#i've not cemented a name for him yet

[ilmhist]

anyway so I picked up Coral Island and now I have this lil guy he’s named after a tree and he likes to dye his hair to match the season.  he’s an urban sort at his core and he’s really struggling to tell his carrots from his cacti.  he’s doing his best.

[indecisivemuch]

Lovesick & Lovelorn

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You thought that Luke Castellan, your best friend, did not reciprocate your feelings for him. To cope, you wrote letters addressed to him and kept them in a box. What happens when one of your sisters finds it? Inspired by 'To All the Boys I've Loved Before' (fluff, best friends to lovers; you thought it was unreciprocated feelings, happy ending).

Note: Ahh, I'm so happy the show got renewed for season 2.

Word count: 3.3k

You were deeply convinced your fate was tied to one with eternal lovelorn. 

Three years ago, you arrived at Camp Half-Blood and settled into the Hermes cabin before you were claimed by your Godly parent. It was there that you met Luke Castellan - one of your soon-to-be best friends. Though, you knew you were doomed from your first glance into his eyes. Then came his friendly smile and an offer of a handshake, where his hand engulfed yours.

At first, you thought that silly little crush would dissipate. But over time, as you became close friends with the Hermes cabin counselor, you were almost convinced he was faultless. You seemed to adore every little thing about him. Along with the fondness that grew in your heart was also self-pity. At one point, even looking at him hurt because you knew he did not return your feelings.

Hence, the letters.

In between your memories of Luke were letters you wrote throughout those years just to cope with the unreciprocated feeling. It was painful, but what else could you do? You truly believed confessing would put your friendship at risk. Neither did you feel like dealing with the heartache of a rejection. So you never uttered any of your feelings to him, continuing to imprint it on lined papers instead.

You scowled as the pen you were using ran out of ink, leaving the latest edition of unspoken words unfinished. Wordlessly, you fold the incomplete letter into an envelope and shove it into the turquoise box you bought while returning from a quest once. You neatly put the box under your bed.

“Y/N, it’s time to head out,” one of your sisters repeated. Two minutes ago, people were starting to leave, so those on cleaning duties could clean up your cabin. Since you were mid-writing, you hastily asked for a few more seconds. Now, you were the only one left besides two of your sisters.

“Yes, sorry,” you quickly muttered, exiting the cabin and almost immediately bumped into Luke. “Hey, what are you doing here?” you asked.

“I’m here for you. I thought we should hang out,” Luke answered ever so casually. Yet, your heart swelled at the thought that he was there for you. Before you could reply, you two were interrupted by another camper, who told you that one of your other best friends needed you and that it was an emergency.

“I’m so sorry, we’re gonna have to take a rain check on that hangout,” you informed Luke. You slowly started walking backward and away from him. “I’ll see you later, though?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Come find me whenever you’re done, yeah?” Luke requested, hoping to spend time with you later. His soft look made you pause mid-step, almost as if your foot had been cemented to the stones beneath. You nodded absentmindedly before snapping out of that state to comfort your friend.

After two hours of listening to your friend and comforting them, you finally left their cabin to search for Luke, who previously told you to find him after. However, around half an hour later, you slowly gave up at the thought of doing so, feeling almost defeated.

As you turned to head back to your cabin, you spotted the Hermes counselor exiting his. You called out his name, watching his back stiffen before he turned to you. You ignored the odd behavior and recalled, “I’m free now if you’re down to hang out.”

“I’m so sorry, but I’m really busy right now.”

“Uhm, well, I guess I’ll just meet you at our spot whenever you’re done then?” you suggested. You and Luke fell into a routine of star-gazing every night.

Laying under the dark sky that painted your whole horizon often made you feel small. But something about that was so calming, especially considering most of the time, you were suffocated by the weight and duties of being a Demigod. You wondered if it was the moment or if it was Luke’ presence that aided your momentary peace.

“I really, really can’t tonight, I have a lot of things to do.”

“Oh… that’s okay. I’ll see you around?” you replied, watching as Luke fidgeted and gulped while attempting to look normal. It was futile, really, because being best friends meant you could sense when the slightest thing was even off. He nodded, and you retreated to your cabin with thoughts swirling in your head.

Then came the next few torturous and confusing days. For the last two years, Luke would always approach you - almost daily, and vice versa. Being best friends with Luke has been wonderful. Every day together felt like a blessing.

Now, it seemed almost like he was avoiding you. He would find a new excuse whenever you approached. He wouldn’t even look in your direction. Yesterday, you made eye contact with him, and he turned away abruptly, facing his back towards you.

You had enough after day three. You went to your cabin after dinner and reached under your bed with one hand. You did not want to, but this would perhaps be your first-ever letter of anguish about Luke Castellan.

The box…where is the box?

You peered under your bed, mouth hanging open when your eyes could not spot it either. You looked up and around, hoping maybe you had misplaced it somewhere, even though part of you knew you had put it under your bed. You have always done so.

“Hey, have you seen a turquoise box?” you asked your sister as she walked by.

“Oh, the rectangle one, about this big?” your sister reconfirmed, using her hand to show you the size she indicated.

“Yes, that one.”

“Oh, I gave it to Luke.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I was cleaning the cabin three days ago, accidentally knocked it over and saw letters addressed to him. He was right by the door, so I thought maybe I should just deliver them to him.”

Blood drained from your face, and your heart plummeted. Anything else your sister seemed to be talking about started sounding like murmurs, and you could not focus on a word she was saying. Your worst nightmare seemed to have arrived. Somehow, your friendship with him had ended without you knowing. No wonder he has been avoiding you these past few days. He has read them all.

“I need to go,” you quickly muttered, storming out of your cabin. You could feel your body slightly shaking from the panic. No amount of Demigod training had prepared you for moments like these. Then you saw Luke walking over you…with the box in his hands. You took a deep breath and practically forced your voice box to work.

“Listen, Luke—”

“I didn’t think you’d buy birthday gifts that early, Y/N,” he interrupted.

“What?” you questioned and observed the sweet smile gracing his Adonis-like face.

“This?” he gestured to the box. “Your sister gave it to me and said it was from you. Though I thought I should give it back ‘cause it’s not my birthday yet, you might have wanted to give it to me yourself.”

“Oh…” it was the only thing you could utter as it dawned on you what he had perceived the situation as. “Wait, so you haven’t opened it?” you clarified.

“Nope.”

“...So we’re ok?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?” your mouth hung slightly agape at his words. As you scrunch your eyebrows, you could see how his fingers fidget somewhat, almost as if he could tell you would bring his odd behavior up.

“You’ve been acting really odd the last few days, Luke. It had me worried. I thought I did something wrong. It seems like you were avoiding me.”

“I was just really busy with counselor duties,” he dismissed it. However, something about it made you a bit hesitant to believe his words. You did it anyway, nevertheless. You blamed it on your stupid heart.

“Yeah, but—” you stopped, not wanting to stir anything. “Ok then, I’m going to put this away, but I’ll see you later, yeah? Maybe we can finally not rain check again?” You hated how hopeful you sounded. You’re glad that the sun had set a few minutes ago, blessing you with enough degree of darkness to hide your facial expressions from being as evident as they would be in daylight.

“Of course, I’ll see you later, Y/N,” despite the dark and only dim lights from nearby, you noticed there was something different about him. Luke was wearing a nervous smile, almost sheepish like a schoolboy. There was a glimmer of amazement in his eyes like he was in disbelief. Though it was definitely overpowered by a glaring degree of warmth. He was looking at you like all those writers have written down in the books you have read before - something along the lines of adoration and love.

You shook those thoughts away again, refusing to somehow fool yourself into believing he could reciprocate those feelings.

“Yeah, see you,” you muttered, hand gripping tightly on the box as you took it from his hold. As soon as you reached your cabin, you opened the box to peer inside. You immediately sighed in relief upon seeing the copious amount of letters with your handwriting on them, all with Luke’s name on the front.

However, your eyes landed on one unfamiliar one. It had your name on it, written in a familiar wonky handwriting that you have always found endearing.

You sat on your bed, taking the letter out delicately, almost in disbelief. Then, dread overtook any other emotion. Was this Luke’s way of letting you down easy? By pretending to not have read any of your letters and rejecting you through the form that you express your love to him? — you had to physically shake your head at that thought.

You took the letter out of its envelope and started reading: 

‘Dear Y/N,

This is probably the 40th time I tried writing this letter. It feels impossible to try and convey everything onto one piece of paper.

You deserve someone to at least view you as their muse rather than always being the writer. 

Hence why, for the past few days, I had to physically drag myself away from you every time you tried approaching me because I knew if I didn’t, I would just end up spilling my feelings out right then. I knew if I even looked at you, I would have just abandoned this letter idea and run to you. You should have seen me yesterday. When we made eye contact, I had to turn away from you because having the knowledge of you liking me back was enough to knock all the air out of my lungs. I was a flustered mess from just that eye contact.

I doubt my words could rival what you have written about me. You once wrote how it hurts to love someone this much and to always be the poet but never the poem. Well, I’d like to thank you for making me your poems. However, now it is your turn. Allow me to be your poet.

You occupy my mind like it’s your castle. If I had to name everything I love about you, this letter would never end. But for starters, here are some of the first times:

The first time Chiron introduced you to the Hermes cabin, I could not take my eyes off you. Chris had to nudge me away. Just from that alone, a part of me knew I was in trouble. I think I came to the conclusion that I did not want to hold anybody else’s hand after just shaking yours.

2.5 years back during a campfire in June, even when the fire had died and the air grew cold, our voices still filled the air. Conversations just flow when I am with you. I remember never wanting that moment to end. Then you started talking about constellations and told me about the ones above us. Right there and then was the first time I had the urge to kiss you, and to show you that I was just as obsessed with you as you were with stars.

The first time I realized I was in love with you was while coming back from a quest 2 years ago. I remember feeling so numb coming back. The world almost seemed monotone, and I wondered for a second, what if I had made one wrong move? Just as I returned to camp, you bolted and hugged me. Somehow, it felt like I had just taken my first bit of fresh air after drowning for so long. I vividly recall shutting my eyes as I hugged you back because I felt like I was finally home. I remember never wanting to be away or out of your hold as others approached and rushed to get me into the infirmary for checkups.

It was only when I was lying on the infirmary bed that it hit me like a train that lost control. A large proportion of why I fought so hard was to come back to you. You’re my best friend, Y/N, and my place of solace and peace. Then came the realization that I was in love with you. I remember everybody else’s voice drowning out as I focused on that thought. It was strangely calming, as if my heart had known all along but was waiting for my head to catch up. Then I remember just smiling as I looked at the ceiling, unafraid of the new feeling.

Last year, the day we went on a quest together lapsed with Valentine’s Day. Every moment felt extra sweet. Us sitting on the train, staring outside the window together like a couple going on a trip. My mind savoured the small things like you falling asleep on my shoulder with my coat around you and us holding hands as we walked through the crowd to not get lost among couples - which I like to imagine that others had thought we were one as well. It was the first time I allowed myself to pretend this is how it would feel like if you were mine and how our lives together would be if we were not Demigods.

I thought for sure you would have realized something by the way I was staring and acting around you that I was irrevocably in love with you. After reading your letters, I realized that you did see it. But you refused to believe that I could ever be in love with you. Well, I hope my letters will reverse all your doubts, because Y/N, it is so easy to fall in love with you. 

In fact, the world I built up in my head during last year’s quest had consumed my thoughts enough to make me frown at the idea of returning to camp, where it would not just be the two of us anymore. Loving you has never been something I was afraid of. Loving you has been an honour every single day, even if you never knew of it. 

It’s also somewhat funny that I was heavily lovesick while you were lovelorn. But I promise, Y/N, that from this second on, I intend to make you know that you are loved and that I am so deeply in love with you.

Again, I never intended for you to wait for three days, but I ended up throwing away every letter I started because I felt like none had suffice. I didn’t want to mess it up and give you something less than you deserved. I wanted to do something nice for you. I promise I’ll make it up for those three days if you allow me to. But one chance is all I need.

If you are willing to give me that chance, you know where to find me.

Sincerely,

Luke Castellan’

Upon reading his last words, you immediately left your cabin with the letter in hand. You jogged to the spot where the two of you would always meet to stargaze together. Almost instantly, you saw his tall figure under the moonlight. As if he could sense your presence, the Hermes boy turned around and gave you a sweet smile.

“You meant it?” you asked as you raised the letter up, slowly approaching him.

“Every single word, including all the unspoken ones I intend on telling you from now on,” the way he said it felt like he was swearing it on his own heart. “In fact, I would have written more down, but I knew I was keeping you waiting for too long,” he explained as you stopped right before him.

Something about this moment felt cathartic. Three years of dancing around unspoken words and yearning led to this moment. Luke grabbed your hand and rubbed his thumb over your knuckle. You peered up at him, and it was then that you finally accepted what his looks meant: he was in love with you, and there was no doubt about that. There was no more denial on your end that Luke Castellan was enamored with you.

“Will you let me be your poet, Y/N?” he breathlessly referenced the words you and him had both previously written like he had been waiting for this for a lifetime.

“Of course,” you answered almost without hesitation, watching his eyes soften even more, if possible.

“Is it ok if I ask you another question?” he asked again, his other hand caressing your cheek.

“Yeah?” Your face flushed as you saw his brown eyes dart to your lips.

“Can I kiss you?”

This time, you didn’t say anything. You’ve written down way too many words in the past three years. You decided actions would speak louder in this case. So you pulled Luke down by his camp necklace, hands gripping the beads on it as you tiptoed up to reach his lips. 

Luke physically melted as he brought one hand to your waist to hold you up as he leaned down from the height difference. Everything Luke had imagined before could not match the kiss he was finally sharing with you - the kiss that seemed to seal his lips into a spell that would forever leave them unable to belong to anyone else. It felt like heaven and hell combined because he knew that this was going to ruin him forever, and every second he spent with his eyes shut would be one where he had this feeling and moment sown behind his eyelids. 

You had the same line of thoughts. The wait was long, but you felt like it was worth it. Under the stars, you may feel small. But standing there next to Luke, you finally realize it doesn’t matter. Because he was holding you like you were the only thing that mattered.

You were his sun, moon, and everything in between - no constellations could ever measure to you.

--------------------

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[two-white-butterflies]

silver spring | coriolanus snow

Description: Coriolanus Snow knows that he shouldn't have ended up this way. He knows that he was destined to be something better. The woman sleeping beside him is a testament of his reckoning, Lucy Gray is a ghost that he tries to forget. (Snow and Reader's marriage told through the cold beliefs of Coriolanus.)

Pairing: young-president!coriolanus snow/wife!reader

Warning: childbirth, major character death, angst, snow is haunted by lucy gray's memory.

"Time cast a spell on you But you won't forget me." - Fleetwood Mac.

[...] He was glad about the erasure. It was just another way to eliminate Lucy Gray from the world. The Capitol would forget her, the districts barely knew her, and District 12 had never accepted her as their own. In a few years, there would be a vague memory that a girl had once sung in the arena. And then that would be forgotten too. Goodbye Lucy Gray, we hardly knew you.

"Are you alright?" you cleared your throat seeing him in deep thought. There was always something mysterious inside the man that you married - he was always deep in thought. "You came to visit?" he seemed disinterested in what you had to say. "I-they told me that you didn't eat dinner yet," you managed to choke out.

He was very clear and precise. He told you that he couldn't stand you - that he hated you, and it was the very reason that you were wed.

An amused chuckle exits his mouth. "Aren't there more important things to have your attention?" he raised an eyebrow, staring at you up and down with that incredulous stare.

You seemed to amuse him - to some extent.

"- like running our household or gossiping with your friends." he mused, returning back to his paperwork. His statement made you feel awry, you were never the one to listen to gossip - the suggestion that you should do that only cemented the fact that he didn't know you - didn't bother enough to know you. "I was worried that you'd starve without dinner." you took another step forward.

He shakes his head.

"I will not die without dinner." he scoffed - dismissing you.

It was late at night when Coriolanus stumbled inside your room. By then, he could hardly make out the outline of your body on the bed.

He couldn't believe that the woman he hated - had finally become his wife. "Coriolanus," you mumbled - eyes trying to adjust with the dim light. "Did I wake you?" he removed his jacket, surprised at his tone. "N-No," you stuttered. A meek prey against him.

You moved slightly, leaving him enough space to lay beside you.

Coriolanus was surprised that you slept that quick - though, perhaps he was also thankful. He didn't want to create a reason for small talk. Your purpose in his life wasn't to be loved - it was to create children, and to strengthen his political prowess.

The moment he set his eyes on you - he vowed to never love or care for you. He couldn't afford to love again. He knows what love feels like - Lucy Gray manipulated him, both body and soul. Until now he doesn't know if she is truly dead. He wishes that she is.

He is snapped away from his thoughts again.

This time, you wrap your arms around him. His eyes widen in surprise, he opens his mouth to speak but he relents seeing your sleeping figure.

He may hate you, but it does not stop him from finding you beautiful.

It was a few months later when he sees you again - this time with good news. "They tell me that our child is the size of a small ball." you smiled, reaching for his hand and placing it on your stomach. This was one of the few moments where he showed his love. You were sat on his lap, almost inhaling his scent at the proximity.

It was all for show, you thought. He had guests in the courtyard, and they could see you from the window.

"I've thought of names, but I wanted you to choose too." you continued, licking your pink lips. Oh, Coriolanus wanted nothing than to kiss those lips right now - but alas, his ambition ruled him. "What are they?" he continued rubbing your belly.

"Brutus, if it is a boy and Lucy-"

"No, not Lucy. Something else." he demanded, interrupting you. "Josephine," you quickly replace and he nods.

"- but if there are other names that you prefer, you may choose." you stared deep into his eyes. "You bleed, you decide." he whispered, his hands trailing up to your neck. "Kiss me," he suddenly demanded.

"What?" your eyebrows merged into each other.

"There's people watching, kiss me."

And you obeyed him.

"As pure as the driven snow," you mumble while soothing the pain in your stomach. "What did you say?" Coriolanus raised an eyebrow. "Our child is as pure as the driven snow," you repeated - almost seeing his face in a dream. "Where did you come up with that?" he chuckled, slowly used to your company.

"You mumbled it in your sleep." you responded, continuing to write on your journal. "Well, I can't remember saying that anymore." he shrugged, feeling paranoia gnaw at his bones.

Lucy Gray, let me live.

"It sounds familiar, it's from that tribute - I watched her then, but its been so long I can't even remember." you chuckled, Lucy Gray Baird, the songbird from District 12.

You were enamored by her - intrigued by her voice. Your husband seems to be the same. "Is that why you wanted to name our child Lucy?" he questioned, her name tasted bitter on his tongue. "No, of course not - you'd never approve." you scoffed.

"Why wouldn't I? I don't know Lucy Gray personally." he lied once more, maintaining his narrative. "You told me that the Games were created to remind the Districts of what they are - animals." you remembered, not fully believing his speech. "You would hate me if I named our child after an ... well, someone that you hate."

"Good, and don't mention Lucy Gray ever again." his eyes narrowed.

part two >>

[theinnerunderrain]

Love Me Dead [Yan!Boyfriend x Fem!Reader]

Warnings: Yandere themes, manipulative behaviors, heavily dialogue bc it's just mostly talking and gaslighting, college life, may be somewhat confusing but it's that story that is up to your interpretation!

+

"[First Name]."

A sizable and gentle hand enfolds your wrist, eliciting a startled leap at the unexpected touch. Casting a curious glance over your shoulder, you discern the hand's owner—a figure with a tousle of rich brown locks. The air on campus carries a lingering blend of pumpkin spice and damp rain, while vibrant leaves in hues of red, yellow, and orange blanket the cement walkway, creating a tapestry beneath your feet.

It was none other than your boyfriend, Asuka.

"Why do you keep ignoring me?"

In a hushed plea, etched with concern and confusion, he inquires, his pallid complexion a canvas for the anxious query. A delicate flush graces his cheeks and ears, a subtle scarlet trace, suggesting an earlier pursuit in an attempt to bridge the distance between you.

"Did I do something wrong..? If I did, then just tell me..."

A dance of confusion painted upon your countenance, a pirouette of bewilderment as you gracefully turned, aligning yourself to face him fully. Brows knitted in contemplation, coral lips drawn into a slender seam, your expression spoke the eloquence of perplexity.

"I'm not ignoring you though..?"

"You are..! You barely text me anymore and avoid me around the campus like I'm some sort of infectious disease.."

He spoke anew, his voice ascending to a higher pitch, an accusatory gaze fixated upon you as though your uttered words were mere echoes of deceit. His other hand delicately enveloped your wrist, creating a symmetrical hold that left you suspended in a still, unsettling equilibrium.

"No I'm not..? Asuka, we both have been busy and I can't spend all day messaging you."

In the chill of the season, you grapple with an awkward attempt at reasoning, noticing the warmth and clamminess of his hands. The contrast, his heated touch against your soft skin, sends an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. Asuka, momentarily lost in contemplation, lets his lips curve into a frown. In that moment, he resembles a kicked puppy, the weight of his next words settling heavily in the air.

"..Are you mad at me..?"

In a suspended breath, he momentarily halted, drawing nearer to you. Amidst the bustling backdrop of students hurrying to their classes, you couldn't help but wonder if curious gazes were directed your way, recognizing the peculiarity of your shared moment beneath the open sky.

"Are you still hung up about last time..? If that's the issue then I'm really sorry, and I've already apologized before...!"

As Asuka continued to speak, words flowed incessantly from his lips, a torrent of increasing urgency evident in the rapid cadence of his cherry-toned voice. A palpable hysteria seeped through his every syllable, mirroring the rising heat radiating from his fervent body. It was as though he embodied a ticking bomb, gradually approaching the brink of overheating, poised to unleash an explosive torrent of emotions.

"Hung up on what?"

Inquiring, you sought release, gently weaving your fingers to disentangle from his grasp, a delicate dance to temper the heat that enveloped. Yet, his clasp remained unyielding, an unspoken embrace refusing to relent.

"Hung up on that time when I was being unreasonable and it made both of us late to our classes."

"No..? Why would I be mad about something like that?"

In the labyrinth of his spoken thoughts, you weave a delicate tapestry, attempting to decipher the cryptic echoes of his mention of unreasonableness. Despite the elusive nature of clarity, you gracefully surrender to the intrigue, deciding to waltz within the enigmatic dance of his words, a willing participant in the artful play of understanding.

"No, there's something wrong but you just won't say it...."

Persistently, Asuka insists, and a subtle irritation blooms within you, despite your inner plea for calm. Yet, his next words delicately wound your heart with a touch of sorrow.

"Do you not love me anymore..?"

"What..?"

In incredulity, you queried, gazing at the young man whose eyes teetered on the brink of cascading tears. The threat lingered in the wells of his eyes, poised to spill over and trace the contours of his fevered cheeks. Yet he continues to rambled.

"Ha! Everything makes sense now. All that cold attitude, and you avoiding me everyday. You lost feelings for me, didn't you?"

His voice crescendoed, rising in both volume and pitch as he advanced, closing the distance until his face hovered mere inches from yours. In this intimate proximity, you couldn't help but sense the burgeoning awareness among fellow students, as they subtly turned their attention toward his unfolding, hysterical unraveling.

"Asuka, how can you say something like that?"

You try to calm him down, speaking in a much softer and calmer tone compared to the man, as if you were a mother trying to calm down a crying child.In the hushed cadence of your voice, a gentle river of reassurance flows, seeking to temper the tempest within him. Your words, soft and serene, weave through the tumult like a mother's lullaby, an attempt to pacify a sobbing child.

"You know...If you had just told me normally that you didn't like me anymore then I would have just accepted that as it is."

Yet, like whispers through the air, your words glide past him. Though a subtle calm embraces him, his voice, now a gentle breeze, unveils a softer cadence, a stark departure from the turbulent tone that had echoed before.

"But why'd you have to go ahead and treat me like that?"

He inquires, guiding your hand to caress the contours of his cheek, gently pressing it against the tender warmth of your palm as if seeking solace in its soft embrace.

"Asuka...I understand you're frustrated but I do love you, and I haven't stopped loving you.."

In hushed tones, your words tenderly caressed the air, coaxing him to nestle against your palm. With a gentle touch, you traced the padded side of your fingers across his cheeks, a soothing rhythm to quell the tempest within him. A graceful guidance led you both to a tranquil refuge, where a brown bench cradled the quietude. There were no other students in sight.

"It's just that, everything has been so stressful with finals and stuff....I swear, I'm not trying to ignore you."

You painted on a smile, and Asuka, with an intent ear, absorbed your words, as though orchestrating a delicate symphony of comprehension within the corridors of his mind.

"But how can I be so sure?"

Once you convince yourself of soothing the man's agitation, his voice resurfaces, posing a question that resonates within your chest, setting a subtle cadence to the rhythm of your heartbeat.

"That you're not just saying that, and that you actually mean it? That you still love me?"

In the quiet expanse of a moment, you pondered his words, delicately crafting a response to safeguard the delicate balance of his emotions. At last, your voice returned, accompanied by the gentle caress of your other hand, tracing a tender path beneath the canvas of his eyes.

"I do love you and you should already know that, Asuka."

Your words, like a subtle elixir, lingered momentarily before gracefully permeating his being. He surrendered to your touch, a gentle immersion into the warmth of your embrace, his grasp on your essence unwittingly tightening. Closer he drew, until the shared touch of both your knees wove a delicate closeness, an unspoken harmony.

"I do...?"

"Yes, you do."

In a graceful motion, you extended your arm, inviting the young man into an embrace willingly embraced. He leaned into your touch, his hand delicately finding its place on the small of your back, creating a tender connection. His body emanated warmth, reminiscent of an oven preheated for hours, yearning for the moment when it could be tenderly turned off. In that intimate embrace, moments stretched like delicate strands of time. His hands held firm against your waist, and his chin found solace upon your shoulders, a subtle dance of closeness. The air bore the comforting aroma of cinnamon and coffee, a fragrant reminder of his presence. As the embrace gently loosened, you parted, a reassuring smile gracing your lips.

"Then, it's settled? I promise to make more time for you, so don't go around thinking I don't love you anymore, alright?"

His countenance eased, a gentle nod painting the canvas of his expression. Where tears once traced delicate paths on his visage, they now evaporated, leaving behind a softened countenance. His lips, once adorned with the weight of sorrow, now curved into a tender smile.

"You promise?"

Once more, you inquire, drawing him into a tender embrace. Your hands cradle the back of his head, granting him the sanctuary to bury his face in the crook of your neck. Unmindful of the ticklish dance of his warm breath upon your skin, you remain oblivious to the subtle curvature of his lips into a contented grin. Nor do you discern the palpable brightening of his eyes, responding softly to your words.

"I promise."

[aestherin]

privacy

34: one mistake

When did it all start?

Ah, it was when he first heard your singing voice during eleventh grade.

It was the during the time of the day when most students would flock to the cafeteria, rushing to eat their fill after half a day's worth of academic torture. Even before then, he already disliked crowded and hectic places. And so, he went the opposite direction of everyone.

Turns out he wasn't the only one with that idea.

The sweet and enchanting voice of a nightingale was what welcomed him the moment he arrived at the school's courtyard. Not rushing to eat lunch just to hear this was worth it, he concluded.

He didn't even know your name at the time, for you two were not in the same class. And when you turned around — good lord.

Your face was beautiful, but it wasn't familiar at all. It was odd, how this was the first time he saw you. He thought for sure that with an appearance like that, if he had ever met you prior, he wouldn't be able to forget you.

Was the school really that big for you two to miss each other every single time?

"Oh. A person. Uhm, hi?"

Fuck. Even your speaking voice was attractive.

Kunikuzushi was damned.

And he has been, for many years. Even up until now.

The present him looked up at nowhere, quietly laughing at himself.

How pathetic.

'You've liked her since you were still students, and you still haven't got the guts to even confess.'

'You're both famous people now, hundreds of thousands of people — maybe even millions — wanting the two of you... yet you're still stuck simply being her friend.'

Boy best friend, he argued with himself. But Scaramouche himself also did not know if that was better or worse.

"I have arrived," he heard a smooth voice. Kunikuzushi instictively frowned. This? This was the voice of the man you fell for?

He almost rolled his eyes. He could do better than this guy in front of him. He bets Ayato couldn't even sing.

"Sit."

Ayato looked around the area but found no chairs. "Where?" All he could see was cemented grounds, ramps, and curves. Why did they have to meet at a deserted skateboarding area anyway?

Scaramouche smirked. "Ah, sorry. I forgot you're a rich boy. We can't have you sitting on the dirty floor now, could we?"

It was as if a tick mark appeared on the taller man's head. Feigning a smile, he breathed, "Did you ask to meet me just to insult me, bastard?"

"Wow. Was it that obvious?"

"No, not really."

"I'm just getting back at you."

"Pardon? I don't even know you, aside from you being a celebrity. This is the first time we've met and suddenly you say you're getting back at me?"

"Shut the fuck up. You insulted me first."

"Hah?"

"You getting together with [Name] so easily was the biggest insult I've ever received in my entire existence."

Oh.

Now, Ayato was no idiot. Of course, he immediately realized the underlying message of Scaramouche's statement. Was that why this man called for him? Did he receive news of their so-called 'break-up' and was now planning to tell him that he's going to pursue you now that you're not in a relationship anymore?

Ayato's eyes followed Scaramouche as he stood up from the metal rail he was previously sitting on. Meanwhile, the shorter one looked and turned away, seemingly looking at a distance.

"I knew it was all fake, by the way," he started. "She accidentally tweeted about it on her private account, and I got to see it before she deleted it."

"Since when?"

"That was even before your drama was released."

"That was a long time ago. You knew yet did nothing?"

Ayato was confused. If Scara had feelings for you, why didn't he act on it even after he found out that the thing you had for him was all a fraud? It was not something that he could comprehend.

Not with his way of thinking.

Kunikuzushi, on the other hand, begged to differ. He believed himself to have done the right thing.

He has already kept his affection for you to himself for several years, surely a few weeks, months more wouldn't be that big of a deal, right?

And so he stayed. Stayed observing, kept contemplating — remained being just a friend.

"Of course, the thought of having her for myself crossed my mind at that moment..." He smiled fondly. "...but I still didn't go with it."

He suddenly turned around, not giving Ayato the opportunity to retort.

"Because despite the fact that it wasn't real —"

Scaramouche sighed.

"— even the archons know how in love she was with you."

That left him speechless. For a seemingly inconsiderate and rough guy to say those words...

How can he remain calm? Another person who has romantic feelings for you just told him about your sincerest sentiments for him.

"Why are you —"

Ayato cut himself off with a forced gag.

"What the fuck?" He glared at the man who just punched his gut. He unconsciously hovered his arm over the pained area; though it wasn't too powerful, the sheer unexpectedness of the punch was enough to make it sting.

"Just because she loves you doesn't mean you get a pass. My anger won't vanish quickly, airhead."

Airhead?

Did... did he just insult me?

Me?

Yours truly?

This made Ayato raise a brow. "Oh?"

"Why not punch me in the face then? Scared?" Ayato challenged with a devious grin.

A sarcastic laugh was not what he was expecting in return.

"Are you dumb? With my strength, I am more than capable of landing a punch on your face that would take more than weeks to recover," Scaramouche smirked. "What if [Name] sees it? And her, being the angelic being she is, would ask you about it. Then you, being the conniving blabbermouth that you are, would tell her my name."

The fuck?

"She would be mad at me. That's the least thing I'd ever want."

"So that's why you punched me in an area that isn't visible."

"Precisely."

Ayato made a face. After a while, he attempted to get back at the other man with a punch too, but failed miserably. "Oh? Why are you hitting me back?"

"What kind of question even is that?"

"I thought you knew you deserved that punch in the gut," Kunikuzushi stated in a matter-of-fact tone, both hands inside his pockets. To Ayato, it seemed like the man in front of him was bigger than him at the moment. He was sneering down at him.

"You hurt her. So I punched you."

Yeah, I really did.

Backing down and lacking argument, he opted to just sit down on one of the skateboarding ramps. "Remind me why we had to meet here out of all places again?"

"This place..." Scaramouche followed his actions, sitting on the ramp opposite of him. "This place is special to me and [Name]. I used to skateboard often when I was still a student."

"She would always come to me with drinks and snacks in hand. Then, unofficially, this became our weekend hangout spot."

"So, you've liked her since... you were students?"

Kunikuzushi hummed.

"How come you've never told her in that whole time?"

"I'm a coward," he chuckled. "I didn't want to lose what we have. I was afraid that we would stray apart from each other once I do."

Ayato could do nothing but smile sympathetically. "I bet you wrote songs about her."

"Albums," Scaramouche corrected him.

"Damn."

"Yeah. Damn." Ayato felt the return of an intense glare. "I wrote entire albums for her then you had the audacity to hurt [Name] enough for her to end your relationship despite being deeply enamored with you? Wow. Tsk, tsk. Talk about a big jerk."

"I'm aware," he sighed. "Now, can you stop with that? Unless you really only called me out here to make me realize how much I messed up — which let's be honest I really did, and I honestly deserve every single shit you throw at me, but —"

"Glad to know that you know."

Ayato frowned.

He sensed a shift in Scaramouche's mood. He assumed the other was getting serious now. "I called you here because I want you to fix this mess... and to ask you a favor —"

"— I'm leaving [Name] in your care."

"..."

"However," The man pointed at him. "One mistake, Kamisato. One mistake and I'll make sure she'd want to spend her lifetime with me instead."

privacy — ayato x reader smau

prev. masterlist. next.

NOTES -> that was long im sorry ahfbdhd -> also scara pls be mine instead🥹🙏

TAGLIST I (closed) @catsrkool @sukunasrealgf @redactedhimbo @layla240 @mxlkytea13 @itsactuallylina @milza12 @aixaingela @tatiratty @kimiesstuff @laventiseriou @kunihaver @bibisbestgirl @lunaavity @coquettemaiden @opchara @slvdsjjk @cotton-eee @lady-elodie @dearxiiao @wheneverthesunrise @heartswonder @chuduchok @headphonesrlif3 @lleoll @vnderthesunn @lizzardlady1234 @nekogakuro @rifran @atlatcaheart @ani-st @creammpuff @lunastarjay @kittycasie @poisoned-candy-apples @zannivrs @b0bafl0wer @moonlightaangel @elsoleil

[adventuringblind]

Misinterpreted

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Genre: Fluff and Crack

Summary: She couldn't see what everyone else could. Not until it hits her all at one.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, a whole lotta blushing

Notes: Thanks to the requester for this idea!! Sorry it's so short...

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

It's not like she meant to hate him. She just couldn't see what everybody else was.

Charles is just another person like the rest of them. Yet people still fawn over him like he's been sent from the god's.

At least, that's what she thought growing up. Going through karting and the feeder series with Charles was torture. She was just there, trying to carve her way into formula 1. He had everyone chanting his name, loved by many, the future golden boy of Ferrari.

She'd made it a point to stay far away from him. Simply because she never saw the point of conversing. Definitely not because she is terrified of speaking to people in general.

"Watcha staring at?" Max sidle's up next to her and wiggles her eyebrows. She squeaks out a noise and lets herself calm down from the startle. Leave it to her teammate to know what she's doing.

"None of your business."

"Really? Because it looks to me like you're staring at Charles."

She violently hushes Max. "Shh! Someone could hear you!"

Max rolls his eyes before smirking at her. He looks pointedly at the Monegasque with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Don't you dare-"

He whistles, successfully grabbing Charles' attention. He smiles and waves him over. "You'll be fine!"

She can feel the blush spreading across her face. Her hand slaps Max's shoulder playfully. She moves to make an escape, like she has to be anywhere else but here.

Max grabs her wrist, looking playful, but there is that look in his eyes that says he will force her if she doesn't comply. Needless to say, she sits back down. Her eyes fall in love with the dirty grey of the cement ground.

"Hello you two!" He sounds so happy for this early in the morning. She briefly looks at her watch.

Correction: He's so happy at two in the afternoon. Why is he even happy at this time? Charles, apparently.

"Charlie! We were just talking about you." Max jabs an elbow into her side.

"All good things, I hope. I know I'm not a favorite to some." She can feel his obnoxiously pretty eyes burning holes into her.

Max barks out a laugh, then looks between the two of them. "Okay, I can feel the tension. Which is saying something, since normally I'm the one creating it."

Charles gives a wary look to the female still sinking into herself. "I wouldn't be opposed to lessening the tension."

"Great! I'll send her your way tonight at eight."

"Sounds like a plan."

Charles leaves the two alone finally and she sobs in relief. "Why are you crying? I though you liked him!"

"I do! That's the problem."

~~~~~

Max drags her to some restaurant, sits her at the table with Charles and threatens to ram her off the line if she tries to leave. He followed through with his last threat. She's not willing to risk Christian's wrath for her pride.

She attempts conversation with Charles. It feels awkward and tense. The regret and insecurity rattles around her mind. Why is he even here? He could be off doing other things with people he actually likes.

"Why do you dislike me? I've been wanting to ask you for years so I could apologize for whatever I did."

And.... what? She stares at him in disbelief. Unsure of how to explain that she didn't have an interest in anything but racing until she got to F1 and finally realized how ethereal he looks?

"Didn't know you thought that way!" Charles is glowing.

"Did I say that aloud?"

"Yeah, but it's nice hearing such a compliment you."

She hides her face behind her menu, only to have Charles take it away from her. He reaches further and gently pulls her gaze towards him-

She's going to combust. This is how it ends. Death by forced and prolonged eye contact.

"So, if I asked you out again, would you say yes this time?"

She nods her head yes. A little too enthusiastically.

[the-crows-typist]

Time to get back into things

(Hi everyone, it's me! And it's been a really long time since I've touched this place. Still, I hope to continue what I started even though 2 years had passed since. Without further ado, hope you all enjoy!)

Wordcount: 700

A Little Story For You

Back then, Jamil didn't feel that it was likely he would wake up next to someone, yet here he was. His eyes scan the person before him, face half buried in the heavy blanket they shared and lashes long and curling naturally. The prefect of the once defunct Ramshackle dorm became an unlikely partner to Jamil, one he didn't expect to ever bear his heart to. His firm fingers reach out, tracing the skin of their cheek and near their eye. The prefect saw him at his worst, heard him at his lowest and felt him when he allowed the darkness of his heart to consume him. His thumb brushes their brow and he lets out a huff when they make a sound, stirring awake. 

“Good morning.” He whispers. 

Those hands of theirs, ones that never felt the hardships he did held onto him so tightly that he could still feel the marks of their nails on his palms. His gaze meets their moonstone eyes, opening blearily and searching for clarity. That gentle gaze held the desperate hope that pulled him out of his blot, the murmurs those lips screamed his name. 

“You may not value my life!” They screamed, their body dirtied by broken marble and powdered cement, hands pulling at him in a desperate attempt to pull him out of the sand that threatened to swallow him whole. The blot sticks to them like tar, tainting them with its heavy poison, entering their veins like snake's venom.

“But I still value yours!” Those words shook Jamil's core, how someone was able to be so compassionate despite the treatment they faced. Despite the betrayal, the wounds, and the fact he was willing to hurt them just because his heart yearned for freedom. 

“Jamil!” 

“...Jamil?” 

He blinks, their eyes beginning to shine once they come to. He huffs a laugh, pressing his forehead against theirs and their hands cupping both of his cheeks. “Yeah, it's me.” He says and the prefect makes a contented hum. “Mmn. Today's your special day.” They say, curling into his touch. “I wanna spend it with you but…”

“But?” 

“Bed's too comfy.” They murmur. “Need more sleep.” 

“C'mon, spending all day in bed is boring.” He lightly collides their foreheads together but not in the way that it hurt. “But…sleeping in does sounds nice.” The prefect lets out a tired but victorious laugh and assumes their next sleeping position. “Hyu-hyu-! ‘Told ya so.” 

Jamil was morning person, at least that's what his aching back was telling him. He sat by his mirror, twirling his magical pen to get his hair into a decent look. 

“Hey Jamil, Ortho from Ignihyde is here to see you.” Said one of his juniors, popping his head into his bedroom. Jamil pauses, thoughts searching.

“Ortho? Ah, right. Let him in.” 

Not soon after, the little android boy from Ignihyde floats all excitedly. “Jamil Viper, happy Birthday once again!" He says, moving towards him with a box in his hand. "Are you ready for part 2-Oh! did I come in at the wrong time?" He spies the prefect still sound asleep on Jamil's bed, their hand out peaking out of the blanket.

"No, it's fine. I'm just letting them be for now." He reaches out, intertwining his fingers with theirs and squeezing it. "You said something about a part 2?"

"Yes! I did some analysis and surveying and managed to pinpoint what you really wanted for your birthday! And it's specially made by my big brother." Ortho pounds his chest with pride. Jamil lets out a small, amused laugh and takes the box. It definitely was not a commercial grade refrigerator but he'll take what he can get.

"Thanks Ortho." Jamil says and opens up his gift. The small, compact 3-way mirror was exactly what he needed. "You've got good timing too. I needed something like this right about now."

"Hehe, I'm glad you found good use for it so quickly!"

The prefect stirs, their body moving as the noise rouses them from their sleep. Jamil smiles at them before looking back at Ortho. "We should move this to another room. But tell me, what else can your big brother do?"

[4st4rion]

could've shouted out loud

ao3 link

at the end of the game i went with karlach and wyll to avernus without realizing that would like cement things and then watched how nervous astarion was about if you're really staying together when my gf finished the game with him. so i split the difference and wrote fix-it fic for my personal fuck-up lmao

just over 2k; spoilers for the end of bg3 of course. rated mature-ish, fully gender neutral tav. it takes a while to come back from avernus and when you find him he is Pissed with you (and very hurt). comforting and some spiciness ensues

It takes longer than you expect to find Astarion again.

You, Karlach, and Wyll have been working on carving out your little corner of Avernus; it's rough work, but Karlach pulls most of the literal weight of setting up shelter for the three of you. It's not much, little more than reinforced tents, but it's better than nothing.

You finally feel like it's safe to go back and look for Astarion, and Wyll opens a portal for you that brings you right to the heart of Baldur's Gate.

It takes three days and nights of asking around before you find him. A helpful bartender at the Blushing Mermaid informs you that someone matching your description of him comes in and sits at a certain table, alone, most nights, and you go there yourself to wait for him.

And sure enough.

Sure enough, come sunset, and given an hour, he walks through the door. He doesn't notice you right away, ordering himself a bottle of wine and taking a glass from the bartender, but when your eyes finally meet, he nearly drops them both.

You smile pathetically at him.

He does not smile back.

He makes his way to the secluded table and you stand to meet him when he does. He sets the bottle and glass on the table and folds his arms, looking you up and down.

"Is this a trick?" he asks, first, looking at you with scrutiny.

Despite his closed-off posture and his attempt at a foul expression for you, he's still just as beautiful as he had been when the sun began to burn him.

You shake your head.

"No, no trick," you promise, and he tenses hearing your voice. Disguises and illusions can mimic many things, but a voice is tough, too unique to recreate for most mages and wizards.

"I'm going insane, then?" he asks sarcastically, and gestures at you to a man passing by. "Excuse me? Do you see the person in front of me?"

The man looks between you and Astarion and you can only give a little wave.

"Yes?" the man answers, and fucks off.

Astarion's frown deepens.

"So, what?" he asks, voice dripping with venom. "It's you, then?"

You swallow nervously and hope that the time apart hasn't put you back to square one.

"It's me," you confirm. "I'm sorry it took so long to find you," you apologize, but he scoffs.

"Must not have been looking very hard," he huffs. "I thought you'd —" he says, voice cracking in vulnerability, and he steels himself all over again. "I thought you'd decided I wasn't worth the trouble once you saw me in the sun," he tries again, and this time, his volume is louder. "I thought you ran off so I couldn't find you and be your burden."

You reach out, but he smacks your hand away.

"Astarion," you breathe, heartbroken. Is this it? Does he... Has he gotten used to the idea of living without you?

Is this over, now?

"Where have you been, then?" he spits, looking away from you in a huff. "You'd better have a damn good answer, or I'll kill you right here myself."

"I'd let you," you breathe, smiling just a bit — threats of harm are better than a cold shoulder. "I've been in Avernus," you say. "With Karlach. And Wyll."

His shoulders relax just slightly hearing Karlach's name.

"She's still alive?" he asks, making glancing eye contact with you to show his sincerity.

You nod.

"She can't leave the hells anymore, not yet, but she's alive," you confirm. "We've been working on a solution, and working on making a home there, for now."

He doesn't say anything, waiting. You swallow nervously.

"We were chased by devils for a tenday when we arrived, otherwise I would have been back for you sooner," you say, and pray to any gods that might listen that he understands. "And then we had to get settled, make sure no one was on our trail," you continue.

Astarion scoffs, but his eyes glimmer with unshed tears.

"You could have written," he mutters, needing to make light of the situation for his own sanity.

"I owe you a postcard," you agree, the barest smile slowly returning to your face.

He sniffles, and curses under his breath.

"I thought...?" he starts, but can't finish, hiccuping back a sob.

"I know," you try to soothe. "I'm so sorry."

This time, when you reach out, he doesn't stop you. You put your hand on his shoulder and squeeze lightly, stroking your thumb over the soft fabric he's wearing.

"I love you," you practically whisper. "I've thought of you every moment of every day since we were parted."

He doesn't answer with words — instead, he shoves himself against you, and it takes half a moment to realize he's trying for a hug, reluctant to wrap his arms around you but making the gesture anyway.

You fling your arms around him and squeeze him in tightly. He's cold, so much colder than he ever was when he was feeding from you regularly, and you realize he might not have been drinking from anything but animals again.

"I've missed you so much," you mumble against him, your head ducked against the side of his. "Astarion, I can't believe we're both here," you laugh, relieved, and he laughs too.

"I thought you might have been dead," he admits, and his voice is so, so small. "I thought I'd never see you again."

You hug him tighter.

"I'm here now," you promise.

His arms wrap around you properly now, too, and he almost starts to relax against you.

He's holding back because you're in public, but he shakes with emotion.

"Where have you been staying?" you ask, pulling back just enough to speak with him properly. "Let's get out of here and talk there."

"The Elfsong Tavern," he sniffs. He straightens himself up and quickly wipes the tears off his face, and suddenly the mask is back in place. "Let's, shall we?"

You hold his bottle of wine in one hand and his hand in the other as you walk back to the Elfsong. Neither of you speaks beyond his comment that it's a nice night out and your hum of agreement.

Once you arrive, you head upstairs. His hands shake as he pulls out his room key, and you've never seen him struggle with a lock more than now.

It finally gives way and opens, and then you're finally, finally alone together.

You set the bottle of wine on a side table, briefly turning away, and when you turn back to say So, where do we begin? he's already kissing you.

You've missed this. You've missed him, his insistent, smart, sharp mouth and his hands that pull at your waist to bring you in close and his fingers that dig into your sides like you could disappear if he ever loosened his grip.

He's crying again, tears catching on your lips and turning your kisses salty, but you don't care at all.

"Astarion," you gasp between breaths, just to hear his name on your tongue, and he drags you to his bed.

"I thought I was going to die without you," he growls, pushing you onto the mattress and crawling over you like a predator. "I was so scared, for you and for what I might do if you didn't — if I never saw you again," he admits, voice low and dangerous.

"I'm here," you reassure him, holding onto his arms and sliding your grip to ground him.

"I thought you were gone," he says, angry and scared and afraid and a thousand other things.

"Have you... Are we still...?" you start to ask, and he kisses you again.

"I've been mourning a lost love," he breathes against your lips. "Every face I've seen, I've only looked to see if it could be you, and then I've looked away," he admits. "When I saw a stranger with your stature or your hair, I'd hope, just for a moment, and then it'd be lost."

Your heart flares with love — even thinking you might have left him, abandoned him, died on him, he didn't give up hope that you might return.

"I'm so sorry," you apologize again, kissing him over and over. "I'm here now, I promise. I'd never leave you."

Rather than the coy, self-deprecating never say 'never', darling you might have heard when all this began, he hums with such pleasure it's nearly a moan, just hearing your dedication to him spoken aloud.

"I love you," you remind him, fingers tangling into his hair to keep him close. "I love you, I love you," you breathe, and with every word his breath hitches higher until he's kissing you hard, forcing you silent lest something in him break.

"I want you," he rumbles against you, and your heart soars while your insides dance with butterflies.

"You have me," you say, and you mean it. It doesn't matter if you do nothing but kiss and hold each other tightly until the sun comes up and then goes back down, you're his as much as he's yours and you're eager to remind him of that however you can.

"You're wearing too many clothes," he practically snarls, digging hands under your shirt and pulling roughly at things to loosen your breeches, and you wholeheartedly agree.

"So are you," you growl back.

You manage to get his shirt off over his head at the same time he's struggling with yours, and you sit up so he can do the same with yours.

Wriggling out of your bottoms is a little more difficult when neither of you can stand to be apart, but you both get the waistbands to your knees and that's good enough for you.

His cock is half-hard from excitement and anticipation and you're quick to reach for it, but he stops you by pinning your wrist beside your head.

"I've missed this," he purrs, squeezing your wrist in his hand. He grabs for your other wrist and you let him, allowing him to pin you fully and press his body up against yours. "I've missed feeling you struggle against me," he laughs.

You arch up against him just for fun, pressing your leg up between his and rubbing his cock against your hip.

"Is that what you want tonight?" you ask, challenging him by straining against his hands. He's weak — he hasn't fed recently, or fed enough, and you can feel him put his full weight into keeping you down.

"Oh, darling, I want everything," he hums. He kisses you again and ruts his cock against your hip on purpose this time, moaning softly into your mouth. "I want you ruined under me," he breathes. "I want you debauched on top of me. I don't want to leave this room until tomorrow night at the earliest."

You laugh against him.

"Agreed," you hum back.

He lets go of your hands in favor of holding you by your hips, and your arms wrap around his shoulders like it's where they've always belonged.

"I missed you," he sighs. "So much."

"I'm here now," you reassure him again. He nuzzles into your throat and you bare it for him, inviting him, and he shudders.

"I don't suppose I'd be allowed a bite?" he asks, trailing kisses over your pulse.

"I've missed that, too," you sigh. "Go on."

He gives your neck one more tender, open-mouthed kiss before he sinks his teeth into you, a familiar pain that you've dearly missed.

He drinks deeply. You can feel his starvation sating, his body becoming warmer and softer against yours as he melts against you.

Gods, you've missed him. You never want to be separated again.

You feel the past slipping away from you, as though you've never been apart; all that has ever existed is this, this moment, with his mouth pressed to your neck, bite-wound weeping blood onto his tongue and him swallowing as greedily as you cling to him.

He finally pulls away, the perfect amount taken that you feel light-headed but not dizzy, and he feels sated but not full — a balance the two of you perfected over your journey, and one that he's apparently still in tune with.

"Perfect," he breathes into your neck, lapping at the fang marks still slowly oozing blood. "Oh, love," he sighs.

He buries his face in your neck and breathes deep.

"You smell like Avernus," he notes, amused.

"Ugh," you agree.

"You smell like you, though," he says, muffled against your skin. "Gods, I missed that."

You take a long moment to hold each other like that, arms wrapped around each other and clinging and just breathing deeply, taking each other in.

Eventually, his cock twitches impatiently against your skin, and you laugh.

"Sorry," he mutters, pulling his face out of your neck to kiss the corner of your mouth. "I really would just like to be close, if you're not up for anything like that," he says, almost shyly.

You press your hips up against him in answer, and catch the gasp off his lips with your mouth against his.

"I'm up for things," you grin, and he laughs against you.

"Alright," he agrees. "'Things', it is."

You give him one more long, lingering kiss before the two of you go any further, one that you'll remember years from now.

"I'm so happy you're here," he admits, and you smile against his mouth.

You are, too.

[papermatisse]

Lost and Found || B.BH

♔ pairing: dionysus!byun baekhyun x f!ariadne!reader

♔ genre: angst, one-shot, fluff

♔ word count: 3.5k

♔ warnings: abandonment, murder

♔ abstract: Love comes with all kinds of sacrifices, and after everything she'd sacrificed for her own hopeful romance, all she really wanted was a lover to live with for the rest of her mortal existence. Though the universe—and for that matter the gods who inhabit it—has a cruel sense of humor.

♔ author's note: I've been thinking of writing a Greek mythology story for all of the exos (ot8 [minus Chen, the nation's husband and father]). I have a few plans already, though this one felt the easiest and quickest to execute cause I really wanted to test out and fix my link/tag issue on here 😔

for context, here's a rough synopsis of the Theseus story: the king of Crete angered Poseidon who cursed the queen into woohooing with the king's bull, thus creating a minotaur named Asterion. mortified by this creation, they banished him into a maze and alienated him as if he were nothing, thus creating the bloodthirsty monster he was. the king's son went to Athens bc they themselves had a minotaur problem, but their minotaur wound up killing him. the king of Crete blamed the king of Athens and after some altercations, it resulted in an annual tradition of sending a select few Athenians to serve as tribute and be eaten by Asterion. one of these tributes was Theseus, son of the king of Athens, and he actually defeated the Athenian minotaur. to help him in defeating Asterion, the Crete king's daughter, Ariadne, gave Theseus yarn so he'd be able to navigate the maze, which helped him in killing Asterion. afterwards, they sailed to Naxos, where he abandoned her. interpretations vary of course, but most involve Dionysus marrying Ariadne afterwards bc he fell in love w her.

masterlist

Nestled within the Aegean Sea, lost amongst the plethora of islands which dotted the cerulean expanse of the ocean, lays the idyllic yet ever forlorn island of Naxos. Viridescent fields of crops and greenery encompass the entirety of the island, sloped along the verdant hills which make up its landscape. The only obstruction to its rolling plains was that of its mountain at the very heart of the island, as well as the sandy beaches which encircled it all in a protective ring of golden grains.

Upon first arrival, it had seemed nothing short of picturesque—perhaps even going so far as being the most beautiful sight she'd ever observed in her rather dull and sheltered life thus far. The warmth of the sand which greeted her once she'd hopped off the boat felt like the welcoming embrace of a new start, the fine grains sinking beneath her every step as if accommodating to her new presence. The seas lapped against the shores as if reaching out to her, waving—both metaphorically and literally—like it were greeting an old friend. And the winds which carried with it the strong aroma of sea salt and petrichor encompassed her being in a cool and refreshing embrace, nearly cementing the thought that circulated in her head of what a perfectly quaint and romantic escape Naxos was for her and her lover to settle in and establish their new lives together.

At least that's how it had all felt no more than a day ago. It was astounding how much could change upon settling down to rest after the strenuous voyage to Naxos. A mere daytime nap, meant to simply reinvigorate her, had suddenly turned her whole world upside down, because upon opening her eyes, her lover, with whom she'd risked her entire life in order to save, had all but vanished: him, his boat, and by extension, her heart along with him. She couldn't even see a single speck of him remaining on the horizon, and the thought that he had left her the moment she'd fallen asleep felt ever more disparaging.

Now, she sat along the shore. The sands, cooled with the setting sun, cradled her dejected form. The cacophony of waves crashing against the island served to drown out her cries. And the winds, which had grown significantly weaker as the day waned, brushed against her face as if to gently wipe away her tears. Naxos, with its surreal beauty and tender acceptance, had become no more a prison prompted by her own circumstances just as her accomodations had been on Crete. Exchanging one pitiful excuse of a home for another, though now she was utterly alone.

And all she could do was cry to herself. Cry over her foolishness to have risked everything for a boy she'd fallen for so rashly. Cry over her imminent future and the dread of the unknown which lay in waiting for her. Cry over the abandonment and outright rejection from someone she once believed to be her soulmate.

What a miserable life she led.

What a tragic course of events she followed.

What an absolutely pathetic human being she was.

And how utterly vexing it was that she could not even wallow in her own self-pity by her lonesome for very long.

“(y/n)?”

Her body seemed to register the foreign voice before her mind had, as she slowly turned her tear stricken face towards the newcomer. Though once her eyes met those of the familiar deity, now standing a mere few feet away from her, she quickly turned back to her original position, staring out at the sea. By now, the harsh line of the horizon had become ingrained into her corneas, remaining in her vision even when her eyes were closed, yet she continued to stare forward, hoping to find a stray boat somewhere in the distance. Hoping to see her beloved rushing back to her as if his initial departure was nothing more than an accident. Hoping to fall back into his arms and forget the worries incessantly plaguing her mind.

Though once more, these desires went unanswered, and instead, she was met by this ever so gentle touch skimming carefully over her back.

“(y/n), look at me.”

The demand hadn't held much of an authoritative tone, more so that of an insistent plea, one where she could faintly discern the shreds of desperation laced in between. Yet she remained as is, eyes trained on the ocean, waiting. She thought by ignoring him, he'd leave her alone. Allow her to grieve in peace without his mischief and revelric tendencies. Let her sulk in her misfortune without being reminded of her affiliation with him. Yet he could not even spare her this one luxury.

Instead, in her periphery, she found him crouching onto the sand beside her, seating himself in a way so he could remain attached to her side. The heavy weight of his gaze lingered upon her, even as she attempted to ignore his presence as a whole. Though he seemed none the wiser to her efforts, or perhaps he merely couldn't care less what she thought of him—not that she's out right proclaimed her opinion of said god, but from mere context clues given their history together, she was sure he had a general understanding of where she stands with him.

It had been a few years since she first met Baekhyun. A rather untimely meeting with the god of wine and revelry, one marked by unrequited affections which has since plagued her every waking moment. She had never processed how burdensome it could become to be the apple of one's eye, especially if that particular person was a deity of Baekhyun's caliber, and one she felt nothing towards. And even now as she tends to a broken heart, abandoned on a remote island in the middle of nowhere with no means of escape, she still couldn't conceal the discomfort she felt in Baekhyun's presence, knowing fully well of his affections and how he had been waiting for her answer to his proposal.

Though unlike all the other times he’s randomly materialized before her, usually wreaking of that sickly sweet aroma of wine and teasing her relentlessly until she was pleading for him to leave her be, he sat there calmly and quietly, waiting for her to acknowledge him. It was a peculiar shift in his modus operandi, one that did not go by unnoticed by (y/n), yet even with the silence he granted her, she couldn't bear to speak to him as she usually would.

Humiliation silently lingered in the air even before she could say anything. She didn't know what she'd tell Baekhyun had he pestered her in his usual manner. The last thing on her mind was telling the man who proposed to her—with whom she'd essentially left unanswered—that the man she intended on running away with forever had all but left her stranded on an island to die in solitude. Though somehow, there was a small inkling in her that felt like Baekhyun already knew. And perhaps a smaller, more hopeful part of her believed he was here not to torment her, but rather to check up on her, ensure she was fairing well.

Hesitantly, her eyes strayed from where they'd been zeroed in along the horizon, sparing Baekhyun a small and brief glance.

It was odd. His eyes seemed duller now, a more muted umber tone devoid of that trademark glint he usually dons when running amok. He usually always bore this confident, bordering on cocky, grin that seemed all too pleased with himself and his shenanigans, yet now his lips were naturally downturned, perhaps the first time she's ever seen his mouth in its natural resting position. Even his scent was more subdued, and she was able to pick up the rich undertones of grapes usually concealed by his alcoholic carousing. His gaze was dropped, steadily trained on her hands laying in her lap, and the undivided attention only prompted more discomfort on her part as she fiddled with the fabric of her dress.

She had half a mind to ask him if he was okay, momentarily forgetting her own plight once she saw the shift in demeanor of Baekhyun. Though the silence that encompassed them prompted her own wariness in approaching the subject.

And so they remained as is, the sun now meeting the horizon, igniting the sky into a mural of warm, fiery hues. As the sun continued to set, it dyed the blue depth of the waters into a color akin to wine with its deep and rich crimson shade.

Without realizing it, her mind had begun wandering back to Baekhyun, curious as to why he remained by her side even as she ignored him. And though she didn't know for how long she'd strayed with these thoughts, she did know it was his presence alone that managed to briefly distract her from her current situation.

“Why are you here?” (y/n) asked, voice gravelly from misuse. For a moment, she was met with silence, the ocean serving as white noise to fill the void. But as she dared another glance his way, she saw his somber countenance. It was a foreign expression to be gracing his face, and she found herself intrigued by the furrow of his brow as he remained lost in thought.

“I went to visit you on Crete…” He finally responded, the timbre of his voice lowering with raw solemnity. “I know how you get with the annual tributes, so I wanted to be there for you.”

She shied away at this, never fully processing how Baekhyun's sporadic appearances coincided with certain times. And it was true. Every year as the Athenian tributes arrived on Crete, she distanced herself until after these events were done and over with. Though as she now recollected memories from recent years, she began putting together Baekhyun's arrivals were never truly as spontaneous as she first made them out to be.

He was always there whenever she was at her lowest. She thought it was intentional as a way of tormenting her when she's at rock bottom, but as he continued speaking, a pit of remorse began accumulating within her heart.

“Instead, I was met with… chaos. Carnage. Disorder.” He paused, turning his head in a direction she could only assume was where Crete faced. “Asterion was dead. A tribute had escaped. And the princess had all but disappeared.”

At his final statement, (y/n) stared down in shame. She knew there would be repercussions for her actions, but she thought she'd have been long gone at this point. Too far away to even spare a moment of regret for having abandoned her family and her kingdom. Yet it all came back to bite her. Her brother, cursed and estranged as he was, had been killed. Theseus, her lover who she assisted the entire way through, had been the one to kill him. And she, princess of Crete, had run off in the midst of this mayhem.

“I'm sorry…” (y/n) whispered, voice strained as she fought back tears. “I'm so sorry. I just couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't bear to see more death. Every single year without fail they'd send these Athenians off to die by my brother's hands. And we'd just have to sit there and watch. Watch as they all lost themselves to the labyrinth. And Asterion would…”

As if having finally broken the floodgates, tears began streaming down her face without fail. The tragic life of her brother, born a monster and treated as such. And even if she had never interacted with him, even as she witnessed his bloodshed year after year, the knowledge of his death being instigated by her own involvement was debilitating enough to ground her back into reality.

The gravity of her predicament began to settle in. Sitting on an island, hopelessly waiting for a guy she had only just met and was ready to run away with forever. The realization that he used her for his own benefit, exploited her blind affections towards him only to then leave her for dead. He had probably already returned to Athens, assumed the role of hero who killed the minotaur of Crete—as well as that of their princess. And she sat there, longing for him for hours at a time, seated beside Dionysus himself. The absurdity of it all was almost laughable, and she'd probably be doing just that if it weren't for the overwhelming humiliation she felt coiled and festering within her.

“I helped him…” She confessed aloud. “I gave him the thread so he wouldn't get lost in the maze. I was the one who helped him defeat Asterion. I was the one who helped him escape. It was all my doing. And he left me here as repayment.”

Before she could continue, Baekhyun had suddenly shifted from his position, arms wrapping around her tightly and dragging her into his embrace. Any other time, she'd probably have swatted at him whilst yelling profanities, all while he laughed in delight at her hostility.

Yet now his touch didn't feel repulsive.

She could feel his warmth fully encompassing her, shielding her from the outside world. His hands clung to her body as if afraid she'd slip away from him at any moment. And now closer to him than ever before, she could smell his true aroma past the wine. An almost woodsy scent, just as warm as he was. Fruits and earth and nature as a whole. Faintly, she could smell the ocean intermingling with his scent.

It was so peculiar the way that distinct saltiness had first felt like a refreshing start to a new life, though shifted into an overwhelming and paralyzing apprehension that infested every aspect of her being. Though now, in Baekhyun's protective arms, it felt comforting. As if he himself dispelled it and this island of any and all of its negativity that consumed her.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the tension from her body had melted away. The sound of his heartbeat coinciding with that of the calm waves was like a melodious harmony that transcended her into a state of utter tranquility. His breathing lulled her away from the worries that tormented her heart, and she finally felt at peace.

“Did you love him?” Baekhyun asked. His tone was more inquisitive than anything else. There were no hidden intentions with his question, and although hesitant to admit it aloud to him, for fear of hurting him, (y/n) felt at ease with telling Baekhyun the truth he sought.

“Yes,” she responded quietly. “But I regret it. I regret it all.”

“Don't.” His grip tightened around her, pressing his forehead against the top of her head. “You shouldn't regret the love you give people. Don't let this foolish boy disparage you from expressing yourself to your fullest potential.”

(y/n) remained quiet, surprised by the turn of the events, though still listening intently to Baekhyun's words.

“I've always held such deep admiration towards you. From the moment I met you till now. I could see the way you loved so genuinely and fully. And I thought it was beautiful. I thought you were beautiful. You shouldn't grieve over an unrequited love. Loss serves as a reminder of the love we once felt, and the remorse we feel further exemplifies that. Your love is something so wonderful. Something I adore greatly.”

As he spoke, his warmth seemed to intensify. Filled with familiarity and security, coaxing her further into his embrace until she buried herself into the crook of his neck. He held her as if she were everything he had ever asked for. His touch was like ambrosia and nectar, the sweetest of prose to ever be professed, a safety like no other.

“I find myself wanting to be inconvenienced by you. I want to have you distracting me by lingering in my thoughts. I want to take time out of my day just to see you. I want to love you, even if you don't love me.”

At this, a sob slipped past her lips, and she clung onto him harder. Away from it all, everything inside her felt tumultuous and heightened. All of the emotions she'd been bottling up for years seemed to overflow in Baekhyun's presence alone. Her heart ached with grief, remorse, hatred, anger, defeat. Yet it also sang like never before, healing itself from years of anguish and torment.

And after the cathartic intervention came to a conclusion, faces marred by dried tears and eyes reddened with strain, a peaceful serenity had settled over the two. By now, the sun had long set. The cool of the night had begun penetrating the warmth of their embrace. The sand beneath them no longer retained the heat of the afternoon sun. The oceans were calm and still. The winds now settled into a gentle breeze. The world was asleep, silent in every regard. The day had ended and (y/n) had made it out alive, no doubt due to Baekhyun's influence.

Panic begin settling in her as he shifted, rising to his feet and pulling her up with him. Though when she met his gaze, loving and sweet and attentive, she began to settle once more. His hands held her own, thumbs softly brushing over her knuckles, all the while maintaining his sight on her face.

“What would you like to do?” He asked. “I can build you a palace here on Naxos, away from the cruelties of the world and the people who inhabit it.” His smile grew wider, bearing that familiar wickedness whenever he was up to no good. “I could overthrow the monarchy of Crete and reinstate you as its sole sovereign, allow you to redeem yourself and your honor, perhaps even reestablish Crete as a just and fair kingdom.” Both options were tempting, neither having any inherent consequences as long as Baekhyun held sway in their components. And she could tell Baekhyun had more to say, but she quickly intercepted before he could propose another offer.

“I want to be with you.” Baekhyun blinked at this, chuckling as if she were telling a joke.

“I will be there. You can't get rid of me that easily.”

“No.” Her hands slipped from his, reaching forth to cup his cheeks and bring him closer. “I choose you, Baekhyun.”

She pressed her lips against his own, soft and delicate. He seemed stunned for a moment, his body moving subconsciously for the first second or two, but once he had fully processed where he was and what was happening, Baekhyun began reciprocating. He kissed back just as earnestly, his hands reaching up to hold onto her wrists as he poured every ounce of his adoration into her. And (y/n) couldn't help but think how perfect it was.

She'd always thought love at first sight was perhaps the most romantic of gestures one could have. The act of finding your soulmate from a single encounter seemed so otherworldly and unmatched. Yet here in this moment with Baekhyun's body pressed against her own as he drew impossibly closer to her, his hands softly wandering in an attempt to map her form into his memory, she found this very moment to be the epitome of what love should be. A gradual fall into love. In a way, she can reminisce on growth and development, reflect on what was not there and how it came to be.

One of his hands had wandered to her hair, gently carding his fingers through the strands, and the other drew patterns on her waist, amorphous shapes that each portrayed his unspoken love for her. She thought back on every encounter she had with him. Every laugh he coaxed out of her even as she tried to hide away from the world. The bittersweet smiles he gave her every time she rejected or delayed his proposal. His neverending determination and devotion, even when facing adversities like herself. And with each revelation, each tender kiss from Baekhyun, her heart seemed to swell with love for him and him alone.

Once more, he was the one to pull away first, perhaps more in control of his long-standing affections than her, yet he didn't draw too far from her. Just far enough for him to look over her countenance with a lovestruck expression of his own. His eyes glistened with this saccharine-like joy, crinkling at the corners with his sweet smile dedicated to her. And she found herself smiling back, an uncontrollable jubilance bubbling in her as she reveled in his affections.

“Come then,” he spoke softly, hands returning back to hers. He brought one up to his lips, pressing one final kiss to her fingers. “Let's go home.”

[maple-the-awesome]

Friend or Foe || Part 2/3

Part 1 || Part 3

Pairings: Time, Wind, Wild x GN Reader

Overview: Link visits an alternate world without its hero and, more importantly, a version of you without your Link. Unfortunately, it seems even the smallest of details can lead to disastrous results. In spirt of Halloween, I've decided to do a little evil prompt because none of the Links have enough emotional damage yet😈

Zelda Masterlist 💙Fandom Masterlist

Time may not remember everything that has occurred over his many, long adventures, but he does remember the day you met. Only children then, you both made an innocent promise to marry once adults. Now, Time may be a lot of things, but he has always been a man of his word. How could he not be when presented the perfect chance to spend the rest of his life with his childhood crush? You’re the one person he can trust with his every secret - the reward at the end of every troubling journey. He lives to see your joy and dies to see your sorrow, even when it isn't exactly 'your' sorrow...

It's difficult business keeping track of eight young boys and men, especially when they're all cursed with the same adventurous spirits that are easily distracted. Of course they’ve managed to disappear here. He can only blame himself for not having questioned their silence sooner, although he’d be lying to say he doesn’t feel disappointed, notably with the older boys, Twilight and Warrior, who are usually more responsible than to simply wander off without a word of explanation. Alas, even they’re nowhere to be seen, his only hint of other life nearby being a giggle that echoes off the vast number of gigantic trees.

"My, my. One more left I see?" Time leaps back, hand already on his sword when he hears the voice, “Oooh, and look at you! So handsome! So fierce! I’m digging the scar - it makes you look so tough. And those muscles, too! You seem like you would really know how to -”

“- Where are you?!” Time demands, getting his answer promptly when a figure swings down from a branch mere feet away from his face.

“Wow! You’re even hotter up closer!”

Time's eyes widen in surprise due to both their sudden entrance and their physical appearance. This mysterious person has wild hair that sticks out in every direction with their body lacking a healthy weight or color, yet Time immediately ignores all of that in favor of focusing upon the mask they wear - one he knows all too well but wishes he didn’t. He thought, for a second, that he may have recognized their voice, too, yet he’s more certain that he must be mistaken in that regard. No way it could be…

“Hey, you were traveling with those other boys, right? So maybe you’ll be nicer by giving me the answers I want! You see, beautiful stranger, I’m looking for a special friend of mine. We made a promise a while back and I intend to fulfill it if I could just find him first. None of the travelers I’ve found in these woods so far are him, so I was beginning to lose hope until I overheard those friends of yours mention his name, but they -”

Time can’t move, his body overcome with a chilled wave that ends with his feet cemented to the ground. It would be reasonable to say he misheard the first time, and he could keep denying it if he wants now, but that wouldn’t change the fact that he does recognize this person’s voice. How could he not when it’s the same that belongs to his own person angel? It’s a disordered version of yours, however this person isn’t you. This can’t be you because last he checked, you were safe back home where you promised to wait for his next return. How could you suddenly be here in this world, kept under the binding influence of Majora’s Mask?

“- Hey, are you broken?!” This person - who still so eerily sounds like you despite Time’s refusal to admit such a thing - knocks a fist against his forehead, barely flinching when he jerks back with a gasp, “Sooo? You gonna help me or just be difficult like your friends, eh? I don’t have all day, miser!”

Perhaps this ‘you’ is simply a figment of his imagination created by the forest to torment him; that must be the answer. He just has to play the game - no matter how much it messes with his head - to find out what happened to the boys. He’s dealt with enough Skull Kids before, this would be a piece of cake.

“I -...This friend of yours, who is he? Someone you’ve lost in the forest?” Time asks carefully, doing his best not to react too much outwardly, after all he’s seen first hand how Majora’s Mask can affect the mind of its wearer, and this ‘you’ before him has already clearly been put through the wringer.

“If I knew where I had lost him, I would’ve found him!” You snap in irritation.

Time swallows, “...Right, that does make sense, but perhaps if you could tell me his name, I could offer you better help in finding him?”

You seem pleased by this answer, swinging yourself upright on the branch where you become illuminated only by the glowing eyes of your mask, “Link.”

“L…Link?” That cold feeling from before returns, making Time suddenly feel sick to his stomach as the dots finally begin to connect in his head. This is no figment of his imagination - no trick of the light or evil illusion. It really is you…not the same version of you he married, but the other he promised to…

In Wind’s world, you're an adored teacher on Windfall Island. You’re kind, caring, and very knowledgeable about Hyrule's history which came in handy whenever he needed pointers during his early adventures. Yes, you would express concern over a child of his age partaking in such dangerous affairs (you thought it was all a joke when he first told you) and you've let it slip before that you aren't the biggest fan of pirates, although beyond your mother-like worry which you’ve adopted towards all your students (even the unofficial ones like Wind), you’ve ultimately supported him every step of the way. You've always been a huge role model for him, so this shift in personality is more than unexpected...

Wind was excited to show his new friends around what he thought to be his own Hyrule and relieved to discover they weren’t alone on this island they’ve found themselves stuck on after wandering through another portal. A pirate ship anchored on shore - the very ship belonging to Zelda’ crew, as Wind foolishly assured the others despite their caution. Now, thanks to his impatience and eagerness, he sits saddened and embarrassed next to the rest of the heroes as they remain tied to the ship’s mast. 

It’s confusing. The pirates of this ship are the same as Zelda's crew, yet they claimed to not at all recognize the younger pirate regardless of his attempts to jog their memories. Instead, they had rounded him and the rest of the Chain up the second they approached their dock, taking them prisoner where they currently wait for 'the Captain's reaction'. 

The Captain. This made Wind feel relieved again. Zelda. He doesn't know why the other pirates are acting so strangely, but Zelda will be able to clear this whole mess up, in fact here she comes, dressed in her normal pirate attire Wind's accustomed to seeing.

"ZELDA! Goddesses, am I glad to see you! I don't understand what kinda trick the guys are trying to play on me, but this isn’t the time! My friends - they're all heroes of courage like me and we could really use your help to -" The words come so quickly from Wind's mouth that Zelda barely has time to look disgusted. 

"How hard did you exactly hit this guy?" She asks while looking to Nudge then back to Wind with a smirk.

"Wha - I'm serious! This is urgent, Zelda -!"

"- Who?" She places her hands on her hips, generally seemingly confused which makes Wind's blood run cold, but not as much as it does when another voice speaks.

"Oi, what's the ruckus out here, eh!? I thought I told ya' lot to keep it down - Oh. What do we have here, umm?" The doors to the Captain's cabin burst open, out walking a figure dressed head-to-toe in a bright red uniform with a large black, white, and magenta feather sticking out from their hat.

"Captain," Zelda immediately backs off from Wind, "These guys were just caught after trying to rush our ship."

"No, that’s not what we -!"

"- Little thieves. 'thought they could just follow us here and steal our treasure!" The pirates hiss together, although you take more time to look over the boy in front of you along with his companions.

"You all look familiar…" Your statement - as disinterested as it sounds - almost gives Wind hope. Almost, "Lock 'em up in the cellar where I won't have to listen to their annoying bitching. Gonzo, set a course for the Forsaken Fortress. I think Ganondorf would like to meet these boys. Tetra, you stick with me."

"YES, CAPTAIN!" An assortment of shouts follow, both from the pirates who follow your every order loyally and the heroes who express their dismay. Wind, however, can only stare in complete disbelief and betrayal as you look back at him once more, your eyes dark from underneath your hat's shadow which is a sharp contrast to the usual warmth that he knows you for. 

Wild lives with a lot of heavy regrets weighing him down, perhaps the most unspoken being his missed chance at ever telling you his true feelings. You were an ever-so-dear friend to him before the Calamity - someone who never expected the impossible from him and always offered a shoulder to lean on should he need one. He loved you quite a bit; something he remembered almost as soon as he remembered you. He has often visited your grave, replaying past events in his head while suffocating in his own guilt from not having protected you. He has sometimes begged the Goddess to let him see you again, even if just to apologize, but this isn’t what he had in mind - far from it…

Wild’s version of Hyrule is chaotic and messy; a land that thrives off of quiet hope and the shattered remnants of a once mighty kingdom. Zelda has mentioned the theory before: that like Hyrule, Wild needed to become something else - something different and unruly in nature because if you can’t beat it, then join it. 

With that said, he’s accustomed to using a lack of forethought, at least in any way comparable to his past self (which is what he tells himself, anyway). As far as he knows, before the Calamity, he was as straight-laced as they come, always concerning himself with his public image and focused on never letting anyone down. He’s nothing like that now, often running into danger head first with messy hair and a blaze of fire following his trail. You would think after the amount of concussions and scars he’s gained, he would’ve long learned his lesson, but alas, he raced through this dungeon with little worry as he’s done many others because his confidence - or perhaps his dull wit - has once again outweighed any common sense. 

Now this is the price he must pay for his own ignorance: a nightmare reanimated before him as it taunts and tortures his inner conscience…and all he can do is accept this horrid punishment in frozen terror as you stalk across the room towards him.

When he raced ahead of the others and turned the key, he expected to be greeted with the typical dungeon boss - an overgrown bokoblin or fiery wizard. He didn’t expect it to be you, crumbled on the ground with gloom affecting your entire body. He didn’t expect for you to react so harshly to his presence, throwing him across the room with a blast of magic when he tried to reach your side, desperate to know how you’re alive and if you’re okay.

You look as angry as you have every right to be, your face curled into a snarl as you come closer, eyes narrowed in an orange glow and a sword in your hand…yet Wild could do nothing but let his knees buckle from underneath himself and dig his nails into his scalp as he asks himself over and over again how this is possible. How are you here? How are you alive? How were you affected and how does he fix you? …He can’t, though. He let you down then and has no idea how to save you now despite having been granted the gift of your presence again - the very thing he’s been begging for.

“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” He cries, not sure if it’s for you or himself as he sobs your name with the same heartache he would over your grave, “I’msorry! I’msorry!”

“IT’S AN ILLUSION, WILD! IT’S NOT THEM!” Someone shouts from behind - someone who he’d usually easily recognize as Twilight yet his mind is in too much of a rush to even listen to his concerned friend’s words, let alone care about his identity. 

Wild can only think of his final moments with you. The day you ‘casually’ told him about plans to try a new restaurant in Castle Town and how you were looking for someone to join you. Foolishly - ever so foolishly - he asked if your sister wouldn’t go, generally confused that you, someone so kind and loved, would have trouble finding a willing companion for any aspect of your life. 

Bashfully, you agreed to ask her, and that was it. You walked off, leaving the poor hero to wonder why you looked so dejected and heartbroken. The next time he’d see you was a mere picture an old woman showed him, curious if you happened to be the one he ran into town desperately searching for. The woman - your niece, as it would turn out - confirmed his worst fears, explaining that while you had survived the initial attack during the Calamity, you like many others soon succumbed to an illness Purah now theorizes to have been a result of close contact with gloom. 

Wild can only imagine your final moments, poisoned by gloom and betrayal much like this other version of you is. If only he had done his job properly, you would have never felt such pain. You, like your sister, would have grown old and lived peacefully as you deserved. He, himself, wouldn’t have to forever live with this guilt he bears from your death - guilt that tries convincing him it would’ve been better if Twilight hadn’t pulled him away from the danger, instead allowing you - even if not truly you - to get some sort of revenge for his mistakes. 

[always-andromeda]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐋, 𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐃

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Father Paul Hill x Fem!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ✯ 2925

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ taboo au + "Everything I've done...every atrocity, it's been for you."

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ✯ okay, I haven't exactly finished a piece in a good while. so this one is sort of serving as a warm-up and if it's terrible (which I have a good feeling it is lmao), I'm gonna have to ask y'all to be gentle on me. I've loved this man for a while now and this is sort of experimental. tl;dr: I am a sensitive little baby right now so treat me as such.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ smut (minors, do not interact), obviously a pretty massive gap in both age and power, depictions of blood and death, could be read as dub con at first (if you squint really hard) but firmly lands on the side of full con, a lot of religious mumbo jumbo (lmao let's ignore the fact that I know almost nothing about Catholicism <3), so much blasphemy, oral (female receiving), a twinge of sub!Paul, and that's all I can think of!! let me know if more is needed!!

(mdni banner template credit goes to @cafekitsune!!)

Behind closed eyelids, all you saw was darkness. And through that darkness came white hot agony. It was practically blinding as it shot up your spine before detonating in your brain. Those little fragments of pain speckled across the inside of your skull.

You wanted to scream, hurl, cry, something. Anything to physically release the intense pain assaulted your nerves. But you wouldn't be granted that mercy. No.

For now, your suffering was confined to this unending darkness. For now, you waited in the void of your own being for the tragedy to subside.

For weeks you anxiously waited for the return of Monsignor Pruitt from his mission trip. Though spending your afternoons looking after the dementia ridden clergyman wasn't exactly your idea of a good time, it was far better than slumming it with Beverly Keane. After all, you were 99% sure that whatever Bev heard managed to make its way all around the island.

Crockett Island was a melting pot of rumors. By now you'd heard the stories; the mythology of the island's residents had woven together to form a complex tapestry. And the longer you stayed, the more you realized how little you desired to be a part of it all.

But you didn't have a choice. Whether you liked it or not, Crockett's citizens had already spun your narrative.

Everyone knew how your mother had taken you away from the island at the ripe age of five years old; saving you the heartache of being raised by an alcoholic father. Part of you had always been grateful for it despite how tough it had been being raised by a single mother who hardly had anything to her name. Yet you couldn't help the guilt that poured into your lungs like cement whenever someone mentioned how much your father had suffered before he died.

Because that was the only way you would've gone back to the island that lived in the shadows of your memory: death. And upon meeting Monsignor Pruitt, it became clear that death would also be the only way you'd want to leave.

The relationship that had bloomed between you and him was a humble one. He'd offered to talk you through your grief which you'd promptly denied. Though you attended services, you weren't much for religion and you weren't about to embrace it fresh off of the death of a father who was practically a stranger. It felt disingenuous.

Finding God is reserved for real tragedies, right?

You'd asked the question like it was a joke.

Monsignor Pruitt had merely tilted his head before replying in that lilting, raspy voice of his: Depends on what you think qualifies as a tragedy.

With a quick eye roll, you'd written the answer off as one of those unbalanced moments of his. Over the course of a few months, you'd become well acquainted with them. Going to services and keeping him company was something to do. Something other than rifling through decades of your father's clutter and further entangling yourself with the community. Something other than being reminded of your own wasted potential.

Strangely, the monsignor felt less like an all seeing eye and more like...a friend. And now, faced with his "temporary" replacement, you were finally certain of what qualified as a tragedy to you.

From the moment Father Paul had addressed the church, you were unsettled. He may have been perfectly kind and personable enough, but his mannerisms edged on the uncanny valley. It was the way he spoke during sermons and how that tone rarely changed during one-on-one conversations. Though he couldn't have been older than thirty, he often held himself as if he'd been around the block more times than anyone could fathom. It was easy to chalk it up to his nature. Of course the man of God had an eerie way of making you feel like a puny mortal.

But Monsignor Pruitt had never made you feel like that. You couldn't brush the thought of the old man out of your mind.

Every time Father Paul attempted to placate your worries, it only pushed you deeper into the depths of distrust. Somehow you just knew he was lying.

And for all of Father Paul's wisdom and mystique, he wasn't a good liar. His tone would shift as he glossed over your concerns with a quick reassurance that Monsignor Pruitt was recovering just fine on the mainland. When you felt brave enough to press him for more, he'd wring his hands or squeeze them into fists. Almost as if he had to physically stop himself from reprimanding you. After all, who were you to question him?

When your eyes finally opened, your vision was overwhelmed by the light. Softly, slowly, the light haloed around the head of a figure that carefully came into view. As your sight sharpened, you quickly realized who stood over you. 

The man you held the most wariness for was kneeling over you. His long face wrought with concern, the alarm bells were already blaring in your muddled mind. But as much as you tried to force the air from your lungs to scream, you could only let out a pathetic, strangled squeak.

That was when he spoke. His voice shook with what sounded like uncertainty, "You mustn't overexert yourself. You're still coming back. But don't worry, you'll be yourself again soon. All in due time."

No matter how much you tried to speak, to move, neither of the actions came to you. All you could do is watch as Father Paul pulled your paralyzed body into his arms and cradled you. And as the potency of your helplessness settled in, you vaguely felt tears prick at your waterline. 

Normally, you would've rather died than allowing yourself to cry in front of someone, especially in front of the father. This time you couldn't control the few tears that slid freely down your cheeks, landing on the father's hand where he gripped your still aching shoulder.

He noticed them immediately and let you out of his grasp long enough to stare into your glossy eyes.

You couldn't quite decipher the intent behind the softness of his gaze. But somehow it was enough to allow the nausea that had slowly been rising in your chest to subside.

Father Paul raised a hand to cup your face. His thumb carefully stroked your cheek, sweeping away the wet trails left by your despair. And whether it was from your sensitivity or the intimacy of the act, you didn't know. But your skin shivered. 

As you gradually regained the feeling in your body, you realized that the first thing you felt after the pain was him. The inherent warmth of his embrace. And in some fucked up way, it was comforting. Feeling like prey, you blinked back the rest of your tears and allowed yourself to soak up as much of him as you could; anything to get rid of the dull pain that plagued your nerves.

You noticed there were tears brimming his own eyes as he smiled softly. "There, you mustn't cry. You've been so brave and in return you've been blessed."

It was then that you began to regain enough cognizance to question what was happening.

Flashes of memory played each time you blinked.

That damned question had been on the tip of your tongue again.

So you found him in the recreational center. There he’d been, on his knees, praying fervently.

Hopefully you're praying for the monsignor's return.

You regretted the words almost as soon as you'd said them. Because as soon as Paul turned, he gave you that dark look that rarely graced his features. This time he hadn't even tried to hide it with his usual discretion.

He merely stared right past you with his eyes wide and pleading. 

You hadn't had the chance to see the thing that attacked you fully. But you felt its teeth at your neck. You felt your own blood dripping from your neck in such a thick stream that the dizziness came almost as soon as you hit the ground. You felt the rough, pale skin of the creature as it smothered you, greedily devouring every ounce of your life.

Of course you were surprised to find yourself lying on the sheets of Paul's bed in his modest home, but that shock was the least of your worries. How were you still alive?

He told his tale as your body mended itself. You didn't know how much time passed. All you knew is that you were enraptured with the sticky sense of dread that was growing in your stomach as he spoke.

You were acutely aware of just how much it sounded like a sermon. How, whether he was aware of it or not, he was pulling out every stop in the preacher's handbook to try and convince you. And if he didn’t sound so convinced himself, you would swear this was deliberate manipulation. But nothing else could possibly explain his youthful appearance and all that he knew. He could recite your history right back to you despite the fact that you’d never once trusted him nearly enough to give it. Only the monsignor knew your deepest fears and your darkest secrets. But this wasn’t your monsignor.

Father Paul was some new beast; an amalgamation of the sweet old man you’d once known, the deceptive preacher who took his place, and some other supernatural force that you couldn’t quite name.

Though you’d only caught half a glimpse of the creature, you attempted to express your terror. That only spurred him on further as he contended that when an angel of the Lord appeared to the shepherds upon the birth of Jesus, it deliberately told them to not be afraid.

But none of that explained himself. None of it allowed you to comprehend how Monsignor Pruitt could've shed decades of life; how the old man could now stand there, blood drying on the bottom half of his face, and look at you as if you were something he could have.

You didn't have to ask. You knew by then that when the creature had had its fill of your blood, Father Paul had pulled the scraps of you away for himself. The thought hit you dangerously and made something deep inside you rumble. Like a natural disaster, this had unearthed a litany of complications that you never could’ve anticipated.

“We are at a crossroads," Father Paul said gently before letting his conviction surge again, “Now, you once said that finding God was reserved for those experiencing tragedy, correct?”

You nodded sagely. 

Father Paul grasped your trembling hands in his own, “Have you not experienced one of life’s greatest tragedies? The ending of it? You fell right over the edge of life and before the waters of death could claim you, He brought you back. Hebrought us together.”

You shook your head in defiance.

“This was meant to happen. This was part of His plan, for our faiths — our lives — to be renewed.”

With your throat still stiff and dry, you croaked angrily, “There was nothing wrong with my life! There was nothing that needed to supposedly be renewed!” 

He raised his voice suddenly, “Why did you come to this island?”

“Because my father died.”

“A father who was no better than a stranger to you,” he recalled your own words quickly. If the monsignor had been wise, Father Paul was as sharp as a knife, taking his jabs at you with complete accuracy. “You didn’t have to come here. You didn't have to make friends with a crazy old man. By the grace of God, you were led here. You were led here so you could be shown this truth; this gift. And you are denying this gift."

You had to admit that your draw to Crockett had been strange. At first you'd attested it to some childhood curiosity. But you'd deliberately put off taking care of your father's run down property, instead opting to spend time walking in the light of Pruitt. In truth, his companionship had been a breath of fresh air. 

Though the people of Crockett adored him, it was always tinged with pity. You'd never pitied him; only admired him for his wisdom and his resilience. 

Paul's expression softened as he held your face in his hands. "Everything I've done...every atrocity, it's been for you." That was when you saw the edges of his wisdom begin to lift and fall away like a second skin he'd crafted over his own vulnerability.

Underneath it...he was simply a man. A man who wanted to save you. 

“Let me give you more. Let me show you how you can trust me," he whispered.

The first kiss inspired an odd mix of emotions in your chest. There was the coppery tang of dried blood on your tongue, strong enough that it took everything in you not to flinch away from his hold on you. But you remembered his reference to the angel and the shepherds.

Do not be afraid.

So you continued, deepening the kiss with a turn of your head. And for all of the worldly experiences Paul had, you became acutely aware that this sort of connection was not among them.

Whether there'd been any true romantic feelings for the aging monsignor, you couldn't quite say. But your fondness of him had transferred to the man before you. Granted, the transfer wasn't smooth, but it was there nonetheless. Somehow it was stronger than ever as he took your hand and brought it to his lips. The kiss he pressed against your palm was slightly tacky with your own half dried blood still lingering.

You brushed a lock of his wavy, dark hair back so you could properly meet his gaze. With the shroud of time having fallen away from his features you could see just how handsome the man was. It was a hesitant sort of attractiveness; as if the banner of God had prevented him from seeing his full potential.

He'd fed on your life and made himself new. And the thought of your monsignor living on in that small way...all because of you? The electric twinges that sparked in your chest were almost too much to bear.

Without fear you devoured him in another kiss. Quickly the mood turned from reverent to ravenous as Paul attempted to keep up with your fervency.

He couldn't remember the last time sin had overpowered his sense of morality. Because he knew in the traditional sense, this was pure sin. No matter how wrong he believed it might have been to let his hands roam your figure, in his bones it was a temptation that finally felt correct. There was none of that hesitance or shame or fear that he'd felt before. The pendulum had shifted on morality and he knew exactly what he needed to do.

Hardly a moment was spared as he tore into the long skirt and the underwear that had kept you modest for far too long. Perfect beauty like this had to be cherished.

So that is what he did. Planted firmly between your legs, he stared up at you with eyes that gently pleaded for permission; for salvation. With your own half lidded eyes, you nodded before spreading yourself open for him.

Like a flower, you bloomed beautifully and Paul groaned at the sight. He could practically feel the thrumming pulse before him as it waited to indulge him. His hot breath teased you and made sparks dance right beneath the surface of your skin. Still you stayed in place, patiently allowing him time to drink in the sight of your folds already puffing and glistening with slick.

Quietly, you heard him mumble something that you only caught the tail end of.

“–forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

It wasn't too long after that when his tongue found a home in that tight, warm crevice. Your hand knitted itself into his dark hair as you searched for something to ground yourself from the overpowering sensation. Something about this new condition of yours heightened every aspect of pleasure.

If you were in your right mind, it would make sense logically considering you'd felt the unbearable pain of your spine shattering and being put back together again. But this was overwhelming in the entirely opposite direction.

You experienced the pleasure on a cellular level as your climax rushed through your limbs. You seemed to feel the vibrancy of every emotion and atom that comprised your being. Nothing was spared from the glory of this blessing. Not your spasming cunt as it contracted around Paul's blessed tongue. Not your heart that was firmly on the track of restoration. And not your mind as it all at once fell apart in time with your quivering thighs. Blood pulsing, every single one of your pores felt more alive than ever as you finally embraced the higher power that had been waiting for you in the shadows all along.

At that moment, you believed it all. From the Angel to Father Paul's divine transformation to the euphoric paradise that enveloped your entire being...it was all real. And most of all, it was all yours. Thanks to the father's grace and generosity, you would create paradise with him. And that seemed possible. After all, with his head between your thighs, you’d both already created one.

[fandomfloozy]

Bittersweet Nothings

Pairing: Durge x Gortash, reader x Gortash

C/W: gn reader, redeemed! durge, platonic/romantic soulmates, sfw

~°•*~

It's just a glass of wine, you'd told yourself. What's the harm? You'd naively asked.

Having the newly appointed Archduke of Baldur's Gate set up in your camp was unprecedented enough, but to agree to join him in his tent for a spell was hardly appropriate. Especially now that over half the bottle had disappeared in no time at all.

You were hardly to blame, to be fair. He had a certain air about him that had drawn you in from the beginning. A comfortable familiarity with you that left you equal parts confused and amused. He was charming, as is his way. Which is why when he'd asked you to share a drink with him, the only response you could scrounge up was a shrug and a "What the hell, why not?"

Which left you here. Sprawled out on an assortment of cushions and floor mats, a slight heat in your face that spread from your cheeks to your neck, cackling at whatever sad attempt at comedy has just left Gortash's mouth.

"You're positively primeval," you laugh as you playfully push at his shoulder, which is lightly adorned with just a black dress shirt. His overcoat lay forgotten in the corner somewhere, shed about two glasses ago.

"Oh, come now," he grins slyly in response, face leaning against his hand as he lay facing you. "You always liked that one."

You can tell in the way he says it and in the moment that follows that he knows not what he said or how it came across. The words flowed out of him without thought, as if by nature.

And you're no fool. You've scrounged up enough clues and hints of a past alliance. Words written in your own hand, and some in his, that tease at something even deeper than that. A friendship. A bond. Maybe something more, if you look real close, if you squint.

It's circumstancial at best. Letters can be fabricated, feelings can change. One page of a book tells only a fragment of a story. Yet it's moments like these, where his facade cracks and his defenses drop, that cement a truth in your mind: you meant something to him. Mean something to him. And a lifetime ago--a gruesome, gory, painful lifetime ago--he might have meant something to you.

And you don't remember it.

He's too engrossed in pouring his next glass to notice your shift in mood. You almost feel sober, idly circling the rim of your glass with a finger.

And yet the alcohol definitely plays a part in loosening your tongue. "You know, in our travels," you begin. His gaze shifts to you again. "My group and I, we've come across many an expert who have taken it upon themselves to inform me of just how..." You struggle to find the words, yet he hangs off each one in rapt attention. "Mutilated my mind truly is. In a very literal sense." You don't gauge his reaction. The ichor of the liquid in your glass seems far more fascinating right now.

This subject matter makes you feel shy and exposed, and yet his response is nonchalant. "Yes, well, it should come as no surprise how thorough Orin was in her brutality." You can hear the roll in his eyes.

The mention of her name leaves a foul taste in your mouth and a tightness in your chest. "I've no doubt she took great pleasure in her work," you retort, emulating the exasperation in his tone. Your feelings pertaining to Orin are complicated, and this wasn't really the direction you intended to steer the conversation.

There's a hand at your chin and suddenly your eyes are level with his. "Dear assassin, take comfort in the fact that you were always her better." His expression is fierce. A sense of sort of... pride emanates from him. "She lies in the very bed she made and you alone stand victorious, as is your right." There's a finality in the way he says it. He sounds so sure, as if it was written in stone. As if he'd known this would always be the outcome.

You realize his finger and thumb linger on your chin. The exaggerated sense of warmth is dizzying. You blame the wine.

You attempt to refocus, smile with an exhale. "While I appreciate the sentiment, that's not what I was getting at."

"Speak then." He adjusts his frame. The hand remains in place, save for a rogue thumb that travels upward, brushing your bottom lip. "What troubles you?"

He asks in a cavalier sort of way, but his eyes carry an earnest. I'd move mountains to ease your troubles. It makes you hesitate before you continue. "Well, because of the sorry state I'm in." He chuckles at that. "It's entirely possible that... no amount of magic or healing could ever restore my memories. Return me to I was--"

He scrunches his brow quizzically. "I'm sure some way exists. We are set to conquer an elder brain, after all--"

"If your Grace would allow me to finish my thought." The words spill out of you with a laugh. Playful yet frustrated. So frustrated, in fact, that you've grabbed the hand that was at your chin. It's still in your grasp as you huff out a puff of air at the unperturbed face of Enver Gortash.

Your display apparently gives him no pause. He only raises a brow in amusement. He allows his hand to remain in your grip as he brings the other to his grin. He mimes zipping his lips shut and bows his head as a gesture to continue. You have the floor.

You sigh. "Were it possible... By some miracle or great power, to restore my mind to what it once was..." You look down and fiddle with his fingertips as you try to organize your thoughts. He lets you. "I'm not even sure that's something I'd want?" It comes out as a question. Rhetorical in the sense that you have no answer and Gortash doesn't offer one, true to his promise to let you continue uninterrupted. So you do.

"I'm free of my father. I've no concept of what it was like to submit to him fully, and I don't think I want to." The you that you hear about sounds nothing like the you you know. The you that was willing to watch the world burn--willing to be its last inhabitant, its last sacrifice to your god, your very blood--isn't you anymore. Everything you've heard has led you to believe the person you were was disturbed, deranged, unhinged. Who was that person beyond the madness? Was there one? "That part of me feels better off lost... Lest I lose my current self to it."

When you meet Gortash's eyes again, they're still on you, expectantly. His lips are sealed, determined to a fault to allow you to finish--somehow aware in the first place that you aren't yet.

He waits.

The bastard.

You bite the inside of your cheek. You sit up to your knees, now holding that hand so fiercely in both of yours. "I'm so certain of this. But..." Your brow furrows. "When one decides to leave their past behind, there are tradeoffs. One truly leaves everything behind them. Other aspects of my old life are simply lost to me. I know not who raised me up, I know not whether I was sweet as a child, I know not whether some trace of who I am existed in the person I once was." You bring his hand up to your forehead and shut your eyes as you confess. "And I know not who you are, Enver Gortash."

You either still have the floor or he doesn't know what to say. Either way you keep going.

"While I've come to respect you, and somewhat even trust you, no part of my mind remembers you."

You look down at him and search his eyes in desperation. The amusement in his face has softened into something else you can't quite place. He looks up at you, not having torn his gaze away.

You don't remember him.

"And yet, dear tyrant." You've known something from the moment you first met. "Some part of my soul knows you..." You exhale a laugh without humor.

"And I don't know what to make of that."

~°•*~

[shkika]

Got any Headcanon backstory of how each iterator was named? Like, how did No Significant Harassment get his name? How did Five Pebbles get his name? Etc, etc. I'm curious what you think!

OHH what a fun ask to make up stuff on actually. Sure I have some headcanons. Iterator names are so so fun, because there's a lot you can do with them.

Different local groups could have themes perhaps on their names. Or perhaps their names are phrases or sayings or derive from them. I will go with each colony having their individual meaning for the iterator name.

Sliver of Straw- I've talked about her name extensively here! (x) Please check it out, because I LOVE her name. Basically means needle in a haystack + shortening it to SOS is genius. Just the best.

Looks To The Moon- I don't know if this is the most original take, but I do think her name has a lot of meaning especially if you take into account that she's one of the first or at least an extremely old iterator. I compare it to the landing on the Moon in a way even if it sounds silly. This impossible to reach place is now something well withing reach. Her name is to represent looking at opportunity at the impossible and striving to achieve it. Which can connect to.. well answering the impossible ascension question.

Five Pebbles- This is such a hard one for me. But since the game makes such strong parallels between those two. Making them opposites and such it makes sense to see that in their names. While Looks to the Moon's name is grand and aiming for high achievements. Five Pebbles' name could perhaps be about the smaller mundane things. Finding the solution in a little nook or cranny somewhere close to you. A place where you'd least expect it.

One name is to aim hight and strive for the impossible. The other is about staying low and finding the answer in the small things in life. Which is hilarious if you look at their actual characters. With FP making the bold dangerous decisions and experiments and LTTM vibing like a much more grounded character than him. I love those two.

No Significant Harassment- People find his name really weird which is amusing, because it's really not! To me at least. It can very simply mean "No real harm done". Which I think is probably the intention and it suits his funny guy personality quite a lot. In a way his name could mean peace! A fun hc I discussed with @creeket is that perhaps before NSH was built the colony was divided into four factions/houses that hated each other. The iterator was a reason for them to unite and work on something together which is what the four connected diamonds on his forehead represent.

Seven Red Suns- Okay this is one of the names I struggle the most with. My headcanons about SRS which I've mentioned before is that their colony is very religious and made them as an actual god, treating him as an actual all knowing god much muuch more than the other iterators are treated to the point Seven Red Suns has actual political power (which they really don't want to have). So I think their name is supposed to express how grand and impressive they are. Seven as in complete, perfect. Red is a royal, regal color and of course Suns further cementing their godhood. It makes me think of how the sun is often personified or given a deity to represent it. It can be a cruel leader that dries the land, but also give life and light.

Of course there's many ways to take it in completely different ways. Red stars if I'm not mistaken are the coldest.

Chasing Wind- I also really really like this iterator name. I like to imagine it as either one of two things or both. Chasing after something that is right in front of you yet just barely out of grasp. Like y'know the wind! Or your head is Chasing wind. Having an abundance of thoughts or ideas. Your imagination and creativity running wild and free like the wind!

Unparalleled Innocence- It's so on the nose haha. There is no buts or anything that is a direct opposite to her name in my headcanons. She's a very well meaning innocent person. She was the last iterator to be ever made and lacks a lot more context than the other. She was based of the concept of a child. Which of course children are known for their innocence and unique approach to the world.

[bumblesimagines]

Karen Sirko

it was just for fun.

did you tell anyone we hooked up?

i've moved on, and so should you.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical DJATS warnings, mentions of Billy addictions, mentions of drug usage, angst?, sad ending?, suggestive/BRIEF sexual content

Sorry for lack of activity! I got lost in the sauce of Stardew Valley 😔

As much as Karen desired to get hammered and dance the night away, her nerves jittered with anxiety, rendering her uncomfortable and almost irritable as she nursed a beer and remained seated on a couch pushed up against the corner of the room. She desperately wanted to get up and enjoy the party Camilla had so lovingly created in celebration of Warren's birthday but she simply couldn't. Not when he had yet to arrive. 

Long before joining any sort of band, Karen had made a very clear rule for herself: never date a fellow bandmate under any circumstances. She refused to be known as 'the girlfriend' in any band, let alone to the whole world; but of course, nothing could ever go according to plan. Especially after Daisy Jones and (Y/N) (L/N) joined them, filling the spot of the last sixth member and adding 'Daisy Jones and' to their band name. 

The two had been whirlwinds from the get-go if Karen had to be honest. Daisy Jones was a gorgeous girl full of spirit and a stubborn attitude that oft' clashed with Billy but she was sweet and Karen could see the fragility behind her big doe eyes, always at the edge of a cliff just as Billy had once been.

(Y/N) was a handsome young man with a talent for playing bass and a love for mischief, something that had him and Warren gravitating toward each other the second they met (though Karen assumed doing shrooms together fully cemented their friendship). The idea of another guy joining the band unnerved Karen but after watching how (Y/N) handled Daisy, comfortability settled on her bones fairly quickly. 

And that comfortability- annoyingly enough- turned into attraction over the next few weeks, leading to a tipsy make-out by the side of the house where (Y/N)'s hand found its way down her pants. The image of (Y/N) popping his slick, wet fingers into his mouth to clean them while giving her a lazy yet cheeky smirk had imprinted in her mind for days to come, leaving her to mess up during practice when she'd been too busy staring at his hands. She should've taken it as a warning, some sort of sign from God or the universe to leave the hurricane of a man alone, but she ignored it. 

The second time Karen found herself giving in to her attraction, it'd been after Warren invited (Y/N) over while Daisy and Billy battled out their differences elsewhere under Teddy's urging. She'd managed to convince Warren and Graham to give them some time alone under the guise of sending them out to the store for some essentials, allowing for the two to have another make-out on the couch and subsequent hookup in her nearby bedroom. She found herself surprised when she realized she hardly minded the love marks scattered across her skin, noting with flushed cheeks and a racing heart he'd done them in places she could easily hide. 

After the third time, the ever-observant Camila teasingly noted how much Karen seemed to enjoy (Y/N)'s presence. Karen laughed it off and gave her a playful shove but once inside her room and forced alone with her thoughts, the suffocating thought of commitment and the expectations surrounding relationships consumed her. She'd seen how broken Camila had been the day she discovered his infidelities, the hollowness in her typically vibrant eyes when he'd gone off to rehab and left her to temporarily be a single mother. The thought of dealing with that kind of heartbreak and betrayal nauseated her. 

It led to Karen sitting on that damn couch with a cool beer in hand and darting eyes searching for (Y/N) in the crowd. She had to clear things up, even if her late-night contemplation had left her realizing the thought of dating him made her skin tingle with delight. She refused to be anything other than Karen Sirko; not girlfriend, not wife, absolutely nothing other than the keyboardist for Daisy Jones and The Six. Karen had been free for years, free to do whatever she wished and whomever she desired. All her dreams and goals and hopes for the future never included someone else, yet part of her wanted to change that. 

"(Y/N)! My man!" Warren's gleeful voice reached her ears and she stood up from the coach so quickly she nearly stumbled over her shoes. She set her beer aside and walked through the crowd in the living room until she reached the front door, watching Warren and (Y/N) exchange a tight embrace. "Glad you could make it!"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." (Y/N) laughed, a sound so warm and bright it briefly calmed her constricting heart. He handed his gift off to Warren and greeted the Dunne's with an easy-going smile, his attention ultimately falling to her last after patting Eddie's shoulder. 

"We need to talk." She told him, leaning in for a quick embrace before she grasped his wrist and led him further into the house, ensuring they were far from nosy ears and Graham's lingering eyes. The first secluded spot she found was a dimly lit hallway coincidentally leading outside to the very spot they'd first locked lips. She tried forgetting that night.

"What is it?"

"Did you tell anyone we hooked up?" Karen asked him, voice sounding more accusatory than necessary. "Camila... Camila knows something, I guess. I trust her but I don't want the guys to look at me differently."

"I don't kiss and tell." (Y/N) responded, his hands sliding into his pockets and head tilting to the side. "It was just for fun, anyway. Besides, Warren's been begging me to meet his girlfriend's friend for a double date, or something like that. I don't think it'd look good if she knew I hooked up with a bandmate." 

"What?" The word fell from her lips immediately, her eyes widening and her heart squeezing even tighter. Of course, she'd pulled him aside to at least make a half-hearted promise of never doing it again, but hearing he'd been planning on doing the same sucked the air right out of her lungs. 

(Y/N) pursed his lips, only sparing her a sympathetic grimace. "Yeah, I meant to tell you sooner but it slipped my mind. Listen, Karen," He raised his hand and pressed his palm to her cheek, the sympathy on his features making her want to tear her hair out. "You're more talented than the idiots we play with, and I think you're an amazing girl. That said, I've moved on, and so should you. Maybe give Graham a chance? He's got it bad for you." 

Karen remained still as he pressed a fleeting kiss to her forehead and stepped out of the hallway, her eyes blankly staring into the wall before her whilst she tried processing everything that'd been dumped on her in a matter of a couple minutes. In the end, she'd gotten what she wanted in the first place, yet her lips quivered and her eyes flooded with tears she refused to shed.

[lldolphin]

¤INFARED¤

the first part of a jtk x reader saga series...

ᯓᡣ𐭩

/n; this is the first part of a mass series i've been writing for jeff. this story is strictly written for fem!reader because of some future aspects i am planning. long awaited, yet definitely not proofread. enjoy...

The beginning...

---

Groaning, you threw the black hoodie off of your shoulder. The fabric falls to the floor, clinking against its zipper. Your bed squawks when you bounce down onto the plush fabric and spongy mattress. Falling back, with your flip-phone to your ear, your hair tossling onto your cheetah-printed pillow.

"Bad day?" Your friend on the other line speaks, her voice softened by the shitty static quality of your cheap LG white flip phone. You remove it from your ear, your brows furrowing in already frustrated confusion. Your hand's sole bangs against the bottom of the phone, hoping the hit would help the wifi. It didn't. Still upset, you sigh and bring the phone back to your ear.

"Don't even get me started. This new kid moved in recently, and my mom is making me meet him at the neighbor's kid's birthday party this weekend." You explained, hoisting off of your bed with a grunt, and walking over to your vanity. The mascara in your hands opens with a slick pop as you reapply to your clumped, short lashes. Your fingers wipe under your eyes, ridding the smudged black liner that melted from your waterline. You were a classic, somewhat bitchy popular girl. Of course, you didn't want to meet some weird new kid and his older brother.

"Yeah...I told my mom I was sick to get out of that," Your friend started. Causing the brow on your face to rise. It wasn't a bad idea, perhaps you'd try it later if it wasn't already too late. "..Anyways, I gotta go. Work in a few hours, ya'know.." You nod, flipping your phone closed with a click, leaving her without a response.

- - -

That Saturday, you found yourself getting ready for the party despite your constant reminder to yourself that you would fake a sickness. Something to get out of going to some six-year-old's birthday. You weren't allowed to get mad, you completely forgot to carry out your little plan. So here you were, walking down the paved sidewalk with a bag stuffed with candy junk you figured a kid would pig out on. The bag crumpled as you walked, the wind causing it to hit your shin.

When you stepped up to the door, your feet hung precariously on the ledge of the cement steps as the doorbell rang. You groaned, already hearing the roars of cries and laughter from endless amounts of children behind the door.

"Jesus Christ.." A mumble escaped your lips. Not only did you not want to be here, but you were also going to be completely bombarded with children the moment you walked through that door. As if it were magic, just as you were thinking, the door swung open.

"Hi, honey...Thankyou for coming, is this from your mom?" The lady, who was assumed to be the kid's mom spoke softly. A croon in her voice as if she was born, and made to be specifically a mother. The lady was your neighbor, but you didn't know her name. Leaving you with a slight guilt, she seemed kind. Your tongue rolled over the textured bottoms of your front teeth, clicking your tongue and forcing a sweet smile out of your system.

"Sure," You replied kindly, holding out the bag to her as you stepped inside the house. Your parents conveniently were just "too busy" to attend with you, leaving you pissed, and alone. The brown carpeted floor was scattered with small cloth socks, sharp-edged toys, and colorful frosting smears. Flattering. Was the only thought in your head as you took a seat on the uncomfortably flimsy leather couch. Without intention, you had sat next to that familiar new boy and his odd brother. If nobody else here was your age, you might as well get comfortable with the people around you. What's so tough about that? You'd most likely only ever see glimpses of them in the halls after this, anyway. Your friends weren't here to hold this to you, so you turn to the long haired brother.

"Y/n," You start, holding out your hand. He was the stranger one, his grey eyes almost rid of emotion completely as he just stared at your held-out hand. The brother seemed to have noticed because he swerved around his sibling and shook your unattended hand.

"Liu. This is Jeff." An odd pair of names that seemed to feel wrong in your brain. Usually, parents would name siblings with similar sounding names, rhyming names, and alliterated names. The fact that they were both so random scratched the wrong part of your brain. Yet, you appriciated the effort Liu was putting in to make up for his lacking brother. You shook his hand firmly.

"Pretty ass, right?" You attempt loosely at a joke, cocking your head towards the horde of running children around the entirety of the house. A rumble of chuckles escapes both of the brothers, surprised by the response from the previously nonchalant Jeff. Their laughs flatter you, making you perk up your posture and feel a bit better about yourself for a moment, laughing with them.

As the three of you are laughing, and hopefully making the best of your shitty time at the party -- a child walked up to you. Blonde whispy locks topped her small head, green eyes look up at the three of you. Being naturally great with children, you shift in your seat. The leather moans underneath yout movements, as your leg crosses over the other.

"Hi honey, what's up?" You crooned with a motherly-like presence. One that earned an appreciative smile from Liu. If you hadn't just met the two new boys, you would've thought the older brother was definetly your next boyfriend. Despite how odd his brother was, how unpopular he was, and how popular you were.

"We're playing hide 'n seen-k.." The six-year-olds grammar makes you chuckle, sitting up from the rickety couch and looking down at the child as you stand, letting her tenderly take your hand. Her youthful fingers soft with childhood innocence. "We'd love to play! Right guys?" You mutter the last bit to the boys behind you. Despite still being strangers to each other, you might as well make the best of this party.

The long-haired younger brother, which you've learned was Jeff, stood up oddly close behind you. His breath on the back of your neck, making the fuzz rise under your ears. He was weird. Silent. As if he had been stalking you like prey the moment you walked through the door. You heard him inhale, immediately causing your shoulders to roll forward with an involuntary cringe.

"Yeah," He spoke finally, his voice with undertones of gravely static as he pushed past you, following the child. His brother didn't even seem to notice the way you were left feeling disgusted with yourself. He had smelled you. Without any shame, as if he didn't feel any embarrassment.

As if you were like a puppet, forced to follow the two, you walk forward with them. Almost without will, knowing it was better to just shove it all down and forget. Maybe he hadn't taken in your scent. Maybe you were only imagining things. But then, you remember the way he had been looking at you. The way he had been looking at everything as if it had no value to him. As if he wanted to end it all with the snap of his fingers, the bark of his commands.

- - -

Hiding in a dark closet, hand over your mouth. The condensation from your breath makes your hand clammy and warm. You giggle under your breath, hearing the kids trot around the creaky carpet, laughing to themselves as they try to find the three of you. Your neck cranks, flinching back as a chain hits your nose. You yelp and fall back against something warm. Frozen for a few moments, your shaky hand reaches out and pulls on the chain, turning on a dim bulb in the closet that buzzes with electricity. You whimper, your bottom lip quivering with slight fear as you turn around.

"Shutup, they'll find us." Said Jeff, who was miraculously behind you the entirety of your hiding. His smug smirk never wiped from his barely visible features. His hair covers almost everything. He looked like the chick from the ring, standing there with a few long black strands blocking his face, looking down at you menacingly. He ignored the fact that you were horrified, playing innocent.

"Oh...Y-yeah, right." A nod came from you, turning back around and scooting away from him in the dark closet. A taunting voice spoke through the crack of the door. Your brows furrow, trying to figure out who was speaking to the two of you. The voice sounded familiar, yet so unfamiliar.

"C'mon, Jeff. We know yer' in here. Can't hide anymore now." The door was swung open, and Jeff's larger hand pushed you back -- behind heaps of hoodies and jackets. He was hiding you. But why? You knew immediately who it was. It was Randy and his goons, infamous around your school. Especially to you and your girlfriends, gawking at your low-cut tops with pushed-up bras. Finding any excuse to brush their hands on any of you.

"Shit...The fuck are you guy's doing? We're even, remember?" Jeff said, his voice sounded monotone and raspy, as if he had been smoking for years despite your younger age. You hold your hand over your mouth once again, staying silent in the hidden spot you were thrown into thankfully. They were even? But with what? Jeff was new, there was no way he was already tied into this shit with the kind of dogs those guys are.

"Definitely not even," Keith grumbled. You heard the spund of fabric being pulled. Behind your closed eyes, you thought they had pushed back the hoodies covering you. But when your eyes opened, looking through the cracks of the hung jackets, you see the three boys dragging Jeff down the stairs, where he was thrashing.

This wasn't your business. You shake your head and let out a hitched gasp, running out of the closet and around the other exit, looking back at the scene before deciding if you really wanted to just leave...

to be continued...

[callsign-bunnie]

Could you write an arranged marriage AU with king/warlord Alejandro with Rudy being offered to him as spouse so he won't invade the kingdom Rudy comes from? Maybe Rudy would be scared to be offered to Ale because his reputation is scary but then it turns out Ale falls in love at first sight, but Rudy doesn't believe him at first.

SCREAMS, SCREAMS SO LOUD anon I could kiss you, also this is ABO because... idk. It took so unbelievably long because I was setting up an entire AU for it!

--

Rodolfo could have cried when he looked in the mirror. He was dressed to be a bride and he hated it. He'd agreed to this, for his kingdom. Granted, he didn't really have a choice because they were going to send him, regardless, but he had decided to agree to it.

"It could be worse, Rudy." Soap, his best friend and who would be his first lady in waiting, tried to joke. "He could be unattractive."

"His personality far outweighs any outer attraction." Rodolfo shook his head, keeping his voice soft in case anyone could hear him. He doubted they could but he'd like to be careful. "Have you heard what they say about him?"

Soap cringed, reaching up and carefully readjusting Rodolfo's veil, making sure it covered his eyes. It was a deep blue, with gold flakes in it, that gave an impression of stars. "For what it's worth, you're beautiful."

Rodolfo smiled, sadly. "Thank you." He murmured, touching Soap's face. He'd been "gifted" to Rodolfo by his parents on Rodolfo's thirteenth birthday. It was customary in his kingdom for Noble's to offer their child to royalty. It gave them the chance to learn how to play at court, and potentially gave them a seat at a war table or strategy board. Or, in an omega's case, a chance of marrying someone who would be at those table.

Soap grinned at him. "Besides... I'm here. Can you really be so sad with your best friend here?"

"No, I suppose I cannot." Rodolfo agreed and turned back to the mirror. He tried to suppress the way his hands shook as he raked them over the fabric on his body, trying to smooth it out. "I'm terrified..."

"I'm right here, Rudy. It's going to be okay." Soap nodded, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

Rodolfo took a deep breath. "What will he do to me?"

"Nothing. I know you. You have a fiery spirit. You'll stand tall and demand he respect you. Or else. Because that's who you are." Soap smiled, reassuringly. "I've seen you stand up to war generals."

"Not Kings. Not my husband." Rodolfo shook his head. "Not King Alejandro."

Soap hesitated before sighing. "Alejandro Vargas is just an alpha, at the end of the day."

Just an alpha. Right. Alejandro Vargas, king of the Red Kingdom, named that for the amount of blood it's spilled over the centuries it's been established, was more than just an alpha. He was a Warlord. It was the custom of his kingdom. He'd won his first battle at 13, his first war at 18, and he'd quickly started to rebuild the Silver Empire. And at 24, he was succeeding, too. Rodolfo's marriage to Alejandro would cement their kingdom's rejoining of the Empire, the 6th kingdom, of the original 13, to rejoin.

Alejandro had a reputation for being bloodthirsty. He drank with his breakfast, some would say. Rodolfo had been told many times that Alejandro would chew him up and spit him out. He liked to break omegas. Would push them until they snapped. Left a broken shell of their former selves.

And Rodolfo Parra, second born of his family into the second largest Kingdom of the Old Empire, Artemea, (the largest being the Red Kingdom), had to marry him. He wondered, as he finally followed Soap to where the ceremony would take place, how long he'd last. How long would he last before Alejandro broke him like he apparently broke other omegas?

Months? Years? Gods, he'd probably barely last days. Where would he find himself in the weeks after their marriage? A husk, only pulled out for events? He'd seen other Queens befall that state. He'd always vowed that would never be him. Yet, here he was, being dressed and preened for the slaughter.

Rodolfo quickly grabbed Soap's hand when they reached the door he was meant to go through, tensing. "Soap..." He whispered, hardly able to breathe. "I can't do this..."

"You have to, Rudy. It'll be alright." Soap murmured and took his hand, patting it. "I'll be there. Right off to the side. I believe in you."

Rodolfo almost stopped him as he let go of Rodolfo's hand, turning and leaving so he could take his place. Rodolfo took in a shuddering breath and when he heard the Priestess say his cue, he finally went in.

Alejandro was wearing red, a big shocker, with gold accents. As Soap had pointed out, he was attractive. If Rodolfo wasn't terrified of his actions, he would have fawned over him with Soap the moment he found out he was to be married to him.

His face was neutral as Rodolfo stepped in, hard almost.

It only frightened Rodolfo more. He hadn't expected affection in his eyes, but... he'd wanted something. He couldn't read Alejandro's expression at all. He didn't like that.

Rodolfo managed to keep himself from running back out of the room, doing as Soap said he would. He straightened and set his chin, taking a deep breath. Stand tall, don't show your fear. Alejandro may try to break you, but he won't steal your dignity in front of everyone here.

When he was in front of Alejandro, he looked up at him, taking in a breath as he studied Alejandro's features. They were sharp, angled in all of the typical way an Alpha's features were expected to be. Light facial hair, Rodolfo believed it was called stubble, dusted his jaw, though it was clean.

That was one thing the red kingdom was known for. They cared about their looks, their appearance, their presentation. First impressions were apparently everything to them. Alejandro... seemed to be making a clear effort with his.

Rodolfo's eyes traced over his features, though they were easily caught by a long jagged scar that went down the right side of Alejandro's face from the bottom of his eyelid to his jaw. The way it was shaped suggested a slash, not a cut. He wondered which battle had earned him that one.

Honestly, he didn't look all that frightening. Everyone had described him as something close to a monster. Hard eyes constantly searching out violence, jagged features, a stance that could strike fear into the hardest war generals. But... Soap was right. Alejandro was just an alpha.

The priestess started the ceremony. The first part was to hold out their hands. They would clasp them, gently, and then the priestess would bind them together. Rodolfo held out his left hand, trying not to show how much it shook.

Alejandro definitely noticed, though, because a small frown appeared on his face as he took Rodolfo's hand with his own left. His hands were slightly rough on Rodolfo's skin, his skin much warmer than Rodolfo's. Alejandro's skin was slightly lighter than his own, but only slightly. It was only noticeable when they touched. It made sense, Rodolfo spent most of his time in his castle's garden, reading while Soap rambled about anything and everything.

"With this silk rope, I bind you King Alejandro Vargas of the Red Kingdom to Prince Rodolfo Parra of Artemea." Rodolfo watched her tie the rope in a marriage knot around their wrists, forming an infinity symbol around their thumbs. While the knot was formed, Alejandro's hand turned to the side, slightly, and Rodolfo could see a deep scar across his wrist.

He had to put everything into not looking at Alejandro in shock and just continued to stare at the rope on his wrist. He knew what that scar was. And... he had to admit, it clashed against everything he knew about Alejandro.

Alejandro was a very successful king. Why would he feel the need to end himself?

When the knot was tied, the Priestess then got a goblet from the side table. She took a carafe of wine from two tables. One had a Sun on it, the old symbol of the Red Kingdom before it became known only for blood, and the other had a moon, the symbol of Artemea. She poured wine from both carafes into the goblet, speaking a prayer in the old tongue, a language Rodolfo had never felt the need to learn.

The priestess then held the glass between them. Rodolfo was to take it first, so he did. He wasn't sure why. Soap had said, when Rodolfo had asked after the rehearsal ceremony, that the reason was because it was so an alpha could have their first taste of their new wife.

Alphas would place their lips over where their omegas had just placed theirs and it would be as if they were tasting them with the wine.

Rodolfo wasn't quite sure he believed him.

As was customary, Alejandro reached forward and pulled Rodolfo's veil back from his face, slightly, so Rodolfo could pull the goblet up to his lips. It would be hard to do himself, with his hand bound to Alejandro's. He took a small sip, trying not to make a face at the taste of the wine. it was ceremony wine, not good wine, so it did not taste great. But, he got through it.

Then, Alejandro took the cup from him. He turned the cup in an almost rehearsed way and took his own drink from it, his mouth right where Rodolfo's had been. Huh, Soap may have been right.

Then, the goblet was taken from them and Alejandro was lifting the veil over Rodolfo's face. The veil had muted the light a little, so his eyes had to adjust once it was moved, and he glanced around a little to help them.

When his eyes fell onto Alejandro's face again, he was shocked to see his features had softened, considerably, into an expression of almost awe. If Rodolfo didn't know better, he would have claimed admiration was there. "The gods could not have prepared me for how beautiful you are."

Rodolfo flushed dark at Alejandro's words, especially as they were spoken in the native language that both of their kingdoms shared. "Thank you." He responded, to be polite.

He knew the mating bite was next. That had terrified him. Kept him awake at night. He'd imagined Alejandro, his teeth sharp fangs, tearing into his neck. Mauling him. Ripping him open at their own altar.

As he'd seen at other ceremonies, of which he'd attended many, he expected Alejandro to grab him with his free arm, yank him over, and sink his teeth into Rodolfo's neck, leaving Rodolfo with the decision of forcing himself to stay quiet or humiliate himself with whimpering in front of everyone.

Instead, he was surprised when Alejandro moved to him, his arm going around Rodolfo's waist. He didn't pull Rodolfo, instead he cradled him. In fact, Rodolfo barely moved an inch. Then, Alejandro was leaning down, tilting his head. He kissed over Rodolfo's neck, carefully, until he found that spot that had Rodolfo letting out a breath, involuntarily, scenting Alejandro immediately.

With Alejandro so close, he could pick up his scent and it suddenly hit him that he hadn't been able to before. Distinctly alpha, no doubt of it, and he smelled of cinnamon, smoky cinnamon to be exact, maybe a hint of something softer... Rodolfo leaned into the sent, reaching to grasp at the blood red cloak that hung off of Alejandro's right shoulder.

Alejandro didn't hesitate, why should he, to sink his teeth into the spot. At first, pain erupted up Rodolfo's neck and down his shoulder and Rodolfo felt tears spring to his eyes. But then, as Alejandro held it, scenting him, Rodolfo felt the pain melt into euphoria. It was soft euphoria, nothing to drive Rodolfo too wild, but the scent definitely had him dizzy.

Alejandro pulled away a moment later, using his thumb to wipe Rodolfo's blood from his lips, and Rodolfo had to give himself a moment to let his mind clear. He released his death grip of Alejandro's cloak and flushed a little.

Then, again, Alejandro was leaning forward, baring his neck so Rodolfo could do the same. Rodolfo worried he wouldn't bite hard enough. Or he'd bite too hard and it would piss Alejandro off. But, he leaned up regardless, grateful when Alejandro tilted down a bit.

Alejandro temporarily moved his arm to tap where his mating spot was and Rodolfo felt immediately grateful. He kissed it, just to make sure, dizzying again at the scent it released, and flushing. Then, he pressed his teeth to the spot and bit down, as hard as he could without hurting his own jaw. His teeth broke the skin easily and he tensed when Alejandro suddenly grabbed his waist.

Fear flashed through him as he worried he'd bit too hard and now Alejandro would be angry at him. A million possibilities of how Alejandro would punish him for this ran through his mind and he tried to suppress his own scent, but already it was stained with fear. He knew he smelled like wildflowers, but when he was afraid, it turned to something sickly sweet, like honeysuckle that was rotting.

Rodolfo broke away, quickly, and backed away from Alejandro, immediately scanning his face for anger, but he was only met with neutrality again. Somehow, that only scared him more. But, he managed to get a handle on it, suppressing his scent.

Finally, the last part of the ceremony. The priestess came over and Rodolfo bowed his head as a gold crown with rubies was set on his head. It was lighter than he expected and the priestess discreetly secured it on his hair. "As this rope and those bites secure you to your alpha, your alpha secures you to this throne. Long live the new Queen of Aela, the Red Kingdom."

Rodolfo kept his head high and turned with Alejandro to the people watching them. It was a small crowd, nobles mostly, all sitting at tables.

"Today is a most joyous day." Alejandro began and Rodolfo found himself flushing, even if he wasn't sure Alejandro meant it out of affection for him. "I have taken a most beautiful bride and our beloved Artemea rejoins the Silver Empire upon our union. This will connect the Southern half of the continent to the Northern Half, as it did 500 years ago. I believe Artemila and Aelius both smile upon us, glad to see their beloved kingdoms reunited."

Rodolfo met Soap's eyes, who was smiling brightly. He was never afraid, Rodolfo wasn't surprised. Alejandro then guided Rodolfo to their table, sitting with him.

Then, music started, and everyone who was standing also found their seats. Now that Rodolfo wasn't focused, he got a good look around the room. Dark oak decor, several grand paintings... Rodolfo liked it. It was all beautiful. Of course it would be. Soap found his seat beside Rodolfo and a man wearing a silver mask, shaped to be a skull, sat beside Alejandro.

"Mi Estrellas," Alejandro started and Rodolfo found himself blushing at the nickname, finding it fitting, "I'd like you meet General Ghost. My closest friend and the highest in my army."

"Your only friend," Ghost corrected. Rodolfo didn't like the way his eyes picked over him, making him feel exposed. Judged.

Alejandro laughed, shaking his head. "Sadly."

Rodolfo went to bow his head in response to Ghost's bowing, flushing dark when Soap tapped his leg to remind him that he wasn't supposed to do that as Queen. Rodolfo had known he'd be Queen of some kingdom, eventually. Luapin had been who he'd assumed since they were small and Artemea's biggest ally, but... He'd never quite gotten the hang of the switch from Prince Rodolfo to Queen Rodolfo. It was hard.

Princes bow their head out of respect, Queens only nodded an acknowledge. Soap had paid more attention than he did.

Rodolfo nodded, once, instead. "It is wonderful to meet you."

"Your accent is thick." Ghost commented.

Rodolfo wasn't sure whether he should be offended or not, especially since Alejandro had the same accent. "My kingdom still relies heavily on our native tongue." He settled on, shrugging slightly.

Soap tapped Rodolfo's leg again and Rodolfo took a breath, introducing him. "This is So-" another tap, what would Rodolfo do without him? "Johnny Mactavish. He's my first Lady in Waiting." Only, more like, but that was only because Alejandro would pick the rest of them.

"It's nice to meet you," Soap bowed his head to Ghost and then to Alejandro, deeper as he was king. Ghost bowed his head to Soap and then Alejandro nodded a greeting.

The rest of the banquet was rather boring. Just guests offering them gifts, which Alejandro would choose to accept or regift to someone else. None of them particularly interested him, until a mechanical bird which could sing lullabies. Rodolfo watched it with fascination, unsure how it could work like that. It looked almost too real, he caught Soap making a face at it.

Alejandro seemed to notice his interest and smiled. “Here. We’ll keep this one.” He murmured, taking Rodolfo’s hand and gingerly placing the bird in it. Rodolfo flushed. He looked at it, having it play one of the songs.

“I don’t recognize these songs.” Rodolfo said softly. They were beautiful, though, and he liked the sound of them.

“They’re Aelian,” Alejandro explained. “Old Aelian. They’re not used anymore. You can hear the lower notes.”

Rodolfo could hear them, even despite how high pitched the bird sang. “Artemean lullabies are more high pitched, more monotone.”

“He knows. He learned several before your wedding.” Ghost spoke up, chuckling.

Alejandro glared deeply at Ghost and Rodolfo understood why everyone said he was terrifying. Rodolfo genuinely worried for Ghost’s safety. He’d heard a story of Alejandro cutting an advisor’s face during a meeting for speaking out of turn.

“Please don’t hurt him, I’m sure it was a harmless comment.” Rodolfo pleaded, both for Ghost’s safety and for not wanting to see bloodshed at his own wedding.

Both Ghost and Alejandro seemed to stop and stare at him for a moment before Alejandro softened. “Mi Estrellas, I will not harm him. Not for teasing.” He murmured.

Rodolfo relaxed, immediately, and flushed. He turned and looked down at the table, embarrassed. He glanced at Soap, who looked concerned, and offered a smile to reassure his friend. “I’m okay.” He murmured.

More gifts and they seemed to up in interest. A set of hour glasses, one with navy colored sand and one with blood red sand. A matching set for both of them, Rodolfo realized. Alejandro kept that one.

A set of books in the old language. Alejandro smiled, “can you speak it?”

“No. I was never taught.” Rodolfo shook his head.

Alejandro shrugged. “Neither do I.” He regifted them to Ghost, who apparently did speak the old language, and then continued on.

A few leather bound journals, another matching set which Rodolfo took interest in immediately. Alejandro again seemed to notice and kept them. Rodolfo felt surprised, Alejandro seemed to be so considerate of the things he liked.

Then, two blades were set in front of Alejandro by an Artemean noble. “We understand that Aelian omegas do not learn the dance of the blade but… Artemean do.” They bowed to Rodolfo, who smiled softly.

Alejandro seemed surprised. “You can sword fight?”

Rodolfo hesitated, worried Alejandro wouldn’t like that fact. “Yes, we’re taught from a young age to defend ourselves.”

Alejandro smiled. “That’s wonderful.” He nodded. He seemed almost impressed. He stood and lifted one of the swords, sliding the sheath off of it. The sheath was blood red and the blade itself was of obsidian steel and large, clearly built for Alejandro’s arm.

Rodolfo loved the way the black caught the light but even more dazzling was the red adorning the blade, somehow mixed into it. Rodolfo knew the process, it required moonwater to strengthen the gem, which would then be pieced and fuzed to the metal. It was a beautiful process. One Rodolfo enjoyed watching.

Alejandro admired it for a moment and then got the other blade out. It was smaller, the blade thinner, more suited for an omega. It was a bright silver with inscriptions of the moon in the blade. The light caught on it and it appeared to almost glitter. “Stand, Mi Estrella.” Alejandro murmured and gestured.

Rodolfo did as told, immediately, nervous. But, all Alejandro did was have him weight the blade in his arm. It was a little light but Rodolfo had no doubt he could adjust to it with practice. 

“Matching blades.” Ghost commented. “How romantic.”

Alejandro was almost grinning. He compared their two blades which held mostly the same shape with the usual distances. “It’s a showy blade, not suited for heavy combat but... when we travel together, it’s enough.”

Rodolfo ran his fingers of the blade meant to be his. “I adore it...” He murmured. He adored it. 

Soap looked in awe of the blade and Rodolfo gently handed it over so he could admire it. Soap had always loved blades, though Rodolfo had been partial to the bow in combat. “It’s beautiful.” Soap agreed, touching the edge of the blade, which broke the skin on his fingertips immediately.

Soap shrugged. “Respect striker.” He murmured, gesturing to everyone in the room who were in fact staring at Rodolfo with some mixture of awe and respect. Rodolfo’s face flushed red slightly and he thanked Soap for the name.

“Respect striker.” Alejandro nodded. “I like it.” He lifted the sheath. “May I?”

Rodolfo hesitated before nodding, moving away from the table. Alejandro was gentle as he secured the sheath around Rodolfo’s waist. Then, Rodolfo slid the blade in carefully. In combat, he would wear in on his back since his arrows would rest at his side instead, but, for daily wear, it would rest on his waist.

Rodolfo flushed when Alejandro’s hand smoothed over his stomach and then he carefully sat again, watching Alejandro thank who had gifted them the blades. “Thank you, Lord Kate.”

Lord Kate bowed her head. Rodolfo recognized her as an a noble from one of their neighboring kingdoms. She was often at court with his parents, doing business, though she was the Right Hand to King Price, of the Kingdom Drodora, which was on the sea. Artemea was on the sea as well, but Drodora’s main exports came from the sea.

Lord Kate wished them a happy marriage and then returned to her table, where Rodolfo recognized King Price himself sitting there. He raised a glass when he saw them glance over.

Rodolfo flushed and turned back to Alejandro. There were only a few more gifts and all were things for Alejandro, which he regifted most of them. Soap ended up messing with the bird some more, seeing everything it could do. 

Rodolfo felt himself become more anxious as the evening drew to a close. After gifts, it was eating, and then... consummation. Luckily, he knew enough to know that it was not customary in Aelian culture to check the sheets for blood like it was in other cultures but... Rodolfo was still nervous at the idea.

He’d never had sex before. He didn’t know anything about it. Soap had told him a few times about it but... he’d mentioned the first time always hurts. A lot. But, it could get better after that. Maybe for Soap but... if Alejandro was anything like everyone said... 

Rodolfo was terrified. 

When the night drew to a close, Alejandro offered his hand and then they dismissed themselves, as was customary. Rodolfo tried to keep himself from shaking with nerves as he followed Alejandro to their bedroom, taking deep breaths. Soap had told him it would be okay but he didn’t really believe that.

Alejandro let him enter the room first and Rodolfo tried not to jump at the sound of the lock clicking on the door. “I prefer privacy.” Alejandro explained. It was a nice room, large, as expected for a King’s room. It was decorated in red, also expected, and gold. The farest side of the room was all balcony, though curtains drifted in the breeze over it. 

Rodolfo nodded a little, standing at the foot of the bed and just kind of staring at it. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest, it filled his ears and Rodolfo would have believed it filled the room, too. 

“You don’t have to be so tense, Mi Estrella. I won’t hurt you.” Alejandro was suddenly close behind him and Rodolfo couldn’t help jumping that time. He wasn’t sure he believed Alejandro’s words. “What do you know of sex?”

Rodolfo decided to be honest. He didn’t think he could lie with Alejandro so close behind him. “I’ve heard it hurts the first time.”

“It doesn’t have to.” Alejandro started to pull off the jewelry Rodolfo was wearing, starting with the veil. “It only does with careless alphas.”

“Are you careless?”

“No.” 

Rodolfo flushed and closed his eyes, his skin warming wherever Alejandro’s brushed against it. “They say you’re a monster. That you enjoy breaking omegas. That you’ll break me.”

“People love to spin such tales, do they not?” Alejandro chuckled. “The way they speak about me would have many believe I was a dragon. That I could spit fire and rip a thousand men apart with my claws. I am simply human, Mi Querido. I do not enjoy breaking omegas. I will not break you.”

Rodolfo liked the way Alejandro spoke. He liked to flourish with his words. But, he knew alphas who liked to flourish their words often flourished their lies as well. “Are you a dragon?” He asked, attempting to be playful, though it likely failed.

“No.” Alejandro laughed and Rodolfo relaxed a little. “I only wish I could be. Would win this war for the empire faster.”

Rodolfo turned dark red as Alejandro started to pull his clothing off, but he didn’t resist. He did hug himself when he was fully undressed, complying as Alejandro turned him around. “I never imagined myself ever being in the presence of such beauty. It is hard to believe you are real.”

Oh. Rodolfo was very quickly flustered from Alejandro’s words, softening. Even if Alejandro was lying, he would do it with such pretty words and Rodolfo could appreciate those at least. Rodolfo was gently pushed onto the bed and he tried not to fall onto it, moving up so he could lay against the pillows. His eyes followed Alejandro as he undressed himself and then climbed up the bed, settling over Rodolfo.

Rodolfo took deep breaths to stay calm, settling into the pillows. Alejandro leaned down and kissed him, gently, though the passion there sent warm through Rodolfo’s body. Alejandro’s hands roamed his skin and spread the warmth, making Rodolfo shiver. 

Then, Alejandro’s mouth was moving down to Rodolfo’s neck, kissing and biting over the skin. Rodolfo had had his neck touched before, usually by Soap trying to bug him. This was different. He made soft noises from the sensation, pressing up into Alejandro without thinking. 

Alejandro’s hand found it’s way between Rodolfo’s legs and Rodolfo grasped at his forearms, tensing with nervousness again. “Shh.. it’s going to feel good, I promise.” Alejandro murmured. 

Rodolfo nodded a little, looking up into Alejandro’s eyes. He found tenderness there, affection. It shocked him and was a bit too much so he closed his eyes again, looking away. But, Alejandro turned his head back to face him. “I like your eyes. Keep watching me.”

Rodolfo turned bright red but nodded, gasping as Alejandro was suddenly swiping the slick that gathered between his legs. Alejandro made an appreciative noise and then his fingers were pushing inside. Rodolfo grabbed harder at Alejandro’s arms, keening into him.

It was an entirely new sensation, one which Rodolfo wasn’t sure how to cope with. He buried his face in Alejandro’s shoulder, gasping as his fingers pushed in deeper. 

“You’re so slick…” Alejandro purred, his free arm wrapping around Rodolfo and holding him close. “I have you…”

Rodolfo bucked his hips against Alejandro, moaning as he moved his fingers in and out at a steady and even pace. “Mi Sol…” He whimpered. The nickname was natural to him. He was Alejandro’s star… so Alejandro was his Sun. “I don’t- I can’t-” he wasn’t even sure what he was trying to say.

“It’s okay, mi estrella. I have you…” Alejandro rubbed his face against Rodolfo’s, adding a third finger but keeping the same pace. Rodolfo could feel Alejandro’s scruff against his skin and he couldn’t help whining, pressing his face into the action. Alejandro scented Rodolfo and he melted involuntarily, his mind going hazy from the sensation. This was fantastic… He didn’t want it to stop. “There we go…”

Alejandro pulled his fingers away suddenly and Rodolfo couldn’t help whining, looking at him with an expression of soft betrayal. Alejandro only laughed gently. “Just one moment, mi amor, I promise.” He pulled back, untangling himself from Rodolfo’s arms.

Rodolfo complied and fell back into the pillows, looking up at Alejandro and wondering just what was going to happen next. Alejandro moved himself between Rodolfo’s legs and then he was pushing in and it was intense and Rodolfo was having to grab at the sheets, gasping and squeezing his eyes shut.

Alejandro leaned back down and kissed over Rodolfo’s face, keeping the kisses light and gentle. “How do we feel, mi querido?”

Rodolfo took deep breaths. It didn’t hurt, it was just a lot. “It’s… it’s okay…” He nodded, opening his eyes to look up at Alejandro’s, seeing concern there. He just melted at it, leaning up and nuzzling the side of Alejandro’s face. Maybe the rumors weren’t true, maybe Alejandro was soft and kind. At least, in this moment, he was.

Alejandro pet his hair and Rodolfo melted as his body relaxed into the feeling. Then, Alejandro started to move, which was even more intense. He cried out as Alejandro thrust back in and quickly wrapped his arms around Alejandro’s shoulders, hiding in his neck. 

Alejandro cradled his head, the other going around his waist and continued to move, moaning softly in his ear. Rodolfo flushed dark as it sent shivers down his spine and he pulled away slightly, looking at Alejandro. Alejandro kissed him softly and gave another sharp thrust.

Rodolfo cried out and arched into him, breaking the kiss slightly, though Alejandro chased it and met him again, tilting his head to deepen it. He sharpened his thrusts and Rodolfo cried out his name, breaking away fully. He flushed dark when he saw Alejandro’s eyes darken and then he was thrusting like that every time, biting over Rodolfo’s neck.

Rodolfo at first tensed, expecting the sensation to be unpleasant but it wasn’t, it was wonderful and maybe it was a lot but Rodolfo wanted more. He rolled his hips to meet Alejandro’s thrusts, arching his back into him. 

“Just like that, mi querido. Just like that.” Alejandro panted, moaning again, and bit harshly at Rodolfo’s neck. Rodolfo whined and dug his nails into Alejandro’s back, rewarded with a faster, harsher pace. 

Alejandro licked over the bite and Rodolfo melted, but he kept rolling his hips to meet Alejandro, his movements clunky and inexperienced. Thankfully, Alejandro didn’t say anything about it, though his hands moved down to grab at Rodolfo’s hips and guide him. They moved together and Rodolfo found himself comparing it to the dances he’d had to learn for events.

Rodolfo tensed at a strange sensation in his stomach, looking at Alejandro in alarm. But, Alejandro only smiled affectionately, moving a hand to press down on Rodolfo’s abdomen. He whimpered as it intensified the pleasure, even beyond how intense it already was.

“Just give into it, let the waves wash over you… it’ll feel good, I promise.” Alejandro murmured. His thrusts went even, but still sharp, and the feeling grew and grew until Rodolfo was throwing his head back and crying Alejandro’s name again, his whole body shuddering and trembling.

As Alejandro promised, it felt amazing, like lightning was being sent down his body and then right back up.

Alejandro groaned and thrust sharply, once, twice, and then he was burying his cock deep inside Rodolfo as his knot grew, making Rodolfo feel so full he was almost bursting. Alejandro stilled and buried his face in Rodolfo’s neck, nuzzling him. 

Rodolfo panted and half clung to Alejandro, enjoying the feeling of fullness and warmth. “You were right… it didn’t hurt.”

“It never will, Mi Estrella.” Alejandro murmured. “I promise now- no. I vow to Aelius that I will never hurt you. Not intentionally.”

Rodolfo frowned. A vow to one’s patron deity was a big deal, even if it was known that said Deity had taken away his blessing. Revoking or breaking said vow could have you invoking your deity’s full force of wrath on yourself which… Would be inconvenient at best, devastating at worst.

Aelius was an omega and he was known to be gentle but… the full force of his wrath was certainly something to behold. It could level cities.

Rodolfo trusted that Alejandro was not making this vow lightly. And… slowly he relaxed into Alejandro. “Thank you…” He murmured.

“Mi reina…” Alejandro pulled away slightly, being very careful not to jostle Rodolfo, which Rodolfo was deeply grateful for. He was now sore and very very tired. Alejandro seemed to pick up on the way his eyelids drooped because he gently pet his hair and nuzzled him. “Sleep Mi Reina…”

Rodolfo did not have to be told twice, closing his eyes and drifting off.

--

Okay, so this will have seperate plotlines like Teeth and Skin and the Magic Users AU! Gaz and Roach will have their own plotlines as well!