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basset-babe · 4 months

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five times: the one point five.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: none but gossip yet again

word count: 2.9k+

a/n: please do send me a message or comment down if you would like to be added on the succeeding taglists for the five times series! here is 1.5 times with ben. enjoy! thanks loves <3! (also, pls do imagine ben holding a graft rose for this one heh)

five times series: the first. the one point five. the second. the third. the three point five. the fourth . at last. text divider from @heavenlayt and pattern banner from @cafekitsune thank you!

the one point five time.

In the hours of sunlight, callers have flooded the Y/L/N drawing room. All bringing gifts and performances in hopes to win the favourable yes of the season's paragon, Miss Y/N Y/L/N. The grand parlor, adorned with exquisite tapestries and sparkling chandeliers, buzzed with the lively hum of conversations and the tinkling laughter of society’s elite. Lavish bouquets of rare, fragrant flowers filled the room, their heady scent mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed tea and delectable pastries arrayed on silver platters.

Gentlemen, dressed in their finest attire, lined up to present their offerings to Miss Y/L/N, each one more extravagant than the last. Some brought intricate jewelry, glittering with precious stones, while others offered rare books, hoping to appeal to her reputed love of literature. Musicians performed virtuoso pieces on the grand piano, their fingers dancing over the keys in a bid to capture her attention through the power of melody. Poets recited verses composed in her honor, their words dripping with adoration and longing.

Miss Y/L/N, the epitome of grace and poise, received each suitor with a warm smile and a gracious word. Her eyes, sparkling with intelligence and kindness, moved across the room, acknowledging the efforts and intentions of each visitor. Her charm was such that even a simple nod or a softly spoken thank you felt like a cherished treasure to the eager suitors.

The hour had struck past 1 in the afternoon when, hopefully, the last caller of the day had bid his farewells. The Y/L/N drawing room, which had been a whirlwind of activity, now began to settle into a quieter, more contemplative atmosphere. The sunlight streaming through the large windows cast a bright hue over the room, highlighting the opulent furnishings and the array of gifts that had been presented to Miss Y/N Y/L/N throughout the morning.

Servants moved gracefully, clearing away the remnants of the lavish spread of refreshments while ensuring that every detail of the room remained immaculate. The air was still fragrant with the scent of roses, lilies, and other exotic flowers that had been brought by admirers, creating a heady, almost intoxicating environment.

"As much as I do love botanicals, all these flowers have turned obnoxious to my senses, Grandmama," Y/N sighed, feeling the urge to slouch on the couch. Her frame was poised elegantly despite her weariness, a testament to her upbringing and the endless etiquette lessons she had endured.

Her grandmother, the Viscountess Y/L/N, reentered the room with a look of satisfaction mixed with maternal concern. "My dear," she said softly, "you have conducted yourself admirably. The attention you have garnered is truly remarkable, but alas, this be the trials of being the season's paragon," she said with jest. "A small price to pay for such adoration and the opportunities it presents."

Y/N allowed herself a small, rueful smile. "It has been a most eventful day. I do hope I have shown the proper appreciation to each caller." She gently plucked a stray petal from her gown, its soft texture a stark contrast to her current mood.

"Rest assured, my dear, that this too shall pass," her grandmother replied soothingly. "Soon, you will look back on these days with fondness, perhaps even in laughter."

Y/N nodded, though she wasn't entirely convinced. She admired her grandmother's ability to see the positive in any situation. Lady Y/L/N had once been the toast of her own social season, and her wisdom was hard-earned through years of navigating similar waters.

"Would it be terribly improper to open a window, Grandmama?" Y/N asked, her eyes drifting towards the heavy drapes that concealed the afternoon breeze. "I believe a bit of fresh air might revive my spirits."

The Viscountess chuckled softly. "Not at all, my dear. In fact, I think it would do us both good." She motioned to a nearby maid, who quickly moved to pull back the drapes and open the window, allowing a refreshing breeze to sweep into the room. The cool air carried with it the scents of the garden outside, a welcome contrast to the overwhelming floral arrangements within.

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling instantly more at ease. "Thank you, Grandmama. That is much better."

"Now, my dear," Mrs. Y/L/N said, her tone becoming more serious, "while you have a moment of peace, tell me—was there any caller today who truly caught your eye?"

Y/N considered the question carefully. There had been many suitors, each with their own merits. Some had been charming, others earnest, and a few rather boastful. But it was not that she minded all these suitors; it was who she looked forward to that truly occupied her thoughts. It had been this Bridgerton man she'd hoped would be calling on her the entire morning. Unfortunately, he had not been seen yet in this drawing room.

"Y/N, my dear, are you still with us?" Lady Y/L/N's gentle voice broke through her reverie.

"Yes, Grandmama," Y/N replied, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "I was merely thinking."

"About anyone in particular?" her grandmother inquired with a knowing smile.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then decided there was no point in hiding her thoughts from her perceptive grandmother. "To be quite honest, I was hoping to see Mr. Bridgerton today.. well as of this morn," she admitted. "I fear he may have been otherwise engaged."

"Ah, Mr. Bridgerton," Lady Y/L/N said thoughtfully. "A fine young man, from a respected family. It is no wonder you look forward to his call. Perhaps he will still make an appearance."

Y/N nodded, though she knew the likelihood was slim as the noon wore on. She took another deep breath of the fresh air now circulating through the room, trying to shake off her disappointment. The season was long, and there would be other opportunities to see him again.

"There was Sir Nicholas Deveraeux. He was quite charming," Y/N remarked.

"He comes from a good family as well, but I've heard his uncle," Her grandmother leaned in conspiratorially, "envies the crown."

Y/N laughed at the Viscountess' antics. "Grandmama, that's quite scandalous. Wherever did you hear such a thing?" Y/N laughed.

"Deborah told me," her grandmother said, motioning to her maid. Y/N couldn't help but laugh at the notion of her grandmama indulging in gossip. "But I must tell you, I keep my options open still," she stated matter-of-factly, regaining my composure.

"Even though you are clearly captivated by Mr. Bridgerton's smile," Her grandmother teased. "It is wise to keep your options open, my dear, so as not to appear too eager for any one gentleman's attentions."

"Indeed," Y/N thought to herself, "it is prudent not to seem desperate and helpless this early in the season. After all, the season is just beginning, and there will be many more opportunities for maybe much more meaningful encounters."

The older woman patted the young lady's hand reassuringly. "You are a clever girl, my Y/N. Your charm and grace will surely attract many suitors. Just remember to enjoy the process and not to place all your hopes on one gentleman, no matter how enchanting his smile may be."

Y/N nodded, feeling a renewed sense of determination. The season was an adventure, and she was ready to embrace it with an open heart and mind. As her grandmama said, there would be many chances to find the right match, and she intends to savor every moment.

Just as she was about to resign herself to the wait, a soft knock sounded at the drawing room door. Both Y/N and her grandmother turned their heads in surprise as the butler entered.

"Forgive the interruption, ma'am," he said with a slight bow. "But there is one more caller who has just arrived."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as the butler stepped aside, revealing none other than Mr. Bridgerton himself. He stood at the threshold, his confident demeanor softened by a warm, sincere smile.

"Good afternoon, Lady Y/L/N, Miss Y/L/N," he greeted them, bowing respectfully. "I apologize for my tardiness. I hope I am not intruding."

Lady Y/L/N's eyes twinkled with amusement as she replied, "Not at all, Mr. Bridgerton. We are delighted to see you."

Y/N felt her spirits lift instantly, her earlier fatigue forgotten. "Indeed, Mr. Bridgerton," she said, her smile reflecting the genuine pleasure she felt. "Your timing is impeccable."

Mr. Bridgerton's eyes met hers, and for a moment, it felt as though they were the only two people in the room. "I am glad to hear that, Miss Y/L/N," he said. "I have been looking forward to our meeting."

As he stepped further into the room, bringing with him an air of warmth and possibility, Y/N knew that this visit was just the beginning. The season held many uncertainties, but in that moment, with Mr. Bridgerton's presence brightening the drawing room, she felt a renewed sense of hope and excitement for what was to come.

He walked closer, offering his wrapped gift with a warm smile. "I know of your love of botanicals. Although, I wasn't sure what to get, but I opted for a grafted Rosa Falstaff from our estate's own gardens."

Y/N's eyes widened with surprise and delight as she reached out to accept the potted rose. "A Rosa Falstaff? From your family's gardens?" she exclaimed, her fingers gently tracing the leaves and delicate blooms.

"Yes," Benedict nodded, his gaze softening as he watched her reaction. "I thought it would be a fitting addition to your collection, considering your fondness for floriculture."

"Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton. This is truly truly thoughtful of you." Y/N's eyes lit up as she accepted the graft, appreciating the gesture.

Mr. Bridgerton smiled, a hint of relief and pleasure in his eyes. "I'm glad you like them, Miss Y/L/N. I thought something from home might be more personal and meaningful than the usual offerings."

Mrs. Y/L/N, observing the interaction with a pleased expression, decided to give the young couple some space. "If you'll excuse me, I have some correspondence to attend to," she said, rising gracefully. "Please, Mr. Bridgerton, make yourself comfortable."

As her grandmother left the room, Y/N gestured for Mr. Bridgerton to sit beside her on the elegant settee. "It's so refreshing to receive something so genuine," she said, placing the graft gently on the table beside them. "Tell me more about your estate's gardens. They must be quite beautiful."

Mr. Bridgerton settled into the seat, his expression brightening as he began to speak. "Our gardens are indeed a sight to behold, especially in the spring. We have a variety of flowers, from different roses to lavender, and even some more exotic species like that which my mother is particularly fond of. Each section of the garden has its own unique charm and character."

Y/N listened intently, her interest piqued not just by the subject but by the way he spoke with such genuine affection for his home. "It sounds enchanting," she said. "I would love to see it someday."

He smiled, clearly pleased by her response. "I would be honored to show you around Aubrey Hall, Miss Y/L/N. Perhaps you could offer some advice on expanding our collection of botanicals."

"I would be delighted," Y/N replied, her smile matching his. "There are always new species to discover and cultivate. It would be a pleasure to share that with someone who appreciates it as much as I do."

As they continued to talk, the conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on various topics of mutual interest. The room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them engrossed in their exchange. The connection they felt was palpable, a promising hint of what could be a deep and meaningful relationship.

The noon sun cast a golden glow through the open window, bathing them in warm light. It was as if the world outside had conspired to create the perfect moment, one that Y/N would cherish as the beginning of something truly special.

"Why not a change of scenery, Miss Y/N? May I enchant you to a walk with me this afternoon?" Mr. Bridgerton asked, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Y/N felt a flutter of excitement at his proposal, though very different from norm indeed. The thought of a leisurely walk, away from the confines of the drawing room and amidst the fresh air and beauty of the outdoors, was undeniably appealing. She glanced at her grandmother, who had discreetly lingered near the doorway.

Mrs. Y/L/N, catching her granddaughter's hopeful expression, gave a subtle nod of approval. "I think that sounds like a splendid idea, Mr. Bridgerton," she said. "A bit of fresh air through my garden will do you both good."

"Thank you, Grandmama," Y/N replied, her smile widening. She turned back to Mr. Bridgerton, her eyes meeting his with a mix of excitement and gratitude. "I would be delighted to join you for a walk."

Mr. Bridgerton offered his arm, which Y/N took with a graceful nod. Together, they made their way out of the drawing room and through the grand halls of the Y/L/N residence. The household staff, now accustomed to the comings and goings of numerous callers, discreetly stepped aside, offering polite smiles as the pair passed.

As they stepped out into the sunlight, the warmth of the afternoon embraced them. The gardens of the Y/L/N estate stretched out before them, a riot of color and fragrance that promised a delightful stroll. Birds chirped melodiously, adding a charming soundtrack to their walk.

"Your gardens are truly beautiful, Miss Y/L/N," Mr. Bridgerton remarked as they began their promenade. "It's easy to see where your love for botanicals comes from."

"Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton," Y/N replied, her gaze sweeping over the well-tended flower beds and neatly trimmed hedges. "I find great joy in spending time here. There's something so peaceful about being surrounded by nature."

They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, taking in the beauty around them. Y/N's lady's maid chaperoning behind. The gravel path crunched softly underfoot, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead.

"I must admit," Mr. Bridgerton said, breaking the silence, "I was quite nervous about coming here today. I wasn't sure if my gift would be well-received."

Y/N looked up at him, surprised. "You needn't have worried," she assured him. "Your gift was one of the most endearing ones I have received. It speaks volumes about your character and your genuine interest. Quite a change in the morn's most fragrant bouquets. All exquisite but a tad bit too much on my senses." I gestured towards my nose.

He smiled, clearly relieved. "I'm glad to hear that, Miss Y/L/N. I hoped to make a meaningful impression."

"You certainly have," she replied warmly. "And now, here we are, enjoying a lovely walk together. It seems your efforts have been rewarded."

As they continued their walk, their conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on topics both serious and lighthearted. They shared stories, laughed together, and discovered common interests. The connection between them grew stronger with each passing moment, the bond of friendship and potential courtship becoming more tangible.

"So, do tell me more about you, Mr. Bridgerton."

"Do call me Benedict, if you please. Provided, of course, that you feel comfortable and we are beyond the earshot of your lady's maid." his eyebrows raise in suggestive jest.

Y/N chuckled, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "Very well, Benedict. You may address me by Y/N as well."

Benedict smiled, clearly pleased by her informal, now more familiar, address. "My days are usually spent at home, but sometimes, I spend my time in my art studio at the academy."

"Yes, you've mentioned of yourself an artist, I remember." Y/N remarked, intrigued. "That is fascinating. What sort of art do you create?"

Benedict's face lit up with enthusiasm as he began to describe his passion. "I work primarily with oils on canvas, though I do enjoy sketching as well. There's something incredibly satisfying about capturing a moment or a feeling in a piece of art. It’s a way to express myself that words sometimes fail to achieve."

Y/N listened intently, her admiration growing. "I would love to see your work someday. It must be wonderful to have such a creative outlet."

"It is," Benedict agreed, a note of pride in his voice. "And I would be honored to show you my studio and some of my pieces. Perhaps I could even paint your portrait, if you would allow me."

Y/N blushed at the thought, a mixture of shyness and excitement. "I would be delighted, Benedict. Though I must warn you, I may not be the most patient of sitters."

Benedict laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I’m sure we would manage just fine. And who knows, you might find the experience enjoyable."

"I look forward to it," Y/N said, her smile reflecting her genuine interest. "But tell me more about your family. I have heard much about the Bridgertons, but I would love to hear it from your perspective."

Benedict's expression softened as he spoke of his family. "We are a large, close-knit group. There are eight of us siblings, and we were all raised with a strong sense of duty and love seeing my late father and mother attend to our household. My mother, Violet, is the heart of our family. She has always encouraged us to pursue our passions and support each other."

"That sounds wonderful," Y/N said, touched by his words. "Family is so important. I imagine it must be lively with so many siblings."

"It certainly is," Benedict replied with a grin. "There is never a dull moment at Bridgerton House. We have our share of disagreements, of course, but we always come together in the end. All the laughter and camaraderie make it worthwhile."

Y/N felt a warm connection forming between them, their shared values and interests creating a bond that felt both natural and exciting. "I would love to meet them all someday, even so now that your brother has found himself a wife. Such exciting things!" she said.

"And they would be delighted to meet you," Benedict assured her. "I can already tell that you would fit right in."

"He thinks of me as someone who would fit with his family? I could feel my heart flutter," Y/N thought, the realization sending a warm, thrilling sensation through her.

As they continued their conversation, the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the garden. The hours had slipped away unnoticed, a testament to the ease and enjoyment they found in each other's company.

Eventually the day had struck shy of 3 at afternoon and they made their way back to the main house, the promise of future meetings and shared experiences hanging in the air. As they reached the steps, Benedict turned to Y/N, his expression earnest and hopeful.

"Thank you for a wonderful afternoon, Y/N," he said. "I look forward to our next meeting."

"As do I, Benedict," Y/N replied, her heart full of anticipation. "Until then."

With a final, warm smile, Benedict took his leave, leaving Y/N with a sense of happiness and a fluttering hope for the future. The day had been more than she could have imagined, and she felt a deep sense of gratitude for the connection they had begun to forge.

taglist: @novausstuff @pussyslayerhd @amoosarte

#benedict bridgerton x you #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #x reader #fem reader #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton/reader #fic #bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton oneshot #fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x y/n

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luveline · 5 months

Note

Hi I love you coworker! James series feel free to ignore if you don’t like this idea but what if Remus convinced reader to go to a karaoke bar with them and she gets a little tipsy and signs her heart out and James is just heart eyes over it

thanks for requesting <3 fem!reader

“What is that?” James asks, genuinely scornful as he points at you where you’re leaning on the bar. “Is that another margarita? Jesus Christ.”

“You should be enjoying this.” Sirius smiles around the lip of his beer.

“Why would I enjoy this?”

“She’s coming out of her shell, isn’t she? You’re always calling her a priss.”

“She is a priss, but binge drinking isn’t the same as extroversion.”

Sirius taps their beers together. “And what are you doing tonight, James?”

James scowls as you collect your new drink. You’ve had four or five by now and they’ve more than started to affect you, your giggling endless, your hand wrapped around the crook of Remus’ arm for balance.

“Remus! It’s your turn, hun, get up here!” your general manager calls from the stage, a mic in her hand.

“Me!” you shout suddenly, to James’ shock and Sirius’ bright laughter. “Remus, please let me have your turn, please! I know exactly what song I want to sing.”

Remus, who’d convinced you to come through a lot of pleading and a promise that you won’t have to sing at all if you weren’t ready, looks at you like you’ve grown horns. “Are you sure?”

“Yes? Can I please?”

You take his arm into your hand and you look at him with widened eyes, thumb rubbing a line that James zeroes in on, doesn’t mean to, can’t believe he’s noticed at all. He’s irked you’d even look at Remus that way.

Because you’re annoying. Yes. Very annoying.

You drink a good half of your Margarita and ask Remus to hold it for you before you take the steps onto the stage and chat with your general manager about what song you want to sing. You put your hands on the mic stand and prepare yourself with eyebrows pinched together, determined, even though you look a little shaky at the same time. Sirius nudges James from behind, the two of them joining Remus in the small crowd of your coworkers as the music starts.

There are two screens for lyrics. A huge one for you, a smaller for everyone else beside you. You clutch the mic and stare resolutely at the bigger one as the melody becomes recognisable. James watches in what he thought would be smugness, but instead lays somewhere between awe and mild horror as you begin to sing.

The song is Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl) by Big Head Todd & The Monsters. James loves this song, he sings it every time he has to drive Remus to cornwall. He knows every word back to front and he likes how you seem to like it too, even if you’re butchering it, and the drunken slur to your words is ridiculous. You know the chorus well enough and sing it with a beaming smile. James maybe doesn’t like you, but it’s hard not to smile when someone else is happy like that.

“Don’t make fun of her, James! Please don’t, she’s trying her best,” Remus says at his smiling. “And she won’t come again.”

“I’m not,” he says, not bothering to look away from you.

Your eyes scan faces and get caught on his. He can feel the moment you realise he’s watching too, see your slight falter, and then, magically, your excitement. “James! It’s Brandy! You love this song!”

Sirius snickers at his expression. “Mate,” he says quietly, “I thought you didn’t like her?”

“I don’t.”

You stumble a little where you’re standing and James has to stand extremely still so as to prevent his hands from reaching out for you. “James, I didn’t take your favourite song, okay? You have to sing Don’t Stop Believin’! Oh, shit–” You don’t realise your cue to sing the chorus until it’s halfway through, but when you do find the right words, you’re extremely passionate.

“She sounds like Melly coughing up a hairball,” James says, wrinkling his nose.

An emotion far from disgust settles hot at the base of his neck.

“She looks cute,” Remus says.

“Sure, if you’re blind. And deaf.”

“Well,” Sirius says, “you do wear glasses.”

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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vellichor-of-the-solivagant · 10 months

Text

With Them, Who Swallowed a Star

PAIRING: Professor!Task Force 141 X F!Student!Reader WORD COUNT 5.3k CONTENT WARNING: NSFW! group sex, age gap, fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex, handjobs, facefucking/blowjobs, unprotected sex, p in v, anal sex, slight usage of nicknames, reader is a pianist/student, tf141 are professors, smut with plot SYNOPSIS: A musician is a storyteller in their own ways. You had told yours and captured the sights of men you never expected to pull when you stepped inside an academy. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I tried to be poetic. This fried my brain and I'm not going to write something like this again. That's a lie because I have a series that has 5 love interests. This one was supposed to have Graves as well since he's actually my inspiration for writing this shit, but I ended up not adding him. I might do it on Drabbles if someone asks though. And yes, I have changed my username from DontFearTheReaperAzura. Here's the Masterlist for more! Also on Archive of Our Own

Your fingers fluttered slightly as you lifted your hands to the keys, blocking out the rustling from others as they sat in the grand auditorium. Long and drawn, you began to tell a tale you had held for a long time. Notes swam in the air, old friends that played with your tresses and caressed your skin.

The story started slowly, the sound of the beginning, the beginning of the end. Longing clashed with trepidation, your fingers sang a song of despair. You swayed with the music, lost in the whims of unspoken words—of a world you owned. Quicker and quicker, the notes climbed in sync with your heart, growing joyful in hopes of masking the mournful melody surrounding you.

It filled the emptiness deep within your chest for a moment, before like the heavens shed tears upon a barren land, you showed—you poured out the lore of your world, and with heavy reluctance to leave what you created, you played the last few notes.

For a few moments, you kept your eyes closed, and when a series of claps reached your ears, only then you opened them. You were shackled back to reality just as you held back your work.

You looked at the people, who in your eyes were nothing but shadows at the beginning, now enamored, yearning for the rest. You knew they felt it, too. Pulled, as though you were the center of the system. Like the Sun, a star.

And one man stuck out more than others, gazing at you, blue eyes almost ravenous. But it didn’t last for long, just like a song in the wind, he faded among the standing crowd, drowned out in the flurry of praise.

You breathed out a sigh as you stared at the towering structure before you, now your second hell—in replacement of the ramshackle place you call home—after you had gotten a scholarship to this prestigious university after years of a couple of years of working your ass off. Students rushed past you on their way in and out of their classes, but you stood frozen.

Suddenly you felt awfully unprepared for this unfamiliar place, of socializing and strangers, and of university. Of life. What did Google say about socializing with people your age again? How about impressing a professor? Good lord.

You shrugged off your thoughts and sauntered to your class. A large lecture hall welcomed your sight and you found an empty seat at the front row. Not the perfect place for observation of the whole place, but good for listening to the professor.

The sound of expensive shoes echoed throughout the hushed room and you kept your eyes down as you took out your notebook and pen. As the quiet dragged on, you glanced at the professor and found your brows raising at his sight.

He was tall, seemed to be fit, and in his thirties. He had a few wrinkles, a beard, and brown hair, but no sign of graying.

Above all, you could remember those eyes. An endless swirl of blue. The man at the concert hall.

You put your gaze down as the professor looked down on you, your heart hammered against your ribs, sudden nervousness springing in your nerves. You wished he wouldn’t recognize you, but at the same time, you hoped he did.

Yet, the silence remained, and in curiosity, you looked back up. Your breath hitched as your eyes met his, gaze shining with something you couldn’t decipher, and a smile formed on his lips.

You forced yourself to mirror it and batted a glance at the door. You wanted to get out.

The professor introduced himself as Jonathan Price, and told the class a few things about himself, before diving straight into the first lesson of Philosophy.

Time seemed to flow fast throughout his class and you kept your fingers busy, writing down his words. He was easy to understand, bringing out intricate details in his lesson, and asked questions now and then if he was going too fast while walking around the room.

You couldn’t help but notice his slacks fit in a certain area. Then again, that thing wouldn’t give you a brain cell even if you suck it off.

The bell chimed and you gathered and stuffed your notebook and pen inside your bag, jolting up to your feet. But as you approached the exit, his canorous voice called out to you.

“Pardon me, young lady.”

You turned to face the professor, keeping a respectable distance from him, which he closed off, only standing a couple of feet from you.

“Yes, sir?” You asked in a small voice when he remained silent, his eyes studying you with disconcerting intensity, just like how he gazed at you at your performance.

Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, he asked. “What’s your name?”

You spoke of your name in a steady voice, equally confused and intimidated, you gripped on the strap of your bag. Everyone had already left, now bringing quietness to the hall.

He smiled once again, his head tilting a bit to the side. “A pretty name.” His voice sent goosebumps on your skin, making you breathe in deeply, inhaling the scent of his pleasant cologne. “Such a shame I couldn’t catch it after your performance a couple of weeks ago.”

He remembered you.

Your cheeks began to burn.

Oh, how he yearned to caress your tinted cheeks, place a kiss on them, and mutter praise against your soft skin.

“Ah, you were there, weren’t you, sir?” You offered him a smile and a pause. “I think I caught a glance of you in the front rows.”

“Correct.”

“Thank you for watching, sir,” you said, not knowing what to speak of next, and nodded at him, reaching out to the knob to leave. But he reached for the door, making you blink at his unexpected actions, caged between the door and him.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” he fessed, bodies now closer to yours that you almost touched, and you gulped. “You were magnificent.” He opened the door, a hand motioning at you. “See you on Wednesday. And I hope we see more of your performance.”

We?

You jolted awake at the loud laughter of a raucous group outside of your room and grunted at the sudden pang of pain in your head when you stood up. You glanced at the alarm clock by your bedside and muttered a crisp curse, hauling your bag. You burst out of your room, slipping past students in the hallway like a breeze, hurried apologies were called out to those poor victims she bumped into.

The morning had been long and tiring, and you decided to take a nap earlier, only to end up sleeping for a couple of hours. Now, you were about to get late for your next class, and the usual ten-minute walk turned into a five-minute run and an uncalled exercise.

You glanced from left to right in the hallway, glancing at your phone to make sure you were in the right building, and turned to the right, following the signs. You halted before a room, strangely closed even though the class was supposed to start in five minutes.

You used your phone as a mirror and patted down your hair, before turning the knob and opening the door. You walked into a softly lit room and realized the mistake you had made as you spotted a man splayed down on a couch across the room. A hand behind his head and over his stomach, and over the lower half of his face was a black mask.

Inside was a personal office, belonging to one of the professors.

You immediately turned away, about to exit the room when an angry voice echoed.

“Have you got no manners?” The man rose to sit, a scowl painted on his face.

For the nth time in your sorry life, you wanted to bury yourself alive. You dipped your head low in embarrassment. “I’m very sorry, sir. I thought this was the room my class was in. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You frantically fumbled on your phone, inputting the wrong password one time, and read your schedule.

You read the room number wrong.

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

The professor fixed his crooked mask. “What class were you supposed to go to?”

“Uh, a math class of Mr. Simon Riley,” you read on your phone, keeping your head low.

A hum escaped past the man’s lips, making you glance up at him. His dark blond hair slightly ruffled from his apparent nap and coat a bit crooked. He ran his hand on his hair, fixed his coat, and patted down the invisible wrinkles on the fabric.

He stood up and you inched back, surprised at his stature. A tall man with broad shoulders and arms noticeably strong, (massive honkers) and eyes like a pool of honey, swirling like molten gold under the light.

“You’re in luck, sweetheart. I’m Simon Riley. You’re in my office, our class is in the next room.” Unlike earlier, his cold voice had turned a bit softer, but the fact that he was your professor made your sweat run cold.

You nodded, inwardly wincing at your dumbass. “Again, I apologize, sir.”

He stood before you, next to the opened door. Gladly, there were no students passing by in the hallway.

“What is your name, love?” he questioned, his hands going to his pockets. His eyes narrowed at the way your head dipped, refusing to meet his gaze. Like a meek little bunny, scared of the world and what all those pretty eyes could see.

He wanted to place a finger under your chin and lift your face up to look at him.

You never knew introducing yourself could feel like an interrogation until now. You told him your name, averting your gaze down at his shoes that shifted slightly. “Nice to meet you, Sir Riley. I’m sorry it wasn’t under the best circumstances.”

He hummed once again and stepped out of the office. “Pleasure’s all mine."

You followed him out of the room and he swiftly closed the door behind you, his being a bit closer to you than comfort.

With a nod, Professor Riley led you to the classroom. Dozens of students had already occupied the room and you silently made your way to a vacant seat on the second row, placing your bag next to you.

Just like Mr. Price, the masked professor went straight to the point, briefly introducing himself to the crowd, and began his lesson. He, too, was easy to understand, repeating the equations some couldn't get well, and was kind enough to let the class take a few minutes of break, before continuing. You had also come to notice he would fix his mask every once in a short while.

And when the bell chimed, he bid his students goodbye, yet called for your name. You halted on gathering your things as he approached you. His eyes glanced at the students who last left the room before he spoke.

"Feel free to come by my office whenever you have a question or need anything. Can't have you lose your way again, do we?" He asked, a bit of amusement in his voice as he leaned close.

You smiled at his offer. "Thank you, sir."

Sure as shooting, you asked him where your next room was for Chemistry. By good fortune, he knew where it was and who the professor would be.

"Ah, there he is." Sir Riley abruptly came to a stop, making you halt in your tracks as well and follow the direction of his gaze, to see a man with a mohawk.

"Simon!" The man jogged towards the two of you, a grin playing on his lips in contrast to the man who never took off his mask. Another person with blue optics, but his were bluer as though someone took a piece of the briny deep and placed it in his optics.

He kept a smile as his attention swept to you. "And who's the little bird?"

You frowned a bit at the nickname, nonetheless gave him your name, and watched his eyes light up with fascination. The man began to tell the pull he felt by the notes of your music, how enamored he was by the unspoken words of your tale.

He was there, too and Sir Riley was along with them.

Your face flushed as he ranted and they both noticed, taking note of the shades painted on your skin, bashful of the sudden recognition.

"He is John Mactavish, your Chemistry professor," Sir Riley piped in, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder, before bidding his farewell at the moment, marching down to his next class.

Left all alone with Professor Mactavish, you turned to him. He grinned at you and he beckoned at you to follow him. The man was, well, talkative and wasted not a second expressing his applause of your performance and how he never expected to see you in the university.

You could only mutter small words and nod, already feeling exhausted. But it was pleasant to hear him compliment you. You could get used to it.

And you could get used to his enthusiasm for teaching. His first lesson went straight to an experiment and dragged you to his side as his assistant, instructing you to mix chemicals. Occasionally, his fingers brushed over yours as you passed vials.

Your eyes met, and sparks flew all around.

Literal spark.

And fire.

Professor Mactavish pulled you to the side, hand remaining on your arm as the chemicals were set ablaze.

With a couple of ticks of the clock, a giggle erupted from your lips and like there was a pull, his chuckles followed.

In the sea of awes, his laughter floated on the surface.

You sprinted on the hall, navigating through the winding routes of the structures, and arrived at one of the most exquisite auditoriums you had ever set eyes on. Your eyes took in the magnificent chandeliers and the divine paintings stretched across the ceiling.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled you from your stupor.

“Are you just going to stand there?” a voice called for your attention to where he stood near the stage. The man basked in the warm glow of the concert hall, skin as though molten caramel, and eyes like embers.

“Oh, forgive me, sir.” You straightened yourself up like a soldier before a superior. “I was just, well, this place is beautiful.” You couldn’t help but glance around once again.

“Isn’t it?” A soft smile crawled its way to his lips and he approached you. “I am Mr. Garrick and you are . . .” your name rolled out of his tongue like a serenade, gentle to the ears, a sight to see the way his lips moved, and he extended a hand to you.

You clasped it gently before realization dawned on you. “Pardon me, Garrick as in the Kyle Garrick?”

In a flash of a moment, something sparkled in his eyes and searched yours. “Yes, it is me.”

You nearly squealed and ran around the room in excitement. “Oh my God. Wow. I-I’m a huge fan, sir. You were such a huge inspiration to me—and, and, I wished I could have watched your performance at the concert before, but I was busy preparing for mine. Oh, that must be why Mr. Price, Mr. Riley, and Mr. MacTavish were there! You are friends!” Your words tumbled out of delight.

"Yes, well, thank you for the kind words." His hand sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, his smile becoming wider.

You gazed at him for a few moments before you snapped out of it, your brain slapping it to your face that you just rambled in front of this gentleman. "I'm very sorry, that was unprofessional of me."

"No need for apologies. But I do want to get a feel of your play today as soon as possible." A hand landed on your back, his warmth slipping through the fabric as he led you towards the grand piano patiently waiting for you at the stage.

Your fingers itched in anticipation.

Sir Garrick gave you a comforting smile and sat on the front row seat. "Feel free to play whatever your heart desires."

What your heart desires.

With a shaky breath, once again, you began to tell a tale, the notes sounding like a human voice as it wove its sonorous song.

A ballad to tie what dream your heart made. An andante at first and increased tempo at each heartbeat.

Lightning striking and thunder howling, Kyle was consumed with the way you swayed from one note to another. He couldn't peel his eyes off you as though you had him in your grasp, a puppet for you to control. And only when the last of the music hung in the air, could he snap free of the strings.

He walked towards you and dropped to his knee, taking one of your hands in his palm. "You were truly astonishing."

"I'm telling you, she was marvelous," Kyle exclaimed, pacing around Price's office and pointing at his fellow professors. "Blimey, if only you guys were there the other day, you'd feel chills."

Simon kept a straight face as he sat on the couch, legs spread, his knees bumping with Johnny who took a seat beside him, sipping from his mug of coffee. Whilst, Jonathan inclined on his chair behind a mahogany desk, decorated with intricate carvings and souvenirs he had gathered as they traveled across continents.

"I get that you're delighted, but could you quiet down?" Price grumbled on his desk, a pang of pain shooting his head.

"No, I am not shutting up." Kyle raised a hand, shaking his head. "She recognized my name. My name.” He pointed at himself.

“Anyone would recognize your name if they’re yer fan or hater,” Johnny quipped and placed the mug down on the coffee table.

Kyle turned to him. “You don’t get it, mate. She said she’s a fan of mine. I was a huge inspiration to her—”

“Was a huge inspiration to her,” Simon echoed, leaning back against the couch. “Used to be, not anymore.”

Kyle glared and stomped towards the masked man, grabbing his collar when the other merely raised his brows in a challenge. “I swear to God, Simon, I swear to—”

“I swear to God if you three don’t shut the fuck up—” Price paused, straightening himself from his chair as Kyle shook Simon, and glared at them— “I’ll have you asinine blokes chopped into bits!”

Kyle let go of Simon, who simply fixed his crooked collar and tie, and raised a brow at the man behind the desk. He sat down on a vacant chair, his eyes not leaving Price, and asked, “Are you jealous she recognized me, Price?” he was answered with another glare, which he shrugged at. “Or not.” He definitely is.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, each lost in their train of thought. All centered on a certain lady, whom they had watched from afar, now within their grasp. They only acted as though it was their first time meeting you.

Each born to a wealthy family, presented interesting things which soon died down as they broke them down into pieces, they had grown bored. And had found that there were only a few they could put their trust in this world. Though not related by blood, they shared everything since they were younger. They knew one another strengths and weaknesses. Their faults. Their passions.

Their desires.

A knock pulled them out of their reveries.

Johnny being the closest to the door, got up and opened it. A smile was brought to his face as he found you. “Hello, bonnie. C’mon in.” He swung the door open, a hand motioning at you.

You hesitantly stepped in as you saw your professors inside the office, eyes all settled on you. You put a hand on your other arm to hold down your nervousness as the door behind you shut.

Four men who were strangely overly friendly to you. You could think of a couple of reasons. The first being a musician they had watched and the second, being their student.

A hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you further in, making your face flush. “Have a seat,” Sir MacTavish waved a hand at the sofa, where he and Simon sat.

You kept your gaze low as you obeyed him, sitting between him and your math professor, red cheeks going in a deeper shade as you met Kyle’s gaze. Embarrassed, you finally faced Price, and asked, “What is it that you called me for, Professor?”

Price put his elbows over his desk and intertwined his fingers. “We have a proposition for you . . .” Your name rolled sensually out of his tongue.

The proposition was to be their assistant. Given their overlapping schedules these days, it was hard for them to handle them. At first, you refused the offer, telling them you had a part-time job to do, along with practicing your skills in piano. But they had already thought about that and said they could pay you for your work.

A tempting proposal. Perfect for a student like you who got into this prestigious school through a scholarship.

You tapped your pen on the table and heaved a sound sigh, slouching on the chair. You were in a cafe near the school, in an attempt to change the atmosphere and help you write a report for Sir MacTavish's and Sir Price’s classes, but it didn’t seem to be helping at the moment. A pleasant music came from your earphones to block out the background noises and you closed your eyes to lull yourself.

When you opened your eyes, you jolted up your seat. “Shit!” your hands immediately flew to your potty mouth and straightened your spine at the sight of one of your professors, Simon, across the table. “Ah, uh, I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t notice you—”

“Why do you apologize so often?” his rough voice was low and he placed a cup of tea on the table. His eyes landed on your notebook, full of notes, written clean as though it was printed.

You pursed your lips, unable to think of an answer, and ran your tongue over the soft flesh, catching Simon’s attention. “I . . .”

Simon glanced around the empty cafe, the only other person within the area was the staff over the counter, who kept her eyes on her phone. And you had perfectly picked a secluded spot. He looked back at you and reached out a hand, placing it under your chin. He lifted your face to bring your eyes to his.

Your heart raced at his actions.

“An angel as brilliant as you are should carry yourself with confidence, sweetheart.” His thumb caressed your lips. “Perhaps, we could teach you that.”

Your lips parted at his touch, warmth pooling at your stomach. You knew this was strange—wrong, and yet you didn’t want him to stop.

But he let go and leaned back, and you found yourself gripping on your thigh. “Have you thought of our proposal last week?”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “I have, sir.”

“What do you say?”

“The offer is good, and I don’t think it will clash with my schedule under normal circumstances, either.” You paused, letting him wait for your answer as you gazed into his caramel eyes. “I’ll take it, professor.”

You were fond of puzzles. You were interested in mysteries. And you were drawn to danger.

Being their assistant had more perks than you initially thought it was. You talked with them about their terms and added some of yours, and they seemed to be pretty considerate about it.

Maybe, a bit too much.

You had moved to an apartment they got you, so you wouldn’t be distracted by your roommates. When you had breaks, they would call you to their offices and give you desserts and snacks.

And more often than not, their touches lingered, turning into hugs, caressing, and pinching when in private. To close, seemingly the start of a taboo, a risk, and yet when Professor Price had you pinned between him and Professor Garrick in his office one late night when most of the people at school had gone home, you didn't want them to stop.

You wanted the heat to rush over you, like a forest fire, unwavering.

Didn't pull back when he planted his lips on you. Didn't stop the very professor you looked up to as a musician to bunch up your skirt and grind his dick against your ass. Didn't stop even when the other two entered and Sir Price had his hand rubbing against your clothed cunt. Didn't stop when Professor Riley locked the door behind him as Sir Mactavish joined in.

Johnny’s snaked a hand around your waist, a bit harsher than the ones he’d always done, but you didn’t mind it. Not when his lips were gentle against yours, patient and exploring as he led you on his lap when he sat on your couch, stealing you from Price and Garrick. He drank on your gasp as you felt another pair of lips on your nape, dusting kisses along your flesh.

Simon breathed against your shoulder, hand grasping the swell of your breast and performed maddening massage that got your nipples pebbling under the fabric of your top. You flinched when he took them by fingers, the rolls languid, and shifted on the other man’s lap as you felt a poke underneath.

Johnny groaned against you, parting the breathtaking kiss. He removed you from his lap, only to turn you against him, now facing the professor who had shed his mask. His fingers dipped under the band of your panties, into your untouched bud and your wet folds. He rubbed with a hum, spreading your filth.

“You're so wet, hen,” he commented and inserted a digit, rubbing it against your slick walls.

Your teeth sunk to your lower lip, biting back a squeal at the sudden intrusion.

Simon placed his fingers under your chin and leaned down on you, his tongue running over your lips, something he had always wanted to do before. “Don't bite your lips. That's something we're supposed to do, yeah?” He whispered on your lips and explored your mouth, savoring the echoes of your pleasure, and left to plant his marks on your collarbones. Hands gathered your shirt and lifted it, exposing your chest to his sight.

His mouth dropped to the nipple, sucking while his hand went to work on the other.

Johnny began to pump faster, making you throw your head back to his chest, moaning out in pleasure as you shot a glance at other professors.

“You are not so innocent after all, hm?” Price took your jaw and ran his thumb over your lips, before pushing it in, muffling your cries.

“No one's that innocent nowadays, Price,” Garrick remarked, watching the frown on your face and the flutter of your lashes at every jerk of Johnny's hand made and Simon’s tongue did. His tongue ran over his lips, hand cupping over his hard-on, palming himself through his pants.

You began to suck on Price’s finger, making his dick twitch in his pants—his brain wondering how good your mouth would feel around him. He pulled his hand away to work down on his belt and pants, hands pulling out his shaft. He gave it a few pumps, chuckling when he noticed the way your tongue ran over your swollen lips before a groan escaped from it as Simon planted a bite on your neck and Johnny's thumb began to work on your clit.

Price brought his tip to your mouth. “Open up, dove,” he demanded and grunted as he pushed his shaft in, breath hitching at the warm feeling of your tongue and your throat. Your face twisted a bit at the taste of his precum. He let you adjust for a couple of seconds, hand going to the back of your head before he began to thrust.

One of your hands flew to hold onto his hip as you let him use your mouth, eyes fluttering closed and focusing on breathing through your nose. Out of the blue, Johnny pulled his fingers out and Simon stepped away, eliciting a whine from you. Vibrations ran down Price’s body and he groaned.

Unbuckling of belts echoed in the air, and you were pulled away from Price, making him curse. The next thing you knew, you were staring into the eyes of the man you had admired for so long.

“Sir—”

Kyle put his thumb over your lips, cutting off your words. “Not sir. Call me Kyle.” He positioned his cock under your cunt, rubbing the tip on your entrance.

You gasped at the sensation. “Kyle . . .” Your jaw slacked as he slowly went in, hands pulling you closer to his clothed body, fingers running on your flesh, gentle just as how he played his instruments.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, hands sliding down to your ass to guide you up and down on his length.

Now, he made music out of you.

It didn’t take a few ticks of the clock until they fucked you with all they had.

Simon’s cock was buried in the confines of your mouth, fingers tangled on your tresses, watching the curls of your lashes get soaked by the tears that rolled down on your cheeks as they relentlessly pounded on you—Kyle on your pussy, Price on your ass, and Johnny on your grasps. You had never felt so full, so complete.

You feel your legs shake—the sign you have reached the pinnacle of pleasure and exhaustion when Kyle hits the spot deep in you. You whined against Simon’s cock, groaning as beg for the overdue orgasm that they had been keeping from you.

You felt a hand slide down your thigh, finding your swollen clit, before the rough pads of the fingers rubbed aguishly gentle and slow. If they weren’t your professors, you would have cursed at whoever the one was doing it. But your wish had been heard and he picked up the pace until you were crying, arching your back.

But they weren’t done.

You felt Kyle and Price become rougher at each of their thrust, Simon tugging on your hair harder, and Johnny losing his rhythm on your hands, until they all pulled back, coating your skin with their cum.

You slumped on Kyle’s chest, limbs like a stringless puppet as you ride out the aftermath of your orgasm. Your heavy lids fell close, tired from the deed, but you fought back the drowsiness, not wanting to fall asleep in the state you were in.

“You did good, love,” Kyle cooed into your ear and planted a soft kiss on your temple.

Johnny leaned down and pressed a kiss on your shoulder. “Yer amazing, bonnie. Can’t wait to have more of ya.”

A hand caressed your flushed cheek, swiping the transparent mix of tears and sweat. “Let’s bring you back to your apartment, dove,” Price said in a gentle voice.

Gentle fingers scraped your scalp, gaining a hum from you, must be Simon with how his fingers feel on your head. An unspoken apology about the way he tugged on your locks.

Like the sky glowing, your skin glittered in the ruins they drew up. A masterpiece you were, vulnerable, vincible in their sight, like walls that had fallen. And yet as though a book which held thousands of words, they still had more things to know about you.

Like every start of a relationship. How fortresses were made. Each beginning of a story.

You basked in the echoes of their praise, letting their words bring you comfort and slowly help you regain your mind and strength.

Like after a fire, new maps were drawn. A new tale was written, with them, who swallowed a star.

Taglist: @itsyellow

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prythianpages · 6 months

Text

I Can't Pretend | Eris x Reader

summary: After your sudden disappearance, Eris takes it upon himself to find you. When he does, he breaks down and can no longer hide his feelings for you.

warning: angst, suggestiveness, smut (p in v, loss of virginity); this one is kind of a rollercoaster of emotions and the longest imagine of this series (at 6K words)

a/n: you can find the masterlist to this series here or read this as a stand alone imagine (: all you have to know is that reader is engaged to Eris's brother and in the part right before this one, reader and Sawyer got threatened by Beron. this piece here is brought to you by Tom Odell's Can't Pretend.

“There will be a bedding ceremony at your wedding.”

“You just marked your death sentence.”

Your body grows cold, muscles tensing once again. The tears running down your face feel endless as you stare at the door closing behind the High Lord. When it finally shuts, the sound feels like a sentence in itself, locking you into those promises. Bedding ceremony. Death sentence. The words repeat themselves over and over inside your head like a haunting melody.

You’re going to be watched as you're forced to be intimate with Sawyer. Then, you’re going to die. You want to run…but where to?

A whimper drags you from your thoughts, directing your attention back to the male lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Your fate is sealed and cannot be helped. But you can at least help him.

You hardly recognize him as you kneel beside him and help him sit up. Blood trickles from his face and every exposed inch of his pale skin is littered with open wounds that make bile rise in your throat. You can also sense all the broken bones in his body, something urging you inside to mend them.

“Let me help you,” you whisper, unable to hide the tremor in your voice and your hands. Slowly, you bring your hands to his face, grimacing at the lack of warmth.

A choked, rattled sound escapes from Sawyer. He instinctively leans in to your touch, welcoming the surprising wave of relief that comes with it. It’s as if something deep inside you is calling to him, telling him that you can fix him.

“Did you…did you mean it?” He croaks out.

You don’t have to ask to know what he means. “Yes.”

Sawyer’s pained expression softens for a brief moment. “Sometimes…” he begins and as you blink away your tears, you catch the way he averts his gaze, focusing on the splatters of his own blood that taint the marble floor. “Sometimes, I wish the Cauldron had made me different too...”

“The Cauldron makes no mistakes,” you assure him, your voice steadying with every breath. “It doesn't matter who you love. All that matters is that you love strongly and freely. I sense you have a good heart…which I’m coming to find is a rare thing in a place like this.”

“I thought I was an asshole.” There’s a subtle hint of regret in his tone.

“Yes,” you say with a small exhale. “I’m afraid that you still are… An asshole with a good heart.”

And for the first time since you met him, a faint ghost of a smile graces Sawyer's lips as he looks back at you.

You continue to help heal Sawyer, the same way you’ve done for others in the past. The cuts on his face close as your fingers brush against them, the swelling of his face goes down and the broken bones begin to mend. It’s like a miracle. There’s no trace of any injury left behind other than the blood that has not yet dried.

It’s strange for it to be quiet between you both. You’ve grown accustomed to the insults thrown your way in his presence and even the look of disgust that usually mars his features when looking at you. But all you see is the bewilderment in his face.

As the weight of silence threatens to consume you, you find yourself humming to deter the thoughts lingering in your mind. It’s a familiar melody, one your mother would gently sing whenever your injuries and the sickness that would often befall you begged for relief. Just as it did in those tender moments, the melody you hum washes over you, bringing an immediate sense of comfort.

The warmth returns to your veins and Sawyer, too, senses the soothing energy as it radiates from your touch. His sharp aches dulls into a distant memory. “I didn’t know you were a healer,” he says quietly and then realizes how little he knows about you. He has an inkling that his older brother knows more. “Are you from Dawn Court?”

“My mother was. I think I inherited it from her side,” you reply, helping him to his feet.

As the two of you stand, the door slams open, causing you to involuntary flinch. To your relief, it is Lady Raelynn and not her fearsome husband. Her breaths are quick and shallow and eyes full of concern.

“Oh thank the Cauldron,” she breathes, rushing toward her son. She assesses him for injuries, not caring over the blood that stains her hands as she softly touches his face. “Let’s get you cleaned up. The healer is already waiting in my quarters and I’ve had my maid prepare some tea to soothe your ails.”

The way she speaks leaves an unsettling feeling in your stomach, as it gives away that situations such as this occur with such frequency. Lady Raelynn then turns to you, gaze dipping down toward your hands. They’re stained with Sawyer’s blood. “The both of you,” she adds as emphasis.

Her hand reaches for yours but you take a step back, suddenly feeling sick. She had already included you in the disconcerting routine. The urge to run comes over you again as Beron’s words resurface in your mind. Is this what your life will become? A routine of suffering and torture until death harshly claims you.

“I’m okay,” you say, taking a deep breath. It’s a lie and you all know it but they don’t push you further. They share a glance filled with understanding, deepening your revulsion. You think you’re going to throw up. “I–I think I need to rest.”

“Of course,” Lady Raelynn nods, a deep frown settling upon her face. “Please allow one of my maids to escort you back to your room.”

Eris has grown to know fear over the centuries. It held him in its grip, bringing forth tears and whispering sweet nightmares into his ears until there was no trace of hope left behind. But this feeling surging through his veins and creeping into his heart is much, much worse. Like a fear he’s never known before.

You’re not in your room. You’re not in the gardens. You’re not in the library.

All air has left his lungs and he feels like he can’t breathe until he finds you. There’s one more place within the Forest house he’s yet to check. He’s racing toward it, his pace reflecting the erratic rhythm of his heart. He knows he should tread carefully but you’re flooding him with your emotions through the bond, pushing away all rational thoughts from his mind.

The doors to Lady Raelynn’s quarters slam open. His eyes are drinking in the room like a man deprived of water, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Y/n,” your name is spilling from his lips in a choked breath. “Where is she?”

His gaze lands upon Sawyer, who sits on the couch and then to his mother, who sits right next to him. You’re not here either. His heightened senses take in the bloody cloth in his mother’s hands–not your blood–and then, the somber expression on Sawyer’s face. Across from them, three teacups rest on the small table, the faint scent of chamomile wafting over to him.

Suddenly, Eris is livid. His gaze darkens and he’s rushing toward his younger brother. Hands roughly grasp onto the front of Sawyer’s shirt, forcing the younger male to rise to his feet. Flames tickle around his throat, tightening with every second.

“What did you do?” Eris seethes. It’s more of a demand than a question.

“Eris!”

“Answer me,” Eris nearly growls, his eyes mirroring the flames tightening around Sawyer’s neck. “Or I swear to the Cauldron, I’ll–”

“Eris!” His mother calls out again.

This time, she’s successful. She steps in between her sons, a hand at Eris’s chest and she can feel the frantic beating of his heart. The flames around Sawyer’s throat loosen their grip but only a little.

“Your brother has endured enough blows today.”

“He looks perfectly fine to me,” Eris retorts, amber eyes taking note of the lack of injuries on him. Despite his mother’s words, he’s inclined to give him one. One that will remain and act as a reminder to never cross him. He already knows that whatever happened, was Sawyer’s fault.

“Yes,” Lady Raelynn begins, voice heavy with caution. She knows Eris will find out what happened one way or another and though it fills her with dread to be the harbinger of bad news, she rather her son hear it from her. “Because y/n healed him.”

The sound of your name brings Eris back down and the flames around Sawyer’s throat extinguish. He looks at his mother, silently urging her to go on.

“Your father caught the ear of the rumors circulating in court and well…well, he called for a bedding ceremony.”

Sawyer swallows thickly at the reminder. He casts his head down, overwhelmed by Eris’s heated gaze that is directly solely on him now. A realization hits him then and slowly, he lifts his head. “You care for her, don’t you? All this time…,” his voice trails off.

Eris falters. He shakes his head, a mix of horror and panic tainting his delicate features. “I told you–”

“Then you should know,” Sawyer interrupts him, lips pressing into a tight line before speaking again. “Father plans to kill her after the wedding.”

Flames erupt from Eris’s fingertips, itching to wrap around Sawyer’s throat once more. He warned his brother not to be a fool. To be more careful because this was not just a matter of life or death for Sawyer but for you as well. Eris just needed more time to help you and he fears Sawyer just deprived him of it.

A firm push from Lady Raelynn stops him from raising his hands. “Eris, your brother is not the enemy,” she reminds him, tone pleading with him to hear her. “Y/n is in her room. Go to her. She needs you.”

Eris's fiery temper flickers, dissolving into the familiar grip of anxiety that had driven him to this chamber. He takes a step back and Lady Raelynn’s hand drops back to her side. “She’s not in her room.”

It’s now Lady Raelynn’s turn to panic. “What do you mean she isn’t? My maid personally escorted her there. She even helped draw her a bath.”

“She’s gone.”

Sawyer lets a curse under his breath, a shiver running down his spine. “One more mishap,” he murmurs, fear swirling in his eyes. He falls onto the couch, sinking into the cushion with dread. “One more mishap and father warned…,” his eyebrows furrow, not being able to finish the threat Beron had made to the both of you and Eris feels his heart at his throat.

“She couldn’t have gone far.” Lady Raelynn speaks but it does nothing to reassure Eris.

“When I bring her back,” Eris says, voice steady with determination because he will find you. He takes another step back, toward the doors. One hand grasps for the knob while the other points a finger at Sawyer. “Then, I’ll deal with you.”

Sawyer says nothing but Lady Raelynn nods, urging him to go. “We’ll cover for you,” she assures him. “Please be careful.”

Eris leaves without another word, the doors closing shut behind him.

“He loves her.” Sawyer's words are tinged with sympathy and bitter amusement. A humorless chuckle escapes from him and he looks toward his mother. Her gaze remains fixed on the doors of her room, where Eris had left just moments ago, as she gives a silent prayer to the Cauldron.

“Are we cursed? To love those we cannot have?”

“I’m afraid you all have inherited it from me,” Lady Raelynn confesses softly, her voice carrying the weight of years of unspoken longing, clouding her eyes with regret and sorrow.

Leaves crunch beneath Eris's boots as he makes his way toward the stables, the crisp autumn air biting at his cheeks. His face dons his usual mask but his heart is still racing. He would much rather take his hounds in his quest to find you but the risk of raising suspicion held him back. It’s not uncommon for him to ride during these hours of the day and it’d give him a better vantage on covering as much ground as he can as opposed to winnowing.

The sound of a high-pitched whinny echoes through the air as Eris approaches, drawing his attention. His gaze settles upon the stablemen, their focus fixed upon a solitary stall.

“Lord Eris,” one of them greets, bowing his head in respect. “Do you wish to ride? I can ready your horse. Just give me a moment.”

Eris offers no response as he strides purposefully toward the stablemen, his curiosity piqued by the source of the anxious sounds. The stableman follows his gaze, his expression troubled. It’s your horse, Maximus. The white stallion throws his head back, pawing at the ground with such force that the dirt rises in swirling clouds.

“He’s been restless all morning, my Lord.”

“I’ll take him,” Eris finally speaks, his gaze lingering on the horse. From where he stands,he can sense the tension rippling through Maximus’s powerful frame. It reminds him of the way his hounds act when they sense something is wrong. “Perhaps, a ride will soothe him.”

The stableman’s eyes widen in alarm. “I would advise against it, Lord Eris. This one has a temper that only Lady Y/n can soothe. He’s bitten us before.”

Eris lets out a quiet amused huff, undeterred. “I’ll saddle him myself,” he says and it’s as if your horse understands for it tilts his head to look directly at Eris, a silent exchange passing between them.

The stableman simply nods, reluctantly handing the necessary equipment to prepare your horse. As Eris steps into the stall, Maximus steps back with a deep and heavy exhale. “It’s okay. I’m y/n’s…y/n’s friend,” Eris reassures though the word ‘friend’ rolls off his tongue awkwardly.

As he utters your name, Maximus's body relaxes slightly, mirroring the calm that had settled over Eris earlier in his mother’s quarters. He admires the way Maximus’s eyes soften slightly, betraying his deep love for you. Animals are the true definition of unconditional love, he thinks. However, there’s a flicker of doubt in the horse's eyes at the mention of the word "friend," as if he could sense something more. It makes Eris wonder if your horse can see past the glamor he meticulously placed over himself and you.

Maximus doesn’t move when Eris takes another step forward. He pats his neck softly, running his fingers down the silky white strands of Maximus’s mane. The white stallion’s head lowers and ears relax under the gentle touch.

“Can you take me to her?”

Maximus taps one of his hooves in response and Eris smiles.

Eris can feel your bond growing stronger and stronger as Maximus gallops, taking both of them deeper into Autumn’s forest. Around them, trees adorned with golden leaves blur into a whirl of color. The sound of thundering hooves fills the air. He pulls on the reins and the white stallion immediately obeys, coming to a gradual stop.

“Stay here.” Eris commands as he dismounts.

Maximus lets out a noise in protest but does not fight when Eris secures him to a nearby tree. He looks around the forest, allowing his senses to guide him through the labyrinth of trees. He feels a sharp tug against his ribcage, prompting his head to turn right. How did he not think of it sooner?

Eris quietly makes his way toward the clearing ahead, where the meadow he often frequents is. The canopy of the tall oak trees filter the golden sunlight into a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow. A kaleidoscope of wildflowers blooms along the edges, their petals kissed by the wind. His senses sharpen with anticipation. It’s as if a taut string is pulling him inexorably closer to you.

He’s flooded with relief when he finally spots you but it is short lived as he takes in your appearance. Relief is quickly replaced by a terrible sinking feeling that he feels in his very core.

The river is a distant murmur as you face it, your back to him. The shifting patterns of light and shadow play across your form, casting you in muted hues. You’re dressed in his clothes, the same ones he had given you when the two of you snuck out. The ruffled long sleeves do nothing to protect you from the biting Autumn winds and he frowns as you curl into yourself, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. You seem smaller somehow, more vulnerable. He’s already taking his coat off as he approaches you.

“Angel,” he calls out softly, placing his coat over your shoulders, but you don’t move. You don’t even react…are you even breathing?

Eris steps around you, his eyes pools of amber concern and as he comes to stand in front of you, his heart clenches. Your eyes are bloodshot and puffy. Tears stain your rosy cheeks, making his knees weak. Yet it's the emptiness in your gaze and the absence of radiance in your expression that shatters his heart. This court has broken you beyond repair. You, who always shined so bright, who lit up his world, were losing your spark. This is what he had been trying to prevent and he failed.

His hands cup your face in a tender caress, internally wincing at the lack of warmth he feels. Drawing upon his powers, he channels heat into his hands. As the warmth envelops you, he watches as your distant gaze gradually returns to him.

A pained expression clouds his features, tears stinging at his own eyes. He knows the answer, recognizes it the more he looks at you. He knows because you wear the same expression he does after facing Beron’s temper. But he needs to hear it. His brows furrow, barely able to contain the anger that had been left simmering. Anger not directed at you but at his father.

“Did he…did he hurt you?”

“I’m okay.”

There’s a roughness to your voice he’s never heard before that kills him inside. You lean in to his touch, tilting your head slightly to the right. Consequently, the same cheek Beron had struck earlier. Eris frowns. There’s no mark on your pretty features, no trace of harm of any kind. Though, he knows better now.

So he asks again. Differently and more carefully, this time. He’s trying very hard to tame the fire raging through his veins for your sake, worrying that he’d scare you if he allows you even the slightest glimpse of it.

“Did he touch you?”

You shift your head, attempting to escape his hold. But Eris doesn’t allow it and takes your silence as an answer. He swallows thickly. His father had laid his hands on you. Fiery tongues surge from the earth, swirling around you both and painting the air with bright hues of amber and scarlet. How dare he? His father is going to pay for this, Eris will make sure of it. He’s going to return the pain Beron inflicted on you tenfold. He’s going to ki—

“I’m okay.” You try again and it’s as if you’re also trying to convince yourself.

Eris leans his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m so sorry, angel,” he murmurs, voice thick with longing and regret. He had been so careful about leaving Autumn since your arrival and the one time he has to leave it, is when you find yourself in trouble.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“You’re here now.”

He feels the softness of your hand against one of his, prompting his eyes to open. His amber orbs glisten with a haunting luminosity as quiet tears escape them. “I put you in this situation,” he confesses quietly.

Confusion flashes onto your face, your eyes searching for answers and he feels his heart at his throat. “I arranged your marriage, knowing the life I would be damning you to. This is all my fault.”

“You couldn’t have known. You didn’t know me then and my father…this marriage would’ve happened any–”

“Don’t.” He interrupts you, inhaling sharply, voice strained with emotion. He doesn’t think you’d be defending him if you knew what he did to your father just hours ago. “Don’t defend me. I don’t deserve it.”

And then he reluctantly drops his hands, stepping away from you, needing to put some distance between you both.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Eris–” You take a step closer but he holds out a hand, flames erupting from the ground right between the both of you.

“No. You don’t understand, Angel. I’ve tried to fight it but I can’t contend. You’ve pierced through every defense of mine and now… I’m exhausted.I can’t pretend anymore.” Eris bows his head, flames dancing around him with heightened intensity. He collapses to his knees, surrendering to the turmoil within.

“You awaken sensations within me that I’ve never known. Sensations that both exhilarate and terrify me. If you–if you only knew the depths of my capabilities, the lengths I would go for you, the sacrifices I’ve already made...”

He can already imagine the heartbroken look on your face when you find out the truth. That he, your mate, the very being that should bring you nothing but joy and shower you in love brought harm upon your family. You’re one and only remaining family member. It did not matter if your father was a monster because either way, you adored him. Or rather, the idea of him.

Eris should tell you the truths he learned. How your father poisoned you for years, treating you not as his daughter but as a mere experiment instead. He only read snippets here and there from the journal, read just enough to be sickened with the horrors purposely inflicted upon you.

And Eris will tell you. He knows he needs to. But you’re breaking and he can feel you on the verge of shattering apart this very moment. If he tells you now, he fears–

“Eris.”

Your voice pulls him out of his racing thoughts and he winces. As if it physically pains him to hear the sweet way you say his name. “Don’t say my name like that, angel,” he nearly pleads. You don’t know what you do to him.

The flames pulse around him with the rhythm of his heart. He decides at that moment that you can hate him all you want after. As long as you’re alive, as long as your radiance returns to you, that’s all that matters. He just desperately needs you to be you again.

“Just tell me, angel, and I’ll do it,” Eris says, closing his eyes as he tries to steady his breath. “Tell me what to do to make you feel better? I can’t bear the sight of seeing you like this so please tell me.”

His words strike a nerve in you, the devotion in them unfamiliar to you. How cruel, you think, tears pooling at your eyes for an entirely different reason. You’re marrying the wrong Vanserra. You take a step forward, the flames of Eris’s fire threatening to swallow you whole.

“You care for me?”

“Devastatingly so.”

Another step forward. Your heart hammers in your chest. The flames lick at your feet and you should fear them. But you don’t. Because it’s Eris and though you shouldn’t, you want him. Not Sawyer or anyone else. You want Eris. All of him.

“You’d really do anything for me?”

Eris lets out a sound–a mixture of an exhale and laugh. It’s humorless and singed with disbelief as if he can’t believe you’re really asking him that after he just confessed it all to you. But you need to hear it again.

“I would traverse all over Prythian, surmount every obstacle, and brave the fiercest storms just to see the light of your smile. All you have to do is ask.”

And then you’re taking that last step, braving yourself against the searing heat that dances in the air to reach him. Because if you’re going to die, you need him to know. You need him to know the truth that lingers in your heart.

That he’s your golden hour, painting your world in shades of warmth and love, but also your midnight hour, where secret desires and dreams are whispered under a canopy of stars and now…

Now, he’s everything in between. You’re every waking thought and the last before you sleep. You need him to know that you burn for him. Ardently. Your breath catches and Eris’s eyes snap open, widening as his fire reaches out to embrace you.

But it doesn’t burn you.

The two of you look at each other in awe before you’re falling to your knees in front of him, the flames enfolding around you in a tender caress. Neither of you say a word. Your hands reach out to cup his face, coaxing his gaze to you. He doesn’t stop you this time. Not even as you lean in and press your lips against his. He should pull away but he doesn’t. Instead, his lips move against yours, kissing the warmth right back into you, giving a piece of light from him to you.

You pull away, just enough to speak but still close enough to feel the warmth of his mouth. “And if I ask you to take me in a way only a lover could, what then?”

He looks at you with such an intensity it sets you alight but then he’s averting his gaze and there’s an ache in your chest. “Please,” you whisper, eyes glistening with tears.

You always dreamed of what your wedding would be like, who you would marry. A part of you always knew that it would be arranged. Still, you foolishly hoped that in light of the arrangement, love would blossom. That your husband would hold affection toward you and learn to love you. That on your first night together, he’d be gentle and caring.

But your dream was morphing into something darker. Your husband would never love you in the way you desire. He hated the very thought of you and though you caught a mere glimpse of the caring male underneath the harsh exterior earlier, it did nothing to soothe you. It can’t be Sawyer.

The night you dreamed of was becoming a nightmare. The last thread of hope was hanging precariously, threatened by the sharp blade of anxiety and fear. You can’t lose the last part you hold dear to Sawyer. You can’t let Beron win. They don’t deserve to forever hold this over you.

You look at Eris, your last thread of hope. “Your father called for a bedding ceremony and I don’t want that to be my first time. I don’t want Sawyer to…to…”

“I know, angel,” Eris murmurs, not letting you finish your sentence. He wipes at your tears and then places his hands over yours, which remain on his face. He gives a gentle kiss to your lips but his body is tense. The thought of you having to endure the horrors of a forced bedding ceremony. Your body on display for others to see, the emotional and physical pain it will bring upon you, the—

Eris has to force himself out of those dark thoughts, the bond in his chest roaring with a fierce and protective anger. He kisses you again. This time, on your forehead. “It’s not going to happen.”

“But your father–”

The fear in your eyes pains him. He pulls you closer, nose brushing against yours as he forces you to look into his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“With my whole heart.”

“Then trust me when I say that no one will touch you against your will again.”

“Even though your father, the High Lord, has condemned me to death?”

“No one,” he repeats, voice firm as he pulls you close to him. One arm wraps itself around your waist while the other cradles your head to his chest. He brushes his fingers through your hair, basking in the sweet scent of rose it brings forth.

Silence envelops you both and you allow it to embrace you, the same way Eris does. In his arms, you are safe, you are warm. It is just the two of you…against the world.

“Tell me what you’re thinking of,” Eris speaks softly.

“I’m thinking…” your voice trails off as you shift in his hold to face him. His hands fall to your waist and you make yourself comfortable in his lap, placing a knee on either side of him. “What if it's your touch I will?”

Heat and desire pour through the bond, filling his veins.

“Your eyes I dream of,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his red hair and tilting his head up to look into his eyes. When you lean in to delicately kiss the corners of his eyes, he shudders beneath you.

“Your heart I want.”

Your hand trails down his neck in a tender caress, stopping at his chest. Right over the organ that beats for you. The golden threads stir under your touch and he swallows thickly, eyes locked onto you. He wonders if you can feel it–the way the bond is singing madly like it wants to be heard. With a sudden boldness, he tugs on it.

His eyes widen when your body seems to react, lurching forward slightly. Your movements still, hand lingering on his chest and he watches you with bated breath. You felt it…but your end of the bond remains quiet. Still waiting to unravel, only giving him a glimpse of the emotions stirring within you.

Something that both uneases and relieves him. He wants to know exactly what you’re feeling–if your emotions resonate with the same fervor that consumes him. He wants you to understand the depth of his devotion to you. However, amidst his yearning, your oblivion toward the bond allows him to mask the subtle shift in your scent. A silent sacrifice that weighs heavy upon his heart but a burden he is glad to carry if it means he can safeguard your innocent heart from the cunning foxes at court.

Your hand continues its path downwards, tracing a tantalizing path toward his. His heart stirs with a flutter of anticipation. He can feel the unspoken yearning in your touch. With trembling fingers, he intertwines his hand with yours, each brush of your skin igniting a wildfire in him that grows brighter as you bring his hand to your lips.

“Your hand in marriage I long for.” You press a soft kiss upon the fourth finger of his left hand and his resolve is faltering. Teetering on the edge of surrender…

The flames surrounding you both catch on the ring on your fourth finger, the very one claimed by his brother. A forced and loveless claim. Yet still, regretfully, not him. A stark reminder that you are not his and perhaps, will never be. The simple golden band glistens precariously as if acknowledging his thoughts. He should stop you.

“Y/n–”

“Your touch I crave,” you continue, your longing turning into a desperate need as you kiss him. Harder, with more urgency, sending a delightful sensation down his spine that makes his cock twitch.

As your hips roll against his, Eris abruptly pulls away. The hands at your waist tighten, keeping you still and holding on to that last wall of defense. He wants you but he shouldn’t.

Your brows furrow and Eris hates the hurt that flashes in your eyes. The hope that deflates. “I’m sorry.Have I misinterpreted your—““

“I want you too,” he interrupts, needing to reassure you. He licks his lips, gaze flickering to your own, already missing their taste, before lifting back up. “Gods, do I want you but not like this.”

He gestures to the autumn meadow around you both. The meadow that is painted in hues of crimson and gold and alive with the whisper of falling leaves and dancing flames. It’s beautiful. The epitome of Autumn. But it’s no proper place to have you.

“You deserve better. You deserve for your first time to be special.”

“It does not matter where we are. As long as it’s with you, it is special. Please,” your bottom lip trembles and Eris leans in, gently kissing it steady. “I want you to be my first. I don’t want it to be Sawyer or anyone else. I want it to be you.”

“We don’t have to do this now. There will be another time,” Eris utters but his voice lacks strength. The promise in his words hangs in the air delicately like a wisp of smoke that is already dissipating into uncertainty.

“Time,” you echo quietly, a wistful shadow casting over your features. “What if we don’t have time? What if–what if this moment is all we have left?”

Eris wants to respond but the words catch in his throat. There’s nothing he can say to reassure you there. He knows you’re aware of the impending dangers that wait for you back at court. His father will be watching you closely now, security will be tighter. Eris will have to be more careful, tread lighter and with higher caution.

There’s only a little less than two weeks away from your marriage to Sawyer. The three of you are running out of the time and there is still so much to do. The stolen moments with you will have to cease and he senses you’re aware of this truth as well. This may be the very last one between you both.

If you thought Autumn was a terrible place before, then you’re about to learn that it’s much, much worse. It’s a living hell. And Eris curses the Cauldron for its cruelty.

Angels like you shouldn’t live in hell.

“So much has been taken from me and I fear there is very little choice I have remaining in this world. But this,” you pause, placing his hand over your racing heart, an urgent plea echoing in the rapid rise and fall beneath his touch. “This is mine to give and it wants you. I want to give it to you before it’s too late…”

Eris’s entire body tenses, muscles tightening with restraint.

“And if your heart feels the same, then I need you,” your voice trembles under the weight of your emotions and suddenly, Eris feels like he can’t breathe. “Like fire craves the kiss of air–”

No one has ever looked at him with such devotion, spoken to him with such passion. It’s overwhelming and threatening to drown him in its intensity. While his mind is screaming for him to run away, his heart wills for him to stay.

“–like flowers thirst for the tender caress of rain, like–”

Eris’s lips crash onto yours. His kiss is searing yet gentle and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and he groans into your mouth. He carefully guides you back onto the soft bed of fallen leaves and golden grass, cradling the back of your head with one hand while the other remains over your heart.

He kisses you until you’re both breathless and forced to pull apart. His body hovers over yours, amber eyes drinking you in. He tenderly kisses the remnants of your tears away, reveling in the way you softly sigh and lips begin to curve upwards into a smile.

“I love you, Eris.”

The three words hit Eris so hard there’s a crack in the last wall of defense. He’s terrified to move, not wanting to leave this moment but also in fear that if he does, that last wall will crumble entirely.

“Me? Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more unequivocally sure.”

Eris studies you intently, captivated by every subtle shift in your expression. There’s nothing but unwavering love and desire reflecting back at him with such luminous intensity that it threatens to blind him. He can no longer think properly. Every reservation, every thought telling him to stop is slipping through his fingers.

All he can think about is you and how you love him. You love him! You love him! You love him!

And when he meets your eyes again, it’s too late.

The damage has already been done. That last wall of defense is crumbling at a devastating speed. A soft flush creeps up his cheeks, betraying the vulnerability that seeps through his every pore in surrender.

“Is this what you really want?”

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut in anticipation as his nose brushes softly along your neck. “Even if it’s just for this moment, let me be entirely yours. Every beat of my heart. Every breath. Take it all.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Eris murmurs against your neck, inhaling sharply and when the honeyed scent of your arousal greets him, he whimpers.

Gentle is not a word Eris Vanserra would use to describe himself. That is, until he met you. His mate. The one who dismantled the walls he spent centuries constructing around his heart in months with little effort. In your presence, lies a burning desire to soften the edges of his demeanor. To be the gentle male worthy of your affection.

You wield a power over him unlike any other, leaving him utterly captivated and surrendering to all rationality. He should tell you he feels the same but he is beyond words. How can mere words capture the magnitude of his devotion?

So when you’re asking–begging–to be his, he can’t bring himself to say no. Not when this may be the very last moment shared between you both. Not when you’re giving him the perfect opportunity to show you the depth of his feelings instead.

Everything fades into insignificance. Nothing matters but this moment. With a touch as light as the brush of butterfly wings, his hands explore your body. Tentatively, as if scared to burn you with his burgeoning desire. Always asking for permission–”is this okay?” “yes”–before venturing further, before discarding your clothes–his clothes.

Flames continue to dance around you both, a protective circle and barrier against the cold winds. Each flicker of light casts intricate shadows upon your faces, your bodies. Eris pulls away just enough to admire you. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning down and capturing your lips for what feels like the hundredth time. But it will never be enough. “So, so beautiful.”

You’re melting like wax beneath every touch and then his lips are tracing down the paths his hands have forged. Gentle and somehow still urgent. His mouth lingers on the swell of your breasts, sucking and eliciting the prettiest sounds from you.

“If it’s too much, you tell me,” he utters, holding your gaze as he rests his chin on your stomach. He can sense your nerves. He’s nervous too. He wants this to be perfect for you. As perfect as it can be, given your circumstances.

“We can stop whenever you want.”

You nod but it’s not enough for Eris. “Words, angel,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to your stomach. “I need your words.”

“I’ll tell you,” you breathe, body arching into him. “I promise.”

Eris presses another kiss to your stomach before continuing his path downwards, to where he can feel you aching for him the most. He’s breathing so hard and kissing every inch of your skin, setting you ablaze. His nose brushes against the apex of your thighs and he’s flooded with your arousal. It’s overwhelming all his senses and he’s pulsing with need to have a taste.

Still, he pauses to look up at you through his long eyelashes.

“Please,” is all you manage to say.

Eris moans in anticipation, drinking in your otherworldly beauty, the same way he wishes to devour you. One hand rests on your hip while the other reaches for yours. His fingers intertwine themselves with yours and when you squeeze them, he lowers his mouth and finally has a taste.

You throw your head back with a choked cry. “Eris!”

Eris groans, lapping and working his tongue against you. He’s never loved his name more. “You taste absolutely divine,” he breathes, losing himself in you. If this is how you taste, his cock throbs painfully as he imagines how you’d feel.

You reach your peak soon, crying out his name again. He lifts his head and brings your locked hands to his lips, admiring the look of pure bliss on your face. “Beautiful,” he whispers again, heart swelling with warmth. Overcome with emotion, he dives for your lips and pours them out into his kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue.

The hand not intertwined with yours, caresses against your core, fingers prodding at your entrance. Your mouth parts in a gasp at the intrusion but he eases you through it until you're clenching around his fingers and begging for more.

“Are you sure you still want this?” He can’t help but ask, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Yes.”

“I’ll go slow,” Eris promises, his amber gaze filled with softness and tenderness. Blush rises to your cheeks and it’s instinctual, the way you look away. He lets out a low sound in disapproval. “Eyes on me, angel.”

When you meet his gaze, his pupils are blown but his gaze remains soft and warm. Your lips curve upwards and he does the same. Both of his hands are locked with yours, resting on either side of your head. He holds your gaze, slowly sinking into your warmth and stilling at the furrow of your brows. He kisses them, allowing you to adjust and wanting to ease any discomfort you may be feeling.

“You’re doing so well for me, angel,” he encourages, voice strained. The bond in his chest is surging with pride at being your first and with a primal fervor to be the only one who gets to have you like this.

He feels like his heart is going to burst into flames and when he finally sheathes himself inside you, everything catches fire. His mind. His body. His soul. Every muscle, every nerve in his body is coming undone with every thrust. His kisses, though still soft, grow intense. So hot yet so sweet.

Fire consumes him, its vibrant flames igniting not destruction but building something new. Something beautiful. Something heavenly. where hopes and dreams, once thought lost, are resuscitated. The wounds of his heart being mended by you.

His body presses further into yours, mouth pressing feverish kisses down your neck, whispering sweet praises and worshipping you for the divine being you are. Your moans grow louder and you’re clenching around him tighter. “I love you,” your voice is a mere whisper but he hears it loud and clearly and you don’t seem to mind his lack of response. Not when he’s following after you, bodies shuddering as release courses through you both.

Eris pulls you close to his chest, arms tight around you. He can feel your heartbeat. Fast but steadying and in tune with the rhythm of his own. The gentle rise and fall of your chest let him know you’ve fallen asleep. Letting out a sigh in content, he closes his eyes, wanting to bask in this moment longer.

His fingers lightly trace along your back, tracing the four words he couldn’t bring himself to say back to you earlier.

I love you, too.

a/n: I've never written soft smut before so I hope it was okay. I also hope I was able to convey the desperation between Eris and reader well. I debated a lot on whether keeping the smut or scrapping it. Huge thank you to @stormhearty for helping me out with this part and giving me her input! ily! ❤️

series tag list: @fabulouslyflamboyant5 @fxckmiup @stormhearty @skyesayshi @sfhsgrad-blog @crazylokonugget @evergreenlark @secretlyhers @mybestfriendmademe @ib525, @96jnie, @glitterypirateduck @thatsassyhufflepuff @acourtofbatboydreams, @mal-adaptive-dreams, @dandelionfairyyy, @queerqueenlynn, @circe143

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria

#eris x reader #eris x y/n #eris x you #eris vanserra imagine #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x y/n #acotar imagine #acotar x you #acotar x reader #acotar x y/n #eris angel au #eris vanserra smut #eris smut #acotar smut

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nebbyy · 5 months

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Hi! I'm not sure if you are currently taking requests, so feel free to ignore mine if you aren't! If you are taking them, however, would you please write something for King Baldwin IV overhearing reader sing and falling further in love with her because of her soft and sweet voice? Upon realizing that he's there, she becomes extremely flustered and apologizes for disrupting his peace and quiet. Thank you!

King Baldwin IV x reader - Sweetest of melodies

A/N: omg it’s been so long since I’ve received a request! I can’t lie, Baldwin is my supreme comfort character, I think I’ll never stop writing fro him because it gives me sooo much joy😩😩😩 I personally like to think of this piece as taking place a few months after Baldwin’s and reader’s wedding, so it could be considered a sequel for my first fic ever. Also, the song mentioned in this piece is a real song from the 12th century called "Can vei la lauzeta" (in English,"When I see the lark") by Bernart de Ventadorn, and the painting is "Lovers in a garden" by Charles Edward Perugini!!

Oh btw!! I’m working on a long ass series about him, based off of a prompt by @phantomsghoulette which I absolutely LOVED. Sooo all the KoH fans stay tuned for future updates🤭

Warning: nothing really, just pure fluff. Maybe you could say that religious innuendos could be something triggering for some people but I don’t know. There might be ONE, SLIGHTLY spicy mention but only if you squint really really hard. Also, keep in mind that the historical accuracy in my fics is rather relative, I try to add some details here and there but I don’t have the knowledge (nor the skills) to write a piece 100% accurate to the real history. Also, reader’s gender is female and uses she/her pronouns!!

Word count: 2918

Someone would say Baldwin's patience could already be put to test by only his illness, which she ruthlessly does not grant him a moment's respite, the eternal enemy of his body and his spirit. But no, to this perpetual torment of his had to be added the perilous duties of a king. And it was certainly not governing his people and lands that sucked what little energy he had left; this duty of his, given by his father and willed by divine design, he had long since embraced.

It was the nobles, the leeches who had drained him of his lifeblood lately. It was their endless demands, the insidious words that hissed behind his back, the languid bows and sleazy gifts designed only to gain some favor from him. Looking around him, he seemed to see only vices and sinners, power-hungry beasts just waiting for his moment of weakness so they could feed on what Baldwin had under his power.

In fact, not without reason in the past the young monarch had attempted to abdicate the throne and leave it in the hands of one of his sisters, rid himself of this burden and devote the rest of his short life taking care of his declining health and to nurture his mind away from so much corruption. At times he dreamed of retiring to France, experiencing for the first time that cold climate and verdant landscape of which his preceptors and advisors told him so much.

In fact, not without reason in the past the young monarch had attempted to abdicate the throne and leave it in the hands of one of his sisters, rid himself of this burden and devote the rest of his short life taking care of his declining health and to nurture his mind away from so much corruption. At times he dreamed of retiring to France, to experience for the first time that cold climate and verdant landscape of which his preceptors and advisors told him so much.

And he dreamed of taking you with him, imagined how sweet his life would be if his only concerns were taking care of his health and you, faithful wife, sole blessing in his life battered by such burdens. How he would wish that his days would revolve around you, that his first thought in the morning would be riding by your side through the flourishing meadows, and his last thought in the evening would be caressing your face as you lie slumbering in his arms.

It would have been a blissful fate his, if only Sybilla's husband had not died at the very moment when he would have needed him most. If only his mother had not convinced him that Guido de Lusignan was a good fit for his sister and had continued to seek a new consort for her, perhaps that fate would not have been snatched from him so early. Too late to repent now, for Baldwin would have preferred to die agonizingly on his throne rather than leave power in the hands of that bumptious and arrogant lord, who was noble only in title.

And so he found himself in this sort of hellish limbo, forced into a position that should never be required of a man in his condition, but prevented by his morality from abandoning his reign, impelled by faith in God's greater plan, that his suffering should not be in vain.

And his faith always seemed to strengthen when he had a way to escape the stifling air that characterized the throne room, always packed with knights and crusaders and nobles, when he had a way to retreat to the palace gardens, one of the few verdant places in all of Jerusalem.

With slow, swaying steps, Baldwin strolled slowly among the local palm trees and flower beds from the faraway lands, those where men speak Italian and the more distant ones, those from which his fathers came. Exotic fruits mingled with those more congenial to the French, who out of nostalgia for their lands and fields did what they could to bring the seeds of these plants with them to overseas.

His mind seemed to go out, shifting his attention from the constant buzz of court demands and duties to the chirping of birds perched on the roof, to the eviction of the soft branches that shielded him from the scorching sun. He enjoyed the refreshing air that reigned in that small oasis of greens, which was able to infiltrate the fabric of his white robes, crossing the bandages that covered much of his body and finally reaching his skin, numbed by leprosy.

To tell the truth, of that refreshing sensation little reached his damaged nerves, if not for those few points that had been spared by the merciless disease, from which departed that unusual shiver that caused him a delicate smile of relief, enjoying the refreshing breeze. Then he closed his eyes and breathed in, discovering with satisfied surprise that that light gust was also a harbinger of an intoxicating perfume, a mixture of exotic and familiar.

How funny to think of the concept of "exotic", for an Angevin born and raised in the unknown lands of the east. For him it was exotic French fruit, exotic were the green plains and heavy clothing that brought his allies from the northwest, and equally alien to the snowy mountains and forest beasts that he saw drawn in detail in his childhood books. It was these changes of perspective that stimulated his mind in a myriad of thoughts and reflections, but in a pleasurable way for him, not as exhausting as his daily duties.

His reflections on exotic and local made his mind travel, wandering until he came to a subject very close to him: Muslims and Jews, reflecting well on the landscape in front of him, recognized that he could share with them the same concepts of what is foreign and what they can claim the original belonging. And he could not but reflect on how it must have been for the first inhabitants of Jerusalem to observe the Franks who came as conquerors, and filled their gardens with such foreign plants as those pale warriors who had taken possession of their dwelling... But after all, the French soldiers who were emissaries of God’s will needed something familiar to stabilize them as they fought to reclaim the Promised Land, ut Deus voluit.

But all his brooding over these matters of conquest and submission ended up in the background in his mind, when a colorful scarlet sphere caught his attention. An exquisitely red apple seemed to tempt him from a branch just above his head, beckoning him to be picked and savored by the king, that he might lose himself in the juicy sweetness of that fruit with origins so far removed from the Holy Land. But the king's modesty prevented him from yielding to that temptation, wanting to avoid exposing the advanced state of deterioration in which his mouth was.

And in fact if that temptation had been alive it would have pale in front of something much more captivating, a sound that echoed in the most melodious distance of the song of any nightingale. Baldwin was surprised to think that he had not realized before the melody that inibriated the atmosphere around him, so taken by the tribulations of his mind that he almost missed such an intoxicating song. He did not know what he felt once he arrived in Heaven, if he had ever arrived in spite of the unjust fate in Hell that the evil Saracens wished him. He didn’t know it, but if one ever had to imagine what Heaven sounded like, that song would come to mind.

When I see the lark beating

Its wings in joy against the rays of the sun

That it forgets itself and lets itself fall

Because of the sweetness that comes to its heart

She sang in Occitan, the beautiful one in the distance. The voice of his people, of his lineage, that few in the palace can pronounce after so many years of distance from their homeland in Provence. Paying more attention to the echoing song, he would not even have had to approach it to give a face to that melodic voice: he knew how to recognize his wife’s voice.

Yet it was a new context in which he saw you, new facets of you that he had not yet had a chance to observe. Your voice, sweet as honey, venerable like all your other traits, he had never heard it except in speech, when you were proclaiming orders before your subjects with the authority fit for a queen, or when you laughed at the poems and performances of the court singers, or when you whispered in Baldwin’s ears sweet words, while you lay with bodies merged between the soft silk sheets. Always spoken, but never sung.

Alas! Such great envy then overwhelms me

Of all those whom I see rejoicing,

But though he didn’t need to approach you to recognize you, the desire to see your face exceeded any of his other needs. As if mesmerized by the sound of a siren, Baldwin was advancing towards you, with steps so slow that it seemed a hunter about to catch a deer in the woods. He wanted nothing more than to hear you sing again, that you continue to bless him with that angelic melody. What worse sin would there be than to interrupt your song, more sacred than a prayer?

His stomach filled with butterflies and turned upside down like the beasts' jugglers, his breath seemed to stop in his throat, depriving him of the breath he no longer needed, as long as he could hear you sing a moment more. And her cheeks warmed, when finally she saw you among the white lilies, more beautiful than divine salvation.

I wonder that my heart, at that moment,

Does not melt from desire.

Baldwin wondered if you sang with him in mind, if those words of love reflected your own emotional turmoil.

Oh, if only it were so, and your singing equalled his own words inscribed in the sonnets and poems he composed in your honor, which he himself commissioned from your favorite singers to perform at banquets, only to steal an embarrassed smile and to see the blush of your cheeks, along with the glint in your eyes.

Whether it was or not, the outcome remained the same since he was at that moment in your proximity, in the same state mixed with adoration, love and wonder at the bold gesture. But if only he had confirmation from your words...

Alas! How much I thought I knew

About love, and how little I know,

Because I cannot keep myself from loving

The one from whom I will gain nothing.

"My angel, your voice sounds like heaven but your words are false." Baldwin practically saw you blow up from your session, completely taken aback by his sudden appearance, unaware that your husband has been acting as a secret public all this time. Your initial surprise quickly turns into a laugh to mask your embarrassment for being caught in a moment like this, when you thought you were alone to be able to run the streets of music with your voice.

"I beg your pardon, I thought I was alone in the gardens," your eyes met his own only for a moment, before you turned your face to try and hide the blush of your face, "it was just a silly song I heard singing to the Provençal knights. I hope I did not disrupt your walk, my love..”

He laughed softly, trying to hide his amusement from having caught you off guard. He approached you more quickly than when he did just a few moments before, but with the same phlegm that managed to inspire a feeling of safeness in you. Sitting by your side on the bare rock, he raised his bandaged hand to gently cup your face and make you turn your eyes towards him. It was only then, when you had no choice but to look at Baldwin in the face that you noticed how his eyes, the only part of his face exposed to the outside world, formed two half-moons, and you came to find that it was because of how widely he was smiling, as you lowered the veil from his face.

He was making fun of you, you realized. With that swagger in his manner, you understood that his amusement came from your embarrassment at that silly misunderstanding. Laughing softly, he gently shook his head before bringing both hands to your face, holding it as if it were the most sacred of relics. "As much as I would love to hear you sing of your affection for me, just to hear your voice echoing in the air is the sweetest of gifts. How could you deprive me of this blessing thus far, my dear?"

You could do nothing but giggle at his sweet words, bringing your hands to his wrists to feel him closer to you. "You flatter me, my king. My voice boasts nothing more than those sweet melodies that the singers in the palace sing. Mine is only a dabble."

His gaze softened, his playful spirit addicted to your presence. He took the floor again, in a tone as soft as cotton, "At least this once, my queen, allow me to disagree with your words. My life may be short and my reality small, but never have I heard such an angelic voice, singing such sweet melodies. And God may not yet have granted me the ability to predict the future, but in my heart I know well that never will any singer be able to hold a candle to your beautiful voice, never will any song be able to express the same feeling of ecstasy.

"You, my angel, have managed to make a simple ballad an absolute work of art through your voice. I think I should take you with me into battle next time, for with your mere voice you could addict Saladin and his entire army.

"And seeing you here, angelic and perfect like the lilies that surround you, singing so softly that it would make any bird jealous, that I realize that whatever toil, whatever challenges God has stored up for me, and all those that still await me in my life, are worth it, if at the end of each of them there is you, voice of an angel, to hold a place for me in your arms of heaven."

You were sure you were on the verge of crying a flood of tears, the result of pure emotion at his sweet words. It was not new to you that Baldwin worshipped you as much as the God to whom his kingdom was consecrated, from the first moment he got to hear your voice and admire your face, and you knew at once that he had become yours, body and soul. But it was new to you to see him like that, completely entranced by your simple being-it was something new. A wonderful newness that made you feel like the most desired of women on this earth.

Taken by a rush of boldness, you practically jumped into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck; you ended up on top of him, with his hands around your hips. You both laughed, like two little boys frolicking in the gardens. And you left a kiss on his left cheek, then on the bridge of his nose. A kiss again on his forehead, and then down on the side of his lips. When you were about to give him another kiss, just where he most yearned for your lips, against his, you stopped a few inches away, with a wide smile, before speaking again, "If so little is enough to make your happiness, then I will sing to you every day, whenever you ask. Let me be your nightingale, your morning song and your lullaby all at once!"

"I couldn't wish for anything else, my dear. Now, however, I beg you, sing one more melody for me, before my duties drag me back to the palace, and I shall consider myself a blessed man."

"With great pleasure, my love." Your voice was now little more than a whisper. With a languid movement, Baldwin moved his body to rest his head on your lap, and you eagerly greeted him. After slightly moving the hood that veiled his head, so that you could play with his golden locks, you began to sing a new melody, one that this time spoke of reciprocated love, of the joy of being able to hold your loved one in your arms. But the words you sang barely reached Baldwin before his sky-colored eyes closed softly, his mind giving him at least a moment's despite from his perilous life. You continued to sing, caressing his face, which from day to day appeared more and more mutilated by his disease, singing the sweetest of melodies so as to prolong this idyll in which you and your husband found yourselves in.

For with you Baldwin had a way of putting the crown aside, and being nothing more than a foolish young man in love, whose only duty was to love you, to love you with all the love that an angel like you deserved.

@sweetworkoffiction hope you like it <3

#fluff #writers on tumblr #f!reader #kingdom of heaven #king baldwin iv #king baldwin x reader #king baldwin x you #koh #medieval fiction #historical fiction #writing requests #requests open #anon ask #anon request

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alientee · 10 months

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This is rated 18+ just in case minors don’t interact Maugaxreader

🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋

I’ve had Mauga brain rot since he came out and there not enough fan fiction for me so I’m weighting this because it’s a funny thought I had in my mind I may even make it into a series. Reader is AFAB. Mauga x reader, some fluff, just a lil smut (barley) maybe more in the future enjoy!!!!!

You were relatively new to overwatch, but you were strong. The team knew you had their back, and that’s all that mattered; it also helped you have omnikinesis. But you couldn’t control it that well; you were unstable.

That’s why you reached out to overwatch, to control yourself before you hurt the others around you again. It’s a good thing they found out about you before talon or who knows what could have happened?

Speaking of Talon, you are having a team fight against them now. They tried to destroy another omnic and human peace event. Some of the richest humans and omnics were attending.

So you, Ana, Mei, Winston, and Lifeweaver were on guard duty. And lo and behold, here comes Sigma, Sombra, Reaper, Moria and some other big guy you didn’t know to ruin the party. Everyone began to run around in the grand dining room.

Sombra was hacking communications, so you couldn’t check on your backup. Mei and Ana were dealing with Reaper, and Moria, Winston, and Lifeweaver were dealing with Sombra and Sigma. That left you with the hulking, raging giant with tribal tattoos.

You quickly dodge his machine guns, using everything around you in the room as a shield. You quickly hide, trying to regain yourself; if you lose focus, you lose control.

“HEY HEY HEY WHERE DID YOU GO?!”

You hear smashing and bullets flying, trying to think of a plan in your head.

“EITHER YA COME OUT OR I START SETTING SHIT ON FIRE YOUR CHOICE HAHAHA!”

“Ok your completely insane” You whispered

You snuck around the hulking hot head. You hype yourself up to do a sneak attack that hopefully won’t take down the whole building. You focus on all the skylights and chandlers, bringing them down on top of the hulking man before jumping on his back, ready to detain him.

Until you were encased in darkness.

You find yourself squished by the man who was trying to kill you just moments ago. You were lying on his chest and straddling his waist while he was scrunched up and bent forward. You look up at him, seeing the snarl on his face.

“Ummmmmm hi there” , his eyes narrowed at you.

“What the fuck did you do!”.

You look at him startled and confused. “What do you mean I thought this was you?”

He looks like he’s about to yell at you again untill you both hear somthing.

“(Y/N)! Can you hear me!” It was Ana “YES!”

“Sigma got you two stuck in there!”

The large man shouted right in my ear while his chest rumbled underneath me. “HE DID WHAT!”

“Ah Mauga my friend would you like to hear about my new project. I was trying to trap the other one but you’ll make a great tester as well!” you could hear the collective sighs outside.

“It’s a black cube! One could say it’s a miniature black hole, but not a black hole at all, just a void in cuboid shape. It’s supposed to hold matter and keep it stabilized in place. It’s purpose is to hold things until it fully disappears on its own. Can you hear the melody within the universe? ”

You could feel the man named Mauga stiffen beneath you, you stiffen as well.

“Does that mean we dissapear to!” You scream

“Hmm possibly or maybe it will disappear without you in it the possibilities are endless.”

Your about to speak again when you hear Mauga grunt, you look up seeing him move his head down, that’s when you realize it’s shrinking now.

“It’s shrinking now!”

“Don’t worry (Y/N) given the circumstances we will work together until your both out”

“Don’t die in there Mauga I still have use for you” You shiver hearing Moria speak in such a way it’s gross.

You look up and see Mauga looking annoyed and uncomfortable “I’m sorry”

“Why you didn’t do nothing”

“It’s just that, if it shrinks without disappearing you’ll die. I could probably protect myself if I think of a way but I don’t know how it would affect you I can’t fully control my powers.” All he does is hum in response.

“(Y/N)! Can you use your powers to force the cube open!” Now that’s and idea but before you could even think about it Sigma speaks again.

“If you try to force a black hole to seperate it may disrupt everything around it destroying us all”

but sigma speaks again “But if she uses her powers and makes a black whole within a black hole?”

“Then Mauga dies, it would be such a waist but it may be an easier option” Moria spoke again, you could see Mauga rolling his eyes “Fuck you”

You look back up at Mauga you can still see the cube slightly shrinking again. “Mauga who are you?” He looks at me confused not saying a word. You sigh and speak again.

“If I’m going watch someone die in a cube I at least want to know them.”

You can’t help but stare into his eyes; he looks very handsome. Just something about him being a giant hunk of muscle with a sharp tooth smirk had you enticed.

He looks at you and puts a smirk on telling you the basics: he fought a war, he got two hearts, he lives his life as he pleases, and the rest is history.

You learned he liked video games, he takes pride in being strong and actually works out, letting you know he’s not an experiment with Moria, he’s a hot head but he’s passionate, and you even learned you both own a pair of shark slides.

The cube really did seem to be some type of black hole because you lost track of time and talked for what seemed like hours.

“Since you wanna know me so bad you mind doing me a favor” you nod looking at him

“If I die in here do something for me” You stiffen and look away sadly; you didn’t want to think about him dying in here, especially being responsible for someone’s last wishes.

You may be able to save yourself with your powers, but not at the expense of Mauga's life. You could only hope you would get out before then.

“I need you to tell Bap that I was mad at him for trying to blow me up and for leaving me behind. I was willing to drag his ass back; I missed him. Tell him the next time he grows a conscience, don’t skip out on your friends.” You looked at him confused, but nonetheless agreed.

“Ummm ok I’m not even going to get into that, is that all” He looks away and ponders “Make sure my turtle plush and guns are buried with me to and make my funeral a celebration of me not some sad ass drag of a day”

“Considering we’re technically supposed to be enemy’s I don’t think I’ll be able to plan that who knows what they’d do to your body, but I’ll try my best”

“That’s all I ask”

We stare into each others eyes what seems like forever. Until he leans down more moving his forhead to mine “One more thing?”

You look into his eyes shyly looking away when his gaze got to intense. He looks at me giving me a wink and that damned smirk of his. “What is it?”

“I always said if I died, I’d be on my terms. I wanted go out happy with a gun in each hand and a smile on my face. But right now I think the only thing that could make me happy is if I was taken care of by a beautiful lady?”

You blush looking at him with wide eyes “Are you asking me to have sex with you!?”

“Can’t really do that in this position doll” He’s laughing his ass off, you want to wipe that smirk off his face.

“Then what do you mean?”

He looks down your breast and you blush getting and idea of what he wanted. “If you could let me lay my face in those big tits of yours that’s a way to go” he smirks.

You feel your blush go from your face to your neck. “We don’t even know if your going to die Mauga, they could be done getting us out any minute.”

You listen outside to see if I can hear anything.

“We are not destroying the cube Moria!”

“Why not Mauga can be replaced and that girl can cause the destruction of our universe she’s a liability and a threat”

You could only mumble under your breath. “Your ugly face is a liability and a threat to everyone’s day and stomach”

You hear Mauga chuckle. “Don’t worry I’ll make sure to fuck up all her lab shit if I get out of this”.

You noticed his words if. And you couldn’t deal with that. If he died you’d have been to useless to stop it and in that moment you didn’t want to think about him dying.

You can see the cube shrinking more but Mauga doesn’t make a sound of discomfort, it’s like he doesn’t want to bother you every time the cube gets smaller.

“Hey Mauga”

“What’s up?”

You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and push his face down into your breast. You don’t know what possessed you, but the thought of giving him his last wishes made you confident in your decision.

Mauga snuggles his head in your chest. You hold him there pushing his head down , not wanting him to see your blushing face making this even more awkward.

As if he can sense your distress Mauga motor boats your chest making you laugh. “Hahaha what the heck Mauga!”

“Just enjoying my new home. I love it here.”

He pushes his face deeper in your breast, inhaling your sent. “Hmmmm I really love it here” You feel him lick your chest.

“Mauga! W-what are you doing”

You pull back to find him looking at you with lust in his eyes and a shit eating smirk.

“You looked nervous I wanted to break the ice. I want you to enjoy this too. Can I?”

You don’t know if it was the way he looked at you, or because this was the first time you’ve felt a man’s touch like this, or maybe it was the fact that you wanted to help him; either way you nodded your head giving him the green light.

He puts his forehead against yours once more. “I need words sweetie, tell me what you want”

You look down refusing to make eye contact “I want you to touch me Mauga”

He slowly moves in and kisses your lips, his lips are surprisingly soft he pulls back biting your bottom lip. He moves his face down back to your breast, kissing and biting them slightly, leaving read marks on your skin. You use the front of your hands to pull down the top of your dress, thanking yourself the dress you had on didn’t require you to wear a bra.

He looks up at you as he slowly licks around your breast, taking a nipple in his mouth. His hands cant reach your chest so he settles on placing them on your ass.

Your eyes roll back in pleasure as he suckles on your nipple, his tongue flicking against it softly. He gropes your ass, squeezing your cheeks roughly. You can’t help but moan softly in his ear.

He releases your nipple with a loud pop giving the same attention to the other while nibbling it.

You can feel something slightly poke at you. You realized Mauga got hard. He felt so big even behind his pants. You slightly raised yourself to sit on top of his dick and begin to grind on his erection.

Hoping to give him and yourself some relief, your panties were soaking wet from the attention. You didn’t want to think about the wet spot you were about to leave on his pants.

“Fuck~, you feel so good sweetheart.”

You were about to respond but the cube starts to shake rapidly. You quickly pull your dress up and hold on to Mauga. All you can think about is his safety wanting to put both of you in a shield that could protect you no matter what.

And it seemed like your powers agreed. Because the next thing you know, you and Mauga are in a giant bubble floating above everyone.

He’s looking at you with wide eyes his frown turning into a giant smirk. “I made you feel so good you broke the cube huh”

Your embarrassment must have faulted your concentration, because you two instantly fell from the sky. You land on top of him in front of everyone making it even more awkward.

Everyone looked down at you two before you quickly got up and walked towards your team while covering yourself, just incase you didn’t put your dress on quite right. Reaper spoke up

“Next time you all die”

Ana spoke before anyone else “Oh shut up Gabriel I’m sick of the death jokes”

As they begin to leave Mauga turns towards you giving you a wink.

“It was fun sweetheart”. And he walks away with the rest of talons members.

Mei spoke up while everyone else looked at me “Did he hurt you (y/n)?”

“No he didn’t, he’s just messing with me”

They all nodded and we all begin to retreat back to headquarters. You could only guess sombra hacked everything before you even tried to get back up because no one showed. You started to wonder if you’d ever see Mauga again.

That thought alone made you blush. Lifeweaver tapped your shoulder. He gave you a smirk showing you he was laughing at you. You look at him confused wondering what was so funny.

“What is it?”

He leaned down and whispered in your ear.

“I hope he wasn’t to rough with you”

You looked at him in horror and confusion how could he even know! You looked down to your chest seeing dark red marks all over your breast.

Dammit Mauga!

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #overwatch mauga #mauga #mauga x reader #mauga overwatch #overwatch x reader #overwatch x you #overwatch smut #maugaloa malosi

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dee-writes-smut · 5 months

Text

WINTER (Chapter Two)

FEATURING Azriel x Illyrian!reader

SUMMARY in the aftermath of your kidnapping, you find it harder than normal to cope and continue on with life, causing you to push the people closest to you away. (THIS IS A PART TWO)

CONTENT WARNINGS descriptions of injuries, pain, torture, severe depression, and PTSD. If you thought the last one was dark, buckle up.

AUTHORS NOTE wow, three fics in two days?! What happened to me? I have just been super motivated to write creatively recently, which is exciting! So here, enjoy the second part of the Season's series, Winter.

Winter's embrace was a bleak grip, the world laying shrouded in a suffocating blanket of ice and snow, each flake a cruel reminder of nature's indifference. The landscape stretched out before you like a desolate wasteland, barren trees reaching up like skeletal fingers towards a sky heavy with the promise of more bitter cold to come. There was no warmth to be found here, only the biting chill that gnawed at your bones and numbed your very soul.

Gone were the vibrant colors and lively sounds of spring, replaced instead by a deafening silence broken only by the hollow howl of the wind as it whipped through the skeletal remains of once-thriving forests. The air was thick with a palpable sense of despair, each breath a struggle against the icy grip of despair that threatened to crush you under its weight.

As you trudged through the snow, each step felt like a punishment, a relentless march towards an uncertain fate. The landscape seemed to taunt you with its emptiness, a cruel reminder of the futility of your existence in a world so devoid of life and hope. Shadows danced across the frozen ground, twisting and contorting into grotesque shapes that seemed to mock your very presence.

And yet, amidst the desolation, there was a perverse beauty to be found – in the stark contrast of black against white, in the delicate lacework of frost that adorned the barren branches, in the eerie stillness that hung heavy in the air like a shroud. It was a beauty born of darkness, a twisted reflection of the cruel whims of fate that had brought you to this forsaken place.

In the heart of winter's icy grip, you found yourself consumed by a sense of isolation and despair, a prisoner in a world that had long since abandoned any pretense of kindness or compassion. It was a season of suffering, of unrelenting cruelty, of darkness so deep that even the faintest glimmer of hope seemed but a distant memory. And as the cold crept ever closer, you couldn't help but wonder if there would ever be an end to the endless winter that had consumed your very soul.

(Wintertime, Velaris)

As the first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, I sat alone on the edge of my bed, my gaze fixed on the empty space where my wings used to be. The pain, both physical and emotional, gnawed at me like a relentless predator, sinking its claws deep into my chest, a constant reminder of everything I had lost. My once majestic wings, the very essence of my being, were gone, severed from my body by those who sought to break my spirit.

With trembling hands, I traced the scars where my wings had been, feeling the phantom sensation of membrane-like skin against my fingertips. The memory of their hard, bone-like ridges, their graceful span; it lingered like a bittersweet melody, haunting yet achingly beautiful. Tears welled in my eyes, blurring the world around me with their shimmering veil, but I refused to let them fall. Crying felt like admitting defeat, acknowledging just how shattered I truly was. So instead, I pushed the pain down, burying it deep within me, where no one could see.

But the emptiness inside me was a vast abyss, yawning wide and hungry, impossible to ignore. I had always prided myself on my resilience, my strength, but now I felt like a mere husk of my former self. The trauma of my kidnapping weighed upon my mind like a heavy shroud, casting shadows that danced and twisted in the corners of my consciousness.

As the days stretched into weeks, and weeks into months, I withdrew further into myself, cocooning my heart in layers of solitude and silence. The world outside seemed distant and hazy, a blurred landscape of faces and voices that I could no longer connect with. I couldn't bear the pity in their eyes, the whispered words of sympathy that fell like stones upon my wounded soul. So, I built walls around my heart, brick by brick, until I was encased in a fortress of my own making, impervious to the outside world.

Even Azriel, my steadfast companion, my unwavering ally, found himself barred from the inner sanctum of my heart. He tried to reach me, to break through the barriers I had erected, but I turned away, unable to bear the thought of exposing my vulnerability to anyone, even him. I didn't want their pity or their well-meaning words. All I wanted was to be left alone with my pain, to drown in it until it consumed me completely.

But even in my darkest moments, a flicker of hope danced on the periphery of my consciousness, a tiny flame that refused to be extinguished. It whispered of resilience and redemption, of healing and renewal, but I pushed it away, hiding from its warmth like a frightened child. For now, I would remain adrift in a sea of darkness, lost and alone, clinging to the fragile thread of hope that promised a way out of the abyss.

The memories played out in my mind with vivid intensity, each scene etched into my consciousness like a brand of torment.

I remembered the moment I was jolted from unconsciousness, the harsh voice of my captor slicing through the haze like a blade. "Wake up, whore," he hissed, sending a shiver down my spine and igniting a primal fear within me. Blinking against the darkness that enveloped me, I felt the oppressive weight of a bag over my head, suffocating and disorienting. Panic surged through me as I realized my bound state, my struggles against the restraints futile in the face of impending doom.

The voice, dripping with malice, mocked my defiance. "No need to struggle, sweetheart," he sneered, his words a cruel reminder of my helplessness. As I strained to make sense of my surroundings, fear clawed its way through my throat, leaving behind deep grooves of despair. The familiar scent of damp earth and mildew filled my senses, a chilling reminder of the unknown horrors that awaited me.

A flicker of hope emerged in the form of Azriel, my steadfast protector, but it was quickly extinguished by the looming presence of Lyris, a childhood friend turned tormentor. His eyes gleamed with sadistic delight as he brandished a dagger, the cold metal glinting ominously in the dim light.

With a cruel smirk, Lyris descended upon me, his voice filled with twisted pleasure. "Time to finally take what's mine," he taunted, the blade poised to inflict unimaginable pain.

The first cut tore through me like a bolt of lightning, a searing agony that ripped through flesh and soul alike. My cries echoed off the walls of the chamber, lost in the darkness that enveloped me.

But the torment did not end there. With each merciless stroke of the blade, Lyris carved away my very essence, leaving behind a shattered shell of my former self. I watched helplessly as my wings, once symbols of freedom and strength, were mutilated and discarded like worthless scraps of flesh.

And as the last remnants of my identity fell away, a hollow emptiness consumed me, leaving behind only the cruel scars of my torment. I was no longer whole, no longer the person I once was. I had been robbed of everything that defined me, my essence stolen by the darkness that lurked within the depths of my captor's soul.

As the soft rap echoed through the hollow corridors, it felt like a distant echo of a life I once knew, one filled with warmth and camaraderie. Reluctantly, I approached the door, each step heavy with the weight of my turmoil, the heavy thud of my heart matching the rhythm of my footfalls.

Feyre stood there, framed by the soft glow of the hallway lanterns, her presence both a comfort and a reminder of the bonds I had once cherished. In her hands, she cradled a delicate tray, a small offering of sustenance amidst the darkness that engulfed me.

"I brought you some food," she offered, her voice a soothing melody in the stillness of the room, a fragile thread of connection in the vast expanse of my solitude. "I thought you might be hungry."

My response was curt, a reflexive defense against the vulnerability her kindness exposed. "I don't need your pity, Feyre," I retorted, the bitterness in my voice a stark contrast to the warmth of her offering. "I can take care of myself."

For a fleeting moment, hurt flickered in her eyes, a silent plea for understanding that cut through the barriers I had erected around my wounded heart. But she quickly masked it with a forced smile, her resilience a testament to the depth of her compassion.

Without another word, she set the tray down on the table beside me, the scent of warm food mingling with the heavy silence that enveloped us. It was a gesture of kindness in a world that had grown cold and indifferent, a fleeting glimpse of the friendship I had once treasured.

As Feyre lingered in the doorway, her gaze lingered on mine with a quiet intensity, a silent invitation to let her in, to share the burden of my pain. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked, her voice a gentle reminder that I was not alone, that there were still those who cared enough to reach out a helping hand.

But I shook my head, my walls still firmly in place, my pride a shield against the vulnerability her presence exposed. "No," I replied curtly, my voice a harsh echo of the emptiness that echoed within me.

With a nod of understanding, Feyre turned to leave, the weight of her disappointment a heavy burden on my already burdened soul. And as the door closed behind her, I was left alone once more, the silence of the empty room a stark reminder of the walls I had built to keep the world at bay.

The evening air was thick with the scent of spices and laughter as I made my way through the bustling streets of Velaris, the soft glow of lanterns casting a warm hue over the cobblestone pathways. Each step felt heavy, burdened by the weight of my own thoughts, as I navigated the vibrant tapestry of the Night Court.

Amidst the lively chatter and cheerful bustle of the city, familiar voices pierced through the haze of my melancholy. Mor's vibrant laughter echoed through the air, drawing my gaze towards her radiant figure standing across the street. Beside her, Cassian, his presence as imposing as ever, offered a welcoming grin that tugged at the corners of my lips despite my inner turmoil.

"Hey, there she is!" Mor's voice carried on the breeze, her smile bright as she beckoned me over. "Come join us!"

Cassian's invitation followed, his boisterous enthusiasm contagious as he gestured towards the tavern. "We're heading for a drink. You should come with us."

My heart clenched at the genuine warmth in their gestures, a stark contrast to the icy grip of my own despair. The desire to lose myself in their company, if only for a fleeting moment, warred with the overwhelming sense of unworthiness that gnawed at my soul.

But as Mor reached out to take my hand, her touch a gentle reminder of the bond we shared, a surge of jealousy and resentment swept through me. My gaze flickered to Cassian, his powerful wings a constant reminder of everything I had lost. Anger boiled within me, bitter and consuming, as I struggled to suppress the envy that threatened to engulf me. "I appreciate the offer, but I think I'll pass," I managed to say, my voice betraying a hint of regret. "I'm not really in the mood for drinking tonight."

Mor's smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of concern crossing her features before she masked it with reassurance. "That's okay," she said softly, her words a soothing balm to the ache in my heart. "But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find us."

With a nod of understanding, I watched as they disappeared into the throng of revelers, their laughter fading into the night. Left alone on the deserted street, the weight of my solitude pressed heavily upon me, a reminder of the chasm that separated me from the warmth of their companionship. As the echoes of their laughter dissolved into the stillness of the night, I couldn't shake the pang of resentment that lingered in my chest. But even amidst the darkness of my despair, I knew that I couldn't risk dragging my friends down with me. So, with a heavy heart, I turned away, retreating into the shadows once more, the silence of the night swallowing me whole.

The faint glow of moonlight, a silver cascade, filtered through the windows, casting ethereal patterns across the dimly lit kitchen of the Night Court's sprawling estate. I stood amidst the chaos, surrounded by a haphazard array of pots, pans, and ingredients scattered across the countertops. My attempt at cooking had quickly spiraled into a messy disaster, each failed endeavor only serving to fuel my frustration further.

As I grappled with the stubborn lid of a jar, a voice sliced through the silence, its presence both unexpected and unwelcome.

"What in the world are you doing?"

Startled, I turned to find Rhysand standing in the doorway, his silhouette a stark contrast against the luminescent backdrop. His wings, a breathtaking display of power and grace, unfurled behind him like the majestic sails of a ship, the membrane-like skin gleaming in the moonlight. They seemed to pulsate with an otherworldly energy, each beat a testament to the freedom and strength they embodied. My heart clenched at the sight, a bitter pang of jealousy twisting in the depths of my soul. Once, I had known that same sense of freedom, had soared through the skies with effortless grace, my wings slicing through the air like a blade through silk. But now, they were gone, cruelly ripped from my back by those who sought to break me.

An ache, dull and persistent, throbbed in the space where my wings had once been, a constant reminder of everything I had lost. I longed to feel the wind beneath me, to taste the exhilarating rush of flight once more, but it was nothing more than a distant dream, forever out of reach.

"None of your business," I snapped, my voice a whipcrack of frustration, my fingers still wrestling with the stubborn jar lid. The last thing I needed was his pity, his condescending attempts to help when I clearly didn't want it.

Rhysand's gaze softened, a flicker of concern crossing his features as he approached with cautious steps, his movements a ballet of grace. "You're making quite a mess," he observed, his voice gentle but firm, like the soothing murmur of a distant stream. "Let me help you."

I recoiled from his touch, the anger bubbling to the surface like molten lava erupting from the depths of the earth. "I don't need your help," I spat, my voice tinged with venom, the bitterness like bile in my throat. "I don't need anyone."

There was a brief pause, a pregnant silence hanging heavy in the air as Rhysand regarded me with a mixture of sympathy and frustration. "You're clearly upset," he said softly, his words a gentle caress against the storm raging within me. "Let me help you. Let us help you."

But I refused to listen, the tempest of my emotions raging unabated, the walls around my heart fortified against any intrusion. With a strangled cry of frustration, I shoved past him and fled from the room, the echoes of his words following me like a haunting refrain, the cadence of his footsteps a melancholy echo in the corridors of my mind.

Alone in the sanctuary of my darkened chamber, I collapsed onto the bed, the weight of my own solitude pressing down upon me like a suffocating avalanche. Tears welled in my eyes, hot and stinging, as I buried my face in the pillows, the emptiness consuming me like a ravenous beast, its jaws gnashing at the frayed edges of my soul.

"Mind if I join you?"

Nesta's voice broke through the silence, her presence a welcome intrusion in the stillness of the night. I turned to face her, my expression guarded and wary, unsure of what to expect. She stepped onto the balcony, her graceful movements a stark contrast to the heaviness that weighed upon my own shoulders. There was a quiet understanding in her gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that lingered beneath the surface.

"I know what it's like," she said softly, her voice a gentle murmur in the quiet expanse of the night. "To push people away, to build walls around your heart so high that no one can reach you."

I bristled at her words, the anger and resentment bubbling to the surface like a dormant volcano awakening from its slumber. How dare she presume to understand the depths of my despair, the darkness that threatened to consume me from within?

"You have no idea what I'm going through," I snapped, my voice tinged with bitterness. "You have Cassian, you have someone who loves you unconditionally. I have no one."

Nesta's gaze softened, a flicker of sympathy in her eyes as she reached out to take my hand. "I may have Cassian, but that doesn't mean I haven't faced my own demons," she said gently. "I know what it's like to feel like you're drowning in darkness, to feel like there's no way out."

I recoiled from her touch, the walls around my heart growing ever taller with each passing moment. "I don't need your pity," I retorted, my voice laced with venom. "I don't need anyone."

Nesta's expression faltered for a moment, a fleeting glimpse of hurt crossing her features before she quickly masked it with a steely resolve. "Fine," she said, her voice tinged with resignation. "But just know that I'm here if you ever change your mind. No judgments, no expectations. Just someone who understands." And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving me alone once more with the weight of my own sorrow.

The library exuded an atmosphere of solemn tranquility, its shelves adorned with ancient tomes and illuminated by the soft glow of flickering candles. I sat ensconced amidst the towering pillars of knowledge, a solitary figure in the midst of a vast sea of wisdom, my thoughts tumultuous and unruly.

"I’m joining you.”

The voice, sharp and unwavering, pierced the silence like a dagger, its intrusion disrupting the fragile peace that had settled over the room. Startled, I glanced up to find Amren standing before me, her gaze penetrating and incisive, cutting through the veil of my solitude with unnerving precision.

"Fine," I sighed, my voice tinged with resignation as I gestured for her to take a seat. Amren wasted no time in settling herself across from me, her movements fluid and purposeful, her eyes fixed upon me with an intensity that made me squirm.

"You look like hell," she remarked bluntly, her words a harsh echo in the stillness of the library.

I bristled at her candor, the urge to lash out bubbling up from the depths of my despair like a tempest on the horizon. But there was something in Amren's gaze, a glimmer of genuine concern beneath the steely facade, that gave me pause. She wasn't asking out of idle curiosity; she genuinely wanted to understand the turmoil that churned within me.

"It's nothing," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper as I averted my gaze, unwilling to meet her probing stare.

Amren snorted in disbelief, her lips curling into a sardonic smile as she leaned forward, her eyes boring into mine with unrelenting intensity. "Don't give me that bullshit," she retorted, her tone sharp and unyielding. "I may not be the touchy-feely type, but even I can see that something's eating you alive."

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing with each passing moment as I struggled to find the words to express the depth of my despair. But before I could respond, Amren reached out and grasped my hand, her touch surprisingly gentle despite the steel in her eyes. "I'm not going to pretend to understand what you're going through," she said softly, her voice a quiet reassurance in the stillness of the library. "But I do know one thing: you don't have to face it alone. We're your friends, and we're here for you, no matter what."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, hot and stinging, as I looked into Amren's unwavering gaze. In that moment, I realized that she was right. I didn't have to carry the weight of my despair alone. I had friends who cared about me, who were willing to stand by my side through the darkest of times. But even as the realization washed over me like a tidal wave, a part of me rebelled against the idea of letting them in. The walls around my heart, built brick by brick in an attempt to shield myself from further pain, felt impenetrable, insurmountable.

With a trembling breath, I pulled my hand away from Amren's grasp, my movements abrupt and jerky. "I don't need your help," I said, my voice strained with emotion. "I don't need anyone."

Amren's expression hardened, her eyes flashing with barely concealed anger as she stared at me, incredulous. "You're a fool if you think you can face this alone," she spat, her voice cold and cutting. "But fine, if that's how you want it. Just know that when you finally come crawling back, don't expect us to welcome you with open arms."

And with that, she rose from her seat and stormed from the room, leaving me alone once more with the weight of my own despair. Even as the silence settled around me like a suffocating blanket, I couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at my soul.

As the twilight descended, casting its ethereal veil over the Night Court's training grounds, I found myself standing alone at the edge of the courtyard, my heart heavy with the burden of my own anguish. The fading light painted the world in hues of amber and indigo, a melancholy backdrop to the tempest raging within.

With measured steps, Azriel approached, his presence a soothing balm amidst the chaos of my emotions. His silhouette merged with the shadows, his eyes alight with concern as he drew near. "Are you alright?" His voice, a tender caress against the backdrop of the evening's symphony, reached out to me, offering solace in the darkness.

I turned to face him, my heart aching with the weight of unspoken words, the tumult of my soul laid bare in the vulnerability of my gaze. "Do I look alright?" I whispered, the bitterness of my sorrow echoing in the stillness of the night. "Do I seem like someone who has it all together?"

Azriel's expression softened, his gaze a mirror to the storm brewing within me. "I'm just trying to help," he murmured, his voice a gentle melody that stirred the depths of my wounded spirit.

Tears welled in my eyes, the ache in my chest threatening to consume me whole. "Maybe I don't want your help," I confessed, the admission a fragile confession of my deepest fears. "Maybe I'm tired of everyone trying to fix me, like I'm some broken thing in need of repair."

The hurt that flickered in Azriel's eyes pierced through me, his anguish a reflection of my own. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice laden with remorse, a silent plea for understanding.

My resolve wavered, the walls around my heart crumbling in the face of his compassion. "I don't need your apologies," I confessed, the weight of my pain heavy upon my shoulders. "I just need… I don't know what I need."

With that, I turned away, the vulnerability of my confession hanging heavy in the air between us. As I retreated into the enveloping darkness, I felt the warmth of Azriel's presence recede, leaving me alone with the ache of my own brokenness. And in the stillness of the night, I grappled with the realization that perhaps, amidst the chaos of my despair, what I truly longed for was the one thing I had pushed away—the comforting embrace of someone who cared.

But even as I yearned for solace, the sight of Azriel, the one who had rescued me from the clutches of darkness, stirred within me a tumult of conflicting emotions. His Illyrian heritage, his wings—symbols of strength and freedom—served as painful reminders of the horrors I had endured. And in his compassionate gaze, I saw reflected the shadows of my past, haunting me with memories I longed to forget. It was hard to see him, to confront the echoes of my trauma that lingered in his presence, yet even amidst the pain, there remained a flicker of hope—something that clung so tight, that wouldn’t let go, and that throbbed in the presence of him.

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elusivecagedmockingbird · 7 months

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Play It As It Lays

[taehyung x reader] [1.5k smut: mirror sex, creampie, unprotected sex, virgin kink??, really just porn with a lil bit of plot; Taehyung is a famous Cellist who was hired to tutor OC.

Just a self-indulgent fic.

People said to never meet your heroes.

You'll be let down, they say.

But you would beg to differ.

And beg, you do.

With your bodies sitting naked on the couch, Taehyung has you facing the mirror and the sight of your petite frame slotted between his bulging naked thighs shoots up your arousal. Your perfectly intertwined limbs could inspire a whole series of shunga artwork.

Calloused hands grip each of your knees and push them wider apart before a hand returns to cup your dripping sex.

"Please," you whine. The words that fell from your swollen lips were almost incomprehensible because of how breathy and timid it sounded.

But that was just one of Kim Taehyung's effect.

The man lives up to his reputation in the Classical music industry—charisma just as alluring as people described and his presence calls for attention, not because he, himself, demands it, rather there is something lingering in his aura that just lures and pulls you into him. And when he looks at you, it's a mixed feeling of intimidation and desire to keep his eyes on you.

And to you, it makes you want to defy him. You itch to see if you can crack that calm and stoic demeanor of his.

Taehyung only hums in response to your plea and you feel his chest rumble on your back. It's close to an hour and yet all he did with his finger was tease you. Everything he has done was all build-up, never the climax.

"You're so delicate." His lips graze your ear as he whispers to you. His body is so close, you hear the wet smacking of his tongue inside his mouth as he speaks. He dips his fingers inside your pussy as he presses his thumb on your nub, leaving you shuddering in pleasure. "And so sensitive. My pretty virgin," he tsks. "You're making a mess, darling."

You mumble out a half-hearted apology to which he snorts at. You struggle to keep your tears at bay. Frustration and defeat are obviously written on your face. If only you knew how to touch yourself, you would've done the job yourself. But no. You can play with yourself all you want, but you've never experienced an orgasm. And none of what Taehyung does to your body now matches the pleasure when you touch yourself.

And so, you remain at his mercy.

It was torture to be teased, but the way Taehyung's arm muscle clenches and your body twitches has your attention stuck to the mirror. It was as if his hand was a bow and your body held the strings that create the most beautiful melodies.

His right hand pushes in and out of you in timed intervals and his left hand grips your neck, arms across your body to hold you close to his. It was oh-so-intimate.

But of course, this was also a way for Taehyung to restrain you.

"Take it," he lectured when your body thrashed around from sensitivity. "The pleasure is tenfold if you endure it. Just like playing the cello—a sublime piece is achieved from laborious and seemingly endless revisions. So, take it."

The growing warmth between you has you both sweating—the smell of sex in the air grows potent by the minute, pushing you further into your shared haze.

You don't mind that all Taehyung does is play with your body. He can do whatever he wants to you for all you care. But you also have this feral need to learn about his body—play with his cock and grip it as tight as you hold your instrument in place between your thighs. You want to hear the sounds he makes as you play with his body. He has been hearing you chant his name with moans and sighs in different pitches; it's his turn to sing.

You focus on Taehyung's hand disappearing and reappearing from your cunt. The velvet couch that carries your bodies is vandalized with your slick and his precum. His hands are truly just as skilled in playing the cello as it is in flitting around your body. You can almost taste it again—your sweet peak.

But you can't come like this. Not yet.

Your hand halts Taehyung's movement, tongue darting to wet your lips, "S-stop," you stutter. His eyes meet yours in the mirror, one eyebrow raising in question. And so, with your senses still muffled with lust, you try your best to answer clearly, "Wanna cum on your cock, sir.”

Your legs wobbled as you changed positions—you're now kneeling on the floor with his thick dick right on your face. You gulp at Taehyung's size but also swallow the pooling drool in your mouth.

You ought to thank your parents for hiring Taehyung to give you private lessons. Albeit this isn't the lesson they had in mind, you personally think this is more… beneficial for you.

Without wasting another second, your hand grips his base to erect his cock and you run your warm tongue from his balls to his slit. The man above you throws his head back as air is expelled from his pretty lips. He leans his body backward, arms propping him up and he sets his eyes on you. "You're a feisty little thing, aren't you?"

You only respond with a smirk; smug eyes refusing to look away as you make a big show of sucking his tip like it’s the sweetest lollipop.

You're halfway there, you encourage yourself. You want to see the moment you break him.

Mimicking a move you watched on porn, you wet your hands with your slick before returning your hold on Taehyung's dick. With one hand stroking him up and down, your other hand caresses his balls within your palms like two delicate marbles.

Taehyung curses. You were sin incarnated.

Determined to get more from him, you push your head closer to his crotch, deep-throating his cock.

Unexpected and unprepared, Taehyung makes a guttural wail; his arm shoots up to hold you by your hair and his body reflexively sits up and pushes his cock at another deep angle inside your mouth which pulls another moan from the man.

You fight the urge to gag, and your eyes start to flood with tears. You could only claw at Taehyung's thighs.

Taehyung was quick to gather his wits and then chuckled at your state. His hand on your hair moves to cup your face before smudging your mascara as he wipes your tears before they fall.

"Come up," he instructs as he pulls his cock from your mouth. A plop is heard, and a string of your saliva mixed with his precum lingers from your lips. Taehyung's hands take control of your hips—his bruising hold guides you to sink down to his cock until you take all of him, pulling a pained moan from you.

Taehyung is a tight fit, and you fight through the initial discomfort as you move your hips. You teeter between the stinging stretch and warm addicting pleasure.

With a satisfied groan, Taehyung gently guides your head to level your sight with the full-length mirror and holds you in place. "Take a look at yourself. You look as heavenly as you sound," his voice in your ear is so soft and saccharine, you believe him. "And see how well you take me like a good girl," he praises, the tone switching to a little bit strained as your pussy clenches—the pain morphing to lust and desire. His hand goes back to your hips to help you ride his cock. The minimal movement gives you both pleasurable tugs, you can't help but moan.

With his thighs now caged between your own, you momentarily bend down to kiss his knees. Your action has him throwing his head back once again. But his eyes trail down to your curved spine all the way down to your ass perched on his hips.

Deciding that you've adjusted to his cock, Taehyung bounces your hips on his cock. The sight of your arousal creaming around his crotch has him salivating. As much as he wants to lick you clean, he badly needs a release. It's a miracle he lasted almost more than an hour.

You plant your feet on the ground and start moving at your own pace. Each slam of your ass on his thighs reverberated in the room as if cheering you on as you bounced faster and harder on his cock.

A contrast of warmth and shivers washed over your body as Taehyung laid open-mouth kisses on your back. As he reaches your neck, he sucks on the soft flesh to claim you, mark you—so you remember this night which will be the first of many. He promises.

You grab and tug at his hair to pull him toward your puckered lips and he obliges. The echoing sound in the room is no longer just your skin slapping but the smacking sound of your lips as you breathe each other in.

"Sir-r, I-I’m close," you stutter out between kisses amidst overwhelming pleasure. Taehyung meets your thrusts halfway. And as your pace increases, so does the frequency of the moans of the man behind you.

With a powered thrust, your body trembles as you climax. Taehyung follows not long after—your pussy spasming around his dick has him shooting up his cum inside you as he wraps you in his arms.

People who warned you to never meet your heroes, clearly never had the privilege of meeting Kim Taehyung.

#taehyung fic #bts x reader #taehyung x reader #bts smut #bangtanwritershq #bts fic #kim taehyung #bts v #taehyung x y/n #bts v x reader #taehyung smut #bts taehyung #smut fanfiction #bts fanfic

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unformula1 · 2 months

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it’s going to be okay (LS2 x OP81)

oscar gets the message that logan isn’t going to be with williams next year and oscar comforts logan w/c: 1734 loscar post until we get a loscar podium!! (part 48) <3 (series masterlist) a/n: i don’t know how this will continue if logan doesn’t stay in f1 also I MUST continue this one. || masterlist

Carlos is signing with Williams for 2025, 2026… and beyond.

Williams’ post first pops up after Oscar reloads Instagram. He feels his entire body jerk upward as he does a double take, he quickly cross checks with the official F1 instagram.

It’s true.

Holy shit.

Oscar stares at the phone as his mind races through all his stray thoughts. His first instinct is to open Logan’s chat, but he freezes.

He doesn’t really talk with Logan anymore.

What is he even going to say?

His fingers hover over the keyboard. All the former thoughts disappeared in a second. Oscar turns off his phone and places it on his bed.

He takes a deep breath, trying to connect all his thoughts instead of them being a messy jumble of nonsense. Somewhere in his endless web of thoughts has to be something genius he’s going to tell Logan.

He opens the chat again and doesn’t take a second thought before sending the message. His fingers glide over the keyboard, quickly typing out the sentence and sending it.

Oscar shuts off his phone right after, hoping there won’t be a sinking feeling of regret.

—

Logan lies flat on his bed, his breathing steady as his chest rises and falls. He counts slowly in his head, which is the only thing keeping him from spiralling out of control.

He places both hands on his chest, ensuring there is a constant rise and fall.

He can’t cry. Not yet. Not now.

The counting doesn’t seem to cover up the replaying scene in his head: James sits him down, the room is tense and solemn, James looks Logan dead in the eye and drops the news.

“Logan, we have decided we will not be signing you for next year.”

Logan freezes. He feels the blood in his body freeze into ice, his entire body tenses up. As much as everything prepared him for this moment, none of it really did. It’s a different feeling from just thinking about it.

Right now, he was sat in a tense, silent room, face to face with a man he once called his hero.

Logan forces out a smile and nods.

“Thank you for everything.”

Logan feels a sting in his eyes as tears start to well up. He swiftly wipes them off using his sleeve.

He’s been lying here for the past 10 minutes. He checks the clock, it’s been about 3 minutes since the world found out.

Logan didn’t know what to do anymore, the ceiling fan spun above him, slowly fading into one messy blur.

He taps his fingers on his chest and hums a generic melody. He shuts his eyes tightly, restraining himself from doing something rash.

Logan was at a loss. He didn’t like the feeling.

Last time he was at a loss, Williams was there to help him. This time, they were the reason he was at a loss.

It was like a harsh, cruel, merciless cycle.

A team which once helped him through the toughest times in his career, ended up creating some of his toughest moments. He once viewed them as his family, a team which could do him no wrongs.

Then everything came crashing down, some false and fake facade.

His phone dings and he sits up.

He checks it.

Oscar: This is so wrong. Oscar: Do you wanna talk about it?

Oscar? Oscar, of all people?

Logan takes a deep breath and opens the message. He contemplates for a while on what he should say in response.

Logan: I take it this is about the contract signing.

Oscar immediately comes online, which is pretty comforting this time around.

Oscar: Yes

Oscar: They are so wrong for that

Logan feels a warmth bubble in him. It’s from Oscar.

It’s from Oscar.

Oscar Piastri, race winner, McLaren F1 driver, prodigy, unimaginable rookie year, Lewis Hamilton reincarnate.

And what was Logan? What was Logan to Oscar now that his F1 seat wasn’t even in his own grasp?

Logan stares blankly at the screen.

Logan: I don’t know what to do

He remembered how he used to turn to Oscar for everything, now he didn’t even know if Oscar was going to be there for him.

He remembered how both of them made a promise to win a race in F1 together, to make it together in F1.

Before Oscar replies, Logan sends another message.

Logan: I’m so proud of you. Logan: You achieved our dream.

A teardrop stains Logan’s screen, he instantly swipes it off.

Oscar just hearts the messages.

It takes him another few seconds to reply.

Oscar: I hate how this turned out.

Logan chuckles as his eyes start to tear up, his vision growing blurry.

Everything he did to get into F1, all the hard work, sleepless nights, endless practice, just for this.

The friends he made along the way, the people he trusted, the places he called home. Everything came flooding back to him, all the flashbacks, just like a roll of film, all of them were replaying in his head.

This was his dream. F1 was his dream.

Oscar: You deserve better.

A soft sniffle and sob escapes Logan’s mouth. He wipes away the tears and texts Oscar back.

Logan: Did I ever do anything wrongly?

Logan feels a rising, burning sensation of guilt, regret and despair.

Oscar: Are you still in your room? Logan: yea Oscar: Stay there.

—

A few minutes pass before there’s a knock on the door. Logan lifts his head from between his knees and stands up, he wipes away his tears and takes a deep breath before going to the door.

He mentally prepares a strong front, just in case.

He opens the door and smiles.

“Logan.” Oscar’s voice is soft.

Logan’s smile cracks slightly as he lets Oscar in.

“Hi.” Logan manages.

Oscar doesn’t say anything and just as Logan closes the door, he hugs him.

His arms are wrapped around Logan, a warm embrace fuzzling between both of them.

Logan’s strong front immediately dissolves into nothing as he starts sobbing violently. He leans his head onto Oscar’s shoulding, wetting his shirt with tears.

Oscar continues holding onto Logan, his tight grip around Logan’s chest. He holds back his own tears.

He knows Logan deserved so much better.

“I should’ve checked in earlier.” Oscar admits, his voice cracking, “I should’ve asked how you were doing…”

Oscar feels his throat starting to sting.

Logan doesn’t respond instantly, but in between sobs he manages to get out a few words.

“You didn’t have to.”

A wave of guilt engulfs Oscar as he grips tighter.

“You have to fight Logan, please Logan, fight.”

“It’s over Oscar… It’s over.”

“We’re gonna figure this out Logan.” Oscar tears up, “Together, alright?”

“Give me another chance Logs.” Oscar looks at Logan in the eyes as they both take a step out of the hug.

Logan looks Oscar in the eyes and nods subtly.

“I don’t know what I did wrong.” Logan says.

“Nothing. You did nothing wrong.” Oscar insists, “Williams did everything wrong to you.”

Logan finds it hard to believe.

“Listen to me.” Oscar says before taking a deep breath, “You and me, we’re gonna figure this out.”

Logan can’t stop his tears anymore.

“Just like when we were kids, when we figured things out together, you know.” Oscar says.

“I messed up hard for the past year or so, but I promise that we’re going to make it through this together.”

Logan can feel despair and bitterness mixed together with warmth and happiness bubbling in his own heart.

“Please?” Oscar begs.

“Promise?”

“Promise. I promise with all my heart.”

Logan takes another deep breath and then cleans the dried tears scattered on his cheeks.

Oscar can’t help but feel the sting in his own heart. His best friend, things panned out differently for both of them, immensely different.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this…” Oscar steps closer to Logan and holds onto his hands.

Logan flinches, moving his hand back, but then holds Oscar’s hand after a second.

“I trusted Williams…” Logan says, “They didn’t even give me a proper farewell…”

Oscar knows.

“One post. One line.” Logan says, his fists clenching, “That’s all they could do.”

Oscar sighs, “They don’t deserve any part of you.”

“You’re an amazing, wonderful, and perfect person.” Oscar says as Logan continues to grip tighter onto his hands, “Williams just couldn’t see that.”

“What will I do now?” Logan says, his grip loosening slightly.

Oscar wasn’t going to lie, “I don’t know.”

Logan’s face falls.

“I’m sorry.” Oscar says, and repeats it a few times.

“You don’t have to be.”

“I’ll make it right.” Oscar says.

He was going to. There was no way he was letting Logan go through this alone, not now, not ever.

—

Both of them sat on Logan’s bed together. Logan’s head was resting on Oscar’s shoulder as they sat in silence.

It wasn’t tense silence.

It was a calm silence.

Oscar looks over at Logan and watches his breathing stabilise after that chaos of emotions talking about Logan’s own feelings.

He truly did not wish Logan had to go through this.

Oscar glides his fingers through Logan’s hair, the blonde streaks getting gently caressed by Oscar.

This is what Logan deserves.

This is what Logan needed.

Logan adjusts himself slightly and looks up at Oscar, who smiles gently.

“We’ll figure it out.” Oscar says.

And for some reason, Logan knows it’s true. He knows the warm embrace he feels next and he recognises the calm breathing on his neck.

Logan gave everything to Williams, for them to tear him apart.

“Do you think things could’ve turned out differently?” Logan asks, fiddling with his shirt.

“I would choose another version in a heartbeat, if it meant doing things with you.” Oscar replies, without hesitation.

A smile creeps up Logan’s face.

Right…

“I would too.” Logan says, a small chuckle escaping his lips.

Oscar smiles, he’s glad that his presence was something good for Logan.

It was. Oscar was comforting, everything Logan needed right now.

Logan shifts closer to Oscar, pressing himself right up against Oscar. Oscar smiles, pulling Logan in.

This is warm.

“It’s going to be okay.” Oscar says.

And Logan believes it.

Oscar’s going to fix every wound, every stab, every scar that life has inflicted on him.

Oscar’s here.

And it’s going to be okay.

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alexander-arcturus-black-lupin · 1 month

Text

Dew

It's been a while since I've written about my Morpheus.

______________________________________________________________

Morpheus appeared in your bedroom ready to meet your awake figure, he noticed your absence from the dreaming world and was concerned. You and him had just begun a romantic relationship and he was abysmally scared that he might ruin the little you both had built up. You had told him time and time again that he need not bother himself with your ‘courting’ rituals as he was a busy deity but then he’d appear with a bouquet of mixed flowers, each flower one that you liked. Or when he had watched a series with you through and through and was as much invested as you were. Or when he would walk you home every single day without fail even when it’s raining but then what could stop him?

Morpheus made his way to your backyard, he desperately wanted to hide you away in his realm far from all the bad and evil but you wouldn’t allow it. He knew you wouldn’t, you were a free bird and he’d be essentially cutting off your wings, your beautiful wings that he fell in love with. You were crouched down by the grass looking at something. He could feel no living creature in the surrounding flora, he found it slightly strange but came closer towards you.

“Darling?” his voice shook you to your very core causing you to stumble back into him. He caught you and raised you up onto your feet. You always seem to forget just how limitless an Endless could be. You turned and took in your lover in full, your eyes lit up at the man in front of you.

“Morpheus!” you jumped into his arms and he chuckled at your energised greeting. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too my darling.” You set you down and lowered his head, grinning, you messed up his hair. When he raised his head, his hair was sticking out all over the place but he did not care. You were enjoying yourself and so was he. “You were not dreaming so I assumed something was bothering you and you could not sleep.” He set you down and you pointed at the grass.

“Take a look.”

Morpheus crouched down with you to look at where you were pointing. The grass was covered in a light shower of dew, the dirt beneath was a nice shade between brown and black and the green of the leaves was bright in the darkness. ”It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Morpheus turned to look at you, you were smiling so brightly as your eyes danced with myrrh in all honesty you lit up the entire scene, you added to the beauty of the scene, he was certain you taught the stars your trade where else did they learn it other than from you.

“Beautiful indeed.”

You turned to him, your smile still wide and happy. A yawn made its way through glossing up your eyes. He smiled at you and stood tall, in one swift motion he lifted you off your feet.

“Morpheus!” you gasped, you should have been used to this. He almost always either insists on carrying you when you’re sick or sad. You try to pretend to be annoyed but Morpheus always knows and manages to get you giggling and grinning.

“It’s time for bed, my love.” Morpheus looked down at you in his arms, your arms which had grabbed onto him were now relaxed in your lap, your head was rested against his shoulder, your eyelids were drooping.

“Come now my dear, you cannot fool the god of sleep and yes drowsiness falls under my domain.” Morpheus placed you on your bed and drew up your blanket. You gripped his arm, a silent plea for him to stay. He chuckled, a melodious sound. “Sleep, my starlight, I shall be here when you wake.”

To prove his point, he slid onto the bed beside you holding you in his arms.

“Goodnight, Morpheus, i shall-” you yawned, eyes drooping even more. “See…you.”

“Goodnight, my lovely starlight. I’ll meet you there.”

#morpheus fanfic #morpheus x reader #lord morpheus #morpheus sandman #morpheus #morpheus x y/n #morpheus x you #morpheus imagine #the sandman #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless #the sandman netflix #sandman fanart #morpheus x female reader #morpheus x black reader #morpheus x fem!reader #morpheus x oc #dewy grass

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mauvecherie-writes · 4 months

Text

Endless Melodies part 6 - do you want it split like part 5 where the narrative and social media posts are separate or do you want them together?

#mauvecherie writes #endless melodies: series #lewis hamilton x black oc #lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton fic #sir lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lh

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joelsleftknee · 4 months

Text

the earth from a distance (see how it shines)

Part 1

Pairing: Joel Miller!Reader | Post-outbreak/Jackson Era

WC: 1.9k

Multiple part series: Series Masterlist

Content Warnings: Canon divergent obvi cause Joel doesn’t go golfing in this one, ANGST ANGST ANGST (literally wrote this cause there’s not enough agnst to read out there), age gap, reader has hair and is shorter than Joel but no physical descriptions other than that, cute winter romance, bookworm reader, eventual fluff, eventual hurt/comfort.

Joel turned over a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice in his hands before putting it back on the shelf. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, eyeing the cracked spines of the books flanking him, replaying Maria’s advice in his head telling him to go check out the new library and pick a good book to curl up with for the winter. Before the outbreak, he never was much of a reader, other than a few self-help books here and there—sort of second-nature for the entrepreneurial, single dad.

With the endless amounts of downtime and sudden luxury of boredom of small town life in Jackson, Maria chided him to find a new hobby. Granted, he was running out of ideas for figurines to carve and chord progressions to strum. But he knew that, more than anything, Maria felt bad for him. And if there was one thing his bruised heart could not handle was pity. So here he was, if only to convince his sister-in-law that he was perfectly capable of going out into town (read: the postal-shop-turned-library about, at most, 70 feet from his home).

“Hello! How can I help you?”

Joel turned on his heels, peering over the shelf that reached just past his chin.

You sat behind a small wooden desk—one he’d built a while back, he realized, and traded in exchange for a camera and a very much expired roll of film that he was yet to use, in fear that he would waste it. In Jackson’s bartering system, goods made their way around the small population fairly easy, so he was not surprised to see his desk had found a new home.

Joel blinked then, gaze catching on the bright smile stretched across your lips. You were leaning forward, forearms braced on the desk surface as though you were excited to see someone come in. Your face was not exactly familiar, so he wondered if you’d just moved into Jackson or if he had been as unsociable as Tommy argued he was. “Always holed up in your home, brother. Live a little,” the younger Miller would say every time Joel turned down an invitation to one of the many town events that the City Council—led by Maria—put on like, at this point, every single weekend.

“No,” he said finally, his pause so long and the sounds of his voice thick enough that he had to clear his throat in hopes to ease the awkwardness. “No, I’m all set, but thank you.” He gave you a nod, his eyes meeting your bright gaze before casting down to the floor

“All right, just let me know if anything comes up,” you said, your voice melodious in a way that reminded him of hot summers by the lake under the Texan sun. He glanced at you again, but your eyes were now trained on the book opened before you. So he took advantage of that moment to take you in.

You were young, he concluded at the sight of your vibrant skin and the faint seemingly evergreen smile that hadn’t been weathered off your face yet.

And—your lips. The shape of them was… enthralling. In the same way that a ripe fruit on the highest branch of a tree is. And these days, fruit was scarce. In the Apocalypse. And at the brink of winter.

“Actually,” Joel muttered before repeating the word again, slightly louder. “Yes.”

You looked up at him, unaware he had been eyeing you like a man stranded on a desert island coming across an oasis. Your head tilted to the side, as if in confusion.

“I do need help, I mean. With choosing a book,” he added quickly, realizing that perhaps he had been staring at you longer than he estimated. The thought didn’t sit well, embarrassment roiling in his stomach. He was acting like a lonely old man.

Which was accurate, he supposed. Though his pride refuses to admit it.

He resisted the urge to exit the room altogether in shame, only because you stood up with what had to be the loveliest smile he had seen in decades. Coming around the desk—his desk—you walked over to him.

Cradled between the two bookshelves flanking you, you stood before him, clad in a forest green cardigan that most definitely had been knitted from the wool of the sheep in Jackson.

“So,” you started, waving your hands to encompass the old tomes, “what kind of book are you looking for?” You looked up at him, and that was when he realized that you were short. Or at least shorter than him.

Joel shifted on his feet. “Well…” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’ll be honest with ya. I don’t know much ‘bout books.”

Goodness. Lame. He was embarrassing himself. He sounded like he learned how to speak yesterday. Like he learned what a book was today.

But you giggled, and the sound made something jump inside his chest. “No worries, I’ll be delighted to help you choose something good.” You turned to one of the shelves, adding, “As you can see, our collection is still rather small. It’s difficult to find books. Especially ones that haven’t been absolutely destroyed by the elements.”

He nodded, racking his brain for something to say but coming up blank.

Leave. He needed to leave. What was he doing?

He gulped, the words “Actually, I’m good—I’ll just head out” about to leave his lips when you said, “You’re Joel Miller.”

It wasn’t a question. In fact, it was a reminder. A reminder that though he did not know you, you knew him. And that meant you must know what type of person he was, too.

No one in Jackson dared crossed him, and no one actually expressed outright dislike for him. Instead, it was avoidance. People avoided him in the way one avoids the scary and cryptic next-door-neighbor who might or might not have spent the past twenty years in prison. Except he actually was the scary neighbor, he supposed. He carried the weight of the sins that had kept him alive for the past two decades like a stone around his neck.

He was sure you’d heard of those sins already.

“That I am,” he said, with a nod so solemn that it almost looked like he was confessing a crime.

Regardless, you still smiled. “It’s great to finally meet you.” Your index finger ran over the spines of the books as you scanned the titles, searching. “I’ve heard great things about you.”

Joel stiffened, jaw setting.

“I’m friends with Maria,” you continued. “She’s been so sweet, helping me set this place up. It’s like a dream.” Your eyes crinkled at the corners. “And she’s mentioned you a few times. She said you might stop by, looking for your next read. Something to curl up with when it’s cold outside, specifically.” Your eyebrows raised briefly, attention snagged by one of the titles, before resuming your search. “She also said you haven’t read much in a while. And that Ellie—your daughter. She’s been the only one to get you to read anything lately. And they’re, in Maria’s words, ““just silly books about space.””

He tilted his head. “Did she also tell you my blood type?”

He panicked for a second, thinking the joke might’ve come off the wrong way, but your shoulders shook in a delighted chuckle. He wasn’t able to stop the small smile that twitched the corner of his lips.

“She didn’t, but she did say you were an exceptionally skilled patrolman.” You peered at him from the corner of your eye. “And that perhaps we could strike a deal.”

You knelt down on the floor to search the lower levels of the shelf.

“A deal?” Joel’s gaze was transfixed on the top of your head, on the lovely color and texture of your hair.

“Yes,” you said, “you find books for me on patrol, and I help you repair some of your clothes.” Joel’s brow furrowed before you added, “Maria also mentioned you needed to sew some buttons back on some shirts, fix some rips, and do other modifications.” You chuckled nervously. “I promise I’m not a stalker. And neither is Maria. She’s just a great listener. And very fond of you.”

Joel found himself smiling at that. “Well, she ain’t wrong. I do need those things.” He watched your eyes and smile widen as your finger stopped on the spine of a book.

As you pulled it out of the shelf and rose on your feet, you extended him a hand. “Deal, then?”

He blinked.

You wanted to shake his hand. He couldn’t move for a second, but he managed to still his stupid nerves, wrapping his large, calloused fingers around your soft, delicate hand. His breath hitched in his throat at the brief soft touch, and he let go before making it worse.

“Deal,” he breathed.

You handed him the book, the dust jacket somehow decently persevered but now guarded in transparent plastic. You read the title.

The Fellowship of the Ring.

“The Lord of the Rings?” Joel asked, sounding a bit surprised.

You grimaced. “Have you already read it before?”

“No,” he clarified quickly. “I’ve heard of it. Never read it.” His lips curved upward, involuntarily. “Thank you for your help…” he said, and heat crept up his neck in that moment as he came up short and realized he never asked you for your name.

So he did, with a quick apology for not asking earlier, which you waved off under the pretense that “it’s not like I would ever mind being known as the girl who runs the library.”

When you said your name, it made sense. It sounded as bright as you. As though your name were the name of an unknown, most beautiful color, in the same way that an orange tastes just like the color orange.

He followed you to the front desk, where you sat again. Pushing the book you had been reading aside, you opened a notebook that was once ruled, but the blue ink was almost invisible by now.

You wrote down his name, next to today’s date, and asked him to sign it.

His fingers brushed yours when you handed him the pen, and he scolded himself for what felt like the hundredth time in the last ten minutes for the shudder that went down his spine.

His signature was just his name, in neat but surely not elegant handwriting. Archaic and unimpressive, much like him. And nothing like you. Young and like the sun.

“All right, Joel,” you said, snapping him from his self-deprecation. “You get the book for two weeks. So if Tommy’s forecast is right, we’re getting our first now before then. Hopefully you’ll find the story one worth curling up with when it’s all white and freezing outside.”

Joel met your eyes again, clutching the book against his abdomen. He couldn’t resist—his lips mimicked your smile, albeit more reserved.

With a nod, he said, “Thank your for your help.” Reluctantly, he took a step back, still facing you. “Stay warm, darlin’,” he said without meaning to.

“You as well,” you replied, shock briefly dancing across your eyes at what he called you. You offered him a delicate flutter of your fingers as a goodbye wave that made his heart lurch in his throat.

He finally turned to leave, eyes fixed ahead.

The doorbell mocked him as he exited the small building, his boots stepping into the dirt street as he inhaled a mouthful of cold air.

As he walked the few dozen steps to his house, mind addled by the sound of your voice, the shape of your lips, and the softness of your skin, he knew. In his old, weathered heart, he knew.

He was done for.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel miller hurt/comfort #jackson joel miller #joel x you #the last of us #joel miller tlou #tlou #pedro pascal characters

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hotmentransformed · 11 months

Text

Lovin' It

Under the soft hum of his local McDonald’s fluorescent lights, Thomas found himself enveloped in the solitude of his closing duties. The 18-year-old’s body bore the signs of fatigue, with slouched shoulders and tired eyes, a testament to his disdain for the job he felt trapped in. Back in high school, he had dreams of going to college and studying engineering, and even though he had the grades to get into a top school, financial constraints left him with no choice but to enter the workforce straight away. No one else would hire him straight out of school with no experience, so he applied to McDonald's, where he started working full-time.

Thomas was a tall and lanky young man, with unkempt brown hair and a perpetual frown etched on his face. He disliked his job intensely, feeling it was beneath him and a constant reminder of the opportunities he had missed out on due to financial stress. The smell of fries and grease had become nauseating, and the endless drone of customer orders through the headset made his head throb every day that he returned home, only for the cycle to continue the next morning.

The rain outside played a sorrowful melody, as he methodically scrubbed the grills, making them gleam and sparkle with cleanliness, wiped down the sticky countertops, counted the till with utmost precision, as a single missing dollar would be a write-up, mopped the lobby floors until they reflected the overhead lights, and cleaned the restrooms until they were spotless. He moved with a mechanical precision born from routine, albeit begrudgingly.

His final task before he had the pleasure of clocking out for the day and heading home for a dinner of a frozen pizza led him to the storage area, where the sight of a crumpled clown costume on the floor caught his attention.

It hadn't been there when he had been working earlier, so he wasn't sure what to think. Maybe it was a new promotional gimmick for the upcoming sales period and had just fallen out of one of the many boxes that get carried through the back on a regular basis. Reaching down to pick it up and fold it onto one of the shelves, Thomas' finger grazed the soft fabric. As he touched the strange outfit, he was engulfed by a warm and pleasurable sensation as his consciousness faded away.

As Thomas lay on the dirty stockroom floor, he began to undergo a transformation. His feet began to swell and grow, the bones stretching and reshaping to accommodate the oversized proportions of a clown’s shoes. The sensation was oddly satisfying, like a stretch after a long rest, leaving a tingling pleasure in its wake.

His skin was the next to change, the tan of his complexion fading into a luminescent white. It spread up his legs and over his torso in a wave of warmth, each inch of skin it touched tingling with the pleasure of transformation. His brown hair, untamed and messy, shifted into a brilliant red, growing longer and silkier, adding to the overall euphoria.

Thomas' facial features subtly shifted and molded into a new form. His nose rounded out and took on a bright red hue, his mouth stretched into a wide, perpetual smile, painted with vibrant red, and his eyes seemed to sparkle with newfound joy. The transformation was thorough, leaving no part of him untouched.

As the last remnants of unconsciousness faded and he awoke from his euphoric stupor, Thomas felt an odd sensation around his feet. Lying on his back on the cold floor, he lifted his head slightly, only to catch sight of two enormous, brightly colored shoes protruding from the ends of his legs. He blinked, trying to understand the surreal sight before him.

The shoes were massive, a vivid mix of red and yellow, the classic Ronald McDonald design. Panic raced through Thomas' mind, a series of frantic questions pounding in his head. Why were his feet so huge? What had happened to him?

Still in disbelief, Thomas slowly wiggled his toes, expecting to feel a spacious void within the oversized shoes. But to his astonishment, he felt resistance. The shoes weren't merely on his feet; his feet filled them perfectly, contouring and shifting with every subtle movement of his toes. The sensation was strange yet oddly comforting. The shoes felt like they were made just for him.

His heart raced as he tried to piece together the bizarre puzzle. Pushing himself up to a sitting position, Thomas took a more detailed look at his transformed body. His once tan skin was now a striking shade of porcelain white, and as he lifted a hand to touch his face, he felt the unmistakable texture of clown makeup.

Realization slowly dawned on him. He wasn't just wearing a clown costume; he had become the clown. The memories, the emotions, the very essence of Ronald McDonald began to flood his mind, merging seamlessly with Thomas' own memories and experiences.

He ran out of the store, and into the night, laughter bubbling from his lips as he embraced his new identity. He was no longer bound by the confines of his old life; he was no longer Thomas. He was Ronald McDonald, and he was free to be happy, to spread joy, and to live life as the happiest clown on earth.

He was lovin' it.

#male tf #transformation #tf #transform #male transformation #clown tf #ronald mcdonald #ronald mcdonald tf #costume tf #outfit tf #clothing tf #clothing transformation #clown transformation #ai images

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the-midnight-blooms · 5 months

Text

ᴅʀᴜɴᴋᴇɴ ᴍᴏɴᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ

pairing: kim hongjoong x reader

AU: modern

word count: 3.7k

ATEEZ as angst tropes series:

masterlist

Trope: Friends to Lovers to Strangers

She watches as they walk out of their place with another woman slung around his arm. The woman he left for, she's so perfect she cannot help but agree with him when he declared he did not love her anymore. How could he? She was everything his first love was not- no more, no less. Yet, the place she once held in his heart? Gone, not even deserving of the title 'friend', displaced like the weakest metal in a chemical reaction.

She didn't mean to cross Hongjoong on the street anyway, on her way home from taxing day at work her feet took her to the one place that brought her more comfort than home. Second to bookshop, it was his arms. She was entitled to none of it now. Nights of endless scrolling over the internet for the next best cheapest place to buy novels but nothing came close to the bookshop she’d gone to in the duration of her childhood, the same bookshop that supported her through her academia.

The distant memory of them both scribbling away in books, endlessly typing on their computers for hours on end into the night gnawed at her. At times she felt like giving up, why, oh, why had she chosen such an academically challenging degree? For her parents’ validation of course, despite this Hongjoong supported her-pushed her to continue.

“I can’t be bothered anymore Joong.” She whined into her pillow, letting out a loud groan that made him scoff as he twirled the pencil between his fingers.

“Let’s make a deal, you get over 80 on that exam and I’ll buy you that plain vanilla ice cream you like.” Her eyes perked up at ‘vanilla ice cream’ she shook her head vigorously and then got to work sifting through pages of her notes and exam questions she had yet to do. Peering her eyes over the top of her screen, she gazed at her best friend hunched over in his seat punching numbers into a calculator, with furrowed brows, the concentrated look on his face making her heart melt. While they had been best friends for a long time, she had harboured feelings for the boy since college and even through their transgression into university, the feelings just never seemed to dissipate.

“Oh, and Hongjoong-nah? Vanilla ice cream is not plain.”

“Whatever you say, love.” The term of endearment making her heart flutter, she had yet to convince herself that he called everyone ‘love’, hence it was never really special when he said it to her. A week had passed and before she knew it, she sprinted down the university halls, clusters of students who were once engrossed in their own conversations turning to look at her. With a panting breath, she skidded at the end of the corridor shoving her sheet of paper in Hongjoong’s face, he himself was once invested in his conversation with Jongho.

“Look” she urged, and he took the paper from her hands his eyes scanning over it, fixating on the mark. 90.

“That’s amazing! Didn’t you say this was the hardest module too?” Shaking her head eagerly, she threw her head back in triumph. Hongjoong sought the way her hair fell down her shoulders, the sound of laughter like a melody he wanted to capture in a tune and play on repeat. “Well, I guess I owe you ice cream now.” Picking up his canvas bag from the floor, he bid Jongho goodbye and made his way to the exit.

“Do you want to come with us Jongho?” She offered, to which the younger boy declined sending Hongjoong a knowing smirk from across the corridor. Shaking his head, Hongjoong waited until she made her way to him then hand in hand, they ran to the ice cream parlour before it closed.

She didn’t like vanilla ice cream anymore. It wasn’t the plainness of it, like Hongjoong had always suggested. It was the memory of it, the association of it with him. Every book they read, song they listened to, food they ate, place they went to-she’d grown to have a distaste for. It seemed pathetic, and it was but every time their song played on the radio a pang settled into deepest pits of her heart.

Drunken men push past her on the same street, where now Hongjoong and her stand two metres apart. He senses familiarity in the air around him, head whipping around scouring his surroundings. He knows them. They shift around slowly, as if they are moving without conscience towards him. He wants to stumble to them, inebriated by their intimacy as he once was when he sauntered through his hallways, years ago heavily drunk from a work celebration party. Hongjoong's dragged away by his girlfriend, every nook and cranny of his heart filled with adoration for her yet long ago he was being dragged away by someone else.

With a heavy puff, she pushed Hongjoong onto his sofa a long groan released from his lips as he lazily outstretched his legs before him. So drawn by her beauty, he lifts his arm to caress her cheek. With a smile she gently brushes it away, moving his leg to sit on the remnants of the seat that is not covered by his body.

"The things I do for you." she muttered under his breath, he caught the whispers of it, a weary smile forms across his perfect features.

"And I love you for it. I love you more than sea loves the moon." A laugh escaped from her lips, could he get any more drunk?

"Just say thank you, Hongjoong. This isn't a poetry reading." shaking her head, she pats his head before getting up. The words strike a nerve, he grabs at her wrist to gnaw at her attention. Suddenly, he looks more attentive and alive as if he wasn't drinking to his hearts content to fill up the hole of solitude that swallowed him.

"I'm being serious." resting her hand his chest to feel the racing of his heart, "This only beats for you. I feel so lonely without you, incomplete." he breathed out, latching onto her hand as if she would disappear if he let her go.

"Hongjoong, you're drunk. You don't know what you're saying." A sharp prick of her throat throbbed, a tickle arising in her nose. Love was just a game to him, right?

"They say a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts."

"I wouldn't believe you, even if you were sober."

"Why not?" he inquired, he sat up this time not letting go of her hand her body gravitating towards him.

"Because- you know what, no you're too drunk for this conversation right now."

"No, I wanna know. Why don't you believe me?"

"Hongjoong, you've never wanted a relationship. You've never wanted to be someone else's. I always have, I want to belong to someone. I want to get married and have children, bicker with my husband, listen to my teenagers' tantrums. I want it all. You don't." She recounted from all the times he had dismissed notions of settling down and having a married life. He'd fraternised with many women, much to her dismay, but those relationships had held no true meaning. They were in his bed one hour and gone the next, replaced by another. Truthfully, Hongjoong never felt content with the 'relationships' he had but the slow sinking feeling he felt when he was devoid of completeness ate at him. He wanted to feel whole and he felt whole with her.

"What if it's because I've never wanted it with anyone but you?" Silence rooted in the warm air; she'd open his window before she left. Nothing but staring into each other’s eyes for minutes on end. Hongjoong awaited her response, it was all the alcohol that had riled so much energy within to confess his feelings to her. Those which he had felt since they were children, teasing each other in the playground to adults fixated over creating contented lives for themselves.

"Then tell me when you wake up. Tell me how much you've wanted me. Once I'm yours, I'm yours forever."

It seemed like it would be forever. Nights spent under the cover of the twinkling stars: talking until they were too sleep deprived to go to work, running through the park tearing out handfuls of grass whilst chucking them at each other. Just all the things they did as friends, but the moments much more intimate when they'd fall on top of each other faces barely inches away feeling their heated breath tickling their noses.

“I hope our kids aren’t that naughty.” She almost spat out the drink in her mouth, craning to give Hongjoong a shocked look paired with a sort of shy smile forming on her lips. They sat on the vast lush green field, sun beaming down on their figures- his figure illuminated like it was it was carved out of the sun itself.

“Our kids?” Hongjoong tore his gaze away from the children shooting their parents with water guns to her, nodding ever so casually.

“Four kids-,”

“Four? Mr Kim, will you be giving birth to these children? Will you be waking up in the middle of the night to change their nappies?” She interrupted, holding back a laugh.

“Yes, I’ll change all of their nappies. I’ll wake up in the middle of the night to rock them back to sleep. Take them to school anymore, brush our daughters’ hair. Oh! We have to have matching family outfits…” and so Hongjoong often rambled about the perfect family life, his lover staring at him as if he was an angel descended from the highest heavens. If he was an angel, how did wound himself on earth no less how did he wound up as hers? To have that thought again, to stare into his eyes and get intoxicated by the profundity of his sweet soul. His love so addicting she woke up with cold sweats, hands outstretched as if he would come to her in the cold dead of the night, encircling her into his arms again as if he never left.

“What should we name our daughter?” Hongjoong piped up one day, out of sheer curiosity. His head stuck through the doorway of the living room, watching his lover sat in front of the television but her attention attached to the book in her hands.

“Hmm, Kim…” she trailed off, thinking of all the girl names her friends had already taken up. “Kim Dahye.” She settled on, he slumped onto the seat next to her resting his head on her shoulder. "Because she'll be the kindest soul to exist. And if we have a boy, we'll name him Kim Suho, our guardian angel."

"Sounds like a plan Mrs Kim." A blush crept on her cheeks, her cheek resting on his head hands entwined as the hum of the machine bled into the comfortable silence of the room.

She couldn’t remember how it had happened. What great sin had she committed that Hongjoong felt so repulsed by the sight of her? As if staying would have killed him. Despite the busy hours of both of their working days, the tiresome repetitive life of their schedules, for a while they found comfort in each other- they were each other’s escape from the dreaded conformity to society. How had it gone unnoticed the way he cancelled on her a number of times. Ignoring her calls, leaving her messages on read? The distance between them whenever they were together. Holding her hands but not looking at her. Looking at her as she spoke about her day but not listening to her. It was tolerance, really, she’d put up with all of his ignorance as long as she could say ‘he’s mine.’

“We need to talk.” His reticent voice drifting into her bedroom, she sat up from her slumped position. A soft smile painted on her lips, how long had it been since she had been the listener and he was the talker? He slumped down on the foot of her bed, gradually meeting her gaze. A breath hitched in his throat. He loved her once. He could not breathe without her. Got drunk on her presence. Then he had met her, the other woman. She was a drug so addicting. Suddenly, his childhood love was a weak narcotic incapable of exhilarating him as she once did. "I don't love you anymore." He went straight for the punchline.

"I-what happened? Why?" she questioned, there was so much more to ask but the words clogged up her throat as her brain scrambled for traction trying to process the sudden declaration. His eyes shut close for a few moments, plucking up the courage to tell her.

"I found someone else. I thought it unfair to keep you here, next to me while I'm hooked to someone else." Tears blurred her vision, limbs shivering. Pressing her back up against her headboard, she hugged her legs, face dug between her knees.

"What happened to feeling incomplete without me? What happened to wanting to be married? What happened to having children?" she questioned, anger prescient. Fury overtook the despair that momentarily possessed her, was it all a fever dream? Was any part of their relationship sincere?

"Believe me when I say I wanted it all with you, but now I can't feel a thing between us. The bridge to you has collapsed-" He reached for hands to console her; she yanked them towards her gripping onto skin too reluctant to let go. Any moment now if she did let go, he would leave.

"So then find another way to me. Fight for us. Don't tell me this relationship was just a drunken mistake, or I was just used to fill that sorry hole in your heart." Perhaps I really was lonely and you were there for me, mistaking my gratitude for love. But Hongjoong was misinterpreting his emotions. It was love. He did love her. He had just been allured by someone else's physicality that he had forgotten that the one woman who loved him endlessly, flaws and all, was sat in front of him.

"Don't make this harder for me. You deserve someone else, someone who wants you as equally as you want them." Biting down on her lip, a tear slipped from her eyes snapping her head away from him as his hands left her weakened hold. Soundlessly, he left from the room. The soft shutting of the door had triggered her, she bawled as a part of her soul crippled away trailing after Hongjoong who ambled down the street to his next love.

Her body thudded against another on that busy street as the sun dipped beneath the sky, streetlights flickering every now and then. So lost in her yearning for the past, her spatial awareness had been decapitated.

"Oh God, I'm sorry." Her phone flung out of her grasp, clattering to the floor. Both figures reached down for the phone, fingers meeting as they did. Grabbing at her phone, she rose so did the other figure in sync. "I'm really sorry, I should have watched where I was going-" He called out her name, their eyes instantaneously meeting.

It was Wooyoung, a fellow classmate from her time at university. He did not look any different from the charismatic soul that had cheered her up after every difficult lecture that seemed incomprehensible. A dimpled smile manifested across his pink lips, the familiar excitement of seeing an old friend filling him.

"I haven't seen you in ages! How are you?" He began to bombard her with questions. Within seconds she was, too, dragged away by another in the opposite direction the strings between the old lovers, thinning as they transcended deeper into the own lives.

A high-pitched squeal infiltrated the park, a small body dashing through the familiar fields.

“I’m gonna get you.” She cooed, in an infantile like manner as the child attempted to sprint as fast as his little legs could carry him. At last, she swooped him up by the legs, twirling him around the cool wind assisting her. They shared a laugh before she attacked his face with kisses. His father approached behind, wide smile complacent slipping an arm around his son, cocooning him in his embrace. The boy squirmed in his father’s arms, begging to be let go. He let him go, the couple dawdling after his child as he ran to the slides accompanying the other children inhabiting it.

“The sentence, from Mrs Jung?” She contested. She recalled the horror in her friend’s voice on learning that both her husband and son were indulging in eating sweet delicacies every night before bed-not even bothering to brush their teeth at that.

“Death.” He joked back, they shared a comfortable laugh. “Joae’s coming back from Japan on Sunday. Thank you for helping take care of Gohyun.” She waved him off declaring it was the most she could do for a friend that was there when she needed someone the most.

At the other end of the park, two old friends walked down a cobbled path on their way to the play area where Hongjoong’s daughter persisted. Cups of warm coffee encased within their hands, conversations of the past enticing them. They both paused as they found his daughter, Kim Dayhe, playing with another boy around a similar age to her. The sight brought back a nostalgic memory of the girl he used to run around parks with as a child.

“Jung Gohyun!” A feminine voice called, a figure moved closer to the children, she sent a soft smile to the girl before kneeling down to tighten her loosening pigtails. Hongjoong moved forward, despite the woman’s pure intentions his protective instincts broke through-Jongho following hastily behind eyes widening as he recognised the woman.

“Thank you, Unnie-,”

“Dahye,” her head snapped up from the children, the acquaintance of the voice tearing the boundaries she’d built between them for years on end. The memories flooding back to her, she almost stumbled back at the sight of him; she clutched onto her Gohyun’s shoulder for strength. Her lips formed his name, but no sound came out. Hongjoong’s own eyes widened. His childhood love.

“I haven’t seen you in years! How are you?” He questioned, as if the last time he spoke to her wasn’t in her bedroom, telling her he didn’t love her anymore. That his heart was tied down to another woman, who he felt more complete with, than he had ever felt with her.

“I’m great! Is she your daughter?” Hongjoong nodded proudly.

“This is your son?” She froze, unable to speak. Eventually, she shook her head no.

“No, he's Wooyoung’s son actually. He’s here, somewhere...” Tearing her gaze away from Hongjoong, who was somewhat surprised at the revelation, she trailed off scanning the park for her companion, who was jogging over to the reunion-two tiny bodies respectively hiding behind their close adults.

“Long time no see.” Jongho quipped from behind Hongjoong. With a gasp, she rushed to Jongho embracing him into a warm hug whilst terrorising him with questions all the same- Hongjoong slightly gaping at them with, a brief unsettling feeling in his heart.

“Jung Wooyoung, you bastard! It’s been ages!" Her hands flung to her nephew's ears, as did Hongjoong’s, as the profanity shamelessly sprung out of Jongho’s mouth.

“I love you too!” The university friends reunited, Wooyoung encompassing both Hongjoong and Jongho. Sneakily, the children had taken the opportunity to crawl back to the slides. While Jongho and Wooyoung conversed with each other, Hongjoong sought his old childhood friend, looking down at her feet in contemplation.

"You named her Dahye." she exhaled; a whiff of distress reminiscent in her tone. He nodded, slowly.

"So, no children, no husband?" As always Hongjoong went straight for the punchline but there wasn't really any other way about it. If Gohyun was not her child, nor Wooyoung her husband then who did she have waiting for her at home?

"No. We're not all entitled to that kind of life."

"But it's all you've ever wanted." he pondered, the words blurting from his mouth before he could stop them. He was met with a hard stare but she returned her gaze back to her feet. "I mean, no one at all?" When the one I wanted left me, how could I seek another? It wasn't that she had not tried at all, she'd been on many dates with many men. Lots of Wooyoung's friends, Johae's friends, some guys on dating apps she'd installed for the thrill of it but none had the compassion that she desired or none had wanted to date for marriage. She'd be lying if she said she didn't at least look for the smallest trace of Hongjoong in them all.

“Just Dahye or?”

“A three-month year-old boy, Kim Suho.” Perhaps that was enough to break all the progress she had made over the years, the bridge of her nose tingled but she refused to be vulnerable in front of him again. The tight threads that had lazily sewed her heart together ripping, the misery she had once been suffering from breaking through again. The universe really had no remorse left for her.

“I’m proud of you, Hongjoong. You finally settled down and I’m sure you’re a great father.” She retorted. What else could she say? As much as she wanted to, she could not scream or cry. Or shout and swear. Tell him how much he had broken her and when he left her home, mercilessly on that solemn evening many years ago she had not been the same. She could not tell him how cruel it was that he named his children the same names that she had planned. How much it hurt her that she wasn’t the mother of his children, like he used to claim he wanted her to be. Or rather that she wasn’t the mother of any child since no man could love her in the ways she wanted to be loved. She called for Gohyun, the little boy tottering over to her. Clutching his small hand within hers, she brushed past Hongjoong to bid Jongho goodbye. Finally, across the park, she arched her neck to take a last look at Hongjoong. They marvelled at each other, before the universe could separate them once and for all.

I knew you once. I loved you once, held you in my arms and you promised you wouldn’t let me go. The memory of me so faint like there wasn’t a day that went by when you promised me that you would make me yours.

•••

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

A/N: ahhh the second fic in the angst series! I’m a bit iffy on the ending but let me know what you guys think? good? bad? ugly? May edit later. thank you to my love @n0v4t33z for helping me decide regardless! The cold persists unfortunately, but so do I. I'll try to squeeze in another fic before I lock into exam mode but I think it's just best to let the ideas marinate at this point. Still gonna be active on tumblr so reach out to me!! Hope you enjoyed this fic!

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

#kim hongjoong #hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x you #hongjoong x y/n #ateez angst #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #kpop #ateez x reader #ateez #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #choi jongho #jung wooyoung

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dee-writes-smut · 5 months

Text

SUMMER (Chapter Four)

FEATURING Azriel x Illyrian!reader

SUMMARY healing is a long journey that can't be summed up in just four simple seasons, but it seems with the help of a certain shadowsinger at your side, you've seemed to do it.

CONTENT WARNINGS mentions of nightmares, apologies, scared reader, comforting Azriel, Cassian POV, and mentions of wingspans ;)

AUTHORS NOTE the finale you've all been waiting for is finally here as promised! Thank you all so much for your support during this series, I am excited to be back and writing for you all again! Love you all and I hope you enjoy! <3

Summer arrives like a promise fulfilled, a canvas awash with vibrant hues of green and gold, as if nature herself has donned her finest attire. The air hums with the gentle whisper of transformation, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and the promise of new beginnings on its warm breeze.

As the sun stretches its golden fingers across the land, casting long shadows that dance in its radiant glow, there's a palpable sense of rejuvenation in the air. It's as if each dawn heralds a new chapter, a chance to shed the burdens of the past and embrace the endless possibilities of the present.

In this season of abundance, life bursts forth with an exuberance that is both intoxicating and invigorating. The world awakens from its slumber, blossoming with a riot of colors as flowers unfurl their petals in joyful defiance of the lingering chill of winter. Leaves rustle in the gentle caress of the wind, their verdant whispers carrying tales of resilience and growth.

Amidst this symphony of nature's symphony, there is a sense of newfound strength coursing through every living thing. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, the warmth of the sun infuses each day with a sense of possibility, igniting a fire within the soul that refuses to be extinguished.

In the heart of summer, time seems to slow, allowing moments to linger like the last rays of sunlight on a balmy evening. It's a season of exploration and adventure, where every day holds the promise of discovery and every sunset marks the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.

And as the days stretch languidly into twilight, there is a quiet resilience that takes root, a deep-seated belief in the power of new beginnings and the strength that comes from embracing change. For in the heart of summer, beneath the sweltering heat and the endless blue skies, lies the untold promise of tomorrow, waiting to be seized with both hands and forged into something beautiful.

(Mid Summer, Velaris)

The afternoon sun poured into the training ring, casting long shadows of the figures sparring lightly within it. Cassian was across from me, a patient yet mischievous grin on his face, as he handed me a training sword. “Ready to get your ass kicked, or are you going to make me work for it today?”

I smirked, feeling the flutter of my old spirit stirring within. “Dream on, Cassian.”

The clash of our swords sang through the air, a melody of metal that resonated with the pounding of my heart. Each strike, each parry, felt like shedding layers of fear that had cocooned me since losing my wings.

“Focus,” Cassian said, his voice a mix of sternness and encouragement. “Remember, it’s not just about strength. It’s about knowing your opponent.”

I nodded, gripping my own wooden sword a little tighter. As I lunged forward, Cassian parried easily, countering with a swift movement that I barely blocked in time. We moved in a rhythm, the clack of our swords punctuating each maneuver. My muscles remembered the dance, even if they ached from disuse. Cassian’s style was a flurry of motion, designed to overwhelm, but today he tempered his usual ferocity, giving me room to find my footing again. The physical exertion was grounding, pulling me further away from my mental ghosts.

Laughter and shouts from Mor, watching from the sidelines, filled the arena, her cheers a buoyant soundtrack to our dance of blades and as we paused for a break, Mor jogged over with a waterskin and a smirk. She threw an arm around my shoulders, squeezing tightly. “Look at you! You’re almost back to your old self,” she beamed, her pride evident.

The warmth from her compliment soaked through me, loosening some of the tightness still lingering in my chest. “Feels good to move like that again,” I admitted, allowing the truth of my words to wash over me. It did feel good—like claiming back pieces of my soul, piece by piece.

“You two look like you’re having fun,” she smiled, squeezing me close again as she handed me the waterskin. After I took a long drink, she shot me a sly glance. “Speaking of fun, have you noticed how Azriel can't seem to stay away from your side?”

Mor’s eyebrows wiggled as I coughed on the water, wiping my mouth as I tried to compose myself. “He’s just being supportive,” I muttered, feeling my cheeks heat up.

Cassian chuckled, leaning on his sword. “Oh, he’s being supportive, all right. Haven’t seen him this glued to someone since… well, ever.”

I rolled my eyes, but the seed of awareness began to sprout in my mind. Azriel had indeed been a constant presence, his quiet strength a comfort I hadn’t realized I’d leaned on so much.

“Do you think it might be a mating bond?” Mor asked casually, too casually, as she inspected her nails.

The question halted me, the weight of the implication settling in my stomach like a stone. The mating bond was sacred, profound—was I ready for something like that? The very thought made my heart race, not just with fear but with a blossoming hope I hadn’t acknowledged until now.

“Maybe he’s just being a good friend,” I countered, but my voice lacked conviction.

Cassian raised an eyebrow, giving me a knowing look. “When you know, you know,” he said simply. “And it looks like you’re starting to realize something there.”

We resumed training, but his words echoed in my mind with each strike and block. Azriel’s face appeared in my thoughts, his smiles, the gentle touch of his hands, the way his eyes lit up when he looked at me lately. My feelings for him, which I had shelved as mere gratitude or the simple need for companionship during recovery, seemed to be deepening into something richer, more profound.

As we finished and walked back towards the House of Wind, Mor looped her arm through mine. “You don’t have to figure it all out at once,” she whispered. “But don’t close your heart to the possibility of something beautiful. Azriel cares for you deeply, more than just as a friend or protector.”

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow that bathed the world in a soft, forgiving light. It felt symbolic, reflective of my own internal dawn. Maybe, just maybe, I was ready to consider that what lay between Azriel and me could be the kind of love that songs and tales were spun from. As fear and doubt receded, leaving room for this new, tender hope, I realized that my journey of healing was also leading me down a path of rediscovering my capacity to love—not just Azriel, but myself and this new life I was slowly, bravely building.

(Mid Summer, The River House)

That evening, the dinner with the Inner Circle was held at the sprawling, candlelit table in the River House. The atmosphere was thick with laughter and the clinking of glasses, a symphony of friendship and familial bonds. The windows were thrown open, allowing the crisp, cool air of Velaris to sweep through the room, mixing with the scent of jasmine and roasted meats.

As I entered the dining room, a subtle change in my demeanor didn’t go unnoticed by the group. Rhysand was the first to catch my eye, giving me a nod of approval and a warm, welcoming smile. Amren, ever observant, watched me with her piercing gaze, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips, acknowledging the shift in my spirits.

Azriel, standing slightly apart, offered me a soft, encouraging smile as I took my place next to him. His quiet strength bolstered my newfound resolve to engage more fully with those around me.

Dinner began with a lively discussion led by Feyre about a recent exhibition at the art gallery in the city. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she described the vibrant colors and revolutionary techniques of the new artists showcased. I listened, chiming in with my thoughts on the integration of night and day themes, which earned an approving laugh from Rhys.

As the meal continued, Cassian, true to form, began recounting one of his training escapades, embellishing the details to make his tale more dramatic. “And then, just as I was about to execute my perfectly planned maneuver, an Illyrian baby sneezed on me. Totally threw off my game!”

Laughter erupted around the table, and I found myself genuinely chuckling, the sound surprising even to me. “Only you, Cassian, could be outmaneuvered by a baby’s sneeze,” I teased, earning a round of applause and a mock bow from Cassian.

“See, she’s got jokes now! Our girl’s coming back to us,” Mor exclaimed, her face alight with joy. She reached over to squeeze my hand, her gesture warm and reassuring.

As plates were cleared and desserts were served, the conversation shifted to lighter, more personal stories. Feyre shared anecdotes about her latest painting misadventures, while Mor detailed her plans for the upcoming festival in the city. Each story, each shared laugh, felt like a stitch mending the frayed edges of my soul.

As the dinner party began to wind down in the warm, laughter-filled hall, a soft coo from the corner caught my attention. Nyx, cradled gently in Feyre’s arms, was awake and curiously peeking over her shoulder with wide, starry eyes. I felt my heart tug softly. It had been too long since I had held him, too long since I’d allowed myself to be part of these simpler, beautiful family moments.

Feyre caught my gaze and smiled, understanding immediately. “Someone wants to say hello,” she said softly, walking over with Nyx. His small hand reached out, and I couldn’t help but smile as his fingers grasped at the air between us.

“May I?” I asked, my voice a whisper of excitement mixed with a hint of uncertainty.

“Of course,” Feyre replied, carefully transferring Nyx into my arms. The baby settled against me with ease, a soft sigh escaping him as if he found comfort in my embrace. His tiny hand reached up, touching my cheek gently, an innocent gesture that felt like a reassurance of missed affection. It was as if he was saying he remembered me, that he too had felt the absence of our connection.

The moment wasn’t lost on Azriel, who watched from a short distance. His shadows flickered subtly around him, a telltale sign of his emotions stirring beneath that calm exterior. Since the conversation with Cassian and Mor earlier today, every glance, every small interaction with him seemed charged with a new, silent tension. My newly admitted feelings for him amplified each shared look, adding weight to the air between us.

As I rocked Nyx gently, my thoughts drifted to Azriel again. His presence at my side had become a constant, his support unwavering. The depth of my affection for him had crept up silently, weaving itself into the fabric of my daily life until it was indistinguishable from my other truths. I found myself stealing glances at him, each look a quiet confession of the feelings I was only beginning to allow myself to acknowledge.

Azriel eventually made his way over, his gaze softening as he looked at Nyx in my arms. “He’s missed you,” Azriel murmured, his voice barely audible over the low hum of conversation around us.

I met his eyes, feeling a flush of warmth at the intimacy of the moment. “I’ve missed him, too. Missed all of this,” I admitted, my voice thick with emotion. The way Azriel looked at me then, with such warmth and depth, made my heart skip a beat.

“Looks good on you,” he said after a pause, nodding towards Nyx.

The comment, simple and offhand, thrummed with unspoken meanings. It was a nudge against the boundaries we had maintained, a gentle probing into the new spaces of my heart that had begun to open to him.

As I handed Nyx back to Feyre, I caught Azriel’s arm gently. “Stay for a moment?” I asked, my voice hopeful, laden with the weight of all the things I hadn’t yet said.

He nodded, his usual reserve melting away for a moment as he stayed by my side, his presence a silent promise of things perhaps soon to be explored. We both knew something unspoken was shifting between us, and while neither of us was ready to dive into those waters just yet, acknowledging it—even in silence—felt like the first step toward a new horizon.

(Mid Summer, The House of Wind)

The following week, Feyre, Mor, Nesta, and I revived our "book club"—a ruse for nights filled with wine, wild discussions about our latest reads, and shared secrets under the cloak of night. As I sat curled up on a plush couch, a glass of wine in hand, surrounded by these incredible women, a profound sense of belonging enveloped me. Here, in these moments, I was safe to just be; to heal, to laugh, to grow.

The cozy nook tucked away in the House of Wind had become our sanctuary, a place where the Inner Circle’s book club convened to discuss literature, life, and everything in between. Tonight, as the flickering candlelight cast soft shadows across the room, I settled into my usual spot among the plush cushions, surrounded by my closest friends.

Feyre, Nesta, and Mor lounged around me, each with a book in hand, their faces alight with anticipation for our weekly gathering. The atmosphere was charged with excitement, the air buzzing with the promise of lively conversation and shared insights.

“So, what’s everyone reading this week?” Mor asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she glanced around the circle.

Feyre held up a worn copy of her latest find, a tale of forbidden love and political intrigue. “I’m revisiting an old favorite,” she said with a smile. “It’s like catching up with an old friend.”

Nesta, with a smirk playing on her lips, produced a rather scandalous-looking novel with a provocative cover. “I’m exploring the more… sensual side of literature,” she declared, her voice dripping with amusement.

As the conversation flowed around me, I couldn’t help but chuckle at Nesta’s choice. Leave it to her to bring a little spice to our book club discussions. I was hesitant to share tonight, scared to share my feelings so blatantly, to say them out loud in a space with women who would not so soon let me forget. Tonight felt different, though, I felt stronger, able to seize this chance to share with my friends the tumultuous emotions swirling inside me.

“I’ve been reading this collection of poetry,” I began, my voice tentative at first. “It’s funny how words can capture the complexity of human emotions so beautifully.”

Mor’s eyes gleamed with interest, her grin widening. “Ah, poetry—the language of the heart,” she said, her tone teasing yet tender. “Any particular poem speaking to you?”

I hesitated, my gaze flickering to the empty spot where Azriel usually sat. His absence was keenly felt, a reminder of the unresolved tension between us. “There’s one poem that resonates with me,” I admitted, my voice growing stronger with each word. “It’s about…” I faltered, the weight of my confession heavy on my tongue.

Feyre leaned forward, her eyes warm with understanding. “About love?” she prompted gently, her hand reaching out to squeeze mine in silent support.

I nodded, the words spilling forth in a rush. “About love, and fear, and the courage to open your heart to someone—even when it scares you.”

Nesta regarded me with a thoughtful expression, her gaze piercing yet compassionate. “Love is a battlefield,” she said, her voice soft yet firm. “But sometimes, the greatest victories come from facing our fears head-on.”

Mor chimed in with her trademark humor, lightening the mood with a well-timed joke. “Who knew our stoic Shadowsinger had a soft spot for you?”

Feyre smiled knowingly, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Maybe it’s time to confront the shadows and see what lies beneath.”

Nesta couldn’t resist adding her own brand of wit to the conversation. “Speaking of shadows,” she said with a sly grin, “has anyone else noticed Azriel’s wingspan lately?”

We all laughed at Nesta’s comment, the tension in the room dissipating as we embraced the camaraderie of our little gathering. Despite the challenges we faced, tonight was a reminder that with the support of friends, even the darkest shadows could be chased away.

As the evening wore on, our conversation drifted from books to more personal topics, each of us sharing snippets of our lives and experiences. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, a chance to peel back the layers and reveal the raw truths hidden beneath.

Nesta, ever the enigma, shared tales of her latest adventures in the human lands, her sharp wit and cunning intellect shining through with every word.

Mor, always the life of the party, regaled us with stories of her escapades in the Court of Nightmares, her laughter contagious as she recounted her misadventures.

And Feyre, with her quiet strength and unwavering compassion, offered words of wisdom and encouragement, her presence a soothing balm to our troubled souls.

As for me, I found solace in their company, the weight of my burdens eased by the warmth of their friendship. In their laughter and shared moments, I found the courage to confront my fears and embrace the possibility of a brighter future.

And as the candles burned low and the night grew late, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, I would face them with the unwavering support of my sisters by my side.

The support of the entire Inner Circle was a force as tangible as the magic that coursed through our veins—a constant, steadfast presence that fortified me against the darker moments. Their belief in me, their unyielding backing, gave me strength, and little by little, I began to feel not just the shadow of the person I once was, but someone stronger, resilient, reborn from adversity.

In these gatherings, these moments of shared vulnerability and joy, I was not just healing. I was transforming—emerging not how I was before the kidnapping, but perhaps even brighter, tempered by trials and warmed by the unwavering light of the family I chose and who had chosen me in return.

(Late Summer, The House of Wind)

The night pressed heavily around the room, its silence a thick, oppressive blanket punctuated only by the soft, rhythmic breathing of Azriel beside me. In the comfort of his proximity, sleep had finally granted me a temporary reprieve from the relentless torment of my nightmares. Yet, the peace was fragile, vulnerable to the slightest disturbance—a reality proven as a sharp, inexplicable chill sliced through the room's stagnant warmth.

The temperature plummeted, wrapping its icy fingers around my spine, jolting me awake. My eyes flicked open, instantly scanning the familiar contours of the room bathed in the ethereal glow of moonlight. Shadows clung to the walls like dark, silent sentinels until one stirred coalescing into a form far too human, far too familiar.

Lyris emerged from the darkness as though materializing from my deepest fears, his presence a tangible echo of past horrors. His eyes, sharp and merciless, locked onto mine with the precision of a hunter sighting its prey. The sheer malevolence in his gaze sent a visceral shudder through me, yet it was no longer solely fear that stirred within my veins. Anger, raw and blazing, kindled within, fueling a burgeoning defiance I hadn't known I possessed.

"Thinking you could escape me?" Lyris's voice was a venomous hiss, his form inching closer with predatory grace. His smirk was twisted, a grotesque mask of sadistic anticipation.

But then, with the seamless reflexes honed by centuries of battle, Azriel was between us. His body moved with lethal precision, his hand snapping out to seize Lyris by the wrist, halting his advance with unyielding strength. "She's under my protection," Azriel snarled, his voice a dangerous, low rumble. His other hand flicked to his side, the sound of steel sliding from leather slicing through the tension as he brandished a dagger, its blade catching the moon's silver light.

Lyris recoiled slightly, his eyes darting to the blade then back to Azriel’s unwavering stare. "You think you can keep her from her fate?" he spat, struggling against Azriel's iron grip.

“Her fate is her own, and you have no part in it,” Azriel retorted, his wings unfurling menacingly. The air around us thickened with dark, swirling shadows, responding to the raw power emanating from him. In that moment, he was not just my protector but an avenging angel cloaked in night's embrace.

The room filled with a heavy, expectant silence, thick with the weight of unspoken threats. Breaking the tension, I found my voice, though it trembled with the force of my emotions. "Where are my wings, Lyris?" The question tore from me, a desperate plea tangled with a demand.

"Your wings?" he mused mockingly, his eyes glinting with cruelty. "Such a precious prize… Let's just say they're kept in a place where they await their true destiny—far from your reach.”

"Give them back," Azriel demanded, his tone lethal, a stark contrast to the deceptive calm of his posture.

Lyris's laugh was cold and chilling, like the howl of the wind outside. "You overestimate your power here, shadow singer. I could take her now, and you wouldn't be able to stop me."

Azriel's response was swift and deadly serious. "Try it, and it will be the last thing you do." His wings unfurled dramatically as he snatched Lyris’ wrist in a powerful grip, the span of dark membrane filling the room with a sense of otherworldly power. The shadows around him deepened, swirling in response to his anger and the protective fury that laced every syllable.

The standoff stretched, a moment suspended in time where every breath, every heartbeat was laden with potential violence. Then, with a jerk, Lyris wrenched free, stepping back into the protective shroud of darkness. “She will never be free from me," he hissed, his presence oppressive, suffocating. "And neither will you."

Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, he dissolved into shadows, leaving a cold void in his wake. His final words echoed ominously, a malevolent promise hanging in the air. As the immediate threat vanished, Azriel’s demeanor shifted, the lethal warrior receding to reveal his concern. He turned to me, his intense gaze softening. “Are you alright?” His voice was now a gentle whisper, a stark contrast to the deadly thunder from moments before.

I collapsed back against the pillows, my body trembling uncontrollably. The fear wasn't just about the physical presence of Lyris—it was the emotional and psychological terror, the deep scars he had left on my soul, that overwhelmed me.

Azriel sat beside me, enveloping me in his arms, his presence a solid, reassuring force against the lingering echoes of dread. "I'm here. You're safe," he murmured against my hair, his voice a soothing balm.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, sobs wracking my body as the terror slowly ebbed away, replaced by immense fatigue. "We have to get them back, Azriel. I need to feel whole again."

His embrace tightened, a silent promise of unyielding support. "We will," he assured me quietly. "No matter what it takes, we will bring them back.” He took a deep breath, his arms tightening around me as if he were scared that I might run from him. “Always, I will protect you. From him, from anyone who dares to threaten you,” he murmured into my hair, his breath warm against my scalp. His wings, now gently wrapped around us, formed a cocoon that felt impenetrable.

Settling back against him, I allowed the warmth of his embrace to seep deeper into my bones, expelling the lingering chill of Lyris's visit. His presence was a bastion, within which I found not only protection but a profound sense of belonging.

As we lay back down, the room once again shrouded in the soothing silence of night, a new resolve fortified my spirit. Lyris had found me, yes, but he had not found me alone, nor would he ever. Azriel’s vow to protect me was more than a promise—it was a declaration, a sentinel set against the darkness, both within and without. As sleep beckoned once more, the shadows no longer seemed an ominous threat lurking in the corners but allies, guardians cloaked in the same darkness that wrapped around us, a shield against all that would do harm.

(Late Summer, Cassian)

The morning after Lyris's intrusion, the House of Wind seemed to hold its breath, an unspoken tension palpable in the air. Everyone had shared their worries for her, our friend who had clawed her way back from that bastard's torment. We all worried, we all loved her so greatly, enjoyed the way her presence warmed Azriel’s cold exterior and to see her fall back into that dark place she had fought her way out of, to take Azriel unknowingly with her again, it poured a dark sense of grief over the house.

But amidst the uncertainty, the deep seeded fear of losing our friend once more, there was a glimmer of light, a beacon of hope cutting through the darkness. Entering the kitchen, I was met with a scene that caught me off guard—our friend, her laughter ringing out like a bell as she shared a moment of levity with Azriel. It was a rare sight, one that stirred a mixture of surprise and quiet satisfaction within me.

Azriel, usually cloaked in shadows both literal and metaphorical, had a small, genuine smile playing at the corners of his lips. His usually guarded demeanor seemed to soften in her presence, and I couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in the air between them.

Their interaction spoke volumes, a silent language of understanding and companionship that transcended words. Despite the trials they had faced, there was a sense of comfort and familiarity in their shared laughter, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was still light to be found in the company of those we held dear.

As I joined them in the kitchen, a silent witness to their shared moment of joy, I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the bond that had formed between them. Their friendship had weathered storms that would have broken lesser souls, and yet here they were, laughing together as if the weight of the world had been lifted from their shoulders.

And as I observed them, surrounded by the warmth of their laughter and the comfort of their companionship, I couldn't help but feel a surge of hope for the future. For in the bond between her and Azriel, I saw strength, resilience, and the promise of brighter days ahead.

(Late Summer, The House of Wind)

The day had been long and daunting, with every passing moment feeling like a test of endurance. The worry from my friends was palpable, their concern etched into every glance and every word. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate their care—it was their hovering, their treating me like a fragile thing, that grated against my newfound sense of strength. But amidst it all, there was Azriel.

He stood as a steadfast anchor amidst the storm, a silent guardian who watched over me with unwavering determination. While others fretted and fussed, he remained at my side, a silent sentinel who seemed to understand without the need for words. His presence alone was enough to bolster my spirits, to remind me that I was not alone in this struggle.

Throughout the day, I found myself stealing glances at him, marveling at the depth of his care. How had I not noticed it before? His gaze lingered on me with a mixture of concern and understanding, his eyes a window to the depths of his soul. It was as if he saw straight through the facade I presented to the world, recognizing the strength within me even when I doubted it myself.

As evening descended and the weight of the day settled upon us, we retreated to the familiar sanctuary of my room. Azriel had made it his own, his presence a comforting presence in the darkness. The routine of preparing for bed had become second nature to us—changing into pajamas, brushing our teeth side by side, and slipping under the covers as Azriel performed his meticulous check of the room.

In the quiet moments before sleep claimed us, we lay in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for Azriel's unwavering support, for his steadfast presence that had seen me through the darkest of days. It was a bond forged in the crucible of adversity, a connection that defied explanation yet felt more real than anything I had ever known.

“Azriel?” I called softly into the night, my voice barely a whisper.

He turned to me, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window. For a moment, we simply gazed at each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. And then, with a small smile, he reached out, pulling me closer until I was nestled against his chest.

At that moment, as I lay nestled against Azriel's chest, something shifted between us—a subtle yet profound change that altered the very fabric of our connection. It was as if the air crackled with an invisible energy, a tangible tension that seemed to draw us closer together.

I felt it first, the unmistakable sensation of the mating bond snapping into place with a sudden clarity that took my breath away. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a truth that had always been there, hidden beneath the surface. The primal need to be close to him, to feel his presence as an extension of my own, suddenly made perfect sense.

And then, as if in response to my realization, Azriel let out a small gasp, his arms tightening around me with a fierce urgency that mirrored my own. It was a primal, instinctual reaction, as if some ancient part of him recognized the significance of this moment and refused to let me go.

In that instant, all doubts and uncertainties melted away, replaced by a profound sense of clarity and understanding. We were bound together, our souls intertwined in a way that transcended the physical realm. And as I gazed into Azriel's eyes, I knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, we would face them together, united by the unbreakable bond that now bound us.

"I'll protect you, ensure you are safe and happy and loved," Azriel vowed, his voice a soothing melody that wrapped around me like a warm embrace, promising sanctuary in the depths of his love.

Tears welled in my eyes as his words washed over me, a flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm my fragile resolve. "As will I," I replied, my voice trembling with the weight of my own commitment, my heart laid bare before him in a moment of raw vulnerability.

His eyes, pools of darkness tinged with golden fire, bore into mine with a fierce intensity, piercing through the walls I had built around my heart. "Throughout all the seasons you will be mine, if that is what you want?" His voice was a whisper, yet it echoed through the chambers of my soul, stirring something deep within me that I could no longer deny.

With a trembling breath, I reached out to him, my fingers trembling as they traced the contours of his face, memorizing every line, every scar, every shadow that danced across his skin. "There is no one else I would rather share them with," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper, the truth of my words ringing out in the quiet room like a sacred vow.

And in that moment, as our souls intertwined in the golden threads of the mating bond, I felt a surge of emotion wash over me, overwhelming in its intensity. It was as if the weight of a thousand lifetimes had been lifted from my shoulders, replaced by a sense of peace and belonging that I had longed for all my life.

With tears streaming down my cheeks, I pressed my forehead against his, our breaths mingling in the space between us as we stood on the precipice of eternity. In that sacred embrace, we found refuge from the storms that had battered our souls, forging a connection that would endure the trials of time. And as we surrendered to the pull of the mating bond, our hearts beat as one, a symphony of love and devotion that echoed through the halls of the House of Wind.

Together, we would face the challenges that lay ahead, our bond a beacon of hope in the darkness, guiding us through the labyrinth of life with unwavering strength and unwavering love.

For in each other's arms, we had found our home, our sanctuary, our forever. And as the night enveloped us in its embrace, we knew that no matter what trials awaited us, we would face them together, united in a love that was destined to last for all eternity.

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