#order of the dawn was one of the names I remember that much

[dawnstarranger]

Kinda wanna change my blog name on here but I’m too lazy lmao

[earthtooz]

cw: arranged marriage, fluff, neglect at the beginning, ratio falling hard, pining, ratio being jealous of aventurine, unedited bc i wrote this with my heart not my brain

my brain has been thinking about an arranged marriage fic with dr. ratio...

he isn't kind to you at first, less than happy to share a life with a mere acquaintance. he's heard about you before in passing, noting your achievements with a grain of salt because nothing about you particularly mattered to him, irrelevant against the mass of scrolls and books he needs to read.

you don't really disturb his normal routine too much. you move in to his estate with a fair share of your belongings, but none of them crowd his house too much. you have your own room, pristine guest room unearthed by your artistic touch.

aside from dinners, you don't get to see each other too much. he starts his mornings early, getting up at the crack of dawn to exercise and start his day with a hearty meal. you wake up later, partaking in a slow morning, and if you glanced out the window, you might be able to see your husband running laps around the expanse of his gardens.

you admire his dedication and routine, it's fascinating to live beside a genius. everyday, the chest table that sits in the living room changes, the black and white pieces never remaining where you last recalled. the size of his blackboard is impressive, and yet too small to fit all of the formulas his brain remembers, hands effortlessly dancing along the surface to scratch number after number.

a frequent order of his estate is chalk. a new pile is delivered every three days, and he goes through them without fail every time.

during dinner, he tries to spare some conversation with you. you don't tell him too much about your day, not wanting to bore him with your menial chores. he's only half-listening either way, so you'll feign understanding about his work when he explains what he's up to.

ratio is not an attentive husband, but he doesn't mistreat you, either. he allows you to spend his assets without too much care, doesn't police your everyday tasks, and also doesn't bat an eye at other men or women. his pursuit of intelligence is important, and your wellbeing would not come in between that.

your monotonous, distant routine changes one autumn dusk. you're perched in the front yard with an easel set up before you, the sky in front of you now a blend of pink-purple hues. he returns home earlier than you expected, carriage stopping at the front of his estate, and he witnesses you in your tranquil state.

the paint strokes on the canvas before you are skilled, and show years of dedication to the craft. you're so invested in the piece before you, that you don't even hear him approaching until he calls your name.

"the night turns colder with each minute. shouldn't you come inside before you fall ill?" the scholar greets, and you're snapped out of your creative reverie, looking over at him.

"oh, i had not realised. let me clean up here, first." you take your canvas off the easel, but to your surprise, your spouse kneels down to organise your oil paints back into their box.

"make haste, then," he urges.

during dinner, he can't help but be curious over your hobby, the stubborn splotches of paint clinging to your hands visible to him. that night, you engage in uninterrupted conversation, and discover that he's an artist himself- a sculptor. it calms him, and all the statues reside in a removed room, adjacent to his study.

despite your years of matrimony, you had never once dared enter his study, but the design is so fittingly him. it is organised (well, as organised a genius can be), with shelves and shelves filled with books, discarded scrolls lay around the room, but even then, his taste for greco-roman aesthetics are seen. roman dorics act like stands for little plants, and his many certificates are displayed, along with other achievements.

(his study is overwhelmingly filled with them. though you knew of the merit of the man you were arranged to be married to, you had never known just how expansive the list is. perhaps, that only made him more intimidating to you, standing beside a genius does not feel so light to say anymore.)

he shows you his sculptures, and though many of them are... self portraits... the likeness is disgustingly accurate. it was as if he had casted himself in plaster and displayed it proudly. you wonder how long he must have stared in the mirror to perfect their appearance.

but, there are also various other formidable statues. some of people you recognise. you compliment his skill and don't get to see the blush that spreads along his cheeks.

it seems that you've chipped a way into his heart, because between brushstrokes and chiselled marble, he falls in love with you.

ratio knows he didn't start off being the best husband, but he tries to now, and begins by being present. asks you to dine together where possible, listens when you're talking about your day, and the two of you can be seen venturing downtown together; an unbelievable sight for those who believed that ratio was romantically inept.

perhaps, an even more unbelievable sight, was the soft smile on his face that glanced at you very adoringly, and how you remained unaware of his affections.

and, maybe a jealous veritas ratio is just as unbelievable.

he is practically glaring daggers at the side of a certain blond's head. ratio has never been fond of the scheming businessman, aventurine, and is even less so of the fact that you seem so close to him, more than you are with your own husband. you're speaking with him like how one would with old friends, a peaceful visit to the markets turned sour by his presence.

when you finally, finally, finally, bid farewell to aventurine, who gave ratio a look that signified he was up to no good, your husband held your hand in his gloved one with an unforgiving grip. his mood is dampened for the remainder of the day, and is only made better when you enquire about his sudden glumness, visiting his office to see if he was alright.

you leave him with a kiss on the crown of his head, and a whisper of 'goodnight', before retreating to your chambers, and the only thought that circulates in his head for the rest of the night is you, and how he's going to sweep you off your feet.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Tag list: @sh-tposter2021 @casmosmoon @hoesindifferentshows @daffodildelight @stuckinaoaktree @this-is-music @good-so @farleyis @starksdaughter20

Part 1

It has been a couple of days since your confession and Hobie was conflicted on whether he should rip the preverbal bandaid off and tell you of his secret identity, and possibly putting you at risk for potentially dangerous circumstances in the future, or keep you in the dark for a little while longer until he felt brave enough with himself and his situation to come forward; After all personal relationships -whether platonic or romantic- and Spider-Man never went well together. It was a sacrifice placed upon the shoulders of all variations who were chosen to dawn the mask of Spider-Man.

For if the legacy of being Spider-Man was a death sentence to those who are close, Hobie doesn’t want you death to be treated as his ‘canon event’ or whatever hand fisted bullshit excuse Miguel was trying to ram down everyone’s throats in order to justify in allowing a loved one of theirs to die. Hobie refuses that being the case and due to his righteous mistrust of Miguel, he kept your name out of his mouth unless it was within the presence of the few he could trust; Miles, Pavitr and Gwen.

‘So they have a crush on you.’ Pavitr began.

‘Yeah.’

‘And you have a crush on them.’ Miles jumped in.

‘Ain’t no point in hiding it.’ Hobie cooly replied because why should he bother hiding the obvious.

‘So…what’re you going to do about it?’ Gwen finishes and Hobie only shrugs in response, ‘dunno.’

Pavitr made an face of exaggerated shock and looks over at Miles and Gwen, who were already expecting this reaction from him as they exchanged looks with him, before looking back at Hobie. ‘Dunno, the person you like has expressed that they like you too-‘ ‘-it wasn’t me they were talking to Pav, it was Spider-Man, clear difference. No need to rom-com it.’ Pavitr waved his comment away and continues on his tangent, ‘they like you, you like them and your response to all that is; Dunno?!’ Hobie -again- shrugs. He really didn’t know what to do, yes the feelings between you two were mutual but that didn’t mean he was going to risk your safety over them; no matter how deeply he feels them to the point where the mere idea of you being put at risk because of him acting out of his selfishness in having you, made him physically hurt.

Hobie would rather enact upon his selfishness in a way that meant letting you go and moving on to someone who wasn’t going to be putting your life in constant danger, whilst also getting to shamelessly cling onto some part of you in the process; even if that meant just being your friend, even though he already knew that wasn’t what you wanted. ‘What do you want me to do Pavitr?’ Hobie began, ‘Go up to them and be like ‘remember the talk you had with Spider-Man up on the roof? Yeah that was me and no I’m not having a laugh because I like you too.’ He made a face at this, ‘nah I’d rather them call me a nonce for the rest of my life, well that is if they still want me in their life afterwards for lying to them this entire time.’ He murmurs the last part to himself mostly and it was silent for a while as he, Pavitr, Gwen and Miles sat on what has been said.

The later three shared a look between them as Hobie looked at a picture of the two of you that he kept within the pockets of his vest, smiling softly to himself as the echos of your laughter ran in his head like a melody he could set his soul adrift to on his most sleepless of nights. It was obvious to Gwen, Pavitr and Miles that Hobie held you close to his chest, right where his heart is; Gwen in particular was aware of how much of an impact you had on Hobie from the times she spent at his place and it was obvious as to where it was that you touched as Hobie made it apparent to keep it that way. You’ve made a home for yourself within Hobie’s heart and she knew that he’d fight to keep you in his life.

‘Hobie,’ he lifted his eyes to meet theirs, ‘would you rather be afraid to tell them who you are for the rest of your life, or tell them while you still have the chance because from what you’ve already told us about y/n, they wouldn’t hate you or call you a nonce, whatever that is.’ Miles mumbled under his breath as Hobie raised his brows, ‘has it crossed your mind at all that you might just overthinking all this? Not to say the fear ain’t real, what I’m trying to get at is this; you should pursue what makes you happiest, regardless of the fears you may have because in the end isn’t it better to have love and lost then to have never have loved at all?’

Hobie mulled on Miles’ advice once he got back to his reality before finding himself standing on that very same rooftop where his conflict began, looking down as he clutched his mask between both hands in contempt, so much so that he didn’t even hear your voice call out to him until you were right next to him. ‘Hobie? Everything alright?’ He had told you prior to meet up on the rooftop of some abandoned apartment complex that you were more then camisole with at this point, but the way he said it made you feel as though there was something eating away at your best friend and you weren’t about to let him go through anything alone without you.

Upon realising how close you were to him, Hobie was slick enough to hide his mask behind his back when he addressed you, stuffing it into his back pocket so that you wouldn’t get overly curious as to his hand placement but then again you were always as observant as him when he noticed the way your eyes lingered, like you already knew what this was about; to which Hobie wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case for it would make this situation a lot easier for you to process what you already knew. ‘Yeah, everything’s cool, why is it that you think somethings up?’ The raise of your brows only told Hobie that you weren’t buying it, ‘oh I think there is but it looks to me that you need a little prompting.’ and without missing a beat your hand was halfway to reaching for his back pocket when he caught your wrist, holding it there as he looked at you incredulously. ‘The hell was that for knobhead.’

You shrugged, ‘like I said, you needed prompting otherwise you wouldn’t be defending whatever’s in your back pocket so adamantly as you are now.’ You were smart, Hobie had to give you that as he lets go of your wrist and decides to quit the unnecessary prolonging and pulled out the mask from his back pocket, chucking it into your awaiting hands as he then sat himself near to the edge with his back facing you so he couldn’t see the look upon your face when you say, ‘so this is what you were hiding from me…I knew Spider-Man felt too familiar and now I know why.’ He heard your footsteps get closer before stopping all together as you sat yourself next to him.

You were both silent but it was a silence loud enough to dampen out anything else in that moment and Hobie didn’t know where this silence would lead to, and neither did you as you were now realising that you had confessed your feelings to your best friend without knowing it; which was already enough to take in but for that friend to also be spider-man was a whole other thing to unpack. Where you mad that he didn’t tell you? No, not even in the slightest but you were more worried then you could ever be mad, after all you just found out your crush and best friend was spider-man for fuck sakes so of course you’d be more worried for his well being. ‘Here,’ you tell him, holding out his mask for him to take, ‘you can have it back.’ Hobie did as you asked and took his mask back, but before it was fully in his grasp you yanked it away from his reach, causing him to look at you.

‘Give it.’ He tells you straightforwardly but you stood your ground as you pressed a finger to your cheek, ‘not until you tell me something first; did you know I had a crush on you prior.’ Hobie shrugs. ‘No, honestly it wasn’t until but you admitted that you liked me that somethings started to make sense.’ You hummed, content with his answer but you weren’t through quite yet. ‘Do you…feel the same.’ You once again asked but this time your voice wasn’t as steady and strong, it was fearful and hesitant; something Hobie never wants you to be when near him.

‘Of course I do, I thought I made it obvious when I personally dealt with those who chatted shit about you behind you back, I thought it was obvious that when I let you into my heart, that there would be no way that I was letting you go but with this,’ he gestured to the mask in your outstretched hand, ‘made it all the more harder for me to do that without putting you in danger; I was hiding this other life from you to protect you but you were always too observant for your own good but it’s one of the many things I love about you.’ Hobie admits, happy he finally got it off of his chest. After hearing all that, you gave him back his mask and rested your head against his shoulder, murmuring, ‘your such a hassle.’

Hobie smiled for what felt like the first time in a long while throughout this whole situation and slugged his arm over your shoulder before resting his head on top of yours, ‘yeah but I’m your hassle.’ He says before pressing a kiss to your head, feeling you as you snuggle into his side, smiling to yourself, ‘how unfortunate.’ You say half heartedly as Hobie joins in, ‘yeah, poor you.’

[mehiwilldoitlater]

When you were taken by your original world and sent into some kind of ancient China, full of demons and monsters, you weren't exactly sure why you were supposed to assist the "Destined one." Damn, you didn't even know how this.

When you find out that this destiny one was some kind of successor of Sun Wukong, saying that you were surprised was a joke.

His eyes scrutinized you; they were dark with a tint of gold when the light stricked them. He silently circled you, creating some distance between you, himself, and the other monkeys, curious about the mortals that presented themselves on their mountain.

Every time you tried to keep some distance, he was ready to close it enough to never leave his sight. What a strange situation, and what strange creature was sent to him just at the dawn of his journey.

The stories portrayed Wukong, as the name says, as a monkey kind of guy: cheerful, ready to make some jokes, who liked to make fun of people and laugh. And yet, the destined one was nothing like this trope.

He was composed, serious, and always straight forward. It was like he decided to expel every fun side from him in order to fulfill his duty.

Despite that, he showed more side to you: he was caring, trying to understand your confusion and fear while in a new world, always remembering to keep your peace while walking to make sure that you didn't get lost around. He was your protector, always ready to strike at every danger, and a good friend in the moment of agony.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't cry for these things, but... I'm sorry, so sorry."

You missed home. You never could believe yourself, but you missed your monothone and unsavory life. You missed waking up, going to walk, listening to endless hours of your boss rumbling—you missed even the crappy food of the cafeteria!

Everything seems so far away, without hope of reaching it. And you felt like trash because he was the one that was there to listen. You felt ashame, ashame of the fact that you were there complaining about what you lost while he was there fighting for both of you. You tried to cover your eyes, holding your breath to calm down, but nothing worked at all.

A stream of tears keeps on crashing down, hiccups escaping your lungs without stop.

Then, you felt his arms—two pairs of strong and soft arms, protecting your now vulnerable state from everything and everyone. His tail followed his gesture, keeping you in place and warm—so warm.

"Please." His high peech voice is now reduced to a whisper. "Don't hold it. Don't hold the pain. I can't see you like this. Please, whatever cloud your heart, speak to me."

Soon, you both became inseparable. You followed him like a shadow, carrying pills and balms, making plans with him for your next move. Damn, even Bajie couldn't believe his eyes when he saw you behind the monkey, a little afraid of the newcomer of the group.

You weren't anymore just some random mortal the Destined one had found and kept at his tail; now you were the Destined done caompanion and trusted friend. His journey became your journey, and his task your task. You both became bound by a silent vow.

"Say...why don't you choose a name? A real one this time."

"I never thought about it." He started to play with a leaf fallen from the nearby tree, thinking about your new idea.

You reached his side, holding his hand in yours, caressing the black claws on it. Once those scared you, now you wonder if a nice manicure could make them look prettier than now.

"Well, you can't let me call you Destined One or Monkey forever! You need a proper name! Something nice! ...umm...how about... Yuánfèn?"

"Um? Since when can you name people here?"

"Well," you continued, "it's destiny in Chinese, no? Like..fate!"

He looked at you, then laughed between his teeth a little. "There's no difference in how they usually call me then!"

"Yes, but...this is how I call you! So is different!"

Soon, you start to not miss home that much. You start to hope to be closer to him—to not go back. You hope that, after your honeymoon, you can stay together and that, despite all, there can be a happy ending for both of you. And silently, in his head, he hoped that too.

"May i?"

He gave you his silent consent, allowing you to caress his cheek with your so small fingers. Your lips met his own, your gesture so timid and gentle that you ask yourself if it's still a small image in your mind instead of something that you're actually doing now. He hasn't moved an inch; confusion starts to come to him and yourself, to the point that you need to stop. Now you just feel ashamed; you felt that you crossed a line, and now you don't even know if you can even go back.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

A small shush from him, his finger holding your chin and guiding you against him. This time, he's trying to mimic your gesture, a blush forming from his face to the visible part of his ears. His kiss is trembling but fierce. He waited long enough to see your still puzzled face.

"I...may don't get how you did it...Can you show me...again, please?"

You don't need to let him ask again; soon your lips smash together again, showing him exactly what's happening.

Your fate is sealed with that kiss, and there's no force on heaven and earth to undo it.

@sun-jglim

[hwaightme]

Dawn

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI, PRINCE'S ORDERS (nsfw tags under the cut)

(masterlist)

👑 pairing: exiled!prince!seonghwa x afab!reader 👑 genre: smut, fluff/angst, pwp but make it royaltycore 👑 summary: remember, remember this day, do remember, the treason and gunpowder plot. i see no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot. as the preparations for a new era are complete, you find paradise and praise in the arms of the prince who had fallen, the prince who will be your king. 👑 wordcount: 6k 👑 warnings/tags: questionable editing, mention of 'sins', exile/royal family drama, revolution/uprising, muddled feelings, explicit mention of bombs, treason, park dynasty, royaltycore with modern elements, in love or in lust, lmk if anything else 👑 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 👑 a/n: it all started with a devious hwa smirk; @nebulousbrainsoup thank you for hyping over this with me <3 always, any reblogs appreciated. much love!

👑 nsfw tags: cunnilingus, overstim, teasing, pet names (love, darling...), begging, unprotected sex (wrap. it. up), creampie, nipple play (f receiving), implied aftercare

“It has been done,” you mumbled, fiddling with the edge of the heavy cloak that adorned your frame. Despite being in a secluded chamber, you did not have the heart, at least not yet, to reveal your surprise, instead keeping discussion and action to strictly business.

Seonghwa’s eyes widened, as though he was visualising the impact of your unspeakable actions. A pang of fear struck your heart as you cast a glance at the flickering orange flame of the torch – currently, the sole source of light in the chamber that he had made his quarters and headquarters, given the timidness of the moon as it hid behind thick clouds. The ornate window stood dormant, reflecting the light and the fiery man. Prior stoicism and cool resolve evaporated, and he turned towards you. In the blink of an eye he was setting the maps of the kingdom and of the locations that served as bases of operation of the new regime down on the desk, and he could not hold back on anxious praise.

“How did you- but that was a risk- you, my angel… my sweet, precious angel you are changing the world, light of my life-” stopping you from picking at your cloak, he took one of your hands in his, lips ghosting over the knuckles. He pressed your hand against his chest, as though in a miniature embrace.

It was easy to see the relief in his features. The hints of dark circles under his eyes, the misery being replaced with a shining hope and a boyish vivacity – this was why you had abandoned your own morals in favour of his, convincing yourself that what you had done was ‘the right’, and that there was an objective evil in the world that just so happened to align with your specific target. It could be the case; it could be that because Seonghwa was your personal ‘right’ and was the path you never wanted to stray from, you could not care less for any other misdeeds. When his grip on you weakened, you moved your arm back, and placed both hands on his shoulders, pretending to smooth out the fabric of his perfectly tailored black coat.

Not much had changed in his heart for as long as you knew him. Seonghwa was always there for you, and even in the midst of the crumbling of the Park dynasty, he was the one to tell you that it was going to be alright. Despite being publicly labelled a traitor and having a witch hunt launched to find and execute him, he was here, standing before you, with a gentle smile on his face. You wondered what was unfolding and being formulated in his beautiful mind. What tears was he suppressing, what curses was he refining for the day that he would look the revolutionaries in the face and deliver the final blow to reclaim the royal title and the kingdom. Perhaps his shoulders had gotten broader, perhaps his hair had gotten longer, gaze sharper and the sword that he would wield in his hand more lethal and merciless, but he was the same Seonghwa to you. The same boy who you had played in the royal gardens with, the same young man with whom you had danced in the quietude of empty halls. You did not know anyone except him, and that was how you wanted your life to stay. So, when Seonghwa offhandedly mentioned a ‘mission’ that he was due to complete – a critical step in the leadup to the uprising by him and his loyal army, you did not just volunteer, you swore to dedicate yourself wholly to his plan and did not experience a single droplet of regret.

Perhaps he was your sin. Like some suffered from Pride, or Lust, or Sloth, you were a devotee to His Royal Highness, until your very downfall. And this is why no other act, no matter how devious, meant anything to you – it was merely a step in the direction towards securing your one certain joy in what was otherwise a bleak, barren dystopia. His eyes contained a universe, and that was more than enough for you, even if your days were numbered. This was ringing particularly true after the act you had committed, and the cause for which you stood. You were frozen in time, regarding Seonghwa with the adoration of a person parting ways with the world. As though he was your last breath of air and last ray of sun before it set for eternity. It appeared that this dismissal of your internal turmoil did not go unnoticed, and the prince was quick to reach for your arms, pulling them down so that your fingers could intertwine.

“You mustn’t look back alone. It is a chasm,” he began, studying you. A bitter smile graced your lips as you bit back the long-chronic worries you possessed due to his unwavering kindness. Your precious little prince. You squeezed his hands, mumbling:

“What use is there in focusing on the past anyways, right?” when you sensed suspicion, you elaborated, “the future is bound to be brighter? Isn’t that right, sweet star of mine?”

An overwhelming pause. The question was meant to be rhetorical, potentially comedic, and yet it left a tinge of sourness. Nothing was for certain, even though you carried everything out to a tee and disappeared from the party-occupied castle unnoticed thanks to your knowledge of secret passages that ran between rooms and underground. Seonghwa’s voice accompanied you as you planted detonators, deafening devices and something one of the prince’s followers had kindly dubbed a ‘sleeping mist’ in predetermined locations. Turn, leave, you could do it, you were strong, there was reason behind your actions. Evidence of this was behind the elegantly dressed, albeit emotionally worn-down man. The maps – a myriad of scriptures, plans, strategies; some doomed to fail, others a brave but evaluated risk.

“Mm… that’s right,” you did not want to believe that it was a lie, so you settled on indulging in his deep timbre, tone so mellifluous that you wanted for it to be the only thing you could ever hear, “just you wait, the future is made for us. A world of ripest fruits for us to reap, for us alone…”

He moved once more, letting go of you. You could guess his musings almost word for word – a little planet. Starry night sky. Having the luxury of knowing what would happen when, so he would know when he could see you again, and you did not have to turn into a creature of darkness to creep inside the shadows to his hideout for a few hours, only to risk yourself all over again afterwards. Freedom and utopia were his forbidden fruit – an eternal temptation explicit in his gorgeous irises.

He was a dreamer with very consistent and persistent fantasies, as well as an eloquent way of feeding them into your soul with such finesse that with time you almost always considered any thought to be your own in its origins. Both the little prince and the serpent, Seonghwa was your definition of the world. He had given you a lens through which to see everything. Including him. To you, he was the definition of perfect. A fallen angel more than deserving to return to the heavens. He was outcast by evil, afterall. 

Your body acted on its own accord, stepping back to give yourself at least some room to breathe, but you should have known better than to expect such a thing to happen in Seonghwa’s presence. He caught you - a long time ago. Unreadable expressions graced him as he hooked you back in with the slightest tug at the dark formless material hanging over your body. 

“Did it take you long? Were you in danger?” he asked, spotting the absence of the pouch that had carried the discreet explosive animatronics for your distribution.

“N-no. Not at all. They did not suspect anything out of the ordinary. Besides, I did not try to improvise outside of your instruction.”

“Good. More than good,” it was as if he was talking to himself, undoubtedly reviewing the preparations, now accounting for the success of a major element of the operation. “I wonder if anyone would be able to spot the butterflies prematurely. Would the alarm be rung then? Would we-”

“Are you doubting my skills to hide the tech, Your Highness?” you jest, imitating frustration.

“Hm, no. I think I am merely excited for what is to come. We’ve been preparing night…” he sneaked a glance at your neck, trying to guess what you were hiding under black wool, “...and day. I want to see it all come to life, and have you with me.”

With him - that was all you could hear. You were not one for bloodshed, however given the possibility of redemption, it was appealing. You did your part for him, and he was proud. Now, you could close your eyes. Something in the way Seonghwa approached you was akin to the way a predator follows an unsuspecting beast in a grove. Eyes that were neither hostile nor forgiving, foresight so powerful that he was confident you would never leave. The two of you had too much history, too many memories from which detangling oneself would be virtually impossible. You tried, however your attempts had been in vain. When you had first caught the rumours of exile flying around the castle, and then the extensive discussions about familial rivalry and planned ‘changes of crown’ to fit a new ideology, you tried to get away deeming the path of ignorance safer. All it took was one whisper of your name to vow that if Seonghwa were to be sent to hell, you would loyally follow him there. Should he be executed, you would weep at his side and depart with him, heart already in a million pieces. You were irrevocably, foolishly in love with Park Seonghwa, the former prince of Aurora, willing to settle for being a favourite pawn, should he want you to be one. But even that title you would never be able to fish out of him. Forever enigmatic, you were never confident in assuming you were his only star despite the sweet nothings and the adoring gazes, but even if you were part of a big universe for this ambitious, high and mighty man, you did not mind. No one could fight against power. No one could fight against the greed for supremacy. 

He was so close. An angel glowing in the torch light. The gold and red detail on his clothing turned to holy markings in his grace. You were stunned, a pliable doll in his arms, entranced by his slowed blinking as the ghost of a smirk appeared on his lips. There was always reason to reward you and your undying commitment to his cause. A token of appreciation, some could say. Seonghwa could also retain some form of humanity and call it for what it was - a long-standing obsession, but given who he wanted to become, he needed to contain himself and possess at least a sliver of civility before inevitably breaking apart for you, and only you.

“Thank you, Y/N,” music to your ears, the final straw before your internal chaos overwhelmed you and you had to hold on to Seonghwa’s voice for guidance. Your reaction was easy to detect, as the prince moved to have his fingers just barely touch your face.

”So… so beautiful, my love,” his hand traced your jawline, pausing when a shudder passed over your body. Seonghwa chuckled, admiring how responsive you were, how attuned you were to him despite remaining mostly unperturbed by the world that surrounded you.

There was something spectacular in how you carried yourself – feigned obliviousness, a façade of perfect innocence that had been the main reason for your survival under the new regime. Pretty precious little bird that knew how to keep quiet, and in turn were destined to sing the loudest when the time would come. Your eyes, widened as you devoured him, were enchanting pools that he would not hesitate to dive into and drown. Perhaps one could argue that no one liked a dead man, but Seonghwa was one of the lucky ones; your taboo rendezvous were evidence enough that you did not mind a character in your life who was as good as a ghost.

Your slightly parted lips, rosy, moistened by the darting of your delicate, delectable tongue were a sinful fruit that he desired to own. Running a thumb over your lower lip, the sparks of an uncontrollable lust burst in his chest, tainting his bloodstream like the most potent wine. He could see the edges of your dress under the black cloak that you used to move undetected in the night. To visit him, of all people. To risk your life for him and him alone. For him to be the only one who could even spot the royal crimson fabric underneath – a material tailors would fight over, material that he had gifted to you once upon a time despite barely having any network whilst in the chasm of being an outlaw, a traitor of the state. Enemy number one, who had made it a mission to dress you up. He did not regret a thing. Not when you gasped as he toyed with the clasp of the cloak. Not when he felt your hands land right above his heart, fingers toying with the leather harness and golden embroidery of his long military coat - another echo of the past that he would never be able to shed away. In addition, as the days approaching the uprising were being reduced to nil, he could not help but be drawn to the fine material as a form of mockery. He wanted those who have wronged him to see themselves in his form, to hear him have the final laugh.

Muscles tensing under your fluttering caresses, Seonghwa was giving into a domineering restlessness. Unhooking the clasp, he admired the way the black fabric pooled around you, as though the night sky was bowing before your grace. He tried to catch his breath, but it proved to be impossible as the dress occupied his vision. Nothing remained, only your impeccable handiwork, the perfection that was the fit of the garment on your body. You were supreme, the symbol of victory and glory. Clad in red, he saw the future in your form, both in spirit and in the battle cries that would accompany the painting of the lands in the colour of the wondrous silk.

You retracted your hands, and almost regretted it when you heard Seonghwa’s staggered inhale. He was looking you up and down, memorising every detail, undoubtedly thinking of anything and everything that he could do to you, or what you could do to him. Despite the urge to act, to step towards him and greedily steal away what he had left of precious oxygen, you did what you did best, and batted your eyelashes, pretending to be unaware. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, in trepidation to accept the guilt of inducing a small death. Serial murder, unforgivable, manic, addictive, reviving.

“I-“ he tried to form a sentence but it seemed as though every word he could think of wilted before escaping his throat.

Darkened irises darting back and forth, in awe of you – your favourite sight. You could not help but to reach out to him, moving to push an escaping tiny strand of inky hair from his stunning, timeless face. Fingers inadvertently ran further, carding through the slicked back locks and tempting Seonghwa to come closer. Biting his lower lip, he stepped closer to you, hands finding purchase on your hips and giving them a warning squeeze. You tugged lightly, making his previously lowered head rise to face you directly. You could see nothing in his eyes except what you yourself could reflect. The most beautiful and inextinguishable hellfire.

“You have good taste, Seonghwa,” you smiled softly, though the action was clouded over with a deeper intent.

“I am blessed to say I have a muse,” snaking over to your waist, you were suddenly being pulled into a yearning embrace. His racing heart reverberated and echoed in your body, the rising heat of his thighs and hips against yours grew ever more prominent. Seonghwa occupied your every sense, making you forget where you were, when, and what the consequences of your star-crossed union could be.

“Mm is that so?” you suppressed a giggle, brushing his wavy tresses back once more, while your other hand on the side of his face. You could feel him lean into the touch, eyes shutting for a moment before meeting yours once more.

It was in such moments that you found you knew Seonghwa best. Uninhibited and entirely himself, he bared his soul to you in every glance and longing grasp of cloth or exposed skin. Stars in his deep mahogany orbs, the exiled prince was silently asking you for permission. For what? You were about to find out; not once did you not trust him enough to let go of your inner voice and soar into pleasure – those who plotted uprisings together, were meant to be bound together, body and mind. It did not take long before Seonghwa’s lips were on yours, intoxicating, the pace of your elaborate dance so dizzyingly slow that a minute more and you would be the one clawing for more. Overwhelming, he pressed himself against you, and you could only hold on tight, thanking every deity who could unabashedly observe your physical confession for the existence of such moments in your life.

Fingers digging into his scalp, you evoked a muffled groan from your royal lover, who nipped at your lower lip and tentatively ran over it with his tongue, asking for access. Who were you to not oblige, especially when he asked so nicely? In no time, he dipped into a deeper kiss, exploring you, memorising you all over again as though you did not visit him both when he was awake and in his dreams. He was feverish, erratic, his plush reddened lips were leaving trails over your cheeks, the crook right before your shoulder and moved back to evoke a quiet moan out of you by paying special attention to the sensitive spots on your neck.

The red dress was a rose, a promise, divine dedication to him - the same material as that of his own clothes, the colour of the details on the coat which in a joint effort you and him were practically ripping away - the body harness already long gone, to reveal a flowing black shirt. Resting your arms on his strong shoulders you gave into every sensation, fingers instinctively finding their place carding through his locks, you followed his lead and stumbled backwards until an unexpected fabric hit the back of your head, making you gasp into another kiss. With a low growl and unprecedented annoyance, Seonghwa pushed the curtain that served as a divider between the office and meeting area of his chambers and the segment he used as his bedroom. Not quite the same as what his quarters used to be in the castle, but thanks to his military precision and tidiness, went above and beyond what one would expect from a rebel hellbent on chaos. 

It was dizzying - his hands travelling across your body, his hot breath against your skin as he battled the same dress he had implored you to craft and wear, his simultaneously sultry and threatening glare that immediately subdued you as soon as you tried to remove yourself from him to help. No words, only a muted command, and in a matter of moments, you felt a coldness crawl up your spine as Seonghwa expertly undid the buttons on your dress. Goosebumps involuntarily appeared on your skin, erased by your lover’s quick hand.

“Is my darling cold?” he rubbed your back, the intensity and affection forming a combination excruciating for your heart. You shook your head, not wanting for him to worry, though the decision resulted in quite the opposite, “You know it is not good to lie, right?”

“I’m sorry-”

“I suppose it is a little… these damned stone walls. Sorry, love, this is far from welcoming.”

“No, please don’t worry…”

“Mm. Then stop me from worrying. Are you cold?”

You were burning up. The contrast between your flesh and the air was stark, and you bit your lower lip in an attempt to suppress another shudder. Seonghwa stepped forward, making your knees buckle as your lower legs hit the edge of the bed. He let you sit, though himself remained hovering above you, casting a shadow. You turned and studied anything and everything in your immediate surroundings, a wave of embarrassment washing over you despite having been with him so many times before. You stopped at the coat that was lying discarded on the floor. The brooches and badges, marking his titles - or at least past titles, in the Royal Military, glistened and induced a pang of anxiety. Were you living in an illusion by hoping for the past to return? A hand under your chin returned you to the present, and your misty eyes were forced to meet Seonghwa. What was a vexed, darkened expression melted away, revealing a tinge of concern uncharacteristic of his regal image.

“Talk to me,” crouching down to your level, you felt blush rising on your cheeks.

“...A bit…”

“There, see. Easy. Now, do you trust me?”

“Wholeheartedly.”

“So, burn with me, my love,” purposefully implying, he gave space. But if he was the flame, then you were the air, quickly disintegrating as the orange and red blaze consumed the vital essence. You had no chance, or choice, your only answer was his name, repeated over and over and over again until you knew nothing else.

--

Every single one of your senses was consumed by him and the near unbearable warmth shared between two bodies connected under heavy sheets. Brain turned to cotton, much like the blanket that was currently muffling your cries of pleasure, you were being kept from writhing only by Seonghwa’s iron grip. Thighs pinned to your upper body, he had you folded in half as he licked strips up your soaked folds, toying with your abused clit before sliding his tongue deeper, relishing in how your walls clenched around him, begging for more. Pathetic whines were music to his ears, prompting him to move until his nose was almost pressed against the overstimulated bundle of nerves and he could relentlessly fuck into you.

Addicted to the scent and taste of your arousal, he was not giving you any room to breathe, nor to recover from your first orgasm, and instead launched directly into building you up for another. You were a masterpiece, giving up to salacious ecstasy for him so easily, adoring words spilling out of you even though you were barely capable of constructing a proper sentence. The sheer notion of having such impressive power, and you giving up ownership of your personal euphoria to him made him want to stay in this position together. 

“Mine-” he muttered, barely audible as he coated his tongue in your nectar and rolled it over your clit. 

You yelped and threw your head back as a sensation resembling an electric shock hurried through you. Grasping at the bedsheets until your knuckles were turning white, the last image of your lover before he immersed you in artificial darkness was haunting you - his devilish smirk when you shyly nodded in agreement, his virtually lewd scrutiny as he studied your reactions to him ridding you of the dress, to him immediately disposing of your bra, and to him playing with your thin panties, occasionally dipping into your dripping heat to tease you. And then, when he deemed you ready enough, you were in a world where nothing and no one existed except Seonghwa.

The knot that was building in your core was ready to snap at any moment. You could not breathe. You were seeing stars and you were mewling for Seonghwa despite him being right there between your legs, taking you apart. Sensing your oncoming climax, your prince braved letting go of one of your quivering thighs in favour of pressing down on both with one arm, while the other landed directly on your bud, fingers masterfully flicking it while he curled into your hole, pulsating motion inciting wanton squelching from your heat, amplified by the confined space under the duvet.

“Hwa- I-” the nickname spilled out of your mouth by accident, though it seemed that the prince did not mind. Instead he hummed and sped up once more, only to send you over the edge.

Lapping up your release, he guided you through your high and greeted you on your way down, his hands acting as a stabilising force that kept your shaking limbs, and you safe. Seonghwa nipped at your inner thighs, exhaling sharply in amusement when upon teasingly dragging a finger across your pussy you gasped, thighs instinctively trying to bring themselves together. But your lover was quicker than that, lifting himself up until he was hovering over your fragile frame with a knee pressed against your heat. The sheets slid down his form, stopping just past the middle of his back - enough to reveal the glistening orgasm on his face, his half lidded eyes and parted, gorgeous lips. He flicked his tongue - a habit occasionally turned into intentional provocation. Pupils blown, expression animalistic, ravenous, he needed more. To bear the scalding hot oasis that you shared, he had torn off his clothing. Though now, he could no longer bear the aching of his erection that was rubbing against your stomach, rapidly coating it in pearly translucent beads of precum. Hips moving on their own accord, he started to rut against you to gain at least some form of friction.

“Still hmph- cold?” he asked, unfiltered mockery clear in his voice.

“Please, Seonghwa- need you in-”

“So fucked out you can’t even - ah, answer my question?” he cut you off, keeping the teasing demeanour all the while his dick was throbbing painfully against you, “I s-said, a-are you cold? Finally catching on, you agreed with him.

“Yes, I… need more. Please,”

“How do you need more, my greedy darling? Hm?” stopping his rocking, he took to rolling one of your hard nipples between his fingers, taking in your every breath, sigh, and the rolling of the eyes as you felt a tug shoot straight to your core.

“-want you to fuck me,”

“Mhm-”

“-want your cock inside me-”

“Yes-”

“-want you to fill me up ple-”

“Say that again,” in less than a second, his nose was against yours and you were peering straight into his soul, finding an inexhaustible danger. His breathing had gotten considerably shallower, and you swore you felt his cock twitch.

“Fill me up, Hwa, I- please-”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he pushed your legs further apart before tapping you on your hip to adjust your positioning. Eagerly, you followed his request hissing at the sensation of his tip teasing your burning heat before Seonghwa bottomed out, the mixture of slick and precum offering a delicious glide. 

He leaned forwards, his bare chest against yours as he shared your state of enchantment awestruck as the torchlight gave up its final battle, only to be replaced by the beginnings of a full moon. You were a goddess in blue and silver that gleamed around the thick curtain, your glassy eyes so innocently sharing feelings he had never dared to express openly that he could not help but plant one peck after another over your cheeks, nose, eyelids, and finally, the lips. The scalding friction of skin against skin started to resemble a prolonged embrace, and when Seonghwa slowly dragged his length against your clenching walls, he mused if in another life, you could be connected like this for all of eternity. 

You offered him the true meaning of ‘unconditional’. You trusted him without a second thought, and were ready to throw away the stability you had within the castle walls in favour of a probability. Your optimism intrigued Seonghwa, and he knew he was in danger of falling in love. In fact, he had been this way since long before finding out his enemies were all beside him at the dinner table every evening, and that only in the most critical moments could he discover his real allies. If he were any more free of the burdens permanently clinging onto his shoulders, the prince would have confessed to you. For now, however, he had the freedom how you fell apart beneath him, so deliciously gullible, drunk in lust.

With each languid thrust into your weeping cunt, he was silently singing your praises, thanking you for every day that you had shared with him, for every night that you had proved that you did not abandon him. As he picked up the rhythm, your melodic pants and whines accentuated the lewd squelching and at the same time sent his mind into overdrive. He loved the time he had with you, the time when nothing existed except instinct and what he could only call a union written in the stars. Seonghwa bit down on his lower lip as his pumping grew erratic and you tightened around him as you reached your high. He let out a whimper, vision impossibly blurry and growing darker as he could barely fight the weight of his eyelids. As he moaned your name, Seonghwa, accepted his violent addiction to your pleasure and your pain as you clambered for the remnants of your sanity in the midst of an overdriven climax. Thick ropes of cum coated your spongy walls and Seonghwa stilled his hips, unable to maintain even a frantic, stuttering pace any longer. Your arms collapsed to your sides, leaving behind marks where you had driven your nails into his perfectly tan skin. The fullness made you impossibly weak, and you fell back onto the pillows, taking Seonghwa with you. Having collapsed under the weight of ecstasy, your lover rested his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling the delectable scent of sex and desire.

The moon hung low in the night sky, casting a soft glow over the secluded chamber where Prince Seonghwa had found temporary solace and transformed it into the cradle of a new world to come. You, his loyal companion and confidante, or at least that was how you decisively wished to name yourself in the midst of uncertainty, nestled against him, your fingers intertwined. The weight of Seonghwa's destiny bore down on his shoulders, and the weight of you in his arms offered a fleeting respite. 

Seonghwa's eyes traced the delicate features of your face, bathed in the gentle moonlight. "Y/N," he whispered, his voice carrying a mixture of longing and determination. "I can no longer bear the burden of this false exile,” he was returning to the present, the only remnants of the beautifully turbulent night being his slightly swollen lips, gravelly voice and dishevelled sweaty hair which had just begun to curl. “The time has come to reclaim what is rightfully mine. I just… I just hope it all comes together."

Your sleepy gaze met Seonghwa's, understanding and unwavering support evident even in the semi-darkness. "I'll stand by your side, Seonghwa, no matter the peril that awaits us. Together, we'll face the storm and emerge stronger.” It was easy to hope and easy to pass the tasks to the next person in the relay, so you wondered if your words held any meaning to your lover. When it was just the two of you, it was easy to worship the art of hedonism and forget impending doom. If only you could erase his own thoughts from his mind. Be selfish. With a soft shake of the head you dismiss the impending sourness, choosing instead to focus on the heavenly fatigue, like cotton, enveloping your and Seonghwa’s bodies.

As if drawn by an invisible force, Seonghwa pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. The warmth of your connection was a stark contrast to the cold reality awaiting you outside the chamber walls. For a moment, you existed in your own sanctuary, shielded. The room echoed with the soft rustle of fabric as Seonghwa shifted to hold you even closer. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, a silent reassurance that he cherished this stolen moment of peace. In the midst of the impending uprising, Seonghwa found a panacea in your arms, a haven that anchored him and convinced him that what he was doing was a necessary evil. You nestled into Seonghwa's chest, feeling the steady cadence of his heartbeat. 

"Promise me we'll make it through this," You whispered, fingers tracing absentminded patterns on Seonghwa's chest. You knew that no matter how he would answer, it would be hollow, for only fate could be aware and decide the outcome.

Seonghwa pressed his lips to the crown of your head. "I promise, my love. We'll face the challenges together, and when the dust settles, we'll build a kingdom. How does that sound?”

“Good.”

“My queen.”

“Don’t say that…”

“Today, these are words. Tomorrow, the world can be ours,” you succumbed to his cruel hypnosis, not daring to ask for his methods, nor for his confessions. The less questions you asked Seonghwa, the happier you could pretend to be, and the grander was the castle in your sky. 

The weight of your shared destiny hung heavily in the air, yet in the quiet cocoon of your embrace, the two of you had found your own religion. As the first light of dawn approached, you remained entwined, drawing strength from each other to face the tumultuous path that awaited you - a path that would lead you to a ferocious battle, deciding centuries to come in the timespan of the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. 

“Will I ever be forgiven?”

“Who is there to forgive you?” After some deliberation, you dared to query. In one reckless sweep, you ignited every shadow of hesitation, leaving you only with unconditional, pure love that would carry you through any hardship. The one thing you had left, unfortunately unbreakable.

In the faint light of the rising sun, crawling into the room and coating it in magnificent gold, the man who you so adored and was devoted to was in every form a soul condemned to eternal hellfire; you were fully aware of that. A tarnished being marked as dead before he could even begin to spread his wings. Feathers strewn across what used to be a kingdom meant for him to rule being the only remnant of the brutal betrayal. The devilishly handsome traitor or trailblazer sharing his bed with you was not supposed to exist. And yet, it was his voice, his touch, his scent that occupied your every pore and thought, the owner’s name being carved into you over and over again until you forgot the bigger picture, focusing only on what Seonghwa could envision and how you could achieve that priceless peaceful kingdom.

“Now that is a question I would be interested in figuring out the answer to…”

“Both of us are unforgivable. Cannot repent, cannot start again,” you turned to face him, captivated by the way the sun highlighted his features, “but we can go forward. Until the hands of time stop us.”

As the two of you drifted into a dreamless slumber - a luxury serving as a calm before the storm, you comforted yourself with the fact that in some sense, nothing was going to change just like the darkness that came with your dozing. One fallen leaf, or soldier, would replace another, one snowflake would twirl in pursuit of its partner, one Park would return his crown from the other. In the grand scheme of things, it was still the neverending winter, a late dawn, and the same dynasty, the embodiment of which you prayed was in your adoring and calculating embrace.

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The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Eight

Summary - Eris and your court grapple with the realisation that you left in order to protect them, whilst in Velaris, it becomes clear that you aren't as clueless as you seem.

Warnings - angst, depression, slight fluff, mentions of wing clipping, manipulation, slightly possessive Eris, unhinged Rhys, soft Az and Cass.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

The morning light drifting through the pulled back curtains was the catalyst of Eris' groan, he threw an arm over his face to shield himself from the pale yellow light fluttering through the room, a room that felt off somehow.

Frowning, Eris removed his arm from his face, squinting through his sleep-ridden eyes to peer at the person who was supposed to be curled into his side, head resting on his chest, and palms idly drifting over his skin. No one was there.

Had the night before been a dream?

Had he not basically confessed his love for you whilst you confessed that despite the distance that separated you, that you had knowingly chosen to soothe him Under The Mountain despite your own pain?

Eris tugged on that golden thread in his chest, wincing as it withered back to him, shivering in pain within his soul. Rubbing the spot over his heart, Eris realised that the bond hadn't snapped for you like it should have, like he thought it had.

Throwing the sheets from his frame, Eris' gaze darted about his former chambers, searching for any sign of you. He inhaled deeply, expecting your scent to flood him, but found his heart in his hands when only the faintest of trances of you lingered in the air.

Before Eris could truly lose his mind, he glanced toward the vanity, to where a singed square of parchment lay propped up against a bottle of perfume with his name delicately inscribed on the face.

He didn't need to read it to know what it said, but he had to, he had to see it for himself.

I can't let him hurt you. I'm sorry.

The page had wrinkled and darkened in places, and droplets of your tears stained the parchment in his fingers. The words on the page told him the answer to his previous thought, that the bond hadn't fallen into place for you, which in a way was better, it meant that everything you had felt and admitted was because you wanted it, not because you felt like you had to accept something.

Shuffling sounded from below, a smash of glass and a screech for Nesta, he moved to the noise, quickly fixing his briefs from the night before around his waist, his bare feet padding against the wood as he headed toward the commotion.

He heard Elain's words, he heard her mutter something about her vision, about snow-capped mountains and the dress that had vanished from its place draped over the mirror in your room. Red shrouded his vision like thick mist, his entire soul was threatening to rip itself apart, hating itself for not only letting you get away, but for also for not being able to feel you.

Every single fibre of his essence was searching for you, holding onto any speck of your scent that lingered in the air. He didn't even see Lucien through his haze, he only focused on the one person who knew for certain where you had gone.

Eris knew, but he needed to hear someone else say it.

The fox prowled ahead, fists clenched and eyes low, his molten bronze pools swimming with tamed fury as his soul remembered the touch of your lips against his, how you tasted of midnight skies and honey, it was peaceful. It was perfectly you. Dark but beautiful.

Nesta had frozen in place, the eldest Archeron surprisingly void of any words. Apparently you hadn't told a soul, that much was clear from the shock and hurt on their faces.

“Where is my mate?”

Eris’ palms lay flat against the countertop, the same one where he had held you only hours before, kissing you and telling you how badly he wanted to be worthy of you. It dawned on him that throughout that entire conversation, from your joint confessions to the kiss that confirmed everything he already knew, to sleeping in the same bed, you had already known that you were leaving.

Pain and sadness radiated on Elain’s features, her bottom lids pooled with unshed tears, and she fell back into Lucien who had crossed the room after Eris had brushed past him, “Wait, your mate?” Nesta took a step forward, her eyes growing wider as her mind span with the news.

Eris hummed softly, his eyes still cold and stoic, “I thought it had snapped for her last night, after we spoke, after the kiss,” his gaze softened slightly, “She’s gone back, hasn’t she?”

Nodding, Elain answered, “Yes. In the night,” after Eris had fallen asleep with you wrapped up in his arms, leaving him to wake up alone with a spot beside him void of life.

"Hold up. Your mate? Since when?"

Eris rolled his eyes at Nesta, running his hand over his face, "I think I've always known, but it was Under The Mountain when I accepted it. When she was walking the halls singing to herself," when in actuality you had been singing to him.

None of them could be angry or upset with you, you had done it to protect them, to make sure that they stayed alive and safe, away from any form of war or conflict.

“I can invoke the Blood Duel.”

It wasn’t an act that was taken lightly. The Blood Duel was a rarity, but it was also made for situations just like the one they found themselves in. Rhys thought that you were unmated, it was his main argument of focus, but he had no idea that your mate was itching to tear him apart. Eris could invoke it, and maybe, just maybe, Rhys would have no choice but to honour the bond and set you free before it was too late.

Lucien inhaled sharply, “She wouldn’t want that.”

“I can’t leave her there, Lucien.”

“We won’t,” Nesta moved to stand before the arched window, peering out at the pond which was shimmering in the sunlight, glittering even, “If I know her well, which I do, she wouldn’t have gone back without some kind of plan in place. That woman is the best tactician that Prythian has ever seen.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell us?”

Nesta turned to Elain who was equally as confused, they had left Velaris to follow you blindly, they were devoted to you, “She didn’t want us to get caught up in it,” a guess, but probably true. Nesta turned to Eris, “Don’t invoke the Blood Duel yet. I know it’s not ideal but maybe she knows what she’s doing.”

They could only hope that Rhys’ greed would glamour his senses, “And if she doesn’t?”

Eris couldn’t imagine it, what they’d do to you in that prison of a city. That other part of you had retreated each day, the darkness bowing to the warmth and light of him.

Nesta felt Ataraxia call to her and she flexed her digits in return as if she was holding it, “Then we go to war.”

“It’s for your own good, y/n.”

Rhys was waiting with open arms the moment you had stepped up to where Autumn met Winter, Azriel must have told him of your movements.

Your heart ached in your chest, everything was screaming at you to turn back and find another way, but you had to protect them from the monster stood before you.

The winter chill caused you to shiver, the skirt of your dress tugging you backward, willing you to move away, to go back to where you were safe and loved, “Promise me that you won’t hurt them.”

Smiling, Rhys extended a hand toward you, “If you cross that line, they will be spared.”

“Promise me. Promise me that you won’t hurt them, and if you do, the price will be your life.”

Rhys wasn’t stupid, he knew what you were doing, “I promise,” a familiar burning coiled up your right forearm and you glanced down to see a fresh tattoo inked on your skin, “Now, come.”

A shuddering breath moved through you, you stepped over the threshold into Winter and his hands were on you immediately. They were cold and calloused, there was no softness or love in his touch, just pride to have won.

“I apologise,” you frowned slightly, “I had to take some precautions.” Before you could ask about what he had done, you felt cold rings lock around your wrists and neck, you felt the power evaporate from your body, and you fell to your knees.

Clawing at the collar moulding with your flesh, you whimpered, “What is this?”

“A gift from a friend,” Rhys crouched down to your level, taking your chin on his fingers, “I told you that your power was unnatural, now you can’t use it at all.”

The voices in your mind had wailed, they screamed in protest as the power of the collar consumed them, the air fell still and you felt weak, almost mundane as Rhys’ power pulsed around you, relishing in being the strongest thing to now walk the earth.

“It’s a blessing,” he cooed to you, ignoring the cries coming from your lips, you tried to hook your fingers under it, to rip it off of you, but you had no strength, and the collar was already embedded into your flesh, “We can be happy,” his eyes shimmered and yours dimmed, “No more fighting.”

Drowning. You were drowning and no amount of air that you were gulping down was saving you. You were lifted from the ground and cradled to a cold chest, and all you could do was glance backward at the border, at where Autumn called to you before the world before your eyes vanished in a swirl of colour and you found yourself looking upward at a sky full of stars.

Nothing felt real.

Every step he took filled you with dread, you recognised the incline of the path, you’d know it with your eyes screwed shut. Shuffling entered your ear shot as well as the sound of gasps, you were sure you must have looked tiny in his arms, your face was stained with tears, your skin had gone pale, your eyes had darkened and stared blankly downward to your hands bundled in your lap.

Black veins snaked from the stone cuffs melted into your wrists, angry and poisonous, devouring you with each passing moment.

“Az. Take her will you?”

The room stiffened, but the Shadowsinger moved to you, he slid you from Rhys’ grip and held you delicately. The change of your scent was undeniable, and Azriel was sure that Rhys commanded that he take you so that he didn’t have to smell Eris for one moment longer than he had to.

Velaris could do nothing to soothe you, the looming mountains could only watch sadly as Azriel carried you to your room at the River House, the stars blinkered away entirely at the solemn atmosphere that coated the city in your silent fury. The princess had returned, but she was powerless, a lone bunny stalked by wolves.

Cedar used to be your favourite smell, but all it did was make your stomach churn and twist in agony, everything inside of you wanted that scent to be one of pine and cinnamon, they wanted it to belong to the person who had never been afraid of you even when you had given him every reason to be.

The knots in your shoulders writhed, your scars screamed as your power depleted, but you couldn’t bare to soothe it, it was the only thing you could feel aside from nothing.

“It’s alright, y/n. Everything is going to be okay,” Azriel kicked your door open as softly as he could, and his heart shattered into a million pieces when a single look inside sent you struggling against his embrace.

Nothing had changed, it looked the exact same as it had the night you had left, like it was waiting to you.

“Please, don’t do this. Take me back to him. Please.”

You knew that he couldn’t defy Rhys so openly, so foolishly. Azriel set you down on the comforter and knelt before you, his fingers drifted along the edge of the black stone collar, where the stone met the newly marred flesh beneath it, “I didn’t know that he was going to do this, I swear.”

So that explained the gasps. It wasn’t due to just seeing you in the flesh again, it was because of the collar and cuffs burnt into your skin. None of them knew of what Rhys had planned to do, that being to drain the life from you bit by bit, starting with your power, until you bent to his will and became his submissive monster.

Hazel connected with your own, and Azriel saw nothing but a wilting rose inside of you, broken with no chance of springing back to full bloom. Sat before him was a shell of the woman he used to know, and he had dealt a hand in your state, contributed to it, and it disgusted him.

“Get away from me,” your words struck him like Truthteller had become lodged in his heart, you had never asked Azriel to go away, you had always welcomed him with open arms and soothing words.

But the captured animal in front of him wasn’t y/n anymore, it was the frightened creature that Rhys had plucked from the forest and condemned to a life of solitude.

“Please, y/n-“

“Don’t say my name,” your eyes welled, “You don’t ever get to say my name. You’re not him, you don’t get to call me that.”

Hold on.

A shudder flew up your spine, the first bit of comfort you had experienced in what felt like a millennia, “Get out.”

Sighing, Azriel rose to his feet, he knew that there was no consoling you, no words that he could muster to make the situation better. As soon as Azriel left the room, closing the door with a soundless click, you found yourself staring out of the window at the stars that used to lull you to sleep but were now glowering in warning.

The valley sang with golden light, it drifted along the streets where childish laughter blossomed, it should have been comforting, but nothing about the moment was good. Nothing about Velaris felt safe. Gone were the days where you would stroll along the Sidra with Azriel by your side, gone were the days of harmony.

Hugging your knees to your chest, your mind floated elsewhere, wondering how Nesta, Elain, and Lucien would react once they realised that you had left. How hurt they would be by your abandonment. And Eris, you were sure that he would be feeling the worst out of them all, wondering why his words and admissions weren't able to convince you to stay.

All that mattered was that they were safe, protected by the bargain inked upon your flesh.

The reflection in the window wasn't of anyone that you recognised, she was pale, her eyes a shade of almost onyx bar the circle of wildfire in the irises, black veins protruded from the collar embedded into the flesh of her neck, her hair was loosely strewn over her shoulder. The life had been sucked from her soul and she had been left empty.

"Don't think about it," a shaky whisper racked through your body and you hugged yourself tighter. You couldn't allow yourself to crumble at the pain and grief, "You can do this. They're safe. You can do this, for them."

For Eris and the Autumn Court, for your friends, for the continent, you could confine yourself to Velaris if it meant sparing them all.

Time passed, time where the world beyond the window darkened and the golden hue of the valley evaporated into the night air, and it was during that time when another soul deemed itself worthy enough to find you.

You didn't feel him at first, for you were too dumb to feel anything, all of your fae senses had depleted, you couldn't feel anything. It was as though Rhys had locked you in a prison of darkness, where no feeling resided, where there was no knowing of who was coming to see you or what was coming next. A prison of solitude that even the fire couldn't touch.

Cassian sucked in a harsh beath as he stepped into the room, the entire space was freezing, soft whisps of air flew from your lips, and you shivered on the bed as you held yourself tightly in your arms. The Lord of Bloodshed crossed the room, perching on the edge of the bed, wincing when you angled your body away from him.

In that moment, Cassian knew that Rhys had lost his gods damned mind.

"I'm sorry," he wasn't looking to you, no, he was peering out of the window, wondering at what point life had gotten so fucked up. Anger bubbled inside of him as the stone collar around your neck sang with the power it had trapped inside of it. A monumental act that proved exactly how far Rhys would go to contain you.

"Is this how it's going to go? Rhys sends you in one by one to apologise, do you think that's going to wash away everything that's happened?"

Heavy eyelids greeted him just as the scent of you mixed with another had the moment he had stepped foot into the room. "Rhys doesn't know that I'm here."

Interest piqued, you glanced to him, noting the slouch in his shoulders, the messily thrown together low bun on his head, how his wings drooped lower than they had before, you noted the paled hue to his skin and how he sat with his elbows resting on his knees and staring at the floor, "Nesta misses you. She says she doesn't but I know that she does."

"Is she alright?"

"She's safe. I made sure of that."

Unlike you, you seemed to say, and your eyes confirmed the message.

"If it helps, none of us knew that Rhys was going to do this. Feyre is horrified."

"It doesn't help me at all actually, but thank you for wasting your breath."

It was astounding how a voice could be so vacant, like the last of the autumn breeze before the winter pierced through it. Cassian wanted to know more, he wanted you to tell him about Nesta, about everything you had found, but he knew that you wouldn't tell him, because you no longer trusted him or saw him as anything but one of your captors.

"Did you know that he threatened to kill her? All of them?"

A low growl emitted from him, "He told me of the others," and left out the threat on his own mates life, "That's why you came back. To protect them from him."

"When are you going to realise that the real monster is the one that lurks under your own roof and not the one who ran away to be free of it?"

The silence was enough, Cassian wasn't blind to the information, his hard gaze softened and he tentatively placed a hand on yours, his rough fingers coiling around trembling bone. You wouldn't survive whatever Rhys had planned for you, you were going to die in Velaris and Cassian would have to stand there as Rhys explained to the world how the darkness had consumed you.

It would be Cassian who would have to stand across from his mate and the people you had come to recognise as your true family whilst Rhys told them of your demise. He could see their faces in the forefront of his mind.

"I think I already am," no one could deny how the ways of the Night Court had shifted since you had chosen to leave. Rhys had become a feral beast prowling in the night on his hind legs, obsessing over the thing that had run away from him. "I'll find a way to get you out of this."

Cassian rose from his perch without another word, his calloused fingers slid from your own, and he left. Silence fell on you, but you looked back to the reflection in the window, to the woman that was undeniably you, and smirked.

Playing too many games might get you in trouble, Fawn.

Rising from the comforter, you drifted over to the glass, lifting the latch and opening it a few inches, allowing the songs of crickets and rippling waters to flow to you.

The rich tone of the voice made you shudder, and you could have sobbed at the sound, at how close it felt to the shell of your ear, so close that the ghost of his breath fanned over your shoulder.

I wondered how long it was going to take you to figure it out.

You could hear his smirk through his words, Nesta. A pause. Are you alright?

Swallowing hard, you replied, I'm holding on.

You're not going to tell me what he's done, are you?

No.

The stone of the collar shone in the moonlight, the shrillness of the night air brushed along it and cowered at the ward placed on its surface.

Has he hurt you?

Finding your reflection, you exhaled shakily, struggling to find the mask you had become so accustomed to wearing, Yes.

The place that you had folded Eris into began to unwind, Y/N.

I can do this, Eris. I can survive one last performance.

Eris was no doubt pacing the length of his bedroom, hair wild and eyes simmering with leashed violence. It was a blessing that Rhys was clueless to the carranam bond between you and Eris, a bond that not even his collars could touch or absorb, it was other-worldly and transcendent, something moulded to your very soul, not your power.

Pushing the rumbling pain back inside of you, channelling it to be something much more monstrous, you felt the talons of your other mind rise from the well inside of you, water sloshing over the edges and flowing through your veins like a disease.

It was the only way to do what you needed to do, what had been so masterfully done before. The mask settled onto your features and you rolled your shoulders, welcoming the monster back to the forefront of your essence, grinning at the demon that had come to say hello once again.

The kindred spirit. The one who pitied you enough to instead harmonise with you rather than take over entirely. The one who gave her power to you to wield, who was now shaking angrily inside of you by the mere act of having such power stripped away.

You have set the stage so well, my pure thing. The talons scraped against your mind, breaking through the cracks and seeping into the emptiness inside of you. Let me take it from here, let me tuck you away into the brightest part of us where no one can hurt you.

Did they really believe that you had no idea what Amarantha had done to you all those years ago Under The Mountain?

It had been your greatest kept secret.

Smiling, you let the Queen take control, you let her guide you to the warmest place of you, where the people you loved most rested and you watched on as a bystander as she got to work.

The monster wasn't just you and never had been. You shared your body and consciousness with a queen of sorts, a demon contained in a small onyx stone that had been sewn into you whilst your body had tried to heal itself from the clipping of your wings. And instead of taking over completely like it should have, instead of devouring you, the demon sought to mould with you, it sought to become one with you, and you had let it.

And all you could do was hope that there would be enough of you left to bring back once you were both done.

Authors Note

Also realised that I really need to update my master list oops xo

Enjoy! Love you all 🫶🏻

Taglist

@mybestfriendmademe @jesskidding3 @rosewood-cafe @fandomarchiveilyd @brujitafantomatico @crazylokonugget @mai-adaptive-dreams@magicstrengthandcourage @acourtofmoonlightandstars @ysmttty @lilah-asteria @circe143 @xyzmeh @paleidiot @namelesssav @amberlynn98 @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielsmate3 @ivy-34 @mp-littlebit @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @ifonlyiwerefiction @pirana10 @donttellthecats @padbaeamidla @oucereeng @andreperez11 @demonicbusiness @megscabinetofcurios @superspideyparker @usernamesarelies

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Aftermath || LN4 {1}

Pairing: Lando Norris x widow!reader Summary: A year after losing your husband to an F1 crash, his teammate comes by and regrets never coming to check in on you. Warnings: 18+ only, grief and loss, depression, mentions of blood, alcohol WC: 2.2k

F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten || Eleven || Twelve || Thirteen || Epilogue

It doesn’t matter how long the night may seem, dawn will find a way to fight the darkness and break in a new day. Another day without him. 

365. It had been 365 days since he left this world for an eternity among the stars. Even now, a year later, you struggled to say his name without spiraling into the abyss where you wished you could join him. 

“Racing is my oxygen, I need it to survive.” That is what he had said whenever someone asked him if he was thinking about retiring.

“I hate you,” you murmured to the picture of your wedding day, the bright smiles something that hadn’t been seen inside these four walls for a year. 

You could almost hear his mocking laugh and you sighed at the truth, you could never hate him. He was your other half, he completed you. You hated that he had left you and the emptiness that had remained in his absence.

“I miss you.”

A knock sounded at your door and you dragged yourself through the silent house to see what had been delivered. You didn’t want to have to interact with anyone, let alone on a day like this one. “Just leave it on the step.”

“Y/N?”

You stumbled at the voice and froze, wondering if it was too late to climb back into bed and pull the covers up over your head and hide from the world. 

“Please, Y/N, open the door,” Lando called out.

They had been teammates. They had been friends. The three of you had spent so much time together the media joked Lando wasn’t third wheeling but a part of a throuple. 

Your hand trembled as you reached for the stiff deadbolt, the harsh scrape evidence of how long it had been since it was last opened for a grocery delivery almost two weeks ago. 

After the funeral, everyone else moved on with their lives while you were left with dozens of decaying bouquets and sympathy cards that could never replace your husband. For a while there were phone calls and invitations but leaving the house had become daunting and eventually those had stopped entirely. You couldn’t blame them.

“Jesus,” Lando muttered as you opened the door. “Are you alright?”

“What are you doing here?” you asked as you pointedly ignored his question. 

He shuffled on the doorstep as he shifted his balance about. “It’s the memorial unveiling today, I thought you might want someone to drive you.”

If you could feel anything, you might have felt angry. “I didn’t know there was an unveiling.”

“Shit, seriously?” He ran a hand through his curls that had grown longer than he used to keep them. “You should be there.”

He carefully stepped around you and into the house, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the stale air before he frowned. You couldn’t remember when you last opened the curtains, preferring the dark where you could sit in his shirt and pretend he was still with you even after his scent faded from the material.

Lando stepped into the kitchen next, opening the fridge and cupboards to find them almost empty before slamming them closed. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” you said lamely as he stormed across the room to grab your shoulders. “I’m fine. I was going to order groceries today.”

“This isn’t fine, Y/N!” He sighed and released his grip so he could pull you into his arms. “I should have come by sooner.”

You froze as you felt the first human contact in months and felt his heartbeat against you, the rhythmic thump enough to jolt you back into control and you pulled away, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively.

“I’m not your problem, Lando.” You turned to the door that was still open, his comical Fiat Jolly parked in the drive. “You should go.”

His head dropped as he slowly walked past, pausing only a moment to say something before he thought better of it and shook his head, closing the door behind him. 

The road noise in the retro pastel blue car was too loud to hear anything when Lando’s phone rang so he pulled over into the next parking lot off the busy streets and found Oscar’s name on the caller ID. 

“Hey mate, what’s up?” 

“Where are you?” his teammate asked in a hushed tone. “The ceremony starts in five minutes and you’re the one who actually drove with the guy.”

Lando stared out ahead at the shop space he had pulled into and saw it was a food mart. “I’m not going to make it.”

“What could possibly be more important than this?”

“I’ll talk to you later, tell them to start without me.” Lando hung up without a goodbye and rushed out of his car, an apology sent to his friend in heaven. 

There was no knock at your door this time, there was just the quiet scratch of the pot plant moving across the concrete step before it was unlocked and swinging open. 

You didn’t even have the energy to rise from the bed you had crawled back into, there was only one person who knew where the spare key was hidden. He pottered around in the kitchen and you heard the doors opening and closing before his bare feet padded softly down the hallway. 

“Coming in,” Lando warned as the door creaked open and he stepped into your room. “I hope you’re wearing something.”

Before you could ask why he gave you the answer and ripped the blankets off the bed. Cold air rushed in and you shivered as you pulled the hem of your husband’s shirt further down your thighs. The orange and grey pattern on the shirt caught Lando’s attention and his eyes turned down before he turned away and opened the closet.

You weren’t sure if he was expecting to see one half empty but you hadn’t been able to box up a single item. You were clinging onto them, and the memory they represented, for dear life. 

He grabbed a casual dress he had seen you wear before and tossed it over, the soft cotton covering your legs. “Get dressed.”

“Lando!” He had already disappeared back down the hall and you groaned as you rolled off the bed and onto your feet. The material hung loose around your body in a way it hadn't before and the dress was no longer flattering as you stood in front of the mirror. 

It was the first real time you had looked in the mirror and you barely recognised yourself. Your skin no longer glowed, your hair was knotted and unkempt and your eyes held no life where they were sunken into your face.

Needing to try salvage something of your dignity, you tried to brush out the knots but the handle snapped and you stared at it in disbelief. Sudden rage hit you as you failed at such a simple task and you threw what remained of the brush at the mirror, shattering the image but somehow making your reflection more true to how you were feeling.

“Y/N?” Lando skidded to a stop, barely missing the shards of glass on the carpet. “Are you alright?”

“No,” you admitted aloud for the first time and your legs gave out as reality crashed into you. “I miss him so much.”

You didn’t feel the glass slash your legs or the sharp pain as they stabbed your knees. You didn’t feel the warm blood seeping into the carpet or Lando’s arms as he picked you up. You didn’t feel anything but the overwhelming sense of loss like a fist squeezing your heart from inside your chest.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you,” Lando murmured as he sat you on the kitchen side and cupped your face. “I’m sorry I wasn't here.”

“I’m not your problem,” you reminded him as you shook his hands off your face. “You were his friend and I’m not an inheritance.”

“I’m your friend too. A shitty friend, but I’m going to fix that,” he said as he looked down at your bleeding knees, “starting with this.”

He went to the cupboard above the fridge to find nothing had changed and the first aid kit was still on the shelf you struggled to reach, but he easily did. You tried to get a bandaid from it as he placed it on the benchtop beside you but he moved your hands back and gave you a warning look.

“This might hurt,” he apologised as he broke the top off a saline bottle and started to rinse the blood away. “There’s some glass stuck in there - maybe we should go to the hospital.”

“I’m not going back there, especially not today,” you said with a lick of venom and a shake of your head. “There’s whiskey in the back of the pantry, just give me some of that.”

He seemed dubious about the idea but knew how stubborn you could be and exhaled a resigned sigh before getting the half empty bottle. He looked at you through the clear glass, above the sloshing amber, and you could feel the judgement in that stare.

“I have trouble sleeping.”

He didn’t give you a response as he handed it over before getting a chair to sit on, placing your foot on his knee so he could try to get the glass out with a pair of tweezers. To be honest, you were numb to everything and didn’t even need the alcohol but you gulped greedily at the spiced whiskey. 

“What’s that?” you asked as you noticed a pot on the stove, steam softly billowing up, and then you noticed the mouthwatering scent. 

“Vegetable soup. You need to eat.”

“When did you get so mature?” The joke fell flat as he looked up and you saw the depth of his own grief that he let escape from where he had buried it.

“A lot has changed in a year.”

There was no appropriate response to be said so you took another swig and felt the warmth of the alcohol hitting your empty stomach while he continued to pull shards of glass out.

“All done,” he said as he gathered the rubbish and left you to inspect the bandaids plastered all over your knees and skins too.

“If you ever look for a change in career, nursing isn't the answer.”

His lips curled up with a small laugh as he checked the pot and gave the soup a stir. “You’re meant to say thank you.”

“Thank you, Nurse Norris.”

Lando returned to where you were sitting after lowering the heat on the stove and tapped his finger on the stack of mail beside you. He picked up an envelope with the F1 symbol beside the return address and flipped it over before seeing almost a dozen others just like it. 

“Your invitation is probably in one of these.”

“Did you know there’s a clause in the contracts for ‘surviving spouses’?” You laughed bitterly and tipped the bottle back, no longer feeling the burn of the alcohol rushing down your throat. “They send a cheque every month, the very people who killed him and I want nothing to do with, and if it wasn’t already bad enough, they send it in his name.”

Lando looked at the envelopes and frowned. “Seriously?”

You took the top one and ripped through the seal to show him the cheque address to René Gauthier. On and on, you tore them all open and Lando swallowed deeply as the mess grew.

“Do they think €10,000 a month is going to make everything better? Nothing they do can bring back my husband.”

“Nothing can fix what happened,” he said as he wiped your cheeks that you hadn’t noticed were damp with tears. “I know it doesn’t make it any easier but they brought in new regulations this year, so it doesn’t happen again.”

“Sometimes I wish he hit those officials,” your voice broke at the whispered confession. “He would have had to live with that guilt, but at least he would be alive. Oh god, I’m a terrible person.”

René had been labelled a hero for the manoeuvre he had done to save the lives of the officials that were in the wrong place. He had put himself into a wall swerving away from them and while they had walked away unscathed for their mistake, your husband had died for his. It wasn’t fair.

“You’re not a terrible person, Y/N,” Lando reassured you as he pulled your hands away from where you had hidden your face in shame. 

The alcohol had hit your system and you closed your eyes as the room swayed, your words falling unfiltered as your head spun. “Racing was his life, Lando, but he was mine. I don’t know how to live without him.”

The bottle disappeared from your fingers and you lifted your heavy eyelids to see Lando putting it on top of the cupboards out of your reach. 

“You find a way to live because it's what he would want.” He scooped you up off the counter and your head fell into the crook of his neck without resistance. “You find a way to live because we’ve already lost too much. I’m not going to lose you too.”

Click here for part two.

[lilacsandpetals]

Frozen Blossoms Pt. 5

Bi-Han x F! reader

Tags and notes: Arranged marriage AU, SFW, exploring emotions. Pre-MK1/MK1 AU

Last part here.

Next part here.

I hope I caught all the spelling and grammar errors.

You went back to bed after Bi-Han left. Or at least, you tried to get some sleep. You didn’t realize you’d be so worried for him in that moment. But he would be fine, wouldn’t he? He was Lin Keui after all. Still, irrational as it may be, you were concerned. Even so, the logical part of your brain told you that your husband would return sooner rather than later.

—————

Well, you were wrong. It had been days, almost a week had passed. Your anxiety was growing with each day that went by. You couldn’t comprehend how everyone else seemed at ease. You went about trying to adhere to your regular routine, but at times it was difficult to focus. Remembering simple protocols became difficult. Your execution during training lessons was lackluster. Your instructors had noticed the shift in your performance but you had a suspicion that your father-in-law prevented them from fully reprimanding you as of late.

You longed to reach out to Bi-Han and figure out how he was doing. Yet contact was minimal in order to maintain the confidential and secretive nature of the Lin Keui. The Grandmaster had stated that unless a serious incident had occurred, you were advised to not reach out to your husband. 

You considered going out, perhaps visiting your family. Yet you were advised against doing so at the moment. And to be honest, you were troubled by the idea of Bi-Han returning when you weren’t at home. 

Since when did such a thought bother you so much?

While waiting for the days to go by you realized that you hadn’t gotten to know many individuals around the clan’s grounds. You knew your in-laws. Technically you could be called acquaintances with your tutors and perhaps a few other staff and clan members. If Bi-Han was going to become the Grandmaster and you would stand by his side, you figured establishing a good rapport with as many clan members as possible would prove helpful. So you had begun to venture about the estate, greeting individuals you’ve yet to put a name to. Most would be respectful, but brief as they had responsibilities they needed to attend to, and you assumed your chatting would be a bit burdensome. 

A good number of the other clan members were married, and you had run into their spouses here and there. You didn’t mean to, but the more you spoke with some of them, you ended up working into the conversation how you were worried the longer your husband was off on a mission. They always responded with assurance, that the feeling was normal, and that it would fade the more you got used to it. But here you are, sometime later with the same tension constricting your chest to the point that you’d wake up in a panic in the middle of the night. 

If you had known that you’d have to endure such loneliness and worry regularly, would you have agreed to the marriage? Well, even if you had known, you doubt that the full gravity of the lifestyle would dawn on you back then. And frankly, denying the betrothal request would cause tension and misfortune in your family’s clan. So really, you wouldn’t have had a choice either way. 

You decide not to dwell on that too much and glance at the books at your bedside. You were quickly getting through the stack. Especially since you had only recently begun spending time with your husband, and once you two had spent proper time with one another, he was called away. Reading had then become a solace of sorts from the loneliness. Maybe you could get some new books soon? Your eyes then drift to the flowers, they were starting to wither.

Would Bi-Han get you new flowers? Would he accompany you to the market? You wonder when he’ll be back. Maybe you two could spend some time together again.

Goodness, here you go again. Since that day you spent together, you had gotten into a habit of somehow circling nearly all your thoughts back to him. What was wrong with you? Had your husband really planted a place so firmly in your heart?

In truth, he has, and his absence makes your heart ache. You feel like a forlorn, lovesick teenager. 

A sigh escapes you as you fall back onto your bed. Your hand makes its way to his pillow, snatching it from its untouched spot and into your arms. You hug it close to your chest. 

Bi-Han truly wasn’t as bad as you thought he was. You did consider him a brute at first, but your interactions slowly started to break down that constructed image you had of him. Yes, he was stern, he could be blunt, and avoidant. But he had begun to show a side of himself you found endearing. He could appear so contemplative and protective. He was always so gentle when holding your hand. You even missed his prideful banter. 

And you missed catching glimpses of his eyes. They had gone from a shade too ominous and void, to something entirely warmer. Dark and enchanting.

You took a deep breath, squeezing the pillow a little closer to you. He kissed your forehead before he left and you still linger on that action of his. You wonder if he’d kiss your cheek when he comes back. 

You ghost your fingertips over your lips. You wonder what his lips taste like. 

—————-

The mission had proved exhausting, every time they came upon a point of completion, they’d be met with more strife brewing elsewhere. To the point where Lui Kang required their consistent assistance and they had ended up all the way in Outworld, dealing with a small group whose practice in stirring up trouble had spilled into Earthrealm. Of course, Lui Kang had kept the peace during the ordeal and resolved any issues with the aid of Empress Sindel. But this wasn’t the first time that a situation like this had occurred, and he assumed it wouldn’t be the last. Pursuing consistent negotiations for the sake of peace sometimes began to feel futile to him.

On occasion, he wished they could take a more aggressive approach to assert their stance.  

Then there was the issue of brewing tensions between surrounding clans, disagreements amongst them, and some disdain still lingered over his marriage to you. Of course, he hadn't brought that up to you, nor does he intend to. There would be no reason to stress you out over matters he could quickly stomp out on his own. 

Despite all these occurrences, and his outward dedication to addressing them, these neverending missions had been dethroned at the forefront of his mind more often than he was willing to admit. You had been running through his mind all week. The thought of you had been distracting him and while he was on a mission no less. 

Detestable of him really.

Had this happened weeks ago he would want to return home to wring your neck for causing him to lose focus. But it was different now. 

He found it enjoyable to think of you. 

It gave him something to look forward to. Someone to return home to. 

He wondered if you had eaten properly, if you had rested enough, had you kept up with your training? 

Did you miss him?… he missed you. He missed your playfulness, he missed your gentleness, he missed how increasingly lovely you had looked before he left. He felt as if he had grown closer to you before his departure. Would he be able to pick up where he left off with you? 

He hopes so. 

So as the group makes their way back under his lead, he can't help but find himself pondering. He wonders what would’ve happened that night if he didn’t have to leave. For the first time in a long time, he wishes he hadn’t left at all. 

He wonders if you realized how enticing you looked. With eyes looking up at him so innocently at the veranda, and lips that looked oh so soft. Or when you had laid down in the bed. Did you not realize how effortlessly alluring you looked? Your hair tousled, your nightgown bunching up at the curve of your hips and exposing part of your thigh. He really can only imagine what else could have happened that night if he had been more forward. It’s laughable that the only time he is unable to advance forward is when it comes to you. 

Consummating the marriage had still been a thought that seldom crossed his mind, but now it had started to creep up frequently. Oddly enough, had you two made use of the marriage bed that first night, he would’ve found it easier to complete that responsibility. He would be detached, acting upon crude necessity. 

Again, it was different now. 

Now there were emotions that entangled him. Concerns on whether his performance would live up to your unknown expectations. Worries about how you’d respond to his touch. Perturbation on how it would change him. It was all uncharted territory. 

He didn’t have an extensive insight into matters of that kind. His experience in that area was somewhat lacking. 

He honestly never gave it much thought, he was always too focused on his responsibilities and any tasks at hand to be caught up in lust to the extent of seeking it out at the risk of his honor. Had he struggled at all in the past, he’d take care of it himself. That is how he went about it as an adult.

His responsibilities within the Lin Keui came first, as they always have. Or at least he would attempt to adhere to that standard. He found himself faltering to maintain that status quo when he was young. 

Although discouraged, it was known that sometimes members of the Lin Keui would sneak off to a nearby brothel and ‘fulfill their needs’. When he was younger, curiosity had gotten the best of him and his brothers, leading them to sneak off just to see what all the excitement was about. They had just barely infiltrated the establishment through a side entrance when they were promptly caught, kicked out, and sent home to a furious father who had punished them all severely. 

Other than that, there was a point long ago where Kuai Liang had convinced him to sneak out and meet a few girls during the Qixi Festival. Kuai Liang had an easier time interacting with them, while he himself was more reserved. And then Tomas had tagged along. Tomas appeared much younger at the time compared to Kuai Liang and himself, so the girls found him ‘adorable’ as they had put it. He didn’t see the point in entertaining them at that time. One of the girls there did take a liking to him, she looked visually pleasing. She kept trying to hold his attention but he barely kept up conversation as chatter spewed out of her mouth in an attempt to keep him engaged. She even kissed him at the end of the night. It felt awkward and she had secured a strong hold on his neck, he hesitated to place his hands on her but kissed back as best as he knew how. However, he pulled away when he felt her tongue poke at his lips. He attempted to maintain his composure until they departed that evening. On his way home with his brothers, he frequently wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. All those love stories his mother and Kuai Liang would go on about made it seem like a first kiss was a life-changing experience. They were clearly wrong as that had not changed his life for the better. Kuai Liang teased him, saying that he was better with the girls, meanwhile, Tomas lamented that he hadn’t gotten any such tokens of affection. 

Now that was all the experience he had recalled. It made him wonder what your past was like. He tries not to think of it, but the thought that you may have had romantic interactions in the past made him burn with envy. 

If you had past lovers, he would make sure to surpass them in every manner.

—————-

Kuai Liang and Tomas know their brother. He is cold and harsh in nature, much like the power he was blessed with. But they are quick to catch Bi-Han smiling to himself when he thinks no one is watching. 

—————-

They stop at a village on the trek home. Bi-Han is not such a cruel leader that he’d push his forces so far when the mission has already been completed. He allows them an opportunity to catch their breath. The stop is brief and he rests against the brick wall of a building. His eyes scan his surroundings when they come to a halt. Kuai Liang and Tomas seem preoccupied. He cannot tell what they are speaking about, so he makes his way to them.

“What about that one?” Tomas says.

“No, I’ve already bought this one. This suits her best.” Kuai Liang responds. 

Bi-Han furrows his eyebrows, who were they speaking about? “What did you buy?” 

Kuai Liang smiles and holds up a golden hairpin, “the red jewel at the center reminds me of Harumi, fierce and passionate, I’m sure she’ll like it.” 

Tomas smiles “Always the romantic.”

Bi-Han eyes the gift briefly. Was he supposed to get you something as well? What color did you even like? He regrets not asking you before. 

There’s a slight shame that emerges within him, he has failed to get to know you well within these past weeks. He will have to atone for his shortcomings. 

So he slips away; just briefly to examine whatever the shop has to offer. His eyes travel over the array of pieces, trailing over them all until he sees a simple silver chain harboring a blue jewel in its center. Blue was his choice of color, but it simultaneously reminded you of him, calm and sincere.

Before he knows it, he’s made the purchase and he continues on his way. 

—————-

The sun has begun its descent and the moon begins to rise in its place. And so another day has passed without your husband. Or so you had thought. You had returned to your room after a meal. Rummaging through your belongings to pull out a woven shawl. The seasons have begun to shift and so the once manageable cold of the locale has become quite unbearable. You finally locate one suitable to your needs and toss it onto your bed. Now if you could only find warmer nightwear. 

“Wife.”

The sound startles you and you quickly stand to your feet. When had he returned? You weren’t expecting him at this moment. You finally get a good look at him as he stands in the doorway. He is handsome as always. His mask is off, and he appears stoic. Yet you catch a look in his eyes that comes off as a mix of weary and longing. You want to hug him, should you? Would he reciprocate it? You don’t know. So you fail to move forward and instead shoot him a small smile, “Bi-Han, I’m glad you’re home.”

“As am I.”

His body is crying out in exhaustion, all he wants to do is unwind, but the eagerness to show you his gift takes precedence over that. His hand searches through his pocket to pull out a silver chain adorned with a gem of sapphire. He motions for you to come to the front of the mirror and you oblige. “Try this on.” He carefully places the necklace in your hands and you attempt to get it on, but the hook is giving you trouble. Your husband waits but a few moments before taking the two ends of the necklace within his fingers. You slide your hair to the side, so he’s better able to hook the chain. His fingers are cold against your warm skin and he leans in slightly, making his breath tickle the back of your neck. Your shoulders slightly tense. When the necklace is secure his hands move to rest by the crook of your neck, looking at your reflection in the mirror. He’s never touched you there before.

The shade of blue suits you. You hold the jewel between your thumb and index finger briefly, smiling at your reflection. It rested just at the valley between your breasts. The way your chest rose and fell as you breathed only exuded a greater sense of allure to him. You were focused on the necklace, so much so that you were caught off guard when he bent down and quickly placed a kiss on the side of your neck. “You look good,” he mumbled just barely above a whisper. He quickly turns around and makes his way out the door. You would go after him but you felt frozen in place, your cheeks heating up, and your heart beating hard. 

——————

He didn’t even mean to do that. But your skin felt so soft, your fragrance hinted at scents of lotuses and lilies. The dim lighting illuminated your exposed skin in such a way that it ignited something within him, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to fully act on it. 

So he flees the scene and pushes away any thoughts of embarrassment. His body is used to brutal conditions, but even he longs for undisturbed relaxation on rare occasions. Despite his cryomancy, he is keen on a hot bath. The warm water is soothing to his aching muscles and welcoming to his pains. He lets out a long sigh and closes his eyes. He hopes you like the necklace, it’s not much but it is something. He hasn’t had the desire to shower anyone with gifts before, but you may be slowly changing his mind. 

The sound of a hesitant knock pulls him out of his state of relaxation. He snaps his head towards the private bathhouse's entrance. You stand there tentatively in the doorway. “What are you doing here? Go back to your room, now,” he scolds.

The steam emanating from the hot water twirls around the room, keeping the image of one another rather obscured. 

“You didn’t close the door all the way and I heard the water running,” you say sheepishly. “I was going to ask if you wanted help. I can tell you’re tired.” You just wanted to be around him, he left quickly, and he took longer than you anticipated to return. You yearned to satiate your loneliness. 

He was tired, but he wouldn’t say it. “How would you even help me?”

“I can wash your hair,” you respond and lean up against the frame of the entrance. You hope he accepts your offer. 

Bi-Han contemplates it for a moment, he supposes it would save him the hassle… and he did long for your presence. “Fine, you may enter, but watch your eyes.” You stifle a laugh as you walk forward. “What do you find so amusing?” he asks with an annoyed expression. “Nothing, nothing.” He had no reason to worry, you wouldn’t peak. You pull up a chair and sit behind him. “Lean back a bit, please.” He heeds your request and you begin massaging his scalp with the needed products.

Now this was relaxing. He did feel rather self-conscious earlier. He was taking a bath so he was entirely exposed, but that worry melted away as your hands worked what he might equate to magic. They were slow and methodical, releasing the tension that constricted his skull. And so he finds himself serene enough to close his eyes once more.  

You’re close to him again, this is probably the longest that you’ve seen him with his hair down. “You look good with your hair down,” you say softly. “Oh, do I?” he responds just above a whisper. You exhale lightly, “you do.” You continue in silence, for how long, you wouldn't know. 

But you do know that you appreciate every second of it. For once, you finally feel at ease. You’ve once again reached that brief moment of domestic bliss. 

You run your fingers through his hair, it’s softer than you thought it’d be. 

Your eyes trail down the sight of his neck and upper back. Scars riddle the skin that is visible to you, some more faint than others. You assume they were obtained in training and battle. In moments like these, the full weight of Lin Keui’s ways bear down on you. There is honor to it, but at a greater cost to oneself. And you know it’s his duty, it’s the way of the clan you married into, yet your heart clenches at the thought of it. 

The scars that adorn his body are many and you can’t help but lean forward to press your fingertips along one. The scar is extensive, nearly a clear cut minus a few jagged edges. Your fingertips graze along the expanse of the mark and you swear you feel him shudder against your touch. 

“Do any of these still hurt?”

“No, none of them.”

“They must have hurt when you got them.”

“Yes, but I am grateful for it.”

You don’t respond, being grateful to retain such pain bewilders you. Bi-Han notices your lack of response. “It taught me discipline and is proof that I’ve survived prior ordeals. That is all.”

You take that as a note not to continue with further questions, at least for now. Your eyes fall to his bicep, “Your wound from last time is healing.” He opens his eyes briefly to glance at his arm before closing them again. “I appreciate your aid that night.” You smile slightly to yourself.

“Lean forward.” Bi-Han obliges and you get a basin of water to wash his hair. His eyes remain closed as you gently pour it on him. His wet hair sticks to the front of his face, obscuring his eyes. The image of such an intimidating man in front of you like this, causes you to let out a laugh.

He moves his hair out from in front of his eyes. He’s about to snap at you and ask what you’re laughing about. Yet he retains a moment of pause. You’re laughing, and it’s the carefree laugh that he’s been yearning for since you two had married. The one you had so openly shared with others. You’ve finally graced him with the pleasure of hearing it on his own. So he doesn’t stop you, instead, he takes hold of your hand and brings your fingertips to his lips. He presses a chaste kiss to them before letting go. 

“Thank you.” He leans forward, crossing his arms and resting against the edge of the tub. 

You smile faintly and sit on the rim of the bathtub. You’re slightly anxious, but work up the courage to hastily move his hair to the side and press a kiss to his forehead in a rather bashful manner. “Thank you for spending time with me.” 

You see his mouth twitch into a smile for a brief second, and you are content. 

The room begins to become even more humid. 

But something is holding you back from leaving, tension has building up in the pit of your stomach and it’s causing your heart to tremble within your chest. So you remain there, inches away from him. 

Your perfume makes him feel dizzy with increasing desire. The world around him begins to fade into silence, and the only thing that he can hear is your shallow breathing. 

Your breath mingles with his. 

And neither one knows who leaned in first.

But his hand rests on the back of your neck and your lips have collided with his. They are rough, tasting like the tea you once shared with him. 

And you’ve never kissed anyone like this before. 

Desperation and longing seep into the way your mouths move against each other. His heart has begun to pound against his ribcage and he wonders if yours has too. Your lips are softer than he could have ever anticipated, and the moment they break away from his, he silently mourns. 

Heat has risen to your cheeks and you look away briefly, smiling to yourself and slowly getting up. “Goodnight Bi-Han.”

He takes a shaky breath. How unlike him. What have you done to him?

 “Goodnight, Y/N.”

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

Thanks for reading 💙

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[rowrory]

FAVORITES

Want fics that don't just revolve around smut? Read these!

Fandoms include: jjk, bnha, haikyuu, aot, marvel, tvd

GOJO SATORU

Intrinsic Warmth — thatdesklamp (ao3)

Summary: “So stay with me. Forever.”

You make a weak stab at a joke. “For Infinity, you mean?”

“Yeah.” Satoru turns to look at you and your heart jumps at the clear expression on his face. There’s not a hint of humour: for once, he’s fully and completely serious. “For the rest of my life, and for all the lives after.”

-

You meet Satoru on 7th September, 1996.

Some time later, you realise you love him.

Notes: HOLY FUCK I LOVED THIS SO MUCH!?!?!??! THE ANGST?!?!? THE PINING?!?!?!? I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS!!!!!!!! THE AUTHOR WASN'T FUCKING AROUND WHEN SHE WROTE THIS!!!

gods, monsters, monkeys — yuzudrops (ao3)

Summary: A grossly under-qualified graduate of Jujutsu High is hired to teach a class of Special Grades. They learn there is more to strength than power. It doesn't end well.

Notes: chefs kisses, literally one of THE best gojo fics out there

Keep a Place For Me — alkhale (ao3)

Summary: A quiet story that takes place a little before Gojo Satoru was born to be the greatest shaman of this era, his youth, triumphs, losses, and his inherent rise to a place unknown by anyone else.

And the one person who bore witness to it all.

Notes: IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THIS YET, YOU ARE SERIOUSLY MISSING OUT

take me down (to the depths of your depravity) — Innka (ao3)

Summary: The story starts with you standing in the pouring rain. All you remember are your orders.

Gojo Satoru. Look for the white hair and the baby blues.

"This will be easy," they said. "White hair and baby blues, eyes like the sky. Pull him in, fatten him up and send him to the devil. In and out, one and done."

"You can do this with your eyes closed," they said.

"This will be easy," they said.

They were wrong.

Notes: Read trigger warnings first

watermelon sugar why — Innka (ao3)

Summary: You had marched into his office, looking like your life was in his hands. You held out an excursion request. For a beach trip, of all things. By the time Gojo finished reading it, he had wanted to do exactly three things: sign the paper, laugh in your face, and bend you over on his desk to fuck you until you were screaming his name. 

Not necessarily in that order. 

Notes: this is a one shot but i live for pining satoru so

all that is solid melts into air — GrilledTandooriSmoke (ao3)

Summary: Curse user.

The words weigh heavy like lead on your tongue. Something that needs to be swished around before it's spat back out like the black gunk it is. Evil and vile jujutsu sorcerers who would dare turn on humanity in the never-ending war against curses.

And it just so happens you come from a family of them.

Alternatively: political machinations have you attending Jujutsu Tech at the same time as Gojo Satoru.

Notes: in love with this

among dawn flowers (the face of god) — unolvrs (ao3)

Summary: Your grandmother calls the young master of the Gojō Clan a boy-god, and you, his destined bride who will further the cause of the All-Seeing Eyes.

—or, you are raised to be Satoru’s bride and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. (Everything is.)

Notes: i love angst

the witches' brew — orphan_account (ao3)

Summary: You are the co-owner of a small café in a small, eccentric district in Tokyo that is notorious for bizarre murders and supernatural occurrences.

You think you’ve seen it all, but it turns out that nothing comes close to the man wearing a bad Kakashi cosplay who terrorizes you with his increasingly complicated and awful drink orders.

Notes: im devastated i didn't get to see who actually wrote this

5 + 1 — script_nef (orphan_account) (ao3)

Summary: 5 times Gojou had a date with you and 1 time you realised it was a date.

Alt title: Watch Gojou be really obvious about his crush but it goes completely over your head every time. Well, nearly every time.

Notes: kicked my feet a couple times while reading this

Ripverse — seoafin (ao3)

Summary: “You don't need to worry about anything like dying. I won't let anything happen to you," he says quietly, and it sounds like a promise.

You wait for the punchline. The part where he laughs it off as a joke, and then tells you to snap yourself out of it in a way you would’ve expected from him in the past. But he’s dead serious.

Notes: This is a series of one shots in the same univ with the same character, i just used the summary for the very first part

FUSHIGURO TOJI

(and your love is) standing next to me — shidouryusei (ao3)

Summary: “I wanna meet your son.”

You regret what you’ve said the second the words leave your lips.

“Why the hell do you wanna meet my kid?”

Notes: holy hell is this one of the best toji fics out there

BAKUGO KATSUKI

what heroes do — sugiwa (ao3)

Summary: Shouto didn't know much about his twin sister. She was an Edgeshot fan, had a raging collection of manga, and liked Natsuo the best.

She also wasn't supposed to be at U.A., but he sure as hell wasn't telling their father about it.

Notes: i am not kidding when i say that even tho this thing has almost 600k words (it's a monster!!), i have reread this so many times it's not even funny anymore

MIYA ATSUMU

WHITE NOISE — 1keshi (ao3)

Summary: you’ve always loved atsumu— that was the problem.

(alternatively, you force a therapist to listen to the story of how you fell in love with your childhood friend, because what else are you supposed to do?)

Notes: lovelovelove

You Found Me — Amy_Stark117 (ao3)

Summary: Miya Atsumu had his life goals set - volleyball, fame, and success. Nothing could stand in his way.

You threw all that out the window, simply by sitting next to him in class.

Life is really funny like that, isn't it?

Notes: 10/10

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

premonition of love — peacchy (ao3)

Summary: A day after the freak quick duo sneaks into Shiratorizawa campus grounds, Ushijima gets summoned by his school’s student disciplinary committee.

Rule breached?

Assisted Trespassing.

While he steps out of the office with more than just a case under his name, you (unknowingly) step into the affluent stratum of Miyagi’s controlled elite.

In a world of either-or’s, you’re caught in between.

And possibly something more.

Notes: yall listen before this, i was NOT an ushijima girlie. now, i am ;)) this ff also has a love triangle in it (ushijima x reader x sakusa) with alternative endings (though it's not completed yet)

Shoot the Ball — alkhale (ao3)

Summary: As captain of the dying Shiratorizawa Kyudo Club, you're sick and tired of the biased favoritism that goes to the showier sports. Especially the worst of them all—the boy's volleyball team.

You're determined to show the entire school how great archery is, get the funding your club deserves, and by the end of it all, make the entire school a fan of your archery.

You just didn't know you already had a fan from the start.

And he may or may not be captain of the one team on campus you have a personal vendetta against.

Notes: i love alkhale so much

LEVI ACKERMAN

1,000 Steps — BaddieCurlsXo (ao3)

Summary: You're being torn away to another world every new moon, unable to connect the dots or find any real meaning in your travels. That is, until one night you stumble upon a man with grey eyes and a green cape, who asks you, rather suspiciously, "what are you doing outside the walls?"

Notes: lovette

Death's Door — SongsOfApollo (ao3)

Summary: You spent years of your life under the guidance of Dr. Helfen, the greatest physician inside Wall Sina. Now a physician yourself, you work alongside him with pride: stitching up wounds, nursing the sick, and helping to save the lives of many. But after the Battle of Trost, rapid changes begin to take place, starting with an inquiry from none other than Commander Erwin Smith and Captain Levi of the Survey Corps.

You have heard many tales from surviving Survey Corps soldiers on what it’s like on the outside: to face a Titan, to feel overwhelming dread, to watch your fellow man perish in such an insulting, gruesome way. You’ve witnessed the effects of Titans on the people you’ve doctored. Now you are to experience the horror firsthand.

You are to join the Scout Regiment as their field surgeon, and you will do so under the direct command of Captain Levi.

Notes: one of my fav fics of levi

BUCKY BARNES

Vacant Mirrors — pilotisms (ao3)

Summary: Dr. Hart shares an office with Dr. Raynor.

You share a waiting room with Bucky Barnes.

Notes: felt like crying even tho the ending wasn't angsty

Safe with me — bitsandbobsandstuff (ao3)

Summary: When an unknown threat enters your life, protection is offered at the highest level. As Bucky Barnes comes into your life, the game changes, and you realise falling for the man tasked with keeping you safe is the last thing you expected.

Notes: Holy freaking heck was this beautiful. The plot? Chefs kisses. The writing? Chefs kisses. Reader's personality? Chefs kisses. The romance between reader and bucky? CHEFS FUCKING KISSESSSSS.

In The Shadow Of Your Wings — emmagnetised (ao3)

Summary: Margaret Stark is five years old when the Winter Soldier comes for her and her parents. But she survives the attack and is returned to her brother, though she's left broken and traumatised. She grows with a promise she made to herself on the night of the car crash. A mission.

This is the story of Maggie forging herself into her own hero, into something that no one expects: The Wyvern.

Notes: if you're a delulu marvel stan and haven't read anything by emmagnetised yet, are you even a delulu marvel stan?? p.s there is also an alternative for this story, go check it out on the author's acc on ao3 if you're interested!

STEVE ROGERS

The Siren — emmagnetised (ao3)

Summary: Austrian-born Alice Moser is new to Brooklyn when she meets and befriends a small blonde kid called Steve Rogers. Years later tragedy puts an ocean between them. When they meet again everything is different - Steve is about to go to war, and Alice is going to make the SSR an offer they can't refuse: her services as an undercover agent within the very heart of Nazi Germany.

The path is already written. The whole world knows the stories of Captain America and the Siren. Or do they?

Notes: ISTG IF U DON'T GO READ THIS MASTERPIECE RN

LOKI

A Twist of Marvel — GeneralofLoki (wattpad)

Summary: Naomi Swanson is fresh out of college, working as an assistant in a small paper supply company and inhaling coffee by the gallons. When an accident knocked her out, Naomi woke up in a world she had only seen through screens.

Armed only with her phone and a questionable data plan, Naomi attempts not to be killed as she comes face-to-face with the Avengers, and so much more.

Notes: do not and i repeat do NOT underestimate this just because it's a wattpad story ;)) it's literally the best girl goes to alternative dimension story in the mcu universe out there!!

KLAUS MIKAELSON

descent — tothelakes (wattpad)

Summary (since the summary on this one is a little long I'll be giving a brief description instead): Rory, the twin sister of Elena, unknowingly dates Klaus, the terrifying hybrid determined to sacrifice her sister. When the Mystic Falls events start, cue the beginning of their tumultuous journey as secrets are revealed and feelings come to light.

Notes: this is probably the best klaus fic to ever grace the world of fanfictions.

[ellieromanov]

Wasted flowers. N.R x Y/n

First fic on tumblr, let me know your thoughts and requests are always open.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: angst

Summery:

Y/n and Natasha are soulmates, they are perfect for each other, but life always has different plans.

Natasha’s point of view

Y/n and I met by chance and dumb luck. We were young and naïve, so clueless of the world and the cruelties it held, yet we thought we knew so much. It was spring in New York, I couldn't tell you the year but if you lived here during this particular spring, you would remember. It was the one when all the trees of Central Park blossomed with small flowers, the birds sang their song from dawn into the late hours of evening, and the breeze held a freshness that the city hadn't seen in centuries.

On this particular day I had wanted to clean up my apartment and make it feel more homely. After hours of picking the place up, rearranging furniture, and hanging up decorations it started to feel more like a home rather than a simple place to sleep. The last thing it was missing was a touch of greenery so I made my way to "Michael's Floral Design" to pick out a bouquet to set in the kitchen and maybe a few house plants.

I had pasted this flower shop on 85th St. nearly every single day on the commute to the tower but never really thought twice about it. I can still remember walking to the shop that day and getting red just at the thought of the 'big scary black widow' walking out of a flower shop with a bouquet of colorful flowers in hand. I can't remember why it embarrassed me so much. But I remember by the time I had arrived to the shop I didn't seem to care anymore, I was to mesmerized by all the colors to care.

I remember reading the name of every flower I saw and paying attention to every detail of every bouquet that was on display. And while I was browsing, the shopkeepers bell rang as someone entered the store, that someone being Y/n. Her hair was shorter back then and she looked much younger of course. I still remember the sweater she had on too. It was a knitted sweater that had so many layers of colors it was almost distracting, which was obviously a stark contrast to myself who was wearing all black. Little did I know that that sweater would eventually become my favorite years later.

I can't remember how we started talking but I'd like to think she was just charmed by me, but knowing Y/n she probably saw how confused I looked from across the store and decided to take pity on me. She helped me pick the flowers and I ended up leaving the store with more than I had planned on.

That night, for the very first time my apartment felt more inviting and and warm than it ever had in the past. What a simple difference flowers could make.

The next time we met it was a few months later in the fall at French bakery. I was sitting at a nearby table waiting for the worker to call my name for my coffee and breakfast when, again, the shopkeepers bell rang and in walked the same girl from the flower shop, only now her hair was slightly longer and died a darker color. But her face looked the same. This time She wore a black beret, a grey sweater and a white and black polkadot skirt. Not as colorful as she dressed earlier in the spring and I can remember wondering if maybe something had happened in between those times to have made her stop wearing so much color, or maybe she was just following along with the seasons. Either way I wasn't going to ask.

She walked up to the counter to place her order and as she was going to grab a seat to wait for her order to be called, I gave her a small wave. The smile she gave me as she walked to my table is one I'll never forget. This time I think I actually did charm her because we ended up staying at this bakery for hours just talking away. I didn't want to leave. I got her phone number that day.

After that we started talking on a regular basis, we'd text each other nearly every day and we'd plan to meet up when we could. It was later that November when she asked me on an official date. How was I meant to turn her down?

We went on a walk through her neighborhood, I remember it was cold and all the leaves had already fallen off the trees and the sun was starting to set much earlier, but I couldn't have cared less, because Y/n was the most wonderful girl I had ever met. She was smart, and witty and she was insanely funny, she made me laugh harder than I had ever laughed in my whole life. And she was gorgeous and kind and soft and she was so humble. It was a nice contrast from everything I was. We balanced each other out nicely.

During this walk through her neighborhood she stopped and greeted every shop owner, every child, and every neighbor with a smile as if she had known them her whole life, and maybe she did, I forgot to ask.

Later that night I walked her to her front door and she invited me in. Her appointment was colorful and crowded with little trinkets she had collected through out the years, art hanging on the walls, plants in every corner, and a bouquet of flowers on her kitchen counter. I ended up staying there that night.

The fall had come and gone and missions were slow, I think everything felt slow when I wasn't with Y/n, my days felt endless and my nights were torturous without her, but looking back now, I kind of wish things felt slow even when I was with her, that would mean I would've gotten more time to appreciate her and love her.

That December she invited me to spend the holidays with her and her family, I of course said yes. That was my first "real" Christmas, we had the food, the films, the decorations and the presents. Y/n's family was incredible, although nothing alike. They were loud and chaotic, unlike Y/n who was soft spoken and patient but it made sense. It was clear how much they all loved each other. The way Y/n and her siblings would interact and bicker always made me laugh and the love her parents had for each other made my heart full. Even though Y/n and I hadn't been dating long, her family took me in like I was their own.

The new year had flown by quickly, winter had pasted and so did the spring. I learned so much about her. I learned how much she loved to paint, and she loved to cook, and she loved playing her piano, of course she did, she was a composer. And I quickly learned how much I love, her. It was that summer that we had said it for the first time. We were drinking white wine on her balcony watching the sun slowly set when she said it. I didn't even think twice before saying it back.

When the next spring had approached we had moved in together, a small apartment in downtown Brooklyn, it was perfect, it was us.

A few months later Y/n got a dog, a Great Dane named Frodo. Of course out of any dog she could have picked she chose the horse. Frodo was the dumbest dog I've ever met but god was he lovable.

Y/n and I had our daily routines, we'd wake up, I'd start getting ready while Y/n started breakfast. Some days she'd make it herself, others she'd take Frodo on a walk to the bakery, and when she'd go to the bakery she'd also stop by the flower shop to pick up flowers as well. She'd get home, we'd eat, then she'd start getting ready while I cleaned up. And We always had to give at least five minutes of love and affection to Frodo before we left for work for the day. 

When we'd get home, we'd take Frodo an another walk through the park then stop by the market to pick up anything we may have ran out of through out the week. We'd get home and start dinner. Y/n was always the better cook but I did what I could to help without screwing it up. We'd finish dinner then have a glass of wine together on the balcony and talk about our days. Once the sun would set we'd go back inside and normally watch a film together, but sometimes she'd work on her latest Composition at the piano or she would keep working on her painting while I read to her. This was our day-to-day lives, and just how perfect it was.

It was June of the next year when Y/n had brought up the idea of marriage. I agreed with her without a  doubt, how could I not? Y/n was my other half. We'd been together for nearly 5 years.  We never had an official proposal, I never got down on one knee with a ring, and neither did she, we just started planning. We didn't need anything extravagant for it to be special, we just needed each other.

Time seemed to be moving so fast and before I knew it, it was already late fall again. This fall had been different from the others, Y/n didn't seem as present as she normally was, she seemed so lost in her own thoughts. At first it didn't worry me, she had a lot going on with work, she had just gotten a promotion at the symphony  she worked for so there was a lot of new changes and responsibilities.

But Y/n had started to forget more frequently too. She'd often forget what she had been doing only moments before and she'd forget what she wanted to say in the middle of our conversations. And for awhile I just thought it was all just work related stress.

But only a month later, Y/n was sent home on paid leave after having "an episode." She accused a coworker of stealing one of her books on composition arts that was important for a project she was working on. She forgot that she had happily loaned him the book just two days prior.

Y/n cried so hard that night, she didn't know why she didn't remember loaning the book. She was so frustrated. I suggested that we go to the doctors and that's what we did.

Stage three brain cancer.

The tumor was against the part of the brain that affects memory.

We walked out of that doctors office that day hand in hand. We were meant to go in and figure out what was going on then go home to get ready for one of Stark's Christmas parties but we didn't think that the diagnosis would be anything serious. We thought they'd tell us that she was just stressed and needed more rest, not that she had cancer that's causing early onset dementia. We both decided to keep it a secret.

That winter we spent half of the holidays with her family and the other half with the team at Clint a Laura's. Y/n had admitted to me that being around the team was less stressful than her family simply because she didn't want her family to notice something was wrong.

The holidays went by smoothly and Y/n started treatments. She was able to start working again later that march. When we got the diagnostic I asked Furry to cut down on my hours so I could be with her more often. He agreed to assign me to fewer missions.

That year passed by before we knew it. In all craziness we both dropped the idea of marriage until things had settled.

Frodo was getting older, he had silver down his back and around his eyes, he was getting slower at night too. We still walked him twice a day and would even bring him with us when we would meet with friends. He was always the bestest boy.

Y/n and I still had our daily routines, wake up, get ready and eat breakfast. Except for one time in particular, Y/n had wanted to go to the bakery with Frodo since it had been awhile since we had last went. 30 minutes went by and they weren't back, I called her but she didn't answer the phone. When I went to check her location she was almost in Jackson heights in Queens which was a 40 minute subway ride away. The bakery was only a 10 minute walk away.

I had gotten in the car to go pick her up. I was furious. When I had finally gotten to her she just cried in my arms.

And after that point Y/n's affliction only worsened. She stopped remembering things during her rehearsals with the orchestra and her compositions were in shambles, none of her music or writing made sense. She'd get awful headaches too. Every other night she'd cry herself to sleep because of the pain.

The second time there was an incident she was sent home on permanent medical leave. She was devastated. So was I. Some days I'd get the Y/n who would sing in the kitchen while she cooked us dinner, the Y/n who would sit on the balcony and paint, the Y/n who would joke about our unborn children, and the Y/n who could turn every negative into a positive... other days I'd get a stranger.

Her family was devastated when we finally told them, they started visiting from Seattle as often as the could after that.

Three years passed far to quickly and Y/n only got worse. Her memory was fading fast and the pain in her head only got worse. The worst was when I'd get mad at her like when she'd try to go on walks by herself or when she'd try to cook for herself. I couldn't do anything without her and she couldn't do anything without me. We eventually needed to give Frodo to the Barton's so they could take care of him and I asked furry to take me off the mission list all together so I could just do SHIELD work from home.

This brings us to two years ago. Y/n's memory didn't worsen to much since the worst of it, she still remembered exactly who I was and most of the time she understood what was going but she was so weak, most months consisted of multiple trips to the hospital where she'd be kept for a few nights. But towards the end of it, even her strongest medications couldn't help with the pain.

I remember we started using the spoon theory and color system not long after this. To get through our days we'd make a list of things we wanted to do. First Y/n had to give her color. Green Days were good days, she could get out of bed, take a walk, make dinner, paint, play her piano, etc. Yellow days she'd stay in our room or maybe the living room and sleep, maybe watch something on tv or read a book. And red days were the worst of them. She couldn't get out of bed, she couldn't eat, sleep, or talk. she couldn't do anything but lay there. Those were the worst.

But on green or yellow days we'd make a list of what we wanted to do. Each activity on the list took up a certain amount of energy, and Y/n only had so many spoon fulls of energy to give, that's why the call it the spoon theory. It just helped us do things without Y/n getting burned out.

The last hospital trip we went on she was kept for over a month, machines and wires where hooked up to her to make sure her heart didn't stop. It was so unexpected. The doctors didn't really understand how her health decreased in such a short amount of time. But they understood that my girl was in pain and they tried everything they could to stop that pain.

I believe deep down Y/n knew something the rest of us didn't, I think she knew it was her time, she was so tired and she was hurting and she was ready.

"Natasha."

"I'm sorry we didn't get married."

"I'm sorry we didn't have kids."

"I'm sorry that I can't remember all the time."

"I'm sorry we didn't get the life we wanted."

"I tried. I tried to get better but it hurts so much."

The Barton's would visit weekly, so would stark and other members of the team as well as Y/n's parents.

But I was the one who didn't leave her side. I was there through it all. I was there when she would sob in pain, I was there when she'd forget who our family's were. I was there when she wouldn't sleep for days on end. I was always there.

People often ask me if I regret it, being with her, falling in love with her, meeting her. I always tell them the same thing. Never.

I'd do it a thousand times over again if it meant I got to fall in love with her all over again. Fall in love with her smile and her laugh and her love of flowers, pastries, dogs, music and art. I'd do it all again if it meant that was a promise, that I'd be able to have my girl.

12/30/1992 - 11/11/2018

Y/n Y/l/n

Friend • daughter • sister • lover

Life goes on. two years have slipped away since Y/n has been gone. I’m not able to look at flowers the same anymore. They used to represent her spirit, colorful and lively. But now they mirror her paintings, cracked paint on a Canvas, the echo of her piano that’s lost it’s tune, or that one spring in the city all those years ago. flowers are just fleeting moments of a beauty that slip through our fingers like everything else. my world is quieter without her, and flowers, now seem like an attempt to hold onto moments that inevitably slip away.

[honeybeefae]

Eris Week 2023 Official Masterlist

Hey everyone! I am SO excited to participate in Eris Week and to get ahead of the game, I will post the names and summaries of the fics I'll be writing so that everyone can find them easily! (All things labeled with a * are smut!)

The things that are bolded and underlined in the picture above are the prompts I will be using that day and yes, some days there will be two fics because I couldn't just pick one! I hope you guys are as excited about this as I am <3

As always, thank you so much for reading, liking, reblogging, talking, and just anything that you all do to support my fics. This community is amazing and I love all of you.

(Also tagging @erisweek2023! I encourage all of you to participate in it!)

Sunday | Family

As you go into labor Eris is taken back to when his mother went into labor with Lucien, especially as the same problem seems to arise. When you reach out your hand for him to stay, will he take it or will he be just like his father?

(Eris x Reader fic) (POSTED)

Monday | High Lord

The day of Eris's coronation is finally here and as you go to position, you realize he is missing. After calming everyone's panic you go off in search of him and realize just how nervous your soon-to-be High Lord truly is.

(Eris x Reader fic) (POSTED)

Monday (pt. 2) | Heir*

A recent concoction has hit the fae market that is said to bring about your primal instincts in order to help fertility. When Eris first suggests it you laugh, thinking it is just another herb or supplement, until you both drink it and realize just how primal it reverts you to.

(Smut, Aphrodisiac, Knot, Primal Play, Alpha/Omega vibes)

(Eris x Reader fic) (POSTED)

Tuesday | Secrets*

Eris is visiting the Court of Nightmares to keep in touch with things now that he is officially High Lord of Autumn. As he mingles he is introduced to a lovely vixen who, despite Eris's resistance, takes no hints to his distaste. While Eris tries to search for a way out he catches the eye of a Shadowsinger who is none too pleased about the wandering hands touching what is his, even if in secret.

(Smut, Secret Relationship, Dom/Sub dynamic)

(Eris x Azriel) (POSTED)

Wednesday | Autumn Equinox

On the dawn of your mating ceremony to Eris, the same day as the Autumn Equinox, you are in a daze as you remember everything that has led you to this moment. And when you see Eris waiting for you at the end of the aisle, crown of leaves and thorns atop his head, you realize there is no one else for you.

(Eris x Reader fic)

Thursday | Dancing

It is the day you are meant to be introduced to court, to show yourself off to the countless suitors of the Autumn Court, but there is one problem. You cannot dance. Lucky for you, however, that a certain red-headed heir is willing to teach you despite his disdain for you. Or is it something else?

(Eris x Reader fic)

Friday | Arranged Marriage*

Against all odds of this arranged marriage between you and the future High Lord of Autumn, you had hoped that something could blossom between the two of you. You wanted that fairytale you had been sold on so when he refuses to meet your gaze, talk with you, and even go as far as flirting with other women in court, you are left with no other option but to engage your attention to other men. As it turns out, your husband can dish it but cannot take it when you enjoy the company of three mortal men.

(Smut, Arranged Marriage, Outdoor Sex, Jealousy)

(Eris x Reader Fic)

Friday (pt. 2) | Modern AU*

Despite being at the top of your class, popular, and having everything you ever wanted, there was a thorn in your side that you just couldn't get rid of named Eris Vanserra. You were academic rivals and although he seemed like a golden boy with his perfect hair and pressed clothes, you were about to see a whole different side as the two of you are paired up for a project that required meeting outside of school hours.

(Smut, Academic Rivals, Dom/Sub, College!AU, Spitting, Spanking, Daddy Kink)

(Eris x Reader fic)

Saturday | Free Day*

Eris had been uptight since you were children and finally, as you were now both adults, you decided to put your foot down and have him relax. And although your methods are unconventional, the two of you soon find yourselves basking in a room of hazy smoke and unspoken feelings that are about to come to light.

(Smut, Stoned Sex, Drugs, Intense, High Sex)

(Eris x Reader fic)

[astarion-obsessions]

I have a fic idea floating around in my head after I read a dialogue from Astarion I didn't come across in my playthrough:

Spoilers for Astarion's story and romance ahead!

"Once, in the first decade of my slavery, I found a darling boy who I couldn't bear to bring back to him. So I ran, instead of hurting that sweet man. After Cazador caught me, the bastard sealed me, starving, inside a dusty tomb, all on my own, for an entire year. A year of silence. Months of scratching my hands raw, trying to carve my way out. More months of not moving at all. Months wishing only for death. So don't you ever judge me for doing what Cazador ordered. Nothing can make up for that. Not even Cazador's death."

And this hit me really hard, like, I can't even begin to imagine what bottomless desperation and hopelessness Astarion must have felt.

So, I have an idea for a fic with a monster hunter Tav, who is the very boy Astarion has saved back then. And I'm being realistic, I will probably never write this fic, so I thought I would share my idea with you guys at least. So here it is:

Tav is this exact darling boy, all grown up now. Astarion sees the resemblance at first sight but he's changed so much that he tells himself that it's not him, it's not the man from almost 200 years ago. When Tav tells his name, Astarion is somewhat relieved. The man he spared all those decades ago had another name. He's been called "xxx" not Tav. The resemblance of their names Astarion chooses to ignore. Because Tav doesn't seem to know him at all according to his behaviour.

Only when Tav introduces himself with his full name, Astarion is hit full force with the now undeniable realisation that this is indeed the man he's refused to bring back to Cazador. Suddenly he feels like the young vampire spawn again, who didn't know what horrors would await him after this fateful rebellious act. How he would suffer just because he wanted to spare this man's life.

But why hasn't he said something? Astarion hasn't changed since then, even without a reflection he is absolutely sure of that, so Tav must have recognised him the second he saw him. So why?

Then it dawns on him. He's forgotten. Tav simply doesn't remember him anymore. Why would he? It's centuries ago. Even for an elf this would feel like a lifetime ago and they've never met again. He was just a fleeting, irrelevant occurrence of an almost deadly night for him, nothing more. And Astarion doesn't even think of reminding him. What purpose would it serve?

Yet, in the days to follow Astarion can't help himself but think about it every time his gaze so much as brushes the figure of their party's de facto leader.

He's seduced him once, he could very well do so a second time. After all, he needs his protection secured. And so he casually asks to everybody around for whom a loved one waits at home. None for Tav, as far as Astarion interprets his silence to this topic.

But then, when they encounter the Gur in the swamp, Tav reveals that he's a Gur friend and also a monster hunter. He greets Gandrel as an old friend and assures him that he will be back in town for sure. But when Gandrel tells Tav why he is there, mentioning the missing children and him hunting a vampire called Astarion… Tav reacts as if he's never heard of him.

Astarion is completely baffled and can't decide what to feel, what to do. He's anxious because of the Gur hunting him, having expected for Tav to just turn him in, but he didn't and now Astarion is anxious and utterly confused. He feels like a helpless animal, trapped in a corner, about to lash out, do anything and everything to be safe.

They part ways with the Gur, wishing him well, and then there's silence. Smothering, deafening silence. Astarion doesn't dare to ask. Ask why he's covered him up. Ask if he remembers. Ask anything at all. Because he's afraid. So so afraid. And if this encounter has taught him anything, it is that he will never be safe, never be free as long as Cazador lives.

Now he needs Tav on his side more than ever. He could ensure his protection against the other Gur. Astarion won't be having one second of peace before this is sorted out, but he doesn't know what to do. Maybe Tav just wants to turn Astarion in himself? Maybe that's why he's never said anything about remembering him. Because he was laying low, waiting for the right moment to strike and take him back to his master. To the very man Astarion has spared him all these years ago.

Perhaps this is what he gets for saving a monster hunter. The very embodiment of a vampire's fiend.

What he doesn't know is that Tav became a monster hunter shortly after the tragic night he met Astarion. But not to hunt the spawns, but to hunt the ones who made them what they were. To hunt power hungry vampire lords. Just that Cazador had been too mighty for a rookie like Tav back then. So he learned. He fought. He hunted. To make a difference to spawns like Astarion.

When they settle down for the night, Astarion's mind is racing. He is sure that Tav will now make him his prey. Astarion needs to act. Fast. He volunteers to keep watch in the first shift- and Tav joins him.

They haven't talked directly to each other since before the Gur, and Astarion is still a nervous wreck, but tries to pull himself together. He chooses to overlook the fact that Tav very well knows what he is, be it since the Gur or - let's be realistic - since the first time they've met outside the nautiloid, and reveals to him that he is a vampire.

Tav already knows this and says so. He reveals that he's known since they met… 200 years ago. So there it is. The proof that he indeed remembers Astarion, he just hasn't said anything because he wasn't sure Astarion remembered him. How could he not? He was a gorgeous sweet boy, one that Astarion might have been seriously interested in… in another life.

Tav tells Astarion that he didn't see him for what he was right away, but their first encounter weighed so heavy on his chest, that he couldn't stop thinking about it. He met some Gur back then, who came around a lot, so they talked about anything and everything. When the Gur mentioned why he was in Baldur's Gate, it hit Tav like a brick to the face. He saw the connection to the night with Astarion clearly, and that's when he knew Astarion was a vampire. Most likely a spawn.

Tav recognised that the Gur had a very… one-sided opinion of vampires and their spawns. But now Tav could put two and two together and guess what Astarion had done for him. He's spared him.

After this crucial realisation Tav had searched for clues, hints, anything that would lead him to Astarion. He would hunt every now and then, wouldn't he? But after almost a year of nothing but a name - Cazador - Tav decided to move on, fearing that Astarion had just vanished.

But even so, their night together has influenced Tav to an extent he didn't know was possible. He had wanted to see the world, to experience its wonders. His tribe had warned him that it was a cruel world, but Tav heard its calling and couldn't just ignore it. And yet, no words could have prepared him for what he had found.

But now that they found each other again, Tav is determined to help him, and Astarion finds himself in a storm of feelings. Would things truly turn to his favor? Could he really dare to let the hope sprout once again after all these hopeless, horrifying years of abuse and domination?

Astarion had learned quickly - and painfully - just what it means to grant himself the luxury of something delusional like hope. But maybe this time he truly has the chance to defy the odds…

Will Tav stand by his side? Will Astarion overcome the demons of his past and find his true self? Will Astarion and Tav work out what they mean to one another on the way? It's a journey with twists and turns and a future utterly uncertain…

Let me know what you think! Maybe I'll get motivated enough to start writing this fic if some people are interested in this scenario...

[allyriadayne]

could you talk more about the daynes post robert's rebellion?

SURE

first of, this is mostly my hcs, speculations and a mix of things i must have read back when there was the height of asoiaf meta in 2013 because there is almost nothing about the daynes post robert's rebellion. so bear with me.

just to set the scene, the members of house dayne left after the mess of the rebellion were the unnamed older brother of ashara and arthur, the lord and father of edric; allyria the youngest sister that i headcanon to be much younger than her older siblings seeing as she is betrothed to beric dondarrion who is was in his twenties per agot so i don't think the marriage would've occurred if allyria was in her middle thirties or forties if she was closer to ashara and arthur; edric, twelve years old, beric's loyal squire; and gerold aka darkstar head of high hermitage, also in his twenties? around arianne's age.

(c) Eddie Mendoza for the cover of A Song of Ice and Fire 2025 Calendar

under the cut because i'm crazy

i don't know if the books are ever going to make clear what happened at the toj-starfall zone but we can be sure only that ned went from one to the other with lyanna's bones and supposedly baby jon to return dawn to the daynes. ashara had a baby of father unknown and shortly after ned was there she took her own life, body never found. i go back and forward in thinking if ashara's brother lord dayne was there with her when ned went or if he was one of the dornish commanders defending the targs. in any case, his presence was completely zero during this time so i think he was too injured for a time or too sickly in general to do something to reestablish the dayne name in dorne after arthur being an important part in elia's disgrace and indirectly, her murder.

because yeah after arthur and ashara's death and going by the books there is zero mention of them, even in the chapters set in dorne or others about dornish characters make no mention of them. and it's strange considering that when you read awoiaf and f&b, the daynes are The knights of dorne. queen nymeria marries a dayne, sends a starfall king to the wall, meria martell commands a dayne to burn oldtown, arguably one of the most powerful cities of the time, out of all the sons of daeron ii and myriah martell, maekar marries a dayne, the only dornish lady. it could be nothing OR something but i think it does mean something. we see there's no daynes in oberyn's party in kl or speculation in general about the new sword of the morning beyond remembering dear old arthur. they've fallen completely into obscurity. the house was reduced to a young girl and its child lord.

edric's dad dies before agot (he doesn't seem to afflicted by his death when he meets arya if he were less than a year dead, inheriting the lordship at such a young age would've been dramatic to him), i would say just after becoming a page to beric dondarrion at 7 yo and i headcanon the marriage between beric and allyria was brokered at this time too. this was part of a fic i was writing like 500 years ago but i think lord dayne must have known he would not live too long, not to see edric grow so he must have looked for someone to prepare and take care of allyria and edric after he died. betrothing allyria to a marcher lord is......strange. if a dornish person would have to be married to someone it would go like this 1) not from the reach 2) not from the marches in that order, there is too much bad blood. the daynes have a longstanding tradition of killing oakhearts so marrying allyria to the heir of blackhaven and giving him his only heir, lord dayne entrusted a complete stranger with the future of his house.

beric would've been in charge of teaching young edric just about everything. he would be living in the stormlands for almost half his live, learning from a his maester and how to govern a stormlands' castle. meanwhile, allyria in a few years probably around agot time would be ready to marry beric when she reached her majority. she would've been the defacto ruler of starfall in edric's name when lord dayne dies, i think the idea was to swap when edric gained his spurs: he would return to starfall after a successful run as a tourney knight, probably gaining some recognition from whatever beric was tasked with at the capital (rip king) and then accompany allyria to be married to his knight master. andddd fin.

the thing is. allyria being so young during the rebellion, lord dayne absence for whatever reason and then dying, let the younger members with no connections in the wider dorne political context. it is said young children go to the water gardens and it's fun yeah but it's def a starting point for politics for many lords. it's close to the martells and it's an opportunity to make friends with future rulers, /everyone/ is going. the daynes didn't have this. allyria was probably very young when the rebellion happened (i think no older than 5) and for obvious reasons she was not sent to the water gardens; as for ned, i think lord dayne could not secure an invitation, this or he died too early to even try. if allyria had gone, she would've been for sure one of arianne's companions, she has both the breeding and the standing, but NOT and it's crucial, the reputation. see what arianne has to say in affc about gerold's standing:

"He is highborn enough to make a worthy consort, she thought. Father would question my good sense, but our children would be as beautiful as dragonlords."

it's must be passé to associate with the daynes at this point. think of the conningtons losing all standing when joncon lost the battle and was exiled.

in any case, allyria, more than edric, grew in obscurity. as of the books she's betrothed to a marcher lord nobody knows if he's alive or dead, has a missing nephew and it's in charge of one of the most ancient first men houses of westeros. sad! at least ned is having more fun. which leads me to darkstar. i see his thirst to prove himself, his notoriety as a cruel knight as another way to separate himself from what the main branch has fallen into. he is in his twenties so he was probably affected by the same dark cloud as the others.

"If I led a quarter of a million men to death, would they call me Gerold the Great? I shall remain Darkstar, I think. At least it is mine own."

he wants to have what arthur had, but not be the sword of the morning, he wants something that it's his own, as he says. he may want the sword and the fame like arthur, but not to be associated with another's bad luck so to speak. it's very telling that he's called one of "the most dangerous man in dorne" and what is the sword of the morning if not this? he's a dark mirror of the daynes pre rebellion, just like allyria would've been a renown beauty just like ashara is she wasn't cloistered. something something gerold and allyria as mirrors of what could've happened to ashara and arthur if they hadn't the protection of the monarchy.

i once read gerold is meant to have young ned's plot after germ scrapped the five year time skip and i think this is half true. i do think there is something to be done about dawn the sword and i think gerold is going to steal it and do something with it, something ned can't do because he's /still/ in the riverlands. i don't know what but i think it ties nicely with the theme of deconstructing the noble knight archetype. arthur is only great because he knew how to kill.

writing this i had a breakdown about the parallels between arthur and gerold

to finish this rambling i want to say my hopes for house dayne in what is left of asoiaf is 1) ned alive 2) gerold steals dawn 3) and like. something. honestly i will take anything at this point about allyria. DOES SHE EVEN KNOW? my poor girl and 4) if germ wants to clear the toj situation then it's fine.

thanks for asking and to anyone reaching this point lol. this is mostly general but if you want to talk about anything specific just message me! k thx muah!

[sgiandubh]

Hola, Sgiandubh.

Mordor no debe estar muy contento con esas fotos que publicaste. Nos acusan de publicar recibos antiguos cuando hay un avistamiento Tait y, ahora, BIF y sus seguidores se dedican a rebloguear antiguas entrevistas donde ella hablaba del prometido "sin nombre". Ya se encargaba el magazine de turno de editar el texto añadiéndolo para que no quedara duda de su identidad. Como ese bloguer de IG que ha cambiado la secuencia de fotos y no ha publicado las que han causado tanto revuelo pero si se ha dedicado a seguir insultando a las #shipperscrazies. Manipulando la información real que hay disponible. Si eso no es reunir a las tropas para tranquilizar los ánimos no sé qué es 😆

Dear Rallying the Troops Anon,

Me alegra mucho que Mordor no esté contento con estas fotos, por supuesto. La idiotez colectiva del Otro Lado es contundente y menospreciar al adversario - la peor estrategia que pueda imaginarse.

But without further ado, let's translate your comment:

'Hi, Sgian-dubh,

Mordor must not be very happy with the pictures you posted. They accuse us of posting old receipts every time there's a Tait sighting, but now BIF and her followers are busy reblogging old interviews where she talked about the 'unnamed fiancé'. The magazine had already dutifully edited the text, adding to it so there would be no doubt about his identity. Just like that Instagram blogger who changed the order of the pics and did not post those that caused so much commotion, but who did continue to insult the #shipperscrazies. Manipulating the real information that is available.

If that is not rallying the troops to calm things down, I don't know what is 😆.'

Well, then - LOL. As I just said: I am very glad that these pics irritated the shit out of Mordor, of course. The collective idiocy of the Other Side is blatant and of course, belittling the adversary - the worst possible strategy.

But remember (hahahahaha), darling: double standard is a paramount policy of the Best Fans and the Only Ones, FWIW. They feel they have a license to do just about everything: repost things when reality bites and people begin to realize maybe things are not just as black and white (but rather more than fifty shades of grey, LOL). Insult people who dared question their honesty and/or intentions, with a ferocity that says a lot about their unsavory mob. And also play the ostrich, when people come to them with info like this very recent one:

The reactions are just priceless:

Sure, Jan, wherever you'd live (a 500 people village, somewhere, I suppose). Because social and business dinners happen on Saturday nights, since the dawn of humanity (where is McIdiot, on that Saturday night, since it's all so social/business? rehearsing Smooth Operator with Blonde Bambino?). And yes, of course, 'pictures or it did not happen' (it did happen before, btw, albeit with chaperones, but never with the multi-millionaire, successful music producer!), on that we agree, and it's rare - this round's on me. That being said, it's priceless to read (and almost hear) those banshee shrieks: 'They are not romantically involved!!!!!!!!!!!!' I spat my Coke, again and remembered this wonderful Terry Pratchett quote:

 'Multiple exclamation marks,' he went on, shaking his head, 'are a sure sign of a diseased mind.'

So, as you can see, that rally cry was also very, very far away from being efficient. As Cambronne famously said at Waterloo: merde!

One last thing and please try and not hate me for it, since I might have misunderstood what you really meant: there was no editing, as far as I know, of that interview BIF reposted. That name was always there, but once more, never uttered by C and just added for context by the journalist, when she wrote her paper. See for yourself:

Reading that last phrase tells the whole story: 'finding time that suits both their schedules is also proving challenging'. ROFLMAO. For Christ's sake, the 'intensely private' one ain't no Quincy Jones! And this is how you just know Tatler sugarcoated a very bland, unenthusiastic interview. A very common practice.

Salud! Don't be a stranger, Anon. You inspire me. 😘

PS: that banshee shriek was completely unnecessary. Anon just said they were 'catching up', nothing more (which immediately makes me think there was something more about it). Nobody suggested anything romantic. Pavlov's dog will always react to the stimulus, though. And thank you, querida, for the heads-up. 😘🙌

[stardusthuntress]

To Speak Without Words - Ch. 1

Crosshair x female!reader (she/her pronouns for now, might get spicy later) 

Word Count: ~2k 

Tantis Rescue AU! I’ve had this idea for ages, and now that S3 has rescued Omega and Crosshair it dawned on me that I never actually posted this one! Seems like there’s no better time to post it than now! (also: TECH LIVES!!)

Summary: (mini-series) Crosshair starts to fall for the woman he’s rescued with. She has learned to read him easier than just about anyone else he’s ever met. He learns her too. 

TW: Crosshair has PTSD, and Hunter is still learning how to deal with it. Speaking of, it starts with a flashback to a torture scene… while Crosshiar is still in Hemlock’s custody (well, Hemlock thinks it’s more like ownership, but who needs his opinion anyways); I do mention that they both get back in the fight later, but it’s not a big focus, comparitively

A/N: So, I’ve had this for ages, but I thought I needed more to it before I posted it… turns out it’s pretty complete as is! And now that we’ve actually gotten to see the Tantis exfil and Crosshair and Omega return to the gang, I realized I really needed to just post the darned thing! I just want to say, I didn’t change this to fit anything from S3, it’s been written like this for ages, I just fixed some typos before I posted it, so S3 has not been an influence here! 

PS. This is my FIRST Crosshair fic on here!!! WHOOOOOO!!!

PPS. I promise I'll get back to the "Right Attire" posts soon! Just needed to get this one out of my WIPs!

Crosshair banners from @/djarrex, hyperspace banners my own!

He’s barely conscious. Voices enter the room. All are familiar, but not in a good way. But only one has a name he can vaguely remember, something to do with something deadly, like a poison… Hemlock! That was his name. The name sank like a rock in his mind, and took his stomach with it. Nothing good was coming, that was for sure. 

But one was new. A female. She seemed as upset as his stomach felt. But despite how queasy he felt, this he needed to see, to understand why she was here and whether he knew her. 

Slowly, he opened his eyes. At first, everything was a blur… gradually, his eyes focused on her face. He’d never seen her before, but the fear and pain he saw on her features was more than familiar… and then the memory faded…

Snippets of other memories flash through his mind, all out of order. His mind is beginning to block out large chunks of his captivity… 

Hemlock’s voice broke through the haze of it all, “I see those paternal instincts your batch mates displayed still exist, but unfortunately, I need the little girl for another experiment.” He turns to the TK’s standing guard, “Remove her from the room.” Then turns back to Crosshair lying on the table, “Let’s see what other animalistic emotions you tend to display. I know you recently gave up your disdain for, what did you call them, ‘Regs’? How about the civilians you thought you were protecting?” Hemlock once again turns towards the guards in the hallway, “bring the woman in.” 

Flashes of moments of both of their agonies as they both did their best to conceal their ‘animalistic tendencies’, as Hemlock put it, flash through Crosshair’s mind. Doing their best not to become attached to the person at the other end of the table, but the need to protect them was as inevitable as if they had been sharing a bunk. 

She’d been dozing off against her corner of the cold, hard table, sitting on the floor, arms chained to the corner above her. 

Crosshair was sitting across from her, attached to the foot of the table in much the same manner, doing his best to stay awake while she slept. They always took turns, so they’d have warning when Hemlock showed up. 

She woke up with a start when Crosshair nudged her with his foot. She looked at him, bracing for bad news, but he simply nodded towarads the door. 

“Shield!” Crosshair announced, he could see the corridor more clearly than she could from his spot at the foot of the table. 

She reacted instinctively, knowing that word meant protecting her face and neck as best as she could. No sooner had she done so than the wall that had been blocking her view of the corridor was blown away in a blast that rocked the whole room. 

When the dust settled she found a rough-looking man staring Crosshair down. 

Her head was still ringing from the blast, but it seemed like the man was mad at Crosshair. 

Hunter looked down at Crosshair’s battered form, leaning wearily against the wall. “One question for you brother… why? Why did you aim it at me before rescuing the kid?” 

There was a pause, while a disgruntled man with a device wrapping around the back of his head knealt down and began drilling away at the cuffs restraining Crosshair. 

“I could ask you the same question.” Came Crosshair’s venomous reply. 

Both men tensed, like they were preparing for a fight. 

“NO!” She shouted, tugging against her restraints, reaching for Cross with her feet in a meager attempt to shield him from the wrath of the long-haired man. 

“Here, lemme help you, little lady,” a voice spoke up from beside her, and thick arms reached around her and took ahold of the cuffs around her wrists, easily ripping through the restraints anchoring her to the table, snapping the cuffs in half without hurting her wrists at all. But she barely noticed, as soon as she was free she launched herself across the room and put herself between Crosshair and the tattooed man. 

“NO.” She said firmly. “Don’t hurt him.”

“I wasn’t going to, Sweetheart. He’s my brother. Just wanted to knock some sense into him, that’s all.” 

“Don’t. Touch. Him.” She backed up towards Crosshair, stumbling, barely able to keep herself on her feet, until her back bumped his chest. Crosshair’s hand found her shoulder, and she knew it was an attempt to steady them both. 

“I won’t hurt him.” The tattooed man said. “I promise. I’m Hunter by the way. What’s your name, Hun?” 

Crosshair’s grip on her shoulder tightened. A warning. Both to her and Hunter. Reminding them both that she had Crosshair’s protection. 

Hunter raised his hands to emphasize his point, “I won’t hurt either of you. But we gotta get you both out of here, it’s a long way, and neither of you look so stable on your feet.” He held out a hand in offering, but the two clung tightly to each other. Strange. Crosshair prided himself of never needing anyone, even his brothers. Clearly, they were used to only having each other and a hard time. Hunter retracted his hand. “I’ll be with you the whole way, I’ll do my best to catch you if you fall.” 

She glanced over her shoulder at Crosshair. He’d never told her about his squad, but Hemlock had done his best to pry information about them from him. She knew who they were, and that Crosshair refused to tell anyone about them, but she didn’t know why. She didn’t know if he still trusted them. One nod was all it took to confirm that they were ok, but the anger in his eyes, as he stared Hunter down, told her volumes. 

Days later, Crosshair and Hunter end up in a big argument, no one caught how it started or why exactly, but she can’t stand it. She has to step in. 

“But you still don’t SEE him, Hunter!” 

“You wouldn’t know. You weren’t there.” Hunter defends, his words heavy with his own pain. 

“I know— “

“—She knows.” Crosshair’s reply is curt, angry, and pained, and Hunter notices he won’t hold eye contact anymore, but he’s not sure why. He thinks it has to do with that annoying need to get attention only to ignore it when he does have it. 

“Hemlock had security camera footage,” she says quietly. 

Hunter’s cold, angry exterior begins to soften. “I take it he used it against… when he…uhh…” 

“Sorta,” she confirms. 

Crosshair is staring pointedly at one spot on the ground. There’s nothing there. But he can’t look at anyone right now. Not when thinking about what the two of them went through back there. 

She puts a hand on his arm. 

He tenses beneath her touch, but doesn’t push it off. 

She steps forward, slowly, and leans her head against his temple. 

“We’re both safe now,” Hunter can hear her whisper to him. “I’m okay now.”

What was that second thing she’d said? I’m okay now? Hunter’s mind was reeling. That wasn’t what he was expecting her to say. Had he heard her right? For once, he questioned his heightened hearing. 

She turns the conversation back on Hunter to take the attention off of Crosshair so he has a moment to breathe and return to himself. 

“Hunter, listen, I know you want Crosshair to communicate more. But you know Crosshair prefers to use actions to communicate instead of words. And yet when he does use actions to communicate, you ignore them.”

Hunter is stunned into silence. He has no idea what to say nor what to look for. 

She continues, “You said he aimed his blaster at you before rescuing Omega from the wreckage, and yet you did the same thing back in the training room, right before they destroyed everything.” 

She still pets Crosshair’s head and neck, as he hides his face in her neck, “You said Crosshair didn’t care about any of you, even the kid, after he chose the Empire, and yet he still managed to get a message to you, plan 88, remember?… he was caught and tortured immediately after.”

On her shoulder, she can feel Crosshair’s breathing returning to a normal, slower pattern, but he still needs more time, so she continues, “You know Crosshair never misses his mark, he keeps his target in the crosshairs, hence the name. And yet, whenever he found himself fighting against you boys… well, you’re still here. Doesn’t that tell you a lot?” 

Hunter is staring at his brother now, worry on his face as Crosshair begins to surface from the woman’s shoulder, but she’s not done yet. 

“Do you know how long he waited on that platform on Kamino before the Empire found him? Do you know what it’s like to have that much time alone with your thoughts, and yet he still warned you with plan 88. And you weren’t there when he disappeared in the ice and snow on a frozen world, returning a few days later nearly frozen to death with a dying reg on his shoulder, and then ending his commanding officer when the reg died because no one gave him medical care.” 

Crosshair’s eyes were misty and distant as he turned his body towards Hunter, though he still refused to look at him. “He saved me first.” Was all he said. 

Hunter stepped forward slowly, placing a hesitant hand on Crosshair’s shoulder and raising his eyebrows to tell him he did want to hear more. 

“I stepped on a mine. He saved me first. We were the last troops stationed at the outpost.” 

“Just two men to protect an entire outpost?” Hunter asked, trying to understand what his brother had gone through and what the empire’s strategy was in it. 

“Raiders wiped out the rest. Empire refused to send more. I was the last—” but Crosshair’s voice broke on the last word, he couldn’t finish it. 

Hunter stood there, confused and startled. He’d never seen Crosshair like this. He’d seen him mad and upset as a cadet, but never like this. 

The woman gently tugged Crosshair back towards her so she could whisper in his ear. 

“Then it’s a good thing you’re still here to remember him, to remember them all. Even the ones you never met. I know we can’t get them back, but we can remember them and what they mean to us, regardless of whether we tell anyone else about it.” 

He nodded, and once again hid his face in the crook of her neck as fresh waves of emotion silently racked his body. 

Hunter watched, helplessly. He didn’t know what to do. Until she yanked him over by his wrist, and dragged him to sit down on the floor with Crosshair between them. 

Unbenounced to the three of them, the others had been hiding just out of sight, but close enough to listen in. Tech got up from his spot, crouched beside Wrecker and Echo in the dark hallway, and quietly walked over to the tangle of limbs. Without saying a word, he took off his chest plate and sat down behind Crosshair, their backs pressing together. 

Crosshair did not react, nor give any signal of acknowledgment, but he didn’t need to. Right now, he just needed to let it out. 

After a moment or two, Wrecker and Echo entered too, each doing the same as Tech, joining the group without saying anything, just there, leaning against each other. Even little omega emerged from her room and snuggled in between Hunter and cross, Lula tucked in her arms. 

It took Hunter a long while to think through what he could say that would help, if anything actually could… until he finally settled on a simple sentence, hoping it would be enough. 

“I’m so sorry I was so blind to what you were trying to say, Brother.” 

Crosshair’s grip on Hunter tightened. 

Hunter took that as a good sign. 

“I’ll try to do better,” he offered. 

They woke in the morning, still in a giant cuddle pile on the floor of the ship….

Please don’t steal my work! I pour my heart into these so if you like it please reblog to share instead of reposting it! And NO dropping it into an AI to finish it for me! That’s stealing my work and feeding it to an AI without my consent. It is not okay to give an AI something you didn’t write yourself! 

[holdinbacksecrets]

Hiii! I have a little idea for a request but nothing too specific. Just Jk and his s/o being each other's biggest comfort place 🥺 Thank youu! I gotta say, I've read your pieces and they're gold!! 👏 My favorite blog on this site! Thank you for sharing it all with us 🩷

greetings! thank you so much for requesting and sharing kind words! i’m thrilled to know you’ve enjoyed my pieces 🥺 i hope you like this one too 🖤

you’re alive in autumn. the earth embraces you, tells you your existence is marvelous, and you always breathe easier when you meet these months again.

this morning, the air is crisp, saturating your living room in freshness created by the dew left behind after dawn’s rain.

your coffee is hot, swirling steam that warms the palm hovering above it. you’re passing time, twiddling your thumbs, watching minutes tick by on the wall clock.

jungkook’s not late. you can’t remember a time he ever was, but you’re his excited girlfriend. a girlfriend who’s known a heavy missing for weeks with a thick distance between the two of you. but today is the day, marking his return, and restoring a warm balance not even autumn can gift you.

you’re pouring a second cup of hazelnut brew when the lock clicks. you nearly squeal, maintaining composure until his hello meets your ear. the greeting holds excitement that matches your own, sung with joy.

“jungkook,” you breathe his name in the moment you’re scooped up by strong arms. your favorite arms in all their comforting, safe familiarity.

with your face buried in the crook of his neck, he spins you around, but doesn’t let you down once his feet are planted on the kitchen floor. your legs wrap around his waist, fingers combing through shorter hair than what he left with. you smile, giggling against his skin at the pure bliss of this scene.

“you’re back. thank god you’re back.”

he squeezes you, mumbling words of gratitude, making you laugh when he shares how happy he is to smell you again. “i swear i’ve missed it. hotel pillows don’t smell like your shampoo. i bought a little travel bottle, then i started knocking out fast- couldn’t remember pulling the sheets over me.”

your backside meets the granite of your kitchen counter, and you peel yourself away from him, feeling the stickiness between you, feeling your body begging for more already.

his thumb fans across your cheek, crossing the rosy apple, enjoying its softness.

“you weren’t the only one having trouble sleeping. i thought sleeping in your clothes would be good enough… i drowned my sheets in your cologne and ordered an extra long pillow to hold.”

you squeeze his shoulder, letting your head fall to rest against his chest. jungkook’s lips meet the top of your head. “we’re so used to being together now.”

“mhmm, and i love it. you’re my favorite person.”

jungkook’s hands run mindlessly up and down the length of your back, and you lift your head to find his lips.

your kisses create some kind of magic.

his tattooed hand flattens against your back, bringing you chest to chest. your fingertips are in his hair, and your bodies fall into a perfected rhythm.

somehow, you’ve been this lucky. somehow, you’ve realized all your ragged edges were sculpted purposefully, awaiting the day they would meet seamlessly with jungkook’s. your lips together is one reminder, and it’s been fun uncovering all the others.

his touch is your comfort as your voice is his.

his eyes are your compass as your smile is his.

your fears can tumble out messily and he will sit beside you, sorting them out together, smoothing the intimidating blurs.

his uncertainties taint dreams, taking off in the night, but you don’t mind his gentle waking, talking through splintered thoughts together until their endings have mended.

from the beginning, the two of you have been well aligned. it just took time to realize you fit together so beautifully. things you were afraid to say and sides you were afraid to show brought you closer.

now you’re close like this. close enough to kiss. close enough to laugh and yearn. close enough to unwind and hit pause. close enough to know even your time apart is a luxury because you miss and you crave, and you can’t wait to be back together. you can’t wait to make more love and discover another curve that meets his bend.