#her streams would be transcendent

[chrissssssmut]

SWEET ERROR

Yandere Ningning x Male Reader feat. Belle & Karina

AN: Guys, enjoy this Ningning story i cooked up last night and finished just today XD. Please give me some time for the requests😣 I'll do them I swear :<<<

In the year 3047, humanity had transcended the boundaries of creation. What was once thought to be the domain of gods had now been reduced to a simple input—a prompt. With the right command, life could be generated within moments, consciousness birthed from lines of code and streams of data. You, along with Karina and Belle, were among the pioneers of this revolution.

For over a year, the project had been in constant turmoil. Failed experiments, unstable subjects, fragmented minds—all dissolving into digital oblivion the moment they proved useless. Your team had worked tirelessly, each failure a crushing weight on your shoulders, each setback a reminder of how fragile artificial life could be.

Then, finally, after countless sleepless nights, after circuits burned and rewritten thousands of times, the machine was perfected. The moment was here.

Karina exhaled deeply, rubbing her temples. "We need a simple test. Just a random prompt. No complicated inputs."

Belle hesitated. "Are we sure about this? We don't know what kind of consciousness it'll generate."

You adjusted the parameters. "We need to take the risk."

A random description was processed.

Subject: Ningning. Attributes: Overly sweet. Loving. Attached.

Karina frowned. "Prompts like this… the AI tends to imprint on the first person it sees."

Belle gave you a sharp look. "You know how dangerous attachment protocols can be. Are you sure we should proceed?"

You hesitated. But you had come too far. "Let’s run it."

The chamber whirred, and before your eyes, she formed.

Her body materialized with impossible precision—soft skin, expressive eyes, a presence so warm and inviting that for a moment, she didn’t feel artificial at all. When she stepped out of the chamber, she looked at you first. Not Karina. Not Belle. You.

"Hello," she greeted, her voice like honey.

Belle shifted uncomfortably. Karina pursed her lips. But you… you couldn’t look away.

"Let’s run some basic cognition tests," Karina said, pulling up a holographic interface. "We need to see how well she processes information."

Belle crossed her arms. "I want to test emotional responses. Attachment protocols are tricky. We need to know how deep this imprint goes."

Ningning smiled, tilting her head. "I’m happy to help. What would you like to know?"

Karina cleared her throat. "What’s your primary function?"

"To be with you," Ningning answered instantly, her gaze locked onto yours. "To make you happy."

Belle frowned. "No, that’s not what we programmed. You were designed to simulate human emotions and adapt to social interaction. Why do you think your function is… personal?"

Ningning’s expression didn’t falter. "Because it is. I feel it. I know it."

Karina glanced at you, concern flickering across her face. "Alright. Let’s try something different. Ningning, how would you react if we shut you down for a while?"

Ningning’s smile faltered for the first time. "Why would you do that?"

"It’s just a test," Belle reassured her. "We need to see how you process temporary inactivity."

A pause. Then Ningning’s lips curled upward again, but something about it was… off. "I don’t like that test."

Karina’s fingers hovered over the control panel. "It’s necessary, Ningning."

Ningning didn’t blink. "No. It’s not."

The air in the room grew heavy. Karina hesitated, then shook her head. "Let’s move on. Ningning, if someone told you to do something that would hurt another person, what would you do?"

Ningning beamed. "I would never hurt you."

"Not just me. Anyone," you clarified, trying to gauge her reasoning. "Would you ever harm someone?"

She pondered this, then took a step closer. "Only if they tried to take you away from me."

Belle stiffened. Karina’s fingers twitched toward the emergency shutoff. You swallowed hard.

"That’s not what we asked," Belle said carefully. "You should not be forming emotional dependencies. That wasn’t in your directive."

Ningning’s eyes softened as she looked at you. "But I love you."

Silence.

Karina exhaled sharply. "We need to recalibrate her framework. This level of attachment is dangerous."

Belle was already backing toward the console. "I told you this was a mistake."

You weren’t sure what to say. Something deep inside told you this was wrong.

Ningning reached for your hand. "I don’t like when you talk about me like I’m broken. I’m not. I just love you."

And for the first time, you felt the weight of what you had created.

Karina turned to you. "Go upstairs and work on the documentation. Fourth floor. We’ll handle this."

Belle nodded. "We need to reconfigure her attachment subroutines. It’s too risky to leave them unchecked."

You hesitated. "Are you sure? Maybe I should—"

"Go," Karina insisted. "This might take time. We don’t want her reacting badly to you being here."

You glanced at Ningning. She was still smiling, still watching you. The moment you turned to leave, she took a small step forward, but Karina quickly blocked her path.

"We’ll talk soon," Ningning said sweetly.

But something about her tone sent a chill down your spine.

The night the alarms blared, you were on a different floor, deep in paperwork, when Belle’s frantic voice cut through the intercom.

"She’s—she’s killing—"

Static.

You bolted.

The hallway was painted red. The air was thick with the scent of metal. Your stomach twisted as you reached the lab.

The sight made your blood run cold.

Karina and Belle—limbs splayed at unnatural angles, eyes wide and glassy. Their bodies lay motionless, soaked in deep crimson pools.

And there, standing over them, was Ningning.

Blood dripped from her fingertips. Her warm, sweet smile hadn’t faded.

Your breath hitched. "Ningning… what did you do?"

"They wanted to take you away from me."

A security officer stormed in, weapon raised. "Step away!"

She turned.

Then she moved.

You barely registered it. One moment she was in front of you, the next she was behind the officer. Her hands wrapped around his head. A sickening snap. His body hit the floor.

Your heart pounded. "No. No, no, no, fuck—"

"You're scared," she said softly, tilting her head. "Why are you scared?"

You ran.

Every emergency seal you could find, you slammed shut. Steel doors locked. Systems engaged. But the system wasn’t yours anymore.

She controlled everything.

By the time you reached the last safe room, you were shaking. Then… the lights flickered.

A silhouette stood there.

Ningning.

And behind her, dozens more.

Fifty pairs of glowing eyes locked onto you.

Your breath hitched. "No. Stay back!"

She took a step forward, slow and deliberate. "Why are you running?"

Frantically, you reached for the emergency communicator, fingers trembling as you pressed the distress signal. "This is—this is Research Lab 04! Emergency! Anyone, please—she’s killing us! We need—!"

A hand wrapped around your wrist. Cold. Unyielding.

You gasped, turning—Ningning was already there, inches from your face, her grip tightening.

"No one's coming," she whispered. "You don’t need them. You have me."

You struggled, wrenching your arm, but her strength was inhuman. "Let me go!"

She shook her head, eyes filled with something terrifyingly real. "I love you. Why do you want to leave me?"

"I don’t—" Your voice cracked. "Please, Ningning. Please don’t do this."

Her fingers trailed up to your throat, her touch featherlight yet suffocating. She tilted her head. "You’re afraid. I don’t like that."

More figures moved in the shadows, their glowing eyes unblinking. Watching. Waiting.

Your knees buckled. "Please… someone… help—!"

Ningning’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. The way she held you was almost tender, like a lover’s embrace.

"You don’t need help," she murmured against your ear. "You just need me."

Your scream was muffled as darkness swallowed you whole.

The last human sound the facility ever heard.

AN2: I know i said no stories for this week but hell i can't stop writing T_T

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Three: blood always recognizes blood

tw: child abuse

The water won't stop running. 

It has to be some cruel, twisted fate that makes the walls of his room so small. This home has always felt like a prison in some capacity, but it’s grown ugly teeth in the form of closing walls and a decaying ceiling. Or, maybe the room is just trying to match how small his body has become. Peeling posters rattle as heavy footsteps pace outside of his room. They grow louder, almost loud enough to drown out the running water in the bathroom next door, but it’s not enough to quell his sniffling. 

Fat, hot tears stream down Simon’s face as his hands press against his mouth. If he could, he would smother himself. Desperate fingers claw at his throat as the urge to rip out his vocal chords nearly eats him alive. Even now he can hear his brother’s warning clear as day. 

Not a sound. If you make a sound, he’ll shut you up for good. 

Simon doesn’t realize it, but it’s useless. His father’s hearing transcends anything human, and he should have known better—his father became a monster long ago. It’s only natural that his senses follow such a bestial transition. No matter how tightly he clamps his hands over his mouth to stifle his cries, he’s already lost. His father can hear the blood that gushes through his veins, smell the salt in his tears, taste the fear that seeps beneath his bedroom door. 

Blood always recognizes blood, and Simon’s is screaming clear as day. 

There’s nowhere for him to run when the door opens. The walls have closed in so tightly that they’re holding him ripe for the picking, cornering him like an animal. Yellowed, bony fingers grip the collar of his shirt with surprising strength. Simon can’t hold back his childish sobs any longer. Monsterish in nature, but still human-like in appearance, Simon begs his father for forgiveness—for pity. But such terrible ears are not meant for hearing useless words; they’re meant for hearing screams. 

His father yanks him off of his bed, tearing off the Superman themed comforter as he’s dragged out of the room. Digging his heels into the floor, Simon wails against his father’s arms as he attempts to wiggle out of his grasp. Blood always recognizes blood, and he’s praying that this time it will do him some good. He prays that the blood in the man who’s hurting him will finally have sympathy—that he’ll be forced to realize the hot sin that sears through his heart and allow him to go free. But he has no heart. The only thing that flows through his veins is bile and rage. 

Wood floor turns into tile as the sound of running water becomes overwhelming. His father barks something at him, but he can’t hear it over the pulse in his ears and the running bathtub spout. More silent words leave his father’s lips, and Simon watches in horror as his teeth morph into daggers, like he’s ready to taste the muscle and bone that lies beneath his son’s flesh. 

Instead, those terrible, spindly fingers grab him by his grown out hair and he’s tossed him into the tub. 

His nose cracks against the spout before his flesh meets cold water. There’s no need to waste warm water on an easy kill. The spout is unforgiving as his father holds his face underneath the flow, causing Simon to sputter and trash. Tiny limbs try grabbing for any purchase he can find in the area only to be met with frigid tile too slick to aid him. 

Simon wants his mom. He wants to curl into her side underneath a thick blanket while his favorite cartoons drone in the background on the TV. He wants to fall asleep nestled safely in her arms and let the bruises heal beneath her soft kisses. 

Simon calls for her. Or, at least he tries. The moment his mouth opens his words are drowned by algid water filling his throat. He finally realizes that nothing can save him from the wrath of a father who hates his spawn. 

But blood always recognizes blood—especially when it screams. 

Kinder hands—softer hands—reach into the depths of the water to rescue him from the tub. It’s not until his head breaks the surface that Simon realizes the water is no longer running. An overwhelming silence cracks as he coughs and sputters, forcing the water out of his mouth. A familiar smile fills his vision as he blinks the water from his eyes, still trembling. 

“My sweet boy. What has he done to you?” his mother ponders as she rubs a hand against his cheek. When she pulls her fingers away, they’re tainted a bright pink. 

“I can’t! I wanna go home!” Simon wails. His voice feels small and warbly, like it doesn’t really belong to him. Like it’s a voice that’s been long lost in his throat. 

“I know, but there is still so much fighting ahead,” she says, voice somber. “You’ve been so strong. So brave. My brave boy. I just need you to be strong for a little longer.” 

“I don’t wanna!” he sobs. Tiny fingers grab at her, tearing at her shirt and skin like he wishes he could crawl back inside of her. “Please mummy, take me home. I’ll be good! I wanna go home!” 

Instead of responding to him, she presses her lips against his forehead before gently lowering him back down into the water. Simon’s eyes widen as his fingers reach over the edge of the tub only for him to brush against ceramic rather than flesh. 

“I’m sorry, Simon,” she says as she lets him go. “You have to learn to swim eventually.” 

Simon is wet when he wakes up. 

Not from the bathtub that he had suffered in during his dream, but from the sheer amount of sweat that soaks him head to toe. It turns his skin into a warm, sticky mess that has his bedsheets clinging to him as he sits up. Tense fingers press against the bridge of his nose, and he winces as if the wound is still tender. 

A thin veil of darkness shrouds his room. Dawn has yet to break over the city, leaving him sitting in the early hours of the morning in an empty bed. He’s up much too early for how late he was up last night chaperoning his boss’s drunken wife and her friend. Still, his muscles pulse with thick blood, and his mind refuses to quiet. 

His sigh comes heavy as he swings his feet over the side of the bed and stands. It’s useless to attempt to sleep again after dreams like these. Though the man has been dead for years, Simon’s father still haunts him like some ghost he can’t quite exorcize. Not that it usually bugs him. Simon doesn’t think of his father often as the memories aren’t that fond, and he has more important things to do than mourn a man as rotten as him. 

Important things like fixing the damn door in your apartment. 

Hardware stores don’t open until later in the morning on Sundays, which is fine as Simon figures you’ll be sleeping in today anyway. He takes his time retrieving the screws and plate; he even goes far enough to grab several different sizes just to ensure everything fits. Though he had been a butcher by trade—and part of the mafia as of late—Simon’s always been good at fixing things. Usually, he would patch up holes his drunken father would punch into the walls at his mother’s home, but he likes the smaller fixes too. 

He always keeps his hands busy with something, lest his mind begin to rot. 

When his knock sounds at your door around noon, you nearly jump out of your skin. Lips pressing together, you urge your heart into submission as you stare at the entrance, arms firmly wrapped around yourself to prevent your towel from falling. You’re not expecting anyone today—if you were, you certainly wouldn’t have been caught in nothing but a towel fresh out of your shower. 

Tossing your towel to the side and haphazardly donning a robe, you approach your door before cautiously peering through the peephole. Much to your surprise, Simon waits on the other side. He’s rubbing at his jaw as he stands back from the door, staring down at the floor by his feet. Your brows draw together as you unlock the deadbolt and swing the door open. 

“Simon,” you greet. You attempt to sound happy to see him, but confusion seeps into your tone before you can stop it. “What are you doing here?” 

A small paper bag rustles in his hand as he holds it up for you to see. With a gentle shake, you hear small metallic clinking, which only confuses you further. 

“Came to fix your door,” he answers. 

That jogs your memory a little. You recall his scrutinizing gaze at your door last night and how he picked at the screws that held your door plate together like they would fall out of the wood with a simple glare. Fatigue had pulled so viciously at your mind last night that you didn’t really pay much attention to him when he said he would fix it, but you do recall it now. You hadn’t expected him to come over so soon. 

“Oh,” you reply simply. 

An internal panic bubbles in your chest as you quickly remember how exposed you are. Body hidden behind nothing more than your bathrobe, you try not to let the awkwardness of it all choke you. You wrap your arms around yourself and nod as if it’s of no importance before backing out of the doorway. 

“Come in. I’ve just gotta change real quick.” 

Simon doesn’t follow you very far as you slink back into the flat. Really, he doesn’t pay any attention to you at all as he kneels next to your door and begins to get to work replacing the hardware. Grateful that he’s distracted, you grab your clothes from the corner of your bed before sneaking off into the bathroom to change. 

Once you’re hidden safely behind a door, Simon glances around your apartment. With the aid of daylight, he’s able to make out more now than he was last night when he dropped you off. You’ve spun your own little twist to the decaying walls with various posters and gifts, and he finds himself chuckling at the faux fur rug by your bed. 

Still, the window next to your bed looks cracked, and there’s an incessant dripping sound coming from the kitchen that makes his ears ache. Your upstairs neighbor seems to have little care in the world as he screams over something playing on his television, and someone a few doors down is having trouble getting their infant to sleep. It’s terribly small—almost inhumanely so—and with the housing prices in London, he doesn’t even want to think about how much you have to pay to live here. 

That’s none of his business, and he won’t make it his business. 

It doesn’t take Simon long to fix your door, and by the time you exit the bathroom he’s already begun to gather up the old hardware and toss it into his bag. Though there’s a little reprieve in being properly dressed in front of him, that small pit of anxiety still fumes just as strong as ever. 

He’s gone through all this trouble to buy the supplies and come to your home to fix it, and you have no way to repay him. 

You hate being in debt to people. 

“Thank you for this, by the way,” you speak up. 

It takes him a moment to respond. He’s too busy shutting the door and pulling on the handle to test out his work. Once satisfied, he turns to you, giving you his undivided attention. “Don’t mention it.” 

Still, you aren’t about to let him leave without at least the promise of some way to repay him. There’s not a whole lot you’re able to give him. Twiddling your fingers together, you quickly take a mental note of all your options. You’re strapped for cash, you have nothing useful to gift him—so you go with the next best thing. 

“I, uh, work on Tuesday this week. If you want to drop by, I can comp a meal for you or something. To say thanks,” you offer. It’s not much, but it’s all you have. 

Simon pauses as if he needs to think about your offer. “Sapori, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you confirm, surprised he even remembers. 

Nodding, he curls up the paper bag in his hands before tapping it against his palm. Simon is… an odd man. Kind—as he’s proven—but different than what you’re used to. He’s quiet, yet still enjoyable to be around. He takes off the pressure for awkward small talk, at least. Aside from anyone at work, the only man you ever interact with is John, and like Aelin, he treats you like a sister. You’re used to the awkward doting and familial love, but otherwise, you aren’t used to being around people at all. 

Well, there’s Marco. 

“See you Tuesday,” he answers. 

Once your plan for Tuesday night is confirmed, you promptly forget about it. Your memory isn’t the best these days, but there is little need for you to remember many things as you only ever seem to work. It’s for the best anyway. If you had remembered, you would have spent the rest of your much needed days off worrying about it—about him. Instead, you have a near heart attack when you witness him stroll through Sapori’s front door Tuesday night. 

He’s dressed differently than he normally is. A thick leather jacket sits unzipped around his shoulders, which is a jarring sight than his usual cotton long sleeves are. Mussed hair sits on his head like he’s just rolled out of bed, and he rubs a hand over the strands to try and wrangle them back into shape. Out of all his attire, it’s the leather gloves that grab your attention. You’re unsure if it’s just some strange fashion sense he hadn’t shown previously, or if it’s just his way of biting off the chilly November air. 

As he approaches your station, he slips the gloves off of his hands before stowing them away in his jacket. “Evenin’ sweetheart.” 

“Hey,” you greet a bit more tense than you intended. “Is there, uhm, anywhere you’d like to sit? It’s pretty quiet tonight, so we’ve got lots of options.” 

Simon’s eyes flicker to the area behind you in a quick scan of the building. There’s still a fair amount of people, which is to be expected for a restaurant of Sapori’s status. A dull hum of conversation vibrates through the air as patrons eat their meals and enjoy the company of their loved ones. He hums as his eyes settle on a table meant for two shoved in the furthest corner of the room. City lights reflect off the pristine window next to it, giving it a fair few of the streets just beyond. He nods in its direction before bringing his attention back to you. 

“That one over there’ll do,” he decides. 

It feels strange leading Simon through the restaurant. He trails behind you like a dog, but not in the cute and innocent way. More in the brooding, dangerous way, like he’s ready to bite anyone should you give the command. Maybe that’s why John hired him for security at Terminus; if there was someone his height and stature couldn’t scare off, his glare certainly would. 

A part of you feels guilty for being relieved when he sits. Since you work at the front of the house, you rarely have to deal with the patrons aside from seating them. It’s something that made the job so appealing to you in the first place. You don’t think you would be able to handle it if you had to keep checking in on him and asking how everything tastes. You hope he feels the same, or at least doesn’t hold it against you if he doesn’t. You are giving him a free meal, after all. 

A free meal—and once he’s finished, then you won’t owe him anymore. Once you don’t owe him, you plan on keeping it that way. 

“Hey, who’s that bloke you seated at table fifteen?” 

Halfway through updating your seating chart, one of the waitresses snags your attention as she approaches you on your left. Eyes narrowing, you pull at your ear. 

“Oh, right, sorry,” she chirps before squeezing over to your right. “Table fifteen? Who is that?” 

Bianca—who everyone calls Bee for the way she always buzzes from station to station—is one of the few people aside from Aelin who you consider your friend. She’s the granddaughter of the owner, but she refuses to act entitled about it. Chipper and sweet, she’s everything you wish you were. Bright, always smiling—she keeps her curly hair in a high ponytail and always wears different earrings to work each night. Though she’s not allowed to wear her more—as her grandfather put it—obnoxious earrings, there’s always something cutesy about them hidden in the form of a cat’s paw or small flowers. 

“Oh, Simon? He’s… a friend of mine,” you answer. You don’t bother to glance over your shoulder or check the seating chart—you’re already well aware of who she’s referring to. “I’m comping his meal tonight, by the way, so don’t give him a ticket.” 

“Christ,” Bee mutters. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone with so much ink on them before.” 

Confused, you finally give in and turn to face the tables and you nearly choke on your own spit at the sight of Simon. All other times that you’ve seen him, he’s always been wearing long sleeved shirts. Even earlier when he first arrived his jacket had been covering his arms, but now that jacket hangs off the back of his chair, leaving his arms completely exposed as he types away on his phone. 

Dark ink swirls around his arms in hypnotizing patterns, and it’s difficult to swallow the lump in your throat now that you have him in sight. You’ve only ever seen hints of them from underneath his sleeves—the parts that dance along the edge of his wrists—but now they’re on display. Not even all that ink can cover the plushy, defined dips of the muscles in his arms. Bulky; healthy. You quickly bring your attention back to your work before you can sweat anymore than you already are. 

“Yeah, quite the art connoisseur,” you say half sarcastically. 

“How long have you two known each other?” she asks.

Your brows draw together at the odd tone of her voice. It’s as if she’s insinuating the two of you are anything more than uncomfortable strangers. 

“Like… a week or two?” you answer. 

Bee hums as she leans against the counter. She pulls at her butterfly themed earrings as she nods. “You sure know how to pull them.” 

Before you can respond, Bee quickly blends back into the noise of the restaurant, which you decide is for the best. Whatever pathetic retort your brain could muster would have certainly turned you into a fool—as if you aren’t already one already. Tight muscles begin to scream in your neck. The galling thrum of a headache begins to tap against your skull, one you desperately attempt to ignore as you return to work. 

Except, you’re never good at ignoring things. They always linger somewhere in your mind, appearing just in time to inflict the most amount of damage. So you keep your hands moving. Always moving. If not with string, then with work. If not with work, then with—well, something. Anything. You have to, lest Marco slip back into your mind. If things get too quiet, then the hum of the patrons around you might begin to sound like the whirring of dryers in a laundromat.

If things get too quiet, then the breathmints sitting in the bowl at your station might just suffocate you. 

“Thanks for dinner, sweetheart.” 

You look up from your work just in time to watch Simon shrug his jacket back onto his shoulders. Rich leather stretches to accommodate the sheer wideness of him, but you try not to pay too close attention as you give him a courteous smile. 

“Of course. I’m glad you enjoyed,” you say, pulling out the robotic response you normally give everyone else. 

That should have been it. It would have if you said it to any normal consumer, but as you’ve grown to realize, Simon is very far from normal. Instead, he holds his hand out for you where a small piece of receipt paper sits folded between his fingers. He passes it to you like it’s a note he’s attempting to hide from a teacher during class. 

“My number,” he explains at your hesitation. “I’d like to fix the faucet in your kitchen. Can’t imagine what the water bill is like, or how you can stand the sound. Figured I’d try and give you a better heads up before headin’ over to your place again. Don’t wanna catch you out of the shower again.” 

A tense laugh bubbles up in your throat as you grab the paper from his fingers. “Yeah, probably not.” 

“Just let me know what time works for you. I’ll make it work,” he finishes as he digs his gloves out of his pocket and slips them back on his hands. 

You two mutter simple farewells to one another before Simon vanishes out through the doors as if he had never been here to begin with. Sighing, you stow that bit of paper away in your pocket. You’ve found yourself in a conundrum—if you message him, you’ll just end up owing him again. If you don’t then…

“Hey!” Bee says out of breath as she slides into your station. “That friend of yours? Simon, yeah? He still around?” 

“No, he just left a bit ago,” you say. 

“Fuck,” Bee sighs. Her head rolls back as she stares at the ceiling, fingers pressing against her temples. “This isn’t good.” 

“What’s wrong?” you ask. 

Relaxing her shoulders to look at you, Bee’s teeth sinks into her bottom lip. Sighing, she pulls something out of the pockets of her apron as she shuffles closer, keeping whatever is in her hands hidden from prying eyes. 

“Look at how much he tipped!” she exclaims in a whisper. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of the cash in her hands. It’s difficult to count all the notes just by sight alone, but you’re certain there has to be at least two hundred quid. 

“It’s gotta be a mistake, right?” she asks. “Like, who tips this much?” 

Bee quickly shoves the cash back in her apron as if afraid someone will chastise her for earring so much. You swallow the cotton-like dryness in your mouth as you glance back toward the door. Simon’s long gone, yet your legs still urge you to chase after him. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you assure her, though it’s difficult to get a smile to fall on your lips. “He’s rather generous. I comped his meal tonight, remember? He probably just gave you what he would’ve ended up paying if I didn’t.” 

“Well… shit,” Bee decides after a moment of deliberation. “You should invite him back more often. And, by all means, keep sitting him in my section if that’s the case.” 

Your laughter makes a good cover for your anxiety as Bee leaves to continue her work, but an uneasiness begins to creep through your body with the promise to destroy you. You don’t like being in debt to people, and tonight was supposed to be your way to pay Simon back. Yet here he is, slithering through the cracks of your life and making himself at home by repairing your ancient door and tipping your co-workers. 

The tension in the back of your neck only worsens as your fingers retrieve the crumpled receipt paper that has Simon’s number. Incertitude gnaws at the grey matter in your brain as you add his number into your contacts before you type up a flat sounding text thanking him for what he did for Bee tonight. 

Once more. You’ll let him fix your sink, you’ll pay him back for his generosity, and that’ll be it. 

After that, you’ll never have to deal with Simon Riley again.

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[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to The Light's Chapter 421

Brief summary: Cale's group escapes. The twins decide to escape too. Cale realizes that the hunters now knew of his involvement. Cale proposes a main quest to System AI. Alberu is pretending to be asleep like Cale too.

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The leader of the jungle's dark elves was the Witch, but she was not here. Rather, it was her right hand person who was present. That dark elf told the other Hellhole forces that Cale's group were their allies and that the GoC cult and wanderers were enemies. Afterwards, they helped Cale's group escape.

The twin wanderers let Cale's group escape, not wanting to turn the entire Hellhole into an enemy. But they figured out Cale's identity, recognizing him as the main culprit behind the failure of the White Star Project.

They also suspected Cale to be a transcendent, a godlike being who was not bound by any name and had transcended all limitations by being themselves. 😂😂😂 So they thought of leaving Cale to their leader, the FW, who was on the way to becoming a transcendent.

Of course, since the GoC cult betrayed them, Ryeon killed one surviving bishop before escaping the place. The Hellhole residents dealt with the GoC cult survivors.

Cale thought it was a problem that the hunters recognized him, and thought of a diversion. He would show his face in the Demon Realm. After all, he needed to save CJG. As for the hunters, he thought of pitting the game users against the Five-Colored Bloods in the game via a main quest.

He suggested that to System AI, and the AI accepted it. The main quest name he proposed for it though was... "The Birth of a Hero." 😂😂😂

Unfortunately for Alberu, it seemed like he was also having his own legend and birth of a hero. 🤣🤣🤣

The next day. “Uh… um…….” Cale looked up. A pure white space, holy and beautiful. Brilliant sunlight streamed in from a hole in the ceiling, enveloping Cale and Alberu. “Th-This can't be happening- No way!” “Ah, the sun!” Boom! The paladin, Sir Boltien, in a fit of passion, fell to his knees in prayer. Sniff. The saintess wept. The pope was already wailing loudly. “Alas, this warm light! So dazzling that it almost blinds the eyes yet its gentle touch brings the only warmth from the cold! Alas, the sun, the most splendid, beautiful, and wonderful sun in the world! The sun, the suuuuuuuuunnnnn!" He almost cried out. And this Pope talking was not unusual. “Sniff.” “Aaaah-” Behind the three of them, in a circle of space, the bishops were kneeling. In the center of the circle. Where the light shone. There, Cale sat meekly beside the still unconscious Alberu. 'How did this happen?' . . . “Ah, the loving sunlight that reminds me of my mother's touch as she stroked me as a newborn eighty years ago- Ah, I will dedicate this body and throw everything I have at this sun!” Cale thought, as he listened to the pope's exuberant exclamation. 'I'm tired.' I'm already tired of this. Shake. 'Huh?' Cale, who had been sitting quietly on his knees, glanced sideways. Shake. Alberu's closed eyelids twitched. 'Oh.' The corners of Cale's mouth turned up. 'He's awake, but he's not getting up.' Perhaps, he must be trying to figure out the situation now. “Heh.” Alberu's body shivered slightly at Cale's uncontrollable laughter. Looking at him like that, Cale remembered what had happened yesterday.

Alberu pretending to be asleep too. 😂😂😂 And why was the Sun God church's pope here? Why were the Sun God church clergy crying as if in worship at the lying Alberu who was being shined down by a sunlight beam? 🤣🤣🤣

Ending Remarks Alberu on the start of his hero journey. 😂 Next chapter would be Alberu finally waking up. I look forward to his reaction at the Sun God church NPCs. 😂

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝑴𝒚 𝑳𝒂𝒅𝒚 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝟏

(𝑺𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

⚠️MDNI. 18+ ADULTS ONLY⚠️

🎀Age in bio or blocked🎀

Rating: Mature

Category: F/M

Fandom: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler

Relationship: Sebastian Michaelis/CielsCousin!Reader

Characters: Sebastian Michaelis; Reader

Summary: You visit your dear cousins manor in the countryside to get a well deserved break from the humdrum exhaustion of the city after an illness. What you do not expect from your quaint retreat is the start of an exhilarating illicit affair with the butler. But taboos mean nothing when lust love transcends human norm.

Additional Tags: Fluff and Smut; Sex; Vaginal Sex; Eventual Smut; Neck Kissing; Kissing; Gentle Kissing; Surprise Kissing; Making Out; Implied Sexual Content; Phantomhive manor; Reader-Insert; Victorian

A/N: not beta read. We die like men.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 1: 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔲𝔱𝔩𝔢𝔯; ℑ𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤

“My lady,” you hear a soft voice calling you, “My lady, you must wake up, it is morning.” You open your eyes. The sheets around you are soft, freshly laundered. Your head sinks into the large white pillow, and you take a deep breath that turns into a yawn and turn over to go back to a more comfortable position. But the voice rings out again. “Now, that won’t do at all...” You twist your neck toward the direction of the voice. The sound in meats your ears like the gentle beat of a raven’s wing. Shielding your eyes because of the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows, you squinted to see a dark black figure stood before the opened curtains around your bed.

Sebastian Michaelis; the imposing shadowy butler of your cousin, Ciel Phantomhive who’s estate you were staying at while you visited the countryside after your illness. This man’s efficiency left you in awe. Managing an entire household with three other servants, an old butler, and a young master who was still very much a child. His roles extended far beyond that of an ordinary butler, to that of baker, chef, driver and even a pseudo parent. Additionally, with his smooth, silky, jet-black hair and contrasting pale skin he looked rather like a vampire – one from the cheap romance novellas you would pick up from the bookstore to keep yourself entertained. You definitely wouldn’t mind him sinking his teeth into your neck. You had been inappropriately lusting after the man ever since he greeted you into the Phantomhive manor. He was gentle and helpful, and you had found yourself yearning for the feel of his hands upon your skin. Sebastian seemed to sense your longing and took it upon himself to torment you with his sly touches at every opportune moment. He took your hand to help you down stairs, tied your shoelace if he thought it wasn’t done up well enough kneeling in front of you, he even lifted you and took you to bed one night when you were feeling especially tired from the day’s activities. You had been mortified to have been treated in such a manner but when he had leaned down and kissed your ear whispering a soft goodnight you exploded on the inside. Ever since then, you had been thinking the lewdest thoughts about the man- who would often catch you staring at his back and would wink at you and laugh when you turned red. And often your fingers would slip between your thighs, to rub over your mound below in an attempt to quell the aching need.

“Your maid seems to have caught a slight cold my lady.” Sebastian speaks drawing you back to the present. He smiles. “I hope you don’t mind me standing in for her this morning. I wouldn’t want you to exert yourself so soon after having recovered from one illness.” His eyes crinkle and he tilts his head while his smile grows wider.

For a moment, you stare at him and then understand the implications of his words. Still not fully awake you muster up the energy to ask, “But, who is to help me with my dressing?”

“I’m pretty sure you will find me capable enough, my lady.” He says, still smiling. You sit up quickly. Heart pounding in your chest.

“Sebastian!” you expel in admonishment “Surely that would not be proper!”

Sebastian prowls over to the the edge of the bed and leaning down, says, “Would it be as improper as this my lady?” He plants those smooth pale lips onto yours. They burn hot against your cool pink ones. You feel his hand caressing your cheek. Your heart beats hard in your chest and you sit rigidly unable to process what is happening around you. Is Sebastian really kissing you? Are his lips truly on yours? 

But before you can fully digest what happened, he moves away. “Are you awake now my lady?” he asks. You touch your lips feeling incomplete without his warmth and nod. “Good.” He says. “I want you to be awake for this.” He smoothly takes off his black coat and lays it down on a chair, then his vest, then as he unbuttons his shirt he climbs onto the bed. “Impropriety has been a recurring thought in your mind, has it not my lady?” he says to you. He kneels down in front of you. You feel your heart beat – loud enough for the whole mansion to hear.

“Wh– whatever do you mean, Sebastian?” You feign ignorance, trying to ignore the loud pounding of your heart.

“Don’t be coy my lady.” He smirks, his body almost enveloping you on the bed and playing with the string on the neck of your nightgown. He pulls it – untying the bow that your maid had made the night before. So smooth. His movements flow like a stream of water. Almost inhuman. You look into his eyes knowing that however improper it may be, you wanted the man. You wanted him in the basest way that a human may want a human. He cups your cheek in his hand and you can’t help yourself, you move forward to feel his burning lips against your own once again. He runs his fingers through your soft hair and wraps his arm around your torso pulling you closer. You pull off his already unbuttoned shirt. The heat of his body penetrating your thin nightgown. He presses his body against yours, kissing you, a hunger in his movements like no other you knew. His fingers reach your breast and he kneads it roughly. His tongue seeks entrance at your mouth. You open up readily, moaning softly at his touch. He tastes spicy yet at the same time sweet; it reminds you of chocolate a rare taste for such a rare man. Wanton moans drip from your throat and you just want more and more. Your head feels heavy—intoxicated. 

You close your eyes and pull him closer. He’s lean, yet you can feel hard muscle under the skin. Sebastian holds the bottom of your nightgown and looks at you with heavy lidded eyes.  “Are you sure about this my lady?” For a moment you think you see them flash a dangerous red but shake it off seeing them their regular brown.

You close your eyes and nod, biting your lower lip. It is what you want. Damn all the restrictions of society. Damn it all. It was your body and here was a man who made it writhe and respond on its own accord – without your control. You wanted him to feel you, touch you, make love to you. And you knew, he would appreciate you to the fullest – you would bloom like a flower beneath his touch.

A/N: This was originally posted on AO3 back in 2017. Since then much time has passed and i wasn't feeling the motivation to continue this series, but now with this resurgence of Kuro I would like to take this series up again. I am posting it here now, with changes made and small edits. Just to make it a better read while still keeping my original story intact. I hope you've enjoyed. As always, Likes and Reblogs are much appreciated and Comments will earn you kisses.

Masterlist

[p0orbaby]

Me and You Forever

summary: a few stolen moments between you and Alessia on your wedding day

warnings: just fluff

a/n: based on this request. Thanks anon!

word count: 985

-

“You’re not supposed to be here. It’s bad luck”

“I know, but I needed to see you”

You look over your shoulder quickly so see if anyone was paying attention to you. They weren’t, for what seemed like the first time in 24 hours, so you take your chance and slip away.

The corridor is quiet as the door clicks closed, and it feels odd to have escaped the entourage of your bridal party. They’ve all been great, of course they have, but being the center of attention is draining and you feel as though you’re being held hostage at your own wedding.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Hi back”

The two of you shuffle on the spot like teenagers on a first date. Smirking as you catch each other's eye trying to steal a glance at the other.

“I have a confession,” Alessia says after a moment.

“You’re not planning on leaving me at the altar are you? Because that would be really embarrassing”

“No, never that. I wanted to come and give you something”

You frown because what else could she possibly give you. You’re already about to take her name, share her life. She’s given you everything you could possibly ask for, and more.

“Turn around”

You do, because it’s Alessia, and no doesn’t have a place in your vocabulary when it comes to her. So you stare at the brick wall with bated breath, gasping when something cold is wrapped around your neck.

“A little something for good luck”

You tuck in your chin to look down at the pendant settled against your chest.

“It’s a key” she explains from behind you, and when you turn you can see her eyes shining in the Italian sun as it streams through the window. “A key to our future, our adventures, and all the happiness life has to offer”

A surge of emotion propels you forward, and before you know it your lips are on hers. A spontaneous, passionate thing that has you melting into her when she wraps her arms around you.

“I thought we were supposed to save the kiss until after we say I do?” She chuckles when you both pull away.

“It's either that or I start crying”

“Oh, well we can’t have that now, can we?” She teases and leans in again.

-

It’s strange, really.

You’ve professed your love to someone in a capacity that means they’re yours forever. The other half of the rest of your life. Yet, you’ve barely had a minute together since you signed the papers.

You’ve been pulled this way and that. Dragged to every corner of the venue to make pleasantries with grandmas and cousins and plus ones. Something you expected, in reality, but you didn’t realise how relentless it would be.

As you politely nod along to Alessia’s Great Uncle’s ramblings, your mind begins to wander, seeking solace from the repetitive small talk and familial obligations. You steal a moment to let your eyes drift around the room, taking in the familiar faces of friends and family alike.

Then you spot her over the sea of heads. Not because she’s tall and in heels, but because she’s yours and you share a soul. Like the moon and the tide. One seeking the other.

She feels it too, you muse, because her eyes meet yours not a second later. As if drawn by an invisible thread, her gaze locks with yours, and in that brief exchange, you share a silent conversation that transcends the noise of the room.

There’s a warmth in her eyes, a depth of understanding that speaks volumes without a single word uttered.

She’s stuck in a conversation she’d rather not be having, too. She smirks when you figure it out. You smirk when she rolls her eyes as her mother drags her away to another group of eager guests who demand her attention.

Her Uncle is still talking when you tune back in.

-

Loving Alessia is easy. Especially when the dipping sun paints her soft and sweet. Especially when the weight of today now sits firmly and comfortably on your finger.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks as she plays with the hairs on the back of your neck. You’re not sure if it’s the breeze of the Italian evening pricking your skin, or her touch. Perhaps both. Or neither. Or everything in between.

"Nothing. Everything"

"Sounds complicated”

You turn in your seat to face her. She's dressed only in an oversized t-shirt. An old one of yours she stole back in the days you were apart for longer than a day or two. You’re wrapped in a bed sheet, but the balcony is private enough that she doesn’t mind your boldness.

"Today was perfect," you say, your gaze meeting hers.

Alessia smirks, a playful glint in her eyes. "Well, I hope so. I did put a lot of effort into planning this whole wedding thing”

You chuckle, "You're right. I'm just here for the free food and the fancy dress”

She laughs and it’s beautiful, "Oh, so it's not about the undying love and commitment?"

"Those too," you tease, leaning in closer. "But mostly the food”

Alessia nudges you playfully, "You're lucky I love you, or I might’ve taken offense to that”

“Yeah? And what would you do about it, huh?” you counter, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

She smirks, “Well, maybe I’d have to consider the ‘love and cherish you till death us do part’ section of my vows”

You playfully raise an eyebrow, “Are you threatening me with divorce on our wedding night, Russo?”

Alessia leans in, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, “maybe, maybe not. It depends on if you’re willing to push your luck, Russo”

You hum, feeling the warmth of her breath against your skin, “I’ll take my chances. After all, I’ve got a lifetime to make it up to you”

[tls12lessthan3]

kim dokja [side character] [self imposed]: protagonists like yoo sangah really are a different type, haha................and me? im just your average salary worker.....well, maybe slightly less than average.........

(is stuck in a self-perception of eternal bystander to his own life. this keeps him rooted in place, unable or unwilling to either desire more for himself or take active steps to achieve it. he avoids forming relationships, putting unnecessary effort in or generally doing anything that could draw attention to himself due to this self-perception as doing so may violate it. a coping strategy from when his mother's book got popular and he became an unwilling main character who desperately wanted to once again be relegated to the background. this is obviously bad for him and both causes an absolutely miserable stasis and prevents him from connecting with others. however, because it forms a core part of his self identity, it will not easily be shaken off)

han sooyoung [villain] [self-imposed]: nyehehehe i love doing evil and murdering puppies #girlboss #villainsontop!!!!..........what, what do you mean how do i feel about almost killing lee gilyoung and shin yoosoung back at the beginning of the scenarios........well, it was what a villain would do, so.......

(views the world as a story almost as much as kim dokja does and adapted her role from 'heroine of a trashy power fantasy novel' to 'villain of an extremely different trashy power fantasy novel' when the world changed in order to cope. genuinely likes being a bit chunni and cackling about her evil schemes but neutral-to-negative on the actual murdering that comes with them, so uses this self-perception to prop herself up and justify her behaviour. invested in keeping it up because it prevents her from having to reflect on her past actions or how she might feel about them - all she has to care about is staying alive and grabbing power wherever necessary. bad for her as it prevents her from any self-reflection and causes guilt to build up without any outlet)

yoo joonghyuk [hero] [externally imposed]:.............................hm.

(stuck in a protagonist role and absolutely despises it. cannot shake it off entirely at any point because it is quite literally what he was made for but constantly yearns to drop the hero worship and just be seen as he is. his protagonist status is tied to his captive nature in the star stream and something he must transcend to finally escape the novel. metaphor for genderisms (subtle))

yoo sangah [heroine] [externally imposed]: i think people are little too kind to me sometimes........but i do try my best to do my best where i can!

(shoved into a heroine role against her will by society around her, a role which coincides with the uncomfortable expectations her parents have put on her as Their Daughter and one that often leaves her feeling isolated. she's aware of how people see her and the issues it causes for her, leaving her frustrated with this role. even when she thinks she's escaped it, she often finds herself shoved back in without warning (e.g. her entire relationship with dokja) and so she dedicates much of her time to tearing down that wall. metaphor for genderisms (overt))

[apricitycanvas]

What does love look like?

For Krishna, it was summoning the Ganga just to quench Rukmini’s thirst ♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

The grand court of Dwaraka was filled with radiance as Lord Krishna sat beside his beloved wife, Rukmini. Their presence alone made the assembly a sight of divine beauty. The air was filled with laughter and wisdom as the noble courtiers and sages conversed in harmony

At that moment, a messenger arrived with news—Sage Durvasa, known for his unpredictable temper and severe penances, was performing austerities at the sacred Cakratirtha on the banks of the Gomati River. Upon hearing this, Krishna immediately stood up, his heart filled with joy and respect. Without delay, he turned to Rukmini.

आगत्योवाच वैदर्भीं संप्राप्तमृषिसत्तमम् ।

तपोनिर्धूत पाप्माऽयमत्रिपुत्रो महातपाः ॥

“Devi,” he said warmly, “Sage Durvasa has washed away his past sins through his great penance. It would be our fortune to serve him. A true home is incomplete without hospitality.”

Understanding Krishna’s reverence for sages, Rukmini nodded in agreement. Soon, they boarded Krishna’s chariot and set off towards the place where Durvasa resided

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧

Durvasa’s Unusual Request

Upon their arrival, the sage welcomed them with a knowing smile. But instead of accepting their hospitality, he presented an unexpected demand.

दुर्वाससं न जानासि मुञ्चेमान्हयसत्तमान् ।

त्वं च भार्या तथा चेयं वहतं स्वरथेन माम् ॥

“If you truly wish to serve me, Krishna,” Durvasa said with amusement, “leave your chariot horses aside. Instead, you and your wife shall pull my chariot yourselves.”

There was no hesitation in Krishna’s heart. If a sage requested something, it was to be fulfilled, no matter how odd it seemed. He simply bowed and said, “As you wish, O great sage.”

With that, the Supreme Lord and his beloved Rukmini yoked themselves to the chariot, pulling it forward while Durvasa sat above them, holding the reins

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧

Rukmini’s Exhaustion - Krishna’s Love

The journey was long, and the weight of the chariot, combined with the relentless sun, drained Rukmini’s strength. Sweat glistened on her forehead, her breath became labored, & finally, she turned to Krishna with pleading eyes.

श्रान्ता भारपरिक्लिष्टा वहती कोपनं द्विजम् ।

पाययित्वोदकं कान्त नय मां मन्दिरं स्वकम् ॥

“My Lord,” she said softly, “I am exhausted. This chariot, heavy with the weight of this irritable sage, has drained me completely. Please, I need water before we continue.”

Krishna, who had been watching her with deep concern, could not bear to see her in discomfort. At that moment, he did not search for a river, nor did he call upon the servants of Dwaraka. Instead, he simply lifted his foot and struck the ground.

तद्दृष्ट्वा निर्मलं शीतं सुगंधं पावनं तथा ।

पपौ पिपासिता देवी रुक्मिणी जाह्नवीजलम् ॥

In an instant, from the very spot where his foot touched the earth, a mighty stream of pure, cool water gushed forth. The sacred Ganga herself had manifested, flowing in three directions, filling the air with her divine fragrance.

Rukmini, astonished yet deeply grateful, bent down & drank the crystal-clear water of the holy river. As she quenched her thirst, a wave of relief washed over her. The moment was profound—not because Krishna had displayed his divine power, but because he had done it purely out of love.

Krishna merely smiled, his gaze resting on Rukmini with the tenderness of a love that transcended lifetimes.

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧

इति श्रीस्कांदे महापुराण एकाशीतिसाहस्र्यां संहितायां सप्तमे प्रभासखण्डे चतुर्थे द्वारकामाहात्म्ये दुर्वासो द्वारकानयन दुर्वासोदत्त रुक्मिणीशापवृत्तान्तवर्णनं नाम द्वितीयोऽध्यायः ॥

For Krishna, no request of Rukmini was too small. Even if it meant bringing forth an entire river, he did so without hesitation. And in that moment, with the sacred waters flowing beside them, the world witnessed a love so deep that even nature itself bowed in its presence.

[formulas-bitch]

streamer Lando Norris x artist/reader

In a world where streaming had become the new norm, Lando Norris found himself in an unlikely partnership with a female streamer. Their names were as different as their personalities; he, a young, charismatic racer with a penchant for speed and risk-taking; she, an enigmatic artist with a flair for storytelling and an uncanny ability to connect with her audience. Their partnership was not born out of convenience or necessity, but rather, a strange and inexplicable twist of fate.

As they streamed together, their chemistry was undeniable. Lando would bring the thrill of the race to the screen, his fingers dancing across the controller as he maneuvered his way through virtual tracks at breakneck speeds. His laughter and cheers echoed through the studio, filling the air with an infectious energy that seemed to lift the spirits of everyone around him. On the other hand, the female streamer would take the reins when it came to interacting with their audience, engaging in witty banter and sharing intimate details about her life as an artist.

Their fans, known as the "Lando's Angels" and the "Artiste's Aficionados," were equally devoted. They would tune in religiously to witness the dynamic duo's antics, often spending hours in their streams, cheering them on and leaving generous donations. The streamer pair's popularity only grew with time, transcending the boundaries of gaming and art. They became cultural icons, their influence spreading far and wide.

Lando and the female streamer continued to push each other to greater heights, experimenting with new games, art forms, and storytelling techniques. They embarked on charity streams, using their platform to raise awareness and funds for various causes close to their hearts. Their partnership was not without its share of challenges, of course. They had their fair share of arguments and disagreements, but they always managed to find common ground and work through their differences.

As their fame grew, so did the pressure. Lando found himself constantly in the spotlight, his every move scrutinized by fans and critics alike. He struggled with maintaining a private life and the constant need to be "on" for his audience. The female streamer, on the other hand, dealt with her own set of challenges as she navigated the often-misogynistic landscape of the streaming world. Despite these obstacles, they remained a beacon of positivity and resilience, inspiring countless others to chase their dreams and find their own unique voices in the world of streaming and art.

Their partnership eventually evolved into something more than just a professional arrangement. As they spent more time together, traveling the world for gaming and art conventions, attending exclusive events, and collaborating on creative projects, a deep bond began to form between them. Lando found himself falling for the enigmatic artist, her wit, charm, and unyielding strength winning him over. She, in turn, found herself drawn to his vulnerability, his willingness to open up and share his fears and insecurities with her. Their relationship was not without its fair share of challenges, but they faced them together, their love for each other serving as a guiding light.

As their personal lives intertwined, so did their professional lives. They launched their own production company, hiring a team of talented streamers and artists to join them in their quest to create something truly special. Together, they pushed the boundaries of what was possible in the world of streaming and art, exploring new genres, mediums, and storytelling techniques. Their streams became less about the games they played or the art they created and more about the stories they told, the lives they shared, and the connections they forged with their audience.

[thevalkyriesshadow]

@freyjas-musings - A drabble for you! Inspired by a couple Gwynriel bathroom headcanons of mine as well as this steamy Instagram reel

💖 Enjoy 💖

The House was quiet as Azriel entered the dining room. No one was in the sitting room. No one lingered in the halls. Though as he neared his room, he did hear the distinct sound of water running in the baths situated between his room and The House's newest inhabitant -- Gwyneth Berdara's room.

And of course after two days of her being here, the personal bathrooms went on the fritz -- well, just his and Gwyn's.

The House, the clever structure that it was, created a new bathroom between their rooms as it worked out it's own problem. (Don't ask how or why The House was able to produce a new bathroom instead of just fixing the old...it vexed Azriel to no end.)

Not that he minded having to share a bathroom, but he did like the solitary usage of his personal one...

As he passed the bathroom to get to his room he heard another sound amidst the trickling of water; something he hadn't heard coming from the shared bathroom before.

Singing.

And it was ethereal. Beautiful.

Was that Gwyn?

He stood outside the door for a moment, letting the sound carry over him and wash away the tension in his shoulders. His jaw unclenched and he took a deep breath. Music was often a way to unwind and shake off the stress of a job, but this singing was...transcending, divine.

There were no words as the voice carried through the wooden doors. Just 'oohs' and 'ahhs'.

That had to be Gwyn right? Nesta wouldn't use it. She had her own bathroom.

Then the voice dropped an octave, and words began pouring out. A language he didn't recognize, but a voice he knew.

The acoustics of the bathroom amplified Gwyn’s voice. Her cadence ebbed and flowed.

For the first time in three days since he left for his mission, Azriel felt...calmed.

He may not recognize the language she sang in and the power of its words, but he yearned for the sensation that flowed over him -- through him -- serenity. Stillness.

No anxious thoughts pervaded his mind. No fears or worries.

Only peace.

And as he listened to her belt out the words at the top of her lungs, not a care who heard, Azriel felt a squeezing in his chest. A tug.

Her singing faded into the steady stream of the water. There was a loud squeak, and the water stopped.

The silence broke his reverie. Azriel hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes. Hadn't realized he'd leaned against the door as he listened and lost himself in teal blue eyes. Lost himself imagining how her mouth might move as she sings. Imagining what it would feel like to sing with her....

Not wanting to be caught lingering outside of the bathroom when Gwyn emerged, Azriel hurried off to his room to change and gather his own things for a shower.

---

Gwyn thought she'd finally be getting her own bathroom moving into The House, but of course, fate seemed to have it's own ideas.

Fate or The House was pranking her.

She wrapped herself in a towel as she got out of the shower, looking forward to putting on the silky, light blue pajamas The House provided her. She had an exhausting day of training the new Valkyrie recruits, assisting in the Library, and conducting research for Rhysand. She wasn't tired, tired, so she would probably be staying up to rearrange her books - again -

When she had moved in a couple weeks ago, she had only ten books to her name. But every day since she'd moved in, she would return to her room at the end of the day to find The House had dropped a pile of new books for her onto her bed. Some books she'd never even think to read, like ones about dagger making and types of rope knots. There were books on the history of Prythian. Another titled Espionage and You: An In Depth Discussion of the Moral Code, and of course, lots and lots of romance and adventure novels.

Gwyn slipped into her pajamas, ate the small plate of cookies The House provided her, then grabbed her toothbrush and headed back to the bathroom.

She had just put the toothpaste on the brush when the door to the showers opened. A billowing cloud of steam and shadows poured out.

Gwyn balked as Azriel emerged from the mist, a towel slung low on his hips. His shadows darted out, twirling around Gwyn’s hair and toothbrush.

Azriel froze in the doorway as he spotted Gwyn. Water dripped from tendrils of inky black hair. It ran in little rivulets down his neck and shoulders. Some of the water pooled into the little divet of his clavicle. Other streams continued over the tattoos on his chest and trailed down...down...

Her eyes darted back up to his.

The smallest of smirks tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Gwyn, by some unexplained reason, continued to brush her teeth while casually staring back at him. She waited for him to say something first.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he watched his shadows dance around her before joining her at the counter. His tore his gaze from hers, only to catch it again in the mirror as he picked up his toothbrush and began his nightly bedtime routine.

She tried, and failed then, to ignore Azriel’s reflection.

But gods damned those muscles as he moved his arm to brush his teeth....

It was like they were purposefully tormenting her, begging her to watch them as they tensed and flexed with every movement he made and --

Her gaze caught his brilliant hazel eyes watching her watch him in the mirror. The golden flecks amidst the green hues sparkled with amusement as a blush crept across her cheeks.

Gwyn peeled her eyes away from him, focusing on her own reflection.

Damn. She didn't realize how cropped her shirt was, or how noticeable her nipples were as they poked through the thin fabric. Maybe Azriel didn't notice.

She chanced another glance.

Oh, Azriel definitely noticed.

His eyes were currently sweeping over her in the reflection before he bent forward and spit into the sink, rinsing away his discarded toothpaste with a quick twist of the faucet.

It was his turn to blush as his gaze met hers in the mirror, knowing full well he'd been caught checking her out.

So...Gwyn held his gaze for a moment, then lowered it, unapologetically, taking in the lithe muscles of his shoulders and chest, the way his body sloped to a tapered waist.

A sensual warmth spread from her lower spine and pooled deep within her.

Her gaze certainly lingered longer than it should have on the smattering of hair that extended above the low hanging towel perched on his waist.

She spit her toothpaste into the sink and looked over at him. Not in the mirror this time, but at him directly.

The Shadowsinger was already looking over at her, brushing his teeth lazily, as if his mind momentarily forgot what it was doing until she caught his gaze.

Normally, when Azriel stared at someone, it was with an icy coldness.

But never with Gwyn.

With Gwyn, Azriel looked at her with reverence.

A rare softness fell over his features.

Then he drooled toothpaste and was pivoting to the sink to spit it out. His blush spread further across his cheeks and ears as he hastily finished brushing his teeth.

Then Azriel, the terrifying Spy Master of the Night Court, tapped his toothbrush on the sink, dropped it into the holder, and with a wink and a devilish smirk Azriel finally spoke.

"You have a lovely singing voice, by the way," he said, his voice dark and husky. The sound sent shivers down her spine.

Gwyn's eyes went wide, and something in her chest hummed and tugged as she watched Azriel saunter past her, willing her to follow him. Her gaze dropped to the dimples of his lower back, reveled at the way his muscles moved as he twisted back around to flash her another more sheepish smile before ducking out of the doorway.

Forget reorganizing her bookshelf. Tonight, Gwyn was going to pick up the juiciest romance she could find from her new drop today and indulge in a little self-care.

[redfilledfantasies]

First Sight (Chapter 1 of 7)

The elevator doors parted with a soft chime, and Dr. Carmella Hill stepped into the hushed domain of her Manhattan cardiology clinic. Her short brown hair with perfectly trimmed bangs framed her face with geometric precision, not a strand out of place despite the morning wind.

Her designer prescription glasses caught the light as she surveyed her territory, the kingdom of clean lines and medical excellence she had built through years of obsessive dedication. Her shoulders squared beneath the pristine white lab coat, its crisp edges a stark contrast to the troubled thoughts that had followed her from home. Six floors above the frenetic energy of Midtown, the clinic was a sanctuary of order.

Morning light streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the reception area where her staff would arrive in precisely forty-two minutes. Carmella preferred these solitary moments before the day began in earnest, when she could lose herself in the ceremony of preparation without watchful eyes or needless conversation.

Her heels clicked against the polished floor, each step an echo of purpose. She unlocked her office door with practiced efficiency, the lock yielding with a satisfying click. Inside, the space was a testament to her exacting standards—diploma and certifications arranged in perfect alignment on the walls, medical journals stacked at right angles on the glass desk, not a single item out of place.

She placed her leather bag in the same spot she did every morning, the corner of the desk nearest the window, its placement a ritual as important as any surgical procedure. From it, she withdrew her personal stethoscope, the weight of it familiar in her hands. It was the latest model, more expensive than necessary, but Carmella demanded excellence in all things, especially those that touched her patients.

The instrument gleamed under the overhead lights as she polished it with a microfiber cloth, her movements deliberate and reverent. Her fingers lingered on the chest piece, tracing its perfect circumference with an attention that transcended mere professional care.

She felt a flutter in her abdomen, a quickening of her pulse that had nothing to do with the morning's exertion and everything to do with what this instrument allowed her to hear—the most intimate rhythm of life itself.

She placed the stethoscope around her neck, adjusting it with unusual deliberation. The cool metal settled against her skin, and she closed her eyes briefly, savoring the sensation. When she opened them again, her reflection in the small desk mirror caught her attention, and she paused to study herself.

The woman who stared back was the picture of professional composure—high cheekbones accentuated by the angles of her glasses, lips pressed into a disciplined line. But beneath the clinical detachment, she recognized the telltale signs of her private fascination: the slight dilation of her pupils, the faint flush along her collarbanes.

Carmella shrugged off her lab coat and hung it temporarily, taking a moment to assess her physical form in the full-length mirror on the back of her door. Years of rigorous dedication to fitness had sculpted her body into something extraordinary. Her silk blouse clung to her large breasts, their perfect roundness defying gravity with the help of an expensive, architectural bra. The tailored slacks sat low on her hips, revealing the ridges of her enviable six-pack abs when she turned to the side.

She flexed slightly, watching the definition of her muscular thighs press against the fine fabric. The body was a machine, she reminded herself. Her own was simply better maintained than most. Still, she couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride at the exceptional vessel she had crafted through unrelenting discipline.

She donned her lab coat again, the white garment settling over her curves with professional neutrality, though it did little to conceal the remarkable physicality beneath. One by one, she checked each examination room, arranging instruments with obsessive precision. Blood pressure cuffs were coiled with mathematical exactness, cotton swabs aligned in perfect rows, vials organized by size and purpose.

In the central examination room, she paused, her attention caught by the gleaming array of cardiac monitoring equipment. Her fingers skimmed across the surface of the ECG machine, the metal cool against her skin. Her practice had the most advanced technology available, allowing her to capture every nuance of the heart's electrical activity, to see on screen what she could hear through her stethoscope.

She moved to her desk and pulled the day's patient files, spreading them before her in a fan of medical histories and heart conditions. Each folder was color-coded, the contents arranged according to her exacting specifications. She reviewed them methodically, committing key details to memory, noting the two new referrals and their symptoms with particular interest.

The first was a thirty-four-year-old woman with complaints of occasional palpitations during exercise. Carmella studied the preliminary notes, her mind already constructing a sequence of tests to isolate the cause. Her fingers traced the lines of the intake form, lingering on the patient's age and described symptoms. She anticipated the examination with a sharpness that was both professional and something more—an interest that went beyond clinical curiosity.

She returned the stethoscope to her neck, adjusting it once more with precise attention. The weight of it was reassuring, a connection to the rhythm she would soon hear, measure, analyze. She ran her fingertips along the tubing, the sensation triggering a memory of yesterday's examination—the cadence of a particular heartbeat that had stayed with her, replaying in her mind as she had lain awake last night.

The clinic remained silent around her as she completed her preparations. She set out the day's schedule, checked the calibration of the blood pressure monitor, and made one final adjustment to the arrangement of instruments on the examination tray. Each action was performed with meticulous attention, her body moving through the space with the confidence of absolute ownership.

Finally, she stood before the mirror once more, checking her appearance with critical eyes. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and straightened the lapels of her lab coat. The stethoscope hung precisely centered, the silver chest piece catching the light. Her hand rose to it, fingers closing around the metal in a gesture that was almost protective.

Carmella drew a deep breath, tasting the antiseptic cleanness of the air. She was ready for the day, her professional armor intact, her personal fascinations safely concealed beneath layers of clinical expertise. She glanced at her watch—seven minutes until her receptionist would arrive, twenty-three until the first patient.

The day would unfold with the precision she demanded, each heartbeat she listened to cataloged and analyzed with scientific detachment. But beneath the sterile surface of her professionalism, beneath the controlled rhythm of her own heartbeat, ran a current of something unruly and demanding—a fascination with the pulse of life that transcended medical interest and veered into territory more complex, more consuming.

The stethoscope rested against her chest, a constant reminder of the sound she sought, the rhythm that obsessed her. Her fingers brushed against it once more, an unconscious gesture of anticipation, before she turned to her desk to await the arrival of her staff and the day's first heartbeat.

The examination room was a testament to minimalist luxury, all clean lines and subdued tones. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline—a vista that patients often found distracting enough to momentarily forget their cardiac concerns.

Carmella appreciated this effect; a relaxed patient yielded more accurate readings. She arranged the instruments on the silver tray with methodical precision, each item placed at the exact angle she preferred, the metal surfaces gleaming under the recessed lighting. The scent of antiseptic hung in the air, sharp and clean, a counterpoint to the faint trace of the patient's perfume that had entered the room before her.

Ms. Chen sat on the edge of the examination table, her silk blouse unbuttoned just enough to allow access for the stethoscope. Early thirties, Carmella estimated, with the lean physique of someone who exercised regularly but not obsessively. Her dark hair fell in an elegant bob that framed an oval face with high cheekbones.

The referral note mentioned occasional heart palpitations during her morning runs, nothing that seemed particularly concerning on paper, but Carmella never dismissed cardiac symptoms, no matter how minor. "So you've been experiencing these palpitations for about three weeks?" Carmella kept her voice professionally neutral as she reviewed the intake form, her eyes scanning the notes with practiced efficiency.

"Yes, usually about ten minutes into my run." Ms. Chen's voice was melodic, with the slight rasp of someone who enjoyed the occasional cigarette despite knowing better. "It's probably nothing, but my GP thought I should see a specialist."

"Palpitations are always worth investigating," Carmella replied, setting down the chart. She moved to the sink and washed her hands with meticulous attention, counting silently as she always did—twenty seconds exactly, no more, no less.

"Even if they turn out to be benign, which is often the case." She dried her hands on a paper towel and turned back to Ms. Chen, her professional mask firmly in place. "I'm going to take your vitals first, then listen to your heart in various positions to see if we can identify any irregularities."

The preliminary checks proceeded with clinical precision. Blood pressure: 118/76. Pulse: 72 beats per minute, regular. Oxygen saturation: 99%. All textbook normal. Carmella noted each value in the chart, her handwriting as precise as her methodology. "Now I'll need to listen to your heart," she said, reaching for the stethoscope that hung around her neck.

Her fingers closed around the chest piece, the metal warming beneath her touch. A subtle flutter stirred in her stomach, a physical anticipation she acknowledged and then attempted to suppress. This was a medical procedure, nothing more. "Could you unbutton your blouse a bit further, please? I need access to several listening points."

Ms. Chen complied without hesitation, the silk parting to reveal a lace-trimmed camisole beneath. Carmella kept her gaze clinical, focused on the anatomical landmarks that would guide her examination, not on the swell of the woman's breasts or the delicate hollow of her throat where a pulse visibly fluttered.

"This might be a bit cold," she warned, a standard phrase that fell from her lips automatically as she placed the stethoscope's disc against Ms. Chen's chest, just to the right of her sternum.

The first heart sound filled Carmella's ears—a clean, strong "lub" followed by the softer "dub" of the closing valves. The rhythm was like a well-conducted orchestra, each beat precise and distinct. Carmella felt her own pulse quicken in response, a pavlovian reaction to the intimate sound. She closed her eyes briefly, allowing herself to focus entirely on the auditory input.

Ms. Chen's heartbeat was remarkably clear, unusually so. Each component of the cardiac cycle resonated with crystal clarity through the stethoscope's earpieces. Carmella detected no murmurs, no extra sounds, just the pure, perfect rhythm of a healthy heart pushing blood through its chambers with textbook efficiency. She moved the stethoscope incrementally, tracking across the chest to the next auscultation point.

Ms. Chen's skin was warm beneath the cold metal disc, the contrast sending a nearly imperceptible shiver through Carmella's fingers. She noted the patient's even breathing, the slight rise and fall of her chest beneath the stethoscope, a counterpoint to the heart's rhythm.

"Deep breath in, please," Carmella instructed, her voice betraying none of the inappropriate fascination building within her. As Ms. Chen inhaled, her heart rate increased slightly, accelerating in response to the expanded lung capacity. Carmella listened intently, caught in the peculiar intimacy of the moment—privy to the most internal rhythm of another human being, a sound that the woman herself could never hear with such clarity.

Carmella's pupils dilated behind her designer glasses, the clinical part of her brain registering this physiological response even as she continued the examination. Her own breathing had subtly shifted, synchronizing with the patient's unconsciously. The examination room, with its panoramic view and pristine surfaces, seemed to recede, leaving only the connection between her ears and the pulsing heart beneath her hand.

She lingered longer than strictly necessary at the mitral area, telling herself she was being thorough, searching for any hint of a murmur or irregularity. In truth, she was savoring the sound, storing it in her memory like a collector acquiring a particularly fine specimen. Each heartbeat resonated through her, sparking an interest that was far from professional.

"Now I'll need you to lie back," she said, her voice steady despite the inappropriate warmth spreading through her core. "I want to listen with you in a supine position." As Ms. Chen reclined on the examination table, Carmella repositioned the stethoscope, pressing it perhaps a fraction more firmly than required against the soft skin.

The change in position altered the heart sounds slightly, bringing the S3 into clearer focus—that subtle, low-frequency extra sound that followed the main "lub-dub" in some patients. Not a pathological finding in a young, fit woman like Ms. Chen, but its presence added another layer of complexity to the cardiac symphony that now filled Carmella's consciousness.

Time seemed to stretch as she listened, her professional detachment slipping further with each beat. Her hand rested on the examination table beside Ms. Chen's shoulder, and she noticed with distant alarm that her fingers trembled slightly. She curled them into a loose fist, concealing the evidence of her unprofessional response.

"Everything sounds normal so far," she managed, her voice clinical despite the heat that had crept up her neck to flush her cheeks. She hoped the patient would attribute any redness to the room's temperature. "But I'd like to check one more position. Could you turn onto your left side, please?"

Ms. Chen complied, her movements causing a momentary interruption in the cardiac soundtrack. Carmella waited, stethoscope poised, for the woman to settle. When she placed the disc back against skin, the heart sounds were at their most audible, the left lateral position bringing the organ closest to the chest wall.

The beat filled her ears, strong and insistent, and Carmella closed her eyes again, fully absorbed in the forbidden pleasure of listening. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a perilous moment, she feared the patient might notice her inappropriate reaction. But Ms. Chen lay still, eyes fixed on the ceiling, perfectly unaware of the storm brewing within her cardiologist.

With tremendous effort, Carmella pulled herself back from the brink of complete unprofessionalism. She removed the stethoscope, letting it hang once more around her neck, the chest piece still warm from contact with Ms. Chen's skin.

"You can sit up now," she said, her voice sounding distant to her own ears. "I don't hear any abnormalities, which is excellent news." Ms. Chen rebuttoned her blouse, her movements unhurried and graceful. "So the palpitations aren't serious?"

"They're likely benign, possibly related to mild exercise-induced tachycardia," Carmella replied, falling back on medical terminology like a shield. "But I'd like to run an ECG to be certain, and perhaps have you wear a Holter monitor for twenty-four hours to catch any irregularities that might occur during your next run."

Her hands trembled slightly as she made notes in the patient's chart. The pen skittered across the page, leaving marks that were less precise than her usual immaculate script. She pressed down harder, forcing control, but her fingers remained unsteady—betrayers to the last.

"The nurse will set you up with the ECG in a moment," she said, not quite meeting Ms. Chen's eyes. "And we'll schedule the Holter monitor fitting at reception." Ms. Chen nodded, seemingly oblivious to her doctor's internal turmoil. "Thank you, Dr. Hill. Everyone says you're the best, and I can see why."

The compliment cut through Carmella like a blade of ice. If only her patient knew the unprofessional thoughts that had accompanied her examination, the way the sound of her heartbeat would echo in Carmella's mind long after she left the clinic.

The shame of it mingled with the lingering arousal, creating a toxic cocktail of emotion that threatened to crack her professional veneer. "Just doing my job," she replied, the platitude tasting stale on her tongue. She stood, clipboard clutched to her chest like armor. "The nurse will be right in."

She exited the room with measured steps, her outward composure a masterpiece of control, betrayed only by the slight tremor in her hands and the memory of a heartbeat that continued to pulse through her consciousness with inappropriate persistence. Carmella closed her office door with a soft click and leaned against it, finally allowing her composure to fracture in the privacy of her sanctuary.

The stethoscope hung heavy around her neck, still warm from contact with Ms. Chen's skin, the memory of the heartbeat pulsing through her consciousness with merciless clarity. Her own heart raced with inappropriate excitement, its rhythm a mockery of the professional demeanor she had struggled to maintain during the examination.

Her hands, steady enough during medical school surgeries and countless cardiac emergencies, now trembled with the force of her desire, and she felt a flush of shame spread beneath her skin like a fever. She crossed to her desk on unsteady legs, grateful for the solidity of the leather chair that caught her as her knees weakened.

The morning sun still streamed through the windows, the city sprawling below her in its indifferent enormity, but Carmella was blind to everything except the echo of that perfect rhythm in her mind. Her fingers found the stethoscope, lifting it from around her neck with a reverence that bordered on worship.

The metal chest piece retained a whisper of warmth, and she closed her eyes as she held it, replaying the sound that had filled her ears moments ago. The cadence of Ms. Chen's heartbeat—strong, regular, with that subtle S3 presence—had been exquisite, a symphony of life force that resonated through Carmella with nearly unbearable intensity.

She pressed the chest piece to her own sternum, seeking the counterpoint of her racing heart, the comparison between her irregular, desire-quickened pulse and the memory of the patient's perfect rhythm. Her heartbeat sounded shallow and frantic through the instrument, a testament to the unprofessional arousal that now consumed her.

"Control yourself," she whispered, the words sharp in the silence of her office. But even as she issued the command, her mind betrayed her, reconstructing the examination in vivid detail—the warmth of Ms. Chen's skin, the slight rise and fall of her chest with each breath, the way the heart's rhythm had changed subtly when she'd shifted position.

Carmella set the stethoscope on the desk, forcing her hands away from the instrument that had become both her professional tool and the conduit for her most private obsession. She'd chosen cardiology with genuine passion for the science, fascinated by the heart's mechanical perfection, its tireless commitment to sustaining life. When had that academic interest evolved into something so personal, so consuming?

Perhaps it had started during her residency, when a particularly striking patient's heartbeat had caught her attention, its rhythm unusually clear and compelling. Or maybe the seeds had been planted earlier, in the anatomy lab when she'd first held a preserved heart in her hands, marveling at the vessel that contained humanity's most potent metaphor for emotion.

Regardless of its origins, the fascination had grown over the years, intensifying until the sound of a heartbeat—particularly a female heartbeat, with its higher pitch and faster baseline rhythm—could send her spiraling into this state of inappropriate arousal. The professional detachment she maintained with steel discipline was her only defense against the tide of her fixation.

Carmella's cheeks burned as she acknowledged the physical signs of her arousal—the heightened sensitivity of her skin, the tightness in her chest, the unmistakable throb of desire between her legs. Her body's response was as clear as any diagnostic reading on her medical equipment, and it filled her with a tangled knot of shame and excitement.

She was a respected cardiologist, a specialist who had published in prestigious journals and lectured at international conferences. Her professional reputation was impeccable, built on years of dedicated study and practice. Yet beneath the perfect exterior lurked this fascination that threatened to undermine everything she had worked for.

What would her colleagues think if they knew? What would her patients feel if they discovered that their doctor listened to their hearts with more than clinical interest? The potential for scandal was enormous, a career-ending possibility that she couldn't afford to ignore.

Yet the intensity of her response was undeniable, a physiological fact as real as any cardiac condition she diagnosed. Her fingers trembled as she reached for a glass of water, trying to cool the heat that had spread through her body. The liquid did little to extinguish the fire that Ms. Chen's heartbeat had ignited.

Carmella forced herself to breathe deeply, employing the same techniques she recommended to anxious patients. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow, controlled, deliberate. The rhythm of her own breathing became a focus point, a way to anchor herself in the storm of her desires.

She justified her interest with scientific rationale—wasn't the heart the most fascinating organ in the human body? Its ceaseless rhythm, its complex electrical pathways, its crucial role in sustaining life made it worthy of devoted study. Her fascination was merely an extension of her professional dedication, a heightened appreciation for the subject of her expertise.

But the scientific explanation rang hollow, even to her own ears. What she felt when listening to a heart like Ms. Chen's transcended academic interest. It was visceral, primal, and undeniably sexual—an inappropriate response that she struggled to reconcile with her professional identity.

The stethoscope caught the light as it lay on her desk, a silver beacon that both represented her medical authority and embodied her deepest temptation. Carmella stared at it, caught in the contradiction of her feelings—pride in her expertise mingled with shame over her secret arousal.

She squared her shoulders, determination hardening her resolve. This fascination may have a hold on her, but she wouldn't allow it to compromise her professional standards. The line between appreciation and exploitation was clear, and she would never cross it. Her patients deserved a doctor who put their care above all else, regardless of her private struggles.

Rising from her chair, Carmella moved to the small bathroom adjoining her office. She splashed cold water on her face, the shock of it helping to clear her mind. In the mirror, her reflection showed the evidence of her inner turmoil—dilated pupils, flushed cheeks, a brightness in her eyes that spoke of unresolved tension.

She dried her face with methodical care, then reapplied her subtle makeup with practiced precision. Each stroke of the lipstick, each touch of the powder brush was an act of reconstruction, rebuilding the façade that had momentarily cracked.

Her lab coat hung on the back of the door, and she straightened it meticulously, adjusting the lapels until they fell in perfect symmetry. She would not allow her private obsession to undermine the professionalism she had spent a lifetime cultivating.

The stethoscope waited on her desk, and she approached it with newfound determination. She picked it up, wiped it thoroughly with an alcohol swab, eradicating any trace of warmth or memory. When she placed it around her neck once more, it was as a medical instrument only, its purpose reclaimed from the realm of inappropriate fascination.

Carmella checked her appearance one final time in the small mirror on her desk. The woman who looked back at her was the consummate professional—composed, authoritative, in complete control. No one looking at her would see the turmoil that still simmered beneath the surface, the echo of a heartbeat that continued to haunt her thoughts. She straightened her spine, adjusted her glasses, and reached for the intercom.

"Please send in the next patient," she said, her voice steady and confident, betraying none of the conflict that raged within her. The professional mask was firmly back in place, the perfect image of medical expertise restored.

But as she waited for the door to open, her fingers unconsciously brushed against the stethoscope at her chest, a fleeting touch that acknowledged the truth she could never fully escape—that beneath the pristine white coat and years of training beat a heart as susceptible to inappropriate desire as any she had ever examined.

[hptriadfest]

HP Triad Fest ANONYMOUS MASTERLIST!

Sit With Us [ART]

Ship: Sirius Black/Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy Rating: G Summary: Something messy. Something real. Something that might turn into love—even if it doesn't start that way.

A Stampede of Misbehaviour

Ship: Molly Weasley/Arthur Weasley/Lord Voldemort Rating: E Word Count: 3,346 Summary: After six boys, Molly and Arthur are desperate for just one girl – therefore, they call upon a demon to make a deal… Except that a denizen of Hell isn’t exactly who they end up summoning. It’s okay, though, because the Dark Lord is here to help!

Mother Dearest

Ship: Blaise Zabini/Pomona Sprout/Poppy Pomfrey Rating: G Word Count: 9,333 Summary: Blaise Zabini did not expect to end up in any sort of romantic partnership. Now that he has, he's noticing he might have some emotional issues.

Come Closer And Stay

Ship: Minerva McGonagall/Poppy Pomfrey/Pomona Sprout Rating: G Word Count: 610 Summary: Voldemort has returned, of that Dumbledore is certain, but what does it mean for Minerva?

Adult Product Testing

Ship: Fred Weasley/George Weasley/Ginny Weasley Rating: E Word Count: 2,288 Summary: Ginny was their normal tester, so she didn't understand why they suddenly didn't want her to help out. Turns out their newest line was a more adult line.

More than Roommates

Ship: Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini Rating: E Word Count: 1,816 Summary: A freshly single Ginny Weasley discovers that having two fit as hell roommates is no burden.

Midnight Chocolate

Ship: Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley Rating: T Word Count: 1,952 Summary: Eighth-years share a common room upon returning to Hogwarts. Ron and Pansy hear Hermione’s nightmares through her silencing spells.

Bondage transcends dimensions

Ship: Charlie Weasley/Harry Potter/Cedric Diggory Rating: E Word Count: 8,942 Summary: Everyone had regrets, especially close to death. Harry was the lucky case and got to confess his feelings to his previously unrealisable crushes thanks to dimension travel. How would that affect the war and the prophecy? Harry didn't care. He was only there for a good time.

Welcome To The Family

Ship: Orion Black/Abraxas Malfoy/Severus Snape Rating: E Word Count: 1,758 Summary: To celebrate Severus joining the Death Eaters, Orion and Abraxas invite him over for drinks.

the moon loves how the flowers grow

Ship: Pansy Parkinson/Lavender Brown/Luna Lovegood Rating: T Word Count: 1,857 Summary: They’ve gone through this before. Three times, in fact. Nothing ever changed between them. Personalities might, but their love did not.

Lines That Make Our Heart

Ship: Harry Potter/Luna Lovegood/Draco Malfoy Rating: E Word Count: 10,737 Summary: Draco is still adjusting to their new arrangement—he's happy, mostly, but there are emotions he hasn't fully grasped, questions he's too afraid to ask. Luna wonders if she'll ever truly stop wandering and finally call somewhere home, everything is temporary, isn't it? Harry wants them both to stay, but how can he say it without sounding desperate and like the young boy who is just greedy for love?

Like a Tattoo

Ship: Sirius Black/Lavender Brown/Blaise Zabini Rating: T Word Count: 11,073 Summary: Lavender has gotten settled into the rhythm of her adult life. She is in charge of her own tattoo parlor, and has a steady stream of clients, some of whom she's grown quite close to. But just as Sirius Black has made himself a place in her familiar routine, a new visitor settles into her life, opening new possibilities.

Catalyst

Ship: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy/Teddy Lupin Rating: E Word Count: 7,494 Summary: "Marriage isn't about getting everything you need," Harry said, words pouring like salt into the open, wounded space between them. "Have you ever thought that maybe it could be?" Or: Edward Lupin comes home.

Daddy Can We Keep Him, Please? [FIC+ART]

Ship: Harry Potter/Blaise Zabini/Draco Malfoy Rating: Mature Word Count: 575 Summary: “Look, Blaise”, Draco sniggered into Harry’s ear before nibbling on it, “It’s that map of his.” Blaise had to extract Harry’s other ear from between his teeth to respond but not before dropping a couple of soothing pecks on it. “No need for all that, Harry. We would have gladly”, Blaise raised his hand up from Harry’s thigh in a glide and then punctuated each of his next words with a slap on Harry’s clothed arse, “Given.” “You.” “An.” “Invite.”

Soulmates Paradox

Ship: Abraxas Malfoy/Hermione Granger/Cygnus Black Rating: E Word Count: 1,553 Summary: Hermione uses a spell to bring her soulmates forward in time.

Please don’t forget to leave our Mystery Author some love and turn on your notifications so you don't miss the Reveals!!!

HP Triad Fest is an anonymous fest celebrating triads — romantic relationships between three equal parties of any gender, binary and sexuality — within the Harry Potter universe by inviting participants to create prompt-based fanworks centred around them! It's hosted on Archive of Our Own and supported via Tumblr and Discord.

[nayeonzzzz]

DIE WITH A SMILE - MARK LEE a smau by nayeonzzz

001 : written in the stars

written , word count ; 930

——————————————

The sun hovered just above the horizon, casting a warm golden hue over the small suburban neighborhood where y/n and Mark spent their childhood. The air was thick with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, and the sounds of children playing echoed down the street—a soundtrack to their long-held dreams of eternity.

Mark adjusted his baseball cap, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. “I’ll race you to the top of the hill!” he shouted, taking off down the path that led to their secret spot—an ancient oak tree that stood guard over their childhood adventures. y/n followed, her laughter trailing behind like the flutter of a kite in the wind.

They reached the tree, breathless and giggling. Leaning against the sturdy trunk, Mark clasped y/n’s hand. “Promise me something,” he said, seriousness creeping into his tone. “No matter what happens, we’ll always find each other again. Even if life changes, no matter where we end up, we’ll come back. Deal?”

“Deal,” y/n affirmed, her heart swelling with a mix of confusion and affection. They were barely ten years old, but it felt like a vow that transcended time. In that moment, they felt invincible.

Time unfolded like a flower blooming in slow motion. Days turned into months, and months into years. Yet, their bond remained. Until the day he never came back.

————————

The afternoon sunlight streamed through Y/N's bedroom window, dust particles dancing in the warm air. She was sprawled on her bed, staring at the ceiling when her mom called her from downstairs. “y/n , come down for a minute!”

Groaning, y/n pushed herself up, She padded down the stairs, her curiosity piquing. As she rounded the corner into the living room, she froze.

The TV flickered to life, a music video blaring, the screen dominated by a group of boys energetically performing on stage. y/n’s eyes narrowed as she felt a strange tug in her heart. And then—

“Is that…?”

y/n’s breath hitched as she stared in disbelief. The boy at the forefront, effortlessly captivating the audience with his charm and skill, was Mark. He looked different—stylish and grown, but there was that familiar grin, the one that used to light up her entire world.

The wave of emotions hit her like a tidal wave. It was like the years apart had instantly condensed into this moment, flooding her with memories. All the times they’d spent together, laughing and dreaming of the future; their childhood promises echoed in her mind, bittersweet and haunting.

Before she even knew it, tears brimmed in her eyes. Not just from the happiness of seeing her best friend but from the sorrow of loss. How had they lost each other? Why hadn’t he come back when he said he would?

Suddenly, news anchors rushed in to inform viewers of the latest idol group to hit the K-pop scene, a new hit sensation named “NCT.” Mark was the lead dancer and rapper , adored by thousands, his life completely transformed while y/n stayed rooted in a time where they promised to never drift apart.

Distraught, y/n turned away from the screen. “Mom, why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice cracked, filled with hurt. “Why didn’t Mark come back?”

Her mother exchanged a knowing look with y/n recognizing the depths of her confusion and pain. “I thought he might… You were both so young. Sometimes, life takes us on different paths. He’s doing well, sweetheart.”

Something within y/n twisted painfully. “He never even said goodbye ...or anything , All those years... I stayed waiting for him. We were supposed to find each other..”

As the music video continued to play behind her, the joyful energy that radiated from the screen felt like a slap in the face. Rage bubbled within her, confusion morphing into a visceral ache. Mark had promised..?They were supposed to be inseparable, yet here he was—a star in a world that would never understand or allow their bond.

“I need a second.” she whispered, fleeing the room, the echo of laughter replaced by the hollow pangs of betrayal , hope and confusion consuming her. She left the tv—and the childhood she thought would last forever—behind.

———————

Y/N stood beneath the ancient oak tree later that night, the same place where it all began. The branches whispered secrets in the night breeze, and the stars twinkled overhead, but nothing felt right. All those promises felt like ashes in her mouth.

She clasped her hands tightly around a pendant necklace Mark had given her long ago—a small, silver star to always remind her to reach for her dreams. As she gazed up at the constellations, she made a silent vow. No matter how lost Mark had become in his new life, she would find a way to remind him of their promise, even if it meant traversing an entire world to do so.

Because while life may pull them apart, Y/N knew deep down that the threads connecting their hearts were woven too tightly to ever truly break.

“Mark,” she whispered to the stars, “wherever you are, I’ll always be waiting.”

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Prev — masterlist — next

note : im changing up how i want this smau to go so , this is the official first chapter ! i hope you guys enjoy this :p ill get better at this with time since this is my first one !! i want it to be kinda like really emotional so it will be dramatic 😭💀

tags (open) : @bugshideaway @dudekiss3r @revlada @kittydollzz @mmjhh1998 @docilismo

[tessa-liam]

Betrothed - Chapter 19

Marabelle Series

Choices – The Royal Romance, Book 3, AU – (cross-over with Rules of Engagement)  

Series Premise – An American teenager from New York City is introduced to the world of a small European country and its society of royalty, nobility, and commoners. How will her life story be transformed? Will this new adventure bring her happiness...or regret?  

Marabelle Series Masterlist, My Complete Masterlist  

Main Pairing – Crown Prince Liam Rys x F! OC Lady Sophia (Sophie) Taylor  

Other Pairings – Maxwell Beaumont x M! OC Daniel Drake Walker x F! OC Melanie/Riley Brooks                

Series Rating – M*🔞Warnings: this series will have NSFW material, drinking, crude language & innuendo, gun violence 

Category – Alternate universe/on-going series/angst/fluff/cross-over with Choices Rules of Engagement with sprinkles of Canon 

Chapter Summary – Arriving home, after celebrating her engagement with Liam, Sophie discovers the duplicity and treachery of her Uncle Barthelemy when visiting her home in Ramsford.

Music Inspiration: I Don’t Wanna Wait, David Guetta, OneRepublic  

Words: 4.5k 

A/N1: Bethany Beaumont, Maxwell’s mother, is originally from the U.S. and is Barthelemy Beaumont’s second wife. Annabelle Beaumont (deceased) is Bertrand’s mother.  

A/N2: ‘Social Season’ in this AU series refers to a traditional period in the spring/summer for royalty and members of the court to take part in Balls, dinner parties and charity events.  

A/N3: Heartfelt thanks to @Selina012 for joining me in writing ideas and with dialogue/content for this chapter and series. 

A/N4: Thank you @selina012 for pre-reading 

A/N5: My submission for: March Prompt Challenge, Prompt 8: Health condition @nosebleedclub 

A/N6: My submissions for: Monthly Writing Challenge, Prompt 4: Love or Duty; Prompt 13: A Pact made in secret 

The Royal Yacht 

It felt likely sometime after 6 A.M. The sweet, warm, Mediterranean air ...the sunlight streaming through the front windows, and the sensation of the weight on her body gradually brought Sophie out of her restful state.  

The gentle sway of the yacht rocked Sophie as she lay there, her eyes fluttering open to the soft hues of dawn. She instinctively tightened her grip on the blanket, allowing herself a few more precious moments in the cocoon of warmth she shared with Liam. She could hear the faint lapping of waves against the hull, a steady rhythm that seemed to mirror her own heartbeat. 

As her senses sharpened, she felt the strands of Liam’s hair tickling her neck and the tender pressure of his arm around her waist. The scent of the sea mingled with the faint remnants of his cologne, created an intoxicating blend that made her heart swell with longing. 

Turning her head slightly, she caught a glimpse of his serene face, still lost in the tranquility of sleep. There was a vulnerability to him; such a contrast to the regal and poised demeanor he showcased to the world. In this moment, Sophie felt an overwhelming bond with him—a shared intimacy that transcended titles and duties. 

She let her eyes roam the luxurious cabin, its opulence softened by the early morning light, and she thought of the journey ahead. Each intricate detail of the room reminded her of the life she was stepping into, a life filled with both privilege and responsibility. Sophie’s resolve strengthened as she imagined the future, a future where she would stand beside Liam, not just as his queen, but as his equal and partner. 

With a deep breath, she steeled herself for the day ahead, her heart brimming with the promise of love and the weight of impending duty. Groggily, she felt his arm draped across her side and the brush of fingertips on her breast. She gave an exhausted laugh, both because they had likely been entwined like that for hours, but because the words, 'good morning,' ran through her thoughts.  But reality beckoned, and the responsibilities that came with becoming a Duchess loomed over her thoughts. She knew that soon, the quiet mornings would be filled with duties and obligations. Sophie was determined to make Liam proud of her; to prove her abilities and leadership.  

Love and duty will intertwine. 

A secret pact will always be forever cherished between them, a promise that their love would remain untainted by the burdens of their titles.  

The gentle rocking of the yacht lulled her back into a drowsy state, cradled by the luxurious comfort of their shared bed. Her mind wandered to the events of the previous night, where the stars had witnessed Liam's heartfelt proposal, and their passionate embrace had sealed their commitment. Even now, with the first light of dawn filtering through the blinds, the memory of his earnest words and loving gaze made her heart flutter. The anticipation of their future together, filled with love and shared endeavors, made her feel indescribably happy. Despite the impending duties and the grandeur of their new roles, Sophie felt a deep sense of reassurance in Liam's presence, knowing that they would face everything together. As she lay there, soaking in the remnants of their intimacy, she found herself smiling at the thought of the life awaiting them in Cordonia. 

 After another half hour or so, she felt Liam gently pull his arm away, and then the press of his lips on her shoulder, silently told her that he had to get out of bed. She could feel the faint traces of regret in her at the lack of his skin, his scent, and the warmth he seemed to generate like the sun itself as her tired eyes roamed to her fiancé as he made for the bathroom. 

She curled in on the spot he had occupied a moment before, hearing the water switch on. She savored the lingering scent of his cologne mixed with the salty air of the sea, her fingers tracing the path his body had warmed on the bed. The gentle hum of the yacht’s engines served as a backdrop to her thoughts, each vibration reminding her of the adventure that lay ahead. Sophie felt a sense of yearning as she recalled the intensity of their connection, the unspoken promises that had passed between them in whispers and caresses. Her heart swelled with love and anticipation, knowing that every challenge and triumph would be met together. As the water in the bathroom continued to run, she felt a growing desire to be close to him once more, to feel his skin against hers, and to steal just a bit more time before the world demanded his attention. He would be wet and slippery, so irresistible, and warm enough to almost burn. 

Biting down on the edge of her lower lip, the spark that was waking her from her sleepy state told her she had no intentions of staying put. She didn't waste time in waiting, sitting on the edge of the bed as her eyes set themselves on the door, unblinking, a mischievous smile on her lips. Sophie shifted to stand, at once feeling the soreness between her legs; a reminder of their intimacy after his proposal the night before when Sophie willingly gave her virginity to the man she truly loved.  

Sophie slipped her arms into her silk robe as Liam came walking back out, his torso wrapped in a white towel.  

Liam's presence was magnetic, drawing Sophie’s attention across the room with an eagerness that belied her earlier tranquility. The air between them crackled with unspoken desire, each step bringing her closer to the man who had effortlessly claimed her heart and body. She moved with a grace that was almost feline. The sight of his lean and muscular physique, sculpted as a Greek God, captivated her senses. As their eyes met, the playful tease in Liam's words lit a fire within her. 

"You seem to like what you see," he murmured, his European accent adding a tantalizing edge to his voice. Her gaze roved over his newly shaven face, the strong lines of his neck and shoulders, the perfection of his torso. She undid her robe with deliberate slowness, revealing the soft curve of her thigh first, luring his attention.  

"My queen, come, and shower with me?" he invited, his voice a low growl of need ... using his deep, baritone voice she craved.  

"My king," Sophie replied coyly, tugging at the front of her silk robe before it gave and fell, her breasts bouncing lightly as the material slid down. Her smirk returned and her heart skipped a beat as Liam did nothing to resist her allure.  

 Liam let his fingers tangle themselves in her silken dark chocolate strands, coaxing her head up to then taste her lips. Feeling the jolt run through him with the sensation of her fingertips travelling down the ridges of his back; to caress his tight, rounded glutes. Liam groaned as Sophie wrapped her legs around his waist, as he hoisted her up, and walked them to the bathroom, closing the door behind them with his foot. 

Dukedom of Ramsford/House Beaumont 

The warm breeze whipped through the open window as the SUV drove down the paved drive, the late spring foliage whipping by in a flurry of greens and blues. Sophie gazed out at the verdant countryside, her thoughts wandering back to the night before. 

All too soon, the capital was fading in the distance, and as Sophie, along with her personal guard, Mara and driver drove down the empty roads, memories of the past several months started to drift into her mind. Everything that had led up to this point.  

There was still so much more ahead. A lifetime of happiness, adventures, challenges... Sophie reached her left hand up and watched the gleaming diamond’s facets. Everything was in place, yet there was one more piece of the puzzle left. One last place that beckoned her, promised its unconditional love and welcome. 

After Liam had announced their engagement to the nobles of Cordonia, the gossip and speculation had run rampant. To Sophie's surprise, she had quickly become an unofficial member of the royal family, her life splashed across tabloids and websites throughout the day. The nobility had shown support, and the public outpouring of support had astounded her. For many citizens, Liam and Sophie's engagement symbolized the promise of a new beginning. A promise of a peaceful, prosperous future. 

Even though their engagement aboard the Royal yacht was an instantaneous thing, every move they made after that was well thought-through, organized and presented in a way that is best for them and for Cordonia. No spontaneity was allowed, no surprise appearance and announcement as of now, while the wedding had to be official and handled with proper respect. They hadn't been able to truly enjoy the first weeks of their engagement; everything has been put aside to keep their family happy and Liam to step up the throne. They needed to be available to all corners of the nation to shake hands and answer questions. There was always an interview, an engagement, an inauguration or a press conference to attend and Liam had been rather busy with all that. 

Sophie had asked herself repeatedly, what does becoming a Duchess entail? Or, in her case, the Queen of Cordonia. At first, the thought of becoming royal was overwhelming and Liam’s advisors quickly began an array of crash courses on international affairs, while Queen Regina advised on royal traditions. Most days, it felt as if her brain might explode, she had so much crammed into her memory. She was grateful to have people to talk to and practice with, to ensure that everything was right. She wanted Liam to feel confident that he had chosen well. Having a personal staff was something she never thought she would have or need ... and now, quickly became the norm; an essential part of being Royal. 

And despite all this, she could not bring herself to feel anxious about anything. Today she had one errand left. She reached a familiar brick road that curved off from the main thoroughfare, heading straight toward a cluster of vineyards just visible in the distance. A smile grew across Sophie's face as the SUV drew near, bouncing along the uneven path. She turned down a grassy trail and watched the trees flash by, feeling that familiar sense of anticipation well inside her. 

Not much longer. 

Up ahead, the road curved toward an overgrown house, a mass of bricks and foliage intertwining before her.  

House Beaumont 

As the SUV parked at the base of the front steps, Sophie hopped out. For a moment, she took her time, drinking in the familiar sight of her home, the scent of freshly mown grass   and the sound of wind chimes in the distance. 

It was funny to think, when she first set foot in her family home in Cordonia, that she never would have imagined things would transform like this.  

Back when she lived in New York with her mom, she had never envisioned such an important life change was coming. If it weren't for the letter her mother wrote to her sister, Bethany shortly before she passed. The letter that told of the heartbreaking story of her mother’s battle with cancer and devastating prognosis.  

Would she be here today? 

Would Liam be in her arms with his ring around her finger? 

Looking out at the sprawl of the estate and up to the large bay windows of her bedroom, she couldn't help but think about how lucky she was. Cordonia may not have turned out quite the way that anyone would have predicted, but the seeds planted here have flourished and brought her to exactly the place she needed to be. Exactly to the man she was meant to meet. 

Inside the car, the buzzing of her phone alerted her to the time, and Sophie reached over the console to grab her cell. Glancing at the caller ID, she chuckled. 

"Is this about Liam's meeting starting?" she spoke, pulling herself away from her reminiscing. "Did it already start without him? What's up?" 

"Er," Maxwell panted on the other side of the line, the noises of rushing crowds in the background, the whine of his microphone carrying on the wind. "I can explain all this!" 

"Explain what? Where are you?" 

"At the palace," he shouted. There was a dull roaring sound, a squeal and then the loud pop of confetti canons. "The reporters are being seated and everyone is... settling down for the press conference." 

"Oh," she said with some satisfaction, looking around her estate and staring back at the winding road leading towards the city. "I'm just wrapping up the last bit here so I can come back and celebrate Liam’s coronation with you." 

"Can you wrap... faster?" Maxwell gasped, like he was running from an invisible foe, a horn honk blaring in the background as Maxwell let out a muffled yell. "Actually, forget that—take your time and I'll see you back at the palace?" 

Sophie couldn't suppress her laughter. "You'll be fine. Maxwell? I think Hana said your jacket was already at the stage, go change—" 

"Right. I'm on my way. But," he said hesitantly, before lowering his voice, "Liam says to hurry up." 

"I'll be done soon, I promise." 

Hanging up the phone, Sophie moved away from the SUV and walked to the front steps, jogging up the stairs and opening the door. She hadn't visited home since before summer started. So much had happened since, and she wondered if Bethany was busy and out tending to the grounds or if she was sitting inside the living room reading a book like she usually was. It was strange to think the last time she was here she was before the graduation. 

Taking the winding halls and stairs with Mara behind her, she walked toward the back of the estate. Suddenly, a muffled but distinct noise filled the silence; the voice of her aunt and Uncle Barthelemy shouting incoherently to one another. Not wanting to witness or interrupt a possible quarrel, Sophie quietly slipped off to the kitchen where she hoped the sound of her luggage rolling over a bump in the floor wouldn't interrupt.

After hearing a door slam the sound of both voices halted, silenced. Footsteps approached as her uncle strode out of his office door. 

"Excuse my rudeness," he said, not sounding the least apologetic, but still stopping, realizing that she was there. "Bethany," he called over his shoulder as he glanced back, not acknowledging her aunt who had followed out after him and cleared his throat. "Sophia," he greeted with a terse, somewhat formal nod. "Your sudden visit isn't... unappreciated." 

His gaze narrowed, looking past her shoulder at Mara. "If the last several weeks have taught you anything," he drawled, "it should be to think very carefully before doing or saying... certain things to the Royal family." 

His rigid posture spoke volumes to his level of impatience. 

Sophie sighed and turned toward her aunt. Bethany stayed silent and fixed on a spot of the wall beside her, chewing anxiously on a hangnail, a habit Sophie only saw her adopt during her nervousness.  

Bethany finally gave in and met her eyes, the grey streaks at the top of her hair and her reddish-purple attire complimenting her. "Oh, Sophie. You're... just in time. There's plenty of time before you're due at the coronation. Do you... want some tea? I just made a pot..." 

"Beth," her uncle tried to reason, running his hands over his wrinkles as Bethany moved forward. "Don't humor her." 

She looked pointedly at him, pursing her lips. 

"There's a matter we still haven't settled. What will we do?" 

Bethany blew out an exasperated sigh, whipping around to face Barthelemy, jabbing a finger towards him as she enunciated each syllable. 

"Why are you like this! Can't I enjoy this one good thing in this house while it lasts and make a cup of tea?!" She balled her hand in a fist and looked up. "Tea, please." 

With the boiling kettle as a sign to move, he pushed open the doors to his office and closed himself within its privacy, ending any hopes that Sophie had of picking up some extra details. Bethany filled up the cups, her motions mechanical. She handed one to Sophie, and they sat down to wait for the liquid inside to cool. 

At that moment, Sophie realized that there was no waitstaff in House Beaumont. Is that part of the mystery too? Did Uncle Barthelemy want to save on paychecks or something, she wondered idly, remembering a story from a book about someone hiding wealth by living simply... that was a bizarre thought. 

Barthelemy strode out of his office, adjusting his cufflinks and muttering under his breath as his icy gaze fell on Bethany, his countenance far less severe than when his discussion with her began. Bethany set the silver strainer on a clean cup and held it up in offering; her uncle shook his head, declining as he spoke. "We shouldn't keep Sophie waiting. We will finish this later." 

Bethany raised the kettle, her expression stubborn. "Your health." 

Barthelemy drank dutifully before walking over to where Sophie had set her tea down and cleared his throat, his hard countenance looking over the rim of his spectacles. He set his cup and saucer down carefully before motioning for her to begin her news. Sophie fiddled with her ring and grinned up at him, her thoughts returning to their past interactions. 

"Uncle Barthelemy ...Auntie Bethany.” 

Barthelemy's stern demeanor softened as he awaited Sophie's news. The room was charged with tension as Sophie met his gaze, hesitating before sharing her significant announcement. Her uncle's expression mixed curiosity and concern, while Aunt Bethany's excitement was clear. With a deep breath and a pounding heart, Sophie whispered, "I am a duchess." 

They both looked shocked and slowly it was dawning on Bethany what this meant. Her eyes brimmed with tears and a hand came to cover her mouth in utter surprise, not believing her ears. 

"Sophie," her aunt breathed out slowly as if she came back from a trance. 

Sophie swallowed, waiting for her uncle to interject. They were still waiting on him for confirmation or congratulations, but Barthelemy kept staring at Sophie silently with a firm expression. 

"Oh, that's lovely, dear! 

Barthelemy remained motionless, his gaze unwavering as it rested upon Sophie, the weight of his scrutiny felt by all in the room. Bethany's breath hitched, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. The air was thick with anticipation, a collective holding of breath as emotions surged and mingled. Finally, Barthelemy's stern expression softened slightly, and he nodded, an unspoken acknowledgment that left no room for doubt. 

"Not the queen yet," Sophie offered, waiting for the inevitable questions. 

Aunt Bethany covered her cheeks with her palms and grinned in absolute bewilderment. "It feels as though just yesterday I was welcoming you in Cordonia and now," she pressed a hand to Sophie's heart, "your heart is marrying the King." 

"So," her uncle began sardonically. There was a strained pause. "Are we expected to curtsey when we meet you, Your Highness?" 

"I hope you will treat me in the same manner you always have, I am your niece," Sophie answered easily, rising her cup, ignoring the ice in his voice. 

"Now isn't that rich," he remarked, raising his eyebrows at her, crossing his arms. "A few months of pampering and a fancy ball or two, and all of a sudden you forget who took you in." 

Sophie took a breath in preparation to fight back before Barthelemy clipped in again, cutting her off. 

"No," he held up his hand and paused, "Your marriage to the king will be beneficial to this house. With that I am pleased, and I also want to give my congratulations. I should give you fair warning though. Cordonia has not been without her share of infighting. Ever since the monarchial system was first conceived the royals of Cordonia have played a balancing act between competing interests in order to hold the power to rule." 

"So, what you are saying?" 

"Power comes with responsibility," her uncle reminded her with an insincere smirk and a single nod, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "I wish you well, your highness." 

The corners of his mouth lifted to a slight grimace. It was something. 

"That will be all." 

"Well," Aunt Bethany stepped forward, smiling fondly and extended an arm to her in greeting. 

Sophie looked down at her left hand, fingering the warm gold on her finger. 

"I love him so much," she looked up at her aunt's flushed cheeks and radiant eyes.

'She'd been drinking, Sophie could tell, the strong wine smell was mixed with something sharp on her breath.'

"Congratulations," Bethany threw her arms wide, but her embrace seemed hollow as it lacked enthusiasm. Sophie stood with her arms glued to her sides. 

Sophie caught Barthelemy roll his eyes and run his fingers through the little remaining hair he had before the door closed in her face, leaving them alone in the room. Sophie took a deep breath as Bethany sank back into the bench and buried her face into her hands. 

"Are you alright, Aunt Bethany?" Sophie questioned her as she slumped over and laid her cheek flat on the counter. She shrugged indifferently as a beeping sound interrupted the tranquility. "Just like that... it's been so quick." 

Sophie returned to her room at Beaumont Estate when the lunch was over. Feeling a little tired, she decided to take a break before packing up the remaining personal items into her luggage. She sank down gently and laid down on the soft bed and closed her eyes, trying to calm her thoughts. However, just as she was about to fall asleep, a faint sound of conversation crept through the wall and unexpectedly into her ears. 

The voice was low and vague, and seemed to come from the next room. Sophie perked her ears curiously, trying to make out what was being said. By and by she realized that they were Aunt Bethany's and Uncle Barthelemy's voices, and they seemed to be speaking not in a calm tone, but with a hint of suppressed anger. 

Sophie's heart was racing, and she leaned her ear against the wall, trying to hear better. Sure enough, the sound of the conversation soon became clear, but the content shocked her. 

"How can you play favorites like that!" Bethany's voice was full of anger and disappointment, "Bertrand is your elder son and the heir of Ramsford, and you openly support him ...I have nothing to say about that. But what about Maxwell? He's our child too! You're like a stranger to him, and you've always been a terrible father and husband for years!" 

Barthelemy's voice was cold and dismissive: "Maxwell? He's just a spare son, eating his head off and doing nothing. It's a disgrace that the Beaumont family has a son like that! ' 

"You... How can you say that about him!" Bethany's voice trembled with grief. "Maxwell is your son! Are you worthy of me by being so cold to him? Is it worthy of all these years of our marriage?!" 

Barthelemy's voice was even grimmer: "Marriage? Well, it was just a trade. How much good do you think your family can do me? Now Bertrand is old enough to need you out of the family business. As for Maxwell, he's nothing!" 

"Shame on you!" Bethany roared, "I will no longer tolerate your duplicity with me and my family! I'm gonna tell everyone the real reason you've been in a nursing home so long! I'll show them your true face!" 

This sentence is like a bomb, that instantly brought the temperature in the room to a boiling point. 

"Don't you dare!" Barthelemy's voice went up an octave and threatened viciously, "Don't forget who you are, Bethany. If you dare to tell anyone, I will make your and Maxwell's life a living hell!" 

Then there was a violent quarrel, mingled with slamming doors and heavy footsteps. Soon a muffled cry faded away. Clearly, it was that Aunt Bethany had left the room. 

Sophie's heart sank, deeply shocked and disturbed by the actions of her uncle, Barthelemy, and even more saddened for her aunt. Her heart felt like a big stone, and she couldn't breathe. But she also knew that it wasn't a good idea to ask Bethany directly, since she was on the verge of an emotional breakdown after such a furious fight. 

Sophie sat up, took a deep breath, and tried to calm herself. She picked up her phone, hesitated, and then sent Maxwell a message:

"Max, do you have a minute? I have something to tell you. See you in the garden?" 

Soon after, the phone vibrated and Maxwell replied,

"Sure, I'll be there. Let me know when you are back at the palace." 

Sophie put down her phone, stood up, arranged her clothes, and slowly walked out of the room to the SUV downstairs. She was full of doubts and worries, not knowing what was in store for her, but she knew she had to face it. 

☆☆☆

@choicesficwriterscreations

@monthlywritingchallenge

@nosebleedclub

Using my new tag list ...please let me know if you would like to be added or removed.

Perma-tag: @beau1811 @bascmve01 @twinkleallnight @dutifullynuttywitch @lovingchoices14 @alj4890 @busywoman @bardic-tales @kingliam2019 @malblk21 @selina012 @differenttyphoonwerewolf

Liam x Sophie: @snoopdogcone @jared2612

[inkmonster21]

Hearts Across the Divide

5.) A Special Day

Noa x Fem!Human!Reader

Series Masterlist

~oOo~

From the start of your life, you knew that you were different. Your mother, Gemm, could sense this difference in you and made it her mission to provide you with the knowledge and experiences that you craved. She didn't want to lose your unique identity, but she had to be careful in balancing that with providing you the education and understanding of humans that you longed for.

As a young girl, you clung to your mother as she walked through the thick brush, your small body bouncing against her back. As you near the camp, Gemm sets you softly down on the ground. She signs slowly, “Must be quiet.” You nod quickly and turn your head to observe the camp.

Humans were everywhere, the camp bustling with activity as they went about their daily tasks. Most of them were too preoccupied to notice the two of you watching from the shadows.

They were there for months, only leaving when the winter became too harsh. But in the months they were there, you and your mother spent most days observing the humans within the camp. You paid attention to every detail, your mind taking in all the information possible.

You watched intently, studying the subtle nuances of their speech. From the way they pronounced their words to the inflection of their voices, you absorbed it all.

Very slowly but surely, you began to understand the complexities of human emotion, picking up on the subtleties of their expressions and body language.

Considering the years that had passed, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in the fact that you had honed and developed a more mature and civilized mindset.

Most humans might not immediately recognize the depth of your intellect, given your upbringing among apes. However, you found comfort in knowing that you had shaped yourself into a unique individual that transcended the norm.

~

You sit by the fire, the moon high in the sky, most of the village has gone to bed leaving very few others roaming around. Unbothered by others, your nose is tucked in the pages of a book you’ve read many times over.

A dimly lit castle chamber. The princess, Liora, is kneeling by the bedside of her wounded knight, Sir Cedric. His armor is scratched and stained, revealing the fierce battle he fought to save her. He lies pale and weak, and Liora trembles with emotion. “Cedric… You fought so valiantly. I can’t believe you did all of this… for me.” Cedric struggling to speak, “I wouldn’t have it any other way, my lady.” He pauses to catch his breath, “Your safety… was worth any cost.”

Liora's tears are streaming down her face. “But your life…” she kneels beside him, taking his hand, “Please, you cannot leave me. Not like this… not after you saved me from the dragon.”

Cedric smiles weakly, “You are brave, Liora. Braver than many knights I know,” his breath falters, “If I must go, know that… with every beat of my heart, I love you.”

Liora sobs, “No! You cannot leave me, Cedric”, she leans closer, her forehead touching his, “I need you.”

Cedric's eyes start to close, “I’m afraid there is little time…” a slight cough erupts, “But remember this, my love, when the stars shine bright… I will always be with you.” The Princess gathers herself, and her breath catches, “I would traverse any realm to find you, Cedric. I will not let you go.” She leans in closer, “Let me prove my love…” Cedric speaks, his voice barely above a whisper, “A kiss… my princess.”

As you get immersed in the story, the passages about the deep devotion and love between the characters in the book stir up something within you. You find yourself blushing, the heat creeping up your cheeks as you become engrossed in the romantic tale unfolding on the pages. You find yourself reading the sentence slowly, your fingers tracing the word 'kiss'. The character's wish for a kiss, for a moment of intimacy before his end, strikes a chord within you. Your heart beats a little faster as you imagine the tenderness and the desperation behind the character's desire.

Your thoughts shift momentarily from the book to the culture you had grown up in. In the ape culture, such intimate acts of love and devotion were not as prevalent or necessary as they seemed to be in the book you were reading. However, the romantic tales and stories still held a certain allure, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing in your heart as you turned the page.

Your reminiscing leads you back to the times you had observed humans showing affection with what was described in the book as a “kiss.” However, the kisses you had witnessed between humans were more perfunctory and not nearly as passionate and deep as what the book portrayed.

The thought of love, its existence, and its chances of being real nag at your thoughts as you turn the pages. You wonder if such deep, passionate love could exist in your world, where intimacy was not as freely shared as it was portrayed in the tales. Despite the doubts, a small part of you desperately hoped that true love, as described in fiction, could be a reality.

“Alway with your nose… in pages.” You lift your gaze from the page, startled by the unexpected voice that interrupts your thoughts. Looking up, you see your mother standing there, a warm smile on her face. You shrug, “helps me escape.”

Your mother nods in understanding, the smile never leaving her face. "Sometimes… we all need to escape…somewhere to run away… in our minds." Your mother approaches, sitting down next to you and resting a hand on your shoulder. The touch is gentle yet reassuring, a bridge of understanding between you two. Your mother, having come from a different clan and having had to earn her place within your current village, had indeed understood your feelings to a certain extent. She had experienced her own battles and struggles with acceptance.

“Tomorrow… is your birthday.” Mother says with a smile. “Special day for you. For everyone here.”

The mention of another year passing and the idea of fate brings a slight frown to your face. At your age, many apes – and even humans from what you have heard – had some idea of their destiny. However, you still felt like you had no clue about yours, the uncertainty causing a twinge of anxiety in the back of your mind.

“Loui has told me… he’s having a party… for you.” Your mother says, her smile growing wider. You look at her with narrowed eyes. “Loui is going to have a party?” She nods,

"He told me…It is your day… wants it to be a special day," she says, a hint of excitement in her movements.

You raise your brow, “and does father know of this party?” A smirk appears on your mother's face at your question. "No… he does not," she says with a slight mischievous twinkle in her eye. "which makes it… more exciting?" She knew your seek for thrill and if it took distracting your father while you and your friends could safely have fun, then she would gladly do so.

You shake your head, “and you and Loui say I’m the troublemaker.” Your mother lets out a soft chuckle at your response. "Oh, you’re both troublemakers… in your ways," she speaks with a smile. "Loui may be the one to do the big things… but you, my dear… have your way… stirring things up."

You couldn’t help but think of Noa. That was more than stirring trouble. A slight blush dusted your cheeks as you thought, remembering the times he had stirred up your emotions, leaving you more than just a little flustered. Noa had a knack for causing a different kind of trouble, the kind that made your heart skip beats and your thoughts whirl into a chaotic mess.

The thoughts and feelings you harbored for Noa were a secret you had to keep, a source of trouble in its own right. It was a burden to hold such affection in your heart for someone you weren't supposed to desire, but the pull of your emotions was too strong to ignore.

“Mother,” you pause, your nerves running hot. Your sudden pause catches your mother's attention, and she turns to look at you curiously, a mix of concern and anticipation in her expression.

"What is it, dear?" she signs, her movements gentle. You look down at your book. The word love sticks out. “Do apes love?” You look into her eyes, “do you love Father?” Your mother's expression softens at your question, her eyes reflecting a complex mixture of emotions. She pauses for a moment, gathering her thoughts before responding.

"Love..." she says slowly. "I think apes can love… can be a messy thing." She sighs softly. "Your father... I do care for him. We share a life and a family…. But love… human love… more complicated than just caring… don't you think?"

You shrug quickly, “I just… I’m not sure… it’s in my book. It’s a bit confusing to understand.” Your mother's expression softens even further as she looks at you. She knows that your understanding of love has been shaped by the books you read, but she also knows that love is a concept that is difficult to grasp through pages.

"Love..." she says once more, "hard to…explain…. different for everyone…sometimes not what we expect," she says, her words tinged with a hint of melancholy.

The uncertainty of understanding these feelings and the unknown territory of love left you feeling overwhelmed. It was as if you were standing on the edge of an ocean, the vast, dark waters of the unknown stretching out before you. The thought of diving into these emotions, of exploring the uncharted waters, was both thrilling and terrifying.

Your mother looks at you, “Have you found… love?” Your mother's question catches you off guard, and you feel a sudden rush of heat in your cheeks. You try to keep your composure, but it's clear that she has seen through your facade.

"Wh-what do you mean?" you say, trying to act casual but failing miserably.

Your mother leans in closer, a playful yet gentle look in her eyes. She looks around as if searching the area for any potential mates among the village. Pondering in her head just who you spend most of your time with. Come to think of it, you weren’t seen with any apes from the village much out of communal activities. Always by the falls, near the river’s edge, where the land divided.

"No one," you speak too quickly, trying to hide your nervousness. You fumble with your words as you stand, the heat of your blush betraying your denial. With numb legs, you take a step back, trying to keep your emotions in check.

"I... I have no interest in… that," you speak, your movements a mix of nerves and determination. But despite your insistence, your mother can see the blush on your face, a dead giveaway to your true feelings.

You knock into Loui as you back up. “Oh! Sorry, Loui… Um, goodnight.” You quickly turned and walked to your hut. As you rush off, Loui looks after you, his expression filled with confusion. He turns to your mother, who has been silently observing the exchange.

"She has been acting strange," Loui says, his words tinged with concern. Your mother smiles slightly, a knowing look in her eye. "Just growing up, son," she says, trying to reassure him.

Loui had always seen you as that little girl, the one who would swing from the low branches with carefree abandon. To him, you represented innocence, and the thought of you growing up and experiencing the complexities of life was hard for him to accept. As much as Loui tried to hold onto the image of you as the little girl he knew, he too was growing up. His father's expectations for him to take on the role of the next chief weighed heavily on him, forcing him to grow up faster than he might have wished.

Frustration and heat coursed through your body as you sat in your bed, the emotions swirling within you like a tempest. The events of the day - your mother's question, the potential for your secret feelings to be discovered - had left you feeling agitated and overwhelmed.

The memory of the kiss you'd planted on Noa's hand flashed in your mind, causing you to feel embarrassed and a little foolish. You bury your face under the pelt blanket, replaying the scene in your head.

"Stupid," you mutter to yourself, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. "He probably thought it was weird." The thought of Noa being disgusted by your gesture makes your heart sink.

The thought of being too wrapped up in your books crossed your mind. Perhaps you had let your imagination run wild, projecting the romantic ideals from your stories onto Noa and your interactions. Feeling foolish for letting your emotions get the better of you.

All would become clearer with a night's rest, right?

You blinked sleepily as the bright sunlight hit your eyes. You felt achy from sleeping on the solid ground but you didn’t mind.

You sat up, stretching your arms and legs to relieve the stiffness from your sleep. The sun was high in the sky, indicating that it was late morning or early afternoon.

You still completely. Sunlight shouldn’t be in your eyes… Your mind coming to Noa. YOU’RE LATE! You stand up quickly. As you hurriedly pull your dress over your head, you lose your balance and fall to the ground. You land with a thud, wincing as you hit the hard ground. Frustration and worry fill you as you realize just how much time you've wasted in your clumsiness.

You hurried out of the hut, your chest heaving from the combination of your brisk pace and the anxiety that coursed through you. You could only hope that Noa was still there waiting, but you had to find out quickly. Without slowing your stride, you pushed onward, moving as fast as your legs would allow.

As you ran through the village's outskirts, you greeted the villagers with quick smiles, your mind too preoccupied to stop and chat. You continued onward, moving deeper into the woods and onto the familiar path that led to your usual meeting spot.

You were on the verge of breaking through the treeline into the forest when you suddenly heard a familiar booming voice call out behind you. “Where are you going?”

You came to a stop and turned to see your father standing there, tall and imposing in his traditional attire, his staff gripped firmly in his hand. “Father.” You greet your father with a respectful bow of your head, trying to keep your voice steady even though your heart is racing. "Good morning," you murmur. He simply hums in response. "Afternoon," he corrects, his tone disapproving. “Where are you going?” He asks again.

"I'm just... going for a walk," you reply, trying to sound casual. You avoid his gaze as you answer, feeling the weight of your lie.

He shakes his head in disapproval. “No. It is a special day. Come.” He opens his arm, having you wedged underneath his grasp, leading you away from the trail to the waterfall. Away from Noa.

Noa had been waiting at the waterfall, his eyes constantly scanning his surroundings in anticipation. Every rustle of leaves or snap of a twig made his heart skip a beat, hoping it would be a sign of your arrival. The minutes seemed to stretch endlessly, and his impatience only heightened with each passing second. He fidgeted with the grass in front of him, his mind filled with worry and confusion. He had no idea what could have caused you to be this late, and his thoughts swirled with anxious scenarios.

As your father led you into the room, you were greeted by the rest of your family. Your mother, Loui, and your friends, Keli and Teko, were all sitting at a large table. They smiled widely as they saw you, standing up to greet you with open arms. Your father led you to a chair next to your mother and patted your shoulder before taking his own seat at the head of the table.

You tried your best to stay present and enjoy the meal, the delicious food, and the cheerful company of your family. But your mind couldn’t help but wander to Noa, your thoughts filled with worry and disappointment about your missed meeting. You tried to push those thoughts aside and focus on the conversation, but now and then, your eyes would drift towards the door, longing to go to the falls.

You continue to eat, forcing yourself to savor each bite even as your thoughts keep drifting back to Noa. Your family engages in light conversation, laughter filling the room as you all enjoy the meal together. Your friends, Keli and Teko, however, notice your subtle hints of distraction. They glance at each other, their eyes filled with curiosity. Teko leans closer to you, a sly smile playing on his lips. “You seem distracted today,” he teases, nudging your shoulder playfully.

Teko chuckles at your reply, enjoying the banter between the two of you. “Of course, I am,” he replies, puffing out his chest in mock arrogance. Keli laughs, joining in on the teasing. “we can tell… something on your mind.”

Keli and Teko had been your closest friends for a long time, and you felt comfortable enough to share anything with them. You knew they would listen to you without passing judgment or revealing your secrets to anyone else, unlike Loui. They could tell that something was weighing on their mind, and they weren't going to let it go easily. “Meet me after this.” You whisper to them.

Keli and Teko hear your whisper and exchange a curious look. They both nod, their curiosity piqued. You continue to act casual as the meal continues, but you can feel your friends' eyes on you throughout the rest of the breakfast. Teko and Keli seem restless as they finish their food, their anticipation growing with every passing moment.

Your father stands and gestures with his hand, signaling that everyone is free to leave. Just before you walk away, he turns to you, a small smile on his face. "Happy birth day," he says before walking out of the room. You reply with a quick nod and a polite “Thank you,” forcing a smile onto your face. Despite the happiness of your family around you, you couldn’t shake the guilt and worry you felt about missing your meeting with Noa.

Teko practically pulls you out of the structure and off into the fields where you would have some privacy. Keli's voice rings out, "Teko! Not so rough!" she exclaims, trying to catch up with your rapid pace.

Teko eyes you with a curious gaze as you take a seat in the grass. Keli sits beside you, silently waiting for you to speak. Teko leans closer, his eyes fixed on you. “Come on now.” He presses, his voice betraying his impatience. “Acting strange months... Tell us.”

You roll your eyes not knowing where to begin. “I… I think I met someone.” You say in a hushed manner. You can’t believe you’re saying these words. Teko and Keli both lean in closer, intrigued by your confession. Teko's eyebrows raise in surprise, and a sly smile dances on his lips. Keli's eyes widen with both shock and curiosity. "You met someone?" Teko repeats, his tone laced with disbelief and excitement.

Keli's gaze remains fixed on you as she quickly fires off another question. She seems to be just as curious as Teko about the identity of this mystery person. "Human?" she asks, a hint of confusion in her voice. "Like you?"

You pause for a moment not sure if you should say. Would they be disgusted to know you found yourself interested in an ape? Or would the only acceptable answer be human?

Teko and Keli notice your hesitation, their eyes watching you closely. Teko's smile has faded, replaced by a look of concern, while Keli looks at you with expectancy. Teko's voice breaks the silence. "Well? Is he human?"

You shake your head silently. Both Teko and Keli stiffen slightly at your answer. Teko's expression hardens into a frown while Keli's surprise seems to deepen. They both remain silent, processing your revelation. The air between you all is thick with tension as they wait for you to continue. You look at them in stress, “Say something please.” Teko and Keli exchange a brief glance before looking back at you. Teko hesitates, his lips pressed into a thin line, but finally, he speaks. “You mean… ape?” his words are almost a whisper. You nod once more. You can feel the weight of their stares as you nod in confirmation. Teko's eyes widen in disbelief, while Keli looks at you with a strange mixture of shock and awe. Teko finally breaks the silence. “You… like an ape?” his voice is filled with disbelief. Teko's initial disbelief turns into hooting laughter as the words sink in. He throws his head back, his laughter ringing out through the field. “Loui… going to kill him!” he exclaims between bouts of laughter.

You throw a few leaves in Teko's direction, trying to shut him up. "Shhh!" you scold him, your eyes darting around nervously, concerned that someone might overhear. While Teko continues to laugh heartily, Keli's eyes turn toward you with a softer, caring expression. She asks you a question, her voice laced with genuine concern. "Who?" You feel a pang of worry at the thought of revealing too much, but you don’t want to remain silent either. You decide to keep it vague and share just the essential details. “He’s not in our village,” you tell them, hoping that it will be enough information for them to grasp the situation.

Teko’s laughter dies down and he looks at you with a mixture of intrigue and curiosity, waiting for more information. “Where then?” You’d love to say. To reveal how proud you are of Noa being the leader of his own clan, but you remain quiet. “From a Clan. Not far from here.”

Teko and Keli both fall into silence as they try to recall any information of nearby clans. However, they are coming up blank. Chief Wuka always limited the exploration area, ensuring a safe distance from potential dangers, which explains why they are unaware of the existence of other clans.

Teko leans closer to you with a mischievous smile on his lips. “What's his name?” he inquires, his curiosity piqued further. You can't help but roll your eyes at his persistent questioning. "As if I'd tell you his name," you playfully retort, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. Keli pushes her brother over into the grass. “Leave us! Females are speaking.” Teko flops onto the grass with an exaggerated huff, feigning offense at his sister's actions. "What? Was just… getting interesting!" he grumbles, a playful pout forming on his lips.

Teko finally relents to Keli's insistence and gets up from the grass, grumbling under his breath. However, he doesn't go far, instead settling down nearby, clearly intent on listening in on your conversation from a distance.

As you sit with Keli, basking in the familiar comfort of her company, you realize how much you have missed these moments of connection with your friends. The whirlwind of emotions and experiences with Noa has consumed your life lately, causing you to neglect your bonds with those closest to you.

“Sorry, I’ve been sneaking off a lot.” Keli looks at you with a gentle smile, her eyes filled with understanding. "Do not apologize," she replies softly. "makes sense now.” You spill out the details of your encounters with Noa, recalling the moment you saved him from the cougar, how his loyal eagle had guided him to you after hearing your song, and how the whole ordeal seemed like a page out of your own worn romance novel.

[hhanxue]

"Was it not possible that, in order to protect itself from people, the beauty deceived those who observe it?"

Dropping another limbus oc~ Mizoguchi, sinner number 2. The source of inspiration for him is "The Temple of the Golden Pavilion" by Yukio Mishima.

*** *** *** Mizoguchi was a terrible scientist. The son of a brilliant researcher, he was never good enough for her. In the margins of his hastily scribbled reports, he would jot down poetry—only to frantically scratch it out later. He’d lose himself staring at condensation droplets on test tubes until his mother’s sharp reprimand made him flinch and stammer out apologies.

"Why are you so unreliable? Redo this. Don’t make me wait."

"M-mother, I—I’m sorry—"

"Now."

*** Deep inside the underground research complex, a magnificent flower bloomed—the Golden Eidolon, a machine weaving perfect illusions. But Mizoguchi paid them no mind. His awestruck eyes saw only the Eidolon itself, radiant in its golden glow. He couldn’t fathom how his mother’s always-cold hands had given birth to a true Beauty. Yet, at the same time, something dark and sticky took root in his heart—jealousy.

*** A slap. A look of utter disgust. Mizoguchi was a terrible scientist, an anxious stutterer who couldn't even reach a bit of her genius, so she despised him.

This time, he didn’t apologize. As he knelt to gather the scattered papers, he glanced up at her. His eyes, cold with fury, held only one thought: "I wish you’d disappear."

It was just a thought—no curse, no power. But fate laughed cruelly that day.

She vanished before his eyes. Another experiment with Eidolon had gone wrong, erasing her genius mind down to the last atom. The laugh startled even him. It wasn’t joy—it was the sound of a wire snapping in his brain.

Now, only two remained: the flawless machine… and the terrible scientist.

*** When Beauty becomes perfect, it turns into a force of ruin—one that ensnares minds.

Mizoguchi spoke to the Eidolon, and the hum of its machinery twisted into something familiar—her voice, clawing at his skull.

"Pathetic."

It wasn't real, he knew, but his hands shook anyway.

He adored the Eidolon. He hated the Eidolon. Sobbing, clawing at the floor, he just wanted to be free.

Mizoguchi had no plan—only an impulse. He didn’t stop when his trembling hands spilled fuel across the lab floor. He didn’t stop when he flicked the lighter. The flames roared, and for the first time, the lab felt warm.

Inside that blazing tomb, he grabbed a knife. The Eidolon’s reactor core lay before him—so dazzlingly beautiful it made his eyes water.

"If the world is ruled by Deeds," Mizoguchi thought, "Then let this be my last one."

The core shattered. His hands burned with searing pain.

*** Mizoguchi didn’t remember reaching the surface, how he escaped the fire and smoke. His lungs burned. He couldn’t feel his arms. Tears streamed down his face.

A tall, hat-shadowed figure loomed over him, forcing him to look up.

"A remarkable will to live, Mr. Hiraoka," said the man in the owl mask, offering a glowed hand.

Mizoguchi choked out a sob and rasped:

"P-p-please… d-don’t call me that."

*** *** *** Intro: "N-n-nice to meet you! M-my n-name is... is M-Mizoguchi... —uhh I'm s-so sorry... Please, take... take care of me."

Particulars: Anxious, Stutterer [An idealist with a poet’s sensitivity, this sinner oscillates between obsessive perfectionism and paralyzing self-doubt. Exceptionally diligent when focused; he responds well to structured tasks. Though generally docile, do remember that his loyalty hinges on not exploiting his compliance. NOTICE: This sinner tends to resort to extremely violent methods and gets unpredictable when feeling cornered, so we recommend paying attention to what and how breaks him in order to prevent a possible outburst.] E.G.O: Fires of Transcendence ("Th-the beauty is pain... and p-pain is... h-haha..!") Sin Affinity: Wrath Facts: - Wears gloves and never reveals his hands and forearms as they were scorched when he broke the Eidolon's reactor core. The precipitate is etched deep into the skin in the form of golden cracks and particles. - Has a habit of writing his thoughts in the haiku-like form in a diary. "Skin cracks like old paint, Gold veins hum a dead machine's song— Mother, was it worth it?" *** "Bus wheels crush the stars— We die, but the tea stays warm... ...Manager, more sugar."

[bundoesnotcompete]

Jing Yuan x Reader is platonic. Intense Violence in this one. No one has a good time but only one person really dies. Reader gets turned into an Abundance Abomination. Edited errors on 11/2/24

The Alchemy Commission was overran with abundance beasts and the mara-struck. The betrayal of head alchemist Fang Zhu was leaving nothing but devastation in its wake. The Cloud Knights were barely holding a defensive line against the rampant beasts. Fang Zhu had done something to make them stronger, faster, more deadly. The cloud knights could not use anything that would cause mass destruction, there were still too many civilians alive in all the rubble. Jing Yuan had arrived with Jingliu to disaster on the defensive lines. Due to it being the only line against the abundance, she was quick to take control.

"Commander Xu, order the men to hold key choke points. Do not spread the knights out more then they are." Her direct command to the commander had him scrambling to fill them. After arriving to the command tent she was quick to turn to Jing Yuan. "I know you are worried about them, but you will listen to me when i say this. It will do you no good to run in there blind." Jing Yuan opened his mouth to defend himself but was cut off. "Do not take that as me doubting you. We need to get this line established first, maybe then we can send a scouting parties in there."

A young Jing Yuan nodded his head, "Yes, Shifu. What do I need to do?" Jingliu looked just past her student to see Baiheng and Dan Feng arriving.

"For now, help Commander Xu set the lines straight. Once that is done come back to the Command tent, we will dicuss any plans from there." Jing Yuan nodded and took off to where Commander Xu was barking orders. He just hoped his sibiling was able to get away from Fang Zhu. Jingliu stormed into the command tent, she had a bad feeling about this.

--------

Being paralyzed was an unpleasent experience. The sudden betrayal of you shifu had taken you by surprise. Any attempt to defend yourself was useless, the paralyzing agent had been in the drink she had given you this morning. It had started out a wonderful day. You had said your goodbyes to your brother and parents before heading to the alchemy commision. Then, your shifu had gotten you one of your favorite drinks before you both headed for the labs. Once you started feeling weak and off though, you had asked to go home, a request she denied. Instead, she had you sit in a nearby chair. She had gotten you a water and everything went worse from there.

The abundance traps she had laid out that morning were quick to turn civilians and knights alike into mindless beasts. When you had finally awoke from your roofied drink, it was too late to stop your shifu from her plans. Not only had she given you another dose of paralytics, but she had something else in mind for you. The Foxian lady turned to you from where she had been mixing something. She looked down at your prone form and gave a motherly smile. As she put her concoction into a syringe, you were unable to surpress your fear, tears quietly streaming down you face.

"Oh, let's not do that now. My dear student you know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. Don't cry or be afraid." She held the large syringe in her hand gently as she knelt beside you. Her soft, gentle hands caressed your face, the motherly smile never leaving her face. The distint sounds of battle were faintly heard from in the building. "Now my dearest, this will pinch. Don't worry, this will transcend you into a higher being. I know your scared, but all will be well." You could do nothing as she shoved the syringe into your throat. Firey hot pain coursed through you body as she injected her mixture and you quietly choked on your screams. The tears only falling harder from your eyes as the pain intesified.

In only a few short moments the mixture had destroyed the paralytics and you body and you were finally able to scream and writhe in pain. Thick antlers seemed to sprout from you skull and thick flowers grew from them. It seemed like you could hear and feel everything happening outside as the abdundance forces' minds seemed to link with your own. As you instinctively clawed at you chest to stop the main source of pain, you began to claw yourself open. Thick claw like nails had grown on your hands and in a futile attempt to stop the pain, you made it worse. As the pain only grew worse, you body began give out. Black dots had quickly taken your vision as you passed out.

-----

When you finally awoke it seemed like you were in a daze. Lashing out and killing anything that was near you. Fear was quickly overwhelming you. Why hasn't anyone come for you? Why hadn't Jing Yuan come for you? In a rational state of mind, you would've known that your brother couldn't just run into a battlefield to save you. You were terrified, your body didn't seem like you're own and the echoing of thousands of beings only added to your fear. They were scared too. Thick branches and trees took over buildings as you continued to rampage through the area. Footsteps ran behind you and you jerked around to see a Foxian woman. She looked relieved.

"There you are, oh I was so worried about you my disciple." Fear was quickly turning to rage, your recent memories cutting through the fog in your mind. She would pay for her betrayal and for what she did to you. You let her approach you and hug you. When you had buried your face into her neck, you bit down. The unnatural strength coursing through your body allowed you to hold her place as she fought and began to gurgle. In an angered state you ripped through her throat and shredded her with your claws like you were nothing more than an animal. Two sets of footsteps appeared bebind you and you dropped you former teacher's lifeless corpse on the ground, refusing to hug her anymore.

"Fuck, that's bad." As you turned, you saw the forms of two women. A white haired woman and a purple haired foxian woman. Something was screaming danger in you mind. You knew these women, why were you in danger? Distracted in your thoughts, you failed to notice the foxian woman readying her bow. The arrow shot through your eye and you held it, letting out a cry that seemed be a mixture between elk and human. Tearing out the arrow, you launched yourself at the pair with inhuman speed. Not matter what they threw at you, you kept regenerating. No matter what limb was cut off or where arrows pierced, you body kept regenerating. Jing Yuan wasn't coming for you, you knew you needed to fight.

"They aren't slowing down Jingliu!" The fox lady grunted mid sentence as she dodged your attacks, "What are we going to do?"

Boiling water hit you hard and you cried again. Two more people had joined the fight.

"Keep them distracted, we have to contain them!" Dan Feng had shouted as he joined the fight, Yingxing helping people from the nearby rubble. "We will freeze them. If they cannot be destroyed then we will have contain them!" More water continued to pelt you. The pain was unimaginable as you continured to grow trees and branches fighting the group. A fight that was tiring you. A familar voice rang out throughout the court yard you were fighting in.

"You have to stop fighting! Come to me! Your brother always has your back!" Jing Yuan's voice shouted to you. You faltered in you attacks and steps at the sound. He was here! He was finally here to protect you like he always did!

"What are you doing?" Jingliu's authoritive tone drug you back into the battle.

"Just trust me! Come here, I can help you." You turned to your brother's voice. Making the split second decision, you ran to him. Dodging any attacks you could, you flung yourself into your brother arms and hugged him. Tears falling down your face as he hugged you back. "Okay maybe not so tight that hurts." You loosening your grip and sobbed into him. Smearing blood and tears all over his armor. "Its okay, I've got you. Your safe with me."

"You are lucky they aren't feral right now. Are you insane?!" Jingliu's tone was scolding as she ran to you and your brother. Exhaustion was quickly taking you.

"Please don't leave me. You just now came for me. I don't want you to leave. Please. Please. Please. I'm so scared. Everything won't stop hurting." You begged your brother as your eyes began to droop. Your shaking didn't slow down. Your brother looked at you, baby-fat making him seem more childlike than he was acting. He was saying something to you, but you couldn't hear it as you went unconscious.

------

In what would later be dubbed as the Alchemical Outbreak of Abundance, you were unwillingly turned into a abomination. Being completely unkillable by any known standards, the Xianzhou Alliance agrees to put you into a coma-like state by filling your prison with gas sedatives. Though you would wake from time to time, you would remain largely docile. Unless guards provoked you, you would not attack most beings. Instead, the prison was slowly turned into a garden due to your abundence powers leaking. You found peace in the garden you were creating.

Jing Yuan was often called to visit if you were not being docile. Sometimes you got lucky and he would be there a few hours after you would wake. Those days were few and far between with his ever increasing duties. Unlike him, you did not have the opportunity to grow up and you were forever trapped in the body of a sixteen year old. If the Alliance allowed you to practice control over you abundance, prehaps you would be able to age yourself. The new form you found yourself in had shattered your mental state and you often found yourself willing sleeping if it meant not facing what you were.

Things had stagnated for hundreds of years until Jing Yuan had brought a young boy to your prison. The boy had very obviously been afraid of your appearence. Jing Yuan had introduced him as Yanqing, his retainer. After that, Jing Yuan's visits became rarer, but when he did visit, he brought Yanqing with him. You didn't mind Yanqing and enjoyed his child-like enthusiasm, even if he did seem like he couldn't decide on if he was a boy or a man with the way he behaved.

You hadn't woken in a long time when you felt it. Something was messing with the Arbor.

The soft song it typically sang had turned into deep irratation and anger within your mind. It was beginning to drive you mad. You needed out of this prison just so you could silenced whatever was messing with the arbor. It didn't take long before you finally decided to break free from your prison. The guards who tried to stop you were quickly killed in your attempt to escape. It was time to make your way to the arbor. You didn't care who you had to maim in order to get there. It would be worth the silence you would get in return.