmindedly pressing a hand to his chest to alleviate the tightness that had appeared there in the last few moments.  

You ran, and ran, and ran. You had headed straight for the lawns and the forest beyond. Your shoes had been lost long ago but you barely registered your bleeding feet or the forest floor that was cutting into them. Your head was spinning, none of it was real. Azriel had played you and played you well. You didn’t see it coming, just like you didn’t see the slope before you plunged down it. Branches and thorns scraped at your body and face as you tumbled. All air hit your lungs as you collided with an ancient oak tree, your teeth rattling as you came to a stop and your vision blurred. It was only then you realised how cold it was and how hurt you were, your ankle sitting at an awkward angle. Whimpering as you tried to stand you realised the gravity of the situation you were in but still, compared to going back to the Manor you were more than content to sit there and grieve your short-lived engagement. You weren’t sure how long you had sat against that tree, staring at the beautiful ring Azriel had given you, the ring that rightly belonged to Elain you supposed.  

You couldn’t pinpoint when you fell asleep, but you’d never forget waking up. Surrounded by men. Swallowing thickly you took them in, all much bigger than you and staring down at you like you were prey. “Ello darling, nice sleep?” The ringleader questioned. You didn’t answer him. “He asked you a question.” His second in command sneered. “I fell.” Was all you said. “You fell?” The third laughed, “Figured with your pretty dress you’d be at the party.” The leader spoke again. “Thank them for checking on you and leave.” You gasped at Eris’ voice filled your head. The three men studied you in turn. “I was, I should be getting back, thank you for checking on me.” You said, much stronger than you felt. “What’s the hurry?” The third asked. “Seems like a boring political party if you ask me.” The second added on. You tried to push to your feet and winced at the pain that shot through your ankle. “Hurt yourself?” The leader smirked. “Break the necklace.” Eris’ voice again, “I just twisted my ankle, I’m fine.” You said, “Y/N!” Eris was beginning to get louder in your head. The leader smirked at his companions, stepping towards you. “What are you holding there?” He asked, you hadn't realised that you were subconsciously holding the necklace Eris had given you. “Tell them it’s nothing, just a silly heirloom.” Eris sounded panicked now. “Just a silly little heirloom.” You rushed out. “Let me see?” He said, it wasn’t really a question. He knocked your hand out of the way and pulled the necklace from your neck. Eris growled in your head as you flinched. The leader observed the necklace with distain and launched it towards the trunk of a nearby tree where the pendant shattered, the small flame igniting from it. The men paid it no mind.  

The leader stepped towards you and you whimpered as you retreated a step. “I need you to fight.” Eris spoke clearly. “Scratch, bite, kick, just fight Y/N.” Eris told you, but you had already made a mistake, you were pinned. The leader's hands pawed at you. “Please, don’t.” You begged, he just laughed. Ripping the bodice of your dress as his companions closed in. “Such a pretty little thing, out here all alone.” The second crooned, “Lucky for us.” The third added. “What makes you think she’s alone?” Eris’ voice filled the tree, the leaves rustling around. “I suggest you back away and unhand the lady before I kill you where you stand.” He said, his voice full of authority. The leader shoved you backwards as he turned. “You’re just one man.” He sneered at Eris, who laughed. “I’m no man.” He said, you could see nothing but the wildfire in his eyes shining in the darkness as he stepped out of the trees. “I’m a male and you do not want to fight me. I’m trying to do you a favour, one that you do not deserve but I don’t want to frighten the lady.” The leader nodded to his companions, who drew their swords. “She was asking for someone to find her.” The leader scoffed. “Out here all alone, dressed like that.” Eris seemed to grow taller at his words. “No female ever asks for a male like you to touch her against her will.” He growled. “Where I’m from you’d lose a hand or worse for that. Leave or you will die.” The leader drew his sword and his companions advanced on Eris. “Death it is then.” Eris said with a humourless laugh. He wasted no time; he didn’t even engage them in sword play. He simply winnowed behind each one and slit their throats before wiping his dagger on the leader's trousers and sheathed it on this thigh. 

“Are you okay?” He asked coming towards you slowly as to not scare you. “My necklace.” You said sadly, “They broke my beautiful necklace.” He smiled at you soft, “Don’t worry about the necklace. I’ll get you another one.” He said, his tone gentle as he removed his jacket and wrapped it around you to cover where they had ripped your dress. You couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed. “But the little flame-” He cut you off, “Will be more than happy to go back into a pendant around your throat.” He said, showing you the little flame dancing through his fingers. You smiled at it sadly. “I’m sorry you got thrown at a tree.” You told it quietly and without Eris commanding the little flame to or before he could even stop it, the flame had jumped from his fingers and was gently brushing against your cheek. It wasn’t hot, nor did it burn, it was warm, comforting even and it removed the sadness from your smile. “Can you walk?” He asked and you shook your head no. “Okay, I’m going to carry you, is that alright?” He asked “Yes,” you said quietly. “That’s okay.” He swept you up into his arms and began walking back to the Manor. “I don’t want to face him, I’m so embarrassed, I was such a fool.” You told Eris. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” He told you. “If he says anything to you or even so much as approaches you, I’ll turn him to ash.” You giggled at his words. “I don’t want to stay here, not with my father.” You admitted, the first time you had said such words to anyone. “Then we’ll see about you coming to Autumn with me.” He said and you gasped quietly, “Really?” He nodded, “If it is where you want to go, then yes, I will take you back with me.” You curled further into his chest. “I would very much like to come with you.” You muttered, his natural heat making you sleepy. “Then it shall be done, but let's get your ankle looked at and healed first.”  

[signalhill-if]

≈ — MALIK MOSLEY — he/they — RADIO HOST

For the amount that the citizens of Signal Hill hear his voice, not many people are familiar with Malik. Sure, people feel familiar with him. His low tones introduce the music of the day and speak of hobbies and pastimes the passersby know intimately, and the way he speaks to the mic like an old friend has created a bond between him and them. But they know him. He's never met them. Or many people, for that matter.

Ever since he was young, Malik was fascinated by technology- taking it apart, remixing it, finding way to breathe new life into the decaying husks of old machines. It's no wonder, then, that he retreated so thoroughly into the world of radio. It's as much anonymous as it is celebrity. A perfect contradiction.

Gender: Trans man Sexuality: Bisexual Relationship option? Yes

Appearance Few have ever gotten to see Malik in person, at least since he retreated into secrecy. An air of mystery has arisen around it. In truth, that mystery isn't very warranted. A little on the shorter side, with soft dark skin and sad eyes, the first thing that comes to mind when you see him is a puppy. He's got a bit of peach fuzz on his chin and a pair of big round glasses, though his face is often partially obscured by long, loose locs dyed a dark green gradient. When his mic is live, however, his demeanour seems to change entirely- a self-assured young man emerging from his meek exterior.

[solbaby7]

Heat of the Moment

rhysand x reader

warnings: smut, this is pure selfish indulgence, public masturbation 🫣, possible swearing, mildddd voyeurism (this batboy likes to watch, i’ll die on this hill), drunk swimming, nudity, kinda pervy!rhys if we’re being technical here, had to get it out my drafts sry

summary: When summer in Velaris becomes too hot to handle, you take it upon yourself to go swimming; naked—better hope no one’s watching.

—

Rhysand fucking hated the summer.

Sometimes he found beauty in the suns resplendent display during its rise and fall in the sky. Saw hints of the Mother nestled in the flowers proudly broadcasting their colorful beauty around the house’s perimeter—but that was about as far as his admiration ran.

Mostly due to the fact that Rhys absolutely abhorred the pulsing burn of the sun, its rays boiling ten times hotter when adorning the typical black of Night Court attire. He positively loathed the drifting pollen in the air that stuck to fine fabrics of his tailored suits and the humid breeze that forced an uncomfortable sweat to thicken against his skin.

Two fingers tug at the collar of his dress shirt; one, two, three buttons being yanked undone until a healthy amount of chest is exposed, inky tattoos on full display. “Anything?” Rhysand mentally sends Azriel’s way with more than a little bite in his tone but the shadowsinger doesn’t even flinch.

“It would appear a few of the wards are down.”

Even without physically seeing his brother, Rhys can picture the amused tilt of Azriel’s mouth to accompany his sarcastic tone. “No shit! It’s a hundred godsdamned degrees in this house.”

“Pampered High Lord can’t handle a little heat? Open a window. It’ll be fixed soon.”

Rhysand grumbles, eyes rolling when Azriel’s mental shields are rebuilt and fortified in an instant. He takes his advice though, sluggishly dragging across the room to open the double doors to his office balcony with more attitude than intended; the polished wood clanging against the walls.

It’s not the sound that captures the High Lords attention though.

It’s the female with her toes dipped in the water, back stretched out against the smoother parts of rock that surrounds the lake below. A towel is splayed over heat-kissed stone, a bottle of wine used to hold down one edge while a wicker basket full of chopped fruit and cubed cheeses, cured meats and crispy crackers holds down the other.

He knew he should've looked away when he realizes it was you. He should've turned around and put the image of you out of his mind so he could finish up the debilitating pile of paperwork that remained on his desk. There was so much to do—so many responsibilities to tend to and now with the wards out of place, who knew how long it could take to detect them all and fix it.

But Rhysand just can't tear his eyes off of you and that skimpy little bikini you adorned.

It's awfully dainty, with flimsy little straps and cute bows tied tightly against curvy hips in a pretty pastel purple that pops against sun-kissed skin. You've tied your hair up, a messy bun of a thing plopped at the top of your head with a bright scrunchie but a few stray curls fall free, teasing at the back of your neck and sides of your cheeks when the wind graces you with its presence; ruffling the pages of the book tucked between two fingers.

He lingers there longer than he'd care to admit, memorizing the scrunched furrow of your brow and the precious pout of your mouth. One of your hands falls carelessly to the side, occasionally reaching for a snack or a drink of wine until Rhys decides he's definitely been looming in the doorway an obscene amount of time—enough to almost feel embarrassed and maybe a little creepy when you snap your book closed.

His cheeks go red, already preparing himself for the apology you're sure to demand from him for perving on you from the balcony but when Rhysand looks down, you're still none the wiser to his presence. Though, you have carefully put your literature aside to slowly glance at your surroundings.

Rhysand pauses his retreat, now surveilling as you had, searching for the sign of life that you’d detected but no matter how far he pushes his power through the trees and forestry, over the mountains and the village surrounding it —not a single soul is identified.

You seem to come to this same conclusion and Rhys waits with bated breath as your hands curl behind your back to undo the ties of your top. “Holy gods,” The High Lord's knees physically give out when the heaving plush of your breasts are bared, his weight slumping into the outdoor lounge chair and all but whimpers at the sight of you. Absolutely ethereal, you are; a gift granted from the Mother herself--completely unaware of the beauty you behold and the lengths males would go to have such beauty latched on their arms.

The very thought of another seeing you this way has jealousy churning in Rhys' gut.

A completely different kind of heat swarms his skin as your pretty purple bottoms follow where your top is haphazardly tossed and obscene kinds of filth floods his mind; a million fantasies taking root at once until all the blood needed for his braid to exude proper common sense is rushed below his belt.

Fuck, this was so wrong but that very fact makes his cock swell further. Every nerve in his body burns, and for once Rhysand isn’t brooding about the sweltering heat or the sweat dripping down his back or the disgusting little gnats that flock around the perfectly pruned flora. Not when you're there, not quite within arms reach but plenty close enough for Rhys to make out the outline of your body from under the water.

Thick curls cling to you when you break the surface and Rhysand doesn't even think twice before his fingers are hastily undoing the button of his breeches. Teeth bite into his bottom lip as he palms his hardness through the thin material of his boxers; violet eyes darkening into a lusty aubergine.

It’s effortless, the way you cut through the stream, feet kicking against the gentle current as you bask in the feeling of weightlessness—most likely grateful for the cool calm after waking up with clothes drenched in sweat and hair sticking to your shoulders. A complete juxtaposition to the shiver that rakes down your spine from the surprisingly crisp waters, goosebumps loitering your flesh and nipples pebbling.

Rhysand tracks every move, hypnotized by the way light reflected off the high points of your features, casting sensual shadows over the shape of your hips and the ample ass behind it. Drool damn near drips down his chin when you pull yourself out, every inch of you soaking wet and glistening; womanly curves jiggling enticingly as you plop out to lay on your towel fully intending to work up an even tan.

One hand strokes at his erection, thumb collecting pre-cum and spine sinking into the chair as he feasts on the display you’ve provided. So beautiful, so soft and lovely—oh, but not quite so proper, were you?

Because, the way you trace your fingers down the line between your tits lacks anything but decorum. Legs bend at the knee for stability while you tug at a nipple, your free hand sliding down, down, down until your perfect manicure disappears between your thighs. He's completely stuck; hooked, caught like a fish on a line and you just keep reeling in him closer and closer to his demise and yet he still refuses to fight it.

The throb of his cock is nearly painful, balls swollen and grip lethal when pumping up and down the thick length. Even when his eyes go droopy and his breathing grows labored, he forces his view to remain on you and the slow roll of your hips as two fingers slowly circle around the sensitive bud of your clit.

Rhys swears that he tries to stop but he'd already fallen too far, swept up by the unsteady rise and fall of your chest and the eager spread of toned legs as you build up to that sweet release. Huffy hums of pleasure drifts up into his ears like sweet music and while he wouldn't have considered himself a melomaniac; he could see the obsession forming if it was your voice carrying the melodies.

Velvety skin shifts with each desperate pump, thumb applying pressure just under the defined mushroom head of his prick when Rhys realizes the noises have stopped—your pretty moans and the slick sounds of your pussy no longer drifting his way.

"And here I thought a High Lord was supposed to hold himself with some sort of decorum,” Every muscle in Rhysand’s body locks at the sound of your voice, its cadence much closer than before and entirely too smug when you take in the leaking throb of his erection. Hands seize their stroking and Rhysand can't fucking fathom the fact that he'd allowed his imagination to run so wild—to distract him so intensely that he'd been sloppy enough to get caught.

He hadn't even heard you enter the room. Hadn't detected the familiar itch of one winnowing around his territory. You'd utterly blindsided him, a hot flush billowing into his cheeks, "I was just—“

"Watching me," You swiftly intercede, completely confident before him with your body free of periwinkle restrictions. "Instead of finishing that mountain of paperwork you've been ignoring."

"I got a little distracted." Mischief swells in your eye at the rough tone of his voice and it’s no secret your affect on him. Rhysand’s jaw was clenched tightly with barely contained restraint as he forces himself to focus on the lush green grass or the chirp of the birds wrestling in the trees instead of the soft swell of your belly and the supple curve of your thighs that sits right in his line of sight. “And you’re not exactly making it easy to pay attention to anything but you.”

“Good,” You all put preen under the compliment. "The harder the better." A sharp inhale is sucked through his nose when one knee drops to the free space of his chair. You hover over him, perky tits right in his face as you take your sweet ass time getting comfortable in his lap. It's bold; intrusive even—you plopping the weight of your ass against his thighs as you ease his hand aside and replace it with your own. "All the fun is in the challenge."

And what a challenge it would be taking such a massive cock.

It's really fucking pretty though. Hard to the touch and soft as silk. It pulses in your grasp, twitching when you give an experimental squeeze and Rhysand nearly finishes on the spot when you peer at him through thick lashes. Lust swims in your vision, aroused by the scenes from your book read by the lake and the added eroticism that ensued once realizing you weren't alone--that there was another watching you as you'd undressed. "Fucking filthy thing, you are." Rhys grunts as your thoughts consume him, abdomen contracting involunentarily as he submits to the overwhelming high that comes with your touch.

"Says you," Your wet hair drips a puddle by his shoes, liquid bouncing off polished leather as your hips shamelessly roll, grinding down along the muscular ridges of his thigh through his breeches, pussy clenching around nothing at the delicious friction. “Those expensive tutors forget to teach you that’s it’s not polite to spy on a lady?”

"They did," Never once had it taken Rhysand so long to conjure up a witty remark, "—but it's been a while since I’ve attended my lessons." The warmth from between your legs and the hypnotic bounce of your breasts is enough to turn him dumb. All the overstimulated High Lord can offer up is deep grunts and choppy pants through garbled praises and pleas for more as you have your way with him. You don't even have to bother tugging his pants down all the way, plenty satisfied with only unvieling the goods.

"Sounds like you need a refresher on manners." Consent is granted in the way Rhys’ hands grip at your hips, guiding you up, up, up until your dripping sex hovers over his own and when he and you finally connect—every movement turns desperate.

“Oh fuck,” He chokes out, starving hands feasting at your figure, ravishing every curve and devouring every sound you offer. It had to have something to do with the heat; this all-consuming hunger that burns beneath your skin and just engulfs everything in sight until all sense of rationality and logic had melted to mush.

“Better than your hands, huh?” It takes everything in you to keep your words steady, to keep your thighs sturdy and rhythm in tune as you rock your hips; experimenting with the feeling of such fullness. “Was this what you were thinking about when you were perving on me? How I’d feel wrapped around you? How far I could take you?” Fingers bite into your waist, it’s sure to leave bruises and yet you can’t find it in yourself to give a shit when you’re so preoccupied with sucking up every fucking inch Rhys had to offer. The noises that rumbles through the air is guttural, animalistic; stained with desire and a mind numbing need that triggers that possessive Illyrian blood within him and when his hips shift, feet planting more sturdy against the ground—you know you’re screwed.

Truly, undeniably fucked.

Because with each sharp thrust he offers, your cocky demeanor fades away. “Was thinking about how you’d sound and the noises you’d make for me.” The control shift is palpable even in your state, hazy eyes catching the second a flustered Rhys eases into the role of High Lord, weilder of a great power that he clearly knew how to manipulate. “Can’t say, I’m disappointed.”

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Rainy Season - Part 7

Final Chapter and Epilogue

Everybody’s Got Somebody but Me

Azriel Eris x Reader

Azriel pleads his case to his mate before the Inner Circle, an unexpected interruption sheds additional light on the situation, Y/N makes a decision.

Part 5 Part 6

Warnings: Language

The room thrummed with erratic energy as everyone awaited the arrival of the Shadowsinger. Eris watched intently as Y/N kept a collected facade before the present group, but behind her eyes a tumultuous storm raged. She hadn’t seen her mate since she’d left - since he’d betrayed her - and maybe she was a coward for facing him before an audience of his loved ones but she was done tip-toeing the line, done praying that the words falling from her mate’s lips were truth when he’d done nothing but spin ugly lies from that beautiful mouth. She wanted the real story, the whole story, and Truth Teller itself couldn’t extract it better than the audience before them.

Her gut-wrenched with his nearing presence, the doors would open any moment as guards would bring him in, before her, before his family, before Eris and her sister.

The only missing parties in the space were Amren who had stayed behind in Velaris to keep a presence in place and Nesta who had other matters to attend to. Mor’s attendance was welcome but not required, given the obvious histories between she and Eris - her mate.

Eris kept an amused facade beneath his own surface, though he was anything but. Y/N looked resplendent seated at the lone chair at the head of his table. Seated to her right, he kept a respectful distance, fighting the overwhelming urge to reach out and warm her shaking hand under the table.

And Eris couldn’t be certain by the flat expression on his face, but he could have sworn the slightest gleam of amusement glimmered in Lucien’s eye as the mechanical one focused in on a clearly unimpressed Camila who was unabashedly taking stock of the middle Archeron sister at his side.

The door unlatched, all traces of civility falling from Rhys’ face as Azriel stepped into the now darkened room.

Azriel looked terrible, the purple bruises and dark circles under his eyes draining the remaining life from his sallowed skin, eyes red and puffy.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, burying down the instinct doing its damndest to get her to run to her dejected mate.

Azriel looked straight past every single person at the table, not even sparing a glance to the seething High Lord staring daggers in his direction. His hazel eyes blew wide as they honed in on his mate. His perfect fucking mate. He truly had drained so much from her, hadn’t he? Never once stopping to notice the signs.

Now, before him was a divine female - full in all the places he’d once gripped so fervently, her complexion radiant, hair lustrous, lips so delectable he wanted to bite them. There was no broken female here, this was a female who has been living a life of love and joy. The only thing missing was her bright smile, now absent in his presence.

Another thing he’d taken from her.

“Y/N”, Azriel mouthed, no sound coming out as the guards kept the cuffed hands he tried to outstretch in her direction restrained.

Her pointed silence and the clunk of the guards boots filled the room as Azriel was lead toward his space between Cassian and Rhys at the table. Y/N now noting the correlation between the bruises on Azriel’s face and a few scattered on Cassian’s.

Rhys’ voice entered her mind. “Azriel started a fight with Cassian that led to us finding out about he and Elain. When Cassian realized, he went feral on him. It’s been centuries since I’ve seen those two fight like that. By the time Cassian was done with him, I couldn’t in good conscience lay a hand on him.”

“They shouldn’t have fought over this. But I bet you not laying a hand on him though he knew you wanted to hurt his ego more than any punches would have.”

Feyre joined in the mental conversation, adding “He’s just lucky Nesta wasn’t there when they found out.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, assuming that Nesta would have remained neutral in the ordeal. Not out of cruelty, but given her love and protective tendencies toward Elain as well as her friendship with Azriel and their Valkyrie training.

Azriel looked to his mate, once again wordlessly mouthing. “Y/N, please.” Finally taking in the crowd before him, he paled further.

“Cat got your tongue, Shadowsinger?” Eris mused. Fury lined Azriel’s features at the smug tone. Rhys only let out a bitter chuckle though he found nothing funny about the predicament they’d found themselves in, his violet gaze narrowed in on his brother. “You found a work around with our bargain by finding your mate outside of the Summer Court, but couldn’t find a work around on the matter of being barred from communicating with her? Just how did you expect this whole plan to work out?” He didn’t wait for a response to the question as he waved to the bargain tattoo. “I rescind the bargain tattoo, you may speak to her for as long as she’ll allow it.”

Azriel paid no mind to Rhys, his chest heaved as he frantically spouted out, “Can we speak in private, my love? Just you and me.”

Eris bristled internally at the pet name but Y/N didn’t falter as she replied “You lost the right to call me that the moment you took another female to bed.”

Elain fidgeted in her seat, eyes downcast. Camila bouncing her murderous gaze back and forth between she and Azriel.

To his credit, Azriel took the blow. This was a bed of his own making and he knew it, they all knew it. There was no sense in trying to deny it.

His mate’s head remained held high as she continued, “By the grace of the High Lord of the Autumn Court, the consequences of your attempted infiltration of this keep have been resigned to your own High Lord.“

Shame flooded Azriel’s face but he let her continue.

“As for me? All I ever wanted was your love and commitment. I gave so many chances and when it finally seemed like you might get it - you’d squandered that opportunity as well. I am before you right now because I want to know why. And because you have not given me a reason to trust you, I have brought this council of individuals who have somehow found themselves so intertwined with our relationship when it should have only been you and me.”

Azriel spat the bitter words before he could stop them from leaving his mouth. “If Eris is not issuing consequence, there is no need for him to be here.”

Despite his exceptional ability to bait, Eris remained silent. A show of respect to the female at the head of his table.

“I was a guest in his keep when you decided to make our separation everybody’s problem and breached the wards.”

Azriel, damn him, couldn’t stop the next hateful words either. “I hardly call emissary business the equivalent of being a guest.”

Eris forwent anger over the blatant disrespect already rolling off of Azriel’s tongue when she didn’t owe him a second of her time, he knew this force of a female by his side well enough by now - biting the inside of his lip to hold back the involuntary smirk creeping its way up to the corners of his mouth as he sensed the words before she spoke them.

“You’re right, Azriel. But I am not here on emissary business, I am here as a personal guest of Eris, who has found himself intertwined in this relationship.” She then looked to her sister “Along with Camila, as they BOTH found themselves putting in considerable time and effort helping piece back together the parts of me that I couldn’t quite place myself. Do you have further question on the members in attendance today that you’d like for me to elaborate on?”

Camila, seated to the other side of Y/N, gave her sister a reassuring squeeze of the hand under the table. Silence once again filling the room, Azriel’s shadows in conjunction with Rhys’ raging darkness rendered him barely visible.

Perhaps her words to her mate were harsh but they were far kinder than the venomous “I’m here on the business of fucking the brains out of the Autumn Court High Lord who, by the way, is just as well endowed and far more bendy than you.” that she wanted to spit back at him.

As if Eris read her thoughts, he loosened the reign on that wicked smirk he’d held back.

“Now that the matter of why we’re all here is settled,” Y/N continued, “I will hear you out, Azriel. If at any point I do not wish to continue this discussion, you will leave immediately. Do you understand?”

Her stoic mate, the revered Spymaster, simpered at the words, giving a slight nod. “Yes.” Eris thought to himself in that moment, heart filled with pride, “She would make a fine High Lady.”

“Great. We have a bargain.” Her fist clenching as the tattoo formed on the back of her neck. “Please proceed.”

Azriel stood, looking to his mate. Crestfallen he began. He held himself in submission to his mate but with enough confidence for her to see that he was sincere in whatever he was about to say.

“Y/N. I love you. I have loved you since before the bond ever snapped. You are - You’re everything. Fuck, I know that what I did was terrible but, it’s not what it seems. You were so good, too good, I didn’t deserve you. I never have. You are everything good and I do nothing but bring pain and hurt to others, and now I’ve done the same to you. Words can never express how sorry I am but… I can at least share what happened.”

He looked to her, praying she’d speak, give any encouragement. Her bright eyes only stared through him, straight into the tattered soul he’d tried so hard to conceal from her.

The table remained silent. Camila biting back a scoff and Elain fidgeting with her dress.

Realizing she wouldn’t speak until he’d told her everything he continued.

He began speaking of how insignificant he’d felt in comparison to her. How he’d buried himself in work, in training with the Valkyries, helping Elain recover. He then pleaded to her, giving recollection of how he’d stopped feeling her through the bond. Giving account for everything leading up to the night he’d slept with Elain.

He recounted how he’d just wanted to get through the night, how he’d chosen to go to dinner instead of staying in, drowning himself in alcohol in an effort to get through the night, how he’d planned to tell Elain that he could no longer spend so much time with her.

It was then that he turned a violent glare to Cassian. “Tell her. Tell her, Cassian.”

Cassian let out a sigh. “Y/N, I am so sorry for the mistake I made. Nes and I, we’d stopped into a new apothecary along the Sidra and found a unique new aphrodisiac. We’d done a parting shot with Azriel and Elain after everyone else had gone out and I -“ his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, “I accidentally gave the shots we’d mixed the powder into to Elain and Azriel instead of Nes and I. I had no clue until yesterday, we just assumed it was a faulty batch.”

Azriel’s shadows swirled with rage as he picked up where he’d left off. “I went to find Elain afterward, to break things off but the aphrodisiac hit so hard, so fast, and I was so terribly intoxicated. One moment I was trying to speak, the next she was kissing me.” He shook, choking on the next words. “The next morning, I knew I could either tell you, inflicting more pain upon you, or I could carry the pain myself and make sure it never happened again.”

Lucien gritted his teeth at the admission. He’d known they slept together, she’d come straight to him afterward. Choosing to make his best effort to do right by his mate, telling himself that what had happened evened out the playing field between them. Of course it hurt, and hell, he was livid. He found himself fond of the Shadowsinger’s mate, forming a comfortable acquaintanceship with her the few times they’d attended the same events with the Inner Circle. She deserved so much more than a mate that cheated on her.

But Elain was his mate, he needed to at least try with her now that she’d finally shown up. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and had spent the past six months spending what time she deigned to give him with her. He’d hoped at the very least it would keep Azriel away from Elain and with his own mate. He’d felt awful when he heard she’d left.

He was drawn from his thoughts by Azriel’s next words and the corresponding pained gasp from Elain, and the thrumming power of Feyre as she seethed from both embarrassment of the ordeal and the careless words about her sister. “Y/N, Elain means nothing to me. She was a mistake. I don’t care about her beyond the fact that she’s my High Lady’s sister, I don’t love her - I only love you. I only want you. She is nothing.”

Elain clutched her chest, eyes welling with tears as she let out a whisper that may as well have been a damning scream. “But - you’re my mate.”

Time stood still as everyone turned to her in shock. Everyone, except for Rhys whose raging power dimmed momentarily, heads turned from Elain toward him as he let out an incredulous laugh. “You idiot.” Feyre turned toward him. He’d pay for that comment later, though only mildly as she was inclined to think the same of her sister. “That aphrodisiac that you were given, it is designed to imitate the mating frenzy. He’s not your mate, you were just horny.”

Elain turned ghostly, sinking in her chair at the revelation. Y/N felt sympathy for Lucien as she noted his gritted teeth. Apparently whatever she’d told Lucien, she’d left out the important detail that she thought she had another mate.

Camila’s body shook, fighting back laughter, and failing. Her laughter filled the space. “Oh my gods!” She wiped a tear from her eye. “I don’t mean to… but this, this is too good.” Her laughter only increased. “How humiliating!”

Even Y/N bit back a smile. Camila never was good at hiding her emotions, laughing in the most unstable of circumstances. And she couldn’t stop. Finally she placed her palms on the table pushing herself up. “I’m so sorry. I’ll excuse myself.” Lucien was next to stand, Elain tightly grasping his wrist. “Lucien” she whispered.

It was Lucien’s turn to let out a small laugh. “I suddenly find that I am not at all intertwined with this mess. Enjoy your mate!” He mused, a saccharine smile forming on his face as he pulled his arm away, catching up to Camila. His footsteps and the distant sound of “My lady” as he extended an arm to her, which she gladly accepted.

Elain stood eyes darting between Azriel and the door. Taking far too long to come to the decision to chase after her actual mate. Her foot moved out, pivoting her toward the doors when Rhysand commanded, “Oh no, you will stay here and finish this discussion.” She gasped looking to Feyre who only gave a solemn nod of solidarity with her mate.

Elain fell back into her seat, crossing her arms across her chest, glaring daggers at Azriel.

As the room once again settled, aside from the roaring heartbeats at the table, Y/N spoke impassively, “If there’s anything else you wish to say, now would be the time, Azriel.”

He stared wide eyed, clearly still blown away by the bullshit with Elain.

“Y/N, I am so sorry. I know that what I did was wrong. I never meant for any of this to happen. I never would have slept with her had it not been for the aphrodisiac. I never meant to hurt you. I have so much darkness within me to reckon with, so much that I’m terrified to bring up, so much I never wanted you to see. I need you to understand that. You were never the problem. It was me. It was always me. I can tell you how sorry I am, I can tell you how much I love you, but it won’t matter unless I can show you. Please give me that opportunity. I won’t let you down.”

Y/N sat still. Processing all of the details Azriel had given her. She felt his desperation barreling through the bond. Her hands again began shaking under the table without her sister there to steady them. Discreetly, Eris reached his hand to Y/N, the quivering receding at his warm touch.

Azriel’s shadows rose to whisper in his ear, his eyes instantly honing in on where their hands were joined, as if he could see right through the table.

And Y/N didn’t know if it was by a stroke of luck or the absolute lack of it but at that moment, the doors flung open and Nesta. Fucking. Archeron. stormed in.

“You.” She pointed to Azriel. One word. One action. So much damnation behind it.

Rhys’ darkness flared in the presence of his wild card sister-in-law. Cassian merely raised an eyebrow, the slightest upward curve tilting his lips as he took in his mate who could command a room full of power.

She looked over both High Lord’s at the table with an unimpressed sneer before turning that deadly, piercing gaze toward Azriel.

Azriel’s eyes widened in surprise at the Valkyrie striding toward him. “What. The. Fuck. Is. This?”

His brows knit and she opened her fist, grasping a chain with two of her fingers to display a dangling necklace.

Azriel’s face paled.

“You know, the strangest thing happened this afternoon. I was talking to my friend, Gwyn. We got to talking about flowers and Elain’s garden. Gwyn began speaking of how she loves roses, clutching at a lovely little pendant around her neck.”

“And I thought to myself, something about this necklace seems so familiar.”

“And then I recalled a solstice not too long ago where my sister came crying to me over a male who had given her a lovely necklace of the same description. How they’d pined for each other, never going further than a brush of the hands. Until the night they almost kissed, the scent of his arousal heavy in the air between them, then pulling back from her and stating ‘this is a mistake’ and leaving.

At the point Rhysand turned to his brother. “You’re fucking joking, Azriel.”

Y/N looked to them beginning to anticipate where this was going.

“When asked who gifted it to her, she stated that Clotho told her it was left for her from an anonymous admirer. So, I went to my friend Clotho, who keeps to her word very well. She’d sworn to the source she wouldn’t tell. But you know, the House of Wind is a sentient entity. Persistently tugging me toward Rhys’ belongings that remain scattered around the house.”

Nesta turned her glare from Azriel to Rhysand. “So, Rhysand, something tells me you know about this.”

Rhys lowered his head with shame hesitating as he searched for the right words.

“Y/N…. I’m so sorry. A couple of years ago, on Solstice, I caught Azriel placing a necklace on Elain.” He looked to Elain and then back at Azriel again. “I monitored the situation, hoping I was wrong, but as their lips were moments away from touching, I used my daemati abilities and summoned Azriel to my study. I truly thought whatever happened was over between them as the tension between the two seemingly faded in my presence. Until yesterday, when we found out about he and Elain sleeping together.”

Cassian glared to his brother with rage, “You gave a necklace meant for Elain to Gwyn?”

“She wasn’t supposed to know.”

Before he could dig the hole further, Elain whispered, those doe eyes peering at Azriel through her lashes, “So, you didn’t really think it was a mistake?”

Feyre broke her silence letting out an audible groan of exasperation. And Azriel broke his own silence,

“It WAS a mistake, Elain. All of it. Rhys tried to stop it. I should have listened. You were a mistake.”

Elain gasped, tears lining her eyes. And if looks could have killed, the glare Nesta gave Azriel would have ended him on the spot. But it was Elain who made the mistake of reading her sister’s rage toward Azriel as sympathy toward herself, leaning into her sister, turning her head into her side to catch her dramatized tears.

“No, Elain. I am so disappointed in you. You were completely wrecked when Graysen left you and you were only engaged. Imagine the pain Y/N felt losing her MATE.”

Eris who had been taking in the cluster fuck surrounding them mused, looking toward the door Lucien had earlier exited, “Oh, I don’t think she’ll have to imagine much.” Earning a laugh disguised as a cough from Cassian, another sigh from Feyre, and a scowl from Nesta as she chose to ignore the barb - looking again to Azriel, “You have a lot of amends to make.”

She looked to Elain, “You do too.”

With that she grabbed Elain by the arm and drug her out of the room. With a wave over her arm and a shout of, “You deserve so much better than what you’ve been through, Y/N!”

Y/N took a breath as the room regained its composure, the tension again thickening. “Is there anything else, or are you done making excuses, Azriel?”

“They’re not excuses. Y/N. I love you. I was wrong. It’s always been you.”

“I’m tired.” She spoke softly. And it was the truth.

“I spent so much time waiting for you. Praying that one day it would all become ‘right’ again. I dreamed that you’d come walking through the door, and remind me what it was like to feel your love. My Azriel, my mate, all I wanted was you.

But, this, Azriel. You are not the male I fell in love with. And I think… I think the most heartbreaking part of that is that what I loved most was those dark depths of your soul that you tried so hard to hide. You were never a monster, you were always worth loving. You wouldn’t have broken me. Shutting me out is what broke me. And I told you that, so many times, in so many ways. But you never listened.

And the reason you couldn’t feel me through the bond? The further you pulled away, the more I closed it off from my end. I hoped that it would give you time to work through whatever it was you were facing and refused to share despite my pleas. Until I eventually grew so numb that I just shut it down completely. A courtesy you never once extended to me during my time away. Do you know how hard it was to recover after I left? I felt your guilt and rage barreling through me at all hours.

And you fucking Elain? Nobody but you and Elain are responsible for your actions. Cassian is not your excuse. You chose to go that night, you chose to drink all evening, you chose to wait until that night to tell her you wouldn’t be spending time with her like you had been. You had the entire week away and chose to wait until the last minute.

The affair started long before then. I think we can agree that despite your cold treatment of her before me today, that you two were engaged in an emotional affair long before you ever went to bed with her.”

She reached into her pocket pulling out a piece of parchment.

“And then, you attempted to court Gwyn in my absence - which, fair, because I’m the one who left. She really is a lovely female. Although, I hear it didn’t quite work in your favor.”

Azriel’s eyes grew wide in panic. “The necklace didn’t-“

She laughed. “I’ll save you time and effort of your excuses, Azriel. Gwyn may not have known the necklace was from you but she did extend the courtesy of writing to me and I was rather surprised by the details of the demise of our relationship that didn’t quite line up - specifically the cheating aspect.”

She placed her hands on the table, looking her mate directly in the eyes. “I made my decision long before your attempt to break into this Keep, before the truths were unveiled today. I appreciate everyone for coming but I have heard enough. I ask that you leave now, Azriel.”

Tears filled his eyes. “Wait! Please, Y/N.” His brothers began to pull him away but Azriel fell to his knees.

“Please, baby.” He begged. “Just come home.”

She stared at the pleading male before her. A pang of sympathy for her broken mate ran through her. She wasn’t cruel and sympathy was not a weakness. This was her choice to make and nobody would blame her if she went back to her mate.

“Come home, please.”

Holding her head high, she stepped around her chair.

Eris sat expressionless, carefully avoiding any inclination of the devastation he’d feel if she chose to leave. He would support her either way.

Azriel remained focused on her every movement, his erratic breathing the only sound cutting through the tension of the room.

She took a step, and one more, before halting. Gently taking the hand of the red-headed male beside her whose eyes lined with silver as he looked up to her.

“I am home.”

EPILOGUE

The time he showed up:

Lucien suffered when his bond with Elain was severed. She did not agree to breaking the bond which left slim to no opportunity to move forward with the breaking of it. After months of intense research, Helion was able to find a tricky workaround that did not require both parties to be present. It was incredibly painful due to the negative effects being concentrated to one individual instead of split between two but fortunately not lethal.

Eris never pushed me to sever my bond with Azriel but as time went on it felt important to put that part of my life behind me. I’d extended the courtesy of writing to Azriel regarding my intention to sever it, informing him that I would be going through with the incantation that Helion had conjured. He did not reply but I knew he received the letter based on the muted feelings of grief that seeped through crevices of the walls I had placed against his end of the bond for several days afterward.

Eris traveled to the Day Court with me, having decided nobody could aid in my recovery better than he. To my shock, upon arriving, Azriel was there. Demurely, he stated that it was only right for him to share the weight of this burden. I was inclined to agree but only thanked him for showing up. He bristled at the sight of Eris but the males said nothing to eachother and we went our separate ways until Helion was ready for us. With Azriel’s presence and the pain being shared, the physical recovery on both of our ends was expedited and manageable for both of us.

We were both held in separate suites to recover until Helion gave the all-clear to leave. When the pain became less debilitating, I decided to take a stroll through an exterior walkway, soaking in the sun while Eris bathed. Apparently Azriel had the same idea as I turned a corner to find him sunning his wings, head hung low.

Right as I made to pivot, his head whipped in my direction, eyes locking with mine. Even without the bond I could easily read the pain in his eyes, the grief that surrounded him. His shadows fought to come to me but he kept a tight reign on them. His breathing was rapid, his eyes fighting to turn away but his gaze lingered.

He opened his mouth to speak, a weak sound escaping his lips before he clamped his mouth shut, jaw tensing.

I kept my gaze soft, maintaining eye contact for another moment but he didn’t try to speak again. With that, I walked away and we did not encounter eachother again during the stay.

It was later I realized that he likely wanted to say something, anything, but there was nothing left to speak between us.

The sister-in-law:

After recovering fully from the severance of his bond, Lucien cryptically invited Eris and I to a lakeside home in the Day Court.

“Dress for merriment.” His only details.

Upon arriving, we found a couple of beloved faces from my life, along with Feyre, Helion, The former lady of Autumn (now the lady of Day), Jurian, Vassa, and even Tamlin at the home. We were all escorted to the grounds where an absolutely beaming Lucien stood at an altar beside the most radiant female I’d ever seen.

That was the day my sister became also my sister-in-law. It’s a very strange thing to say aloud but makes sense if you think about it.

The first heir:

Eris cried the day our son was born. Not from the relief of having an heir, not from any upset due to the child being male, certainly not from any disappointment of being a father.

The birth was as smooth as one can be, he held my hand throughout, praising me, and whispering words of love. He didn’t even mind the curses I threw his way as I pushed. He only let go of my hand once the babe was carefully handed to me by the midwife, allowing me those first precious moments to cradle our little flame to my chest and relish in the life our love had created.

Eris cried when that tiny babe was finally passed into his arms and the little red-haired beauty grasped his finger. That touch immediately tethering a connection straight from the child in his arms delicate soul to Eris’ heart, the heart that once beat beneath layers of armor now laid bare before his son.

Never would this child know pain at his fathers hand. Never would he limit the love he could show for fear of being seen as weak. And never, ever would he question his fathers love for him.

The coronation

Azriel

Sitting here lonely at a table for two, watching lovers being lovers

Azriel sat shrouded in shadow in a quiet corner of the decorated throne room. Happy chatter rang throughout the room as attendees anxiously awaited the crowning of the High Lady of the Autumn Court.

Feyre and Rhys; Cassian and Nesta; Helion and the former Lady of Autumn; Emerie and Mor; Tamlin and his new wife, Briar; Lucien and Camila; and even Gwyn and Tarquin sat cozied up in pairs throughout the crowded throne room. Nyx had seated himself next to his best friend Alex, Camila and Lucien’s son.

From what Azriel had heard Lucien treated Alex as his own from the moment he met him, adopting the boy immediately after he and Camila married. He seemed to be a fine young man and a positive influence on Nyx, who kept Rhys and Feyre on their toes these days. Perhaps karmic justice for the hell Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian put Rhys’ mother through in their youth.

Three little girls ran through the room, two with vibrant red-hair, tan skin and freckled golden cheeks; one with dark hair, fair skin, and her mothers eyes; their giggling rang out above the chatter filling the room as an older child, a boy of eleven years old - Azriel still remembered the day the announcement arrived to the Night Court of the birth of the first Autumn Court heir - walked in a straight backed, lordly posturing behind them, a crease forming between his brows as he focused intently on his little sisters.

The boys long strides kept up with his little sisters as he reminded them to mind their paces. Lost in their merriment, the girls ignored his warnings until the boy finally let out an exasperated sigh. Stopping for a moment with his arms crossed, he raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as he shook his head, murmuring gods knows what frustrated curses. Knowing his mother, it was not the typical frustrated language of a child.

Azriel gave a small, sad smile at the memories elicited.

When the boy looked up, the girls had disappeared from his sight. He grew frantic for a moment until his Uncle Lucien walked up to him, pointing to his wife and the three girls pressing kisses and talking animatedly to her round, very pregnant belly. The boy gave his uncle a smile, shoulders sagging in relief. Lucien bowed down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. The boy took his hand and walked back toward Camila and the sisters.

Azriel placed a hand to his chest at the wave of grief that rang through him. The mating bond may have been severed but he never could get over the love that he squandered. The family that could have been his.

“You don’t have to be here, brother.” Rhysand’s voice invaded his mind.

Azriel swallowed, willing his thoughts to a tone of neutrality. “She’s the High Lady of the Autumn Court, we’re immortal, we will have to be comfortable in spaces together. It comes with the territory.”

I miss you. Without you I just don’t fit in.

He didn’t have to say what his brother already knew. That yes, he was broken when she left. Broken further when she confirmed he was no longer her home. He’d hated himself for what he’d done, for what he put her through. For a long time, he’d been a shell of the shell of himself that he’d already become. Eventually, he’d taken to seeing one of the counselors in the House of Wind’s library. He was too far gone at that point to consider such an option but Rhys had coordinated with the priestesses and mandated it. Either he got help or lost his position in the Night Court.

Even after the countless hours of counseling sessions he’d attended over the years, that “savior complex” of his remained. Seeing Y/N thriving with someone else was fucking hard but not as hard as living in a world where he never looked upon her face again. As she assumed the title of High Lady, a target would lay on her back, just as one was on any other High Lord or High Lady’s back. He’d never forgive himself if his stubborn pride kept him from attending any court events she attended and something happened to his own High Lord or Lady… or if something happened to her.

I don’t know if I’ll ever find another you.

So here he was, alone at a table, in a now quiet throne room, watching the love of his life step out onto the dais in all of her resplendent glory, kneeling down before the male she loved. Eris’ eyes lined with silver as her own lifted to meet his gaze, her chin held high as she awaited his next move. Carefully, he lifted the emerald and ruby crested crown, with one large diamond centered between two golden leaves, off of the plush pillow it sat upon. Eris’ previous words rang true through Azriel’s head “Diamonds don’t crush under pressure.” The people of this court were truly fortunate to be under the rule of such a resilient and kind ruler. The shining diamond of Autumn. She would love them deeply and do right by them in a way so few leaders were capable of.

Azriel couldn’t contain the pride that welled up in his chest, tears threatening to spill over his thick lashes as the crown was placed upon her head. And yet it was Eris who looked at her like she was the very air that he breathed, as if nothing existed in that moment but the female at his fingertips, like the only reason he himself was brought into existence was to find and cherish her for eternity. And despite his disdain for Eris Vanserra, Azriel finally understood that this was where she belonged.

Everybody’s got somebody but me.

————————————-

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read this series! I loved writing it and I hope you are pleased with the ending. Some may ask, “What about Elain?” and to that I say, “What about her?” I find great satisfaction in the fact that she didn’t get either male, was embarrassed in front of the IC, and became so irrelevant that she was barely mentioned in the epilogue (aside from Lucien breaking the bond). Clearly, she’s still bitter considering she refused to sever the bond with him but he still found a way out (albeit painfully) and got his dream girl! Stay mad, Elain.

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@lilah-asteria

Eris Tag List:

@angiedsv

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@going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @lisanna2000 @fxckmiup @sheblogs @emryb @one-big-fangirl @historygeekqueen @isa1b2h3 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @theravenphoenix26 @sidthedollface2 @i-am-infinite @caraaaaugh @evergreenlark @darkbloodsly @piceous21 @anxious-study @chessebookgirl @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @crazylokonugget @mysticalfuncollectorus @starsinyourseyes @b0xerdancer-writes @inloveallthetime @thegirlinshadows101 @viistrength @grunchwench @starryhiraeth @macimads @feiwelinchen @acourtofbatboydreams @nebarious @haechansleafblower @melsunshine @thegirlintheshadows101 @plsfckmern @existingthroughwords @mybestfriendmademe @strangersunghoon

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Bonus Part — Fin x Reader.

Summary: A reimagining of how things would have gone if Reader had decided she wanted Fin — despite him being her friend’s father.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Heavy on the smut. 18+, minors dni. Some jealous and possessiveness. Mentions of forbidden relationships/affairs. If the choices Reader makes in this are something you’re against, I urge you not to read! 🫶🏻

Rita’s is like no other place you’ve been — or seen — before.

Is this what you’ve missed out on, trapped within the frozen maw of Windhaven? There is no place like this there, of such vibrancy and euphoria. The music, the coloured faelights, the energy — it all makes you feel…on top of the world.

Like there’s life outside the misery you’ve known.

Mor knocks a shot back, grimacing as she slams the empty glass onto the bar. A sudden burst of giggles leaves her as she says, “My father would have my head if he could see me right now. Literally.”

You don’t doubt that for a second, because Mor looks resplendent, not just in her natural beauty, but her joy. She has danced and drank and kissed and danced some more. And seeing her like this…it makes you glad that she convinced you to come out with her tonight.

“My father would have my head, too,” you tell her over the music. “I’m surprised he hasn’t already.”

At that, she rolls her eyes, and she reaches for two more shots. “Here’s to saying fuck the males,” she knocks her glass against yours. “May they all perish.”

You’ll happily drink to that. With the alcohol that has you in its grip, you’re buzzed on thoughts of storming back to Windhaven and confronting all your demons. Confronting anyone and everyone who has ever hurt you and made you feel less than you are. Your father. Lord Devlon. Azriel—

You banish that thought as the liquid slides down your throat with a satisfying burn. You are in Velaris, not Windhaven. A new place with new people, where anything feels possible. The thought is heady and dizzying.

Someone calls Mor’s name, and she glances over her shoulder, her beautiful eyes lighting up again. You truly don’t know how often she’s able to escape the Hewn City and get away to Velaris, but judging by the amount of friends she’s introduced you to tonight, she’s certainly made her mark here.

“Let’s go dance with them!” Mor yells over the music, grabbing your hand.

You think that dancing might be the answer to everything you’ve never known, and so you gladly follow; gladly throw yourself into the thrall of the busy floor.

But that’s when you see him.

Something…some deep power…compels you to look up. Coaxes your eyes to that area a level above, where the city’s VIP guests spend copious amounts of money on copious amounts of alcohol and drink it from their cushy velvet booths. They’re reserved for associates of the High Lord, a not-so-formal place to meet to discuss not-so-casual things.

But none of that matters. There could be an entire circus up there right now, and still all you would notice is — him.

He notices you, too.

The High Lord’s eyes zero in on you from up above. You watch, rooted to the spot, as he takes in the sight of you, from your braided back hair, to your painted face, your dress and the legs exposed by them. He looks like…like he’s finally setting his sights upon an image that was merely fantasy up until now.

He braces his arms on the balustrade. And he just stares.

You want to know what he’s doing here. Whether he’s at Rita’s for business or…or for pleasure. You’ve heard that there are rooms upstairs for people willing to pay the price. Perhaps there’s a lover up there with him somewhere, waiting to explore every last inch of that glorious, sculpted body—

The bleating jealousy that makes your heart twist is…unexpected. And not ideal; not one bit.

He is Rhysand’s father. Things may have been fucked up royally with Azriel, and you may have been burned by the experience — but Fin is Rhysand’s father.

Your friend’s father.

Your friend’s father who has just so happened to help keep you feeling alive these past weeks. With his layers-deep allure, the sweet, sweet words that roll off his tongue. His hospitality, his generosity. His kindness. All of it, you’d attributed to him being a natural charmer, a High Lord who knows precisely what to say, what to do.

It strikes you in that moment — just how much it’s all sunk its way into your bones and made you feel…dangerous.

He watches you like a cat with a mouse. Watches as somebody grabs your hand and yanks you into the tightly knit dancing bodies. The music pulses through you from head to toe, a frenzied tune of strings and keys that somehow come together to create the feeling of being borne aloft. Being on top of the world.

As you become lost to the sensation of dance, you’re glad to forget all your thoughts about Fin. You don’t want to wonder what he’s doing here. You don’t want to imagine what those strong, rough hands might get up to, where they might venture.

You become sandwiched between two males who dance with you in a way that makes you forget your wings were ever stolen. They touch you and touch each other, and you welcome it all, happy to be someone, somewhere, else. At least for a while.

But there’s suddenly a foreign touch to your shoulder. That of a cold, meaty hand that stills your movements and draws your attention. The two males happily slink away and begin grinding on each other, and you spin on the spot to find a tall, stocky male who looks like he punches people in the face for the hell of it.

“Y/N?” He checks, and you nod. “The High Lord wishes to speak with you. Upstairs.”

You glance over your shoulder, eyes searching for Mor and finding her just as she’s following a male and female to a cloaked-off area at the back. That’ll be her occupied for the remainder of the night. You’re officially going solo.

But not for long. Not as the bouncer juts his chin in the direction of the staircase and begins to lead you there. Perhaps it makes you a fool, but you follow without a word.

He pulls back a rope and gestures for you to go on up, and then he’s refastening it behind you and turning back to train a keen eye on the dance floor. It’s purely the alcohol that hits you with enough of an ego to climb those stairs like you belong amongst the chandeliers and velvet booths.

But you look good — amazing, even. You know you do. And looking like this, things like scars and other insecurities seem so trivial. You’ve taken back the right to feel as beautiful as you are. You wear your Illyrian features proudly, and you’re pretty and lithe and graceful—

And your heel catches on the top step of the staircase, almost sending you sprawling to the floor — if not for the warm hand that catches your elbow.

“Easy.” Fin rasps into your ear, setting you steady on your feet.

Your numbed, inebriated senses are not immune to the effect of his voice, it would seem. The deep baritone, rough as jagged rock, pushes its way into your skin, your veins, and spreads far faster than any alcohol could.

“Pardon me, my Lord,” you answer, and you’re unable to shove down the hysterical giggle that claws up your throat. “Fuck, you’re the High Lord.”

He cocks a dark eyebrow. “And you are drunk.”

“The whiskey they serve here is immense.”

“I’ll be sure to extend your compliments to Rita herself.”

Is that, you wonder, who he’s up here meeting? Perhaps the elusive Rita is a close associate of his. Perhaps they do deals in both business and pleasure.

And taking in your fill of the High Lord right now, in a dark button-up shirt and fitted breeches of a slate grey, you would not blame Rita one little bit.

Gods, he’s exquisite. Rhysand may resemble Roza more than he does Fin, but…with two parents of such stunning beauty, it’s no wonder your friend is as handsome as he is.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you make no secret of the way your eyes linger on him. Tonight is dangerous, and you’re enjoying it.

“Nor I, you,” he narrows his gaze down at you. “Imagine my surprise, considering that when I left the palace earlier this evening, you were curled up in the library with a book. And yet, here you are. Wearing…” mahogany eyes take in the short cut of your dress, “…that.”

“Mor surprised me with a visit.”

“My niece ought to be more careful not to press her father’s buttons too much,” a muscle in his chiselled jaw ticks. “And I think you ought to be more careful not to push mine.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Bold. So foolishly bold of you. You’ll regret it once sober, you’re sure. “Was there a particular reason you summoned me up here, my Lord? I was rather enjoying dancing.”

“I noticed. And I’m taking you home.”

“What—”

Before you can even finish the word, Fin’s gripping your elbow again, and darkness sweeps you away.

Being winnowed while drunk is not a fun experience.

You feel the cosmic, air-light step from one place to another. Your stomach lurches, your head spinning. You can barely get a hold of yourself as you cling to Fin and prepare your feet to touch solid ground.

And then the darkness is gone, and you’re back in the toasty, warm glow of the palace’s library. Your knees buckle, trying to drag you to the floor, but Fin keeps you upright.

“What the…” you gawp up at him. “Why did you bring me home?”

He ensures you’re able to stand on your feet before pushing away from you. Doesn’t even look at you as he commands, “Get to bed.”

“I was enjoying myself.”

“Just as those males were enjoying you, too. You’re drunk and you need to sleep it off. Get to bed.”

He strides towards the door, his knuckles white from how hard he grips the hilt of the sword sheathed at his side. But sword or no, you refuse to give up so easily.

“No,” you say simply. “I will not.”

Fin stops. Goes still. And then he turns back to you.

His temper is clear on his face, but he doesn’t storm back over like you’re half expecting him to. Instead, his eyes shutter, and he seems to take a deep, soothing breath. When he’s looking at you once more, he flicks his wrist in your direction.

And immediately, gone is the haze of the alcohol.

Immediately, you’re completely lucid, completely steady on your feet. Not a lick of inebriation remains, as if you had, indeed, slept it off.

“Did you just sober me up?” you’re outraged by the mere idea.

“Yes.” Fin admits shamelessly. “Now you won’t fall victim to a hangover in the morning — a favour from me, to you, and I ask you in return to get to bed. And don’t even think about trying to venture back out. I’ll know.”

Your blood boils. And the anger isn’t simply because of your ruined fun, but because…because it stings, the way Fin is treating you with such contempt. Scolding you like you’re little more than a petulant child. He’s been nothing but wonderful since you came to Velaris, and yet now, he speaks to you like…like most of the males back in Windhaven do.

It makes you see red.

“What right have you to dictate how I spend my evening?” you snap. “I was under the impression that my free time is my own, and if I wish to go and get drunk and dance like a fool, that is up to me.”

Cold, beautiful anger hardens Fin’s face. He stalks closer, squeezing the hilt of that sword so, so tightly. “What right have I? This is my home. My city. My court. I am your High Lord, and you choose to behave in such a way when I’ve opened my home to you and offered you refuge? When I’ve given you a place to run to and left my resources at your disposal?”

You rock back on the heels of your feet, staring at him. Every word lands a hit — as good as if he’d nocked them in a bow and fired them right at your heart. It stings. Gods, it stings. You want the careless oblivion of the alcohol back.

Because you grapple daily with the pain, the anxiety, of feeling unwanted. And you…you had begun to think that Fin actually cared for you. Actually enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed his.

You’d begun to care about his thoughts and feelings where you were concerned. And begun to believe that it wasn’t just the hospitality and courtesy that he would dole out to any runt on the street.

His eyes seem to track the way your expression changes, your shoulders slump. You swallow. The anger is replaced, simply, by hurt.

“If I am a burden, my Lord, I apologise,” you rasp. “I don’t intend to be one. I appreciate your generosity, and I…I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.”

You hope you can keep your tears at bay long enough to escape to your room. You’re pelted with shame, embarrassment, hurt. You step forward and hurry past the High Lord, desperate to book it out of there, to get to bed.

But his hand encloses around your wrist, tugging you to a stop. And he says, quietly, “wait.”

That hand on your wrist holds the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

You pin your gaze to the ground, unable to look at Fin. You hear him swallow.

“That isn’t—” his voice is gravelly. “I didn’t mean that.”

You don’t think you can speak. You remain a statue beneath his touch.

But so gently — such a contrast to the whirlwind of his actions before — he’s walking you backwards. Slow and careful. You feel your back hit the wall, and he lets go of your wrist and seems to curl his fists at his sides. There’s a desperation to the action that only then coaxes you to look up at him.

His expression is…pleading. For what, you’re not sure.

“You are the furthest thing from a burden,” he says, quietly, on an exhale. “Your presence here is very much welcomed, I assure you.”

You don’t dare breathe a word. Every last bit of your very sober courage is being thrown into maintaining eye contact. There’s none to spare for speaking.

But your lack of response seems to trouble Fin. His eyes rake over your face, searching for something. He swallows again.

And then his eyes shutter, and he whispers, “Mother above, what are you doing to me?”

You don’t know how to answer him — whether he’s even talking to you at all. He takes in a very slow, very deep breath, as though it’s the only thing that’s stopping him from…doing something. What, you’re not sure.

But you can feel it, sense it — the ferocity with which he’s swallowing down words and holding himself back. Like he wants so badly to say something, but can’t.

His eyes open, clearer than they were seconds before, and he says in a far gentler tone, “Get to bed, Y/N,” he inclines his head. “Sleep well.”

With tense, squared shoulders, he turns — and it’s you, this time, that stops him. You halt him with a hand on his arm, and you could swear you feel the muscles flex under his touch.

“Wait,” you say, not ready to let him go, not prepared to leave things between you like this. “Stay and talk with me for a while.”

His jaw clenches like he’s gritting his teeth. “That isn’t a good idea.”

“Why? We talk all the time, you and I. And there are clearly things you’re holding back from saying—”

Your words are cut short as he suddenly meets your gaze with the intensity of a blazing fire. You think it might burn you. You hope it will.

“It’s a bad idea,” he grounds out, gutturally, “not because of what I want to say. But because of what I want to do.”

“What—”

“You are my son’s close friend. You are Roza’s guest,” he tugs his arm out from under your hand. “You are far younger than I am. I am trying my hardest — I have been trying my hardest — to be a good male. And right now, a good male would take his leave and go to bed, so I bid you goodnight, Y/N.”

“Fin—”

“I hope you sleep well.”

“Fin,” you grab for him again. “What if I don’t want you to be a good male?”

Beneath your touch, he stops. Goes preternaturally still.

Words punch out of you with terrifying gall — and truth. “What if I want you to do those things—”

Quick as a flash, he’s pivoting, and he has the upper hand. Has you pressed so tightly up against the wall, his body boxing you in.

And gods, the feel of it might set you on fire. A brush of your hands, a kiss on the backs of your fingers — they’re nothing compared to the weight and press of his muscles against your body. You want your clothes to melt away, and his, too. You want your hands on his bare, hot skin.

“I don’t think you realise what you’re saying,” he growls.

“I do,” you breathe. “I am completely sober. Completely clear of mind. And I am telling you, Fin, I want you—”

A strangled noise is the only warning you get before the High Lord’s mouth is on yours.

The kiss is pure power. It passes from him, into you, roils through your veins and makes you feel like somebody remarkable. It’s the cloak of darkness and the kiss of sin. Of somebody capable of very, very bad things.

And it’s immediately addicting. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to get enough.

You claw at his shirt, tugging him closer, closer, and his broad hands cup your face as his mouth devours yours.

This kiss…it’s been building. The need for it has been working its way beneath your skin for a while. All the heated glances, the late-night conversations. All the thoughts, in the dead of night, of what Fin might be doing in his own bed. Wondering whether he was thinking of you.

It’s so, so forbidden. So wrong. But it feels so godsdamn right.

And the way Fin’s tongue slides between your lips and strokes into your mouth — it tells you that he feels it, too.

Your hands glide from his waist, round to his back, and you yank him harder against you. So desperate are you to feel him. Feel what you think you do to him.

He makes another low noise. And then he’s tearing his mouth from yours. But he lingers close, your foreheads touching.

“Better than I’ve been imagining,” he pants, his hands still clutching your face. “Much better.”

“You’ve imagined kissing me?” You know he has.

“I have imagined,” his thumbs sweep your cheeks, “doing all sorts of things with you, Y/N. Things that would make even the most salacious of a person blush.”

Such a relief — to know that it’s not all just some wild fantasy you’ve cooked up in your mind. That you’re not just some wayward, longing young female who craves the affections of an older male to patch her deep wounds.

No, it’s not that. It’s desire. It’s need. And it burns inside your veins until you think you might erupt into flames.

“I’ve imagined them, too,” you say, without a lick of shame.

Once again, his eyes are shuttering. Once again, he takes that slow, steadying breath. And as you watch him do so, you can’t bear the thought of him still grappling with right and wrong. You can’t bear the thought of him squaring his shoulders and walking out of here, leaving your lips bruised, your body aching, your heart hurting. You can’t bear it—

“I want you to do those things,” you lift your chin, gaze unflinching. “I want you to touch me.”

Fin’s eyes reopen.

He stares at you.

His throat bobs.

You have never seen somebody look so wild, so ravenous. There is heat everywhere, in his stare and in his taut body. His eyes flick down to your lips.

That mere glance at them is the deciding factor, it would seem.

He growls, the sound not at all one you’ve ever heard from a person, and he yanks you up into his arms and kisses you again.

So naturally, your arms twine around his neck, your legs locking around his waist. You can feel the strength of him against you, in the way he holds you. You can taste his crackling power.

He doesn’t falter in the kiss nor his steps as he carries you away from the wall, and you’re suddenly being placed down on the library’s desk, sending books and parchment and pens and ink pots flying. They all clatter loudly to the floor, and neither of you care.

But Fin does pull away to look at you, and there’s wicked, boyish charm in his eyes as the corners of his mouth twitch up. He merely says, “Oops.”

You surge up and kiss him again.

He sighs into it, like your mouth is the answer to all his questions. And when heated hands land on your thighs, you part them, allow him to slot his body in between. The mere feel of it has you pushing up against him, finding him hard—

But again, he pulls away. He scans your face and rasps, “Tell me you’re sure.”

You do not balk from his intensity. From the fact that this is the fucking High Lord of your court, who was changing this world and building a reputation long before you were a mere thought in your parents’ minds. You do not balk from the fact that there are a million different reasons that this is wrong.

You think only about the fact that it feels right.

And that translates into your voice as you say, firmly, “I’m sure.”

You think you see the words course through his body. They change something — forever.

“This isn’t about Roza,” he breathes — breathes heavily, like it’s taking everything to tamp down on the desire to devour you then and there. To say what needs to be said.

You shake your head, “No.”

“Nor is it about Rhysand.”

“No.”

“It’s about me and you.” He destroys what little gap exists between your bodies, his hardness pushing through his breeches, right up against your centre. His hands brace on the desk, either side of you. “And gods, I want you, Y/N. I want you so much, I can scarcely bear it.”

“Have me,” is all you manage — before he strikes.

You think, hope, that his mouth might find yours again — but he’s barely brushing it before his lips settle on your jaw. His hands travel up your legs, fingers biting into the flesh. They find your hips, thumbs delivering explorative sweeps. They tug your dress up as they climb, exposing more of you to the warmth of the room. Exposing more skin that you know he wants to lay claim to.

And when the hem of your dress is ruched around your waist, you smile — at your little wildcard exposed. That he finds no underwear hiding what sits between your legs.

Your choice to forgo a pair seems almost foretelling, now — like some part of you knew the night would end like this, and you wanted to be ready.

Fin’s eyes dip to your slick, exposed cunt. The hunger in them is almost intimidating. You open your legs just a little wider—

But his rough hand is gripping your chin, almost hard enough to hurt. And he snarls deeply, “It drove me to madness — seeing those two males dancing with you. Touching you.”

Pleasure bolts down your spine, and from the way his nostrils flare, you know the scent of your arousal is consuming him.

“Did it?” you stare back at him, welcoming the discomfort of his brutal grip.

“I wanted them dead. I wanted to draw my sword and gut them for even looking your way. For touching what I want to be mine.”

That pleasure again — skittering over your skin. His words do something to you. You bite down on a moan.

“It is yours,” you tilt your chin up to him, smiling when he immediately glances to your lips. “Take it.”

“I warn you,” he lowers his face to yours, “I don’t like to share.”

“And I warn you, High Lord,” you watch as your words land, drawing a deep, raw scent from him. “Neither do I.”

With a growl, he snaps. The kiss he gives you is not slow or sweet. His hand continues to grip your face, and his mouth attacks yours, his tongue sliding between your lips. You can’t help your moan, this time, as his taste overpowers you — a taste that you can only describe as pure thunder.

But it ends too soon, as he begins to leave a trail of heated kisses and bites and sucks along your jaw, down your neck, your collarbones. Your head falls back, and the touches are like little zips of lightning — lightning cleaving through the night sky.

“Pretty dress,” he hums against your skin — and that’s all the warning you get before that dress is ripped apart. Torn to ribbons.

No part of you is left to Fin’s imagination.

He tears his mouth from you and steps back to drink you in.

Instinct roars at you to curl in on yourself and hide. To remember that you are scarred, and flawed, and not to the liking of many — including yourself, a lot of the time.

But something about Fin’s weighty, scorching stare stops you from moving a muscle.

You lift your chin and hide nothing as he takes his fill. His eyes travel a journey from the top of your head and down — down your face, your neck, your breasts. Down your stomach, your waist, your hips. Down to that fine dusting of hair on your pelvis that tracks a thin path to—

Fin drops to his knees with a low noise. His hands wrap around your legs and prise them further apart.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he levels his face with the very centre of you, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight.

The sight of the High Lord on his knees before you — on his knees for you.

As though he senses the direction of your thoughts, his eyes flick up, and he smiles.

And then he dives in.

His tongue wastes no time in sinking between your folds, licking a broad stripe right up the centre of you. At the first stroke, your head falls back, your arms wobbling where they’re braced on the desk.

“Look at me,” Fin growls. “Only me.”

His voice of pure High Lord power drags your eyes back to him. And thank the fucking Mother it does.

You see everything in the way he feasts on you. His tongue laps at your wetness, and it coats his lips, his chin, coats him in you. The damp heat of his tongue is liquid fire. It promises to scorch you, end you, and rise you anew like a phoenix from the ashes.

Your fingers sink into the strands of Fin’s hair and tug. Judging by the noise he makes, the way his pace picks up, you think he likes it.

He utterly fucking devours you, like he’s fought a centuries-long wait to do so. And whatever magic commands his mouth — you know you cannot possibly last against it.

“Oh, gods,” your moan breaks from you, hips bucking up. You think your voice might be loud, but you don’t care. “Fuck—Fin.”

It all happens at once — his name falling from your lips, the growl rumbling in his throat, the flicking of his tongue against your clit and the finger he plunges into you, curls inside you. Every part of it is lightning strikes to your veins, and you come apart, utterly break.

Your climax slams into you and steals your breath. You’re nothing but a gasping, panting, trembling shell. Your mind is somewhere else entirely.

With your head falling back, eyes pinned to the ceiling, chest heaving, you don’t catch the swiftness with which Fin stands, licking your wetness from his lips. With which his clothes are gone in a blink of an eye.

But then he commands, “Look at me.”

It’s the second time he’s said it. Your head lolls forward once more.

You swallow the breaths you’re still trying to get down. Try to stop your body fucking shaking.

But it’s no wonder it does, as you look at him.

Your High Lord is nothing short of exquisite. He is art. Your fantasies have done him no justice.

That golden skin of his seems to attract the glowing light of the room. It bathes him, but it does not steal the attention. It outlines every fine plane of his body, the sculpted muscles on show, the nicks of injuries that have scarred and silvered over time.

There is not a single part of him that isn’t pure, refined power. And when your gaze drops to below his waist…a shudder wracks through you.

His cock stands hard and leaking at the head. You watch, your mouth watering, as he wraps a hand around its length and gives a long stroke.

“Fin—”

“When you look at me like that,” he prowls closer, “there is no way I can consider this forbidden.”

He’s within reach. Your fingers inch towards him. You want to touch him, taste him—

But he curls a hand around yours and stops you in your tracks.

“Not tonight,” he says. Pure promise is laced within the words. “No playing tonight.”

As if he hadn’t just played with you. You want to protest, to get your fucking mouth around that considerable length, but his hand tightens around yours.

And then he’s flipping you over, so fast that you don’t have time to even register it. You land on your front, your belly and breasts pressed against the desk. Fin lays his palm against your back and drags it slowly down. And in the wake of his touch, he leaves kisses. Kisses to your shoulder, your back. They’re…soft. Tender.

“Have I disappointed you?” he murmurs against your shoulder, folding his body over yours. You don’t think it’s an accident that the head of his cock nudges that sweet area between your legs.

It’s all you can do to breathe, “I wanted to taste you.”

“And you will,” he drops the brush of a kiss to your skin. “But now is not time for that.”

You don’t need him to tell you what now is the time for. Not as his hands find the flesh of your hips, and he yanks you to the very edge of the desk, moving with you. The feel of him so close to where you want him is downright cruel.

“Have you thought about me fucking you?” he asks, those hands travelling to rove your ass.

Your nails bite into the desk as you answer, “Yes.”

“Did I make you scream?”

You bite down on your lip at the feeling of him spreading you apart, opening you up to him. “Yes.”

You feel it — his cock sliding between your folds. Not pushing in, but dragging torturously against your sex. From your entrance, up to your clit. The head of his cock pushes against it.

And the moan that rips from you is downright filth, as he rolls his hips and allows your wetness to slicken his length. It feels so fucking good. To you, and to him.

A breath shudders out of him, and he purrs, “Are you going to scream for me now?”

“Fuck yes,” the words tumble from your lips. “I want you, Fin.”

Just like that, his restraint snaps. The High Lord strikes.

He drags his length through your folds and enters you with a single, powerful thrust.

A shout leaves you, and you’re clawing at the desk, trying to keep your grip against the pleasure that courses through you. Fin fills you and stretches you. He pulls out and slams back in to the hilt.

“Fuck me, you’re tight,” he growls, his hands sinking back into your hips. He begins a steady thrusting, sliding in and out of you with a drag that makes you feel every glorious inch of him. “Gods.”

“So good,” you pant. “Want you harder.”

The plea seems to make him groan, and he wastes no time in picking up the pace. His hands bite into your skin as he fucks you faster, harder, your moans and pleas and curses falling from your lips without any nudging from you. The pleasure is all-consuming. In seconds, it’s buried within your veins.

“You like that?” The grit in his voice has you clenching around him. He’s so fucking filthy, so fucking sultry, as he snarls, “you going to be a good girl and come for me?”

Gods, yes, you are. Already, release is coiling tightly within you, and it’s a force entirely of its own right, inching closer and cresting the hill, ready to sink its claws into you. Fin’s cock hits deep, and out of nowhere, his palm is flying through the air and making contact with your ass cheek. That is all it takes.

The pleasure of it all is too much — the sting of the slap, the depth and thrall of his thrusts, the way he growls and grunts as he lays claim to your body, your pleasure.

You cry out, your orgasm blasting through you with unstoppable force. The long strokes of Fin’s cock fuck you through it, through earth-shattering pleasure, through what feels like a mind-altering experience.

“My filthy girl,” he pulls out of you suddenly, and though your cunt still clenches and twitches, desperate for more, more, more, he flips your trembling body onto its back once more and tugs you up, slipping back between your legs. “Fuck, I can’t tell you how relentlessly I’ve thought about making you scream for me like that.”

Past words, you can only reach up and pull his head down to yours to capture him in a kiss. Your taste still coats the tongue that he slides between your lips. It spurs you on to deepen it, luxuriate in the feel of it. And you become so lost in it that you tug hard at the strands of his hair when he enters you again in one great, sweeping thrust.

His arm folds around your back, hand grasping at your shoulder, and it seems to afford him perfect purchase to pound into you. Sounds fill the air of his skin slapping against yours, of the breaths and moans you huff into each other’s mouths. You think the two of you, together, might be loud enough, forceful enough, to bring the City of Starlight to rubble around you.

Fin’s lips tear away from yours, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck. His thrusts are growing quicker, sloppier, reaching a feverous pinnacle that will surely break.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me come, Y/N,” his sweat-slick brow presses against your neck. “Taking me so well like this. Squeezing me like this. You’re going to make me fucking blow.”

You want that — more than anything. To feel the power of him spilling into you.

You squeeze your thighs against his, dragging your free hand — the one not sunken in his hair — down the muscles of his shoulders, his back, his waist — to his ass, where you dig your nails into the tight, toned flesh and encourage him to pump into you harder, faster. The feel of it makes Fin shout.

“Come for me,” you choke around your pleasure. “Please, Fin…want you to come.”

An animalistic growl rips from him, and he slams into you one, two, three more times, and then stills, throwing his head back with a roar that shakes the library. Hot, thick ropes of his seed seem endless as they’re unleashed inside you.

The force of it shatters you both, you think. With his trembling as thorough as yours, your nails are still raking over his skin as his brow presses to the crook of your neck. Strands of hair stick to the back of his. Your fingertips smooth over them tenderly.

It feels like eons that you stay there like that, holding each other up from collapsing under the weight of your mutual release. You want to hold him like this, always. You don’t care what others may have to say about it, what they may deem to be wrong about it. You want him.

He pulls back, as though sensing the thought. Meets your eyes. For a beat or two, he simply studies your face, something like clarity on his own.

And then he dips down and drops a kiss to your brow. Such a tender act, in the wake of such passion.

 No words are needed. Not as he scoops you up into his arms, leaving behind the mess the two of you have created. There’s a flash, and he’s winnowed you to your bedroom. A fire roars to life immediately. Fin places you down on the bed.

You watch through hooded eyes as he makes his way into the bathroom. Moments later, he’s returning with a warm, damp washcloth, and he perches beside you.

“Open your legs for me,” he whispers, and you do.

The High Lord of the Night Court is gentle as air as he takes care of you, wiping between your thighs and delivering soft, soothing strokes to your skin. A pleasant soreness sits in your lower belly. He leans down and presses a kiss there like he knows just that.

And then he’s sitting up, and it frightens you — the thought of him walking away, of this ending here and now.

So you lay a hand on his arm, breathing, “Stay with me.”

He pauses, eyes roaming your face like he’s assuring himself you mean it. And then he dips his chin.

“I would be honoured,” he rasps.

And thus, the affair begins.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The need you and Fin have for each other is…insatiable.

Every moment he’s away, you’re thinking of him, longing for the moment he’ll appear in your room and rip your clothes off. If anyone else in the palace — staff, servants, associates — are aware of what’s going on, they don’t give it away. And that suits you just fine.

You can’t get enough. You’re giddy with it. Giddy from the multiple, interesting circumstances you’ve landed yourself in.

Like when you lured him out of a meeting and dropped to your knees in a fucking broom closet, taking his cock into your mouth until he was canting his hips forward and spilling down your throat. Or when he fucked you on the balcony of his personal quarters, your body pressed up against the balustrade, the two of you open to the elements and your moans loud enough to reach the stars above you and the city below you. Or when he took you to watch the ballet, and up in the cushy surrounds of your private viewing box, you watched the performance with him deep inside you, his fingers indolently playing with your clit, his low voice in your ear reminding you to keep quiet.

It’s…exciting. Enthralling. It changes everything.

And as he pulls out of you now, sweaty and panting, and collapses beside you in his bed, you’re not sure you could ever tire of this feeling.

He wants you. He wants you so ferociously, like nobody has ever wanted you before.

As you catch your breaths, he props his head up with his hand and stares at you through hooded eyes, glazed with lust. He leans down and grazes a kiss to your mouth.

“I don’t know how to make it stop,” he ponders as he pulls back, moving a hand to brush his fingers over your breast. “All this need — wanting you constantly.”

You lean up on your elbows, tilting your head, “Do you want it to stop?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Never.”

Never. Never is a very long time. It makes your stomach flip — the enormity of it.

Fin circles the tip of his forefinger around your pebbled nipple, watching with predatory fascination as he adds, “But this will, inevitably, blow up in our faces at some point. We haven’t exactly been secretive — not that I want to be. But people will talk.”

You lean up to brush your mouth over his. “Let them talk,” you say, and kiss him.

Immediately, he melts into the kiss. Your mouth seems to have an effect on him that you never thought yourself capable of. Always draws a long, pleasured sigh from him as he sinks into it, welcomes it.

He kisses you and kisses you, so greedily, so desperately. His hand snakes up to cup your cheek. He’s already hardening against your leg.

But he pulls away, dropping his forehead against yours. And he breathes, “Make a bargain with me.”

You trace a thumb over his bottom lip. You’ve never made a Night Court bargain before; never had reason to. “What bargain?”

“When this blows up in our faces,” he grips your hand, folding his own over it, “we face it together. You and I.”

“You and I?”

“You and I” he kisses your hand. “I don’t claim to be perfect. I don’t try to be. I can be brutal and callous, and I can lie and play games,” another kiss. “But not with you. Never with you. I will look after you. Take care of you. I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

Words that you’ve always longed for someone to say to you. Words that should not be taken lightly, should not be said without meaning.

But you know he means them. You can tell he does.

You watch closely as your fingers interlace with his. And you whisper, “Together?”

Fin’s thumb sweeps over yours. “Together. We’ll face it together.”

“Then it’s a bargain.”

A flash of splintering pain zips around your midriff. You glance down to find the tattoo now inked there. The black line that draws a perfect circle around your waist, like a trail of night-kissed lightning.

You look up at Fin to find a roguish smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, I like that,” he hums.

And then he’s leaning down and pressing kisses to that circlet signifying your promise to one another. Kisses the entirety of it, flipping you on your front in the process.

And kisses lower, until you’re screaming for him again.

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-a-girlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

[yuomizuu]

♡ | open arms ── kinich x reader !

synopsis: a bit of kindness can go a long way. at least, that was what the elders in kinich’s clans would often say. though in a land where war with the abyss is at a constant, he finds it difficult to truly believe such a notion. perhaps meeting you simply had the sole purpose of erasing those doubts that shrouded his mind.

additional: w.c 899 ⸝⸝⸝ content includes . . .gn reader, implied friends to lovers, character study www

( 💌 ) yuomi’s note: slowly but surely reverting back to my musical kid phase ty mr. jorge for creating epic and what better way to commend that than doing some kinich brainrot ^w^

natlan — a nation of eternal oaths and converging fires. where the sacred flame burns brighter with each chant of the epic hymn that echoes from land to sea, bringing back valiant warriors, now deemed heroes, anew.

yet beyond those blazing flames of ardent also lies a resplendent nation full of color and life. made up of magnificent gorges and valleys that stretch as far as the eye can see, vibrant fields where the saurians roam free, and rejuvenating springs that ease the weary, you'll find a unique beauty reflected within it all.

for most of his life, kinich had often found it difficult to view his homeland through the lens of the latter. since a young age, misfortune has always seemed to follow him wherever he goes, like a relentless beast chasing down its prey that's slowly becoming more and more exhausted. where no matter how far he soars, the shackles of a brutal reality always drag him back down. eventually, such experiences would sometimes render the lone saurian hunter an austere individual, whether intended or not. in his eyes, the world was but a tapestry of unbridled battles.

it was only after meeting you that, slowly but surely, kinich would gradually learn to appreciate the more charming aspects of life and even gain a sense of tenderness towards it. however, that still doesn't cause him to lower his guard completely.

"kinich, you're doing it again," you mused, the lush grass below softening your footsteps as you and your companion tread through the forest. the occasional murmur of wild animals hidden within the trees or nestled away in burrows echoes throughout.

hearing this, the male ahead of you briefly stops in his tracks to glance back at you with a puzzled look. "doing.. what exactly?"

stopping beside him, you motion at the weapon held in his hand. "gripping onto your sword so tightly that the tips of your knuckles are turning white. i swear… it's like you're expecting us to get ambushed out here any minute."

in response to your sigh though, he simply shrugs. "perhaps we will be."

"kinich, we barely took on this commission not that long ago, and we aren't even at our intended destination yet. i doubt we'll find ourselves walking into trouble so soon."

"better to be prepared for catastrophe before it strikes when you least expect it."

an air of laughter escapes from you then. "catastrophe," you repeat to yourself, head shaking in slight amusement. "we aren't exactly tackling the abyss here you know."

"no, but if we were, your lack of attentiveness would surely lead us to such." in between his pause, you catch sight of the subtle curl of his lips. "not even ajaw would be so heedless, and that certainly says something."

"you little…!"

balling your hand up into a fist, you immediately go to throw a punch on his arm that ultimately does not land when the now chuckling male catches it effortlessly. not that such a punch would've hurt him in the first place, but kinich is all for finding the humor in evading your poor attempts at attacking him. plus, you've managed to land a good punch or two on him before, although he blames ajaw for distracting him during those moments.

before you can pull your hand away from his grasp and unwillingly accept defeat this time, kinich intertwines his fingers with yours, holding your hand firmly. without saying another word, he turns to continue walking along with you at his side now.

due to your good-natured sense of self, it's often left kinich to be roped up in more conflicts than he'd usually expect: said conflicts are getting you out of trouble.

but even in the face of danger, you never cease to look for the good in others. while many have considered this trait of yours to be a display of naive foolishness, it felt like a breath of fresh air for kinich. while he was also considered to be different from those of his tribe concerning certain viewpoints and beliefs, you were an oddity that transcended beyond his own novel ideals. if you had not been born and raised in natlan, kinich would've surely mistaken you for being an outlander. even you had once jokingly said that perhaps you were actually a child of the anemo god, barbatos, that the wind had accidentally blown too far from home.

because, unlike the fierce fires that dwelt within the spirit of every warrior in natlan, your flame was akin to that of a candle: a gentle yet comforting light that simply wished to share its warmth with the world around them and kinich would do anything to keep that light of yours burning for evermore.

he'll never admit to you aloud, but he secretly thanks the anemo archon every day for sending him a beautiful soul such as yourself. your presence alone was as calming as a gentle breeze, and his love for you a sweet, sweet melody.

"speaking of ajaw, where is the little rascal anyways?" you ask, breaking the silence as you look around to find the creature that has strangely gone quiet.

"i sent him to scout ahead for a bit. he'll be back soon enough."

a soft smile creeps onto your face. you spare the male one more glance before giving his hand a light squeeze.

"of course you did."

[lokisgoodgirl]

Third Date [Loki x Fem.Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: We all know what happens on the third date. (w/c 2.4k) Warnings: 18+ only, minors DNI. Smut. Language. Health and safety violations.

“Try this,” Loki commanded quietly.

All you could feel was each heavy breath as you tried not to wilt beneath his stare. He was a panther, toying with its meal.

Operatic melodies rose and fell all around, bouncing between terracotta arches from an ageing record player in the corner. It was beautiful, whatever it was. Perfect, even. Loki grinned, as the aria began to build.

“E lucevan le stelle,” he murmured knowingly, tilting his head. “Now...try this.”

The gleam of his eyes swam in the candlelight, chin dipped. He had scooped a not unsubstantial blob of his desert to a fingertip and was holding it aloft. You licked your bottom lip, staring at him almost as intensely as he was staring at you. It looked delicious. Stiff and pale and decadent. Not unlike its principal devourer for the evening.

You leant forward, pushing against the checked tablecloth as Loki gracefully extended his hand, the long finger poised. His gaze tracked from your eyes to your lips. Red, and parted. Without breaking your stare, you felt his finger come to rest on your tongue. He had really outdone himself tonight. The private restaurant, the ambiance, the green suit that wore him like ripples on a midnight sea. Conversation had been sparkling, as usual. But now, you suspected the time for conversation was over. His hair was smoothed back at the temples, drawing attention to sharp lines on his face that sank deeper with each glimmer of flame. Candlewax had begun to drip on the tablecloth, spreading in spite of itself. You knew how it felt.

Your lips sucked against his finger, deep to the second knuckle. Panacotta like you had never tasted swished at your cheeks. Rich, thick, and entirely delicious. It found its way across the spread of your tongue, sliding with a swallow down your throat. Your eyes fluttered shut as a muffled moan of pleasure grew and released. Loki’s finger curled, rubbing the roof of your mouth ever so gently.

If his elusive cock wasn’t hard as hard as marble right now, you’d eat your hat. “I think you got it all, darling” he purred. You opened your eyes, met with the sight of a man bristling with arousal. It coursed across his skin like electricity as you sucked backwards, shallow breaths making his shirt buttons strain. The blue of his irises had been consumed by darkness. The tip of his finger rested on your bottom lip. “Delicious,” you smiled. Loki shivered, readjusting himself. “What say we get out of here?” he growled, retracting his finger reluctantly from your lip. “I’ll call the car around.” He lifted the hand with one glistening finger in the air, ready to summon the solitary maître d' hiding somewhere in the back. Seeing his resplendent profile was the final straw. That proud brow, that haughty raise of his chin, those cheekbones. Enough was enough.

“Wait-” you gasped quietly.

Loki’s head swivelled. His brow twitched, interest piqued and momentarily sobered from his lust. A close-lipped smile began to flirt against your cheeks. You pressed your lips together, raising your eyebrows as a finger traced down your cleavage. The god’s eyes followed it. “Really?” Loki hummed with no attempt to contain his amusement. “Bad girl, aren’t you?” There was a loud scrape as he pushed his chair backwards against the tile. The table’s edge obscured your view, but you could tell his hips had widened. His thighs, spread.

“I’m game if you are,” he smirked with a devilish click of his tongue. One hand rested on the crease of his hip, fingertips digging into supple muscle. The other was hidden, but from the movement of one shoulder you suspected he was rubbing his thigh. Eager. Straining against the onslaught of erotic mischief about to be unleashed. Your stomach was fizzing as your mind dangled on the precipice of consequence.

“What about the staff?” you postured coyly. Loki chuckled. “Don’t worry about them,” he said, “do not forget whom it is you are about to fuck.” You bit your lip, feeling heat rise in your face. “Oh, I’m sorry...” Loki started, feigning concern. How he managed to sound seductive and sanctimonious would never fail to amaze. And arouse. He shrugged off his suit jacket, whipping his arms out with practised grace. The cotton sleeves of a crisp fitted shirt clung to the muscles. The subtle bulges cut in deep valleys against the cotton. “Am I being presumptuous in my assumption that you wish to immediately sink yourself onto my cock within this very restaurant?”

Casually, he undid a button on his wrist; proceeding to fold the cuff and roll the fabric sluttishly up his forearm. He repeated the action at the other side, completely un-phased that you had been rendered mute. “Was that not your intent? Or do I take liberties?”

Silently, you stood, letting the napkin in your lap fall to the floor. Loki smirked, resting smugly against the back of the chair. His gaze ran down the length of your body as you walked around the table, pausing to let him enjoy the view. You had chosen this dress with the heat of his breath on your neck in mind as he unzipped the back. All the way. Perhaps he would have kissed down the curve of your shoulder. Perhaps he would have slid his hands beneath the open fabric, around your waist, before it fell to his bedroom floor.

Perhaps, this would be even better.

“I couldn’t take the risk of you being overcome by your gentlemanly nature when we got back to your apartment. Not again,” you purred. The click of your heels twice on the terracotta tile made Loki straighten. He let out a strained chuckle, barely audible over the operatic crescendo playing somewhere on vinyl.

God, he was gorgeous.

You could now see the outline of his ferociously hard cock against the suit trousers. It stretched to his hip, thick and ready to fuck. “Give me a little credit, darling” he chirped innocently, inhaling as you curled your fingers around his shoulder. “Last week was our second date – I was respecting your Midgardian traditions, as inane as they may be.” He looked up, smirking. But his forehead quivered. His brows, slanted ever-so. He was desperate.

You stood between his spread thighs, taking a moment to appreciate the lines of creased fabric thick against his legs. Curves of muscle were visible, twitching. He stared up at you with unbearable hungry. There was a flash of his tongue as he wet his lips, large palms sliding up the sides of your bare legs.

Up they went, pushing the hem of your tight dress higher. Loki groaned, feeling the lace tops of your garters. His brow furrowed as he travelled higher, discovering the taut suspender lines. You had come prepared. Fingertips sank into the flesh, the mild pain making you clench. “You’ll end me, darling,” he breathed, hands settling around your hips. “I can tell.”

Loki guided you onto his lap, pulling you into a devastating kiss. It was a mess of tongue and teeth and desperate desire, hands winding in hair and filthy moans filling the space between you. The god’s fingers slipped between your splayed thighs, tracing the tips over your swollen pussy. The fabric separating his skin from yours was sodden. It tingled. Your breath hitched, moaning Loki’s name into his open mouth. He smiled against the kiss, pausing to mutter in your ear like the sweetest demon. “How ambrosial it is to hear my name on your lips with such...enthusiasm” he growled.

You began to thrust against his touch, cursing the care he was taking. Fingers pulsed in waves on your clit. “Loki, please…” you whined, throwing your head back. Your lover’s kisses traced down your neck, sucking against the skin. “As you wish,” he muttered against your shoulder, free hand flying to his belt.

You looked down between your bodies. The sight of his upturned wrist, veins straining while he orchestrated the blossoming orgasm between your legs made you dizzy. Loki fluidly unbuckled himself, unbuttoning with a flick followed by the zippers hum. The god’s pants were nasal, concentration knitting his brow as he pulled his cock out in a fist. It was as beautiful as you’d hoped it would be. The perfect length. The perfect girth; turgid veins decorating flawlessly velvet, alabaster skin. A bead of pre-cum settled on the tip as Loki squeezed his foreskin upwards, meeting your eyes with what almost looked like nervousness. He pumped the fist down, meeting the base with a dirty groan from the back of his throat. You rubbed a thumb over the leaking tip, before drawing it to your lips. Loki watched, jaw slack, as you sucked it clean. His mouth formed the softest O, lines in his forehead deepening as he pulled your panties to the side. He rolled his knuckles through your folds, his breathing quick.

“So wet,” he murmured in quiet awe as you wrapped your fingers around his cock. “All for you, Loki” you gasped, squeezing the head inside.

The god’s face changed, a shock of pleasure contorting his features. His jaw clenched, upper body rigid as you sank onto his length. An almighty grunt of pure animalism ripped the air. Loki’s chin pointed to the ceiling, lost in the feeling of your little cunt snug around his manhood. Hands found their way to your hips, beginning to rock you back and forth. Each rotation was solid. Covetous, as he edged you all the way down. “Yes..gods, yes; f-fuck,” he groaned, head snapping back up with a burning lust in his eyes. Your blood froze. Never had someone looked at you like this. So raw. So full of base hunger. In that moment, in this place, in all his many ages; there was only you.

You began to bounce, bucking forward against the root of his cock with every turn. “Norns, f-fristelse-” he choked, long fingers spread against your ass. Tightening. Arousal squelched with every slam of your pussy down his length, his restrained thrusts massaging the deepest parts of you.

He pulled you flush to him, his face burying between your breasts. Wet groans sounded against the skin as his thighs pumped upwards; a maddening rhythm of sexual gluttony. More. More.

“More-” Loki gasped open-mouthed against your throat. Your hands were tangled in his hair, long strands wound and bound through your fingers. You tugged it back.

With a hiss, his jaw clenched; teeth bared like an animal in a trap. You squeezed your walls around him, bobbing slowly up and down. Every ridge and vein seemed to drag against the tightness, each inch punctuated by his scratching groans. It felt like you’d known him like this for a thousand years. It was so natural- inevitable. And who knew these days. Maybe you had. He fought against the pull of your fist in his curls, deep lines creased in his forehead. Loki’s eyes blazed, swirling galaxies bursting from smouldering greens and blues. “More,” he repeated darkly. And before you had registered the quick slip of his hands from your ass to your waist, it was over. Loki lifted you into the air, sliding you with a pop from his length and spinning your body. Your palms landed flat on the table, sliding forward to brace yourself. Without thinking, your fingers curled around the loosened tablecloth. They tugged. The howl that escaped your throat as he pushed himself back inside the warmth of your heat was inhuman.

Loki curled against your back. His torso pressed against your spine, the caress of his breath against the shell of your ear making you push your hips back to the base of his cock. Loki snarled filthy curses lapping your neck. “Uhh...y-you...will be – g-gods, f-fuck,” he moaned, sloppy thrusts making your feet spread wider; “-the en-nd of me,” he gasped. A tight smack of his hand landed on the curve of your ass. Your fingers grasped around the tablecloth, pulling as orgasm bubbled and coiled in your belly. “More, Loki-” you cried, not caring as a bottle of olive oil crashed to the floor, smashing. The wine glasses teetered, quickly following. Chiming shards bounced on terracotta.

Loki’s balls slapped with each smack of his skin against yours. Deeper, filthier. The moans slipping from your throat, the crunch of your brow, the dirty wildness. It was everything. Right now, he was everything. “Oh, darling…” he sneered, tightening his grip of your hips, “you want me to fill you, hmm? Want my seed to drip down those pretty thighs all the way home?” You nodded feverishly, tufts of rogue curls from the carefully constructed up-do now falling around your face. Fucked out. That’s what you were. Almost. Loki slipped a finger beneath on of your suspenders, pulling it back. It stung against soft flesh with a filthy thwack. The god growled.

His thrusts slowed, a hand on the base of your spine lowering you gently; flat on the table. “You’re close, I can feel it” he hummed, “give in to me... sweet little thing. Let me show you what it is to be mine.” With each punishingly sensual roll of his hips, Loki pressed the meat of his cock upwards. This undiscovered place, an untouched feeling. A pandora’s box of eroticism only he could open, never to be closed again. Ruined for other men. Stars began to burst behind your eyelids, shattering white light and deep burgundy pulsing. Every muscle in your body tensed to the beat of his rhythm, as you came undone. Unmade.

Your hands gripped the opposite edge of the table, pulling against it with all the force you could muster as climax ripped through your nerve endings. Loki’s gentle thrusts stroked you to completion, the flat of his palm sliding down your back. “Oh,” he gasped quietly, “I...I-” A smouldering roar filled the air, drowning out the opera still playing somewhere beyond. From the sound, you could tell his teeth were clenched, his head likely thrown back in the ties of ecstasy. Loki’s hips tensed as he came, the shuddering and jolting of muscled thighs against the soft flesh your own.

His strangled sighs dwindled as he collapsed against your back, panting heavily. Wet lips pressed to your cheekbone. You tilted your head, meeting his mouth in a winding kiss.

He pulled himself from you with a muted groan, the squelch of your mingled cum sucking on the departure. He raked a hand through his hair before quickly tucking himself back into his trousers; silently watching you pull the sides of your dress down with a smirk curling one side of his mouth.

“That was-” he started, before you pressed a finger to his lips. “-A good start,” you finished.

You slid your hands over his broad shoulders, enjoying the heat of sex wafting from the open collar. Tracing your cheek to his, you sucked his earlobe gently; releasing it with a licentious moan. Loki shivered. “Shall we bring the car around, now?” you whispered. Loki nodded.

Tags (cont in comments) @liminalpebble @pineappleandro @praq123 @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @sebstanwhore @mandywholock1980 @sinsandguilt @toozmanykids @km-ffluv @goddessofwonderland @kj-rivia @pics-and-fanfics @chibijusstuff @chantsdemarins @k-writer17 @xorpsbane @jotunqueenneith @lovingchoices14 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lizmaximoff @goblingirlsarah @gruftiela @litaloni @fire-in-her-veinz @literatureatthebowofnails @cultofcarter @fandxmslxt69 @wintersldr @november-rayne @buttercupcookies-blog @anukulee @lotsoflokilove23 @skymoonandstardust @girlwthecurls @presidentlokis-hornyhelmet @donaweasley @litaloni @hollyiswritinglokiagain @cakesandtom @lokischambermaid @icytrickster17

[cookinguptales]

no but like--! the tone of Nandor's voice when he says "you're here." the wonderment! the awe!

and now that I've watched it like five times, I really think he isn't just shocked that Guillermo is still in the house, still in his life. it's that Guillermo's in his coffin.

Nandor's coffin is his safe place, and now he knows it's Guillermo's safe place, too. he is Guillermo's safety. Guillermo trusts him. Guillermo went to hide in his space.

it's where he sleeps, it's where he dreams, it's where he hides, it's where he sulks, it's where he masturbates, it's where he has sex -- and Guillermo has claimed that space for his own as well.

Guillermo is very comfortable lying in what is essentially Nandor's bed, and it's the safest place he can think of to hide.

oof.

I know we're all debating whether or not Nandor Knows or not, but I feel like this scene, that little "you're here" is a knife to the gut either way??

either Nandor fully believed for a minute that Guillermo was dead, like dead dead, and now he's seeing him lying resplendent in a fancy coffin in his best clothes. it's the first time he's ever seen him looking like a vampire. and it looks so right that he can't look away. "you're here," he says, meaning that Guillermo has finally taken his rightful place in a vampiric space and Nandor cannot deny to himself how fucking good he looked there.

OR Nandor knows that Guillermo betrayed him and is partially a vampire. he believes Guillermo has quite literally "flown away" to safety, believes that he has been abandoned yet again, only to find that actually Guillermo has chosen again to put himself in harm's way so he can stay with Nandor. has in fact chosen his coffin, not his own, not Derek's.

he looks at him and says "you're here" and he's really saying "you chose me" and that's awe-inspiring to him. that's beautiful.

he's shaken.

and he reaches out to Guillermo, to their shared history together, to steady himself. ;;

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Prayer Factory

Gale x F! Tav (named)

18+ religous trauma, confrontation, disassociation, implied violation, trauma responses, panic, dry heaving, roughness, dom/sub, total control, light humiliation, semi public sex, choking, handjob, face sitting, oral (f!), masturbation (m!)

Aurum steels herself to face her old demons at the temple, with her love at her side. But the adrenaline of confrontation leaves her coiled, and a wizard very eager to take her wrath...

Masterlist

-

"You can do this."

Aurum stared up at the temple, its faceted golden light cascading her in angelic reprieve.

"You know, I wish it was ugly." She squeezed his fingers tightly. "Bloody and decrepit. Somewhere this painful shouldn't look like this."

He agreed, of all of their confronting of demons, this was far too beautiful. Somehow, more sinister in its resplendence.

"I'm right here with you, and I will burn this place down at your command. They've rebuilt once before, they can do it again."

She smiled at him, pulling his nape to bring him into a dizzying kiss. The soft sounds of happy parishioners and the hush of swaying flowers an idyllic backdrop.

Her voice started to slide together. It was always melodic, but now folded into a half song.

"When we get inside..." She hushed against his lips. "Don't leave my side."

"Of course, I'm wi-"

"Gale." Her tone pausing him. "Listen to me. Stay with me."

"I won't leave you." He promised, already tightening his body for a fight.

Aurum took one deep inhale, then, before she could release it, pulled them inside. Spires of the Morning swallowing them entirely.

He thought she would pull up her hood and conceal herself in her instinctual protection. But she threw her cloak down, striding up to the altar in her flowing robe. Baring herself.

The clergy turned and ran to her in shock. Voices raised in alarm, calling for regalia and covers and holy items. Descending on her as devout wolves.

Aurum stood stock still, simultaneously tight and limp to their pulling. Face composed in grace, but eyes glazed over. No longer in her body.

Watching them touch her made his stomach turn. Each piece of regalia they so lovingly slipped onto her felt like they were stripping her naked in front of him. Ripping away pieces of her autonomy one garment at a time.

He wanted to make them stop, but there were too many to pull off of her. Fingers already entangled into her hair, pulling it out of its clip to braid down her back. Bands of fabric tied around her shoulders and across her waist. Headdress affixed to her brow, a molded blindfold taking her eyes away. Every piece tailored to fit her body. To bind her to them.

He felt waves of nausea as she disappeared from him in real time. A priest tried to shoo him away, so blinded by fervor that he couldn't even recognize that they came in together. Or maybe it didn't matter. She was their holy idol, finally returned. Her outside ties were irrelevant.

"I'm her entrusted, her priest. I must stay with her." He urged.

"Oh! Thank you for returning her to us, brother."

"We cannot stay. Her light is drawn elsewhere."

The priest peered at him, confused. A small clench in his jaw.

"But she must stay. You understand, we have been without her guidance for too long. She is a direct conduit."

He truly felt like he was going to harm this man, a rage that rose like a fever up his spine. Speaking through slow and even breaths.

"It is not in our dieties nature to keep light contained. Come now, she has graced your temple again, rejoice in that. Her light must be spread beyond these walls."

The man seemed uncertain, about to retort, when Gale drew forward. Disregarding him to take her hands.

"Such resplendent light must be shone."

Many of the clergy nodded, faces slack in their blind devotion. The priest fell away, his protest lost.

It made him recoil to see their faces. He had never been on the other side. To see the way they looked at her... is this how he looked at his god? At her, on that beach so long ago?

He understood now why she had kept him at a distance for so long.

He twisted his fingers into hers.

I'm sorry.

Her fingers trembled but did not respond. Their shake the only tell in her mask of grace. The slightest flinch as one of the devout pulled away her chest binding. Her light spilling out.

They all gathered around, chattering prayers and joyful exclamation. Pushing their palms onto her chest, clammy and grotesque in their excitement.

He realized what she meant now, when she had urged him at the door.

"Don't leave my side. Stay with me."

Don't let them take me.

He stepped between the hands, presenting his body as a shield. His chest pressed to hers. Feeling the heat of her sunlight. Her eyes blinded to him, but feeling her gaze regardless.

"What is the meaning of this gathering?"

A tall man stepped down from a staircase above them. Staring down with clear authority.

"High Mornmaster! She's returned!" A priest called out. Presenting her as one does a prized relic.

"And you thought it best to adorn her out here in the open?"

"Oh! I..."

"She was bare when she arrived! We had to dress her!"

"Silence, brother."

The priests hung their heads obediently.

"Are you her charge, stranger?" He turned to Gale, eyeing him down his nose.

"I am. She is in my care, body and soul."

"A most holy duty. I commend thee."

It made bile rise to his throat to realize how they spoke around her.

"She has done well to stay her silence. We shall speak at a more private altar. Come."

Gale pantomimed leading her, but it was her step that drew them forward. How long had she spent blinded to know this place in the dark?

He spoke low in her ear as they walked, following the shadow of the high priest.

"You're doing so well. I love you, I'm right here with you. We're going to go home soon, okay?"

She nodded, taking a shuddering breath. The grip on his fingers loosened slightly. Taking up his own squeeze.

It frightened him that she hadn't spoken, but he knew how confronting places like this could unravel. All of the progress you've made pulled out of you in wrenching handfuls. A cruel magic trick.

But he would not allow them the chance to take advantage of her temporarily shattered sense of self. She was not alone. And they would die by his hand before they could take her.

"What fortuitous luck we have been graced with. Our divine light returned to us." The High Morninglord swept behind his desk, sitting back to level his gaze appreciatively at her.

"Though, I have heard whispers of a girl with a holy light in her chest, running the Cliff's Run, of all things." He laughed as if this was the most absurd notion. "The thought, our Resplendent running naked in the streets."

Gale's stomach clenched in disgust. Recognizing the tactics. Setting up a shameful question to put your obstinate charge on the back foot. To make them trip over themselves to prove you wrong.

But she didn't take the bait. Sitting straight, her hands folded gently in her lap. Her face impassive under the half mask.

"It has been far too long since your voice has hallowed these halls. Shall we have your confession, Risen Sun."

It wasn't a question.

A low laugh slipped her at his audacity. Calling her by her true title.

"Confession..." Aurum let out a slow breath, though she made no move to bend her head in prayer. "Maybe it will help."

"Yes, confession is a balm on the soul."

"Should I address Lathander or our Father?"

He paused, clearly taken aback by her brevity. Addressing the cult outright. Gathering his nerve again.

"Whoever speaks to you."

She smiled with a sharp edge.

"Then I'll speak to you."

"I remember what faith felt like. Filling a hollow in me. Ecstatic. Bright. Lifting me above my body. Gods, it makes me shiver to even think of it now."

Her voice was a soft coo of a dove. All the fullness, the lived in, pulled away. Reminding him of how she spoke so long ago. How one speaks to a lamb led to the knife.

"It fulfilled me, and why wouldn't it? It was my purpose. My whole existence had been planned with the sole purpose of channeling the divine. Or, at least, that's what I was told. 'You've been touched by the Gods.' My father would whisper. Leading me in my first steps to the altar. It was all deliberate, my breeding, my upbringing. My young mother dying during childbirth a blip on my history. An obituary not even written. Just a name and a date."

"But I think my genuine channeling was a convenience for my father, at least at first. It's easier to convince the blind masses when your child truly did speak through your god. But there lies the problem."

She leaned forward, boring her concealed gaze into him. Her voice carried on in its haunting song.

"His god spoke to me. Through me. He had thought he had channeled Him, but seeing how He flowed from me like water. I was His true voice. That filled his belly with rot. Envy. And a madman with a pit of rot in his belly... well. You surely remember what happened next?"

The priest's breath held, fear darting his eyes from her.

"Oh, come now. You weren't scared when you held me down. Don't lose your nerve now."

"No, you remember quite well. A little girl named Rosa'sune, with soft adolescent love for another girl and blind faith in her heart, was destroyed on that slab that night. And no amount of her screaming loosened your grip. It was a call from your god, and you sang to it joyously."

"That wasn't what broke my faith. Not the pain, not the shard of sun, not the carving of the tattoo across my face. I had endured wrath before. No, it was that you did it to her too."

"See, I could have believed it was a show of my worth, to be Chosen. Of course, a blessing this great must take a great deal to endure. But Amaris was not part of our sect. She didn't even worship the same god. Yet you carved her, just the same as me. You marked her identical. Now, why would that be?"

"I can hear from the shake of your breath that you have enough sense to be afraid of me. Good. You should be. My father was too, but not until it was far too late. He filled me with such terrible power. And, like all unfit parents, had never fathomed that I could defy him. That I was more than an extension of his will. In forcing that light in me had made his most fatal mistake."

She rose to lean on the desk, palms flat against the wood. Still speaking a soft lullaby.

"He had made me a weapon. His daughter, singing hymns and touching bowed heads with eyes blinded, was now a scythe shaped like a girl. In his hubris, he had made me far more powerful than him, and it was too late to turn back. So he made a failsafe. If I refused him or his god, I would burn."

"Aurum... I had no-"

"Silence. I am not here to soothe your bleating."

She reached forward and tenderly cupped his face.

"Do you remember? How our clergy sung my new holiness? Oh, how beautiful, how lucky, to be Chosen. How wonderful to have a true conduit. Without a single thought of the weight of a sun in her chest. No thought to how strange that her voice was returned to her, yet her breath came so shallow."

She reached up and pulled the blindfold away. Staring deep in his eyes.

"It was my father's will, but your faithful did this to me. I could not hide from His light, and you do not get to hide from what you've done."

Fear shaken tears edged out of his eyes, staring up at her. Mouth fallen open in silent pleading.

She brushed a tear away with her thumb, then reached inside her mouth. Wetting her opposite thumb, she circled a sun into the crest of his forehead. The trail lighting. Holy water.

"I shall let all who dwell in dark feel your holy dawn."

The priest responded almost involuntarily.

"Morninglord, hear my prayer."

She smiled a sad, knowing smile, then pulled away.

"Let's go. We're done here."

Gale rose and took her hand, though she needed no guidance. Leading him out.

As they walked, her pace picked up. Grace falling away as distance covered. Breaking into a frantic stride. Pulling away the regalia that weighed down her body.

They burst out of a hidden side door, a small alley tucked away by the sea. Aurum leaned against the brick, dry heaving.

Gale rushed forward, about to cradle her. But she shoved him away. Surprise taking up both of their faces.

He staggered back, but didn't retreat. Seeing something in her eyes.

She rose up to her full height and shoved him again. His back pushed into brick.

His breath left in a huff, a new kind of lust risen in his belly. Seeing it mirrored in her eyes. She always had a dominant streak, but this felt different. Less teasing, no toying or riling in her stare.

Her hand came to his throat, pressing her body into his. Staring deep in his eyes. Her fingers tightened. Studying him like a tiger hidden in thicket.

The thought of being her prey made his cock throb, breathing hard through her fingers.

She reached inside his robe and cupped him. Eliciting a gasp. Holding him by the throat and by the cock. His life and his manhood in the palm of her hands. Already leaking precum over her fingers. His body begging.

She gathered the slick and tightened her grip, wrenching pleasure from him in tight strokes.

He arched into the wall, eyes rising into lids. Hand gripping her forearm.

She knocked his hand back. Exhaling a fast breath, nearly a growl. Caging him back.

He braced his hands against the wall, the cool brick flat against his palms. His hips fucking up into her. The hand on his throat flexing.

This was a tucked away alley, but they were still in the city. Anyone could wander down the street and see them. See him. The thought that she might not stop in that situation made his belly tighten dangerously. Orgasm threatening shockingly soon.

She felt the throb, his cock hard as stone. Only smiling, her mouth hovering just far enough away to deny him of her. Playing with her food, watching him squirm with a tilt of her head.

That she wasn't speaking made it feel so much more salacious. Breathing hard into the space between them. Eyes wide blown with lust. The lewd sound of her hand and heavy breathing the only sounds exchanged.

The end was soon, he was past the point of no return. Hips fucking into her outside of his control. Biting into his lip, whimpers lost under her grip on his throat. Her total control over him making his pleasure feel primal. Shameful out in the open. About to cum, whether he liked it or not.

She turned his head with her thumb, seeing the tells of his body. Pushing a moan of breath against his ear. Licking a flat line up the curve.

He came in shuddering waves, hands digging into the sharp brick. Hips stuttering as the pleasure coiled in his belly struck him over and over. Out on display for the world to see. Splattering the ground.

She pushed him down by the throat. Forcing him to a sitting kneel, staring up at her. She pulled her robe aside and straddled over his upturned face. Long legs caging him. Taking the crown of his hair into her fist. Grinding her cunt into his mouth.

He gripped both hands into her ass and pulled her into him. Slurping her hard clit into his cupped tongue.

She shuddered above him, fully straddling over his face. Bracing her forearm against the brick wall. Hips pulsing into his fervent licking. Sloppy in his enthusiasm, staring up at her through lidded eyes. Fucked out, moaning into her cunt.

Her using him like this hardened his cock again, reaching between his legs to stroke himself in time to the grind of her hips.

"Good boy." She sighed when he sucked her clit into his mouth. Sending his eyes up into his head. About to cum again.

He released his cock to pull her hard into him, burying his face fully between her legs. Digging his fingertips into the fat of her ass. Slurping and sucking with animal fervor.

She buckled above him, curling her head forward. Shuddering out choked cries. Her hips tremoring from deep in her pelvis.

He slapped her ass, bending her hips to fully latch on to her clit. Wrenching his head from side to side, pulling popping sucks with the hollow of his tongue.

She bit into her forearm above him, her eyes squeezing shut tight. Muffling shrieks into her flesh. Hips shuddering so hard he thought they might give out. Bracing his forearms under her thighs, hands holding her ass up.

Her eyes fully rolled up into her head as she came. Falling forward, scraping her knees against the wall. Shuddering in pulses against his mouth. Her cum flooding into his mouth, lapping it eagerly down his throat. Moaning around swallows. His hand returning to his cock to quickly cum the last of his pleasure.

She fell down into his lap, legs straddled around his thighs. Shaking out breath into his shoulder.

He wound tightly around her, hushing into her ear. Stroking the braids out of her hair. Returning her to him, one caress at a time.

She grasped tightly around him.

"I love you." She moaned, throat raw from pleasure and swelling tears. "I want to go home."

He buried into her shoulder, his own tears threatening.

"I love you so much. Let's go home."

~

[wolven91]

New Style. New You.

Fur was a standard amongst the stars.

Oh sure, some of the races sported beautiful feathers. Others look resplendent in beautiful scales that shone like gemstones. But most of the races had fur. The taurians had mostly short velvet-like cover, except atop their heads. The felinoids ranged from the short to the long fur and the ursidains had fur several inches thick at times.

Thanks to this, everyone had grooming kits. Small bundles that unrolled into a selection of tools for removing knots, brushes for straightening ruffled patches and even small scissors for the removal of that which will not obey its owner. These self-grooming tools were common. Even children would have their own, despite lacking the scissors.

With a body worth of fur, it was expected that one would need to maintain their own pelt.

But, that did not stop the need for those who could take an unmoulded medium of unsculpted head fur and turn it into something that pulled the owner's chin up, push their chest out and whisper into their ear that a strut was needed from them. There were groomers of course, beings would like up and would be brought back into acceptable appearances via a groomer who just wanted to get as many customers sorted as they could.

But then there was Notila.

Notila was a taurian and had dedicated himself to this act of artistry. His medium, was other's fur.  He could take a loveless taurian woman and with his tools, a bit of product and a peptalk, turn her into a taurian who's horns rivalled the very mountains. He had managed celebrities, lords and even royalty. More than once had he had received gifts to his private shop as thanks for his work, it was so life changing. Everyone wanted him to 'do' their fur.

The taurian male, draped in the finest shimmering silks, and glittering gold jewellery, from his own little kingdom, enjoyed the fact that he was the premier stylist in the system. Twenty-two billion souls and they all dreamed for him to cut their fur.

So, when the human settled down into Notila's chair for the fifth time and asked for a 'short, back and sides'. Notila clasped his hands together and touched the sides of his palms to the tip of his snout. With his eyes closed, Notila took in a calm and steading breath. The human watched the gold bangles tinkle together as the taurian remained still for a moment, seemingly gathering his thoughts.

"You live in the same high security building as me and you're human. This is why you can get your hair cut here every few months." The taurian explained carefully to the human. His many earrings sparkling in the light.

"Without throwing myself to narcissism, it would be... disingenuous to not point out that this career of mine has made me the number one in my craft..." The bull continued. The human at this point was merely looking up at the male, blinking innocently. His fine silks were flawless, despite being in his shop most of the day, the taurian's robes were nary a jot out of place. Not a single errant strand of fur or hair lay on his clothes.

"I could make you anything." The hornless taurian promised. "Your hair is sculpt-able. Malleable. I could make every man, woman and child look at you and want to *be* you." Notila opened his eyes and gazed at the customer that sat waiting in the chair that could easily have been a throne elsewhere. The human's lips pulled into a tight smile and nodded gently in understanding as Notila's palms, still pressed together, fell and pointed at the human.

"So why do you torture me so and ask to have everything lopped off every time?!" The taurian demanded with a serious tone, 'almost' glaring at the customer.

"It's what I want?" Replied the human dumbly. Notila's mind crashed to a desktop before rebooting causing him to stutter in his response, his fists clenched immediately.

"Bu- You- It-" The taurian had to physically stop himself from allowing his now outstretched hands from throttling the beligerant alien. "Fine. You want to be shaved? We'll shave you." The taurian snapped, waving a dismissive hand above his head as if throwing the idea of anything else away. Having a small tantrum from being denied, Notila put away his tools and went to get his clippers, almost unused except for when the human arrived.

"You know shaving is seen as sickness or punishment right?" The taurian called back, grabbing the clippers from the drawer and sneering at them before stomping back in a display almost never seen in male taurians. They were meant to be grace, untouched by the world around them. But Notila had been denied his passion in his own shop one too many times.

In his defence, the human was not unaware of the taurian's distress, but knew that he couldn't be bothered to keep up with whatever design the exuberent taurian gave him.

"I didn't... but... Look... If you were to-" Sputtered the human, suddenly acutely aware something was wrong. His words however, sharked hope within the taurian's breast.

"*Yes?!*" Notila replied, practically running back over to his customer, and swinging himself around the back of the chair and landing against the counter the human was sat infront of. This was the furthest he had ever got with the fleshy alien; was he about to agree!?

"I'm not going to be able to keep up with whatever you do. It would look like a great hairstyle, but then tomorrow it would just be back to my usual messy style. I don't want to disappoint you by wearing it wrong." Explained the human carefully, trying to articulate the issue.

Notila took a breath, and hesitated before he answered with a calm and steady tone.

"So it's not that you're allergic to fashion?" He asked.

"No, I'm just lazy." Admitted the human.

"My dear, lazy I can deal with. You ever met my kind's 'other half'?" Grinned the taurian, merely mentioning the ladette ladies of his own species.

"So you wont care if I don't keep it up?" Questioned the man, unsure where this was going. If fiddling with his hair made the hornless flamboyant bull happy; why wouldn't he let him?

"Oh, I absolutely will. It would be like throwing mud at a painting the day after it was finished." Admitted Notila.

"Oh." The wind being stolen from the human's sails. "Then-"

"I will come to yours each morning and personally complete your hair." Interjected the alien with a sharp, toothy grin.

"Wha-" The human started, but lost his voice, mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land.

"Let me style your hair, let me tame these beautifully long strands into art and I will make the effort to come to you any day you plan to be seen in public. If, by the time of your next haircut, you want to go back?" A casual shrug, foreign to the taurian normally, but he was appealing to the human at this moment; manners be damned.

"Then I shall never mention it again and will live my remaining days happy that I was able to show you your potential at least once."

The pair were sat in silence for a time, the taurian perfectly still, his many dangling bits of jewellery not even 'tinkling' together he was so still. Until he decided to push it just a bit further.

"After all, I can bring a squidgit to the water, but I cannot force it to drink." He finished with a grin, then showed his hands.

In his left; shearers.

In his right; scissors.

The human sighed and gave a flat smile again.

"I am a blank canvas. I trust you."

-- 0 --

When the human turned his head from one side to the other, he had to admit; he would have *never* picked this.

A mohawk, His sides were still shaved, but with intricate patterns and strange shapes gently sculped into his hair line. Not only that, but the dye that Notilas had used was special. As and when heat was applied; it would change colours gradually. The man had been shocked when Notilas had started using a hairdryer to dry off his hair and watched in the mirror how it went from a deep purple, to blue, to yellow, to red. The taurian was of course, grinning from ear to ear the entire time. Even the man's beard had not been safe from Notila's ministrations as swooping curls had been finely shaved into it using the very edge of a scalpel.

As the human stood from the chair, and looked at himself in the mirror, inspecting the hair and hairline, but also leaning in and running the tips of his fingers over the swirls in his beard; he liked how it felt, even if it was rather loud compared to his usual fare.

As the human straightened, his usual slouch; didn't suit the bold and powerful style.

Briefly frowning, the man straightened. His spine clicked as he pulled his shoulders back.

So long had the man spent trying to get by, he'd attempted to hide himself in plain sight. But the powerful symbol he now wore needed, or rather demanded attention.

Turning and checking himself in the full-length mirror, the human felt... seen.

"Huh..." He murmured.

"My dear human... If you had merely said it was a lack of habit, I would have offered this when you had first arrived. You deserve to be seen. I'm not ignorant to you or your people's plight. It is your, and your kind's duty to bellow and bleat against the crowd now. To be seen. Heard. If nothing else remembered."

The human smirked, still getting used to standing tall.

"Maybe you're right..."

"Of course I am. Look at me! I'm the great Notilas!"

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

[tadpolesonalgae]

Eris x reader: Pomegranate Seeds

A/N: So they don’t really have kings and queens in prythian but for the sake of clarification because I feel that using Lady is an odd descriptor, I’m using Queen the first time. (I was listening to a greek mythology playlist while writing this!)

Warnings: wine?

Word Count: 1,844

“To a new world.”

Raise the glass, clinking with his own, ringing like tiny silver bells. “To a better High Lord.” Caramel softens at the edge, whiskey swirling as he inclines his head, the two of you drinking deeply. Ruby liquid warms your throat, pooling in your stomach, poised to soften your mind.

Drink quietly for minutes, taking in the beauty from the uppermost levels of the palace. Forest stretching for miles, red and oranges cooling beneath the moonlight into somber, neutral shades. Leaves flutter below as wind runs her fingers through the lustrous mass, dancing through, skating across the trees as she sweeps over the landscape.

“Part of me never thought the day would come,” Eris admits, quietly. “That his immortality would prevail over my own, and this relief would never arrive.” Shafts of moonbeam smoothen the planes of his face, bathing him in ethereal silver, wine dappled with sparkling light. The deep emerald of his waistcoat is darkened by the night, shade cast down the strong lines of his body as he braces his forearms on the balcony railing, caramel corduroy tailored to perfection. He’s dappled in jewel tones, the ruby heirloom sitting pretty around his thumb, the just-licked crimson shining resplendent like wine.

“It’s fictitious; yet here we are, standing triumphant.” Brows dip in the centre, a look of tired frustration marring his features. “I don’t feel victorious at all.”

Watch him sidelong: the downcast gaze, wine sitting discarded atop the railing, breeze kissing the soft, silky hair from his face. Take another sip of your drink. “This isn’t like you,” you reply quietly, “since when has inebriation made you so morose?” It’s true intoxication tends to macerate his normally abrasive personality, but not to the point of sombreness. Tonight he’s almost melancholy.

“I’m nowhere near the peak of this mountain. I thought at least from here it would be within my sights, yet I feel as though instead I’ve stumbled upon a crater,” he mulls bitterly. “A crater so great it would take the rest of my centuries to halfway circumvent the perimeter.” His head dips, staring into the blood-red pool of liquid. It simmers slightly in response, filled with effervescence.

Lower the glass from your lips, gently putting a hand over his shoulder. “That’s why you have me. We’ll get further as a pair than if you insist on wretched solitude.” Molten caramel warms your skin, brow dipped at the centre, poised to protest. “We’ve made it together this far, Eris. I’m not about to back out now. We’re in this for the long run.”

He watches you silently, absorbing the steadfast reassurance of your palm, savouring the solace of your touch. Moonlight sets your skin aglow, bathing it in silver—how you shine. The soft cream of your dress transformed by the night into something diaphanous and celestial. Contained within the gossamer is a dusting of warmth—the colour of rosey moonlight.

Takes it all in, and commits the silence to memory. The tranquility of your touch, the innate comfort of your person. Do you know he would have undoubtedly crumbled had you not been at his side? Swallows thickly—the new world has already begun. Changes will be made, battles will be fought, failures will be suffered, but progression is imperative.

“I want to be better than he was,” Eris says quietly. It’s always been his goal, but has it ever been voiced? Or has it been kept silently locked up, fearful of who might hear and hold him accountable. “Then you’ve already succeeded,” you respond, taking a sip of your wine. “Really, I had thought you to be much more ambitious.” Eyes flick to his, ready to push him further. “Where’s your discipline gone?”

He regards you quietly, then stands from the railing. Takes a deep drink from his wine before turning to face you, one side of his face bathed in silver. “I want to be better,” he repeats quietly, “I will be better.” The edge of your mouth raises with pride, pupils dilated from the many glasses that were consumed prior to the toast. “I want to make the Autumn Court my Court. And I want its citizens to think of it as home, rather than their birthplace,” he admits, at last voicing his wishes. “I want my people to be proud of their homeland; to also desire its nourishment.”

Eris takes in a slow, deep breath, air trembling within shaky lungs. Nerves wriggling beneath his skin under the intensity of your gaze. The depth of understanding between you. Steadies himself for the first step of change.

“I want my Court to be blessed with a strong, sound-minded ruler,” he begins, eyes latched with your own. “Someone who’s fair, and just, and kind without being weak.” Your hands join on their own, independent of conscious will, fingers sliding across calloused palms, roughened from sparring and flame. “Someone equally capable of keeping their head under duress, as their humour.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes playfully, “I’d hardly describe your backhanded compliments and bladed jabs as humorous, Eris.”

He smiles a little, one that’s initially difficult to place. Until the day is recalled. The day his youngest brother had fled to spring after having his beloved executed before his eyes. The first, and last day Eris had ever disobeyed his father. You still remember the pulse of his heart, the same smile he’d given you—full of nerves, and mild terror—knowing he was doing something that scared him, but that had to done.

“Maybe not,” he admits, lightly squeezing your hands. Only now making you aware of their tremble. Does he know you can feel the spike of his pulse? Hear the nervous beat of his heart? “But I’m not speaking of myself.”

Your brow dips, furrowing as you peer up at him, wondering what plan he’s cooking up within that wonderful mind of his. Always one for strategy. Gives you another squeeze. Spine straightens. “Centuries ago, I was set on completing this journey on my own. I was the only person I needed; the only one I could depend on when things went wrong. And I will stand by my past resolutions.” He swallows, gaze steadying, familiar certainty returning to his eyes. “But I don’t want to, if I don’t have to.”

He’s talking in riddles; you have no hope of following what he’s talking about. But he sounds confident and assured, so you’ll trust him. “I want someone by my side,” he continues, quiet but firm. “I no longer want to complete the journey on my own.”

Heart warms in your chest, unable to help the smile that softens your mouth, emotion welling across your breast. “I’m right here with you,” you murmur, peering up at him. He nods, that slightly nervous twist to his lips still prominent. Takes a deep breath. Mouth shifts into a serious set, features changing to sincerity, the swiftness catching you off guard. “I want you to be at my side,” he says frankly; earnestly. “As my Queen.”

The title clangs through you, eyes widening, lips parting, breath sucked from your soul. He maintains his hold, keeping you steady. “You’ve made it clear you’ll walk this path with me. Proved time and time again you can be resourceful, and understanding, and diplomatic. What difference does it make if the next time you appear before my Court, you wear its crown? Have equal dominion over that land you care so greatly for, despite the ruin my father tried to inflict upon it because he was too miserable and sour to make changes?

“He was drowning in his own wretchedness, so condemned everyone else to his fate. But you kept your head above the water, and fought for your right to life. You survived, and made something for yourself.

“I can think of no one else more deserving, more right for the throne, than you.”

You stare at him, speechless. Hands still grasped in his own, the band of his heirloom burning into your skin. “Are you serious?” You manage, disbelieving. Heart matching the pace of his, thundering in your chest. “Completely,” he replies. “I believe you are worthy of the title, and will be capable of taking on that responsibility.” Swallows thickly. Exhales heavily. Beat raising higher. “I understand you may have concerns: I am asking a lot from you. Requesting you dedicate the rest of your life to the Autumn Court, and in doing so, also to me. It is not purely objective reasoning that forces me to make this selfish appeal; it would be deceptive and insolent of me to invite you into this contract without revealing to you the full scope of my wishes.”

His attention remains steady and assured, but it’s as though he’s been stripped back a layer, petals peeling away to reveal his golden centre. Raw intention being laid bare before you.

“The truth is, there is no one else I want as my Lady. You made me feel like myself in a way others have not. Have imparted upon me the feeling of having a home in another being, and for that I have never sufficiently expressed by deepest gratitude and fear I will never be able to.” The moonlight spills into his whiskey and caramel gaze, sending sparkling starlight glittering like crystals. “I swear on the few things I still hold dear—you being one of them—that I will do well by you. I will be a better High Lord than my father, but also a better husband, if you will gift me the chance.”

Words flutter through your minds, boggled and scrambled from his proposition. There’s always been an undercurrent between you, becoming more and more prominent in recent decades. His father couldn’t have chosen a better time to kick the bucket—sick bastard. “Your court would never accept my word, even as the new Lady of Autumn,” you manage distantly, mind spinning from the sincerity of his piece.

It’s his turn to quirk his lips, “what’s a Courtful of males in the face of your ambition?” Challenge practically drips from his mouth, eyes gleaming in the night, heating with molten determination. He’s won already, and he knows it. The pull between you irresistible. Muscle looses it’s taut tension. “I did say I’d be with you every step of the way, didn’t I?” His features shift to something gentle and tender, thumb swiping across your knuckles. “You damned yourself from the beginning,” he murmurs, one hand raising to your jaw, allowing a moment for you to pull away. You lean into him. “Don’t call a life with you a damnation, Eris,” you murmur onto his palm, tilting your cheek, knuckles brushing beneath your lashes. “You’re the best damned thing that’s every happened to me.”

Hear his heart spike at your own confession, temperature raising. The slight pressure he applies to the space below your jaw—an almost subconscious request.

Lips part in response, allowing his sweet relief to sweep in.

You thought it would never arrive.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog

[eco-lite]

Finally got to read Volume 6! I didn’t think anything could top Volume 4, but this one is a very close contender for my favorite. Here are my unedited thoughts:

“Sinhalite Beckons, Part 1”

* An extra case first??? Okay then.

* Who is this female version of Seigi? This is hilarious, they’re way too similar!

* Very curious where in the timeline this story takes place…

“The Wandering Conch Pearl”

* WAIT WTF?? That was Seigi’s dream? Did he dream of himself as a woman interacting with Richard in Sri Lanka??????

* Not the milkman omgggg.

* Oooh Richard’s assistant in Hong Kong. That’s probably the sleezy guy he was talking about in the last story. Can Seigi see into other peoples’ pasts now? Didn’t know there was going to be a supernatural element lol.

* “I couldn’t decide if I should serve tea or not, so my brain cells had a meeting and came to the unanimous conclusion not to” (34). I love Seigi so much. 😂

* “I couldn’t stop smiling. Richard thanked me. He said he thought I was dependable. His smile was beautiful enough to start, but boy, a direct hit from his charm sure packed a punch. I was glad he’s withdrawn to the back room, because I was pretty sure my face wasn’t going to go back to normal for a while” (42). Oh, honey… 😌

* Wow, I did not think I would be learning so much about post-WWII politics between Japan and the Dominican Republic from this series, but here we are.

* This conversation between Richard and Seigi from page 62-67 is all over the place. Richard shutting Seigi down when he invites Richard over, but obviously still wanting to let Seigi in. And he ends up asking Seigi to dinner even though he just made the argument that Seigi should go home and go to bed early. And then he gets frustrated that Seigi is being so amenable to going out to dinner with him?? Bro, get your emotions together! You of all people should know that Seigi is not a mind reader. Let him know how you feel, for fuck’s sake!

* “To me, Richard’s beauty was like Mount Fuji at sunrise or the windswept sand dunes in a desert. Anyone else’s beauty was…very human. When I looked at Richard, I felt a mysterious calm, like if I were looking at a lake or the sky or the sea. Normal human features weren’t even in the same category. But if I said any of that out loud, I was pretty sure I’d offend literally everyone” (67). Yes, would would offend literally everyone. You’re learning, Seigi!

* “To have someone look upon the grain of truth hidden within the most tender part of yourself, and tell you their unvarnished opinion of it—I thought that would, without question, be cause for joy” (69). Okay well then you better tell Richard how you feel about having to leave Étranger in the next story, Seigi! Expose that grain of truth!!

“Resplendent Spinel”

* Seigi is really too nice. Filling in for someone in a club where you don’t know any of the other members? Could never be me.

* Ayame describing the “insincere drivel” her boyfriend spouts at her and Seigi’s reaction is “I felt like I was about to go into cardiac arrest” (93). 😅 Is he finally gaining some self-awareness about how ostentatious his compliments of Richard are?

* Ayame: “��And if you think that a compliment can’t cut as deeply as an insult, you’re terribly naive’” (93). Seigi: “I felt like I’d been sent flying by a body blow” (94). Seigi is really going through it…

* “‘But you are different. Your words are different. When your words brush my face, it’s like a playful wind. With your absurd vocabulary, you are expressly telling me that my appearance brings you joy. It does feel a bit peculiar at times, but perhaps I find that peculiarity oddly endearing, Seigi.’ And then he smiled. I was struck dumb for a while” (96). Holy shit… 😳

* “‘I have a hard time understanding the nature of your love for me. It’s be a great help if you could give me a rundown, as if you were briefing me for a job’” (101). I wish Richard would ask Seigi to do this. But I think Seigi needs to complete his “self assessment” first. He doesn’t even understand the nature of his own love for Richard.

* Wow, Itagaki is actually pretty mature. Good for him.

* “‘Well, I just want you to know there has been a lot of diversity in body type in the industry lately, and I would love you even if you put on a hundred kilos, so don’t overdo it’” (110). It’s really nice to see a male character so adamant that his girlfriend shouldn’t have to worry about losing weight, especially since she’s in the entertainment industry. I hope we see even more diverse body types in Japanese entertainment in the future.

* I hope we get to see this “long talk” they’re going to have in the next story.

“Paraíba Tourmaline Romance”

* Omg Tanimoto is back! And she’s finally meeting Richard!! The two of them ganging up on Seigi is so funny.

* “Once again, it was Seigi Nakata versus the allied forces of Richard and Tanimoto. Honestly, I was probably the happiest if ever been in my life, but I was also just as embarrassed” (135). This is so cute.

* “‘I agree that romance might just be a stone I don’t know yet, but it feels so removed from me—like that planet made from diamonds orbiting a distant star. Maybe I just don’t have the courage for interstellar travel’” (153). This is so ace. I’m so so glad Tanimoto decided to be true to herself and not force herself into a romantic relationship she didn’t actually want. Sometimes you don’t need to experiment. You just know yourself. I’m so proud of her!

* Wow, I really teared up seeing Richard talk about queerness and fluctuations in identity so directly. I’m so happy Tsujimura had the courage to include frank conversations about queer issues. Richard’s perspective here truly is “like a spring breeze rushing through a window that no one remembered opening” (153).

* “‘What really matters is that you never forget that while you possess the potential to change, your present self continues to become your future self… I know it’s hard to decide what choice will be best for you, if I were in your position, I would not think forcing myself into a romantic relationship would be that choice… While dying on your feet is all well and good, one wrong step might make it nothing g more than foolhardy and reckless. And perhaps in the same way, a strategic retreat isn’t running away so much as it is a change of course’” (157). Ace ally Richard is so important to me. This is why he’s my comfort character.

* “‘When Seigi told me about this place, I thought it was a shop run by a foreign man who would show his customers wonderful gemstones. I see it’s actually a shop that provides kindness and comfort to those who see themselves as Étranger’” (158). fUCK.

* I’m so glad Seigi apologized for what he said to Tanimoto at the museum. I know it’s hard for him to let go of the fact that Tanimoto doesn’t feel romantic love since he has a crush on her, but I think he’s more understanding of her feelings now, thanks to the conversation with Richard.

* Omg Seigi and Tanimoto having a mature conversation about why they wouldn’t work out romantically. So nice to see. I think Tanimoto still kind of misunderstood why Seigi wanted to ask her out before, but that’s very on brand for her lol.

* “‘I feel like having you around has made me a better person than I was before’” (173). Richard!!! 💘💘💘

* Tanimoto defending Seigi and telling Richard to never hurt him again! I love her so much!

* I love this story so much! It was great to learn more about Tanimoto’s past and see her finally interact with Richard, who was just so thoughtful here. I can’t believe he felt bad for telling her not to worry about romantic love because he thought it might hurt Seigi. That’s sweet, but I’m glad he was true to himself and what Tanimoto needed to hear in that moment. And Seigi got just a bit more mature, too. I have such intense affection for everyone in this situation. But not Seigi’s father coming to ruin the vibes at the end. 🤬🤬🤬

“The Tanzanite of Rebirth”

* Seigi’s father is such a disgusting manipulator. I always say I want to learn more about Seigi, but learning how awful this man was to him and Hiromi, and how dark Seigi’s thoughts were at that time… How dark they are now… It’s really distressing.

* The fucking tonal shift from this melancholy last dinner together to Jeffrey showing up in the hotel room is so funny. For real though, what did Seigi think would happen when he followed Richard to his room?? 👀 But it’s really concerning that Seigi felt he had no choice but to follow Richard to his room. Obviously that’s Seigi’s extremely negative headspace talking, but please have some self-respect!

* “‘Maybe you’ve forgotten, but I spent a long time stalking you within the realm of what’s legal, of course. Obviously, I’ve repented of my actions—please, God, forgive me for my trespasses. And since I’ve repented, I hope you’ll forgive me for reoffending. It’s plain for anyone to see that something’s been eating at you’” (228). JEFFREY. It’s kind of sweet that Jeffrey has been keeping an eye on Seigi, but did he have to get this intense about it? This kidnapping situation is so chaotic lol. That is his style, though.

* “‘Why do you treat me like some rock on the side of the road? What do you think I am? A doll that’s not good for anything but being on display? I’ve been on this Earth longer than you have. I possess more knowledge than you, and I have enough free time to be able to afford to spend some on you. And yet you had the audacity to try to abandon me and walk off into the darkness. It’s beyond asinine and irrational’” (230). YOU TELL HIM, RICHARD! (Not to even mention Richard told Seigi he loves him just before this rant.) But I feel like Seigi could have said this exact speech when Richard ran away to England before. They both feel that the other should rely on them more, but wouldn’t want to be a burden. After the England debacle, Richard learned that it’s okay to rely on people who love you. Now Seigi has to learn that lesson too.

* “There was a large dam inside my heart, and what it was holding back wasn’t water but sludge. And I didn’t want any of that getting on Richard. It’s the sort of thing that you let out into a drainage ditch in secret” (232-233). Oh, honey, no. First of all, Richard is a human being who loves you and can withstand hearing bad things. You’re not tainting him. He’s asking you to trust him with this. Second of all, please go to therapy…

* It’s really concerning to see how Seigi thinks of himself as having the potential for violence against people he loves. It’s really common for witnesses of domestic abuse to think that way, but it’s so clear in Seigi’s actions that he could never do that. He has such a good heart. But he’s really clouded by dark thoughts from interacting with his father. It’s not like he was thinking this when he wanted to date Tanimoto. These thoughts resurfaced very recently. Thankfully Richard has done enough self-reflection to throw his own situation in Seigi’s face to show him how ridiculous he’s being.

* “‘You don’t think of me as normal or expected. You don’t think of me as tangible, something that is always by your side. That is why I remain someone distant and unreachable to you… You never attempt to close the distance between us. And you never allow me to pay your price, the affection, you are worth’” (243-244). Wow. This reflective Richard is extremely powerful…

* “The moment I realized that he had been watching over me and accepting me for who I was on a much deeper level than I could even have imagined, I felt like I’d been tossed into the middle of the ocean—it was salty, and I struggled to breathe. I was such a loser, such a thoughtless person, a timid child crying in the dark with his knees held tightly to his chest, and yet it felt like he took it all in and said that it was fine. But it wasn’t just a feeling, he believed in me, more than I could ever believe” (247-248). Yes, Seigi, that’s what you do when you love someone. You did the same for him.

* Omg punk Jeffrey?! I wish I could see all those photos Richard keeps as blackmail. 😂

* I’m glad Richard brought up “what floor?” Seriously, Seigi not feeling able to reject him was scary. For both of them, I think.

* Seigi’s stepdad is an absolute legend! King of positive masculinity! “‘I don’t think being strong or not has anything to do with whether you’re okay’” (272). Fuck yes. Hiromi did so well marrying this man.

* “‘I don’t want an apology, I want you to reflect on your behavior. I imagine you understand this by now, but your number-one assignment at the moment is learning to value yourself more’” (274). The fact Richard is able to say this to Seigi is a reflection of his own growth as well. I’m so glad they’re in each other’s lives. They make each other better. 🥹

* Seigi trying to tell Richard he wants to keep being around him even if he doesn’t work at Étranger anymore but it keeps coming out likes he’s proposing or asking him on a date. I think his first statement was the truest to how he feels: ‘“I want to be by your side from now on, if you’ll let me’” (280). I think Richard was ready to accept that as a proposal until Seigi made a bunch of qualifying statements lol.

* Wow, this story means so much to me. Everything that came out of Richard’s mouth was something both Seigi and I (and so many other people, I’m sure) needed to hear. Their relationship got so much deeper. And I can’t wait to see what shenanigans Seigi gets up to in this hotel lol. Especially if Richard is staying there as well. Very excited for the next volume. This one had better come out on time! 😤

“Sinhalite Beckons, Part 2”

* OKAY this is wild! I swear to god the person on the motorcycle in part 1 is Richard, but it seems to be Seigi now???? And he and Richard seem to live together in this nice house in Sri Lanka???????

* Omg she’s the sister of the airport lady from “Flourite By Your Side!” 😲 Glad she’s feeling better!

* Okay so it’s been three years? And there are pictures of the shop in Ginza and their families on the coffee table?? This is so fucking domestic. Is this their future???

* It’s refreshing to see someone call Seigi attractive for once! RIP Keiko’s love life though lol.

* “‘But you know, you really surprised me. You speak textbook-perfect English, but your Japanese sounds like someone from a local convenience store.’ I told him I thought is was a very interesting gap, and he smiled bashfully. ‘He always tells me that—“At this point, the language you might be the least eloquent in might be Japanese.” It is the one language he didn’t teach me, after all’” (301). This is so funny. And it’s making more sense why I thought Seigi was actually Richard in the first part. I can’t believe Seigi speaks English with a British accent! 😂

* Lol once again somebody’s first assumption is that Seigi and Richard are a couple, and it’s still not hard to see why. Love that Keiko immediately asked Seigi out after learning they’re not together, though. You go, girl! But Seigi’s heart belongs to someone else, huh? For real, please tell me he knows it’s Richard at this point!

* I find it so interesting that Tsujimura decided to show us this glimpse of Seigi and Richard’s future. What was the purpose?? It’s a fun and cute story, but not very satisfying if you’re routing for them to get together. And it weirdly feels like an ending even though I know there are at least two more volumes after this…

“Afterward”

* This isn’t a story but I need to record my reaction to the sentence “the first part of the story has now come to a close with Volume 6—though there is still more to tell.” 😲😲😲 Okay, I didn’t realize this story was in parts! Maybe “Sinhalite Beckons” is a way to transition into this new future chapter of Seigi and Richard’s life. 🤔

* Tsujimura actually knows a jeweler who taught them how to make royal milk tea lol. That’s adorable. They do say to write why you know.

* “It would make me very happy if you would keep me company on their journey for a little while.” Tsujimura, I am with you for the long haul. 🫡 Let’s do this!

[macabr3-barbi3]

PrideRing and Prejudice Prompt Challenge!

hello everyone! the Bapple's Orchard Discord Server had a Regency Prompt Challenge that a lot of crazy talented artists and writers have contributed to: here is the Masterlist of everyone's submissions that will be being updated through the day as more people post! There's something for everyone, and will be including RadioStatic and x Reader fics and music!

With that said, here are my submissions! First, have a string quartet arrangement that I did for a Bapple Approved™️ RadioStatic song, Something About Us by Daft Punk 🦌📺

And a short and sweet Alastor x Reader fic- enjoy! 💕🦌

Moonlight on Canvas (Hazbin Hotel Regency AU)

The ball hosted by the Morningstar family had been, as always, a fantastical soiree until you had spotted Alastor.

You give Lord Morningstar’s daughter Charlotte a wave across the room when she spots you, her own arm waving furiously, and as she turns away you see Alastor behind her, caught in conversation with the eager viscount, Vincent Vox. He strikes a silhouette like a portrait, one you’ve painted countless times before; tall, lean, the red of his outfit a charming contrast to his dark hair and eyes. You can see it in your mind now, the brushstrokes you could use to mimic the beauty of him in the lights of the ballroom, the burgundies and crimsons for his jacket, hickory and mahogany for his hair and the darkness of his eyes where they watch the viewer under the shadow of his fringe. It would make a stunning painting, and yet still be a poor imitation of what stood in front of you.

He looks like he would rather be anywhere but where he is, taking cautious steps backwards that Vox follows, and when he casts a desperate look behind himself he catches your eye, brows rising when his gaze settles on you, resplendent in your evening finery.

You bolt when he turns to make his excuses, ducking into the hall that leads to the garden before his eyes can track where you’ve gone.

The cool air of the night is a soothing balm on your nerves as you settle on the bench amongst the roses and tulips, off the main path where married couples and chaperoned groups pass by. Your heart is racing and you wish you had given enough thought to your escape to grab a drink before fleeing. You couldn’t face Alastor tonight; maybe you never could again. Once a close friend, he had been gone for seven years. You had written him countless letters, asking of his travels, when he would be coming home, why he had left so suddenly- every one of them left unanswered, the Viscount having assured you that he was passing your messages along since they had also been tentative friends before he left.

Surely you had done something wrong. He had changed his mind after leaving, your last conversation one about his marriage prospects- “if I must marry anyone, a lifelong commitment to a friend that I have grown fond- to you- would be far more desirable than one thrust upon me by the demands of society,” he had said, and while it wasn’t a dramatic declaration of love you knew what you expected of one another. You wanted him, but you would settle for being part of society, not pushed to the wayside as a spinster as your age went on; he wanted to be left to his own devices, no longer bothered by the mothers of eligible women or fathers looking to make a marriage for business connections. You had thought that he meant you- you must have been mistaken, if his blatant ignoral of your letters was anything to go by.

You wouldn’t let it bother you. You had been waiting for him all this time, but perhaps the time had come to set aside matters of the heart and focus on your life. Sir Pentious, a charming (if clumsy) man was present at the ball, and had made an offer for your hand once that you had declined, no father or brother to convince you on the matter and your mother uncaring of your choices- perhaps you could speak with him and see if the offer still stood… 

A branch cracks behind you, tearing you from your thoughts, and you turn to see Alastor behind you, two glasses of champagne held in one hand. “I thought I might find you here,” he murmurs, giving you that familiar smile of his. “Where else would an artist be but amongst the most beautiful scenery on the grounds?”

“Alastor.” You glance through the bushes and trees, not seeing anyone in the immediate vicinity. “I didn’t know that you were back!”

His head tilts ever so slightly. “Oh? So your record setting sprint from the ballroom was for another reason then; I see.” Despite his smile you can see that he’s a bit irritated, his grip on the stems of the champagne glasses making them clink together before he hands one to you. “I had hoped that we could speak tonight- I meant to inform you of my return sooner.”

You take the glass from him wordlessly and down it, ignoring the amused look on his face. “Perhaps you should have informed me of your departure sooner as well, rather than disappearing into the night without so much as a ‘farewell.’” You use your glass to keep you grounded and turn to inspect the flowers, fighting to keep the ire from your voice. You weren’t ready for this conversation with him, hadn’t been planning on talking to him at all really, after his absence. 

“Darling.” You hear the compression of the grass as he steps closer to you, entering the peripherals of your vision. “What have I done to earn such a dismissal? Do you not wish to see me at all?”

“No,” you say truthfully, and the flash of hurt across his face strikes anguish into your heart. “I didn’t- I wasn’t ready to see you tonight.”

Even now he is beautiful, especially now; he stiffens his shoulders, his face upset, eyes still bright in the darkness of the night. Amongst the flowers, the yellows and reds contrasting so stunningly with the image of him, you could paint this scene a hundred ways and still never quite capture the raw emotion that overtakes his expression. Depending on how the rest of the conversation goes, that might be the only way that you can gaze upon his beauty going forward- paintings done from memory, sketches on ballroom napkins when you spot him at a party and can’t stop the itch in your fingers that demands you bring the vision to fruition.

The tension seeps from his frame, not in relief but defeat. “I wish you had come to me,” he whispers, pain evident in his tone. “About whatever I did to cause your apparent frustration with me. Before simply deciding to cast me- our friendship- aside. So that I may have had some attempt at salvaging it.”

“What are you- Alastor, you cut me off!” You whirl around to face him fully, hating the sting of tears in your eyes. “I sent you countless letters when you left and you never responded-”

“You’re one to speak of unanswered correspondence,” he huffs. “‘Countless,’ you say- can you not count to ‘zero?’”

“What?” The tension in his frame has returned while he struggles to keep his composure, and he looks away from you, casting his eyes out across the garden rather than facing you. “Alastor, I sent you hundreds of letters over the years- I had to send them off through the Viscount since you didn’t deign to even tell me you were leaving. So many letters asking where you were, why you left, when you were coming back. If you were… okay. I thought you might have died and I was devastated until I saw you today and I thought that you just-” You cut yourself off when you hear the quiet clamor of other voices, and you duck into the shadow of the apple trees that line the path. You watch Alastor track their movements down the path before he turns back to you as they get out of sight, his expression now curious rather than pained.

“What did you think?” He sets his glass down on the bench and steps closer, maintaining a respectable distance between your bodies but reaching his hand out to take yours, pulling the champagne glass from your own tight grip with his free hand and setting it beside his. Your heart is hammering in your chest while you stand there together; if someone so much as saw you out here together-

“Dearest.”

“Don’t call me that,” you manage despite your breath being caught in your chest. “Not now. You’ve clearly changed your mind, if you meant it at all, and I was foolish to-”

His unoccupied hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone and effectively making your brain stutter. “What did you think?” He asks quietly, his eyes lidded as he looks down at you, his familiar smile looking like it means to come back, twitching at the edges of his lips. “Grant me this clarification if you would- a proper conversation might help to clear up any lingering uncertainty between us.”

You can’t bring yourself to step back from his hold on your skin. “I- our last discussion,” you breathe, not daring to speak any louder lest you break the spell that’s fallen over the pair of you. “You had said that were you to marry anyone you would want it to be me, and then you vanished for seven years without so much as an ‘adieu.’ I thought…” You swallow the lump in your eyes, distantly thinking that the blurred image of him before you would make another lovely portrait. “I thought you changed your mind; that you had said something reckless and wanted to take it back without having to have such a discussion with me.”

“It would appear that the charming Viscount has played us both for fools, darling.” He looks like he wants to step closer to you but thinks better of it as a peal of laughter escapes the hall leading to your little platform in the garden. “I am not one to change my mind once I have made a decision; I sent you letters as well. Tales of what I could divulge of my travels- and I will provide more details when I am able to- and questions about what you were doing without me, mentions of how I missed our chats and teas. I inquired multiple times if you had considered what I said, blatantly verified that I would be interested in marrying you whenever I was able to return. I thought your lack of a response was a refusal.”

“Oh my God, Alastor.” The nervous laughter that bubbles out of you is so refreshing it takes over your body, stomach not able to heave the way it wants with the corset in the way of your air intake. “You tried to send your letters through Vox as well?”

“Not directly- I had my aide, Husker, coming into town with my correspondence. He left them with dear Vincent who assured him that they were going to the proper recipients. I suppose I can only hope that no one else was subjected to the same discourtesy and received my letters as intended.” He removes his hands from your face and wrist to clench his own into fists at his sides. “This blatant disrespect of not just my matters, but yours as well, will not stand.” He turns like he means to head back into the ballroom and your hand darts out, grips his arm like to let him go would be a grievous mistake.

“Did you really mean it?” You ask him, and the look that he gives you you want to find a way to paint on the back of your eyelids- fond and amused and relieved, tinged with anger that is not directed at you but on your behalf. “You- you would marry me?”

He hums a bit, glancing back at you with that fond look in his gaze. “As long as you'd still want to marry a man potentially convicted of manslaughter after I've seen the Viscount, then yes, darling. Seven years might have changed a lot, but neither my feelings nor my intentions.” He pulls you closer, almost into his arms then, his embrace so light it’s hardly there, the fabric of your clothing just barely brushing his. Your gasp is lost against the soft material of his coat before you look up at him, smile soft when he directs it to you. “Would you think me a scoundrel should I steal a kiss from you before my possible imprisonment?”

Your heart stutters in your chest. “I could never think anything but the best of you, Alastor,” you tell him, and then whisper, “please,” tilting your face up and closing your eyes, the thought of someone seeing you far from your mind. This moment would make a beautiful painting, you were sure of it; anticipation clear in the strokes of the brush, the colors making the tension and relief between the two of you evident, your emotions bleeding through the canvas into the eyes of whoever looked at it.

His lips press to your forehead, and when your eyes fly open he’s chuckling at you, grin mischievous as he steps away. “I’m afraid this is all I will allow myself, dearest- I can’t be causing too many scandals in one night.” He brings your hand to his lips and presses a light kiss there as well before releasing you entirely.

“Now that things have been cleared up between us, I do believe the Viscount is owed a visit!” Alastor says this cheerfully, a wink aimed in your direction before he's striding back down the hallway to the ballroom, his long legs making it difficult to catch him before he can do something reckless.

You’ve just entered the room, cheeks flushed, when you see Alastor stroll up to Vox as casual as can be. “Alastor!” The Viscount exclaims, gesturing beside himself to a tall companion, dressed in a gaudy shade of purple. “I was just telling my friend here about-”

The crowd never hears what Vox was telling his friend as Alastor’s clenched fist connects with his face, sending him flying backwards into a table and spilling punch and hor d'oeuvres across the floor. His friend looks outraged, a young woman nearby failing to stifle a chuckle into her glass of champagne, and everyone is watching Alastor like some feral animal as he straightens up after dealing his blow and stretches his hand out. “This man,” he says, his voice full of contempt like you’ve never heard from him before, glaring down at Vox’s bleeding form, “is a cad. An encroaching fungus that has wheedled his way into the fine community that we have here and should not be spared another thought. Viscount or not, a wretch will remain a wretch; things such as honor and loyalty cannot, apparently, be taught. I implore you all to keep that in mind!” He offers a smile and a low bow to some of the nearby ladies as a couple of the Morningstar guards are shuffling over, and he puts up no resistance, holding his arms out amiably for them to take and lead him away. 

When the guards have led Alastor away, the Morningstar patriarch following out the way they had come, you watch as Vox is helped to his feet by his companion, furiously wiping blood off his face before storming out of the ballroom. You wonder if there’s a way to get your letters back- to give them to Alastor, provide him with the words that you had tried telling him for so long before the opportunity was forcibly taken from your hands. You find a glass of punch from a table that hadn’t been buckled under the weight of a man and sip it while you make a lap around the ballroom- unsure if Alastor will be able to return but not yet willing to let the magical feel of the evening end. There are whispers all around you, about Vox, about Alastor, and you look again to the broken table that hasn’t yet been cleaned up, wondering if they would allow you to take the stained tablecloth to use as a canvas if you stretched it properly.

“Excuse me, miss.”  A man speaks behind you, and you turn to see an older gentleman- Husker, if you remember correctly of your tea and chats with Alastor. “His Grace has asked me to reassure you that with the exception of his being thrown into a jail cell, he will come to call on you tomorrow at your mother’s residence; to ask for your hand properly.” He gives a heavy sign, glancing at the rest of the occupants of the ballroom and the group of people that stand to your left. “I was also asked to inform you that should you decide to paint the events of this evening, he would be more than happy to hang the resulting portrait in the manor’s foyer.” 

Your face lights up with a genuine smile, something that Husker eyes suspiciously before he walks away, muttering under his breath. You look around the ballroom and find Charlotte talking to a friend and make your way to her- she could be convinced to part with the tablecloth, you were sure of it, and you would use it to make a beautiful piece of art that hung in your new home and marked the start of something that had been worth waiting for after all.

[abyssruler]

to dream a dream

xiao x gn reader

sometimes, all it takes to push two people together is a stroke of luck, and sometimes, leaving is as easy as taking on the abyss. perhaps you were a fool for choosing misery, but people like you were never meant for a happy ending. or, xiao meets a star-borne traveler who captures his heart and leaves it fractured for the next 500 years.

angst, not a happy ending (can be read as ambiguous ending), non-linear narrative, long fic, reader is the abyss twin (gender neutral), i wrote most of this back in sept 2021 so might not be accurate on a few lore aspects but i tried my best

Here is how it starts: a shooting star and a lone Yaksha.

Perched atop one of the many mountain peaks in Jueyun Karst, Xiao watches the afternoon sky be split by a streak of gold.

A shooting star.

It’s only when it begins to descend that the lone Yaksha realizes the direness of the situation. He’s quick to summon his spear, disappearing in a swirl of anemo and his own tainted aura. He arrives just in time to see a golden figure fall from the sky and into the ground in the middle of Dihua Marsh.

What greets him when he approaches is the sight of a person laying in the middle of a meteor-sized crater, eyes closed and dressed in clothes that look as if they belonged to another world.

After the war that occurred only a few years ago, and with the looming threat of Celestia hanging above the Seven Nations’s heads, he decides it is best to eliminate the threat this sleeping stranger might pose to Liyue.

The tip of the spear was only a few inches away from its destination when a pair of too-bright eyes open. And for the first time in his long life, Xiao falters from the stare of a stranger.

(He doesn’t know yet that this stranger is the person who will shape his life for the next five hundred years and more.)

✧

You awake to a spear pointed at you.

Your eyes look up from the glinting jade spear and meet molten gold. Hues of amber, orange, and yellows swim in the eyes of this stranger, and despite the situation you’re in, you can’t help but be mesmerized by such a sight.

There is a gaping hole in your memory, but you aren’t in any rush to fill it, too entranced by the view in front of you.

(Later, you will remember. Later, you will despair.

But for now, you look upon the being haloed in fiery light and marvel at the sight.)

The sky behind the stranger is bathed in the hues of the dying sun. It makes him look surreal, ethereal. His suspicious eyes haven’t moved in the slightest, haven’t shown any indication of emotion beyond distrust, but when you look into them, you can almost see the light of your brethren echoed in the brilliance of his eyes.

Your mouth moves before you can control it. You haven’t felt so out of control in a thousand years. “Are you a god?”

You wonder what kind of world you have ended up in to be in the presence of a god—and a god is what this being before you must be. Only gods can mirror the resplendence of the stars within their eyes.

Your question seems to have caught him off-guard. The way his brows knit and the tightening of his hold on his spear don’t escape your dazed eyes.

Not a god?

“Who are you?” the not-quite-god asks, raising his spear closer to you. You pay it no mind, your body is more resilient than most would think at first glance.

As soon as the thought comes, though, you are reminded by the searing pain scorching through your body, the brief moment of wonder at the sight of this beautiful stranger, gone.

What comes out of your lips is a whimper, hands coming up to reach futilely at your back where the pain resides the most. He seems taken aback by the sudden change in your actions, but all your attention is diverted to the searing pain resonating from your back.

It spreads through you, rendering you useless and vulnerable on the ground, a not-quite-deity only a few feet in front if you, capable of ending your life in your current state.

Across your arms, through your legs—it reaches every part of your body. You have never felt so powerless in your life.

He kneels at your evident distress, spear gone as his hands hover over your prone form. You don’t see the expression he wears, and when darkness starts creeping through your vision, you don’t see anything at all.

You feel him pull your body to his chest, lifting you up with ease that belies his strength.

Somehow, despite the agony you’re in, you can’t help but think of how warm this stranger feels.

✧

(You close your eyes and place your hand above your heart, trying to recall that warmth you’ve longed for centuries.

“Your Highness.”

The mask returns. Your eyes snap open, hand falling to your side as you turn a cold stare to one of your mages. The voice that comes out of you is one you don’t recognize—you haven’t for the past five hundred years.

“Is it time?”

The cryo mage lowers its head in deference as it utters an affirmative.

You return your gaze to the scene in front of you before turning away and stepping into a portal. The landscape of Dihua Marsh is pushed away and locked in a box, never to be seen along with your heart.)

✧

When you next open your eyes, you’re struck by the sheer the emptiness within you. The warmth that once pulsed through your veins is now nothing but ice. What used to be ichor is now normal—mortal—blood. The power that once defeated gods and destroyed nations has become nothing. A raging fire reduced to ashes.

You are exceedingly aware of how powerless you now are.

Your hand reaches for your side, only to be met with nothing.

A rueful smile makes its way to your lips.

Was it not enough for that god to take away your powers? Now you’re not only empty, but also one half of a whole.

You wonder if your twin is suffering the same fate as you.

“You’re awake.”

The voice startles you. How lost must you have been in your thoughts to be startled by a stranger. You haven’t been caught off-guard since that fight against the god of thunder four hundred years ago.

Wide-eyed, you turn to the source of the sound. A young man stands near the entrance of the sparce room you found yourself in, clad in clothes and armor that spark a vague sense of recognition in you. Your first meeting is a hazy blur in your mind. Trying to wade through your jumbled thoughts is like trying to cradle sand with your fingers—futile.

Handsome, is what your first thought is. Then you see the way he stands so warily, sharp eyes trained on you and never once blinking—dangerous. In your current state, you don’t think you have the power to take him on in a fight and win.

“I’m a bit disoriented from everything I went through,” you start, eyeing him cautiously and beginning to loosen up when he shows no signs of hostility. You try for a disarming smile, “I’m sorry, but could you tell me where I am?”

He crosses his arms—a good sign or a bad sign? Probably the former. “You are in Liyue, the land of the Geo Archon.”

Liyue.

Geo Archon.

You are in Teyvat, right where Celestia rules.

All the blood drains from your face. You school your expression into one of indifference, but it’s too late. This stranger has already seen the way you paled at the mention of the Geo archon.

Your hands clench around the sheets pooled around your legs so tight they’re nearly numb. His eyes shift at the action before returning to your face, his countenance impassive and closed-off.

“I see.” You’re grateful for the steadiness of your voice.

You pretend to contemplate your situation, all while your mind is running a mile a minute. You muddle through the haze in your memory, trying to recall the snippets of conversation you’ve had and the barest of informations you’ve been given about Teyvat.

Liyue. There are seven nations in Teyvat, one of them is Liyue. Each ruled by a respective Archon.

The Geo Archon.

What did the King say about him—

The King.

Oh.

Now-mortal blood rushes through your ears and leaves a faint ringing sensation. Your fingers unclench, eyes glazing over as you remember one crucial detail that you had forgotten in your haste to escape this world.

The King is dead.

And so is the Queen.

The Lectors, the Royal Guards, the Nobles, the people.

Everyone is…

Your hand reaches for your side.

Your sibling, your only family, your other half is…

It closes around empty space.

…gone.

Oh.

You are the only one left.

“Could I be left alone, please?”

He doesn’t question you, staying for a moment longer before disappering in a whirl of dark smoke and the lingering aura of the weight of deceased gods.

Only after the last traces of the stranger disappears do you let yourself fall apart.

✧

Grief is a word that can be used to describe Xiao’s entire being.

How many people has he lost and mourned in the long years he’s lived and breathed? Too many to count.

Perhaps it is why Xiao so easily conceded to your wish to be left alone. He, who finds more comfort in his lonesome than in the presence of others, knows better than anyone how overwhelming the company of a person during grief can be.

Perhaps he is a fool for letting you go, for acquiesing to your request. You’re a suspicious individual, proven more by your reaction to the mere mention of his god. He should have you incapacitated and interrogated, deem whether you’re a threat to Liyue and its people or not.

But he didn’t, because when he met your eyes, he saw himself mirrored in the nothingness in them.

So he leaves and lets you confront your grief and resolves to be gentler when he questions you tomorrow.

✧

He doesn’t ask about what happened yesterday, doesn’t question why you asked him to leave. He simply sits on the wooden chair in the corner of the small, rectangular room and waits for you to speak first.

You shift from your perch at the end of the thin bed. “I’m sorry for asking you to leave yesterday.”

You don’t elaborate more than that. He seems perceptive enough to know that you’d needed that time to be alone, or at least, you hope he is. The deities of this world, you’ve found, are much more difficult to read than others.

“Don’t think much of it,” he says curtly. Nodding, you wait for him to start the conversation, let him take the lead.

Moments pass. He makes no move to say anything else, only staring at you with those sharp, appraising eyes of his—and they really do look like molten gold. You suspect they’d look resplendent beneath the light of the sun.

Your eyes rove over his form, deciding to break the silence with a question. “Are you a warrior of Liyue?”

He hums in affirmation, nodding his head whilst crossing his arms. You inwardly sigh at the lack of words, it seems you’ll have to be the one to carry this conversation.

Just when you’re about to open your mouth, he speaks, “I am an Adeptus of Liyue.”

He looks at you as if his words carry a great weight to it. Perhaps it does, but you have no way of knowing so. The word adeptus doesn’t spark anything within your memory. The people of Khaenri’ah never spoke in length about the world above, and you were much too occupied with the wonders Khaenri’ah offered to care much about Teyvat.

So you blink at him cluelessly, but he doesn’t seem to get the hint, still watching you with a stare that would have been unsettling to anyone but you.

The words you’re about to say will probably give this stranger a hint of where you come from—rather, where you don’t come from—but you ask anyway, “May I ask what an adeptus is?”

You then realize that you’re probably not in the position to be asking him questions, but he answers anyway. From the looks of it, he doesn’t seem surprised by your ignorance.

“Adepti are guardians of Liyue. Mortals tend to worship Adepti like deity. Rex Lapis himself is an adeptus.”

Like gods then, but not quite. You suppose that explains why he isn’t so wary of you as opposed to what his reaction would have been if he was human.

You hum at the explanation before blinking at the unfamiliar name. You turn to him contemplatively, wondering if this Rex Lapis fellow is someone important enough that this stranger who claims to be an adeptus might get offended if you asked who he is. Perhaps he won’t, since you’ve already shown that you know little of Liyue’s culture and background.

“And who is Rex Lapis?”

His brows furrow at your response. You brace yourself for the worst, but his expression smoothens out.

“It’s no surprise that you are unfamiliar with the title. Only the people of Liyue call him by that name,” his voice remains calm. Somehow, it reminds you of the ever-composed captain of the Royal Guard (you push away the ache that comes with the reminder of an old friend). “Outside of Liyue, Rex Lapis is more known as Morax.”

Ah, the Geo Archon.

This time, you manage to mask your unease with a faux look of understanding. “I see, so Rex Lapis is the Geo Archon.”

He watches your reaction closely, but you don’t give him the opportunity to catch wind of your less than pleasant thoughts on Morax.

“So you serve him?” you say to divert his attention.

He nods, eyes still trained on you. You don’t think he knows what blinking means. If you’d been a normal person, perhaps you would have been intimidated by it, but after facing countless gods and monsters in battle, you merely find it amusing.

“And you?” he asks suddenly, somehow managing to look even more appraising.

“Me?”

“What nation do you hail from? Your clothes… they are not ones I am familiar with.” He tilts his head to the right in a manner eerily similar to that of a bird’s.

You send him a smile to lighten the weight of your next words. “Well, that’s because I’m from another world.”

✧

You decide to tag along the next time he leaves the little shack.

He still hasn’t deigned you trustworthy enough to know his name, so you refrain from asking him about it. Perhaps the Adepti of Liyue are simply that cautious. It’s a good call, you suppose, it’s always the carefree gods that tend to fall first.

(Five hundred years later, you watch the Dragon of the East ravage the city of Mondstadt with fierce winds. You feel the presence of Barbatos within the winds of Mondstadt, but you fear no god. The carefree Anemo Archon is not an exception.)

He stops by the shade of a tree before turning to you with a look that is distincly unamused. “Following me is unnecessary.”

Placing your hands in front of you innocently, you try for a disarming smile. “But I don’t have anything else to do.”

“There is food inside if you need sustenance.“

“Well, it’s kinda…” you trail off, trying to find the word that would least offend him, “Bland.”

He shakes his head. “The taste doesn’t matter. It’s for nourishment.”

“In some worlds, food is considered to be one of the most sacred things. A bland meal can be considered sacrilege, or simply disrespectful to your guest.” His brows furrow, before he can take offense to your words, you continue, “Have you ever tasted food that made you want to take another bite instead of simply eating it because it’s needed?”

“…What is your point?”

You clasp your hands in front of you. “My point is that we should go to the nearest market and shop for ingredients. I promise my cooking is top notch.”

He refutes you with a quick, “No.”

That won’t stop you though. “Fine. You can stay here and eat those tasteless food. I, on the other hand, am going to find the nearest town and buy myself good food.”

You begin to walk away, only to halt when a jade spear is held out in front of you.

“I cannot allow you to roam on your own.”

“Then come with me,” you argue.

There’s a stubborn set to his lips that fades into a quiet sigh. “I will watch you from afar.”

Later that night, when he takes a bite out of the curry you made with your feeble ingredients, you think you see his cold exterior melt a little.

✧

(There’s an emptiness in your stomach that mirrors the hollow shell that is your heart.

It’s been five hundred years since you slept, since you ate, since you last felt alive.)

✧

“Your name is Xiao? That’s a lovely name.”

He averts his gaze at your compliment, a strange feeling in his chest. He doesn’t know why he suddenly cannot look you in the eye, but perhaps it has something to do with the way you so easily said such words to him. It has been many years, but Xiao has never heard anyone call his given name lovely.

Or maybe it’s just you. You, who radiates a kind of brightness that warms and eases the burden of his debt. You, an outlander who claims to not be of this world, cycling through a range of grief and anger while still being open and luminous. He is not known to let people in easily, but throughout the course of a few days, you’ve somehow managed to creep close without his knowing.

Even the townspeople, who he knows have become wary of outsiders because of the war, have started to return your greetings with their own smiles.

“Does your name have a particular meaning?” you ask, laying on your back and uncaring of the grass stains that could potentially ruin your otherworldly clothes.

His mouth parts before he can stop it, and before he realizes it, two hours have passed by simply listening to you tell stories about the worlds you’ve traveled to and the people you met.

✧

On the third month of your stay, he discovers that you have a sibling.

“Will you allow me to leave, or am I still suspicious enough that you won’t let me out of your sights?” There’s a teasing tone to your voice that doesn’t entirely manage to hide the steel undertone to it.

Xiao shakes his head. “No. You are trustworthy.”

But the true reason he was displeased about this situation is—

“Don’t miss me too much, Xiao. I’ll only be gone for a few months at most!”

You’re heading off to Mondstadt to search for further clues on the whereabouts of your sibling.

✧

There’s something you would almost describe as electric in the way he stares at you after you return from your two month journey in Mondstadt, where all you found were questions and more riddles to add to the puzzle that happened in Khaenri’ah.

“Did you miss me?” you ask with a sly grin that turns into pleasant surprise at his response.

“I did.”

With a smile, you sidle up next to him on the bench and bump your shoulders together, acutely aware of the spot where your arms meet.

✧

“So I figured out a way to cook this new recipe I found at the Harbor. It’s called almond tofu.” You proudly present your latest masterpiece to him. “Think of it as a parting gift before I leave for Inazuma.”

His eyes widen at the first bite he takes.

You pester him whether the taste was good or if it was too sweet.

“It’s… good.” And that was about as close as you could get to attaining a five star rating from him.

You sit next to him, plucking up the courage to rest your head on his shoulder. “Don’t miss me too much, Xiao.”

(Oh, but he would.)

✧

“How was Inazuma?”

You laugh, still mourning your singed hair. “Pretty but dangerous. Did you know I got hit by lightning at least twenty times?”

“And what of your sibling?”

“Ah, still nothing.” You’re quick to mask the disappointment in your face. “But I’m sure Sumeru will have more answers for me. It’s the nation of wisdom after all.”

You slump on the grass, looking up at Xiao who stood beside you. There’s a hesitant look on his face as he takes something out of his pocket. He kneels on the grass next to you, something glinting on the palm of his hand.

“I realize that you will be encountering more dangers in your travels.” He eyes the bandages peeking from your sleeves. “This is an adepti amulet, meant to ward off evil, and…”

You sit up, closing your palm around his and taking the amulet. “And…?”

He breathes out at the brief contact between your hands. “And if you find yourself in danger, in a situation where you cannot bring yourself to kill, call out my name and I will be there.”

✧

“They called me a golden Nara.”

Xiao is quiet as he listens to you recount your brief journey to Sumeru, silently admiring the glow in your face and the smile that brightens your features.

“But they forgot about me,” you finish, something like grief, like the emotion that used to hang around your shoulders when he first met you, flashing through your face. You turn to him, reaching out to grab his hand. “You won’t forget about me, won’t you, Xiao?”

(In five hundred years, he will cling to these moments with you and despair his inability to forget.)

✧

“I don’t think I’ll leave for Fontaine soon.”

“Why?”

“I just… want to spend more time with you, is all.”

(In Sumeru, you discovered the abominations left behind by Gold and realized the depth of an old friend’s betrayal.)

✧

“Tell me more about the stars.” They are reflected in your eyes, glittering lights that remind him of the constellations of this world. If Xiao looks closely enough, he thinks he’ll see the beginning and the end of the universe itself.

You turn to him with a serene smile, and in that moment, Xiao cannot fathom why he had ever doubted your claims of being a star-borne traveller.

(“I’m… well, to put it simply, I’m a star.”

He looked at you as if you’d grown a second head within the span of a second. Brows furrowed, mouth set in disbelief, you’d only laughed at his expression then.

He thinks you might be used to these kinds of responses to your claims of being a star.)

“I’ll tell you a little secret,” you say, scooting closer to him until your noses are practically touching. He feels his ears warm at your proximity, but you don’t seem to mind the closeness. “Sometimes, if a person wants something enough, I can hear them if they wish in the presence of a star.”

You then lean away from him, and Xiao feels the loss of your presence keenly. He shakes the thought off his mind, preferring to watch as you sumon a small constellation from the palm of your hand.

“It’s why people wish upon shooting stars. Ah, but the shooting stars won’t hear them. They’re usually either asleep or in the middle of travelling, so if you need to wish to the stars, direct your wishes to the dormant stars in the sky. They’re usually the ones that hear your wishes.”

He watches, mesmerized as you animatedly talk of your people and the nature of stars. He isn’t so much taken with the words coming from your mouth, but with the way your eyes light up and the little gestures you make with your hands as you try to explain the concept of wishing to him.

“Xiao,” you call, and he snaps to attention at the sound of his given name. There’s a sheepish smile on your face, it’s not until he feels something warm wrap around his hand that he realizes why you’re wearing such an expression.

He looks down at your joined hands, heart thundering inside the confines of his chest. Your fingers close around his palm, while his own hand is laying limply, making no move to reciprocate the gesture.

Xiao doesn’t know what to do in this situation. He has never held anyone’s hands before, the closest he’s ever come to it was when he accepted the hand Rex Lapis offered to him. But this is different, Xiao is adept enough to know that. He doesn’t know what to do, the only thing he knows is that the warmth emitting from your palm to his feels nice.

He wants to stay like this forever.

It’s a strange feeling, one he doesn’t understand. But when you start to pull away from him, a hint of embarrassment painted in your features, he unconsciously grips your hand in a fierce hold to keep it in place.

“I thought you didn’t like being touched?”

Xiao has spent enough time with you to know when he is being teased. Still, he decides to answer your question.

“I don’t,” he says bluntly. He feels you begin to pull away at his response, so he adds, “But since it’s you…” he clasps your hand and holds it in place, not allowing you to retreat from him, “I will allow it.”

You look at him in surprise. He turns his head away to hide the rising heat in his cheeks, and in doing so, he fails to see when your surprised expression morphs into something more gentle, adoration hidden within the curve of your lips and the slight crinkle to your eyes.

“Xiao,” you call again. Reluctantly, he tilts his head to meet your eyes, and the sight of you leaves him breathless. With the soft glow of the moon’s reflected light and the reflection of the stars within your eyes, Xiao thinks you would outshine even the highest gods in Celestia.

He swallows, hiding the swirling emotions threatening to break out of his chest with a quiet, “Yes?”

You turn away from him, and he thinks it’s for the best. If you looked at him any longer than you had, he would have drowned in your light. Raising a finger, you point to one of the many stars in the sky. He follows your gaze to a set of stars in the inky sky, not recognizing which constellation it is.

“That’s my constellation.” As soon as the words leave your lips, his eyes sharpen on the smattering of stars, trying to discern what pattern they should form. The name of your constellation leaves your lips as you trace patterns in the air, and he does his best to memorize it, repeating the name in his head like a mantra, though he knows that he won’t forget it for as long as he lives, just as he knows he will never forget you.

You turn to him then, your hold on his hand tightening for a brief moment. “You told me to call your name if I need help, now it’s my turn to return the sentiment.”

You breathe in a heavy breath before releasing it just as quickly.

“Xiao, if you need me, whether it’s for something as mundane as wanting someone to make you almond tofu or if… if the voices become too much, wish for me.” Unexpectedly, you pull his hand from the ground and hold it with both hands in front of your chest, right where your heart is. “Wish for me beneath the light of my constellation, and I’ll be there.”

✧

“They call you the Golden-Winged King, why is that?”

“It’s an allusion to my true form, as Adepti are also known as illuminated beasts.”

You lean close, breath warm against his face with your proximity. “Can I see it?”

“See it?”

“Yes! Can I see your true form?”

Xiao’s initial recation is to say no immediately, but the excitement in your eyes brings him pause, mulling over his decision. “…Perhaps some other day.”

You nod, conceding to his wish. Then, you turn your head up to the sky, watching the birds soar over the clouds wistfully.

“Once I regain my powers, I’ll show you my wings. They’re gold like yours, so we’ll match.” You wink, and it sends something warm coursing through him.

Xiao imagines your body haloed in golden light and thinks no other sight could compare.

✧

(Your golden wings unfurl for the first time in a hundred years. There is no one but you and rotting corpses to witness it.)

✧

“When will you leave for Fontaine?”

“Are you that eager to get rid of me?”

His eyes widen at the accusation. “No, I was…” His eyes narrow when you start laughing into the palm of your hand. Sighing, he lets your teasing go. “I merely wished to be prepared.”

You lean your weight on him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Hm, I’m not sure. I… I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

King Irmin’s silhouette watches you from the corner, a finger pointed accusingly at you. You blink and it’s gone.

Why haven’t you sought justice for our nation?

You close your eyes. “It’s a good day for picking flowers, isn’t it?”

If Xiao is bothered by your sudden change of topic, he doesn’t let it show.

✧

You think you would have been content staying here in Teyvat, living a life of leisure in Liyue with Xiao, venturing to other nations to look for clues on the whereabouts of your sibling.

You have grown soft. If the souls of the enemies you’d slain in other worlds could see you now, they wouldn’t be able to reconcile the sight of the warrior who flew through the sky and fell gods with their blade to the sight of you now, a crown of qingxin flowers in your hair courtesy of Xiao and a basket of herbs in one hand.

Here in the forest of Wuwang Hill, despite the chill in the air and the abundance of ghost stories spread by elders, you feel content. A feeling you haven’t felt since you were separated from your twin.

You would have been at peace with staying here; bury the memories of a broken civilization and the cries of its people; ignore the castle in the sky that continues to taunt you with the constant reminder of your loss; brush off the fleeting desire to destroy each statue you come upon and turn it into dust. Xiao loves his god, and you respect his love even if you despise Morax.

You would have been happy with what you have.

But then you turn around, and you are greeted with the sight of a ghost.

He utters your name.

You whisper his in response.

“Dainsleif.”

✧

You thought you were content with this normal life, but when has normalcy ever suited a person like you?

The Twilight Sword looks at you like you’re his last salvation—and perhaps you are. Perhaps it is your destiny to be the salvation of what remains of his people.

“Travel with me, and I’ll show you the truth of this world.” He offers you his hand. It feels like the beginning of the end.

The sight of Khaenri’ah in ruins continues to haunt you to this very day.

You take his hand, the basket of herbs slipping from your fingers.

✧

(In the distant future, Dainsleif wishes he’d left you in peace.)

✧

“I’m going to be gone for longer this time.”

He blinks after you finish speaking, staring at you for a moment as if processing your words, before asking why.

“I’m going to start being more serious in looking for my twin. It might take me more than a month to return,” is your excuse.

Xiao, ever the soft, caring person he is despite his attempt to mask it, doesn’t voice a protest to your decision. Even when you see the slightest purse in his lips that tells you everything you need to know about how he feels about you leaving. You smile and reassure him that you’ll come back to him no matter what.

“Once I find my sibling, I’ll introduce you to each other. I bet you’ll get along!” Your hand finds his, the familiar warmth soothing you, casting away all your doubts and worries.

“Be safe, and remember to call my name should you encounter trouble,” he tells you, fingers interwining with yours.

Your eyes are bright. This world has not yet taken away the light in them, but as you lean forward and rest your head on his shoulder, they dim for an infinitesimal amount.

“Of course.”

The lie tastes like ash upon your tongue.

✧

(Surrounded by the kneeling remnants of Khaenri’ah’s people, you look back on that moment and hear the sound of the death knell.)

✧

“Do you trust him?”

Dainsleif doesn’t have to mention who ‘him’ is for you to know he’s referring to Xiao.

You decide to make sure anyway. “Who?”

“The adeptus.”

A fond smile crosses your face before you manage to hide it. It doesn’t escape Dainsleif’s sharp eyes.

You continue your trek through the stone path, not pausing for a second as you answer, “I trust him with my life.”

✧

(Years later, when you stand alone in the aftermath of Dainsleif’s betrayal, you decide that the only person you can trust is yourself.)

✧

You return after four years, the longest you’ve been away from him, and the first thing you do is collapse in his arms.

“Xiao,” you gasp, limbs shaking and eyes watery. “Xiao.”

You never tell him what happened, only looked at him with an empty smile.

A week after that, you were gone again.

✧

“Your hair is burnt.”

You laugh sheepishly, but it falls flat even to your own ears. “Natlan’s the nation of pyro for a reason. I may have gotten a little carried away.”

His touch feels nice against your scalp, a welcomed relief from the fighting and constant anxiety of whether you would awake to silence or another trumpet signaling the beginning of another war.

“Will you…” You swallow, gritting your teeth and forcing the words to come out. “Will you sleep beside me tonight?”

Xiao doesn’t say anything, merely pulls you to a thin bed that feels heavenly after sleeping on the ground for so long, and lies down with you.

It’s the most peaceful sleep you’ve had in years.

✧

“I think I’m starting to understand the true nature of this world,” you muse absently.

Xiao looks at you, and though his face remains impassive, you can see that he means to ask what you meant by that. You merely shake your head with a wry smile, heart heavy with emotions you choose not to dwell in right now.

Later, you tell yourself, but not now. Not with Xiao.

So instead, you change the subject to an interesting tid-bit you heard at the markets of Liyue that morning.

“I heard from some of the merchants that there will be a festival next month. One where the entire harbor lights up lanterns during the night.” You watch Xiao closely to gauge his reaction to this.

“Yes, it is the lantern rite festival, to honor the adeptus Sky Bracer who gave his life to defend Liyue during the war,” he replies evenly, looking at you curiously. “Is this the first you have heard of it?”

You nod. “You know I don’t venture much in the harbor when I’m in Liyue.”

He doesn’t say anything to that.

You sidle up closer to him until your shoulders bump. His eyes slide to you, but he makes no move to pull away. Your hand reaches out to hold his gloved one between your own, and the thin cloth separating your skin from each other does nothing to hide the warmth that seeps in you at the simple contact.

You lean your head against his shoulder, his hair softly tickling your forehead, but you don’t mind. The sound of your sigh echoes in the silence between you. It’s a comfortable one.

He shifts his hand, and you let him go for a moment to accomodate him, but instead of pulling away, he intertwines his fingers with yours. Your heart aches at the sight.

Briefly, you wonder how long this peace will last—

Not now, you remind yoursef.

“Xiao,” you start, eyes fixed on your joined hands. You can feel the low rumble from his chest as he hums for you to continue. “Let’s go to the festival someday. I’d like it if we watched the lanterns together.”

You hold your breath, scarcely making a sound as you wait for him to respond. A part of you already knows what he’s going to answer. Xiao is uncomfortable among crowds, he said so to you himself, and the festival is sure to be packed with people wanting to participate in it. You won’t mind if he says no, but a part of you hopes otherwise.

When the silence stretches on for too long, you’re ready to take back your suggestion.

Just as you open your mouth to tell him that you don’t need to go, he speaks.

“Okay.”

You pause, thinking you misheard. You raise your head from his shoulder to look at him properly, blinking at the soft gaze he directs at you.

“Did you just agree?” you question, still not trusting yourself to have heard him right.

“Yes.” Using his free hand, he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, touch featherlight and impossibly gentle as his gloved fingers linger for a moment on your cheek. There’s a soft, barely there smile playing upon his lips; a rare sight that you soak up and lock deep in your memory like a dragon might hoard its gold. “Let us go to the festival. Together.”

You stare at the serene expression on his face for a second before breaking out into a smile. It is, perhaps, the only genuine smile you’ve had in a long while.

“And make lanterns too, and watch them be released during the night?” you add.

He nods, thumb stroking the back of your hand.

Then, a thought occurs to you. “I have to leave next week.”

His hand tightens its hold around yours for the briefest of moments before relaxing once more. His tone is hesitant when he suggests, “Then... when you return from your travels, if you are still amenable, we can go see the lanterns together.”

Your pathetic heart beats a familiar tune at his words, but for now, you let it be. For now, you let yourself fall into the familiar pattern love and being loved.

(You hope you return to him when you reach the end of your journey.)

You press your face against his shoulder to hide your pained expression.

Not now, not now, not now, you repeat in your head like a mantra.

His scent engulfs you, the smell of qingxin flowers and almonds; the flowers he picked for you and the sweet dessert that took you months to perfect to his liking—and perhaps a little bit of you in the faint smell of the stars. Home, your mind supplies. Your heart calms at the familiar scent.

You savor this moment, eyes closed as you memorize what it feels to be held like this.

“I’d like that,” you finally answer, and it takes everything in you to not let your inner turmoil creep into the tone of your voice as you spoke.

You feel him nod, his thumb resuming its gentle strokes at the back of your palm.

“I,” here, he pauses, and though he tries not to let it show, you can feel the hesitancy and awkwardness in his next words, so unused to voicing his affections even after all these years, “I look forward to it.”

Your smile is melancholic and strained. You’d like nothing more than to gaze at his beautiful face and immortalize each feature in your mind—the slant of his eyes, the arch of his brows, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips—but right now, you are more grateful that he can’t see the look on your face.

Hope is a dying ember within the cage of your hollow heart, but you keep it burning, even when it only remains as a tiny spark. For Xiao, you keep it alive.

You know, at the end of this journey, that spark will be reduced to nothing but ashes, but for now, you’re content to let it warm you as you hold his hand and pretend that you and him are the only people in this cruel world.

(You wonder, in the end, if it was worth it.)

✧

Xiao watches you raise a hand in the air, waving it in a subdued manner as you walk backwards down the dirt road. The light of the setting sun casts a molten glow behind you, casting your face in darkness, such that he is unable to discern what sort of expression you have at this moment.

Are you grinning at him, like the first time you ventured out of Liyue to explore the rest of Teyvat? Or do you hold a worried frown, like the last time you left and didn’t return for years?

He doesn’t know, even when you turn around to face the road and the setting sun, the sight of your retreating back etched in his memory, he doesn’t know. (It haunts him, during the first few decades after you’ve gone, how much he doesn't know.)

He stays to watch until your silhouette disappears in the distance, the sun having long set and the sky bathed in inky darkness, and he stays long until you're gone.

(He wonders, for the next centuries to come, if he should have asked you to stay.)

✧

Dainsleif doesn’t question the redness of your eyes when you arrive at your agreed meeting place, merely nodding his head in greeting as he follows you down the path that will take you away from the harbor.

It’s the last time you ever feel grateful towards him.

✧

In the frozen wastelands of Snezhnaya, you meet an old friend.

His name slips from your frozen lips, eyes wide in shock and hope.

“I go by the name Pierro now. The Jester, if you will.”

It’s the last words you hear before his hand pierces your heart.

✧

Once, in one of his harshest nights, when the pain became too much and the voices too loud, Xiao contemplated letting the darkness take him.

Lying in an unknown field somewhere in Dihua Marsh, with his senses overcome with nothing but pain as he tried desperately to hold on, he wished you were there. His fingers dug into the soil beneath him, teeth gritted and small grunts of pain escaping his mouth that he futilely tried to smother.

In the haze between wakefulness and unconsciousness, when all he could register was the agony coursing through him, he dreamt of you.

Xiao remembers your cold touch as you placed his head on your lap. He wanted to reach up to trace the curve of your cheek to see if you were truly there, but his hands refused to move, stuck in a haze. With your hands cupping his face, the pain became more bearable, became a distant thing in his mind so that all he could focus on was on you—the way the moon set its pale light on your features, highlighting every part of you that he loved.

You had looked ethereal in that dream. Despite your hollow eyes and emotionless visage, to him, you were simply beautiful.

He thinks he told you so, in between holding on to his slipping consciousness and memorizing the contours of your face that he has longed to see for centuries—and that was when he’d seen the slightest crack in your façade. He watched your eyes soften for an infinitesimal moment, and he hoped, then, that you longed for him as he did you.

“You make me weak,” he remembers you whispering before pressing a lingering kiss to the mark on his forehead, your lips like ice against his feverish skin.

He doesn’t remember much of the dream beyond that.

✧

It’s only when he awakens beneath a sea of stars, free from the agony and voices that constantly plague him, that Xiao remembers that adepti do not dream.

✧

Only once did you call upon his name in the unnumbered years you spent in this world.

Lying in a pool of your own blood in some unnamed place in the depths of the Abyss, you choke out his name. During this moment, you don’t think of the grievances of this world, you don’t think of the cruelty of Celestia, you don’t even register the clawing shadows of the Abyss nearing your prone form. In this moment, the only thing on your mind is how much you want his visage to be the last thing you see.

“Xiao.”

A dark form looms over you, distinctly human in shape to your blurry eyes. Your heart blooms, beating weakly against your chest—yet still beating just for him.

You smile, blood on your lips. “You came.”

Finally, you let the thin string of consciousness slip through your fingers, and darkness overtakes your vision.

✧

When you open your eyes, it is to the sight of Dainsleif tending to your wounds.

“You were reckless,” he admonishes. “If I hadn’t found you—”

You don’t hear anything beyond that.

Found you.

Dainsleif found you.

Dainsleif found you.

You close your eyes and count one to ten, fighting back the sting of tears and the lump at the back of your throat. He promised to come should you ever call his name, and during that moment, teetering between life and death, you hoped he would. And yet…

How naive of you.

They are all the same, aren’t they?

You let your head fall back against the makeshift pillow and release a long, drawn-out sigh. (If Dainsleif notices the way your breath hitches, as if holding back a sob, he wisely does not mention it.)

For now, you let whatever remains of your hollow heart break. For now, you let yourself drown in your sorrow and longing.

✧

It’s only years later that you discover that no matter how much a person screams in the Abyss, their voice will never be heard beyond it.

✧

(“The Abyss is a chaotic place. There is nothing there but the remains of an old civilization cursed by the gods,” Dainsleif warns you, eyes watching you sharply, wearily. You’ve changed, and this journey you insist on embarking on might just be the catalyst that corrupts you to the point of no return.

You continue to stare ahead, the dark depths mirroring the nothingness in your eyes.

“I’ve fought gods and destroyed heavenly beings. If the Abyss is as chaotic as you say, then I will restore Order to it.”

Your tone held a finality to it, and so he inclines his head and follows you to the depths of the Abyss.

Only one of you would come out untouched.)

✧

To this day, Dainsleif regrets his decision.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

In the aftermath of Osial, the Traveler was hailed as the savior of Liyue. It felt like a hollow title, meaningless, just as their life has been in the past few months without you by their side.

Missing posters were put up, a smiling portait with a likeness to you, courtesy of the Chief Alchemist using the Traveler as a guide to sketch what you looked like.

Xiao finds one of these posters lying innocuously on the ground of the balcony of Wangshu Inn. His heart hammered within the confines of his chest when he caught sight of it, your smiling face looking back at him from the ground.

To this day, he keeps the poster—the only image he has of you—close to him, tucked in a hidden compartment by his sleeve, only taking it out when the burden of his karmic debt becomes too much.

He ignores how the artist couldn’t quite manage to capture the essence of your smile. It was too flat, a poor imitation of the real thing. Your smiles were always so bright, one side a little crooked, with just the barest crinkle in your eyes. But it was irrelevant, because the only thing that mattered to him was seeing you, even if it is only through a sketch.

(He remembers the first time he met the Traveler, eyes wide and heart racing as he appeared in the balcony and thought, you came back.

But then he had gotten a closer look, and his hope shattered when the Traveler turned their head and met his eyes. There was you, in the shade of their eyes and slant of their lips, but he knew you enough to know that the person in front of him was not you.

The Traveler introduced themself then, and Xiao understood.

This is your twin.

And it’s only when he finds himself staring, engraving the sight of your likeness to his mind, that he realizes that after hundreds of years, without his knowing, he had started to forget what you looked like.)

✧

When the Traveler comes knocking on Wangshu Inn, asking him to come watch the Lantern Rite, his answer is a firm no.

Xiao recalls one of the many conversation you had with him, a nostalgic look upon your face as you recalled how persistent your lost sibling could be. The most persistent person ever, you said.

He finds himself agreeing hundreds of years later as he’s greeted by the sight of the Traveler’s determined eyes.

“Won’t you come to the Lantern Rite?”

Once, Xiao was asked the same question by a person sharing the same face. Once, he agreed. Once, he found himself looking forward to something for the first time in his long life.

It has been nearly five hundred years, but within the recesses of his heart, he still longs to watch the sky light up with thousands of lanterns with you.

So instead of refusing, he says, “I once knew your sibling.”

The sight of a shocked look that morphs into one of desperation in the Traveler’s face—your face—nearly brings Xiao to rest his hand on your cheek. But the Traveler’s voice, so different from yours, brings him back to the present.

It takes him hours to recount the past. Words have never been his strongest suit, but he tries because the Traveler is your sibling, someone dear to you and, by extention, someone he should hold dear to himself as well.

They spend hours on that balcony talking about you, exchanging stories and memories. It’s truly an experience to have someone close to you describe how you were as a person, and Xiao finds himself clinging to the smallest snippets of information the Traveler hands him, no matter how innocuous it may be.

And when the sun begins to set and the remains of the old gods begin scouring the land, the Traveler asks him one more time.

“Will you come to the Lantern Rite? You can watch from afar, away from the crowds. My twin never liked crowded places either.”

This time, he says yes.

✧

Down by the harbor after the fireworks have set off, the Traveler releases their lantern with hope in their heart and a whisper of a wish at the end of their tongue.

I’ll find you someday.

✧

Perched on a nearby cliff overlooking the entirety of Liyue Harbor, Xiao watches the night fill with tiny spots of light and tries to recall the last time he gazed at such a sight.

In the deepest parts of his mind, he wishes you are beside him, watching the same sight as him.

He imagines the smile that would be dancing on your lips, your eyes filled with life as they reflected the light cast by the lanterns. He would hold your hand and you would rest your head on his shoulder, telling him of your travels and the enemies you faced. He would admonish you to be less reckless and remind you to utter his name if you need him, and you would laugh and promise him you’ll do as he says.

And when the lights start to fade and the sky darkens, you would suggest sleeping under the stars. Neither of you would end up sleeping anytime soon because you would be busy spending the rest of the night pointing out each star and constellation. He would listen, as he always did, and the two of you would spend the rest of the night basking in each other’s presence.

But then he blinks, and he’s alone once again.

Xiao looks up to the lantern-ridden sky with a faint smile, ignoring the ache in his heart and the coldness by his side.

✧

Hidden by the shadow of the trees, you watch the sky light up with hundreds of lanterns. Surrounded by Abyss mages, the weight of the object in your hands feels like lead. You wonder, in what feels like the hundredth time, what you are doing here.

Foolish.

Slowly, you relax your grip and let the unlit lantern fall to the ground.

This is the last time you will indulge in old sentiments.

You feign ignorance to the lone person sitting by the mountainside in the distance. You only came to Liyue to see your sibling. Nothing more.

“Gather the rest. We’re leaving,” you order as you turn your back to the sight of the city your sibling saved.

Your mages bow in deference and follow in silence as you walk away, leaving no trace of anyone ever being there.

In the morning, all that’s left is an abandoned lantern lying on the ground.

.

.

.

.

.

(We never did get to see the lanterns together.)

word count: 9k

note: after the events at the chasm archon quest, xiao slowly begins to journey with the traveler in their quest to find you and search for answers on how you ended up as the leader of the abyss order. i won’t make a part 2 because we really don’t know much abt the abyss twin and what really happened during the cataclysm. i made the ending open-ended and vague, but i imagine that your and xiao’s story don’t have a happy ending.

[roguishcat]

🦇 Batstarion week - Day 3 🦇

Here is a little drabble that initially was supposed to be funny but ended up being a comfy fluff piece.

Day 1 - Falling asleep in unusual places, Day 2 - Cuteness aggression, Day 4 - Cameo with another character, Day 5 - Feeding your Batstarion, Day 6 - Bat cuddles, Day 7 - Any prompt

Day 3 - High fashion

Astarion has always enjoyed the finer things in life, yet he was unable to do so for over 200 years. The 200 awful, terrible years of being deprived of any agency and any sense of worth. Sometimes you felt that him choosing to stay in his bat form, being as small as possible and able to stay out of sight until he chose to show himself, stemmed from being unable to hide from Cazador during his time of being a slave. Your heart ached for your vampire, so you did not push for him to revert to his other form.

You were pleased that now the Netherbrain was no more, you could enjoy a little downtime. And seeing as you were the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, you had the means to let yourselves indulge in a spot of shopping now and then.

Astarion accompanied you to the tailor and helped you select the fabrics he deemed worthy of gracing his person. Of course, he chose to remain in his bat form. Astarion found ways to communicate with you as he made his selections. A nip on your shoulder, a gentle scratch of claw against your skin.

You chose cool silks, embroidered brocade, the deepest shades of velvet. All to be delivered to your house for the two of you to play with until you were ready for the tailor to make a house call.

Next came the jeweler’s shop. You looked over the displays and the shopkeeper, having recognised you, followed you around in reverent silence. The discounts she proposed were more than generous. You knew that Astarion would probably complain and state that the damn shop would be levelled if it weren’t for them, therefore everything should be given to them for free. Luckily, he could not voice the said complaints, the only way he could vocalise his displeasure in this state being chirps and squeaks.

You selected a gorgeous pair of ruby earrings, the gems held together with delicate gold links. Astarion started fussing when you came up to a display with a broach the same shade as his eyes.

Suddenly, Astarion flew off your shoulder and towards the most ostentatious, multi-layered pearl and diamond necklace held together with several silvery clasps.

“I see you are a most discerning customer,” she shopkeeper nodded, completely unfazed that the said customer chittered animatedly as he lifted a pearl with his claw to admire the quality.

It seemed that in her line of work nothing could faze her. And of course they bought the heavy, eye-wateringly expensive piece.

Later that evening, tired out and wanting to get some shut-eye, you felt yourself being gently shaken with insistent hands.

“Wake up, my love,” a kiss on your forehead had you opening your eyes and being greeted with the most beautiful sight.

Astarion wrapped the silk around himself, one end casually thrown over his shoulder, the broach holding the fabric closed at his waist twinkling in the candlelight.  You lifted your eyes to the necklace decorating your lover’s neck. Layer upon layer of pears and diamonds that suited the pale elf so perfectly. He looked ethereal.

“My, my. I feel unworthy to be in the presence of such beauty,” you joked, making him smirk and toss his silver curls back.

“Yes, I am rather resplendent, aren’t I?”

[gay-disabled-characters-showdown]

LGBTQ+ Disabled Characters Showdown Round 2, Wave 3, Poll 11

A character being totally canon LGBTQ+ and disabled was not required to be in this competition. Please check qualifications and propaganda before asking why a character is included.

Check out the other polls in this wave and prior here.

Ayda Aguefort-Dimension 20

Qualifications:

Autistic queer women/phoenix💜💜

She is Sapphic and canonically on the autism spectrum.

Propaganda:

She's an awesome autistic head-librarian who also happens to be the girlfriend of one Fig Faeth (pc of Emily Axford). She's cute, super-powerful, and her dynamic with Fig is one of the best romantic storylines I know💜💜

Ayda Aguefort (pronounced EYE-da) a half-phoenix divination wizard and head librarian of the Compass Points Library in Leviathan, a vast pirate city in the Celestine Sea, made up of thousands of shipwrecks all connected together to create a floating island. She is described as a resplendent and beautiful young woman, with a striking resemblance to her deadbeat father/legendary wizard Arthur Aguefort. From the knees down she has large, almost metallic golden talons, with digitigrade ankles. Her wings are deep red, turning orange, and as they reach yellow at the ends, flicker with little flames. She is noticeably not a harpy as she has has arms as well as wings. Her arms are tattooed with many orange runes on her dark human skin. Her eyes are pupils set into roiling balls of flame. She has a short shock of fiery red hair at the top of her head. She wears white linen pants with a pirate sash, a vest, and a bandolier which holds two scrolls. She also has two small books strapped under each arm where one might have guns. Ayda has experienced multiple reincarnations due to her abilities as a half-phoenix. She has lived in Leviathan for around 150 years, but is over 300 years old. In one of Ayda's previous reincarnations, she adopted Garthy O'Brien as her child. Her current reincarnation is seventeen, with Garthy now as her guardian. Her past reincarnations have left notes for her future selves to follow, as once she's reborn, she has no memories of her past lives. She previously believed herself to be only 175 years old, and has no idea what she did for the first 125 years of her life, as one of her incarnations destroyed all her notes in an attempt to start fresh. She regretted this decades later and began writing notes again. Ayda is autistic and can be very hard to read as she often behaves in a very transactional way and uses blunt language. Her eyes being balls of fire doesn't help. She's a very intelligent and accomplished wizard, and takes pride in her work at the library, although gets lonely sometimes and is desperate for a friend. She is always looking to expand the library with new knowledge, and asks a lot of questions. Before meeting the Bad Kids, she was very lonely, and is now very excited to have so many transitive best friends, as well as a super awesome/badass punk-rock tiefling bard girlfriend.

Kim Kitsuragi-Disco Elysium

Qualifications:

Visually impaired

Propaganda:

I dunno man. He's Kim Kitsuragi. There's nothing I can say about him that hasn't already been said. He's quiet and reserved and uncomfortable with emotions. He's a self-proclaimed Torque Dork who loves his car like a child. He listens to heavy metal music. He's a centrist. He's a homosexual. He's consistently given shit by everyone around him for his race, his sexuality, and his disability, and he's taught himself to respond to it with cold professionalism. He dresses in historical communist pilot cosplay. I love him with my entire heart.