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moviesismylife · 9 months

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Overprotective mate (Azriel x f!reader)

Summary:

You offer Azriel a place at your house, to get away from Nesta and Cassian’s lust. You get injured on a mission for Rhys, and Azriel goes all mother hen mode.

Warnings:

Mentions of intimacy

Blood, injury

Mentions of alcohol

Tropes:

Who did this to you?

Friends to lovers

Note:

Hey lovelies, this is my first fic on here, so please be nice. I really enjoy writing and drooling over fictional characters, and I know you do too. So let’s feed our delusion together. I know y’all are thirsting over Azriel as much as I am.

Enjoy x

Y/n

I knock on Nesta and Cassian’s door, clothed in my fighting leathers.

The door knob twists and the door freaks, as I spot Nesta’s head poking through the door.

“Y/n, what are you doing here?” She asks as he opens the door fully.

“Coming to see you, and also to talk to Azriel about something” I tell her.

She steps aside to let me in, and I do. The door closes behind me, and the warmth of the house hits my body.

My back is facing her, so she walks around me to face my front.

“Sorry about the mess, I was going to clean it up, but I got a little distracted” she says, a hint of a smirk on her lips.

“Okay ew, I did not need to know that” I say, making a disgusted face, and she just chuckles in response.

“Nes who’s here” a male voice says, as it enters the hallway we’re standing in.

“Cassian” I say smiling at him.

“Y/n!” He squeals, and runs over to hug me.

He lifts me off the floor easily, and spins me around.

I laugh, as I hug him back.

He lets me down, and stands next to Nesta.

“Where’s Az?” I ask them both.

They look towards the living room, and I take that as a hint.

I leave my weapons in the hallway, and head into the living area.

As I enter I can’t spot him, but I hear some noises coming from the kitchen, so naturally I head towards them.

When I enter, I spot Azriel with his back to me.

He has a towel slung over one of his shoulders, and the water is running in the sink. He’s clothed in his Illyrian fighting leathers, sculpting his body like a god.

“You just got done with your morning workout?” I ask, to make him aware of my presence.

He turns around, not at all startled, and just leans against the counter.

“Y/n. What are you doing here?” He asks, as he sips from the water bottle he must have been filling up.

Fuck he looks insanely good. His hair is damp from his workout, and his cheeks are slightly tinted. His skin is glowing from the sweat, but he still manages to smell absolutely divine.

“I’m actually here to talk to you” I say, as I place my elbows on the kitchen isle in front of me, leaning forward.

“Okay…about what?” He asks me, putting down his water bottle.

“Well I have an offer for you” I tell him.

“What kind of offer?” He questions.

“To come live with me, instead of the two horndogs you’re living with right now” I answer him.

He raises his eyebrows in confusion.

“Look I have a spare room in my little cottage on the edge of the city, and I’m barely ever home. So do you need somewhere private and quiet to stay, my place is open” I explain to him.

“Oh uhm, are you sure?” He asks.

Honestly I’m kind of shocked he’s agree so quickly. I mean I would want to get away from Nesta and Cassian’s fucking too, but I expected him to mull it over more.

“Yeah of course. It’s no trouble. Besides as I said, I’m almost never home, so you’d basically have the place to yourself” I tell him.

“That’s generous of you, but I would have to talk to Nesta and Cassian about it first” he says, as he puts his towel down on the counter.

“Yeah, no of course” I say, and he gives me a slight nod, before walking off to find them.

*about 15 minutes later*

“Why do you have to leave us Az? I liked having you here” Cassian whines, as me and Azriel are standing in the hallway, ready to leave.

“It’s okay babe, we’ll have the house all to ourselves now” Nesta grins at him.

That makes him shut up, and grin back.

I roll my eyes and pick up my weapons.

“You’ll be free to visit anytime” I tell them both, and they nod at me.

“Okay you ready?” I ask Azriel, as I offer up my arm.

He links his in mine, and I winnow us out.

——————

We land in my own hallway, and I let go of his arm.

Again, I put my weapons down, and he does as well.

“Okay, you want me to show you around?” I turn to look at him.

He just nods. Not exactly a man of many words.

I walk left and into the living room.

“Okay, so here is the small living area, and in there is the kitchen” I say, pointing to an archway leading from the living room.

Then I walk back into the hallway.

“That door leads to a small bathroom” I hint to the door on the right.

“Okay that’s everything downstairs, so let me show you upstairs” I start walking up the stairs.

I can hear him following me as I lead us both up to the second floor.

As we reach the top of the stairs, there is a little hallway, with several doors on each side.

“Okay so uhm, this door leads into my room, and a private bathroom that connects with it” I say as I hint for the door on the left.

I walk in a little further, until I reach the first door on the right.

“And it’s basically the same in here, but you can feel free to explore it yourself” I continue.

He just nods in understanding.

I walk further until I reach two glass doors. I open them and walk out into a little balcony.

“So this is just a little comfort place, but I mostly use it for reading, drinking, and a landing spot for when I fly in” I explain to him.

Then I turn around to face him.

He’s just looking around him, studying everything.

“Okay well, I have to leave, but I’ll be back sometime tonight. I’ll try not to make a sound” I say, and he snaps his head to mine.

Again he just nods, and I take that as a hint for me to leave.

I turn around to walk back into the house when he speaks.

“Y/n?”

I turn around again to face him.

“Thank you” he smiles softly.

“Of course” I smile warmly back, before turning back around again, and walking into the hallway.

*hours later*

I winnow into my room, and land on the floor with a thud. I try to be more quiet as I stumble back steadily on my feet.

The wound on my hipbone is throbbing, and I need to attend to it now.

I promised Azriel I’d be quiet when I returned home, but I’ve not done so well this far.

I make my way over to my bathroom, grabbing some rubbing alcohol and a cloth. Then I stumble back into the bedroom, and take a seat on the bed.

I drop my weapons and every other thing I was carrying on the floor, as I try to unbutton my corset.

Fuck why does it have to be so difficult. I try not to moan out in pain, as my wound keeps on throbbing.

I was attacked by several water wraiths on my mission for Rhys. And I made my way out fine, except for the open wound on my hipbone.

But luckily I achieved what I wanted, and I was able to retrieve the item he sent me for.

Although that would be no help if I couldn’t deliver it to him in the morning. And right now, by the looks of the wound, I needed some serious healing.

There was some kind of poison in my wound and I’d try to extract it with my magic, to no avail.

I’d have to go to a healer tomorrow, but now I just wanted sleep.

I finally pull off my corset, and throw it on the floor, as I lift up my white linen shirt to get better access to the wound.

I grab the cloth and rubbing alcohol, pouring some on it, as I press the cloth to my flesh.

I scream in pain, as the alcohol connects with my open and fresh skin. Blood is already dripping everywhere, and I bite down on my lip to refrain from screaming again.

The last thing I want is to wake up Azriel.

The someone bursts through my door.

“Y/n!” Azriel says panicked, as he flings the door open.

I snap my head to him, and curse myself for waking him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you” I apologize as he heads over to me.

“What happened?” He asks, avoiding my apology.

He bends down in front of me, and kneels as he takes a look at my hand pressed firmly on my wound.

“Let me see it” he demands, as he looks up at me.

“No I’m fine. Go back to bed” I argue, as I wave him away.

“There’s no fucking way I’m leaving you like this” he curses, and I’m shocked at his sudden angry tone.

He notices and softens, as he speaks again.

“Just let me help you” he pleads, looking into my eyes, and I give up.

I raise my hand and cloth from the wound, revealing to to him.

“Who did this to you?” He ask as he removes the cloth slowly from my hand.

I let him.

“Water wraiths” I answer, as he moves his hand to my shirt.

He lifts it slightly higher, and I shiver as his fingers grazes my skin lightly.

He looks up into my eyes asking for permission to tend to my wound.

I just give him a slight nod, and he presses the cloth carefully onto my skin again.

I wince, as I grab onto his shoulder in reaction.

He cleans the wound thoroughly, and patches me up. He even uses some of his own magic to soothe out the pain.

As he’s finished I immediately feel relief wash over me.

“You’re gonna have to see a healer tomorrow” he says a he takes the alcohol and cloth into the bathroom.

“I will. After I talk to Rhys” I tell him.

“He sent you on this dangerous mission?” He questions as he turns around to walk back into my bedroom.

I don’t answer him, and use my magic to change from fighting leathers into a simple nightgown.

I let my hair stay in the messy braid it already is, before I crawl into my bed.

“Goodnight Azriel, and thank you” I say as I get comfortable.

He sighs and heads over to my door. He halts before walking out.

“Anytime you need me, I’m here. No matter what it is” he says, and I don’t get to respond before he vanishes out of my room, closing the door behind him.

I try not to think about it, as I close my eyes, waiting for sleep to pull me in. And eventually it does.

*next morning*

I open my eyes to sunlight beaming through my curtains. I shift to sit up in my bed.

As I lift my nightgown, I notice that my wound has worsened overnight. Although the throbbing sensation isn’t as bad as it was last night. Thanks to Azriel.

I get out of bed, and pull on some pants, as well as a red loose linen shirt, also pulling on a pair of simple black boots.

I look in the mirror to spot my hair a mess, so I take out the braid, and twist my hair into a messy bun, using a large hair pin to secure it.

Then I decide to head downstairs.

As I walk down, I hear some grumbling and clinking of metal, sounding from the kitchen.

I walk into the living room, and further into the kitchen, where I spot Azriel, cooking food.

That’s something I never thought I’d see.

He must notice my presence, because he turns his head slightly to the side, sliding his eyes over my body.

I can’t help but feel tingles as he roams his gaze over me.

“You feeling better?” He asks as he turns his head back around.

I debate whether I should tell him about the spreading of the wound or not. But I do, as he’s probably gonna demand to see it anyways.

“A little yeah, your magic helped a lot with the pain. But the poison has spread” I say, sitting down at the small kitchen table.

“Let me see it” he demands as expected, turning his full body around to face me.

I sigh, and lift up my shirt to the expose the infected wound.

He curses under his breath, and strides over to where I’m sitting.

“I’m gonna kill Rhys for letting this happen to you” he says angrily.

“Az it’s fine. I chose to go. Rhys didn’t force me” I explain to him.

“You got hurt y/n. Badly” he looks into my eyes.

He’s standing in front of me, making me look up at him.

“I told you, I’m fine” I say again.

He lifts my chin up slightly, placing a hand under it.

“I’m coming with you to the town house” he says and walks away, back to whatever he’s cooking.

I sigh, knowing I won’t be able to stop him. If he wants to come, he’s gonna come.

——————

Me and Az are standing in the living room in the town house with Rhys.

“Why did you let her leave when you knew how dangerous it was?” Azriel asks Rhys mad.

He’s been cursing out Rhys for the past five minutes now, for letting me go on a mission with him. I’ve been trying to stop Az but he won’t listen to me.

“Azriel. She wanted to go herself. And I’m sorry she got hurt. But you can’t put this on me” Rhys says calmly, trying to reason with Az.

“I don’t fucking care! This IS your fault! If it was Feyre that got hurt, how would you have reacted then huh?” Az argues, but Rhys is just standing with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Do not bring Feyre into this” Rhys warns.

“Bring me into what?” A soft voice asks from behind.

We all turn our heads to spot Feyre, Mor, Nesta and Cassian all standing in the hallway, looking at us.

“It’s nothing guys…” I try to tell them.

“Then why does Azriel look like he’s gonna rip Rhys’s head off?” Cassian asks confused.

I sigh heavily, taking a deep breath.

“Rhys sent y/n on a dangerous mission and almost got her killed. And then he doesn’t even care” Azriel explains to them, and they all turn their heads to Rhys.

“He’s being over dramatic. Y/n wanted to go herself” Rhys tries to explain calmly to the others.

“Over dramatic? Have you seen her fucking wound?” Azriel curses, very angry.

Everyone looks shocked at Azriel’s swearing. He’s the quiet type, and rarely gets angry in front of others. Especially angry with us.

“Az…please calm down..” I say breaking the silence.

“I won’t calm down when you could have died y/n” he yells at me.

“Why are you yelling at me? I’m just trying to talk to you” I answer a little annoyed at him for yelling at me, when it’s Rhys he’s actually angry with.

He doesn’t answer and just tries to steady his breathing instead. Then Cassian walks over to me.

“Let me see your injury y/n…” he tells me quietly, to not trigger Azriel.

I lift up my shirt to show the infected wound, spreading more and more over my body.

He slaps his hand over his mouth, as he looks at it, and the girls run over to see how bad it is. They too look scared as they inspect the wound.

“Rhys this is not a normal wound. I think she’s been poisoned” Feyre says as she looks at her mate.

He walks over to me to see it for himself, and raises his eyebrows in shock as he sees it.

“Fuck. I’m sorry y/n. I shouldn’t have let you go on that mission for me” he apologizes.

“No it’s fine, I wanted to myself” I tell him, and he gives me an apologetic smile.

“Azriel please don’t be mad at him for this…” I say as I look over at him.

“Az come on man…we’ll take her to a healer” Cassian adds as well, trying to get his attention.

I sigh, moving away from the others and walking over to him.

He’s standing with his arms crossed over his chest, and I move my hands to them, to untuck his tight grip.

As I touch his arms, he rests a little into me, letting me touch him.

“You promised you’d go with me to the healer…” I say at a desperate attempt to get his attention.

Finally he looks up at me.

“Fine. But we’re leaving now” he agrees, but doesn’t show any emotion.

The others don’t say anything as he strides to the front door to leave as fast as he can.

I wait to follow him, turning my attention to the others.

“I’ll talk to him alright? He’ll be fine, he just needs to calm down” I tell them.

They nod their heads, and I move the front door, to leave with Az.

——————

We arrive at the healer, and a kind fae named Victoria inspects my wound.

I am sitting on a medical bed, while Azriel is standing in the corner, arms crossed over his chest.

“Your wound has been poisoned” Victoria says as she touches my skin slightly.

“Yeah we kind of figured that part out ourselves” I joke slightly.

She touches my wound and I wince.

“I’m sorry” she says, pulling away.

“It’s fine, just help me please” I say, stealing a quick glance over at Azriel.

His face is blank, watching every movement.

Victoria walks over to a little table, grabbing some herbs and medicine, before walking back over to me.

“I’ll put these herbs on your wound, and it should heal in about a week. I will also give you these pills for the pain. And I would highly advise you to take it slow, and not do anything to livid, so it can heal faster” she tells me, putting the herbs on the infected wound.

I nod my head in understanding.

“I’ll be careful, and postpone any energetic exercises until it’s fully healed” I tell her.

She smiles warmly at me.

“Should anything go wrong, you come to me alright?” She asks as she bandages up my wound again.

“Of course” I smile at her, standing up from the bed.

I walk over to the door and Azriel follows me.

“Oh and remember to change your bandage daily” she adds quickly, and I nod again, before walking out of her little office.

Me and Azriel walk into the sunny streets of Velaris, and a light breeze blows by.

“See I told you it was fine” I say, trying to lighten Azriel’s mood.

“You got lucky” he answers coldly, and I roll my eyes.

“Are you still in a mood? Stop being so over dramatic” I say as I turn to look at him.

“I’m not over dramatic. I’m just being protective. I hate seeing you hurt” he tells me and I feel my heart jump a beat at his words.

“Well I’m glad you care about me Az, but I don’t want you to flip out on everyone because I got hurt” I say, as I cross my arms over my chest.

He doesn’t say anything, and just looks down at the ground in silence.

I sigh.

“Can we go back to the town house now? And can you please promise me that you won’t stay mad at Rhys?” I ask him, and he looks up at me.

“I promise to try” he answers me, and I sigh in defeat, knowing that’s the best answer I’ll get.

Then we walk back, heading towards the town house.

——————

“We’re back!” I yell as we enter the town house.

I take off my shoes and coat and walk into the living room, where I find all of them chatting amongst themselves.

“Y/n how’d it go?” Rhys asks as Azriel comes up behind me.

“It went fine actually. The nurse put some herbs on my wound to kill the poison, and some pills for the pain. But it should be healed in about a week” I say smiling softly at him.

“That’s great y/n” Feyre tells me, and I smile at her too.

Rhys looks at Azriel staring behind me, and guilt flashes his face.

“Az…can we please squash it. It’s my fault I know. I shouldn’t have sent y/n on that mission” he says, looking at Azriel.

I hear Az sighing behind me, placing a gentle hand on my back, before speaking.

“Just don’t do it again” he says, accepting Rhys’s apology.

Rhys smiles contently.

Then I spit Cassian looking at the hand Azriel’s placed on my back, and he smirks.

Azriel notices Cassian too, and immediately pulls his hand back.

Cassian just chuckles at his reaction.

“Why don’t we go to Rita’s tonight? I think we all need it” I suggest.

“Can you drink with your injury?” Mor asks looking at me.

“Yeah as long as I don’t drink too much I should be fine. Tell you what I’ll be the responsible parent tonight” I answer.

“You know I could actually get down for that” Feyre agrees.

“Me too” Nesta adds.

“Me three” Cassian says, agreeing with everything his mate says.

The others nod in agreement as well.

“Okay great. We leave in thirty” I say, and walk towards the stairs, to go upstairs and get ready.

——————

I’m wearing a short, black, backless glitter dress, with some black heels. I’ve got my hair hanging down in loose waves, and some golden hoops in my ears.

I head downstairs to where the others are standing. Mor is wearing a red, satin, slit dress. Feyre is wearing a midnight blue, strapless dress. And Nesta is wearing an all black one, with long sleeves.

All the guys are clothed in the same black dress pants and shirts. The top buttons undone to show their muscular chests.

”Mor I love your dress” I smile at her.

“Thanks babes. You look hot ” she winks back.

“Yeah you look beautiful y/n” Azriel adds as well.

I look at him, kind of surprised at this sudden compliment. The others have the same reaction, as they look between us.

“Thanks Az…” I say awkwardly.

Feyre spots the obvious tension, and decides to interfere”

“Let’s go shall we?”

Rhys nods his head and opens the door, and we all leave.

——————

Azriel

I watch y/n as she dances and laughs with the other girls. She looks absolutely stunning, I can’t tear my eyes away from her.

I should have never anything earlier, although she didn’t seem to bother.

“Hey Az…you might wanna avert your gaze somewhere else for a while” Rhys says from beside me, in our little booth.

“What” I turn to look at him.

“You’ve been watching y/n like a hawk for the last thirty minutes now” he answers, smirking a little.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, even though I know he’s right.

“Az you’re completely eye fucking her” Cassian says as well, and I roll my eyes.

“I am not” I snap at him.

“Whatever you say” he grins.

I roll my eyes at him again, standing up.

“Where are you going?” Rhys asks confused.

“To get a drink” I answer shortly, and stride for the bar.

Y/n

“I’m tired can we sit down?” Feyre asks as another song comes on.

“Yeah I’m tired too” Mor adds.

“Yeah okay” I say, and we walk out of the crowd.

I head towards our little booth, where Cassian and Rhys are both sitting. No Azriel though.

“Hey, you guys done already?” Cassian asks as Nesta sits down next to him.

“You try to dance for an hour straight” she snaps at him, and he just laughs, placing a hand on her thigh.

“Hey where’s Azriel?” Feyre asks, taking a seat next to her mate.

Mor moves next to Feyre and I move next to Nesta.

“He said he was getting a drink, but he’s been gone for a while now” Rhys answers, looking out in the crowd for him.

“Azriel never drinks” I say, as I take a sip of Cassian’s from the table.

“Hey” he snaps at me, but I just glare at him.

“Maybe you should go looking for him y/n” Nesta says, looking at me.

“Why me?” I ask her.

“Because no one else wants to” she answers shortly.

“Fine…” I sigh, and get up.

I walk over to the crowd again to see if I spot him. I try to look over all the dancing bodies, but I can’t see him. Instead I take a quick look over at the bar, but I don’t find him there either.

I stand up on my tiptoes, searching for him, when I feel a pair of two large hands on my waist.

I turn around quickly, to find two drunken hazel eyes staring at me.

“Azriel” I say in surprise, as he’s standing very close.

We’re in the middle of the crowd, with several sweaty bodies pressed up against each other, making very little space for us.

He keeps his hands on my waist, while trailing his eyes all over my body. I blush slightly at his gaze, but try to hide it.

His grip tightens, and he pulls me into him, making my hands go to his chest in support.

Then he angels his head, moving his gaze to my lips. His fingers trace the bare back that’s not covered by my dress, and I slightly shiver.

“Azriel what are you doing…” I say lowly, as his fingers trail over my bare skin.

He doesn’t respond and instead moves his head to my ear, whispering.

“You look beautiful my love…”

I feel heat rise to my cheeks again at his words.

“You’re drunk” I respond slowly.

“I still think you’re absolutely divine” he speaks again and I don’t move.

He moves away from my ear, only for his face to be inches from mine.

My breathing gets heavy and I struggle to keep eye contact. What is happening to me?

“We should head back to the others…” I tell him.

“Should we?” He questions, looking at my lips again.

“Yes…” I breathe out, pulling away from him hesitantly.

He lets go of me, and I turn away, walking away from the crowd once again.

I can feel him following me, so I don’t stop.

As we reach our booth, the others turn to look at me. And Azriel, who comes up next to me, placing a hand on my waist.

“I see you found him” Rhys says, gazing towards the hand on my waist.

“Uh yes I did” I respond, moving to sit next to Nesta again.

“I can’t believe I’m even saying this. But is Azriel drunk?” Mor asks, grinning a little, as she looks at him.

“Mhm…” I nod in reply.

Her grin turns even wider, and I see the others mouths turning up as well.

Then Azriel decides to move next to me, despite the also empty spot next to Mor, and sits down.

He doesn’t seem embarrassed, as he moves as close as possible to me.

I shift in my seat nervously, as his body heat and scent radiates onto my own.

“Hey buddy, why are you clinging to y/n so much huh?” Cassian asks, a wide smirk plastered on his face, and I glare at him.

“Yeah Az, please elaborate on this sudden infatuation with our dear friend y/n here” Mor adds, and I shoot her a glare too.

“What do you mean sudden…” Azriel responds shortly, as he turns his head to her.

Feyre and Mor gasp in shock, and Nesta chuckles as I blush badly.

“She’s so beautiful…” he mumbles, pushing some hair off my shoulder.

I sit completely still, as I feel his piercing gaze on me.

I hear Cassian struggle not to laugh his ass off, and I see the others grinning like hell.

“Hey Az…maybe we should go back” I say, turning to look at him.

“No don’t leave yet” Mor whines.

“No it’s fine, I’ll take him with me to my cottage. I promised to be the responsible parent right?” I say smiling a little.

“Maybe she’s right. I think Azriel needs to go to bed” Rhys agrees.

“Fine…” Mor sighs in defeat, and I smile a little.

Then I turn to Azriel again, moving to stand up. He rises from his seat, and I follow.

“Come on big guy…” I say as I link my arm in his and walk for the exit.

“Have fun!” Cassian winks and I flip him off.

The others laugh as I lead Azriel out of Rita’s.

——————

We arrive at my small cottage and I stumble us inside.

I flip off my heels and drag Azriel with me upstairs. Then I lead him into his bedroom and sit him on the bed.

As I try to walk away, he grabs my waist, pulling me in between his legs. I steady my hands on his shoulders in response.

He then rubs circles with his thumbs in soothing motion, and I tug my hair behind my ears.

His hands move up to my waist and up to my bare back again, pushing me closer to him. My thighs are touching his, and my hands have moved to rest comfortably on his neck and shoulders.

“I’m sorry for making you angry” he apologizes.

“I’m not angry Az” I answer him.

“You’re not?” He questions.

“No. I was annoyed with you, but not anymore” I tell him, as I move a hand to stroke his cheek.

He smiles slightly.

“Good”

One of his hands move to my neck, pulling it down towards his face. I follow his lead, leaning down.

He moves my face slowly towards his, before brining his lips to mine softly.

I’m taken back by surprise, but don’t hold back, as I get more comfortable. I decide to sit on his lap, and he immediately places his hands on my waist to keep me in place.

I kiss him passionately, keeping my hands on his face, to cup his cheeks.

But then I realize what I’m doing and pull away.

“Shit I shouldn’t have done that” I say, standing up from his lap.

“No y/n wait-“

“No you need to go to bed Azriel” I cut him off, striding towards the door.

“Y/n please” I hear him beg behind me, but I continue to walk out and into my own room.

When I get into my own bedroom, I shut the door closed, and throw myself on the bed.

I slip off my dress, and put an oversized t-shirt to sleep in. Then I force myself to go to sleep, pushing away all my feelings. And also the fact that Azriel is my fucking mate.

——————

I wake up and walk down into the kitchen. Azriel hasn’t woken up yet luckily.

I decide to grab some juice from the fridge, and drink straight from the bottle, before I hear steps entering the kitchen.

I don’t even turn around as his presence fills the room.

“Good morning…” he says quietly, heading over to where I’m standing.

“Morning” I respond shortly, not turning around.

He reaches the fridge and I turn around to face the counter, as he moves past me.

“Y/n about last night…I’m sorry” he starts to apologize.

“For what?” I ask boldly, my back still facing him.

“For leading you on, and making you kiss me. It was foolish of me” he admits, and I can feel him standing close.

“I wanted to kiss you” I say turning around, and leaning my back against the counter.

He only raises his eyebrows in shock and confusion.

“You were drunk, I just didn’t wanna take advantage of you” I continue, sitting up on the counter, my feet dangling off the edge.

My t-shirt is only long enough to cover my ass, so when I sit, it rises up my thighs. Azriel takes a notice of this and steals a glance at the bare skin of my thighs, before speaking.

“Well I appreciate that but uhm…actually I…” he stutters as he talks. Unusual.

“You what…” I urge for him to keep going.

He only walks closer to me, placing his hands on my thighs. I shiver at his touch, knowing his shadows can sense it.

“Say it Azriel…” I tell him as I wrap my arms around his neck.

“You’re my…” he hesitates.

I pull him closer to me, so our noses are barely touching.

“Mate” I finish for him, smashing my lips onto his.

He doesn’t think twice as his hands move to my waist, pulling me closer to him.

I keep my hands on his neck, running my fingers through his hair, as I kiss him passionately.

He’s so fucking good at this. His hands dig into my sides, and he opens his mouth, so I can slide my tongue in. And I do.

He kisses me more roughly, pulling and tugging at my shirt. His teeth graze my bottom lip as he slightly nibbles.

I pull away to catch my breath, only for him to crash his lips onto my neck instead.

I push my hair to one side, as he trails his tongue over my skin. Then he decides to start sucking instead. I let out a silent moan as he bites into my neck.

With that he pushes into me even more, making our lower abdomens graze each other.

“Y/n…” he groans, and I wrap my legs around his torso.

I pull his head up from my neck, so we’re face to face.

We make eye contact, and I move my hand to push some hair out of his face. Then I cup his cheeks, and lean in to place my forehead on his.

I close my eyes, and breathe in his scent and presence.

His hands rest on my hips, with my legs still wrapped loosely around him.

“I’m sorry…” he whispers.

I raise my head and open my eyes.

“For what?” I ask confused.

“For being such an idiot. I shouldn’t have let you get hurt, but I definitely shouldn’t have lashed out like I did. It’s just that you mean the world to me. If you get hurt, I get hurt. If you die, I die” he answers.

I can’t help but feel bad for him. He’s genuinely hurting because of this.

“Azriel…you mean the world to me too. Believe me, I wouldn’t have held back if you got inured either. It just upset me that you didn’t listen to me when I told you it was fine” I say, stroking his cheek soothingly with my thumb.

“I know love…and I promise I’ll listen you next time. Can you forgive me?” He asks, regret shining his eyes.

“There is nothing to forgive…” I answer, leaning in slowly to give his lips a comforting kiss.

He doesn’t stop me as I kiss him. This time the kiss is not filled with lust and hunger, but pure love and longing.

As I pull away again, I keep my hands on his neck, and he keeps mine on my hips.

“Breakfast?” I ask him softly, trailing fingers through his hair.

“Mhm” he nods, and leans in to give another quick and loving kiss.

We both smile through the kiss, and I feel every part of my body relaxing at his touch.

——————

“You know we’re gonna get bullied for centuries for this?” I say, as I take a bite of my fried egg toast.

“Oh trust me I know…Cassian is going to be a big pain in the ass to say the least” Azriel replies, as he eats too.

“As long as I get to have you all for mysel” I say, a hint of seduction in my voice.

He just cocks an eyebrow at me knowingly, and I take another bite of my food.

“We don’t have anything important planned today right…” he asks, not looking up at me, as he sips his juice.

“No I don’t think so…why?” I ask curiously.

He just shrugs, and I give him a playful look.

“I’m glad you moved in here with me…” I say, finishing my food.

“Me too…” he trails off as he also finishes up.

I grab my plate and cup, heading over to the sink to wash it. I hear Azriel following me from behind.

As I wash my dishes, he comes up behind me, placing his own in the sink. I wash his too, as his hands start to roam my body.

Still wearing my t-shirt, he presses into my back, running his hands up my thighs. I can already fell my body aching for him.

I truly underestimated the whole mating thing. When Rhys and Feyre told me they basically fucked each other with no breaks for a week, I only laughed at them. But now I want nothing more than to let Azriel do the same to me.

As his hands smoothes over my bare skin, a shiver runs down my spine. He lifts my t-shirt up to my waist, exposing my underwear.

One of his hands trail under my shirt, up towards my breast, while the other goes to my ass.

I lean my head slightly back, closing my eyes. His lips move to the bare skin of my neck, licking and kissing.

When his hand finally reaches my breast, he cups it, running his finger smoothly over the already hardened nipple.

I let out a slight moan, as he touches the sensitive spot. He just smirks into my neck, as he starts to suck it.

My hands find their way to the counter, grabbing it harshly, my knuckles turning white.

I continue to let out several whimpers and slight moans, as his hand and tongue devour me.

Then his hips grind into my backside. His bulge grazing into my ass. With that we both let out loud moans.

——————

“I thought we had nothing planned today…” I breathe out as Azriel’s head in between my legs.

“We didn’t. But apparently Rhys did…” he murmurs into my skin.

“I’m gonna kill him” I say, thinking about the dinner we have to attend in one hour.

“Me and you both” Azriel agrees, before sliding his tongue into me, earning a loud moan.

——————

“Geez I can practically smell what you’ve been doing from over here” Cassian says, putting a hand over his nose jokingly.

Me and Azriel just landed in the front veranda of the House of Wind, all dressed up for the dinner Rhys insisted we have.

I shoot Cassian a death glare, bumping into him on purpose as I walk past him.

“For your own sake. Keep your mouth shut Cass” I hear Azriel tell him as he follows me inside.

Everyone is seated at the dinner table, all dressed up. I take a seat next to Nesta, Azriel sitting next to me. Cassian comes in a moment later, sitting himself beside his mate.

I suddenly notice everyone staring and grinning at me and Azriel. Of course they know. They’re our family.

“You enjoyed yourself today?” Rhys smirks widely.

“I will literally murder you” I threaten him, but he just laughs.

“Your bond is really fucking strong. It almost makes me dizzy” Mor adds, looking over at me and Azriel.

I knew the mating bond was strong, but not as strong as they’re implying.

“It enhances itself once it’s been fulfilled. That’s why we can sense it so easily” Amren explains, looking between me and Az.

“Well I wanna say congratulations y/n and Azriel. You both deserve it” Feyre smiles at us both.

She is way too kind to be mated with the arrogant, baby high lord, Rhys.

“Thank you” Azriel smiles slightly at her.

“So how did it all happen? What made you finally give in?” Rhys asks, as he pours himself some wine.

“Do you need to know all the details?” I raise my eyebrows at him.

He just smirks at me, taking a sip of his drink.

“It was me” Azriel speaks up from beside me.

Everyone turns their heads to him, including me.

“What do you mean Az?” Mor questions.

“My stupid drunken ass kissed her when we got home from Rita’s” he tells everyone.

Several gasps echoes through the room. I myself let out a little sound of surprise.

“Damn Az…I don’t expect that. How did you handle that y/n?” Cassian asks me.

They’re all looking at me. Awaiting my response.

“I kissed him back. Only for a few seconds though until I got my shit together” I say.

“And then you just went to sleep?” Nesta ask confused.

I nod my head at her.

The other seem kind of confused as well, looking at us weirdly.

“And then when I woke up, I kissed her again. But she didn’t resist me that time” Azriel smiles proudly.

I roll my eyes, and hit him in the arm playfully. He just stifles a laugh.

“And then what…” Feyre asks intrigued.

Rhys raises his eyebrows at his mate’s sudden interest. But she just keeps her gaze on me and Azriel.

“And then the bond snapped together. I think you know what happens next…” I say, grinning a bit at the last part.

Azriel goes red out of embarrassment at my slight exposing. Cassian just throws his head back with laughter, and the others snicker as well.

“Well I just lost my appetite” Amren says, pushing her plate away.

“Please like you were gonna eat any of that anyways” Mor tells her, still kind of laughing.

Amren just rolls her eyes and glares at her, but Mor doesn’t seem a tiny bit bothered.

As the laughter quiets down, everyone starts pouring food onto their plates. Except for Amren. And the conversation flows back to other things.

Azriel puts his hand on my thigh, letting it rest there. And I don’t feel a tiny bit uncomfortable, as I let it stay there for the rest of the dinner.

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #inner circle #feysand #nessian #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #fanfic

525 notes · View notes

parkerslatte · 7 months

Text

Fighter

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: blood. injury. near death experience.

Summary: Azriel was severely injured on a mission and his chance of survival is low and his mate and wife refuses to leave his bedside.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

Azriel was laid motionless in his bed. The only indication of life was the shallow rise and fall of his chest that seemed to get slower and slower day by day. On the left side of his bed, Rhys and Cassian sat looking helplessly at their brother before them. There wasn’t anything they could do for him no matter how much they wanted to.

Sitting on the right side of Azriel’s bed was Y/N. Her hand clutched his still and cold one between hers tightly. There were dried tears under her eyes as she looked at her mate and husband before her. The blanket covering his body did little to show the large scar staring from his hip and ending at his shoulder. It was an angry red but Madja had calmed everyone that the redness would go down with time.

“If only I didn’t send him on that stupid mission,” Rhys mumbled. “Then he wouldn’t be here.”

No one responded. The only sound heard was the rain hitting the window outside.

Y/N brushed Azriel’s hair away from his forehead. After the mission it had been caked with blood and grime and now after many washes it was soft to the touch. She only wished she could listen to his small content sighs as her fingernails scratched his scalp.

“Don’t blame yourself, Rhys,” Y/N replied after a while of silence. “He would have gone on that mission regardless.”

“But I could have gone with him,” Cassian said. “I could have protected him.”

“And possibly gotten yourself hurt as well,” Y/N responded, finally lifting her gaze to meet Cassian and Rhys. “Then we would be in a position where both of you could have been severely wounded.” Y/N’s gaze returned to Azriel. “I don’t wish for Nesta to feel the way I am right now.”

“You shouldn’t be feeling like this at all, Y/N,” Rhys said. “You two should be in your own house safe and sound.”

“Well that is an impossibility right now, Rhys.” Y/N’s tone was clipped and short. “I’m sorry to ask you this but could I be alone with him?”

Rhys and Cassian immediately got to their feet. “Of course,” Cassian responded.

“If you want or need anything Y/N, make sure to ask,” Rhys said as he placed his hand upon Y/N’s shoulder.

“I’ll be okay.” It was all Y/N said. It was all she could say.

When Rhys and Cassian left she barely heard them as she let fresh tears fall. “Az, you need to come back to me, baby.” Y/N shuffled her chair closer to the bed, her knees knocking painfully against it but she didn’t care. “I need you to wake up. I need you to open your eyes.”

There was no movement from Azriel and it only made Y/N’s tears fall in a more rapid succession.

“Madja healed you the best she could but she made no promises that you would wake up. But I need you to, my love. Please, just give me a sign that you are in there, please, just anything,” Y/N’s voice was full of desperation and she spoke to her husband. Y/N didn’t even know that something could be as painful as this.

Y/N watched Azriel for any sign of him listening to her. But there was nothing. No flicker of his eye under his eyelids. No stutter in his breathing. No twitch of his finger. There was absolutely nothing.

Y/N screamed.

***

The sun was high in the sky and Y/N stepped through the gate to her and Azriel’s cottage. It was on the edge of Velaris, far from the centre of the city. In her small wicker basket, Y/N had two fresh bouquets of flowers, courtesy of Elain. The blistering heat made Y/N wipe the sweat from her brow as she approached her front door, fishing the keys out of the basket.

As she went to place the key in the hole, she found that the door was open the smallest amount and Y/N’s guard immediately went up. As her grip tightened on the basket, she pushed the front door open. Their living room was large but cosy, filled with many blankets and pillows of all different textures. The windchimes hanging just beside the front door sounded out as a small breeze blew bast.

“Hello?” Y/N called out, reaching for the dagger concealed behind a painting Feyre gifted her.

However, Y/N immediately dropped the dagger and basket as her mate walked around the corner. A smile immediately spread across Y/N’s face as she launched herself at him.

“Hi, baby,” Azriel’s low voice whispered in her ear as she wrapped her arms around him. His arms making their way around her, his hand cradling her head.

“You weren’t meant to be back yet,” Y/N said.

“I finished what I needed to do early,” Azriel mumbled into her shoulder. “The first thing I did was come here, even Rhys doesn’t know I’m back.”

Y/N gripped onto him tighter, afraid that if she let him go, he would disappear. It had been two months since Rhys sent Azriel on a mission and it had been two months since Y/N had spoken to Azriel. The only contact she had with him was the wave of love he sent through the bond each night, but that was never enough. Y/N craved to hold him within her arms.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Y/N replied. “I would have stayed here to wait for you.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Azriel said.

“Well it has been the best surprise ever,” Y/N said, pulling away from the hug to capture Azriel’s lips with her own.

Azriel dropped his arms to her waist, wrapping them around her tightly. Y/N pulled away and rested her forehead on his. “I missed you so much,” she said looking into his eyes. The colour ingrained into her brain.

“Well you’ll be happy to know that I won’t be going on any missions for a while,” Azriel said.

“Why? Are you okay? Did Rhys tell you to take some time off?” Y/N asked, her eyebrows furrowing as she thought of the worst possible reasons.

Azriel smiled brightly. The smile only Y/N got to see. “I’m fine, Rhys doesn’t know that I am taking time off yet.”

“Then why are you? Not that I’m complaining or anything,” Y/N said, pecking his lips.

The smile on Azriel’s face only seemed to light up his face further. “Well since you and I are going to be planning a wedding, I will have no time for my duties.”

“Wedding?” Y/N asked. “What wedding?”

Azriel reached behind him. “Ours.�� He revealed the most beautiful ring Y/N had ever seen. It was simple but it was perfect.

Y/N stumbled back. “Az, you can’t be serious?”

“I’m completely serious,” Azriel said. “Will you marry me, Y/N?”

“But we have already been mated for years and you have never mentioned anything about getting married,” Y/N said.

“I saw how you looked when Elain and Lucien got married,” Azriel said. “And I’ll be honest that I bought this ring nearly a year ago, long before the wedding.”

“You want to marry me?” Y/N said, tears springing to her eyes.

“I want nothing more in my life,” Azriel replied, taking her hand in his. “It would be an honour to call you my wife.”

A single tear fell down Y/N’s cheek but she smiled wide. “It would be an honour to call you my husband.”

“So is that a yes?”

Y/N nodded. “Yes, Azriel. I will marry you.”

***

Y/N awoke with a smile on her face as she reached to the other side of the bed, searching for her husband’s warmth. Only when she opened her eyes did she realise what her reality was. Azriel was still laying in the bed and his breathing seemed even shallower than it had been before she fell asleep.

Her chair scraped the floor as she leaned closer to caress his face. His dark eyelashes rested delicately on his cheeks, Y/N had always been jealous of them. There was no small flutter of them at all. All Y/N wanted him to do was open his eyes. His beautiful eyes.

“Please,” Y/N whispered, her lips brushing his cheek. “Please wake up.”

“Y/N?” Feyre’s voice came from the doorway. Y/N hadn’t heard her open it. “I brought you some food.”

“I’m not hungry,” Y/N said, her voice void of emotion.

Feyre sighed and made her way further into the room. “You need to eat something, it’s been days.”

“I’m not hungry,” Y/N said, settling back in her seat but kept Azriel’s hand firmly clasped between hers.

“At least have a drink of water,” Feyre said, offering a glass to Y/N.

Y/N tore her gaze away from Azriel and looked at the glass Feyre was offering. She didn’t want to take it but her mouth was dry. With great reluctance, Y/N released one of her hands from Azriel’s and took the class of cool water.

“Have you been here all night?” Feyre asked.

“I haven’t left since he was brought in here,” Y/N answered. “I can’t leave.”

“I know that you don’t want to leave him, Y/N, but you need to take care of yourself too,” Feyre said gently. “Why don’t you get dressed in some clean clothes? I will stay here with Azriel and if he moves, I will immediately come and alert you.”

Y/N looked at her mate and husband laying on the bed. “I can’t leave because I know that if I do, there is the possibility that he stops breathing.” Tears glistened in Y/N’s eyes as she looked up at Feyre. “And I will regret for the rest of my life that I was not there with him while he passed.”

Feyre placed her hand on top of Y/N’s and gave it a small reassuring squeeze. “I have not known Azriel as long as you, Y/N. But what I do know about him is that he is a fighter. And above all, he will always fight for you, he will always fight to come back to you.”

Y/N sighed. “I know. And I will always fight for him. But this time it is different, Feyre. I have seen Az injured beyond what I thought could be possible. I have seen wounds like you would ever believe, but he powered through it. You never saw the look on his face when he appeared on the doorstep. He was scared, Feyre. I had never seen that look on his face before.”

Y/N took a shaky breath and stood from her chair and perched on the edge of Azriel’s bed. Her hand gently cupped his cheek.

“I had never seen such fear in his eyes. When he collapsed in my arms he whispered one thing in my ear, ‘I will always love you both’. He did not believe that he would survive. He risked everything so he could see me one last time.” Y/N said.

“‘I will always love you both’? What did he mean by that?” Feyre asked.

“I’m pregnant, Feyre,” Y/N said and allowed the enchantment that concealed her scent to fall. “We were going to tell everyone after he was home and we had a few days just to ourselves. But it seems like we will never get the chance. I can feel the bond fading every single minute. It feels like I am clutching at air trying to hold onto it.”

“He will wake up, Y/N,” Feyre said, determination lacing her tone. “Even if I have to wake him up myself, I will make sure he comes back to you. I will make sure he will meet his child.”

Tears fell freely down Y/N’s cheeks. “I really need him to come back, Feyre. I can’t do any of this without him.”

“He will wake up, Y/N. Az would never leave you alone. In the years I have known you both, I have never seen two people so in love with one another. Whenever you walk into the room, he lights up. Whenever your name is mentioned he listens in. Whenever you smile at him, his shadows always seem happier. He thinks no one notices but we all do.”

“I love him so much, Feyre,” Y/N sobbed. “I need him so badly.”

Feyre shuffled closer and hugged Y/N. “He will come back. You will get to hold him in your arms again. He will meet his child and the two of you will live happily. There is no possible way on this planet where Azriel would let you live in a world where he isn’t in it.”

Y/N nodded into Feyre’s shoulder. “You make him sound like a stalker.”

Feyre let out a quiet laugh as she pulled away and wiped the tears from Y/N’s face. “Now let’s get you some proper food. Because you know that Azriel will kill you if he finds out that you are not taking care of yourself.”

Y/N smiled. It is small and barely there but it was a smile. “Yeah, he would.”

“I need to make Nyx his lunch so what do you say about sandwiches?” feyre asked.

“Sandwiches are fine with me,” Y/N answered.

As Y/N began to pull her hand away from Azriel’s, she felt his fingertips curl around hers. He head snapped to where they were connected. A small gasp left Y/N’s lips as she clutched his hand a little tighter. In return she was greeted by his grip twitching within hers.

“He moved,” Y/N said. “He moved Feyre.”

A soft smile appeared on Feyre’s face. “He knows you’re here,” Feyre said. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

As soon as Feyre was out of the room, Y/N sat back down by Azriel’s side. “Hey, baby. I miss you and love you.” Another gentle squeeze of Y/N’s hand. She smiled, tears in her eyes. “I can’t wait until you wake up. It may be many months away, but our child is desperate to meet you. They’re desperate to hear your voice again. And so am I. I can’t wait to listen to you tell me about your day, about how much you love our small family. I can wait to hear a stupid joke you heard that you will only ever tell me. I just can’t wait until you wake up.”

Azriel didn’t squeeze Y/N’s hand again but deep down Y/N knew that he heard it and knew that she was there. She brought his hand to her lips and pressed a gentle kiss against his knuckles before placing it down by his side once again. “I love you and I will see you later.”

***

It had been three days since Azriel had first squeezed Y/N’s hand and he had been making more movement since. His chest rose and fell in a healthier succession and there was the occasional twitch of his fingers, always in the direction of Y/N. Azriel was always reaching out in the direction of his mate and wife.

Y/N still constantly remained by Azriel’s side, but occasionally took breaks to look after herself and the baby growing within her. Y/N had taken the time to inform the rest of the Inner Circle about her pregnancy and the news was greeted with congratulations but Y/N could tell they were holding back. The one other person who should have been celebrating with them could not be there.

“I’m just saying that if it's a boy, you should name him after me,” Cassian said.

Y/N had found herself once again in the company of Rhys and Cassian. Both of the males wanted to sit beside their brother in hopes he would wake up. Unlike the first time the three had sat together, the atmosphere seemed to be a little lighter.

“Az is certain that it's a girl,” Y/N responded. “He wants to name them after his mother.”

Y/N looked down at Azriel with a small smile on her face. She could still picture his excitement when she told him that she was pregnant. Almost immediately he wanted to go out and start buying things for their child.

“That’s sweet, but Cass can still be a girl’s name,” Cassian remarked, a teasing grin on his face.

Y/N shook her head, a small amused smile creeping onto her face.

Cassian groaned. “Rhys, when you and Feyre have another kid, what about the name–”

“I’m not naming our second child after you either,” Rhys replied. “Maybe go and pester Elain and Lucien next.”

Cassian laughed. “I still think it's a great name. You are missing out.”

“I’m not naming my child after you, Cassian,” A new voice entered the room. It was quiet and groggy.

Y/N’s gaze immediately shot down to the bed and noticed that Azriel’s eyes were opening and the grip he had on her hand tightened.

Tears sprung to Y/N’s eyes. “Az…”

Azriel groaned as he shifted his head to look at Y/N. As soon as his eyes met hers, Y/N felt the bond come to life and that was when she broke down. So many emotions filled Y/N within seconds and she threw herself down on the bed, her head resting on Azriel’s chest.

“My love, I thought you were gone,” Y/N wailed.

Azriel slowly moved one of his hands to caress the back of her head. “I would never leave you. Either of you.” His voice was quiet and hoarse, yet Y/N could hear the love within it.

Y/N lifted her head to look at Azriel and noticed both Rhys and Cassian slowly making their way out of the room. She noticed the tears shining in their eyes.

“I never thought I would see you again,” Y/N said.

Azriel slowly pushed himself up on the bed, wincing in pain as he did so.

“No, no,” Y/N said, placing her hands gently on his shoulders. “You need to rest.”

“I’ve done enough resting,” Azriel said, settling back against the headboard. “All I want to do is look at my wife and hold her in my arms.”

Azriel gently tugged Y/N forward until her forehead rested on his. “I heard everything you said to me.” He revealed. “I tried to move, I tried everything but I couldn’t. I had no way to reach you. I never thought I’d ever see you again. I never thought I would meet our child.”

A single tear fell down Azriel’s face and Y/N hastily wiped it away.

“It’s okay,” Y/N said, gently cupping his cheeks. “All that matters is that you are here and you are okay. We don’t need to think about that anymore because you are awake and here.”

“I love you,” Azriel whispered. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too,” Y/N replied. “Just promise me that you are not going on any missions for a while.”

“I won’t be,” Azriel said. “I will not be leaving this court at all until our child is born and probably long after. I don’t want to be put in this position again. I don’t want you to ever nearly lose me again. I want to see our child grow up. I want to be by your side for eternity. No mission or job could ever come before my family.”

Y/N gently pecked his lips. “I am so glad you are here, my love.”

“I will always fight to get back to you, Y/N,” Azriel said, nothing but love in his tone. “I love you too much to ever let you go.”

Y/N didn’t respond verbally, instead she gently shuffled forward and wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head into his shoulder. Azriel’s arms immediately latched around her, keeping her pressed against his body. Even when Y/N tried to pull away slightly to not hurt him, Azriel refused to let her. Y/N just relaxed into him.

“Madja will need to come and check on you at some point,” Y/N mumbled.

“Not right now,” Azriel said. “I just want to hold you right now.”

“Rhys and Cass will want to see you too,” Y/N said.

“They can wait,” Azriel said. “And all the others can wait. Just for tonight I want to spend my time with my family. Just you and our child.”

Y/N pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck. “Then let’s just lay here all day then. I can’t think of anywhere else I would rather be.”

“I cannot believe how lucky I am that I have you in my life, Y/N,” Azriel said, the stubble on his face scratching her bare shoulder from where her robe had fallen.

“I am the lucky one, Az,” Y/N said. “I am lucky enough to have someone who would fight so hard to come back to me.” Y/N leaned back from the hug and placed his hand on her stomach. “To us.”

“I love you,” Azriel said, wrapping his arms back around Y/N’s body. “I love you both.”

Y/N only hugged him tighter and that was the way the small family remained, completely wrapped up in their own little world.

#azriel angst #acotar x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #azriel fluff

946 notes · View notes

hwaightme · 6 months

Text

Panacea

(masterlist)

🌊pairing: poet!seonghwa x doctor!gn!reader 🌊genre: fluff, slice of life, slow burn, healing, strangers to lovers, comfort 🌊summary: what do a poet who lost his inspiration and a cosmetic surgeon who lost their empathy have in common? when you make an escape from the city to a memory-filled cottage on the edge of the world, you meet park seonghwa, a poet who, after growing fatigued of shallow critique and unwanted attention, is on a search for true beauty. you, a surgeon who cannot bear to hear nor assess another patient , abhor its twisted definitions. as the seasons change, storms abate and your paths entangle, you discover a new, unparalleled kind of beauty. 🌊wordcount: 32.8k 🌊warnings/tags: semi-edited, attempts at sijo (forgive me), discussion of beauty standards, mention of surgery/clinics, weather imagery, nightmares, discussion of life and death (jokes relating to death), talk of oc death, urban/rural comparisons, isolation, burnout, philosophy, judgement of media, seaside, cliffs, dialogue + inner thoughts, perspective switching, falling in love, loving another's mind, talk of what is 'real' beauty, food (incl. meat), eating, cooking, implied anxiety, implied impulsive thoughts, sneak into home, lmk if anything else 🌊author's note: happy birthday, seonghwa, wishing for you and for atiny alike to have a cherished panacea and a love brighter than the stars <3 hope you enjoy, all reblogs and notes appreciated~

🌊playlist: 'unreal unearth' and 'unheard' by hozier, 'dark corners and alchemy' + reason to live by mehro, love letter from the sea to the shore by delaney bailey, okinawa by 92914, yeti + village song by paris paloma, exhale inhale by aurora, butterflies by tom odell, house song by searows, cornflower blue by flower face, icarus and apollo by ripto, the view between villages by noah kahan, my love mine all mine + i'm your man by mitski, when i c u by pomme

⋆✧. seonghwa .✧⋆

Art. Expression, embodiment, eternity. The world was art. From how the leaves trembled in the wind to how the water rippled, from a heartwarming smile to an earth-shattering glare, everything could be immortalised with an inspired, skilled transition. A perception of the eyes or the heart or the mind could be turned into anything from what might have been virtually nothing. Internal palaces, interpretation, innovation all were crafted and translated through art, onto canvases - trillions of brushstrokes, onto countless pages - trillions of priceless words, onto generations - wisdom and creation passed from one to another, all throughout history, leaving no stone unturned. To study and perceive art was to learn of the beauties of the universe, with beauty being a reflection of both aesthetics and terror. Such was life, and it breathed through the arts. From the beginning of time all the way to the modern era, art was a human’s true loyal companion. And even after the human would pass, art remained, loyal, vigilant, forever telling the tale that was cast onto a medium. One does not create art, one breathes it.

This is exactly why when an artist cannot create, it feels as though air has been knocked out of the lungs, a boulder weighed down on the chest, and the priceless essence of inspiration’s air could not be further away - a lost soul sinking into the hopeless abyss. The world grew darker and darker, until it fell silent. The artist, the art - a relationship of worship and boundless adoration, but also that of treachery and misery. Such was the fate of the one who stepped onto the thorned path of creation. One such humble human who, unlike a myriad of others, stumbled into the realm by accidental interest and longstanding innate passion, and due to the spontaneity and retained connection with the self had achieved relatively impressive success, was none other than Park Seonghwa. The poet. The visionary. The artist. Blessed with the spoken and written word, craftsmanship in rhythm and rhyme, grace in prose, he was a promising rising star in a progressively shallow world. As the consciousness melted into brevity and emotionlessness, he fearlessly dived into what made the soul, picking it apart, analysing it, and pouring the golden threads onto paper. An observer, he loved the colours of nature with all his heart. Every season, every day retained a magnificence for him which he tried to depict and incorporate in his work. Both experimental and traditionally sound, his “studies of daily life miniature wonders”, as he called his poetry, resonated.

But, as known far and wide, resonance brings expectation, and Seonghwa could not escape it either. Invitation after invitation, interviews and talk shows, signings if he was lucky to find a group of those truly interested in his craft; events all came clawing at him, tearing at his energy and soundness of mind until there was barely anything left, and even then, the droplets remaining were only thanks to his suddenly rediscovered harshness, followed by a series of declinations and digital disappearances. He made people feel, and in turn, the people felt like he owed them. The so-called success, or, in other words a nightmarish scrutiny that he could never foresee in the midst of his art, did not come without unrelated commentary either. From his attire to his physique to his facial expressions during public events - and on the occasion someone would recognise him on the street: his neutral, perfectly relaxed face, were all now considered to be public property. He could not breathe. Seonghwa’s hand shuddered whenever he would lift it in an attempt to write, aching, a nervous tremor turning into an earthquake the more he strained himself.

It was an impossible venture. Everywhere Seonghwa looked, everywhere he went, there were eyes and opinions, louder than his mind could ever be. The wind was no longer whistling a melody, returning to an indecipherable cacophony. The strawberries that the poet had purchased in the super store on the way to the edge of nothingness, where he was staying, were no longer sweet, crimson warnings left to rot in a bowl on the windowsill as he scurried from room to room out of fear of being spotted from the outside. There should be no one where he escaped to - an ancient cottage that belonged to a relative whom he had never known, but had spontaneously gotten close to out of necessity - was it a cousin?… leading to a spot where nothing ran, life was but a stillness, obedient to the sun and rain, lifting sorrows with the fog, falling into a slumber with the blanket of the pitch black night. In an effort to avoid the crowds and the rashness of his own potential future actions, Seonghwa had made an escape to what he would call ‘the void’. Forest, barely a hamlet to house civilization in the distance, sea. Infinite expanse of grassland, cliffsides, seagulls ceaselessly patrolling the skies. Within the first few days he had already forgotten where he was, and where he had come from. Such was existence without inspiration and purpose.

Rise and pretend to follow rhythm. One word on a page, floating towards abandonment. Ink drying. Lukewarm tea descending into the mouth of the sink. Swaying tulle, the only reminder that there was movement. Seonghwa collapsed onto the cream-coloured sofa, his dark tresses which had gotten considerably longer over his period of hiding after the astonishing battles with too many opinionated ignoramuses spilling over a throw pillow. He shut his eyes, a dull pressure behind them and of his temples becoming more pronounced. When was the last time he had a truly restful handful of hours of sleep? It would be bold to assume that he could answer that question. He could hear the creaking of the fence gate outside - the construction had a mind of its own, having sagged under its age and the salty air. Now, one of its corners sometimes dragged along the gravel path leading from the cottage out, and to the vistas of a tumultuous seaside. No one in sight except himself, and even then, Seonghwa avoided mirrors, terrified that he, too, would begin to repeat the utterings voiced to him again, and again. Black tar that stuck itself to his brain. He rubbed his temples, pinched the bridge of his nose, massaged his forehead, knowing full well that whatever he was planning to do was futile. There was no cure to this kind of sorrow. Only time. Fatigued from deliberation and heavy dread that plagued him, reducing function to nil, Seonghwa drifted, only the echoes of a suppressed catharsis haunting him.

It was a lulling ripple. Susurration of the shimmering waves, languidly guiding the timid moonlight. As the wind picked up, so did the infinite blanket of deep midnight blue, decorated with threads of pure silver. The whispers soon transformed into a harmony of echoes, filling the air with a chilling premonition. The quietude – the chosen one, to be sacrificed to the orchestration of natural disorder, a cyclical necessity. There was no rule, no need. Only the endless expanse of the living, breathing, turbulent waters. A storm. A roar engulfed the atmosphere, and all that dared oppose the metamorphosis. Imminent destruction of aquatic grace, devolving into a nightmarish, ghoulish madness. Reminiscent of a clamour, the waves crashed against your consciousness, persistently, repeatedly, threatening to tear away at your cranium and pour over into your lungs, taking ownership of your paralysed form.

Seonghwa struggled to catch a single breath, heaving, and yet running on empty, a shallow, superficial hint of oxygen lumped in his oesophagus. An unforgettable burning – his eyes, his nose, his lips, all enslaved by the agonising salt that penetrated their protective membranes and made him shriek as it buried itself in his cooling bloodstream. Seonghwa was losing to the elements, succumbing to the fatigue that was seeping into his aching, overstrained limbs. On the verge of giving up and letting go of the spirit that had driven him to struggle in the first place, he tried to shut his eyes just as he had done to his art, praying he would be let down slowly.

In futility and a sudden moment of clarity, the world went silent once more, only with a soft bubbling to accompany as he descended further and further down into the dark abyss, bidding farewell to the omniscient, looming and cruel sky. He was unsure whether what he was experiencing was a hallucination or a reality, however he distinctly felt gentle arms wrap around him, and pull him close to the body of another being, cradling his drowning form. The young poet allowed himself to relish in the sensation, lest it be the last, ignoring the light that was approaching once more. It was impossible to assume for it to be anything except the path to divinity, and for the trusted guide of the currents to be a guardian angel, carrying him through the sea to his final judgement.

The foreign warmth unwound Seonghwa, and he was in a blissful state of somnolence. Nothing existed except him and the sea that embraced him, sheltered him from the squall above the surface. The state was reminiscent of an embryo, yet to experience the harsh realities, beatific and unaware of what was to come. A mysterious stranger, a figure of grace made of sea foam, erasing his terrors and returning him to the terrestrial realm where he belonged. The sea, bewildered and endeared with his feeble mortality had bestowed mercy upon him - a foreign act, and yet it turned into a saving grace from the treacherous domain. He was not a being of the prejudiced, ravenous ocean. As his back felt the wet sand beneath, and a pressure on his chest, expelling water that was ravaging his lungs grew stronger, he was more confident in his livelihood, despite having lost his breath, his sight, his hearing. Nothing existed except a storm somewhere far from him, and a brutal stinging of salt that consumed the arteries. The liquid trickled from his frozen lips and down his cheeks, absorbed by the grains that were already sneaking into his hair. The pressure was getting more intense, bordering on unbearable. His ribs, subdued by agony, were begging for relief. His mouth opened in a silent scream, a hand shot out into the darkness. A snap. A crashing of a wave.

Seonghwa jolted awake, feeling his chest and looking around. The window, which had previously been left open only a crack, had swung open fully, and the tulle had flown out with what had to be an oncoming gale. A drumming resonated from the inner walls of the house, one which he decisively ignored and let it be consumed by the chaos outside. Leaning over to take a cautious peek, the young man rapidly discovered a downpour that was soaking the thin, white material - a flag begging for forgiveness from nature. He hurried from the sofa, almost stumbling over his feet and the carpet, careful to not slip on the puddle that started to form below the sill, on the aged floorboards. Cursing under his breath, he fought against the creaking wood that was ruthless in wishing to hold the window in place, until, in a final fit of frustration, Seonghwa pulled wildly, nearly tumbling back as the frame slid into its rightful location with a stubborn shake. He hit the curved iron handle back into position, noting how even more of the white paint on the frame had chipped off, and the wood beneath was starting to show signs of potential rot. Since he was merely a guest, though it was nearly approaching half a year that he had been residing in the cottage, he would have to call someone in his family about this, wouldn’t he? A stray finger glided over the damage, and he pondered how long it had been since the wear and tear had started. Who was it that left this cottage to abandon, for people who were virtually strangers to occupy for a temporary retreat?

He placed a hand to his chest, feeling the beating of his erratic heart, not yet calm from the nightmare. Curious, how the sea had crept into his mind so strongly. The guardian and the destroyer of the surrounding grounds. A mirror of the skies with a presentation and strength of its own. Undoubtedly scornful of his hollow presence - an artist who ceased to create. What could be more tragic and distasteful? He pulled at the loosely woven white sweater that hung loosely on his body, pinching the white sleeveless tee underneath when he spotted a speck of dust, or was it a grain of sand? He raised an eyebrow, trying to contain the particle between his fingers but failing to do so as it rolled down until it disappeared against the floor. Right, he had cleaning to do. He shook his head and led himself to the kitchen, where he grabbed rags, a bucket, some supplies to aid him in fixing up the attacked corner of the living room.

With an anxious swiftness, Seonghwa took down the translucent curtain and wiped the floorboards, the wall, the window sill, sighing at the scenery outside. Steely grey skies and thunderous clouds the colour of smoke and ash, diagonal rain rendering it almost impossible to see the rocky cliffs and hills that otherwise highlighted his vista. Waves took on a hue that was reminiscent of a mixture of emerald and onyx, with thick streaks of foam the colour of melancholy. Rocks, eroded and reshaped by the waters, were splotches of black in the landscape, and the tall grass - golden and green from the tedium of perpetual beatdowns by the sun and the storms, brushstrokes that blended with the speeding droplets. He paused. How marvellous it was, to become one with the sky. A connection to the heavens as it weeped, mourning the mortal motion of the earth. He squeezed the rag feeling the clouds’ tears well up between the digits. Surely, if he had been saved in his dream, there was hope? Seonghwa tilted his head, still, ensnared by the scenery outside, not too dissimilar from what had been his unconscious battle. The sea saved him. His beloved nature, void of humanity, of quotidien illness innate to every being. Those graceful hands, sending him in a spinning dance through the grand depths, a soothing drowning. Blind to the temporary, he had the pleasure of consuming eternal presence. Perhaps this was a sign, and not a horror that he had lived through.

After wiping the last of the moisture and taking the items back to the kitchen, he ambled back to the room. There was nothing stopping the waves. Untouched - not by the fishermen who he would see from time to time, not by the adventurers tourists who wanted to take in the views of the rising sun, not by those who, at least on paper, owned the neighbouring lands. Everyone was subordinate to the sea. Including himself. The dream was a call. It had to have been. He put a palm over the centre of his ribcage, the bone whispering what had unfolded a mere few minutes ago. The intensity of what reminded Seonghwa of an exorcism was nothing short of a twisted blessing. A shy smile crept onto his lips as the cottage took the brunt of another gust of wind and spears of rain and a ghost of a plank somewhere in the house groaned. Or perhaps it was the cottage itself, mumbling a greeting to its waking occupant. Swaying of the history contained within the building, time in every chip of paint, in every brick.

There was not much to fear in the sea’s cradle. In the middle of nowhere, with only himself and the coming autumn to keep him company, Seonghwa sensed the ebbs and flows of his soul start up again. He raised his hand to eye level, stretching it out until the fingers were splayed apart and the palm was flat and facing the floor. Much to his unexpected delight, it remained steady, obedient, attuned to his present musings. His legs led the way, guiding him to a door that was located almost under the stairs. With a click of the handle, the room he had made his office and study was revealed. An antique lacquered mahogany table, much too large for the space available, had been a formidable foe for the last few months, and now, was shining a different colour. Seonghwa ran a hand over the intricate detailing of its edges as he pushed the matching chair back. Glanced up, took in the scenery on the other side of the window - much smaller than the one he had fought against, but allowing him to behold the memorable landscape nonetheless.

Gingerly, he pulled at the iron hook of the top drawer, revealing a black, leather bound notebook and a pen - his favourite, from the little shop down the street where he lived in the city. Glossy chrome silver, ergonomic, and made to be a medium for the arts. Seonghwa noted the dryness in his throat, and adjusted the collar of his sweater absent-mindedly. It was easy, right? Just pick up the pen, take out the book and open it, sit down and- and what next? He paused, hand hovering over his tools. What was next, indeed? Flutters of ideas like fragile butterflies suspended in the mind palace, wishing for transition into the world of the living. Could he do it? Upon asking himself the question, he swore he heard the sea roar louder, and the cottage creak in response. With a shake of the head, he decided. Enough was enough. He had to try - it was now or never. He fell into the seat, holding his breath as he clenched the pen, letting it dig into his skin - a lethal blade. A blank page scrutinised him. On instinct, he decorated it with ink, flowing into the barren landscape, introducing himself.

천둥과 회색 바다, 갈매기 울음소리 (the thunder and the grey sea, the crying of seagulls)

폭풍은 심장의 리듬을 만든다 (the storm makes the rhythm of the heart)

입술과 볼에 소금이 행복한 추억이다 (the salt on the lips and cheeks is a happy memory)

The rain was still pouring when Seonghwa woke up again, having resorted to resting his fatigued body on the same sofa rather than carrying it upstairs. It was quieter that way, without the tears pouring directly on the roof above. Having dipped his fingertips back into writing, and dabbling in a more liberal interpretation of sijo, he was spent, as though he had gone through a war, crawled under barbed wire to find his own reflection on the other side. The poet ran a hand through his locks, still messy from the tossing and turning that he had undoubtedly done while asleep - at least this time he had no dreams, even if it was exactly through such a manifestation that he had discovered the urge to try and revive his calling and skill. He checked the time, the antique clock on the other side of the room idly ticking away regardless of what happened around it. Early dawn, and yet the surroundings remained immersed in grey. He stretched, not caring for the wool throw that he had used as his blanket sliding down to pool on his lap. A strain in his neck - he tilted his head to stretch the sleepy, insubordinate muscle, wincing as he seemed to have struck a painful point of tension. It was time to rise with the rainclouds. Seonghwa shuffled into his slippers, the chill creeping across the floor discouraging him from forgoing the action, and grabbed the throw, folding it on reflex.

One foot in front of the other, eyes still half-shut, the walls served as guides towards the staircase, and the wooden handrail was a direct lead that let him doze as he felt for each new elevation. The rain pelted the skylight that shed some light on the stairs, the thrum an intense melody. And to think that it was sunny and warm - the epitome of summer, only a mere few days ago. Well, he said few days, but that was more a liberal interpretation than anything. Stuck on the edge of early spring, the seasons had passed by him at a menacing pace, summer, autumn, winter all blending into one monstrous creature. When he reached the second floor, something prompted him to pause. Seonghwa squinted, focusing on the door at the far end of the corridor, more specifically, the decorative woven carpet that was hanging off a neatly hammered nail right into its centre - ornate, depicting a lighthouse scene that had instantly made the young poet wonder if there was one in the vicinity of the cottage. But it was not the carpet itself that momentarily disturbed him, but rather the angle at which it was hanging. Over the time of Seonghwa being in this property so far, he had already done his fair share of cleaning and adjustments, as one would expect, but not a single time did he see the item move off the centre of the thread that was hooked onto the nail - perhaps only when the door itself was used. Since Seonghwa had selected a room that had windows that looked in the direction of the fence gate and main entrance, rather than to the side and towards the cliffs, he had no need to enter the darkness, only for general upkeep. What had made the item move? Raising an eyebrow, he approached the door, creaking of the floorboards accompanying him. No sound from behind the door. Only the heaving of the house that saw many storms in its day. A chuckle involuntarily escaped him as he adjusted the carpet - he must still be under the impression from the dream, that must be it. Everything was suspicious; but that was how he usually got when he was in the depths of ideation. Sensitive, responsive, one with the world. Patting the rough fabric, he turned, making his way to his quarters.

The decor was simple, minimalist, with echoes of nautical and rustic themes. A tiny model of a sailboat in a bottle, displayed on a slab of wood that must have been cut and taken from the forest nearby. A laundry basket made out of a rope so thick that Seonghwa assumed that it used to be on a ship before settling in the cottage for retirement. White sheets, with a line of pale baby blue chequered fabric running through the very top, marking its direction. Matching chequered pillows - large, soft clouds stuffed to the brim with feathers, perfectly made. The bed had been left untouched by him that night, and remained in suspense. He ran a hand over its edge, feeling the soft fabric. Carefully, he placed the throw at the end of the bed, and turned towards the double wardrobe - well, he was being rather kind to call it that. Not quite a single, not quite a double, the piece which looked to have been made by whoever had been the owner of the land a while back stood proud, without any particular definition. It served its purpose, and was happy to do so. From the carved patterns around the handles to how the doors easily swung open, this piece of furniture was nothing like what he would see in the city. It contained love, care. Was one of a kind. Perhaps that was another issue he would have to take care of, should he return to the metropolis soon - change his interior. There was enough standard decor for him to turn into an automaton. An apartment like everybody else’s. Enough space, but no room to breathe - existing only to live up to or fulfill expectations.

He changed into a pleasant neutrality - in fact, most of the clothing that Seonghwa had brought with him retained a quality of muted bliss. Beige and cream, black, white, shades of grey, a few patterned pieces containing navy, diluted pinks here and there, he wanted to blend into the scenery. Shake with the tall grass. Stretch his arms out and embrace the sky, floating towards it. But for now, a white shirt would have to do. He made a couple of small adjustments while looking at the mirror that hung above the cabinet directly at the end of the bed, flush against the wall, flicking the dangling silver earring that he had left in since yesterday, used to napping with the accessory. A couple of brushes with the comb he kept on said cabinet, and finally, the look was manageable. Knowing he would be careful, Seonghwa decided to wash up before continuing on with his day; more adventuring around the house, down the stairs and off to the side past the kitchen. He stared at his reflection, dismissing the hints of stubble that were beginning to show themselves - as if anyone would care if he scrapped shaving altogether. No one except himself. The rest of the steps he could not skip over, diligence and habit taking back the reins. Routine, but in the house so far removed from places where routine was king, it was reassuring.

Soon enough, there were scrambled eggs on a plate, fork lying to the side, and a steaming cup of black tea in his hand as he flicked through his midnight musings. Not too bad. Certainly not the best. At least not to him. His hand was rash, his thoughts unclear, his rhythm lacking. It had to be better than this; the voice of judgement returned to him and struck him like lightning, only this time, the current of the bubbling waves dampened the effect. Why was it that he began to sound like those he grew up and returned to listening to? So much running, and to return to the same vocalisations? Enough. He set the notebook down, and took a sip of the still hot tea. Clarity, that was what he had to practise. Since he was alone, he had no other opinion to fear, and could work on his reconnection with art to his heart’s content. Seonghwa was lucky enough to not be tied to anything nor anyone in particular, and the continuously rising popularity of the songs he had worked on as a poet and lyricist a little while ago ensured that if need be, he had financial cover.

A stray thought about the outside world passed him. Did he still matter, or was he gradually being forgotten? One wave after another, one artist was bound to surpass another. Such was the harsh reality. His breakfast was cooling as he stared at the pristine table cloth, mulling the notion over. Time ran differently here, that much was certain. Could that mean that out there in the city, centuries had already passed? What was he missing? A mild panic started to rise in his throat, and on instinct he stood up, foregoing the rest of his meal in favour of a stroll within the confines of the walls but not before grabbing the tiny black notebook.

One step, another, and soon he fell into a rhythm, traversing the territories of the kitchen, dining and living room area, ambling into the miniature office space, back out again until he was retracing the same patterns, writing characters on the floor with each footfall. He was ink, combatting resistance to absorption into the primordial canvas, towards artistic immortality. Seonghwa wanted to push himself at first opportunity. He had to write, had to provide the listening curtains and chairs with fresh prose or poetry, whatever came to mind and was reasonable first. He was Park Seonghwa, for goodness sake. It should come easy. The months were just a pause like that when one holds their breath. Each day a microsecond. The shake, starting from deep in his upper arm and trickling lethal poison down to his wrist and fingers, started to give signs of its awakening. No, it could not be! The poet stopped, not dissimilar to how a car would stop at the edge of a cliff. What was happening to him? The book found recluse from his spiritual agony above a fireplace, one of the elements of the house Seonghwa had had no reason to experiment with, not being bothered by the howling cold drafts. Toying with the edge of his sleeve, he succumbed to pensive disorder, eyes locked on the unassuming object.

"Not today then…" the utterance melted into the ambience, "fiendish creature."

Determined creaking of wood and its crash jolted him off the spot, and Seonghwa was almost pulling himself up the stairs. The house was old enough to need repairs, but this could be major, and all the more disastrous if the rain bled in. Heart jumping out of his chest he skipped steps, alarm bells ringing in his ears. He had been submerged in his philosophies for so long that he could have easily missed some more complex deteriorating hazard of the cottage, particularly since he never had to even consider such a thing back in the capital. Maintenance, checks, security… all automatic and managed by someone he would never see, while here, he was the one responsible. He, the pseudo-owner for the coming season, had to see the outcomes, and admonish himself in the mirror should anything go wrong, which was probably one of the reasons why he preferred to not use the object more than necessary. He turned his head side to side, to the skylight, behind him, all for nothing. Only the drizzle, and the decorative carpet, tilted. Like it had been pushed on purpose. He inched towards the door, looking for any shadows that may fall through the crack at the bottom and stretch outwards. Stopping right in front, he put an ear to it, while pretending to adjust the piece of fabric. Nothing, or the house was keeping secrets from him, too. Fed up with the mystery, he yanked the handle, and then gave it a violent twist and push, all to no avail, meeting a secure lock. Did he accidentally lock it the last time he had been in? Seonghwa could not remember, but the curious appearance of this issue was more than inspiring. The storm was playing tricks on the poet again, whispering devious tales in his ears. A late night fog, he descended to the ground floor in search of his weapons to carve the enigma, not hearing the sigh that carelessly escaped through the keyhole.

차가운 강철 바다가 겨울을 삼킨다 (the winter is swallowed by the cold steel sea)

모래는 신성한 행위의 비밀을 간직한다 (the sands hold the secret of the sacred act)

장난꾸러기 봄은 또 무엇을 가져올까 (what else will the mischievous spring bring?)

⋆✧. you .✧⋆

It wasn't that you were tired per se, it was just that if you were to spend another day doing what you had been doing, you would make it a personal goal to destroy the world. But you were smarter than acting on the manic rage that lapped at the shoreline of your consciousness, and so you did what any good citizen would do and removed yourself as cleanly as quietly as possible. On paper, there was nothing wrong, and a sabbatical did not seem to be out of order, especially considering the hours you had been putting in for the last few years. Some of your longer-term patients did have to be reshuffled of course, but you did not mind that one bit - they would not be haunting you anymore, at least not for the time period of professionally approved evaporation. There was no greater joy than shoving your identification badge into a drawer and ridding yourself of your scrubs for longer than a few hours.

Bare essentials in a rucksack and a train ticket was all you needed, and once you arrived at your safe haven, it would be piece of cake to hitch a ride from one of the farmers you had befriended - who knows, maybe this time around you could get on one of the fancy new tractors. When the prospect of returning to your favourite place was feeling more real, you could not help yourself but turn back to your tendencies of being a dreamer. It was always more delightful to live in the clouds to the rhythm of the sun’s rays rather than to a beeping of the heart monitor. You could almost imagine the journey, the beauty of it all.

But that turned out to be the farthest from the washed out reality that was possible. Somewhere around two thirds of the way to your sacred destination, right around the time when a toddler - evidently born and raised in the urbanscape, had finally stopped whining about going to some place where "there was nothing", and dozed off, huge storm clouds started to roll in from the direction of the coast. Just peachy, especially when your destination was a cottage that might as well have its address quoted as 'the sea'. But you were not made of sugar and could stand a couple of angry raindrops on your waterproof jacket, and besides these problems were ones you much preferred to deal with, unlike the constant barrage of everything at once back in the concrete cage. Less yammering, and the words that were exchanged in the country were compact, concise, meaningful. No beating around the bush or claiming ownership of other people's business, so long as you didn't interact too closely. But that was what the distance between the beloved cottage and any more major settlements was for - the most secure barrier of them all was time and energy, and very few would want to waste that on an extra trip that would be entirely fruitless.

A couple of droplets was an understatement as your soaked clothes were quick to tell you. Thanks to the unusually strong storm for this time of year there was no way for you to get to your asylum easily either. No one was out, and no good person would let even their work dogs out in such weather. You, however… you could not care less about it, or about anything except getting to the cottage for that matter.. Some sacrifices were worth it. And so after getting to the tiny village thanks to the same family with the toddler since it was on the way - the last remotely reliable collection of society before natural and non-human wilderness, through sludge and torrential downpour you tread, practically having to feel your way forward since the downpour painfully obscured your vision. Your feet knew the right path at least, and after you had donated the last of your social supplies to those metropolitan holidaymakers for your own benefit, with every metre you conquered you ended up striding faster and faster. Until you saw the lights. They could only mean two things. Either Old Man Yang came back to life and was perusing his grounds like Old Hamlet, or there was a guest. As much as you wanted the answer to be the former, it was obvious enough that the occupant was somebody else. Not that you were too bothered. You knew this house like the back of your hand, and were aware of how to get in and out pretty much unnoticed. Plus, it would not be the first time you would be doing so. Most people limited themselves to a couple of rooms, fearing that they would be overstepping should they actually ‘make themselves at home’ - a huge advantage for you when it came to climbing in. Little did they know that they would make Old Man cuss them out for their timidness if he were still around.

The first step was to avoid the front gate - a flimsy construction that had been installed without much skill nor effort, and so performed what you would generously call the bare minimum, only just holding itself together. Slanted and chipped, the fencing was in an abysmal state, off-putting, marking anyone who needed to stay at the cottage as truthfully desperate. You smiled bitterly - what a realisation. You continued on your way to the other side of the plot, barely guarded by a bush fence and the occasional appearance of proper stone fence pieces. This was mainly for show, to mark that the owner, or well, previous owner of the house was aware of what was ‘standard practice’ around these parts. Outward aesthetics was something that you had grown to despise over the years, hence why the tongue in cheek mockery of it in this construction spoke to your soul, and made the haven that much more homely. It was good to be back.

You navigated to the back of the house and ducked to squeeze through the hole on the wall. Much to your fortune, the room that was the speediest to access from a stealthy climb onto the shed located to the side of the building and a couple of shuffles of boxes was empty, though shockingly clean. It was obvious to the naked eye that the bedroom was visited quite regularly, at least to keep things neat and dustless. You nodded to yourself as you took off your shoes and clothes, shoving them in an oversized plastic bag that you had packed, originally for future laundry, now as a way to keep the items from bringing the rain indoors. The cold air hit you in one swoop, sending a series of shivers over your bare body. Hopping to the chest of drawers, you haphazardly went over the contents of each one until you found the towels, wrapping yourself in the largest one and throwing another onto the floorboards, roughly shoving it over to the puddle that still had formed under the bag. Once satisfied with the half-hearted drying, you changed into a fresh and remotely warmer set of clothes and hopped under the covers, drowsy and worn out from the impromptu hike and battering from the violent skies.

Just as your eyes started getting heavier and heavier, and you were losing yourself in the sound of the rain against the roof - a favourite of yours when it came to forgetting the nonsense you had to work towards back in the capital, the creaking of the footsteps jolted you from the somnolent fall and back to high alert. Was the guest brave enough to venture onto the second floor? Really? You concluded that they were comfortable using one of the other bedrooms, and that they were alone - the latter was a commonality among the guests of Old Man’s home, however, so that conclusion did not take much work. The steps ceased to resound across the corridor right behind the door, leaving shadows through the creak below. You froze and inadvertently held your breath, waiting for the guest’s next move. It was not that you were particularly scared of the potential interaction, but you did not want to deal with the terror that they might experience of having a random stranger appear in a house that was in the middle of nowhere. To a person ‘not in the know’, your presence would be more than horrifying. And so to do the other party, and your sleepiness, a favour, you stayed put.

More shuffling, a tug on the decor on the other side of the door - so sensitive that it probably shifted because of your jumping about, and in what must have been a quarter of an hour, maybe even less, the guest disappeared downstairs. The rain had gotten lighter since the time when you had just arrived. Rustling. Pots and pans clinking against one another. Opening of the fridge - so the stranger was making breakfast. You grinned into the bedsheets and snuggled into the warmth. How you missed this place. Its sounds, its welcoming nature, its beauty that defeated all definitions of the word. There were no standards that you needed to abide by while safely by the sea. No roadblocks, no arguments, no regrets or shame on people’s faces. Perhaps this was another reason why you did not want to interact with the guest - that would mean you having to stare at them, and goodness forbid you would be unable to turn off your work brain and end up micro analysing them. No, you needed to sleep that off. At some point while you were drifting in semi-consciousness the pacing that the stranger had commenced had stopped, and a concerning silence washed over the property. Eyebrows furrowed, you lifted your upper body. When no other sound came, you slid out of the bed, too curious to try falling asleep now. One step, another and you were already turning the door knob, cautious to push the door discreetly. You listened. Creak, sigh, so they were still-

That deep and smooth voice? So the guest was likely male, okay stay calm. You tried to reason, but the phrase kept replaying in your head, and you found yourself being ashamed to admit that, at least from this distance, the tone was more than pleasant. Perhaps you should try introducing yourself - at least to have a conversation. What were you thinking? This was someone who you did not know, someone who could be dangerous, who could attack you - no, not today, not ever. At least not until you were to run out of crackers, apples and water in your bag. Rapidly, you reversed into the living room and without a second thought, shut the door like you normally would. Clearly, you could not think straight after lateral human interaction as almost instantly you heard chaotic shuffling from downstairs. In one last strive to protect yourself you remembered the key to the door that was located on a tiny table set right by the wall to the right. One swipe, one twist, and you launched yourself into the bed in an effort to hide and minimise any movement for when the man arrived. And just in time, because just under quarter of a minute later, the stranger was back, and was attempting to enter the room while you were damning your curiosity. It was comical how the only thought that crossed your mind was the hope that if you were to cross paths with him eventually, that you would not have to cut your getaway short and go back to the heartbreaking world of expectations, regrets and erasure. Perhaps it was selfish to say, but here, in the cottage, you could live for yourself and think for yourself for once and not feel as though you were overstepping.

At some point between then and the moment you realised that the rain had stopped, you had fallen asleep, missing the entirety of the morning. You were gazing at the walls, the light from the window, the silhouette that your items strewn about on the floor, with different eyes. A revival. You were finally home. And that was when your own behaviour hit you; indeed, you were home! No matter who that other person was, you knew the ins and outs of this house better than anyone else, and just listening to the man walk around was enough to make the conclusion that he was definitely a newcomer. Probably was here for some weeks, maybe a month at most, but that was not enough to be aware of the creaks in the stairs or where all of the emergency supplies were located - the shed had been left untouched all this time, as you had spotted out of the corner of your eye. He was being cautious. Not quite living. Well, at least he was being respectful.

You patted the bed and slid out from under the covers with a stretch. The hints of sunshine were protruding through the clouds, transforming the views from your window into an infinite stretch of dewy, silvery green and a glistening and bashful blue, protected by the rolling behemoths of cloud up above. For once, you were looking forward to the coming day. You pushed yourself off the bed and stepped closer, now having the fence that you had recently infiltrated the cottage through in your sight and beyond it - the same gorgeous grassland that broke into a shallow, albeit fragile dockside. Technically, it was still part of a long series of cliffs, revealing limestone and chalk and iron from all ages, but that was a two or three hour walk down the coastline. Here, those titans were friendly pets that you could easily scale and hop down from. Nonetheless, they did a brilliant job in separating the marine from the earthly, reminiscent of the mythical division of the mortal and heavenly realms. Upon closer inspection, you noticed a certain someone treading that legendary midpoint, dressed in a simple shirt and wide, skirt-like trousers. You leaned onto the window sill, well aware that it was not going to do much in helping you discern the details that made up the enigmatic figure, but you were going to pretend like you were confident in your assumptions about the aesthetic appeal.

Dark hair, falling to somewhere close to the shoulders, tall in stature, of a thinner build, or at least that was what you guessed when the figure turned to step closer to the edge. They were holding something in either hand, and whatever it was appeared important, but the distance concealed such tiny details from you. You couldn't quite form a complete picture, but it was easy enough to put two and two together from the silence that currently reigned over the house and the stranger out for a stroll, that this was probably your impromptu housemate. Not too bad, a nice blob in the distance that you could appreciate through the horizon's blur. More importantly, this person with dark hair and a deep voice was giving you control over the ground floor for a short while, and you desperately needed to make use of the resources located there. You laid out a high speed itinerary for yourself and made a dash for the door, counting the seconds that each task took you. This behaviour was something you were unlikely to ever get rid of - your studies, and then your job both permitted you too little time to have the luxury of wasting it. How long could an inhale and exhale take?

It was astonishing just how neat the cottage was - you dared to say that it was the neatest that you had ever seen it - major refurbishment and repair requirements aside. So this guy was detail oriented, clean and homely, huh? You ran a hand over the kitchen counter while passing it to rush to the shower raising your eyebrows at the lack of dust. Damn, you might have underestimated what kind of guest this individual was. Your surprise was not limited to the main living area - the bathroom almost reminded you of the scrub room and theatre with how spotless it was. Not a single timescale stain on the glass or mirror, perfectly arranged decorations, laundry basket and towels. Even the bar of soap was turned to the smaller side so that it would be easier to use and not linger in moisture. Inadvertently, you shivered, almost slamming the bar down and moving to ruffle the towels just the slightest bit so there would be a breath of life in them. You kicked the bath mat slightly off centre, disturbed by its impeccable alignment with the tiles. Oh, this man might become your enemy. This was about to become a crisis.

One purposefully careless shower later, you had drawn a smiley face on the mirror and were now unceremoniously raiding the kitchen, claiming that you were famished and urgently needed to make the most chaos-inducing meal of all time, which given the available ingredients just so happened to be a monstrous apple pie. You were not sure what exactly provoked you and caused you to ignite the oven with a fire of rage, and channel a palette of negativity into beating butter and sugar, but this was most certainly the most ‘vigorously’ that you had ever made a pie. Whizzing through the stages of making the pastry and sending it away to cool, you took to making the filling, whispering each one of your actions out loud, narrating as though you were back in the operating room. You needed the knife, you needed the cinnamon, you-

Slamming the utensils onto the cutting board, nearly sending a small ceramic bowl flying in the process as your sleeve slipped over its rim, you groaned in disapproval. This was exactly what you were trying to escape from, and yet anything you did was simply returning you to your daily life. Why did your hands, your mind have to live in just one place, erasing the moments when your body as a whole experienced joy? Why was it so easy to retrace the steps back into personal nightmares? Damn your steady hands, your unbreakable focus. To hell with it all. On the verge of throwing the knife at the neighbouring wall, you toyed with the handle. You were tired. So unbelievably tired of the nonsense that had accumulated over your time back in the city. While anyone else would say that you had been lucky to receive what you had - an education in a prestigious university, renowned across the nation, residency in high ranking hospitals, settlement in a private clinic in an expensive district, a career in the medical field that was deemed ‘not too intense nor too gory’... you could not help but wish to burn it all in favour of the paradise that you ran to.

Your childhood. Carefree, in a small town by the sea. In fact, on a clear day you could see the outlines of it from here - on many occasions you had stood by the fence gate with Old Man, who had taught you how to read the clouds, the forests, spot things no one else could. How he, with his wrinkled, dry hand pointed in the direction of what were your roots. But not your home. You had hugged him tight that day, muttering that it was in the cottage that you were happy. Old Man never forced you to leave. In fact, the room that you were staying in had always been left ready for a guest - you. But of course, in the eyes of everybody else, this was not what was considered successful. Study, take exams, study, do extracurricular activities, fix your pronunciation, change your look, change yourself to be like someone else, for what? To appease others, as you had realised in the middle of your time at medical school. You were a talking piece, a conversation starter. Nothing more. And so, with every opportunity, you stepped farther away from those who had taken your clarity and safe haven.

Old Man died when you were about to graduate university. You found out only two months later. Since then, you were on your own. You clenched your hand into a fist until the knuckles turned white, while tears inadvertently pooled in your eyes before you dabbed at them with the corner of your sweater. Your childhood home did not exist anymore - you checked two summers ago. Deemed too rundown since no one had moved in after your parents made a mad dash for the metropolis, it was now just a bitter memory. At least in the act of honouring the past you were victorious. Your body began to move on its own accord, floating through the instructions, from one step to another, at ease since your thoughts were preoccupied by reminiscence. For a person whose livelihood majorly relied on their hands, you were terrifically remiss about what you subjected them to; some of your colleagues were known to wear gloves almost all hours of the day, others refrained from doing anything physical unless it was lifting a scalpel. To put it simply, this drove you mad. Every single one of them: self-important, unaware, isolated. Let this pie be baked in hellfire for all you-

Mid-spin, just as you were finished with making the filling and were in the process of lining a baking tin with some of the pastry, the front door creaked open, revealing the figure that you had spotted outside of your window, walking alongside the beginnings of what would be a cliff’s edge. You stood still, holding the pie tin, feeling the grooves of its edges, balancing the dough that was still wrapped in clingfilm right in the middle, as though if you were to not move this man would not see you. Heart quickening to a nauseating pace, the intense scrutiny that you were receiving made you want to collapse behind the counter. Before this moment, you had convinced yourself that you had fully adopted a devil may care attitude, and that you were ready for whoever you would encounter, having prepared the humble abode for a you-style reception and to assert who truly was deserving of ownership of this property. But something about this enigmatic persona who, just like you, remained unmoving, echoed the seastorms. A roaring of the waves was contained in his orbs, so dark due to the light being behind the man’s back that you could barely detect the transition from pupil to iris. A nose worthy of being depicted in renaissance paintings, in fact, if you had to pinpoint one way to describe the stranger, is that he reminded you of subjects that graced the walls of art galleries, selected by masters to be immortalised in the artists’ name. Nameless, much like he was to you in this present moment. His lips, ever so slightly parted as if he had been on the verge of saying something to you, only for the aim to fall short of execution, voice drowning in doubt or disgust. The corners of the man’s mouth were gently downturned - not unpleasantly so, but rather giving him an aura of intimidation that intrigued you. Shadows on his face suggested to you that he was unshaven, though, you had to admit that it was not too bad of a look. In fact, an interesting edge of ruggedness that balanced with his longer locks gave the man a new form of allure, and in turn, forced you to keep your eyes on him despite feeling inklings of terror. The scene reminded you of a faceoff between two territorial wolves - whose domain was this? Only time and a match of resolve would tell.

He was the first to break eye contact, sighing and moving to take off his shoes and trench coat. You remained still - a hostile animal that was expecting aggression at any moment. The man was silent, unphased by your ‘out of the blue’ appearance at least outwardly, and you were not certain whether his lack of reaction was something to be taken with gratitude or suspicion. As you inspected his motions, how he stretched out his arm to hang the trench coat on the rack that was hammered to the wall, with the right nail ever so slightly lower than the left, how he ran a hand through his hair, casting shadows over what hinted at months of fatigue. Not quite pallid, but definitely tired skin, holding times of discomfort, sleeplessness. Dark circles under those deep, pensive orbs, cheeks that were somewhere between sunken and youthful. The man stood before you in a white shirt, the colour a last cry to some form of purity and hope. You could guess why he was at the cottage, since it was not too challenging to see your own reflection in the corners of his soul, much like you could sense that he was reading you. He reminded you of an angel who was tired of praying, barely capable of carrying his body. Pressed down by the story that had been written for him, he was likely here for an escape, to drown out the sounds of whatever he was running from. Perhaps you should be friendly, and welcome this lost soul. After all, he could be unaware of where he is nor of what unspoken rules exist around here. The least you could do is make him feel at home-

“You made a mess,” and just like that, all desire to be amiable flew out of the window and into the sea. His curt comment was like a burning cold scalpel, words too familiar to be neutral and well-received.

Before you could respond, the man was well on his way to the bathroom, and judging by the slam of the door, he was not very pleased to see the rearrangements you had made. No comments followed, however, and instead, the pause was filled by the sound of running water, followed by a muffled mumbling when following a couple of rattles, the pressure inevitably dropped and there was barely a trickle. You shook your head, amused by how this man had been living in this property without the basic knowhow. Clearly, he was one of the many cityfolk who wanted to try his luck while on holiday. Exotic stay to talk about with his glamorous friends, you bet. For him to explain how ‘the bucolic was not even as appealing as literature made it out to be’. Standard. Faceless. You would forget him in no time, especially since he would probably leave before it got less fun and more mundane to stay out in the wilderness. That pretty face should not know harshness. With a huff, you set the tin down onto the counter and set the oven to preheat. With swift, irritated movements, you took to lining the metal with the dough, and in no time shifted to ladling the filling inside, halting to watch the last of the fruity cinnamon remnants dribble from the bowl down to join the rest of the sweet and sour promise.

The man returned when you were in the process of lacing strings of dough together to structure a coherent design. With an embarrassing surgical precision, you focused on the patterns - culinary sutures, almost horrified by the technique that you could not prevent from channelling itself through your body, to your very fingertips especially now that there was an audience. If he wanted to give you a stern talking to, it had quickly dissipated and mid-stride, the stranger was observing you as though you were carrying out a sacred ritual. The spotlight was on you as you demonstrated how to put the flesh back together. Piecing the skin bit by bit so as to ensure minimal scarring, careful now, people come to you to make themselves feel beautiful after all. String by string, the pie was looking more like itself, a recipe book photograph, something worthy of immortalising as the model step before baking. A beeping confirmed that the patient was relaxed, steady, with a perfect heart rate - good, all the readings were steady, now all you needed was to make the final - you felt for the tray finding empty space. Did someone misplace the tools? Panic shot into your nervous system and with a jolt you pushed yourself away from the table, only to find yourself gazing, startled, at someone who you had begun to assume was an intern. The guest, or cohabitant? An eyebrow raised, the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he took in your state. You clicked your tongue, finally putting two and two together and grabbing the timer behind you, purposefully taking your time so that you would not have to look at your newfound personification of madness for longer than necessary. So much for an introduction; the figure who was still a mystery to you slinked back into the shadows, with only the click of the office door serving as a confirmation that he was real. You rubbed your temples, the distant thrumming of a headache resembling a thunder that crawled over the horizon. Demonstratively, you sprinkled some flour onto a previously clean spot on the wooden countertop, only to automatically reach for the towel and drop the action again. No, it was time to bake. You needed to bake. You needed to make this place feel like home for the next couple of months, even if this peculiar character was going to be sharing it.

When you finally slid the pie into the oven and shut the door, giving it one last look before setting the timer for forty-five minutes, a curiosity crawled from the crevices of your mind and poked at you. Were you really going to avoid that man for your entire stay, assuming he was leaving soon? You had already admitted to yourself that he was objectively… and subjectively attractive. That much you had to give to him. Attitude - you were not quite ready to make judgments about, considering that if it were you in his place, you would have been chasing yourself around the house with a frying pan. It was comical, really; a stranger in a house, baking like they own the place. In spirit you might, to a person not in the know you were the official owner, but to the family who inherited the place you likely were nothing but a pest or an echo of the past that they were trying to forget. At least they did not demolish the cottage yet.

With a side step, you headed in the direction of the couch, but moved on when you noticed more damage than you had been used to on the window off to its side. Running a hand over the edges, it was clear that a certain someone had not shut it properly when nature had played up outside. So you had your tasks being planned out for you; with a grin, you nodded at the prospect. Nothing like good old maintenance of a castle in the sky to do the trick of dissociating you from your own life and responsibilities. All you needed was the right tools, perhaps some wood, and some paint. And then the fence gate could do with some tender love and care… you listed off parts of the house that you wanted to renovate or check on, imagining something greater and better than yourself. You noted the gentle breeze outside, and even though a greyness prevailed, it was far more promising for a brighter day than the performance the clouds had put on yesternight; maybe this autumn would not be too rough, and would show you its beautiful colours.

You did not see the mysterious guest until it was approximately dinner time. The pie was being kept safe and warm in the oven, and you were idly leafing through an ancient magazine - the remnants of days that you had spent at the cottage back when Old Man was still around. Another thing frozen in time, to be forever beautiful until you were to forget it. The shadowy presence commanded your attention almost immediately, and you lifted your head only to peer into a solemn darkness in the shape of a scowl, etched out on exhausted elegance. The man sighed before crossing his arms, and leaned against one of the few segments of the wall that was not bowing under the weight of framed memories, pins and nails.

Just what was this person thinking? As the clock marked your shared awkwardness with every tick, you grew more self-conscious. Was there something so repulsive about your presence, that the guest, or rather… the present resident, could not bear to function without hostility? Letting the pages fall onto one another, forming a yellowed stack, you rose from your position, having been hunched over the combined kitchen and dinner table.

“Some pie?”

The words landed somewhere between your two forms, unusually shy, a request so timid and tentative that it might as well have been the wind outside. One tick of the clock, another, and another. It was easy to wonder if you appeared untrustworthy. It must be the way in which your brows were positioned, or how the corners of your mouth naturally curled ever so slightly downwards if you were not paying attention. Or maybe-

“Sure. Thanks.”

That same tone. Words, curt, unforgiving, but a step towards proper introduction. Who knew such coldness could evoke a wave of joy in anyone? As though on command, you hurried to the kitchen, a childish excitement overtaking you as you imagined the reaction he might have to your baking. It was one of the few things that was your safe haven - although you did not indulge in the activity too often, you had experienced the euphoria that came with it enough times to elevate it above the usual hobby. He had to enjoy the apple pie, surely.

As you grabbed the towel to use as makeshift heat protection, and prepared a mat onto which to set down the perfectly warm pie, you noticed the dark haired man match your movements. Narrowly missing your elbow, he navigated the space with calculated reach, and produced cutlery, plates, and a couple of mugs. Without any consultation, his selection of items was soon on the table, and next, the kettle was obediently bubbling up with excitement for another steaming cup of tea. You raised your eyebrows and huffed, balancing the pie in your hands as you walked around the counters and gently set it down. With a nod you confirmed your own satisfaction and gestured to your partner in table-setting to take a seat. He refused, instead remaining standing stock still by the lonely piece of furniture, pupils gliding along wherever you went.

Those deep eyes, a blended mahogany and sienna, depending on how downcast the lashes appeared to be, remained trained either on you, or were burning holes in the tablecloth as you picked at your respective slices. The wisps of flavour and freshness escaped the filling, an unfathomably lush aroma clinging desperately to the air in the search of a satiated appreciator. But to no avail. No lips uttered a single word of praise, nor did you dare ask for it. It was a habit that you had been forced to break away from come adulthood, not that it had ever given you much satisfaction before the fact. You tried to convince yourself that the culinary feat was as delicious as Old Man had told you it had been, but in the gloom of your company and circumstance, it tasted bland, colourless, miserable. As though you were eating your own forlornness. You rested your fork on the edge of the plate, no longer having the courage to take another bite.

Just when you were about to give into your impulses and storm out, only pausing to consider if you should permanently borrow the rain coat that was hanging by the front door, the man quietly raised a piece of the dessert to his mouth, not minding your not quite discreet gawking. Savouring every bit of texture, the harmony of ingredients that collaborated to produce the bucolic ideal in gastronomic form, he revelled in the taste of home. You noted the subtle changes in his appearance as he roughly sliced away another bitesize piece with his fork, then another, features relaxing into the experience as though finally after many days if not weeks he saw the sun. You melted into a close-mouthed smile, turning away to let your gaze aimlessly wander across the living room.

“It’s good.”

“Thank you.”

There it was. Your first exchange. The beginning of something. Or the end. Perhaps both. When you turned back, no longer did his face appear as dangerous, instead sustaining an almost amiable curiosity.

“Why aren’t you eating?” his question held genuine concern as he paused, darting down to your hands and back upwards.

“I- oh, sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” settling in what you assumed to be the safest option, your trained clinical professionalism you responded and started to hack away at the pie before you. Your choice of words provoked a chuckle - an unexpected sound that echoed in your ears for a little longer than you would have liked.

“Not at all… I think the two of us are even,” ever so enigmatic, your interlocutor responded. You let a slice of apple melt on your tongue, fructose and syrup clouding your nerves over choosing the right way to respond.

“...In?”

“Two people caught adrift in the middle of a storm, unsure of whether to keep holding on, or to let go. Are we not alike?”

Peculiar expression, unsettling, piercing through you and laying you bear until the pie left a bitter aftertaste. But of course, you could not do anything except pass it off as nothing. It was only natural for your self-acknowledged and accepted self-denial. Moreover, how could you two be similar? Obviously from different places, with different visions, the only thing that brought you together was this little cottage by the sea. At the same time, the words planted a seed of curiosity in your mind. Old Man liked to say there existed no coincidences, only well-hidden strings of fate and twists of certainty. You peered at the man again, gaze inadvertently settling on the freckle that was positioned almost perfectly in the middle of his collarbone - even what some of your clients considered to be an imperfection contained balance and elegance. Like hell would anyone ever be able to replicate that. Out of habit, you measured angles, sized up the man sitting opposite- at least you were not giving him the doctor smile yet - staying at the cottage was already doing you some good.

“So…” you began, but the words died away faster than flowers in early spring before you could deliver them, joining the disappearing wisps of heat from the pie.

“What brings me here? I assume that is the question,” so the delivery was successful. You nodded, attempting to ignore the hint of smugness tugging at the stranger’s lips, “I needed a break. So… I looked for a place. Remembered some relatives, then… ended up here. Yourself?”

“Oh,” you revealed your surprise, the phrases playing back in your head. ‘Relatives’... so Old Man did have someone inherit the property after all?

“Oh?”

“Sorry. You just said, ‘relatives’?”

“Well, yes,” he set his cutlery aside, gracefully picking up the cup of tea to take a sip before continuing, “this cottage is under the name of one of my cousins, however, as you can see… they have no use for it. Hence why I was told I can stay here for as long as I like.”

“Luxurious.”

“Hardly.”

“Limitless time off? A rarity in this day and age,” you sighed, giving a bittersweet smile.

“Everything is measured by time, be it days or bills. Runs out eventually.”

“That-” you paused, “is true,” it was difficult to admit that the smile you received from your fellow dessert buddy was charming, but there was simply no other way to describe it. Except perhaps ‘dazzling’ would do, but you did not wish to get ahead of yourself and swoon over a man whose name you did not even know.

“So, dare I ask the same elaboration? What brings you to the edge of the world?”

The clock ticked loudly in your ears, and you swore you could sense the draft creeping across the floorboards and over your feet. The moment was surreal, and not in a million years you would think you would find yourself in a situation such as this. At least not when considering the gruelling cycle you had subscribed to since you were young enough to give up your dreams in favour of others’. You were here because you were re-tracing your steps back to a time when you still had air in your lungs and a fighting spirit that had not been charred by a bleak reality and troubling conventions that society hammered down on everyone without exception. In some sense, for a little while, you did not wish to be yourself, but a version that you kept hidden away.

“I suppose I needed a break too, so I came back to the one place that I know as a paradise.”

“Intriguing. Did you know great uncle Yang?” he followed, tilting his head just a little.

“Yeah. Quite well, actually,” you were curt. Unwilling to share too much, but the man pressed on.

“How?”

“Came ‘round quite often,” you poked at the remnants of your pie slice.

“I wish I could have,” caught off-guard, you lifted your head, perplexed, “I have only heard about how amazing of a man he was. Distance proved to be unconquerable for me, and excuses far too strong to rebuke. Am I correct in assuming that you were closer?”

“Closer… I guess. I… well. I’m from this area. Grandpa, he- him and Old Man Yang were friends so…”

“Is your grandfather from the village-”

“He was… he had resided in a neighbouring house before it got torn down.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry for bringing the mood down.”

“The mood is how it is - like the weather, sometimes you need a little rain to appreciate the sunshine.”

“A poet, aren’t you?” you half-joked, trying to turn the situation around. The memories were flooding back at a fast pace, and you were struggling to keep up with them. The guest, however, was instead taken aback, as though your jesting was an accidental truth. You raised an eyebrow.

“How did you… do you know me?”

“I feel like we have been apologising back and forth but, really sorry am I supposed to-”

“Oh no! Not at all! It is just that you are right, I am a poet. Job-wise, I mean,” taking notice of the way in which he started to attack the edge of his shirt sleeve.

“It’s cool.”

“Hm?”

“Your job.”

“Ah, it’s just throwing words on a page and hoping they make sense-”

“If that’s what it is then you’re gifted. Hoping is already an art. Hardly anyone does that anymore,” yourself included. Finally, you were more at ease; whether it was with yourself or with the situation at hand, you could not be bothered to decide.

“Thank you… are you in the arts?”

“Maybe some people would consider what I do a sort of art, but at the end of the day it’s far, far from it. Surgeon. Cosmetic.”

“So the science side of beauty?”

“Science and human opinion collided. Thankfully, there’s plenty of nature here for me to rest my eyes,” you gestured around you, suggesting the quietude of the cottage, and absence of any community in the immediate vicinity. The man nodded in understanding, choosing not to comment further.

“I… I do not think I have introduced myself yet. Park Seonghwa. Though, Seonghwa is absolutely fine seeing as we are friends by circumstance.

“Well, fantastic to meet you, Seonghwa. L/N Y/N. I hope we have great times ahead of us.”

“This time is all ours.”

⋆✧. seonghwa .✧⋆

As Seonghwa watched you redo the fence gate, he could not help but wonder if you really were a surgeon or not. Perhaps he was being a little prejudiced, but the image he had held in his mind of doctors and nurses was vastly different to how you carried yourself. Starting from how lacking in enthusiasm your descriptions of what you did were - without an ounce of pride, you simply listed off a couple of facts about your workplace like address, services and your responsibilities, and then returned to pondering housework and searching for tools. Seonghwa had assumed that any cosmetic surgeon working in a private clinic that was located in one of the most coveted and famous neighbourhoods of the capital would have a lot more of a well-meaning snootiness, or at the very least an eagerness to share their experiences. After all, the years of study and training had to be a mark of lifelong dedication, no?

You were anything but delicate with your hands as they aligned wood against wood. However, these same hands were steady, each movement calculated, deliberate, precise. There was not a single bit of power wasted in how you realigned the gate to not sink at the hinges. Tools arranged on a miniature mat did remind Seonghwa of what he had seen in medical dramas - neat operating chambers, every piece of equipment counted and arranged in a very specific order. So far, your actions and habits had been the most telling, making him choose to believe you. It was highly probable that you were exactly like him, hiding from yourself, from your immediate responsibilities - the weight on your shoulders having gotten increasingly overwhelming. It was not as if he had been fully open, heart on sleeve, with you and you were not returning the honesty; both of you had chosen to remain observers, walking in a circle as though there was an unspoken showdown, suspense in which both of you were waiting for something to go wrong. He did not wish to reveal his weaknesses, and neither did you.

In no time at all, you were done with the gate, marking the success by standing up straight and wiping your hands with a towel you nicked from one of the closets that Seonghwa had never yet dared to open. Catching his eye, you smiled and gave a cheerful thumbs up, one which he instinctively returned from his viewing spot by the front door. You picked up the equipment, roughly shoved it into a bag, and upon a quick adjustment of your jeans swiftly made your way back into the house. As you were kicking off your shoes, using your feet to position them in a reasonable spot that was out of the direct way into the house, Seonghwa spotted a little stain on your sweater. It could have been easily avoided with a rolling of the sleeves, however given your determination, it felt intentional. He bit his lower lip, musing the meaning behind your numerous deliberate actions over the last few days.

It was easy enough to notice that out of the two of you, Seonghwa was far more neat and pedantic about maintaining said ‘clean’ environment, while you were all for a freer living situation, not bothering to readjust the bathroom towels, or straighten the chair after pushing it back. Without a shadow of a doubt, you were very much in control of what you were doing - it was obvious. Sometimes, the young poet was sure that you were reminding yourself to not be organised, and only at critical times, such as the maintenance works on the gate, did training and composure characteristic of a highly skilled medical professional shine through. Without any explicit mission or goal, you appeared to be running from order, an act previously unimaginable to Seonghwa, but one he could understand, having been doing what was essentially the opposite. He resisted further moving your shoes when you walked into the living room, and bit back a comment about how you set the tools off to the side on the floor, instead continuing to watch you float to the kitchen to wash your hands. You were refreshed, a little sun in the departure of the cold season, your pink cheeks and grin that was threatening to take over all of your features returning a bashful youthfulness to you - something that he could not spot in the slightest upon first meeting. He did not know you yet, but he could sense that this was much more like the real you than the exhausted shell of a human who was suspicious of everything and everyone.

Seonghwa ran a hand through his hair before crossing his arms and leaning against the arc that separated the kitchen and living room, studying your approach to the window that he had combatted some days ago. You were in your element, fluid, determined. As much as you probably would have hated to hear him say, you were very much a surgeon before an operation, plan in the eyes and stable hands raised in front of you as you assessed your metaphorical patient. Was this a cosmetic procedure? Or a lot more invasive? Terminology he had picked up from perusals of the news and media plagued Seonghwa’s mind as he watched you carefully unlock the window, click your tongue and get to picking at the rotten frame, a replacement sitting patiently under your feet. How and where from - you were not too inclined to reveal all secrets of the cottage, but he could gather that there was some underlying rhythm or internal network of miscellaneous tools and ‘thingamajigs’ that all harmonised to create the cosy domestic paradise he had come to enjoy in his undetermined stay.

It was enthralling how, out of the two of you, you seemed to be more in harmony with the place. Well, perhaps not so strange, considering you were the one who had practically grown up in these walls. And much like Seonghwa could only guess about the inner workings of the house, the same came to you. Without any particular desire to be welcoming or amiable, you were focused on tending to any impending ruin rather than entertaining a stranger. This, however, made the poet all the more intrigued. You had to be running from something, maybe something similar to his own demons. Maybe something much darker. The nature of your work was a double-edged sword, after all. What were you seeing, or decisively ignoring by making this grand escape to the end of the world?

“Right, this should last a while. Seems the winter was pretty harsh this year, so I’ll have to check the rest of the windows too. You know what, maybe the attic as well,” you explained as you stood up straight, wiping your hands with the cloth you had retrieved from the toolkit.

“There is an attic?”

“Uh, yeah. You can get to it from my room.”

“You mean the guest room that you raided?”

“Hardly a guest room when there are no guests here, don’t you think?” you raised an eyebrow, sauntering past him, clearly searching for a way to set your words in stone with a pointed physical gesture.

“Mm, you’re right,” the last thing Seonghwa wanted was trouble on an already stormy horizon.

“Ah… Seonghwa?” you tentatively uttered his name, as if still testing how it sounded.

“That’s right.”

“What were you planning on doing?”

“Huh?”

“Right now.”

“...Probably returning to the office-”

“-ah, so you are going to hole yourself up. Got you,” without giving as much as a second to process or retaliate, you continued, “could you figure out food? If you don’t mind, that is. When I was getting the kit I saw something I wanted to check out. Shouldn’t be long, though.”

“I’ll see what I can put together.”

For what had to be the first time, Seonghwa noted the hint of a genuine smile ghosting over your lips. As you responded with a quick ‘thank you’ and left the cottage once more, already on another mission, he could not help but pause and tilt his head in confusion.

“Well wasn’t that awfully domestic…” The terrifying part was that he was not entirely opposed to the gesture.

Newfound vigour spread over his body and ignited a gentle flame in his heart. With purpose, he moved across from the living room back to the kitchen, beginning his search and preparations. This could also be a chance to get to know you better - your likes and dislikes, any quirks and habits. In turn, he had an opportunity to tell you wordlessly about himself. Brushing loose hair out of his face as he leaned over to grab a cutting board, he exhaled, amused. Care. Expression of care. Soothing waves of comfort and affection in the form of acting to provide some form of relief for another. This was something he had entirely forgotten in the blur of his day to day, and abandoned the possibility of returning to the notion by making an unplanned escape, only to find the lost memory right here, in this cottage. Doing, without wanting something in return except harmless conversation.

Time went by swiftly when it passed with purpose. Mind left unoccupied by hauntings of rhyme and rhythm thanks to a pleasant sense of urgency, Seonghwa could concentrate on making something out of whatever he had found in the cupboards and fridge. Back in the city, particularly towards the last few months before his sudden departure, he rarely cooked, be it due to lack of time or of energy. Instead he relied on restaurants where he had to survive loud company, or takeaway orders which, eventually, had all come to taste the same. Solitude had woken him up, and your appearance was another jolt to the system. Curious, how the mind worked.

The afternoon crawled towards the evening with certainty, and as the horizon turned to a murky grey with the hints of sunset, you returned, tired, but triumphant. Quietly, as though you were old friends who had exhausted all conversation, you made final preparations and dined. The occasional compliment escaped you, much to Seonghwa’s joy, but other than that, he was left to spin stories about you and leave it all up to overly elaborate guesswork. Asking about the shed did not do much, either. Brushing everything off as though the fixes had been but a mere ‘walk in the park’ was your well-measured defence. They could be, compared to whatever you did back in the city. Eventually, Seonghwa mustered the courage to attempt to satiate his curiosity, and left a question hanging in the air.

“Could you… tell me more about yourself?”

“That’s quite broad. What do you want to know?”

“Mm… cutting straight to the chase, huh.”

“I’m not one to enjoy wasting time,” you emphasised, setting down your fork on a cleared plate and leaning back in your chair, clearly in anticipation of an unpleasant interrogation. Seonghwa had to tread with care, but could not help the stirring of his inquisitive nature.

“Right, I figured. Barely arrived and the cottage is already pristine,”

“Hardly. Much work still left to do.”

“Well, give yourself at least some credit-”

“-So, the question?” you interrupted, putting your elbows on the table and tilting your head. No optimism or kindness in your eyes as you regarded Seonghwa. Just what were you thinking he was going to say?

“Ah, yes. Uh… how do I say this… considering we are both in, hm-”

“In the middle of nowhere, you can say that. I won’t take it personally,” you nodded urging him to get to the point.

“Thanks. So, since we are here, I have been thinking if our reasons for being here are in any way similar. Or, if not, just how different,” when you did not respond, or even acknowledge his thoughts, he persisted, “that’s about it… I mean, if you want to talk about it, that is.”

“Not really-”

“Oh! Okay, I- sorry,”

“No, you’re fine. Just because I don’t really want to doesn’t mean I won’t. It’s all part of getting to know a person, isn’t it?” turning to the side, you stared at the freshly redone window. It was holding up well. Beautifully, even. Seonghwa hated to keep making the comparisons, but he could not rid himself of the image of how you could be like professionally. Perhaps this was because this was the only concrete thing he had found out about you, but you were, in his eyes, every bit a representation of the medical field. Just as he assumed you were going to bestow upon him more discoveries, you shot him a side glance, “besides, it’s not like you are an open book either. For all I know you might be on the run from the police.”

“What?” he exclaimed a little too loudly to consider calm.

“I’m just kidding. Or am I?” you quickly raised your eyebrows, clearly finding amusement in Seonghwa’s discomfort, “Anyways… what brings me here… well, I am on a break. I’d like to think it is a well-deserved one.”

“Annual leave?”

“I guess, though, in medicine… is there ever such a thing? We’re not exactly corporate are we.”

Seonghwa finished the last of his meal and took a quick sip of his tea. While you were not looking directly at him, he could feel your scrutiny nonetheless. Suddenly, he felt the need to redo his hair, check his face in the mirror, adjust his clothes - anything to feel more presentable, even though it would not make much of a difference. Cold, but not hostile. Thinking back to how he had greeted you, he cringed. Was this the impression he had inadvertently given? Maybe. Very likely, actually, considering that for the first while he wanted nothing to do with another individual in the house. And now what was he expecting, an immediate shift into being best friends or at least allies? Biting the inside of his cheek, he mumbled:

“Might be foolish on my part, but I suppose I thought clinics would work differently.”

“Oh they do, that’s correct. But since money has to be made, we have to do a bit more negotiation to have a nice, unbroken holiday.”

“Two weeks?”

“See, that’s what employers want. More like four to six. Paid. I did my time in that place and I would say me being away would benefit all of society.”

“You’re making it sound like torture,” with a bitter laugh, you accepted his joke.

“How much would you like me to tell you about what I do? Until you agree?” your tone was flat, unnerving.

The wind was, once again, picking up outside, and whatever patchy thin wisps of cloud had been hovering around the area already disappeared, to be replaced by thick storm bringers, looming, menacing. An all-consuming darkness was rolling across the horizon and right towards the cottage, and Seonghwa could only hope that you really did know what you were doing when it came to mending. Out of habit, he adjusted the shorter strands that fell over his face, and took another sneaky glance at your features. Drumming out some unknown rhythm on the table, your fingers danced across the tablecloth. You were daring him to agree. And who would he be if he did not accept the challenge? Most certainly not an artist.

“I… I suppose you can tell me anything.”

“Heart to heart with a stranger?”

“Sure. If you are okay with that.”

“Then tell me this, Seonghwa,” you turned towards him again, only this time, you did look angered, “are you here because you are an eccentric, or because celebrity life got too much?”

“So you do know me,”

“While I was outside I remembered seeing your face on top searches or something. You sure know how to build up a following.”

“I call that a fluke.”

“Collaborating with a famous singer to write songs for their album is a fluke?”

“We have a mutual friend. Mutual friend reached out to me, said ‘hey you write poetry, how about you help out’ and so I did- hey, wait, why am I defending something normal-”

“I don’t know, but something is making you antsy, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, it’s probably the fact that you are attacking me out of the blue.”

“I am just asking a question.”

“Sounds like you are judging me,”

“Aren’t you judging me?”

“Aren’t we both judging each other?”

“True.”

With a huff, you crossed your arms and looked at your empty plate. Seonghwa followed suit, agitated. Neither of you had particularly good points, but nonetheless managed to bring to light issues that you and him were denying. Without a single word, both Seonghwa and yourself were going through the skeletons that were in the closets of your minds. He cleared his throat.

“It’s the latter. You hit the nail on the head.”

“I see.”

“People might pretend to know one thing or another about lyrics, but no one ever cares to read past that. I’ve had maybe one, two people ask me about my poetry, and none about my post graduate work.”

“Post graduate?”

“Yes.”

“Linguistics? Literature?”

“Something like that.”

A pause. The first few rain droplets hit the roof of the cottage and splattered against the windows facing the shore. It had to be another downpour coming. The clock continued its dedicated beat, and you were an immovable statue, as if you were storing away all he had told you about himself. Though he had not offered a resume to you, of course he wouldn’t, it was probably easy enough for you to put one experience with another, and paint his whole life.

“A scholar,” Seonghwa sharply exhaled, wondering how you had come to this conclusion.

“Trying to be. Probably more accurate to say that I am a poetry nerd who wants to become an academically accredited poetry nerd.”

“Hey, you’re passionate. That’s commendable,” your eyes softened, reminding Seonghwa of how people regarded something fragile. All because of hope? The same hope and inspiration which he had lost and was trying to discover again?

“I should be saying that to you. I mean medical school, and then launching into active practice right after is no easy feat.”

“That… is true.”

“But something’s off?”

“Bingo.”

“And you are running from it.”

“Hm… probably. Actually, you know what let’s call things like they are. That’s right.”

“And this thing is…?” he trailed off, encouraging you. You stared at the view outside the window, shapes now barely distinguishable as the droplets turned into bucketfuls and the streaks across the glass transformed into an unbroken blur. As your gaze settled back on the man sitting across from you, he saw a resemblance between the weather and your expression, and could not look away out of fear that he could miss the ever-changing emotions, musings, revelations that etched themselves on your face, only to disappear in a split second.

“You know…answer me this. I think you are the perfect person to ask.”

“Ask away.”

“What is ‘beauty’?”

“Beauty.”

“Yes. Beauty. What is it?”

“To me, or-”

“Whatever way you want to answer. What is it?”

“A feeling.”

You tilted your head and squinted in response to him. Truth be told, Seonghwa surprised even himself by the speed of his outburst. Feeling. He could not define beauty, and he did not believe that he was in a position to ever do so, but based on the callings of his heart, based on the changes of nature, of how words flowed from pen to paper or how they felt on the tongue and on the lips, he could sense beauty, and he was sure of it.

“Interesting. An artistic answer, I’ll give you that.”

“Were you looking for something else?”

“Something more clinical, potentially. But I like how you put it better. It’s more alive.”

“Are you running from beauty?”

“More like, I don’t know what it is anymore. And so my feet led me to the place where I think it existed. Or as you say, the feeling existed.”

“But… beauty is everywhere, no?” He knew he was being hypocritical, having cursed his own environment - both animate and inanimate, time and time again, but the mantra of any dreamer was the only thing that crossed his mind in this moment.

“Not in a cosmetic surgeon’s office, it’s not. Everyone either walks in there thinking it doesn’t exist, or walks out thinking that way. Aesthetic beauty, visual beauty is such a lie that I sometimes wonder if I see at all. Don’t get me wrong, I love nothing more than to make someone feel like they really are in their own skin, and countless times I have seen people gaining their happiness and their whole lives back after a visit to our clinic... but... beauty. Beauty itself is so, so strange.”

Your voice wavered. Any previously existing hard exterior was but an illusion, and Seonghwa could see the faint glow of a young spirit who wanted to do better for the world, but was beaten down, deciding that it had enough for a long time. In the effort to save it, you came here. To find your so-called muse, your safe space.

“I want to hear more… about this. If you don’t mind.”

“About people putting themselves down?” you sighed, ready to stand up and take your leave.

“No, no! Goodness, no. More about beauty. And what you think of it. And why do you think you ‘lost’ it, in a sense?”

“I’m starting to think we really are on the same boat in the same storm…” you mumbled, glancing at the time, and then rocking in the chair to finally lift yourself up, “... then I say we need more tea.”

“Consider it done.”

Some shuffling, dishwashing, and side glances later, both of you were settled on the edges of the sofa, preferring to find a reason to not stare at one another rather than adopt a position akin to that at a therapist’s office. Neither of you wanted to pretend you held answers to the mind’s mysteries, and neither of you wanted to come off as some complex character. Instead, you slowly but surely began to lay all your cards down on the table as the barley tea cooled in your cups. Seonghwa silently nodded as you elaborated on your frustration with the perfectly in line plates, the crisp and straightened towels, and the spotless counters. Unsettling, inexplicable, but the sensations you experienced when you stared at the lack of chaos were more than real.

“It’s the uniformity that puts me off.”

“So… things being in order, organised, in their places… annoys you?”

“Well… I cannot say it annoys me, because it doesn’t… this goes away after a while. But for the first little bit of time I will probably freak out whenever I see things that look a little too clean.”

“Got it. I shouldn’t clean up messes. See? You have something you find beautiful,” Seonghwa pointed out, a soft smile gracing his lips. As the conversation took on a more abstract, philosophical tone and your dispositions ceased to be so formal, he felt himself relaxing more and more by the second, and decisively taking the lead in conversation.

“Hm. A little chaos couldn’t hurt anyone. But I am sorry though, it must have been unnerving, considering that you are doing the opposite,” you responded, a genuinely apologetic look on your face. So you did notice. You were quick. Or simply very observant. Seonghwa shook his head to try and dismiss the little positive attention, but to no avail, “no really, it is nice to see you feeling at home here. I mean this.”

“This really is your place, isn’t it?” he narrowed his eyes, appearing rather feline as he tilted his head, hair flattening on the back of the sofa.

“It holds a lot of memories.”

“Tell me, did you come here to look for memories, or to change your present?”

“A bit of both. So, like I mentioned. Beauty. It’s sort of been a sore topic for me since I was a kid. Be it to fit a standard visually, or academically, or whatever else. Success was beauty, beauty was success. But there comes a time where, when you hear about beauty a few too many times, it starts to lose meaning,” you stopped for a moment to gather your thoughts and listen to the howling of the wind outside. With a click of the tongue, you continued, “You know how when you repeat a word again and again, it starts to sound and feel weird?”

“Yes.”

“Same with anything. If there is no variation, if there is no real value behind a given repetition, beauty is just some random ‘thing’ that cannot be achieved.”

“Value behind repetition?”

“Yeah. We breathe right?”

“Right.”

“Heart beats, right?”

“Right…” Seonghwa momentarily shut his eyes, focusing on the sensations you were describing, feeling a little more alive.

“Those are all valuable repetitions. And even then, we feel them so differently. But… what is something ‘beautiful’? It could be like you said, a sense. But saying ‘beauty’ this, or ‘beauty’ that… the concept ends up being void of meaning to me.”

“Hm… could it be that… in that context - the context of your job, the context of your day to day, how beauty is presented to you... is something you disagree with?”

“Ah! That, yes, exactly-” setting your cup down on the coffee table, you clapped your hands, happy with the encapsulation.

It felt easier than it should have been to establish something artists chase after and die for. A diagnosis uttered by a ruthless analyst marking the withering of beauty in another’s life. With the presence of a dulled, uninspired eye came the ability to see past mere feeling, and evaluate the essence of what had been plaguing you, and apparently, Seonghwa as well. He was in muted shock, both delighted and horrified by the conclusion. Loss of beauty because of the world in which he lived - how could a poet survive, if not by translating their works to terror? In the blink of an eye, the discourse was abandoned, and Seonghwa found himself floating in his own mind, the dark ocean waves crawling through his ear canals - a deafening roar marking the coming of his nightmares. Ever since he had become interested in poetry, he was fond of what he could experience with his five senses, and then added a sprinkle of inferences with a mystical sixth. Flowing from line to line he felt, and admired what surrounded him in syllables until the world began to darken, and his wrist and brain transformed to lead. In the absence of what he thought was beautiful, was he truly surrounded by something utterly vile? If extrapolating from your conclusions, it could very well be the case.

“...-hwa, Seonghwa-” startled, his eyes darted side to side and then settled on you. He did not realise he was clenching his cup with a white-fisted rage and, embarrassed, set it down beside yours on the table, “what had you so pensive?”

Your worry was charming, the young poet could not deny. How your lips, slightly parted, were waiting on what to say. How even though you were clearly fighting your own battles, you immediately pushed them away. No wonder you were tired. And no wonder Seonghwa felt a resemblance to you. Feeling. And feeling too much. Even when you were clearly burned out from doing so, you were ready to do it again, and again, until you were nothing but a trembling stalk of grass on the cliffside, swaying with current affairs and mundane happenings everyone had to abide by. Going with the flow was something neither of you could settle for, and that was what ended up bringing you together.

“When we think beauty is gone, does it mean there is not even a likeness to it, or does it mean we are not looking hard enough?”

“Mm… good question,” you traced abstract shapes on the pillow you took into your lap, maybe for comfort, maybe to have at least an illusion of a barrier between you and him. Seonghwa kept quiet, picking up the tea and masking his concern, “Since we both ran as soon as we’ve had enough, I think the former. An optimist would probably say the latter but based on what I have seen… I find it damn hard to believe in a happily ever after.”

“Did something happen?”

“Hm… did it?” you echoed, gaze fixed on the floorboards.

“Cleary. I am all ears.”

“You are doing too much.”

“This is the least I can do,” judging by the way you regarded him, being heard was a rare occasion for you, and sent a strange ache into Seonghwa’s heart. How many of your stories were left untold?

“Where do I even start… let’s just say this holiday was not fully on my own volition.”

“That rebellious, huh?”

“That’s what happens when you convince someone to leave the clinic, I fear.”

“You told someone to leave?” perplexed and fascinated, Seonghwa turned to fully face you.

“I mean… when you have a sixteen year old girl sitting there in front of you telling you she has one thing after another to fix and got a giftcard for eyelid surgery from her family… that’s the best option, in my opinion.”

“W-what?!”

“Happens more often than you’d think,” you dismissed his shock with a melancholic coldness, “we try our best to find compromises, best plans, bring happiness into a patient’s life, but when you can clearly see they are being pressured or are at risk of a plethora of other things both physical and mental… I draw the line.”

“You just have your morals set, and want what you feel is best.”

“And that is bad for business. Maybe I’m missing the plot. Maybe I should actually let people carve themselves up however they wish.”

Resigned, you stood up and walked towards the window, each step heavier than the previous one. Seonghwa observed your motions, seeing in you a tired sun that could barely lug itself across the heavens. Wrapped up in smoky grey, your shine slumbered, and you regarded the dull landscape with a matching passivity. For all you cared, at least in this moment in time, the stormy weather could last an eternity. An angered muse on the verge of giving up; an ancient legend on the verge of extinction; a sacrifice in the midst of the bloodbath that was the strive for perfection. A lost voice. You were not the first, and most certainly not the last to suffer this cruel fate and its many variations. In fact, if Seonghwa were to look in the mirror, he knew he would discover in his inky pupils the same resolution. If he were to look into a million faces, they too, would bear the traces of antithesis to childhood dreams. Disillusionment - the bane of existence, and the band to unite it.

He wished he could memorise this scene with every intricate detail remaining intact. The way the light flickered across your face as raindrops strengthened their barrage was downright haunting, and reminiscent of a television’s unsettling static that could make a room glow white. You delicately hugged yourself, lost in thought. Voice barely above a whisper escaped you, a string of apologies as you appeared to allow yourself to feel regret over being your true self around someone who was barely an acquaintance.

“I’m sorry… I… I talked a lot didn’t I? Complete nonsense too. I mean, what the hell is the point of taking something untouchable apart, as if we could ever understand it?” you bit your lower lip. Seonghwa imagined the sea foam decorating the shore, the ebb and flow of the erratic waves while he studied the patterns in your hair. The odd wave, the styling of stubborn locks all amounting to acceptance of its unruliness. Was that not beautiful?

A tender blossom in the earliest spring, wavering and inching its way upwards, filled with hope. A budding, pale green leaf, only just unfurling, tentatively feeling the first breeze, trembling with anxious delight. Seonghwa remained still as he let the progression of scenes dash past him while he gazed at you. Shyly smiling to himself, he greeted his own sleepy heart. It stirred, intrigued by the unpredictable series of events and serendipitous meeting, recalling words that had turned foreign to him not too long ago. While there were millions of characters, thousands of lines and an infinite number of ideas, the root remained a timid secret, one Seonghwa did not wish to explore quite yet. In the absence of beauty, or the stalling of its perception, remembering beauty was more than enough.

“You’re doing well.”

“Hm? You mean, uh, the window?” confused, you pointed at the frame, earning a chuckle from the wistful poet.

“That too, of course, but I meant in general. You are doing well,” before you could speak, he interrupted your doubt, “you are not failing, you are planning ahead. There is only so much we can do, and sometimes, pausing is the only right decision.”

Seonghwa hoped that by saying this out loud, to you, he could take his own advice. But it was never easy to listen to oneself, when he knew of all the noise that stuck to his brain, knew of the taunts and the mazes. It was more simple to wish that the verbal sword could cut through someone else’s worries, and in turn, shine a light on his own and let them evaporate. You grinned; you could have guessed that this was one of his mantras that he tried to learn how to believe in, or there was a sliver of a chance that you agreed. It was beautiful to wait.

구름을 은빛으로 물들이는 눈물 처럼 (like tears that colour the clouds silver)

바다와 하늘을 잇는 수많은 실이 있다 (there are many threads connecting the sea and the sky)

태양이 보이고 당신의 눈에 반사된다 (the sun is visible and reflects in your eyes)

⋆✧. you .✧⋆

An oversharer, a wildfire, taken and enchanted by a glimpse of the silver mystical lining. In every storm there was a fair share of this metaphorical metal - hints of hope that anyone stranded could hold onto. To your dismay and horror, you found solace in a stranger… or could you even call Seonghwa by that title anymore? Having poured more from your life’s cup than you had done at catch ups with your city friends, you were terrified of the amiability you possessed, and the open-armed rush of confidence you had experienced when engaged in deep conversation was quickly replaced by fear. What if you were digging your grave? What if you had signed yourself up for demise? It was so unlike you to share so much… and yet it felt so comfortable. You were alive for once, and the cottage was beginning to warm up to you again, voices of more than one echoing off its walls. But how could you know that Seonghwa had good intentions? You could not remember much of what you had seen online, except some tiny excerpts about the title track on which he had worked, but other than that - nothing. You had over-exaggerated your knowledge of his ways and his work as a silly flex of superiority, but… the more you thought about it, the more guilty you felt. You were a liar. A fiend. Seeking company, but writhing like a snake.

Ever since that first heart to heart, you remained distant, despite Seonghwa’s consistent efforts to get to know you better and better. He was not pushy, kept his jokes lighthearted, but you saw every attempt to learn more about you and your stories as a threat. You were in the same house, but it was as though the walls were closing in just on you. With a violent tug, you forced the towel off the hanger and let it pool on the floor, fleece resembling the perfect sands on faraway islands that you had seen advertised an astonishing number of times, but chose to believe in it being some business-crafted utopia. You could not bear picking the towel up from the ground. No matter how many times you would try to hang it, it would not look conventionally pretty. You tried, you really tried to arrange things how Seonghwa arranged them, be it out of respect or to conform, but your hands would produce something akin to a tremble, and at the last moment, the final product - destruction, was before your eyes. Slowly, you sank to the floor, feeling cold tile. Struggling slightly, you crammed yourself against the wall, and pushed the door a little to leave nothing more than a tiny creak. One last razor cut of light to be a guiding thread back to hollow function.

Leaning against the wall, you found yourself trying to escape your own thoughts, but the more you stared into the darkness, the more futile this race was. Inevitably, you were your own limit. At times, it was a good thing - you could go as far as you could. But other times… it meant falling and falling deep down until you were in the state you were currently in. Hands shaking just enough to send a wave of panic crashing into you, eyelids heavy from questionable and ever-changing sleep. It felt strange, having someone new know of your concerns and information somewhat beyond your day to day. Unlike regular ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’, you had inadvertently let Seonghwa see the root of your worries, and it was astonishingly hard to bear. In the dark looming corners of the bathroom, you could see your reflection. The crumpled towel taunted you, and in a spur of rage, you kicked it, immediately curling back up, arms hugging your legs. What was so hard about sharing your mind? Was it because he looked like he understood? Or was it because you were afraid that he actually did understand, and now you were at his mercy?

Vulnerability - a muse for artists, a disease for those favouring logic and wishing to move through life as an invincible figure. You were in a position where people trusted you, or rather, had to trust you if they wanted a job well done. True, you were not quite senior enough in your career to carry out the more complex procedures, but you had done your fair share of scalpel holding to curse the anxious tremor of your hands at this present moment. The fear was becoming unbearable, and it was all because of some silly conversation about what made things beautiful, and what beauty was. Ridiculous. The words blended with the heavy rainfall outside, and continued to return like the tide, higher and higher each time. It had been quite a number of days since the seemingly simple and friendly talk, and yet it gnawed at you. You wanted out, no, you needed out of this mess. Out of your own head. Old Man would have undoubtedly laughed at you, called you a feral wild and untamed beast, incapable of letting a little sunshine in your life - something of a nickname that you had acquired in the last years of his life, when you were already deep in the river of souls in the capital. But he was not here to reassure you, not here to crack a joke at the right time or to offer you protection. If there was any way you were going to survive your sabbatical, you had to hold tight and keep to yourself for the remainder of the weeks. You were going to pretend you knew his motives, and at any opportunity would tell yourself that you were staring at evil’s beautiful eyes-

Beautiful. No. You shook your head in disapproval. Eyes. Just. Regular. Eyes. In the dim evening lamplight, when you two would silently share the living room, both of you preoccupied with your own version of dawdling, they held little fireflies. Reflections of warm gold and a stunning white on a near onyx sky. Just eyes that you could not read, windows through which you did not want to look in search of a soul. Some part of you hoped that this entrancing vision would remain with you, and you would never have to see him under nauseating fluorescent lights; the scene was a professional instinct, but if there was something which you approached with more aggression than even your own paranoid self-preservation, it was to detach your present, and your continuous. Seonghwa was Seonghwa, and did not need some nobody like you to pretend to know how he should look. You exhaled, a shiver running over your form as the chill from the floor became more noticeable. A poem popped up in your mind, or rather, the few lines that Seonghwa had quoted to you the other night. Something or other about flowers, how they bloomed and wilted. While you could not grasp the exact words, your heart kept the poem safe and whole, with such diligence that it hurt. It was another one of his tries to get you to inch out of your shell. You shut your tired eyes, only to see how the shadows fell across his face as he had turned to you, lips remaining parted when he trailed off, glimmering orbs regarding you so sincerely and gently that you wanted to howl in agony. With a rub of your palm, stopping at your mouth, you wished to wipe the memory physically - your mind was too unwilling to do so. No, Seonghwa had to be some tragic, cruel joke the universe was playing on you. He simultaneously was indescribable and yet so, so simple, but if you were to be tasked to put him into words, you would sooner learn how to fly than to be capable of achieving such a feat. On the tip of your tongue were so many phrases and solutions to mysteries but none clear enough to be whispered into the early dawn. Seonghwa was who he was, and that was what scared you. You could not let him get to you like this.

Reluctantly, only due to the cold starting to become unbearable, you pushed yourself off the floor, and were once again faced with the task of picking up the pitiful puddle of fabric. With an apparent scowl, you bent forward, lifting the item and throwing it over the hook, determining that this just had to do. No one was going to throw a fit over this - and if Seonghwa was, well, you would just be happy enough to have decided to try and maintain distance. The more evidence or actions to support your desires the better. Cautiously you slid out of the bathroom and made your way down the corridor, avoiding creaky floorboards. Seonghwa was probably still asleep, and you were supposed to be. The early dawn was creeping through the lazily drawn curtains, and painting the floor in a hazy blue and grey. Hints of sunshine, tentative, shy, could be spotted on the very edge of the horizon. Maybe, just maybe, the weather would start looking a little more like spring. One step, another, and you were nearly at the dining table, front door ahead of you. Technically, if you so wished, you could spend the day in solitude; a visit to the nearby village was long overdue and it would almost guarantee an entire day outside of the cottage and away from the man who had taken residence in your brain as if out of spite. In addition, you could run some errands, and that definitely needed an early start. Your mind began to craft an itinerary, happy to abandon worries one by one. The market, the bakery, an obligatory visit to the post office to greet Old Man's and grandpa's friend… much to do. So much to do, in fact, that you only narrowly missed a ghostly figure appearing and stopping right in front of you, and had to rely on its sleepy reflexes to prevent you from colliding head on. You yelped as hands grasped your upper arms, and in an effort to escape you stumbled back.

“Hey, careful-”

That honey-sweet, deep voice forced you to glance at the so-called ghost. Perplexed, you saw none other than Seonghwa, who had been on his way out of the cottage office, stopped by the crossing of your somnolent paths. Dressed in a black turtleneck and black slacks, it was evident that he had been awake for at least as long as you, if not more. Like a deer caught in the headlights, you could only stare.

“You… you alright? Sorry if I scared you… it’s just… you know…”

“Oh no, I’m fine just… didn’t think you were awake, is all…” you mumbled, eyes starting to dart in all directions.

“Yeah, I get that. I didn’t sleep too well so I decided to get an early start to the day… same for you?”

“Sort of,” you were anxious under his burning observation. The shapeless, oversized hoodie that hung over your figure was your only salvation. Subconsciously, one of your hands reached for the opposing upper arm, forming something akin to a barrier between you and Seonghwa. Your legs protested, and you remained rooted to the same spot, only capable of a barely audible mutter: “I was thinking of heading out today. To the village. Will be out for a while.”

“Village? I have not been there yet. May I come with you?” eager, Seonghwa asked, smiling softly.

“Then how did you keep everything stocked up?”

“I’m organised. And visited that one super store that is on the way.”

“That’s even farther than the village?”

“Like I said. On the way.”

“Resourceful,” you knew you were stalling giving an answer to his request, but Seonghwa persisted.

“So… may I come with you?”

With no rain or violent dancing of the ocean waves to save the awkward quietude, you were in a situation no different to the one you were in a mere few minutes ago. Bathed in darkness, wisps of thoughts about the young poet permeating through restless meditation. He styled his hair differently today, you noted - most of it was brushed back, with a few elegant strands remaining over his face, approximately reaching the length of his nose. No wonder the media had clinged onto him; Seonghwa had undeniable appeal, and that on top of what was a unique form of artistry in the world of popular and quick entertainment, he was a dream for any agent, should he have found the limelight exciting. But clearly, he did not wish to risk going blind, and here he was, the muse and the poet in one form, trying to find peace.

“If I will be a nuisance, then it is okay I can-”

“Why not?” your swift interjection pushed Seonghwa into a long pause.

“Yeah. Why not, indeed. Thank you. Then, hm… may I quickly grab a couple of things? You were planning on leaving now, right?” You nodded, and watched him rush upstairs, revived.

The response, a little boyish, rough and carefree, brought a hint of a grin to your face. Simple pleasures in life were hard to find, and you had persuaded yourself to not acknowledge them, but you could not deny just how endearing it was to see Seonghwa glowing from the inside because of a couple of words and a trip to do some chores as if it was to be an adventure. You spun on your heels and ambled towards the front door. After throwing the hood over your head, you tugged on a puffer coat which you had rediscovered in one of the wardrobes - it had been a hand-me-down from Old Man when you had none of your clothes which were more suitable for rural life left after a strong push from your parents to forget your days on the shoreline. The coat had been one of the many secrets you shared with Old Man, and had been a small but certain happiness. Smelling like rain storms and sea salt, it was comforting, and still much too big for you. But it felt like home.

“Right, so, what exactly are we doing?” Seonghwa’s voice rang out across the room as he approached, having added a wool trench coat and pale scarf of an indistinguishable colour to his ensemble. You chuckled, stepping into your boots and gesturing for him to do the same.

“I was thinking we could hit the shops. Get some fresh produce if it’s been brought in already. That’s essentially the main goal. Oh, if you have anything digital to do, I know a place.”

“Really?”

“You have your phone in your pocket, right?” you pointed at his right hand which was stuffed into the mass of his coat. Seonghwa nodded.

“A standard representative of our generation, aren’t I?”

“I’d do the same if I had something urgent going on,” a flash of pained regret did not go unnoticed by you. Biting his lower lip, he suppressed whatever association he had made.

“Thank you.”

“Shall we?”

Seonghwa shifted his footing to reach around you, and turned the door handle. The early morning yawned out a pleasant chill. Pale green leaves of the shrubbery surrounding the house trembled with excitement, and the gate stood proud, awaiting its next command. Your hand hovered above the wood for a couple of seconds. You turned your head towards the poet.

“It might take us an hour or more to get there, are you fine with that?”

“More than fine. I guessed it wouldn’t be a five minute convenience store trip.”

“Alright then.”

As you embarked on your trek to the village, you decided that the landscape had finally started to take on more springlike hues. Previously barren trees which were bent by years of gales and hurricanes were now dotted with adorable buds of white, pink and green, while the grass that survived the winter was giving way to thriving youth. The Earth was turning, waking up and stretching in its celestial bed, starting to peek out from under its star-patterned blanket. You tugged on the hood and stuffed your hands into the pockets of Old Man’s coat, content with your split-second plan-making. While it was not ideal to have Seonghwa as your quest buddy, you could not exactly see him with the hoodie blocking out your peripherals. Only the crunching of gravel under a second pair of shoes marked his presence.

The scene was faintly nostalgic, but you could not put a finger on the reason why. As you wordlessly followed the winding road and veered off onto a trail that cut to the village, you simply accepted the comfort. The cherry blossom season must be coming here soon, and then the sun would surely roll out of its bed and the seas would be tranquil. You made a mental note to try to walk past the more residential outskirts to see if the gardens of the brave few still had the fragile flowers - the only marking of this representation of spring in the near vicinity. Gravel gave way to a sparser smattering of pebbles, and soon enough only rocks pressed deep into dirt from years of steps and bicycles were left for you to scrutinise. Occasionally, you caught a glimpse of Seonghwa’s shoes when he took a slightly longer stride - expensive, without a doubt. But even in a landscape that served as the antithesis to cosmopolitan luxury, you had to admit that Seonghwa wore them well. Gingerly, you peeked out from the side of your hood, eyes darting to a random point up ahead as soon as your walking partner’s head began to turn. Your assumption was right - he was every bit the character of a dark and dramatic novel; dressed in all black, halo of pale light gracing his locks. You hated how easy it was to question your morals in his favour, or rather in favour of your wanting to be more carefree and open around him. What other stories would he tell? What soft prose would dance on his lips and tantalise you?

You gasped, hands clenched into fists, pockets tightening as you pressed against the fabric. A surprisingly cold gust of wind hit your face, and you were too slow to react. The hood flew back, allowing your hair to be tousled by the elements. You should stop getting so lost in your thoughts - you reprimanded yourself, and began to reach upwards. Seonghwa slowed down to match your pace, waited, and voicelessly pinched the edge of your hoodie, halting any further movement until you understood his intentions. Too confused by the sudden affection to care, you brushed your fingers through your hair and held it in place, allowing the hood to slide back on without further resistance.

“Thanks,” you huffed, stuck in an automatic bow.

“Don’t worry about it,” Seonghwa continued to walk, unperturbed, “it seems the wind is picking up again.”

“At least it’s not as cold anymore.”

“Good point. Refreshing. Let’s call it that.”

“Mm. Oh, Seonghwa-”

“Yes?” you paused to breathe, much too affected by the response speed Seonghwa had to his name. After telling yourself that this was his usual self rather than particular attention, you resumed.

“I have a beanie. If you want it.”

“Pardon?” you met the young man’s perplexed look, and patted the many pockets of the coat until you found the right one. After unclasping the metal button, you revealed the tip of a wool hat. His grin made the pang of embarrassment worthwhile - dazzling, sunny, so very Seonghwa that your heart hurt a little.

“Wind. Hair. All that. You know. Ahem. You get me,” you stumbled over your words, much to what appeared to be Seonghwa’s delight.

“I do. Thank you. I am okay for now,” he stopped you before you could close the pocket again, “but, if you don’t mind I’ll take the beanie. I have pockets too.”

“It’s supposed to stay in this coat.”

“Why?”

“Tradition.”

“Ah. Understood.”

You regretted your awkward gesture of friendliness, but you had to cancel out his approaches somehow. It would be strange to owe him. Was there such a thing when it came to emotion? Not wanting to dwell on the thought, you made yourself speed up, steps growing heavier against the uneven ground. Seonghwa followed suit, but you could only imagine his face at this moment, probably holding back a laugh, withholding some snarky comment out of sheer pity. That was normally how it was, so when what had to have been at least a couple of minutes passed, you were frustrated. Where was his voice? Could you simply not hear it over the wind? Was he intentionally being quiet?

“Seonghwa?”

“You are speeding along, Y/N, wow-”

“Sorry-”

“I’m just curious,” you slowed back down, allowing Seonghwa to catch up and join you on your side, “why that specific pocket?”

“That’s just how it has been all this time. This coat was passed down to me, and with it came a set of safekeeping and storage rules.”

“Rules?”

“Yep. From what pocket to keep what in, to where to hang it in what season. Couldn’t really do the latter properly but I think the coat held up well enough,” you inspected whatever part of the coat that you could spot from the safety of your hood, and peered to your right when you heard an approving hum.

“Looks like it could survive anything.”

“It probably could, if I’m honest. In my memory alone it survived being thrashed about on a clothing line in what had to have been some crazy strong cyclone and survived being abandoned on the cliffs.”

“How does this even happen?”

“Sometimes I do think Old Man did some things just for laughs, but he always had a fun story to tell and if he had to make some sacrifices for it… maybe it was worth it in the end,” you sighed and finished your philosophising.

“We all set our worths and prices, don’t we?” gradually, your stride turned into an amble, making Seonghwa get ahead. To your surprise, he halted almost immediately, and turned. When he spotted your unease, he furrowed his brows and stepped closer. He was searching for something in your stance, or in your expression - be it a change or a revelation, but clearly whatever you were doing was not enough. In the blink of an eye, he was a lot closer than arm’s reach. Inadvertently, you held your breath.

“What?” the question slipped from you as Seonghwa stretched out his hand, palm upright.

“I think I’ll have the beanie, if you don’t mind.”

“Sounds like you are doing me a favour.”

“I am just appreciating an act of kindness,” he gingerly picked the item from your grasp, “and besides, if you are going to be racing how you are now all the way to the village, my ears might freeze.”

You wanted to wipe the dorky smirk from his face, but even then you appreciated his undeniable charm. The ever-changing palette of expressions on his stunning face fascinated you, reminiscent of the metamorphosis of a flame or silver waters. You would hate to use the exact word which you were running from, so you settled to mutely acknowledge Seonghwa as ‘interesting’. Interesting, and all-consuming. You looked at the horizon, his silhouette still dancing in your vision. It was just because he did not question yet another of the many quirks of Old Man that you still honoured. Had to be. You were simply under the influence of a tiny sliver of positive emotion; nothing to worry about.

Soon enough, you were met with the main road - or what could be called a road in a rural no-name settlement, and the ghost-like buildings that marked remnants of local life. As more and more people left the place in the hopes of a better life in a bigger, more modern city, only memories and the past remained, sentenced to erode into the earth with every new season. You could recognise the buildings, of course. The colours faded, and the structures grew weary with time, but they were still standing, just like you. Waving with a tired, invisible hand. You trudged along, cursing under your breath when you saw Old Man’s friend’s house up for sale. In other words, eventually up for demolition. This village was surviving and existing until the countdown to its erasure would be completed, rather than hoping that one day, something or someone would breathe new life into it. Boarded up windows and dull grey fences; withering gardens and exhausted roofs that damned every new rainfall. There was no spring here, nor was there a winter.

“Pretty quiet…” Seonghwa commented, taking in the sorrowful and glum surroundings. You could not offer any counter-argument.

“Indeed it is… Maybe because it is an off season…” you caught your own words and exhaled, bemused, “but when is there ‘a season’ in this place?”

“May? October?”

“Could be the case. But then people prefer to go to the tourist town further south, don’t they?”

“More space for us,” with a shrug, Seonghwa responded. It looked almost as if he was reading the village’s history through the cracks and crumbling stone. Eyes travelling from side to side and sometimes stopping to scrutinise something of interest that you could never spot, he looked like he was trying to find and remember every detail, akin to a pre-op examination.

“The market is down the street.”

“Got it.”

“And then we can stop by the cafe.”

“Can do.”

“You don’t need to?”

“I could, but I don’t have to.”

“Whatever works for you. But I need a nice hot chocolate and the awareness that the world has not exploded yet.”

“Or maybe it did,” Seonghwa added, making you chuckle.

“Or maybe it did. This place certainly has a surreal other-worldly barrenness to it.”

“How appealing.”

“Home sweet home.”

A home you could barely recognise. The deterioration was abhorrent, and truth be told, when you had been on your way to the cottage and managed to catch a ride with a family, you were surprised they had any business in the village. They must have left already. No one in their right mind could survive more than a few days in a place like this, unless this was the lesser of a wide selection of evils.

Seonghwa remained quiet as you stepped into a tiny two-story building that was called ‘the market’, but was just a reminder of what had been in its place before. The stock was good enough, from fresh produce off by the windows to the refrigerated and frozen goods lined up by the walls, and the cashier who was hunched over a crossword puzzle finally showed that there was some life remaining in the village. You picked up a basket which still possessed the logo of the superstore nearby - a permanent souvenir, and with Seonghwa in toe, browsed the shelves. Occasionally Seonghwa would stop you to point at an item, or you would exchange a couple of words to debate the necessity of one thing or other, but progressed through the maze fast enough and ended up at the ancient table converted into a register.

With a vexed huff, the man behind the desk put down his pencil, and began to hammer out the prices on the old cash machine. The buttons creaked in protest, so worn that you could barely see the numbers on their faces. In one swift motion, you produced a canvas bag from another pocket, and signalled to Seonghwa to start packing while you held it open. You tried to avoid brushing your hands against his, and he politely ignored the awkwardness of your movements. Before you could ask for the total, he was already setting a couple of bills down on the counter, shaking his head at you to not argue. You narrowed your eyes, but continued to watch as the cashier counted the money, slammed another few buttons to unlock the register, and produced some change. The door of the shop shook from the wind outside, but he paid it no mind, only caring for the next word that he had to guess for his puzzle. The two of you swiftly departed, Seonghwa striding ahead to stop in front of you and try taking the bag out of your grasp.

“I could have paid, Seonghwa.”

“I could have, too. And I did. What of it?”

“How much do I owe you?”

“We are living together, aren’t we? Consider this to be my household contribution, and this-” using your moment of disorientation he yanked the handles and tightly grabbed the canvas bag, “is just me being nice.”

“You’re making it sound strange.”

“How?” he was jittery, you could tell. The reason was a mystery, but he was awfully chipper compared to even fifteen minutes ago.

“Tell me, are you nervous?” he licked his lips - a habit you had noticed within the first couple of days, and knitted his brows.

“What… what makes you think so?”

“I think I have seen enough of you to catch the gist of how you’re feeling,” you deadpanned, and turned to continue walking towards the cafe, “this village isn’t haunted if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s been ages and as you can see, I’m still alive and kicking.” The joke was not received too well judging by the forlorn tinge to Seonghwa’s disposition, but he did not put up a front or argue. Out of the blue, you heard him grumbling:

“I’m not scared of ghosts…”

“Sure.”

“Hey!”

“What? I believe you!”

“Okay! Fine! Not ghosts but… something like it,” weighing the phrase, Seonghwa wondered how to continue. When you reached the entrance to the cafe you halted, and stood fully facing your partner in existential misery.

“Which is?”

“...Emails.”

“Can’t blame you. Scary buggers. Right, shall we?” you pointed at the door and tried the handle. It gave in easily and, announced by the sound of wind chimes strung up above the door right by the frame, you entered.

If only there was someone to greet you. You tapped the counter a couple of times and reread the message left on a sheet of paper that had been roughly ripped out of a notebook.

“Stepped out, be back later, for internet leave fee in box. We are not getting any warm drinks today, unfortunately. Owner won’t be back in a while.”

“Didn’t they say they will be back later?”

“The definition of later is warped here. It means they’ll be back later to close up shop.”

“Odd.”

“Not when there are no customers for days on end. I mean, there probably are some, but they are more than likely after the internet and not the coffee.”

You dropped the paper and passed by the dozing barista machine towards the table pressed right against a barren, rusted orange or brown coloured wall - unappealing, but it had been this shade for a s long as your memory would allow you to think back, so at least it had the brand of continuity. The table itself was a little more experimental: instead of a traditional approach with legs, the piece of furniture was a thick converted shelf, positioned high enough to be like a bar. On the far end and somewhat masked by the lack of lighting stood a rickety old monitor from a bygone era, with equally ancient wires protruding out of it and escaping into amateurishly drilled holes in the wall. The keyboard: a black-coloured classic with keys thicker than a finger, was tucked under the monitor, along with a matching mouse. After pulling out the bar stool in front of the makeshift computer station but not sitting down, you lifted a foot to rest on one of the many horizontal metal bars that linked the legs together, and scanned the fees which were written with a shaking hand on a piece of paper, stuck on the wall probably while you were still a kid.

“Huh, the prices are higher than I remember.”

“Inflation,” Seonghwa offered. He had set down the groceries on the shelf-table, and stood beside you to watch the screen come to life after a couple of attempts to click the power button.

“Seems the economy reaches these parts of the country too. Is fifteen minutes going to be okay?”

“More than-” Seonghwa began to reach into his coat again, only to be stopped by you.

“Let me take this at least,” you stuffed a couple of bills into the small box that was right next to the computer and detracted your attention back to the almost-complete loading screen.

Finally, the machine went out of its slumber. You looked for a browser engine, chuckling when you saw an outdated logo marking no change from what had to be the last decade, and proceeded to search for the news. After a couple of minutes of navigating from page to page, you concluded that society had not done anything particularly remarkable, nor atrocious. A reassuring kind of ‘boring’, which was more than you could hope for. You stepped away from the stool, gesturing for Seonghwa to take a seat. He hesitated, unwilling to spare as much as a glance to the email login screen.

“Didn’t you say you-”

“Is it strange to say that I am scared?”

“Of?”

“I’m not even sure, to be honest,” he took off the beanie and ran a hand through his hair. Seonghwa was restless, and while he did defeat himself and sit in the chair, a daze took control of him before he could as much as click.

“Are there some things that you hope not to see?”

“Maybe… or… how do I even explain this?”

“How it is. Saying anything is already a start.”

“So you know how- well, of course you know- I appeared on television, and did some other interviews?”

“Uh-huh, and congratulations, by the way,” your earnest commendation was met with a nervous twitch of the lips - not quite reaching joy, but Seonghwa was nonetheless touched.

“Thank you. So, hah- just, after that there have been numerous emails, phone calls, even physical mail, asking the same things and trying to shove the same answers in my mouth. My agent was thrilled initially since it is publicity, and kept on forwarding one opportunity after another but… at some point it hit me that the press do not need me,” he finished typing in his details, but could not bear to click ‘log in’.

“Do not need you?”

“No. What they need is an image that they crafted based on their perception of me. It is true that a person forms their first impression in half a second or something like that, but when representatives of prestigious outlets do not know a single thing about my poetry which, mind you, is my main job, one does begin losing hope.”

“So you’re saying you don’t want to see the empty flattery and shallowness, right?”

“Sounds about right.”

You pondered his concern. Everyone deserved sincerity, especially when it came to things that quite literally formed a large part of one’s life. It would not be an overstepping of personal rules to empathise, would it? If there was a person in need, it was another’s duty to help them through difficulties. It was the least you could do. At the same time, you felt like you were falling, and fast, into the grasp of confusing emotions, and the more you studied Seonghwa and thought about his beau- -interesting mind, you wanted to delve into it more. You wished to understand his curves and edges, read the miraculous flame which even in times of difficulty was never extinguished in his dark irises. You stared, and Seonghwa did not mind it. In fact, if anything, he was enjoying your nearly overwhelming concentration on him. Compared to the last few days when you would actively isolate yourself, this was the most time you had spent in such proximity, and toeing the line of a heart to heart. You despised the fact that you understood Seonghwa a little too well, and that, beyond the surface, you two were much the same. For some strange reason, it hurt you to see him distraught or inconvenienced. In this place which bore the traces of both your stories, be it personal or through relatives, you wanted to maintain a safe haven, if not for yourself then for him. There were always bound to be disappointments, and when both of you would inevitably have to return to your humdrum routines and unfounded chaos, they would only amplify. So why not try to cultivate a little happiness here, in the middle of nowhere? You bit the inside of your cheek as a disturbing, but astonishingly serene resolution bloomed in your musings. To hell with your rules and boundaries. Either way your heart was going to ache, but at least like this you could make the cause of it be a little more… poetic.

“Let’s sort through your inbox together, and then we can have a nice and quiet rest of the day,” you leaned over, and clicked the mouse. The screen illuminated both your faces. You tried to ignore just how close yours was to Seonghwa’s.

He let you take the lead on scanning through the items, only sometimes providing whatever guidance he could offer. As the number decreased, so did his worry, and soon enough, you were exchanging jokes as you deleted or archived more and more emails. Neither of you commented on how your hand which you had set down on the table for a little more balance was pressed against his own, nor how you were practically shoulder to shoulder. Beyond an initial awareness both of you wanted to remain quiet in an effort to preserve this safe space. No rumination, no questions, nothing. Only what felt right. And it just so happened that in the moment when Seonghwa turned to gaze into your eyes, relieved and cheerful, it felt natural to put his hand over yours. And who were you to go against the universe?

“Thank you, Y/N. This was so silly, I really should be able to handle this but… I dare say you are my saviour.”

“Not at all. I just want to help as best as I can,” you felt him softly squeeze your hand. You couldn’t look away.

“It’s the little things. I am very grateful,” you wished you could say something grand or quote something in response, but you were afraid that a medical encyclopaedia would not fit the mood.

“No phone checking today, I think we’ve done enough.”

“Sure, Hwa.”

It was the little things. How his eyes caught the rays of light that slipped into the cafe. How he expressed himself so wholeheartedly and openly. How he wanted to be himself even when so many people were against him. In him you saw an inspiring strength; the spring after a freezing winter. Just like you had helped him with emails, he was unknowingly helping you clean up your struggles and doubts, prodding at neurons and metaphorical cobwebs until problems did not seem quite as monstrous as before. For the first time in a while, you wanted to be okay.

“Home?” The only word that fit the cottage, for you and for him. Seonghwa gleamed in response.

“Home.”

⋆✧. seonghwa .✧⋆

“Let’s go to the cliffs.”

“Sounds suspicious, what are you scheming?” you raised an eyebrow, but, nonetheless, closed the book that was neatly positioned on your lap - the aftermath of you two having grown more relaxed around one another, and you venturing into the office and asking for recommendations from Old Man’s library. Seonghwa was more than happy to offer a couple of titles which he could spot hidden on the shelves, and now could discreetly enjoy the sight of you being fully immersed in one of them.

“I just think we could use a good break,” he crossed his arms and nodded to himself. He did not want to reveal all his plans just yet, but it was hard to remain cryptic when anything to do with a location could raise questions.

“Again, suspicious. What are you on about?” Seonghwa watched you look for the old postcard which you had been using as a bookmark, smiling when you finally discovered it had fallen beside you on the sofa.

With each day, Seonghwa was getting a chance to see more and more sides of you, and he would not stop it for the world. He found himself grinning like a fool when you would be even the tiniest bit clumsy, endeared by vulnerability that you did not dare show him before. He lost himself in the sound of your voice as you formulated analogies between art and medicine, explaining concepts in such a way that it felt like poetry. His heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings when, after a day of chores, the two of you would settle down to simply be in each other’s company. As such, with the newfound lightness in his soul, Seonghwa wanted to help you feel at least a fraction similar.

“Mm… I do want to keep this a surprise, but I get how this sounds like a different type of pact, doesn't it?”

“You can say that again.”

“Okay… hm… if I say, with one hundred percent guarantee we will be getting home safe, in one piece and hopefully feel a lot better, will you agree to satisfy my spontaneous caprice?” You pretended to mull over his request, your pointer finger resting on your chin.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes. Fine.”

His megawatt grin nearly blinded you as he approached you in a couple of steps and reached out his hands towards you. You glanced up and down, amused by his excitement. Seonghwa swore that all his organs flipped in his body as you clasped his hands, palm pressed to palm, and let him lift you off the sofa. When you nearly collided with his chest, he steadied you, shaking his head when a thank you fluttered from your lips. It was a shame that he had to let go. Patiently, he waited by the door as you changed into an outfit more appropriate for the weather; while the days have seen a pleasant rise in temperature to balmy spring, the occasional seaside gust was quick to remind of the earliness of the season. The cherry blossoms must have already bloomed further south, Seonghwa mused. But for once, he did not feel rushed to see them or take obligatory photographs, content with the beauty he was living on the coast of nowhere. He adjusted his cream coloured hat and matching sweater, reaching to flatten the under shirt that started to peek from under the knit collar.

Whether it was on purpose or not, he noticed how you had matched him with your outfit - flared jeans matching his jeans-skirt combination, and a determined selection of beige boots. Seonghwa was, by nature, something of a hopeless romantic, but it was moments such as this that made him both flustered and proud of his nature. As you stepped out of the cottage, bathed in a rejuvenating sunlight, he squinted and made a visor out of his hand to look more closely and try his best to remember the scene. Your head was held higher, your steps were more confident, and when you looked back to check if Seonghwa was following you, you had a mischievous glint in your eyes. He sped up, softly tapped your arm and beamed.

“Right, mystery boy, lead the way. Something tells me that you have a very particular location in mind.”

“That, I do. Spotted it some time ago. You probably know it, but I want to share it with you nonetheless.”

“Well, it would be my first time seeing it with you, wouldn't it?” Your mouth pressed into a fine line before you burst into a giggle after having considered your words for a fraction longer, “Goodness, sorry-”

“I like that,” Seonghwa smirked, enjoying the subtle flirtation.

“Pardon?”

“First time for everything. Quite the celebration, is it not?” When you did not answer, par a joking eye roll, he pointed to the right, elaborating his planned route, in the direction opposite to the village and right by the sea. After a couple of beats of silence, you turned to him.

“Celebration? Seems like you are thinking of something specific.”

“Mm… maybe.”

“Oh… is it your birthday? Oh no I have nothing to-” your face fell.

“No! No, I'm touched that you care this much though, darling,” half in jest, half testing the waters, Seonghwa let the pet name slip. Though it appeared to have been wasted nerves worrying about your reaction, as you did not bat an eye. He looked ahead, “it's in two days.”

“So you aren't much of a birthday enjoyer? Judging by how you are here… and not in the city.”

“There are different ways to celebrate. And, if you don't mind. This is how I would love to celebrate mine.”

You looked magical in the golden rays. With half the sky a hazy white, the other promising a gloomy grey storm, you were his good and evil, his battle.You came to him like nightfall, and made him learn of shimmering sunrises. The speckles of bright light in your irises were downright enchanting, and only grew more captivating as you tilted your head, inadvertently capturing more sunlight. His April wishes, muted prayers for one moment to turn to another, and another after that. He did not dare voice his true perception of you, knowing that the one word to come to his mind was one you did not favour, and as such, stuck to walking onwards, to the cliffs, in anticipation of what he had been hoping to do with you for a considerable amount of time. You did not answer him, instead choosing to study your shoes and continue to follow his footsteps closely. The wind caressed your hair like a loving relative greeting and doting on their favourite child. You hid your hands in your sleeves, fists closing over their edges, in an effort to protect them from getting cold. No attempts have been made to guess what Seonghwa wanted to do, much to his surprise; considering how hostile you two had acted towards each other in the very beginning, this level of trust was akin to the greatest of honours, and reminded him of the unfurling of a flower that had initially been guarded by thick grey leaves, only to reveal a tender yellow white and reddish heart along with a gorgeous adornment of pastel pink petals. Fragile, vulnerable, far from eternal, but because of how temporary their natural perfection was, they were all the more beautiful. Seonghwa looked in the opposite direction from you and scowled, scolding himself. He should not think of the future, at least not just yet. It was all too soon, all too fast, anything could happen and he should not get his hopes up even when his entire being was burning into an enamoured cloud of ash.

The sea glistened, waves showing off magnificent adornments of regal silver and gold, dolled up with white lush fur-like foam. Playfully, they lapped at the shore and urged the two of you to keep going. Rolling hills soon gave way to the cliffs which with every few minutes of your journey grew taller and taller, revealing stunning white chalk faces and decorations of limestone. A number of weeks ago Seonghwa had made it his mission to explore the expanse, thereby finding what had to be the real end of the world. A terrific, breathtaking drop together with violently shaking grassland and treacherous edges, by far the tallest point on the cliffside was nothing short of freeing. With everything he had lived through being forced to stare at his back, and only the sea in front of him, he need not be concerned, at least for a few breaths, with what battles he was yet to face. After a couple of ventures to the cliffs, he found a new perspective, one that had been solidified when he had destiny bring him to you, or you to him. Had there ever been a muse, or was it simply an excuse for him to not try even when he was certain he could not achieve anything? Now, he knew he could fly freely on the wings of his own inspiration and wanted nothing more than for you to feel the same.

As the two of you approached the peak, Seonghwa became a little agitated, concerned with how you were going to react to his proposition which he had planned to utter only once you had arrived. You were quiet, occasionally looking left and right to study the brightening landscape. The steely horizon engulfed the sea, infinite, invincible, and met two pairs of eyes. Two people, who, with time, came to be undefeated. You had not voiced your concerns often, but he had seen them weighing you down, serpents tightening around your throat until you had nothing left to do but to rush out of the cottage under the pretence of ‘needing to check something’, when in fact all you wanted was air. Time and time again he could see how this, and only this place was home to you and was the soothing balm that could heal all wounds. Now as you stood to his right, occupied by your own ponderings, he saw you combine with your surroundings, making one gorgeous painting. You belonged here. Thanks to you, he felt like he did, too. The beginnings of another plan started to take root in his mind as he recalled familial logistics and the cottage, but pushed the matter for a later time; this needed the city and iron resolve. Seonghwa rubbed his hands together and rocked back and forth a couple of times.

“So,” you began, still observing the waves.

“So,” he mirrored.

“What’s this grand scheme of yours for which we needed to hike up here?”

“Not liking the views?”

“Of course I do. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Okay. Then… how about this,” he took a deep breath, stifling a nervous laugh, and with all he had, yelled at the sea, trying to drown out the sound of the Earth. He screamed with his heart, expelling all its ache and giving it room to mend itself with golden thread. He stretched out his arms and shut his eyes, embracing a better tomorrow.

Taken aback but thrilled, you spontaneously began to laugh. Wholly, without any barriers; your genuine full-body laughter overtook you, and you were half-bent, ecstatic from Seonghwa’s sudden chaos. You cackled until tears started to well up in your eyes and you needed to remind yourself to breathe, and only laughed harder once Seonghwa joined you, him just barely retaining balance and not collapsing on the ground. His shout was still ringing in your ears as you lifted your head and through airy chuckling called out to him.

“Is- is this what- you were- thinking of all- all along?”

“Go on, show me what you’ve got-” he challenged, squeezing the words out between wheezing.

“W-what? Like… right now?”

“No better time than now! Go!” He encouraged you, prayed for you to let your darkness go.

There it was. As the wind picked up and the sea roared, you joined them with your own warrior cry, stretching your arms out much the same as Seonghwa had done. You stared at the sky, squinting only to stop your eyes watering from the laughter and the gusts. He gazed at you with adoration and pride. As soon as he heard your scream start to die down, he recovered and made a beeline towards you, repositioning to face the sea, and poked you.

“On the count of three. One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

Together you let joy into your lives, cursing all that had harmed you before, and bravely took on the challenge to exist. There was always going to be trouble, there were always going to be disagreements and so-called ugliness in the world around you, but in your vision, even if just for a flash, there was guaranteed to be beauty, if not in the representations of small but certain happiness, then in the self. As Seonghwa and you shouted again and again at the skies, you knew your next inhale would be the freshest.

Lightheaded, you searched for his arm, apologising when your own crashed into it. Rapidly, his hand found yours, and Seonghwa, in a moment of what could possibly be foolish courage, intertwined your fingers together. Your eyes widened, and initially he thought he had made a mistake. But doubt evaporated faster than rain on a scalding hot day; you held on tight, lowered your arms, and swung them back and forth, before launching into another cheerful scream. Your hand in his, the perfect match. He had hesitated the last time, back in the cafe, but now he was sure that it was worth the wait. This was his home. His healing.

돌풍과 절벽에 부딪히는 파도 소리 (Gusts of wind and the sound of waves crashing against cliffs)

새로운 시작을 의미하는 수많은 소리 (The many sounds of a new beginning)

당신의 웃음소리가 가장 크게 들린다 (Your laughter is the loudest)

⋆✧. you .✧⋆

You had shooed Seonghwa out of the kitchen as soon as you heard his sleepy, post afternoon nap descent down the stairs. Despite his protests after you had waited until midnight and wished him a happy birthday, which mainly consisted of him worrying over your potential lack of rest and whether anything was necessary, you wanted to try your best. It would have been most certainly easier to follow his advice and treat this day and evening like any other, but that would not have been a representation of you, nor of how you felt towards your friend. Countless times he had given you strength and support that prior to meeting him you could have only imagined. More than that, he never asked for anything in return except your company, and for you to allow yourself to feel happy; such behaviour and way of thinking was rare, so on many occasions you second-guessed or doubted him, but each time you had been proven wrong. Seonghwa was a warm person who left a deep impression on everyone, and most certainly left an everlasting one on you.

As you let meat and seaweed simmer in sesame oil, you laughed at yourself. Had you from a month ago been here with present you, present you would have definitely gotten an earful. Who were you, showing so much kindness to someone who you had not known for a long time? But then again, there were enough people who you had known for a long time who were far from deserving of kindness, and yet you forced yourself to tolerate them anyway. At least in this case, your affection was coming from the heart and not from obligation or some twisted version of filial piety based not on love and respect but on fear and manipulation. Caring for someone was simple when it was the natural thing to do. You twisted your head when you heard more shuffling, and noticed Seonghwa, dressed in loungewear as opposed to the more formal outfit he had chosen to wear on his venture out to the village earlier, speed-sliding across the living room and to his office. You chuckled when he raised his hands in the air and mouthed that ‘he is innocent and does not see anything’. It was easy enough to guess what you were making. Seonghwa could probably guess from the smell alone, but nevertheless he played along and remained patient.

Soon enough, the soup base was in and bubbling away, filling the cottage with mouthwatering fragrance. The home that only you and Seonghwa knew felt complete and was blooming like the gorgeous flora in early April. Threats of a storm had been false alarms and instead a warm sun settled on the magnificent light blue and ultramarine. The occasional white ball of cotton would race across like a tiny woodland rabbit away to wonderland, but nothing could dispel the euphoria that enveloped you. It was simple to imagine the cottage disappearing, but that made every second more precious. For all you knew, in a couple of months the real owners of the property could decide to demolish the priceless history and sell off the land to some magnate for the building of a resort or a private mansion; such an outcome was far too plausible, and you could only clench your teeth and pretend to not be affected. Old Man would have locked himself in this cottage if anyone were to try and destroy it. Now, more than ever, you understood why. The walls had seen decades of history, both of the planet and of the humans who had visited or inhabited the cottage. Tears of sadness and of laughter, bitter love and sweet loss, paradise and purgatory. The cottage, apart from bricks and mortar, was built with memories and the souls of everyone and everything. Wherever you looked, you could recollect something associated with the items in your vision, be it a clock or a creaky floorboard. This, if destroyed, would never be recovered, and would be sacrificed to fading memory. Of course, the human mind was the most powerful when it came to reflecting on the past, but there was only so much it could do when society was as fast paced and as demanding as it was. You did not want to forget, and so wanted to desperately cling to what little you had left of a precious safe haven that had now been fully revived. Wasn't the past always more beautiful when it blended with the present and gained deeper and more vibrant colours?

“Seonghwa! It's ready!”

“Hello I am here-” almost immediately, he rushed out of the office and strode into the kitchen, “did you make seaweed soup? For me?”

“As if you did not guess.”

“Hey, hey, I saw, heard, and said nothing. My goodness, Y/N, I am touched beyond words…”

“It's not too big of a deal, really. I just wanted to make a little something for you and again, wish you a happy birthday,” you attempted to wave him off and stirred the soup once more before turning off the gas and setting the spoon down.

“I hope you don't mind this very forward expression of affection, but may I… hug you?” arms ever so slightly lifted from his sides, Seonghwa waited.

“Woah Seonghwa, so daring,” you teased, “ah come here, birthday boy,” you invited him, heart beating just that little bit faster when he gave you a boxy wide grin and stepped forward to close the space.

Your arms wrapped around his torso, sliding down into a more relaxed position on his waist while his had snaked around you, condoning you from the world. You were careful to not tarnish the impeccable white fabric, but inevitably gave in when you sensed Seonghwa's hand hovering behind your head, as if saying that you could relax into him fully, without any worries. A dazing softness consumed you as your cheek met his shoulder - one last effort to maintain at least a bit of distance between your faces and to hide your quickly blooming blush. He was what you imagined a daydream would be as a person: sweet and comforting, with subtle floral notes and a deep lasting undertone with an indescribable complexity. Honey and the most decadent coffee were the two things that came to mind, but they lacked the original heaviness of the taste and aroma. So heavenly, so surreal, so Seonghwa. Like the setting sun when it hit the waves.

“Thank you,” he whispered into your hair. You suppressed a shiver. Rocking side to side, you stood in the kitchen, neither of you wanting to disturb this bliss.

“Mm, it’s fine.”

“More than fine.”

“I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

“Shall we eat?”

“Yes please,” he uttered, but showed no signs of moving. His arms remained where they were; if anything, they were holding onto you with even more determination, as though you were so fragile you had to be protected from even a speck of dust.

“Are we… uhm, we kind of… need to move to get everything set up.”

“Ah, right,” flustered, Seonhwa detangled himself from you, and rushed to open a cupboard, producing a pair of bowls. A hint of red was visible on his cheeks and the tips of his ears; you were not alone in being a tiny bit shy from the obvious reciprocation.

You had learned each other’s patterns, who tended to move in what order, who reached where, who minded what. The two of you moved in perfect synchrony without trying, following newly acquired instinct. How could you ever not adore the cottage and all the events that led up to now? Not all had been sweet, but without the sour and the atrocious, you would not have been able to experience what you were experiencing as you settled down across from Seonghwa. Or rather, in close proximity to him, since almost instantly, he stood up from his seat and gestured for you to rise again only to take your chair and bring it closer to his side. Accepting your adorable fate, you took your bowl and cutlery and repositioned them.

“There. Now I approve.”

“Wait a second!” you searched in your pockets for an item you had discovered in the midst of your cooking frenzy. Seonghwa was patient, albeit confused, and waited until you produced a box of matches and balanced it on your palm, “not a candle, but you can make a wish!”

“My word, this is, hah- I love it.”

“Perfect. Then, here we go!”

You took out a match, and struck it against the side of the box, gasping as it burst into flames - luckily not too intensely or you would be short for time. You started to sing while Seonghwa joined you by mouthing the lyrics and accompanying with rhythmic claps. The fire started to move down the match, the tip of it having already burned out. Saved by the final notes you saw Seonghwa briefly closing his eyes. He reached out his hand and softly rested it on your wrist as he blew out the flame right before it reached your fingers. As suddenly as he had touched you, he let go, not too dissimilar from the dancing red and orange flickers which had just been illuminating the birthday table. For good measure you shook the match and excused yourself to dispose of it after running it under some water. After drying your hands, you straightened out the towel without a second thought. The rest of the meal was quiet aside from a phrase here and there. No longer was there a need to fill the pauses. Companionship was enough. Only when you were almost done did Seonghwa address you, gingerly as though he was scared of breaking the calm.

“Again, thank you so much, this is the best birthday I ever had. I even got to make a wish!” he chuckled.

“I highly doubt it, but I’ll accept your kind words.”

“Humble, so humble,” he paused. When you lowered your spoon to give him your undivided attention, you noticed his miniscule pout.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Ah, nothing. Nothing much.”

“About all the birthday wishes you read, right?” you nudged him.

“Hm, there were some…” he recollected.

“And?” you tried, sensing that he was purposefully leaving some things unsaid.

The question hung in the air, a time bomb. Seonghwa bided the seconds he had to himself before he inevitably had to respond by tasting more of the seaweed soup and nodding in approval. You gave him a brief nod and were about to let the matter go for the sake of a celebratory evening, however it seemed that Seonghwa had other plans. He never could lie, you realised. Or speak in half-truths. He was sincere to a fault, but it was one of the many things you had come to like about him.

“So there is something.”

“Yes.”

‘Say it.”

“I... I don’t know. It might be a little... sad?” he was careful with his words, evidently not wanting to make a big deal out of whatever was plaguing his mind.

“Go on. Say it. It’s okay,’ something told you that you knew what it was going to be anyways. You pursed your lips, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest.

“I’ll... I’ll have to leave. In a couple of days? Yeah... Hm... I- yeah. in a couple of days,” he fumbled his words and could not face you, instead staring at his own reflection in the soup.

It was bound to happen someday. Your time was not eternal, either. If not today, then you would have had to have this conversation at some point either tomorrow, or the day after that... or could you have pushed it until much later? Would have Seonghwa forgiven you if, on the day of your departure, you would have dropped the news that your sabbatical had run out? If not him, then it would have most certainly been you starting the conversation.

“Oh. Okay,” you mumbled, heart and mind in conflict. This was your fault - had he remained a stranger, you would have had an easier time now. How he had suddenly appeared in your life, he would have disappeared, but now? The inevitable parting was like a high risk, invasive operation which no matter what was going to have aftershocks and side effects.

Seonghwa did not look any better. Misty-eyed and regretful, he inadvertently slumped his shoulders and curled into himself, appearing smaller and more feeble. You wished he did not care, so that it would be easier to learn how to hate him, but you could not ignore how the knuckles of the hand with which he was holding the spoon were turning white. Tentatively, you reached out to him and rested a hand on his shoulder, an action that took him somewhat by surprise judging by how quickly his head turned towards you. His dark eyes bore into yours, shimmering with intense emotion, threatening to overspill.

You realised: this was it. The crossroads. You were faced with a choice, and it was up to you to decide what was to be the absolute right. You could hold a pause and then resort to exhibiting an astonishingly unperturbed stance; he had his life and his path to follow, you had yours, so what if you had poured your souls out to each other and he had rekindled something which you thought you had lost forever? Or you could take a risk and potentially condemn yourself to hurting, if not for the rest of your life than at least for a long, long time, after which all you had seen and lived through in these few weeks at the cottage would have been the one memory to stick with you no matter what you were to do. You knew that wherever, be it under fluorescent lights, or while planning a correction surgery or attempting to discourage a patient from following a fad, you would see him. You bit the bullet, and, for what had to be the first time, followed your heart. Because tragedy, too, could be beautiful.

“Let’s make the most of what we have left. And then see what the future holds. We are two people who are very alike. Caught adrift in a storm. That is what you told me when we first started getting to know each other, right?”

Seonghwa's eyes conveyed a delicate balance of tenderness and nervousness. His gaze, though wrestling with melancholy, flickered with a charming intensity that spoke volumes. His free hand that rested on his leg that he had begun to shake out of unchangeable habit betrayed a subtle tremor, a silent testament to the whirlwind in his mind. Fingers danced nervously, tracing invisible patterns or perhaps echoing poetry that floated in his heart. You could only guess what he was grappling with, but, in the end, when you put your hand over his to abate some of his tension, a reciprocation of your determined decision was undeniable. As he stilled, you observed a serene reassurance. A quiet confidence that spoke of an undeniable care for you, of what could happen to the two of you, and of how worth it the risk was in the end. His heart beat in harmony with yours, mutual melodies rang out in time to the day rushing past the cottage. You shared a longing that was born out of the fear of what could be lost if words failed. But were words even necessary, when this bouquet of delicate emotions was so unbelievably easy to read? The truth was unwavering, and it, too, was beautiful.

“How does the storm look like to you?” he whispered, turning his hand palm up to clasp yours. You knew what was on his mind, and he was aware of what you wanted, no, needed to say to defeat a part of yourself that was scared to ever feel.

‘Beautiful. So, so beautiful.”

“Could you tell me more about it?”

“Hmm...” you thought for a moment, before pointing to Seonghwa’s shoulder. He nodded, and in no time, your head was resting on him while your fingers tightly intertwined, “...where should I start?”

“Anywhere.“

“You’re a poet and an academic, for goodness’ sake, I’d like some expert advice,” you retorted, your voice remaining light, bright and playful.

“Hardly the latter.”

“That’s what the future is holding for you, isn’t it?” you felt his cheek brush your crown, and smiled to yourself when you heard a low chuckle.

“I sure hope so. Much better than whatever was happening before.”

“It’s all part of the journey.”

“I see someone’s very optimistic!” Seonghwa’s exclamation was void of any malice. Genuinely cheerful and proud of your metamorphosis from a sardonic and grim misanthrope to a hopeful doctor proud of who they and those they loved were, he considered it to be the greatest gift. Laden with meaning and stemming from unfathomable effort, you allowed yourself to flourish and find reasons to live, rather than reasons to not die.

“Maybe because, while there are certain things we cannot change, I have come to realise that there is something sweet about it. Take leaving the cottage for example. Technically, we could stay. But in the long term, it is only going to result in a far from happy ending. So what does that mean for both you and me? We cannot change the fact that we have to leave. However in this we confirm to ourselves and each other that this is not a dream and that our time here... yeah. Yeah,” you cut yourself off, embarrassed by your own words, earning yourself a tiny shoulder nudge and a squeeze of the hand.

“Yeah, what?” Seonghwa’s curiosity was piqued. Too late. No going back for you. You bit your lower lip and inhaled deeply in an effort to stop yourself from cringing.

“Please forgive me for the insane cheesiness, but-”

“Only the highest quality cheese could come from you, don’t you fret.”

“Seonghwa!”

“What? Accept it. Now, as the people say, ‘spill the tea’.”

“A modern poet, truly.”

“Of course, of course, I try my best.”

“Anyways,” you interjected, returning to your train of thought, “ I just wanted to say that I am happy...”

“With what?” you could catch a note of teasing in his tone, but chose to let it go.

“With... this,” you gestured to him, to yourself and then to the surrounding rooms, “this is by far... the best I have felt. In a long, long time.”

“Oh? Someone made you feel this way before?”

“Shush, you get what I mean,” you glared upwards and twisted to lightly slap Seonghwa on his chest, which turned out to be a mistake in the making since he did not miss the chance to capture you fully. And so you were stuck, semi-suspended and essentially at Seonghwa’s mercy with how he was supporting your balance, blinking in surprise at his coy smirk.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. What are you ready to say?”

“Considering how we keep switching topics, I don’t think I can answer anything.”

“Okay, okay, the storm then. What does it mean?”

“What storm?” you furrowed your brows.

“Y/N we just discussed it-”

“Ah, right. Actually, you know what, everything might be linked,” you tried to shuffle to get a better angle and not feel like you were about to topple at any moment, but Seonghwa was not so eager to stop practically cradling you.

“Hm?”

“I mean, the books you recommended, the things you write, hell, even the cottage and you and I... isn't this all like the weather?”

“Curious observation, but yes, I can see where you are coming from. Do go on,”

“If you let me sit down properly, and maybe... finish your soup?” you pointed your chin at the cooling dish.

“Right, sorry, but hey! You too! I see the-”

“Eat, Hwa, then I promise you I will give you a full rundown of my chaotic analogies.”

You were shocked from how speedily he inhaled the soup and then, with a proud look on his face, flung his arm over the back of your chair and announced that his mission was accomplished. As you chewed on the last of the seaweed and ladled the last spoonful of broth, a tiny voice in your head made you want to return to the cliffs and yell louder than before: this conversation, everything that was happening now was because you had accepted that something was beautiful to you. Or rather, instead of connecting beauty to something concrete, you now were comfortable with beauty being an ever-changing continuum. Thanks to what?

“Okay, I’m done now. So, the storm. We were running from them, weren’t we?”

“Mhm.”

“But now... I don’t know if you think the same but I dare say those storms are not so spooky anymore,” if only you could have taken a picture then and there to keep in your wallet. The precious glimmering joy visible across every feature was contagious, and your doubt was forgotten.

“Not spooky at all,” you could hear the gears moving in his head as he regarded you.

“What?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” he sighed and hid his gaze, “...shall we clear the table?”

“Let’s do it.”

He did not miss the chances to brush past you, or to steady himself after reaching across for something by tapping your arm or your waist. Not that you minded, but his amplified affections were dizzying. It was as though he was doing everything in his power to ensure that he would be missed so strongly by you that you would end up snapping and attempting to find him in the big city. That was when it hit you - you did not know where he lived, nor where location-wise he worked, nor his contact details. It had never come up in conversation - neither of you were terribly fond of delving too deep into how life was in the metropolis and had shared what was necessary for the present, and considering that in the weeks you had been here you two were always in close proximity, things like phone numbers or social media details were obsolete. When you finished washing up, dried your hands, and waited for Seonghwa to complete his task of putting the dishes away, you were astonished by your own lack of foresight. You had always been a planner but following your time at the cottage you wanted time to stop.

“Hey may I ask something? Or rather for something?”

“Go on ahead- wow, the sun sure is doing its magic,” you followed Seonghwa’s gaze and stepped after him into the living room.

The window. A little old thing. The frame was holding up impressively well, and the paint had remained pristine even after you had opened the window a couple of times to let the fresh air in. Beyond it, between the shrubs and above the stone wall was a never ending golden steppe, rippling and rolling in heavenly rays. It was rare to have a day as good as this on this part of the coastline. Leaves shimmered like coins, and the clouds took on yellow, orange and lilac hues, waving from up above.

“Truly.”

“Anyways, as you were saying?” he turned, catching some of the sunlight on his regal form.

“Let me borrow the horrendous phrase for a second... ahem, may I get your number?” Much to your delight and amusement, Seonghwa did not bat an eye, and instead dug in his pocket.

“Ahead of you, but thank you for reminding me. Here. I put down my number, my home address, the publisher’s office... and my private social media if you want to connect on there.”

“How-”

“I want to... hm... I didn’t think that, when I come to actually saying what I want to say, that it would be kind of hard,” cryptic, as ever when he was about to shake you to your core with something profound. You took the piece of paper from him, carefully refolding it after checking the written contents and sliding it into the pocket of your cardigan.

“Time for me to inquire. Whatever do you mean?”

“I want to keep this going.”

“Oh?”

“Interesting thing to wish for after we literally lived together, but... I want to see you. Officially see you. What do you say?”

“Ever the gentleman,” his lopsided grin made you wish you could squeeze his cheeks. Perhaps down the line you could have that privilege, “I accept.”

“You do?”

“I too, really want to see you. Often, I hope,” Seonghwa’s vigorous nodding, paired with his undivided attention was like a thousand suns, brilliant and beyond anything you could put into a sentence. He approached you and peered into what had to be your very soul.

“May I spoil a potential gift? And, sort of, the reason why I need to depart?”

“Go on, I am all ears.”

“You know how,” his pointer fingers hooked around yours, and you were subconsciously pulled to him, “my relatives own this cottage, right?”

“Right,” you were aware, and had accepted it. Such was life.

“Well... I may or may not have gotten in contact with them, and am starting a legal process to put the property up for sale.”

“For sale? Excuse me? Are you mad? It will be- no, I cannot let this, no, they will bulldoze this place into the dirt I-” you began to panic, voice rising higher and blood beginning to boil.

“I did not say to whom the property will be sold.”

“Some mogul or billionaire who does real estate for fun.”

“Are you either of the two?”

“Pardon?”

“Are you a mogul or real estate fiend?”

“I? No?”

“The sale is a formality anyways. The cost will be put down as one won, which I’ll just pass to my cousin with a handshake. Your job, should you wish to be the owner of the cottage, is to sign some papers, and attend some meetings.”

“Am I dreaming?”

“This place does sometimes give the surreal sensation of floating in space, but I promise you, you are not. In fact, tomorrow we can go to the cafe again and I can show-”

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you thank you thank you-”

“Glad I can help in some way. This is your cottage, after all-”

“I am on cloud nine... how is this- how did you?” you swung your arms, with Seonghwa’s following.

“Easy. I just mentioned you. That was enough to seal the deal. Old Man talked about you, you know.”

“Oh, I- may I hug you?”

“You do not need to ask me for permission to do that,” you did not need to be told twice.

Your thoughts were racing. This could not be. You shut your eyes until you saw phosphenes. Opened them again. You were still in Seonghwa’s arms, in that sweet-scented paradise, caressed by a tender flame. All emotions that had been slumbering over the years have fully awoken, and were threatening to come to the surface to rejoice in what could only be called the reclaiming of the self. Your history, your identity that was stored in these four walls was now promised to be yours. Was that not to celebrate?

“Seonghwa… it is your birthday and you are giving me the gift of an infinite number of lifetimes...”

“My gift is seeing you so happy,” you inhaled sharply, and peered at his dark chocolate irises.

“Come on, you cannot be serious.”

“I am more serious than you could imagine. And I hope to keep proving it to you. Day by day. Again, if you let me.”

“I don’t know what to say or do right now. I am a tiny bit overwhelmed... this... this is as if I walked into a magical house, met a magician, and he tapped me on the head with a little wand and here we are, wish granted,”

“I knew I was missing something.”

“What?“

“A wand,” you beamed and floated into bliss, focusing on Seonghwa’s heartbeat, endearingly close to your own both physically, and rhythmically. Right here was beautiful, right this moment was beautiful. The promise and plan was beautiful. But one note of misery remained, one that you were determined to vanquish.

“Seonghwa?”

“Yes?”

“I am a little anxious about something...” he hugged you closer, but instead of it being soothing, it made you want to cry despite the euphoria you were experiencing.

“What is it?”

“What if it goes away?”

“What goes?”

“What if beauty disappears when I go back?”

You knew it was a silly question, you knew that it was all in your head and that you sounded like an absolute desperate fool while asking this, but it was sickening, a lump in your throat that you could not swallow. The first light of love and of freedom, so pure and so unconditional, was addictive and sweet. You did not want to consider its falsities or ponder potential disillusionment. You threw away even the inklings of paranoid suspicion that Seonghwa, too, could join the ranks of those who laced their kind words with malice or with judgement, and might have wanted to play with your feelings, both romantic and historic. At least right here, right now, you wanted to believe in there being someone who could love in both the presence and absence of beauty, whatever any given individual desired to define it to be. You wanted to know that he was on your team, and that this place really was a key to real life wish-fulfilment. Seonghwa’s hand slowly glided down your back, disappeared, and slid down again. In this perpetual motion he silently offered some stability.

“You know it won’t.”

“How?”

“Because you are you. Your soul is beautiful. And if you ever think that the world around you is starting to strike you like the cold winter months, remember that, now, I am just one call away. Always.”

“But it- goodness, sorry,” you were choked up and had to pause. Seonghwa did not make you hurry, instead, he brushed away the strand of hair that was about to get in your eye, and looked at you as though you were his future.

“Don’t apologise for feeling, my angel.”

‘Stop, Hwa, you’re going to make me bawl in a moment,” you exclaimed with a groan, trying to laugh your concerns away. Seonghwa chuckled, but kept holding onto you, rocking on his legs, swaying side to side like the eternal, unstoppable clock that governed your entangled lives.

“Oh no, we don’t want that, do we?” his voice vibrated across his chest, and in turn, struck your heart like a dozen healing melodies. ‘We’, it was now ‘we’, rather than everyone being left to scramble for salvation, against everybody else who surrounded them. You repeated the word in your mind once, and again, and again, until it turned into wind chimes twirling in a waltz with a serene breeze.

“I’d like to smile more with you.”

“I’d like that too. I never get tired of smiling with you,” you pushed your upper body away by a fraction to admire Seonghwa more.

“I am afraid, Seonghwa. You make me so happy. I- I am so happy. But so, so afraid that all of this will vanish.”

“Y/N,” his hands clasped around you, relaxing - a gentle salvation from all dark secrets the coming months undoubtedly contained, “Beauty shall never vanish. Because love is beautiful. There were times when I have been shaken even by the weakest of winds, and times when my breathing was unbearably heavy. One single comment or event... anything at all could turn a bright summer day into a biting winter. Storms shall always remain, even if we try to bid them farewell...”

He waited for you to steady your breaths before continuing, and upon your brief nod, pressed his forehead against yours. His hair tickled your skin the tiniest bit, but it only made you more aware of him, more connected to him. More loved and seen.

“Our pasts and our steps through our years brought us towards each other. And... I am... so, so honoured and so happy that a person like me can bring happiness to your life, and can only hope that I can give you as much love. I am stunned by how we do the little things together, how you ask about me, how you, you wonderful angel, give me love for no reason as if it was only natural,” tears welled up in your eyes, only to be caught by Seonghwa’s thumbs and erased before they could form a river, “Maybe my greatest gift is you, and all the little things that make you, you. Because you are here, in my life, and are part of my world, I am learning the feeling of love again. Now,” he noticed your urgency as you were about to interrupt him, and tapped your nose with his own, “Thanks to you, thanks to us, I am finding beauty. I cherish our past, our spectacular present, and pray for our future to exceed eternity.”

“Seonghwa...”

“Spring comes and goes, but I will always ensure that your heart stays warm. If you will let me.”

“If you will let me do the same,” the gap between you grew smaller and smaller, until was a mere memory and you tasted the coffee and honey, the many sunrises and sunsets to come, the sound of the waves and the rustling of the grass on the cliffs.

The cottage, while it was a real place with its many wonders, was more than that. It was a panacea, a safe haven in one’s mind or a world for those whom one loved. The cottage could be anything, could be anyone, could be anywhere.

And that was truly beautiful.

⋆✧.✧⋆

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eroselless · 1 month

Text

─────────────── sommer house // 2

series summary: After starting a new job at a prestigious museum in London, you form a close friendship with Helaena Targaryen. You're surprised when she invites you to stay at her family's estate for the summer holidays. [2.7k]

[aegon targaryen x reader, modern!HOTD AU ]

masterlist | previously

warnings: none, i think!

note: i'm so sorry it took me a little bit to get this out. i've been prepping for a big trip coming up soon, my head has been a little everywhere recently. anyways, hope you guys enjoy!

The rain that had accompanied you on the way out of London had ceased by the time you arrived at the Targaryen estate. The sun was dipping under the horizon, painting the sky in a soft orange and pink hue. The windows are still streaked with rain as you push off the plush seat and step out of the car. You stretch your arms above your head, loosening the muscles tightened by the long drive.

Taking a deep breath, your eyes scan the scenery before you. The stone walls of the house seem to grow from the landscape, it’s garbled roof echoing a serene, timeless elegance. Tall trees and lush greenery frame the manor, flowers blooming in vibrant bursts along the pathway to the house. The silence is tranquil, punctuated only by the occasional wail of a passing bird.

With your bags taken by a man who introduced himself as Criston, you begin to follow Helaena up the gravel path. Her steps fall softly as she leads the way. The look in her face is soft and gentle, hiding much behind her eyes. The more you look at the manor, the more it resembles an enlarged and elevated cottage or even a mix between a cottage and a castle, if such a thing existed—homey, alluring, and comfortable.

You enter the home, the air thick with the scent of polished wood and old books, a familiar scent you learned to love during your time at the museum. You continue to follow Helaena through the foyer and into the living room, your footsteps muffled by thick rugs lined with intricate patterns. The room is open, the dimming sunlight streaming through a set of two large windows. A grand piano sits in a corner, scraps of paper tucked away in a book on the windowsill next to it. A large collection of books fill the shelves spanning an entire wall. Swords, small statues and animal skeletons are scattered around the room and hanging on the walls. There’s even a collection of insects pinned in frames, butterflies of all colors and sizes.

The room is empty save for a silhouette sitting at one of the windows. It overlooks the vast ground of the estate, eyes watching two figures as they lounge outside by a small lake just beyond and below the window.

“Mum,” Helaena calls out, wrapping her knuckles against the doorframe where the two of you have stopped. The woman takes her eyes away from the window, taking in a sharp breath before turning to you, a wide smile on her face.

“Hel,” she calls her, pulling her daughter into her arms, hands caressing Helaena’s hair. Helaena hesitates momentarily before wrapping her arms around her mother. As you watch them, you notice how different they are from each other. If you hadn’t been told before, you would've never known they were mother and daughter. Helaena wore a cerulean sweater with gray trousers, her blonde hair cropped just above her shoulders. Alicent, on the other hand, wore a deep green blouse with brown trousers, her hair pulled away from her face but cascading in long tresses down her back.

Helaena pulls away from her mother, gesturing toward you. “Mum, this is Y/N,”

Alicent meets your eyes, introducing herself. Before you can reach out a hand for a shake, she pulls you into a hug just as she had her own daughter.

She pulls back, hands gently gripping your biceps. “It’s lovely to finally meet you. Helaena’s told me so much about you,” she says, her voice filled with genuine warmth. “Welcome to our humble home.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Targaryen,” you say, smiling.

“Please, call me Alicent. I insist.” Her smile broadens. “Come, let me show you to your room,” she says, guiding you through the elegantly decorated hallways.

The faces in each portrait seem to follow you as you pass, their eyes windows into the past lives that once filled these halls. It sends a soft chill up your spine. But you can’t help but marvel at the grandeur around you – it’s as if you’ve stepped onto a movie set, a dream.

Alicent stops in front of a door and pushes it open. The room is immense, its pale blue walls bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun streaming through a large window. “This will be your room,” she gestures. “Helaena’s old room is just next door. There’s a bathroom that connects the two, but you’ll have plenty of space.”

You step into the room, immediately taken by its charm. The plush bed is adorned with soft pillows, the rugs underfoot are invitingly soft, and tasteful art hangs on the walls, adding a touch of elegance.

“This is beautiful,” you say, spotting your suitcases left at the foot of the bed. “Thank you so much, Alicent.”

Wandering into the bathroom, you’re greeted by a large bathtub that sits in front of an even larger window. On one side of the room are a pair of sinks; on the other, a spacious shower. Setting your things down at one sink, you peer out the window, the soft light peeking in as the sun continues to dip further down the sky. It casts shadows over the grounds. You can see the back of the estate, the sprawling gardens, and the lake.

“Make yourself at home. If you need anything, just let me know,” Alicent says. She bids you goodbye and withdraws from the room, reminding you that dinner will be in about an hour.

Leaving you alone, you sink into the lavish plush armchair, feeling completely at home. Your eyes peer out the window, every time finding something new to look at. In the distance, you can see stables and what looks like an old church with people pouring out. There’s a treeline just beyond the property that looks like it goes on for miles. Getting lost trying to find the end of the forest, your eyes begin to feel heavy and you find yourself drifting off.

:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It's not until a while later you hear your name called softly from the doorway. Shifting out of your relaxed stupor, you rub the sleep out of your eyes and spot your blonde haired friend peeking at you from the doorway, a gentle smile on her lips. She raises her eyebrows at you and you shove her shoulder with yours before following her down the grand staircase. As you descend, the scent of roasted vegetables and freshly baked bread wafts through the air, making your stomach tinge in anticipation.

The dining room is abuzz with activity as the Targaryen family gathers. The two men you saw outside earlier, Helaena’s brothers, stand at the entrance of the dining room, conversing quietly. Aemond and Daeron stand taller than you, both offering you polite smiles. There's a hint of reserve in their eyes, making the nerves in your veins accelerate a little more.

You’re surprised at how similar yet so different they are from each other. Both share a sharp chin and lanky limbs long and lean. Their clothes contrast each other in style but compliment their individual characteristics. Their hair is a pale blonde like Helaena’s – Aemond’s long locks flowing down his back, while Daeron’s is cropped short above his ears.

“Welcome,” Aemond says, his voice smooth and measured. He extends a hand, and you shake it, noting the firm yet gentle grip.

“Good to see you,” Daeron adds, his smile a touch warmer than his brother’s. “We’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

“Thank you. It’s lovely to meet you both,” you reply, feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement.

Helaena guides you to your seat at the long, polished dining table. The table is set with gleaming silverware and adorned with an array of delicious dishes—roast meats, steamed vegetables, and freshly baked bread. The space is elegant and inviting, with a long, polished oak table set with gleaming silverware and sparkling crystal glasses. Soft, golden light filters through antique chandeliers, casting a warm glow over the room. The rich scent of roasted meats and fresh herbs fills the air, mingling with the subtle aroma of the flowers that adorn the table. Your eyes scan over the feast and the new faces, taking in the grandeur of the setting.

You watch as Helaena’s father, Viserys, limps his way into the room, clinging onto Alicent’s arm with one hand while the other pushes on a cane. There’s a thin layer of hair on his head and the side of his face is riddled with scars. His face lights up with a warm smile when he meets your eyes, radiating a quiet strength and dignity. Alicent takes her place next to him, a soft smile adorning her lips.

You observe the family as they take their seats and begin scooping servings of food onto their plates. The initial nervousness fades as you find yourself relaxing into your seat. You're passed a large plate of potatoes, Helaena motioning for you to help yourself.

Viserys is seated to Alicent’s left, his demeanor kind and relaxed. He looks up with a gentle smile. “So you’re the friend Helaena has spoken so highly of. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” you say, returning his smile with genuine warmth. He continues by inquiring about your past, how you came to be in London, what you thought of the weather compared to back home. It made the butterflies return to your stomach as you answered each of his questions but by the time the second course was being served, you felt comfortable in your seat surrounded by the new faces. You can even see Aemond and Daeron’s faces soften towards you, even popping in a question or two.

“She’s quite the asset,” Alicent remarks with a knowing glance toward Helaena. “I’m sure she’s been a wonderful companion to you.”

Helaena rolls her eyes playfully. “You’re making it sound like I’m her personal tour guide.”

“You’ve certainly taken on that role,” Viserys adds with a chuckle. “And what about your plans for the future? Helaena tells me you’re quite ambitious.”

You nod, feeling a slight flush of pride. “I hope to continue working in the field and eventually contribute to research and education. The experiences I’ve had so far have been incredible.”

The warm hum of conversation continues to fill the room as the Targaryen family settles into their seats. The clinking of silverware and the soft murmur of voices create a comfortable backdrop to the meal.

Helaena leans closer, her voice a soft murmur. “So, what do you think of the estate so far?”

“It’s even more beautiful than I imagined,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “Everything here has such character.”

Alicent, seated across from you, chuckles softly. “I’m so glad you think so. I’ve always felt that our home has a bit of magic to it. It’s like stepping into a different time, don’t you think?”

You nod, taking a sip of wine that has been poured for you. “Absolutely. There’s something so charming about the way everything is preserved.”

The conversation continues to settle into a comfortable rhythm, but the door creaks open and a figure steps in. The room momentarily goes quiet, all eyes drifting to him. He stands silently in the doorway as he meets the gazes of his family. Alicent rises from her seat at the head of the table, her expression a mixture of relief and exasperation.

“Aegon,” she says, her voice tense with unspoken reproach. She reaches for his arm but hesitates as her fingers brush his damp sleeve. With a resigned sigh, he shrugs off his coat, letting it fall in a sodden heap on the floor before it's picked up by a man you swear you’ve seen two of this evening. The muffled thud of the fabric is a silent testament of Aegon’s defiance in the face of her disapproval. He meets Alicent's gaze, and from your spot on the other side of the room, you can see the disappointment lurking beneath the surface of her composed facade. They have much to speak about, but not here, not now.

“Aegon,” Viserys says, his tone a mix of amusement and warmth. It tears him away from the intense stare of his mother. “You’ve finally graced us with your presence. We were just beginning to think you’d forsaken us for the allure of London nightlife.”

Aegon’s gaze sweeps across the room, settling briefly on you. He offers a friendly, albeit slightly reserved, smile. “Sorry for the delay. Work ran late, and I got caught up in a few things.”

He is much different to his brothers. Though he shares the same platinum hair, his appearance is much more disheveled. His hair is tousled atop his head, covered partially by a dark beanie. The beard that is beginning to adorn his cheeks is darker than the hair on his head and there’s a light scent of cigarettes that wafts off of him as he walks. He’s dressed in a loose gray henley under a plaid shirt and dark trousers.

He takes his seat at the table, his movements casual yet deliberate. As he starts to serve himself, the conversation resumes, though now there’s a subtle undercurrent of anticipation. Everyone’s smiles are warm but not as relaxed as they were before. A different energy seems to run through the Targaryens.

Helaena leans closer to you, her voice barely above a whisper. “Aegon’s always running around with work and other commitments. He’s a bit of a mystery sometimes.”

You nod, spooning mashed potatoes into your mouth, glancing at Aegon as he engages in conversation with his family. There’s an air to him that you can’t quite put a finger on. A look in his eyes you recognized from Helaena, a distance in his eyes, a soft ache that pools in his violet eyes.

Alicent tries to bridge the gap in the silence that is beginning to lull over the table and calls out from her spot on the other side. “Aegon, tell us about your latest project. You’ve been working on it quite extensively.”

Aegon leans back, a forced smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s just another one of those things that keeps me busy. Nothing too thrilling.” His reply is curt and short. It’s obvious he doesn’t feel like talking about work, preferring to stick to any other topic.

The dinner continues with lively conversation, but you notice Aegon casting occasional, subtle glances in your direction. His interest is understated, almost imperceptible, but it lingers. Despite not exchanging a word with him throughout the meal, you find yourself shrinking a bit each time his gaze meets yours.

The conversation gradually wanes, and a moment of silence falls over the room, broken only by Viserys’s abrupt cough. Alicent rises from her seat, signaling to a pair of live-in nurses who enter the room. She whispers something to one of them before turning back to the gathering. Nervousness seems to settle over her as she clasps her hands in front of her, wringing them anxiously.

"Thank you all for joining us this evening," Alicent says, her voice betraying a hint of unease. "We should all get some rest. The big party is just a few weeks away and we have much to plan."

As everyone begins to filter out, moving quietly like shadows in the night, you follow Helaena to your room. Looking back, you catch a glimpse of Aegon walking further down the hallway. His gait is slow and detached, his shoulders slightly slumped, before he turns a corner and fades into the darkness.

"Goodnight," Helaena says with a sleepy smile, lingering at her doorway. "Sleep well. Tomorrow promises to be eventful."

"Goodnight, Helaena," you reply, returning her smile. "Thank you again for having me."

"Of course. Sweet dreams," Helaena says warmly before closing her door behind her.

tags: @mrs-starkgaryen @gloryekaterina

#hotd #house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen #tom glynn carney x reader #tom glynn carney

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fourmoony · 9 months

Note

hi! i just thought of this and i think it's sooooo cute. so imagine james and reader get married, the ceremony ends, everyone goes home and reader and james go home as well and they just order take out and eat in their wedding clothes with bunch of fluffy dialogue!! thanks!!

this is such a cute idea! thanks for requesting <3

james x f!reader | 1k words | masterlist

James is pressing buttons on the television remote, mumbling angrily to himself when it won't switch to the channel he wants. You smile over at him, heaving a breath, collecting the white tulle beneath you so you don't step on it.

"Gimme," You make grabby hands, ring glinting against the lamp light in the corner of the room. "You're too heavy handed with it."

James rolls his eyes playfully, but hands the remote over with a look so lovey and dopey, so sticky sweet that it halts the breath in your lungs for a moment. Never in your life did you think you'd end up being the girl lucky enough to marry such a handsome man, with a heart so big it consumes his entire being, who is so passionate and caring and hysterically funny. But here you are, ten minutes home from your beautiful reception at Potter Manor, married to your amazing, lovely, handsome husband, and your heart feels so full it could burst.

James is still dressed in his suit, buttonhole flower bent at the head and his hair messier than usual. His shirt is rumpled and his tie is half loosened, his glasses askew, but he has never looked more handsome. He lifts his left hand, runs it through his hair and the gold of his wedding band catches your eye. You smile, a secret little smile just for yourself, and change the channel. James switches to rummaging through the paper bag on the coffee table, pulling out boxes and bags of food.

"Did you order chips and cheese?" James asks, frowning into the tub in his hands.

"No." You hum, sitting in your previous place on the floor.

Your dress puffs out around you, a sea of white and tulle and James smiles over at you. It's a knowing smile, a smile that you've shared multiple of all day. The 'I'm so happy, I love you so much, this is the best day ever' kind of smile. James slides down from the couch to sit beside you, setting the mystery container of chips and cheese onto the coffee table.

"Well, they sent us some." He shrugs.

"Nice."

It's domestic and it's nice. It's better than the 'thank you for coming' and the 'oh, I'm over the moon, it turned out beautiful' conversations you've been having all day. It's chill and comfortable and it's just you and James in your tiny little cottage after a busy day filled with love and laughter and energy.

"Here." James passes you your container, a donner kebab.

You smile, "Thanks. Don't get me wrong, I loved the menu we picked. Seriously, best Balmoral chicken I've ever had. But I have been craving this all bloody day."

James nods in agreement, mouth too full of chicken pakora to say anything. He's leaning over his container to avoid spilling on his suit, but you don't have the same thought, biting into your kebab and gasping when the sauce spills out and onto the white fabric of your dress.

There's a moment of stunned silence between you and James where the TV show you both love drones on in the background and you just stare at each other. You assume James is waiting for you to have some sort of meltdown. Instead, you purse your lips, eyes alight with amusement and James cracks first.

You're both laughing so loud it overshadows the sound of the television, collapsing in on each other until you can't breathe.

"Oh, baby," James sighs, "Your dress."

He has the decency to sound deflated for you but you shake your head, smiling like the cat who got the cream. "It's okay, handsome. I already had the perfect day in my perfect dress."

"It was a pretty good day, huh?" James asks, returning to eating straight after.

You follow suit, leant over your container this time, "Yeah, it was. You know what beats it, though?"

James hums in acknowledgement.

"This. Right here."

James looks at you like you've lost your mind and you laugh.

"Today was perfect. I love you so much, and I couldn't wait to be your wife. I love our friends and our families, I loved celebrating with them. But my favourite moments always end with us back here. Me and you, sharing a kebab, watching shitty TV, and laughing until we can't breathe. That's what I couldn't wait to spend the rest of our lives doing." You tell him, eyes shining with emotion.

James sets his box on the coffee table, reaches out for you and you go because there will never be a time when James Potter calls and you, his wife, don't go.

"You looked beautiful today, you know?"

"I did?" You muse, settling into his lap, his arms warm and strong around you.

James presses his lips to your shoulder when he nods, sure and firm, "Yeah. But you look etheral right now."

"Covered in kebab sauce?" You ask.

James laugh, low and sweet and your stomach flutters, "Oh yeah."

"Hm," You hum, "You look pretty handsome."

"That's 'cause you're on my lap."

His eyes are big and brown and full of love and all you can think to do is kiss him. It's sweet and soft and it's all of your love for each other wrapped into one. He squeezes your waist, pulls you further into him and it all just feels perfect. You're so full of love you could burst.

"I love you, Mrs. Potter." He tells you, eyes so open and honest and it brings tears to your eyes.

"I love you, too, Mr. Potter."

It's sickeningly sweet and cringey and you wouldn't have it any other way. The guests have all gone, the wedding is over, you're home, with James, your husband, and you're married and you're happy and content and in love.

"Eat up before it gets cold." You urge James, handing him his pakora before reaching for your kebab.

You stay there, in his lap, curled in on each other, for hours. You'd stay there forever. And now, you can.

#james potter #james potter imagine #james potter fluff #james potter oneshot #sirius black #james potter x reader #sirius black fic #james potter fic #remus lupin #remus lupin fic #marauders #marauders era #marauders fic #love #fluff #regulus black #fourmoonysasks

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naeverse · 8 months

Text

Divine Touch

Requested by: Anon! Request: That would be so good if there would be kink series(some aren't tho)! Good thing someone asked for it l'm shy I have a list on mind Imao: Roleplay, breeding kink, Exhibitionism, scene play, age play or ddig, praise kink?, cockwarm?, threesome with peter b parker prob, lactation kink, phone sex?, mirror sex?, dacryphilia, oh maybe like an au where the reader is pregnant n Miguel just get turned on by that LMAO

A/N: I completely adore this request, it's literally the inspiration for the kink series so thank you so much anon! I hope you enjoy the first one! ❤🧡

🧡staring: Deity!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Maiden Reader

🏺preview:

“I must keep the balance in Nueva Yorkhaven or chaos would go rampant upon our lands.” He said, keeping his crimson eyes on you. “So if I take a life…

I must replace it…”

⚔️summary: After being coerced by your mother into a marriage with a man you didn't love, who treated you poorly, you believed your life was over. It wasn't until you remembered one last divine solution that could possibly help alleviate your wretched situation.

🥟tw/cw: Big Dick Miguel, Breeding Kink, Clit Stimulation, Doggystyle, Grinding, Historical Era, Mythology-Based, Orgasms, P in V, Power Difference, Praising, Unprotected Sex, etc…

🍵Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Pequeñita (Little one), Querida (Dear)

⛩️Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

🧡 Word Count: 12.3k

(I do not own any of the photos used! All credit goes to the original artist!)

(This oneshot contains Breeding do not read, if you are not comfortable)

Breeding kink - The sexual desire to be impregnated or to impregnant another.

**YOU'VE BEEN WARNED**

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the beautiful village of Nueva Yorkhaven and bringing upon the covering of night, you, a fair maiden of the town, traversed during the dark hours down the cobblestone pathways. The gentle glow of lanterns that adorned every trail served as a guide towards your desired destination.

You clenched your black cloak tightly to your body, attempting to hide all traces of your being and the basket that you carried. With frantic, cautious eyes, you swiftly flicked them around, trying to detect any lingering presence in your path; but upon finding none, you quickened your pace.

On your covert journey, you passed cottages with ivy-covered walls and huge trees with dew-kissed leaves that danced in the moonlight, welcoming the night.

Your feet, adorned in black Astrids, carried you through the winding routes of the village, leading out into the quiet meadow that surrounded it. You left behind the dreamscape facade of your village to tread warily into the forest.

Following a dirt path that looked to be used before by countless others, it led you deeper into the meadow. Fireflies wove trails of light along the dark road, while the distant hooting of an owl echoed through the woods, making you jump. Your hand landed on your chest, feeling how harshly your heart was pounding.

You knew the consequences if you were caught, but it didn’t matter.

Things had gone too far, and you needed assistance.-

Divine assistance.

The forest was painstakingly quiet. Every rustling of leaves, cracking of wood, along with your timid footsteps, seemed to reverberate through the trees. A gentle breeze brushed past you, filled with the scent of pine and wildflowers, yet a subtle unease clung to the air like sticky sap on tree bark.

With every step, a voice in your mind told you to turn back, to stop.

You soon realized it to be your mother’s.

Her pestering and nagging words clouded your head the deeper you entered the woods.

‘You know traversing the forest in the dead of night isn’t fit for a young lady. Turn back now!’

‘What would Sir Hawthorne think of you?’

‘Turn back now or you would be seen as a disgrace to your father!!’

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, a shaky exhale passing your lips. Even though it was your own head, your mother’s pestering sounded almost too real; it shook you to your very core and even had you contemplating returning back the way you came when the silhouette of an ancient structure emerged in the distance, causing your worried thoughts to halt.

With a soft gasp, the idea of leaving left you as you hurried along, a sense of relief washing over you. You left behind the unsettling forest and looked upon the worn, yet sturdy stones that held up the quiet sanctuary of your town’s guardian. The large entrance was framed by weathered gray columns, adorned with two flickering torches that casted a soft glow of red-orange into the dark space. The air carried a new sense of otherworldly, different from the feeling of unease you felt before.

You gazed up at the olden engraving of letters, etched into the stone above the massive doors, reading under your breath:

Sanctuary Of Miguel O’Hara Guardian of Nueva Yorkhaven

Just uttering the deity’s name felt ancient and heavy upon your tongue. A huge grin spread across your lips, reading the name of the divine structure once more.

You did it. You actually did it.

You were here…

The harsh grip you had on your basket loosened; anxiety and fear that clung to your being like leeches faded away. You felt an overwhelming sensation of safety and security as you approached the ancient doors.

Despite the feeling of disbelief at your success, you set down your basket and placed both hands onto the ringed doorknobs. The doors were heavy, and it took all of your strength to hear the satisfying creak and soon feel the stone doors move out of their rooted place. You were only able to open them a little, but it was big enough for you to slip through, entering into the sanctuary of your village's infamous guardian.

Instantly a rush of cool air brushed along your body, making you hug your black cloak closer to you. The room was dimly lit with torches and candles as your feet walked along cool ancient stone, guiding you to the heart of the shrine. Respectfully, you drew down the hood of your black cloak, your eyes unable to take in the magnificent sights before you due to astonishment.

You had always heard stories and legends about the great Miguel O’Hara. How he saved your village from many horrific storms, dreadful winters, and blazing droughts. How, with his divine might, he crumbled armies and men who dared to harm his people.

Miguel protected your town and watched over every villager. He was there to pick you and your people up when you fell, whether that was with love, wealth, or glory.

The villagers of Nueva Yorkhaven looked to Miguel for needed support, and he was known to answer your calls of need every time…

Standing and gazing upon your protector's sanctuary, it resembled the great deity perfectly.

The room was styled lavishly in warm reds and muted yellows and oranges, granting a sense of protection to those who entered. Tall pillars rose at each corner, stabilizing the grand building, and the walls were decorated with sacred symbols—images of laurel leaves and celestial patterns that showed Miguel’s guardianship and lasting connection between the divine and mortal realm.

As you move further into the sanctuary, your eyes instantly are drawn to what lies in the center. On an elevated platform adorned with laurel wreaths and symbols of protection was your Guardian’s majestic stone throne, and in front of the throne was an intricately designed altar. The sacred surface was covered with offerings of fruits, flowers, prepared dishes, and tokens of gratitude that were carefully arranged. Candles flickered softly around the tributes as your feet led you towards it.

Nervously, you bit your lip.

You couldn't remember the last time you’d done this.

Before, your family would visit your great deity’s sanctuary once a month, dress his altar with beautiful gifts, and pray for protection until the next month when you’d return once more.

After your arranged marriage to Alden Hawthorne, a man who traveled to your village in search of a wife to betroth, your family stopped visiting.

Sir Hawthorne lacked all youthfulness in his appearance. His facial features showed his age, and he wasn’t a suitor who set hearts aflutter either; instead of his looks doing the speaking for him, his wealth did.

His stature and wealth led many fair maidens of your village to toss themselves at the older male in his late 40s in an attempt to get a grab at his riches.

Of course, without seeking consent, your mother had already given your hand to the salt and pepper-haired male, who, with one glance at you, agreed almost immediately.

You were the most beautiful in your village. A rose that bloomed gloriously amongst ordinary flowers. Due to the poor conditions of your household, your mother sought for more. After your father’s death, she became adamant on finding a living, so she used you to do so.

With the betrothal to Sir Hawthorne in place, from then on, only pesters and nags left the lips of your mother, demanding perfection and a great image. “You will be the wife of Sir Hawthorne, after all. You’ll have to act like it as well, dear," she'll tell you countless times until that dreadful day.

Vows that weren’t written by your hand and said by your heart were read aloud, expensive, lavish rings were exchanged, and the most atrocious kiss was shared.

You didn’t think your life could get any worse until after your wedding when your mother pulled you to the side. With a huge grin and beaming face, she told you what was to occur during your honeymoon.

Something so very abysmal it almost made you retch.

“During that time, the breeding of children will be had. You remember the drawings I’ve done for you—that is to occur.” She said with a smile. “All you must worry about is laying back, spreading your legs, and not being a little pest to him. Got it!?” She spat harshly, proceeding to speak of being a grandmother and having grandchildren to take care of and fill her day, not at all concerned for her daughter who was real and right before her.

And as you anticipated, that night was horrific and excruciating…

It was laden with weeps of sorrow and agony. The booming voice of your mother, that told you repeatedly to not be a pest and to not protest, filled your head while a pain that struck you like a hammer upon a nail hit you over and over again…

It’s a memory you try to efface from your mind.

After the dreadful honeymoon, you, sadly, had to live with him. Sir Hawthorne had a house built in your village, Nueva Yorkhaven, one so grand and modernized that it contrasted greatly with the usual dreamscape cottages.

You hated your life there as every day in the lavish halls of your new home, you were worried about only one thing.

Did Alden’s advances work?

Would you bear him a child?

You would weep every time the idea crossed your mind. After two months had passed, Sir Hawthorne hired doctors to come to your home. You weren't showing any signs of pregnancy and that worried your ‘husband’ to death.

Finally, after what felt like forever, you breathed a sigh of relief for the first time in your marriage when the doctors told the two of you about the failure of Sir Hawthorne's advances. It appeared to have been a failed impregnation, but one on Sir Hawthorne’s part.

Your ‘husband's’ inability to produce an heir angered him immensely.

After the doctor visit, the facade of your marriage crumbled, and Sir Hawthorne revealed a side of himself that you had feared—he turned abusive—mentally and emotionally.

Every word that left your mouth was seen as an irritation. He demeaned and belittled you and constantly criticized your appearance.

Sir Hawthorne isolated you from villagers, housekeepers, your mother, and forbade you from having friends. He even halted your use and access to his riches—although it wasn't like you used it anyway.

As a sign of punishment, he forced you to assist in keeping up the house. He had housekeepers that worked alongside you, but he purposely gave you higher expectations than the normal help.

Despite the stress of your new job, you found solace in it.

It reminded you of the peaceful times back in your home cottage when things were right.

A time when your father and mother were together, your mother wasn't so cruel, and where you were loved.

It was a memory that always came when hanging clothes to dry or harvesting produce.

It wasn't until Sir Hawthorne discovered your contentment with your punishment that he made things even worse for you. He gave you harsher tasks, such as washing every window of his grand house to sparkle in the sun, redecorating rooms over and over again to his liking, and being made to work even in the dead of night.

The physical labor had become too much as he even denied you access to necessities like food and proper clothing.

You felt trapped.

Stuck in this cycle of degrading and forced labor that felt endless.

Many times you thought of running away, but to where? You didn’t have anywhere to go.

You didn’t have friends; he forbade it.

Your neighbors in Nueva Yorkhaven adored Alden. They’ll think you were the crazy one if you came to them with your troubles.

And you definitely couldn't go back to your mother; she’ll send you back.

It felt hopeless…

Like a blossomed well-kept garden, suddenly, an idea came to mind. One that after all these years, you've completely forgotten was the solution to any villager of Nueva Yorkhaven's debacles.

Miguel O’Hara.

The protector of your village, the guardian of every mortal being born and raised in Nueva Yorkhaven.

He was your refuge, your solution to this mess.

But standing before his altar, inside of his sanctuary, you’ve never felt so disconnected from him.

With shaky hands, you set your basket down upon the stone tiles and untied the black cloak from around your body, laying it down gently onto the stone floor to create a small cushion. You descended upon your knees, a neutral-colored bodice with short sleeves adorning your figure. Aimlessly, your eyes wandered the altar, trying to remember how your family did it before.

When you were all together…

Father, Mother, and you…

It felt so long ago.

You pushed back the urge to cry as your gaze landed on the throne, a feeling of strength overwhelming you. You lowered your head, closed your eyes, and began to speak and recollect the words your father uttered all those years ago.

“‘O’ Mighty deity of protector and strength. I…I call upon you on this night to ask for your presence.”

You declared with a shaky voice. After a moment, only silence followed and filled the quiet sanctuary.

Fear and worry filled your being. After your father said those words, you remembered feeling a warmth, a rush, a feeling, something!

The only thing you felt was the heat from the candles and the excruciating silence that seemed to span on forever. Your lips trembled, tears beginning to slide down your cheeks.

Did your deity turn his back on you?

Was that why he wasn’t listening?

The thought only made you sob even harder. You lowered your head to the ground, placing your forehead against your cloak.

P-Please…Miguel. I-I need you.”

You cried, the sound of your weeping being the only thing heard after your desperate words.

It felt hopeless…

It felt like you could feel his presence, but he just wasn’t answering.

Like he was just…

There…

Watching…

In the midst of your sobs, a strong hand cupped your chin, lifting it up.

In alarm, your eyes snapped open coming face-to-face with what you deemed utterly impossible.

“Lift your head mortal. You have shed enough tears.”

The booming voice of your deity said, his crimson eyes holding its divine blend of stoicness and softness as he gazed down at you.

You were unable to speak, only capable of staring back in shock.

Your mighty protector smirked, stroking your tear-stained cheek with his thumb before pulling away. The mere action sent a wave of heat throughout your body, the urge to cry and the sensation of sadness melted from your being.

Unable to keep your eyes off his mighty figure, you watched him walk away from you, his majestic scarlet robe trailing behind him whilst he walked up the steps of the stone platform to take a seat in his throne.

You still couldn’t believe he was here, blinking once, twice, thrice to make sure you weren't mistaking the sight.

Miguel O’Hara, your town’s powerful and divine guardian was, indeed, before you. Your eyes traveled to his seated being, taking in every part of him.

In the dimly lit sanctuary, the great deity sat on his throne. His tanned muscular frame exuded strength, a declaration of his divine might. His dark hair cascaded in waves, framed a chiseled face of stoicness. Crimson eyes stared down at you, the dancing fire of candles and torches reflecting off his red orbs.

Draped in celestial attire, Miguel wore a flowing robe of deep scarlet, adorned with intricate golden patterns. Atop his head, a circlet of gold laurel leaves styled his thick brow and around his neck hung a pendant, both signifying guardianship. To complete the divine being's attire, golden sandals that were crafted with celestial elegance dressed his feet.

Despite the times you came here with your family, Miguel’s appearance was a first.

There were legends and rumors that drifted through the village of his presence gracing the eyes of mortals, but many believed it untrue—but here he was, before you, sitting in his throne with a posture so perfectly regal and straight it was astonishing.

You didn’t know what to do or what to say; his previous touch seemed to be burned into your cheek. With a stunned expression, you stared up at the mighty deity who returned your shocked look with a stern gaze that shook you to your very core.

He then raised a thick eyebrow, his eyes still locked on you. “You appear surprised, yet you summoned me, mortal.” His deep voice seemed to echo inside the small space. You exhaled, breathing out the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Y-Yes, mighty deity. I-I did call upon you.” You stammered, not knowing what to do and hastily lowering your head in a bow while remaining in your kneeled position.

You thought you were dreaming. That this was all just a moment occurring in your time of slumber, but the thunderous voice heard before you said otherwise.

“Lift your head and state your reasoning for summoning me, mortal.” He said in a gravelly tone, one that contrasted greatly with his previous touch and soft gaze.

Like the mighty being ordered, you lifted your head, meeting eyes with the deity once more, and instantly you lost the ability to speak. All thoughts escaped your mind as you gazed up at him.

He was majestic just like he was described, painted, and sculpted by mortals; yet, standing before him in the flesh surpassed every interpretation drawn by man.

His tanned skin seemed so radiant and flawless, and his body looked taut and perfect. It didn’t help your stunned state that he was very attractive, despite his face being completely hardened and cold.

“Human. State your reason.”

He repeated, knocking you from your trance. Your lips quivered, trying to find the words, and when you did, you held onto them tightly, not letting them go.

“M-My name is Y/N. I’ve resided in Nueva Yorkhaven since my birth and I-I need your divine assistance, great deity.” You muttered with a voice of little confidence. Deep down, you were still shaken up at the fact that he was here before you, in all of his greatness.

Although the belief of him making an appearance to villagers was thought to be untrue in Nueva Yorkhaven, it was said if he did appear, you were special.

So were you…

Special?

You didn’t feel like it.

The celestial being grunted in disapproval at your words. “Y/N…it’s been ages since I’ve seen you here at my sanctuary, yet you ask for my assistance.” He stated in a rumbling voice that unsettled you like an earthquake.

Your lips trembled, shame visible upon your facial features. “Y-Yes. I-It’s, indeed, been a while since I’ve come to g-glorify you, mighty protector.” You said, tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes due to worry about how this interaction would go.

“I see…” He uttered, his piercing crimson eyes still trained on your small being before his altar and throne. “I hope you have brought a tribute along with your presence, Pequeñita.”

Hastily you nodded, opening the case of your basket and taking out the many offerings you had brought for your divine protector— apples picked from Sir Hawthorne’s garden, a woven beaded necklace made by your mother from your youth, cooked empanadas that you knew were the deity’s favorite, and something that you cherished deeply— the last letter written by your deceased father.

You placed each item in a neat arrangement upon the surface of the altar. “I hope you accept my offerings, ‘O’ great one.” You whispered, your voice carrying a blend of hope and reverence.

Miguel’s eyes lingered upon the sacred surface, taking in your tributes from his throne to settle his gaze upon the cooked meal. “Hmm, empanadas.” He uttered, his voice holding satisfaction at the sight of the delicacies. “You know your deity.” He chuckled, giving you a brief glimpse of his sharp fangs that gave a formidable aura before he turned his gaze back onto you.

“Wonderful choice of offerings, Cariño. I'm deeply pleased.” The great being said, filling you with relief. “As well, I am happy that you have come back to me after all this time.” He said, a comforting smile spreading across his tanned lips that brought a sense of warmth inside.

You placed a hand on your heart, giving your deity a deep bow once more. “I am grateful for your comforting words, mighty deity.” You said, a satisfied grunt leaving your protector’s lips at your appreciation.

“Now, tell me, mortal. How can I assist you?” He asked, his crimson eyes seeming to draw you in as well as his fanged smirk. You gulped, apprehension filling your being at his anticipated question.

You were aware of the reason you sought the great deity, but you didn’t know what other way for your life to be fixed if not for the dreadful request you were about to utter.

“Great deity, I…I need you to…

Get rid of my husband.”

You said in a trembling voice. A deafening silence filled the sanctuary after your shocking request, one that even seemed to surprise the great being.

His thick eyebrows rose on his face, his regal posture faltering upon his seat. “You want me to…get rid of your husband?” He inquired, his powerful voice demanding clarification and certainty, bringing you to nod.

You’ve heard of the great being ridding your village of bad people, of individuals like murderers, thieves, and outlawed criminals who came to seek refuge, but he’d done it of his own free will.

There wasn’t a story where a villager asked for the assistance of the protector to eradicate anyone, so it felt odd and a little scary to be the first.

Miguel hummed, his crimson eyes roaming over your being before returning to your face. “Pequeñita, I cannot lie - your request surprises me.” He said, studying you as he spoke. “Your husband is Alden Hawthorne, is that correct?”

Your eyes widened at your mighty protector’s knowledge of your husband, but you should have known - he watched over the villagers of Nueva Yorkhaven, after all.

“Y-Yes, protector. Alden Hawthorne is my…husband.” You replied, finding it hard to prevent yourself from speaking in disdain at the role the horrible male had in your life. While you spoke you kept your head lowered in a way that still showed respect but attentiveness to your great deity.

Miguel hummed at your agreement, shifting to rest his elbow on the armrest of his stone throne and placing his chin onto the knuckles of his divine hand that was covered with golden bands. The change caused his scarlet robe to ripple with his movement and the light to bounce off his circlet golden laurel leaves that sat upon his head.

“Alden Hawthorne.” He scoffed. “The foreigner who has entered my lands and who hasn’t even come to meet me?” He asked in disdain—it seemed Sir Hawthorne hasn’t made a good impression with your villager’s mighty guardian.

“Great deity, y-you are correct. Sir Hawthorne, i-isn’t from Nueva Yorkhaven. He comes from New England.” You said. “Sir Hawthorne also doesn't know of your divine presence upon our lands.” You explained to him in a shaky voice. A surprising fanged smirk spread across his tanned lips at your explanation. “You do not have to be formal when it comes to him, Pequeñita.

It’s just you and me.”

His words made your heart flutter. At your guardian’s request, you realized what you’ve been saying. Alden and your mother had taught you to always speak of your ‘husband’ in such a way—to always address him formally. It had become such a normal thing for you that despite despising your husband, you still did it.

Even now before your great deity, you were speaking such a foul name.

You bowed your head once more in appreciation. “O-Of course. I-I will not be formal when addressing him, ‘O’ great one.” You said, a little too delighted at the thought of deserting such a name that gave you a sense of freedom from your dreadful husband.

“As well as me.”

The divine being added with a small smile. Your eyebrows furrowed, not believing what your great deity just said. You looked up at him to see his crimson eyes gazing back at you, still holding their sternness but now a hint of tenderness was found.

It felt odd for him to ask you, a mere mortal, to abandon the formal names that were meant to be used to glorify and show his divinity. It was hard to abide by such a surprising request, but for your great protector, you would attempt to.

“I-I will try my best, M-Miguel.” You whispered, his name still holding the same weight when you read it upon the sanctuary entrance.

Miguel smirked proudly, leaning back in his seat and resting both of his hands on the armrests, using his thick finger to trace patterns into the stone of his throne as his scarlet eyes never left you. “Good mortal. Now, this…Alden.” The divine being said, returning back to your request at hand.

“I knew of him to be a problem when he first stepped into the village of Nueva Yorkhaven.” He said with a disapproving head shake. “No good comes from mortals who think of themselves as gods.” He growled, his lips turning up into a scowl. He looked at you once more, his crimson eyes settling on your kneeled being before him. “Tell me, what problems has this mortal caused in my lands?” Miguel inquired, his face hardening.

You wetted your lips, preparing the words that you were to tell to your mighty guardian. “Alden Hawthorne shows little interest in knowing your divine greatness upon our lands.” You began. “He…built a home by taking down the sacred trees of the village, and he uses others to serve him… l-like a deity.” At your words, Miguel’s thick eyebrows narrowed, his crimson eyes seeming to darken. “This mortal is living off the backs of people - My people?”

“Y-Yes, Miguel.” You confirmed causing him to snarl, his eyes wandering the room in rage before settling on you.

He looked to be sensing something, his crimson orbs glowing for a second, while his finger tapped the armrest of his throne in steady, thunderous beats, all the while keeping his intense gaze on you.

It was rather unnerving…

“But that isn’t why you want him gone…Is that right, Y/N?”

His surprising question struck you right in the heart. Every cutthroat word, demand, and task that Alden had given to you came rushing back in an instant.

“Y-You are right. T-The words I previously spoke i-isn’t the reason I want Alden gone.” You sniffled, trying to hold back tears that threatened to fall down your cheeks. Miguel’s eyes softened, his attention drawn to your trembling being. “Speak to me, pequeñita. What has this…foreigner done to you?”

His question only made the harsh memories flood back to you like a tidal wave. You shakingly exhaled, blinking back tears. “Frankly, if I were to recollect every wrongdoing that Alden has ever done to me, I’m afraid, you’ll be here forever, Miguel.” You confessed sadly, just remembering everything Alden had done to you was like an endless web of thorns, each holding a prickling reminder of the pain he has caused; some greater than others.

“Then forever, I shall be.”

Miguel’s deep voice filled your ears, brimming with comfort and warmth that instantly soothed your broken heart. Meeting his eyes, you found his enchanting red orbs holding love. “Tell me, Cariño,” he urged. “I might already know what you will say, but I want to hear it from your beautiful lips—if you may, my dear.” Your heart fluttered at your deity’s compliments and endearing names.

You knew speaking of this would only make you more emotional, but you knew you must.

For your deity you’ll do anything…

Before you spoke, Miguel gave you a small smile. “And if you may, will you come closer? I want to see you before me.” He asked, his request leaving you stunned once again. No one was ever to transverse further than the altar, but at your divine protector’s wishes, you rose to your feet.

Your bodice trailed behind you as you walked up the stone steps of his platform to step directly in front of him. His divinity seemed to radiate from him. One could instantly feel Miguel’s superiority and it made you want to kneel and glorify him.

You kept your eyes on your feet as even when he was sitting, Miguel still towered over you. A small chuckle passed his lips when you felt his divine fingers take hold of your chin, lifting it up to meet his gaze.

“Are you ready to begin, pequeñita?” He inquired, his intense gaze causing your legs to tremble slightly. You wet your lips, nodding slowly. “Y-Yes, Miguel.” You whispered. He gave you a fanged smile and released you to settle his hands on his armrest, giving you a nod to begin. You took a deep breath before starting from the beginning.

“M-My mother married me off t-to Alden two years ago.” You said, trying to hold back the agonizing desire to burst into tears. “I never liked Alden, ever since I casted my eyes upon him for the first time - he was prideful, egotistical, and a womanizer.” You explained.

“O-Our marriage wasn’t consensual from the start and as time passed I felt like I was losing control of everything. M-My mother led my life like it was her own, driving me to seal my dreadful fate with Alden in the spring.” You said in a trembling voice, a tear beginning to stream down your cheek at the recollection.

You couldn’t meet your great deity’s eyes, certain you’ll break down into a fit of tears; so you pressed on without casting him a glance. “A-After the wedding, t-the honeymoon occurred…” You trailed off, that horrific night coming back to you. A shaky exhale passed your lips, the trembling of your body only intensifying.

A large, rough hand was placed on your waist, the tremors instantly coming to a halt. “You do not have to dwell on details if it pains you so.” Miguel voiced calmly, stroking your waist with his mighty thumb.

With a small sniffle, you nodded slowly, deciding to continue, bypassing that painful night. “I-I was forced to live with him afterward, a-and he was hoping that I would bear a child for him.” Your voice quivering as you spoke. Miguel’s face remained unshaken, but the subtle tightening of his fingers against your waist revealed his inner turmoil.

Once you caught your bearings you continued. “I-I couldn’t help but be a little relieved when I discovered that I-I wouldn’t. T-The doctors were trying to be modest when they spoke to us, but we discovered that Alden couldn’t bear himself a child even if tried.” You said.

“H-His body couldn’t will it.”

To your surprise, a small smirk spread across Miguel’s lips at your words. “Ah, you see everything must be balanced, Cariño.” Miguel uttered. “Alden constantly took from the world, in turn, his ability to reproduce was taken from him.” He said so wisely with a voice of might. A greater burst of relief and satisfaction filled your being at your deity’s words.

“I-I’m grateful for that occurrence, Miguel. Very much.” You said very appreciative, recalling the many days and nights you spent stressing and worrying. Miguel caressed your skin through your beige and black bodice, the mere touch making your body burn up. “You are welcome, pequeñita, and you may continue.”

With a nod, you proceeded. “Because of his inability to create, Alden became angry at everyone and everything, but especially me.” You sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “He began to treat me unwell, such as demeaning and speaking vulgarly to me in such a ridiculing manner.” You tried to explain in a stable voice, but failed miserably. Miguel listened intently, his mythical eyes never leaving your being as you spoke.

“Alden Hawthorne made me into his personal servant, and when he saw that wasn’t a harsh enough punishment; h-he made things worse by giving me impossible tasks to complete and dehumanizing me.” Your lips trembling horribly as you recalled the terrible memories. “A-And for two years, I've lived this horrific cycle of degradation a-and harsh labor and…

I just wish to be free…”

You said sadly, allowing your final words to fill the air. When you looked up at your great protector, he was fuming. Miguel’s eyes were darkened and anger could clearly be seen in his facial features despite his attempt to keep a hardened face.

You’ve never seen your deity so furious, even the flames upon the candles and torches inside of the sanctuary seemed to intensify with his growing rage. “He’s really done these things to you, pequeñita?” He inquired through gritted teeth and sadly, you nodded.

He growled, baring his fangs in fury. “So this useless leech believes he can come to my lands, live upon it and use and hurt my people?” Miguel hissed, his hand continuing to caress your waist in a soothing manner despite his palpable rage.

You didn’t know if to be scared or appreciative of his shared disdain for Alden. Your divine protector’s anger was causing the entire room to heat up, the flames of the lights to burn larger with his rising fury. His narrowed crimson eyes moved in thought, his large hand lifting from your waist to settle on the armrest of his stone chair.

Miguel's stern gaze landed on you, a deep exhale passing his tanned lips, causing the raging fire of the torches to settle.

“Allow me to consider your request…”

He said as you hastily lowered to your knees before him, casting your eyes to the ground.

During judgment, the great being would go into a state of complete thought. Like you've read in your youth, during this time, he'll become knowledgeable of the outcomes of his choices and if the human before him is worthy to be graced with their request…

And depending on their request, they could be struck down by Miguel himself in the place they stand…

You chewed your shaky lip, anxiety overwhelming you like an overflowing well. Being the first villager with the request of eradicating a human, it could be seen as murder, a disruption in the land of Nueva Yorkhaven.

Your mind raced of what would occur.

Would Miguel deny you your request, send you back to your life of torment and anguish by Alden, or strike you dead where you stand?

But there could be a possibility he does neither…

That he'll grant your request and you could finally be graced with the peace and freedom that you've yearned for…

However, you didn't want to get your hopes up…

If living by your mother's cruel words and residing with Alden Hawthrone has taught you anything is that hope strikes the heart deeper than any weapon when used carelessly.

And right now, you couldn't be careless to believe you'll reach the light at the end of the dark path.

It'll only wound you even more if you do…

So, with a pounding heart, you awaited your great deity's next words, chewing your bottom lip raw and clenching your bodice so tightly that your knuckles turned white as you waited…

…

“I've come to a decision, mortal.”

Your heart dropped, harshly gulping. Shakingly, you looked up to meet your deity's piercing crimson eyes, his face completely devoid of emotion. Giving him a curt nod to show your attentiveness, you prepared yourself for the worse—that he would reject your request and even worse, punish you for asking him such a thing.

You were shaking in fear, full of anxiousness of what he decided that your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“With the request that you've traveled to ask me Y/N, I've come to the decision to…

Complete it…”

Your eyes widened, everything seeming to have come to a stop. You were certain you had stopped breathing. “W-what?” You stammered breathlessly, looking up at Miguel’s stoic face in surprise. “I’ll rid the world of your husband, like you asked.” He said, your heart skipping a beat at his clarification.

But before you can utter your astonished appreciation, his next words made you freeze.

“But, you must do something for me in return.”

With furrowed eyebrows, your shock face turned into full of worry as you gazed up at your deity. You wanted Alden gone, but you were a little concerned at what the price you’ll have to pay to do so;

However, your desire outweighed your fear.

Hastily, you bowed your head once more, pressing your forehead onto the stone tile before his mighty feet. “W-whatever you need, Miguel. I-I’ll satisfy it.” You declared in a voice full of desperation.

A hum left Miguel’s lips, before he ran his fingers through your hair, the action causing you to look at him. His piercing crimson eyes instantly meeting your poignant ones.

“Don’t agree until you know my terms, Cariño.”

He uttered mysteriously causing a knot of anxiety to build inside of your belly. You nodded slowly, chewing your bottom lip. Miguel leaned back in his seat, his eyes still on your kneeled being before him. “I spoke previously about a balance. You do remember that, right pequeñita?” He inquired, causing you to nod. “Y-Yes, I remember.” You told him, a little worried about how the balance of life was important when it came to your request; it didn’t help that Miguel’s face gave no hints on what he could possibly mean, making you even more nervous.

“I’ve never had one of my people request to take the life of the living. Due to this wish being from a mortal, I must demand something in return.” He explained, tapping his finger against his stone armrest. You wet your lips, looking from his large hands that were decorated with gold rings to up at his mighty tanned face. “And…w-what do you require, Miguel?” You asked, feeling your heart quicken. Your great deity’s eyes narrowed, his face turning completely stern.

“I must keep the balance in Nueva Yorkhaven or chaos would go rampant upon our lands.” He said, keeping his crimson eyes on you. “So if I take a life…

I must replace it…”

Miguel trailed off, his words repeating themselves over and over in your mind, yet you were still puzzled about what he needed in return. “Miguel…I-I do not understand.” You honestly said to your great deity, and Miguel didn’t hesitate to tell you.

“If I am to kill Alden Hawthorne, you must bear me a child to replace the life taken, Y/N.”

His voice seemed to echo and bounce off the walls of your mind, repeating itself for eternity, but you still couldn't believe what your great deity needed from you.

“Y-you want me to bear a child for you? In return for Alden being…gone?” You asked in astonishment. Miguel grunted in agreement, only making you even more baffled.

“But…a-a deity mating with a human is forbidden.” You reminded the great being even though you already knew his knowledge of the ancient laws. Miguel nodded at your words. “Indeed, but when it comes to…circumstances such as this, the laws are allowed to be bent.” He stated, his words causing a wave of heat to fill your being.

“So, Y/N…will you accept my terms in exchange for Alden Hawthorne to be eradicated or leave my sanctuary without my divine assistance?” The great deity inquired, his crimson eyes trained on your kneeled being before him. You could feel his gaze traveling along your body as you pondered your decision.

‘If I agree, Alden will be gone, things can go back to the way they were before his appearance into my life…but I'll have to bear the child of my great protector — and not just any child, a demigod!’ You thought in disbelief, chewing your bottom lip.

‘But if I do not, I'll return back to my dreadful life of sorrow being a mere servant to a man who I'm to call my ‘husband.’’ You pondered, trying to discover which choice would be better.

The thought of returning back to Alden was a nightmare, but you couldn't help the uncertainty that was bubbling inside your stomach like a potion being brewed by the village doctor at the thought of bearing such a mighty being. It felt like a huge responsibility, one that you weren't confident you would be able to handle.

You lowered your head in respect, gripping the fabric of your neutral-colored bodice in your fists. “M-Miguel, I…do not believe I-I’m the right person for this task.” Sincerely you told him in a trembling voice. “I-I want A-Alden gone, but I’m afraid of disappointing you.” Your words of ambiguity reverberating off the walls of the ancient sanctuary before fading into silence.

The feeling of Miguel’s piercing gaze upon you was intense as he grunted in understanding. “I comprehend your reluctance to agree to my terms, but without me, your fate will be jeopardized, my dear.” The divine being said, his deep voice causing you to lift your head and meet his perfectly chiseled facial features once more. His face still held its stoicness, but his eyes, like before, held a look of tenderness that made you warm inside.

Miguel leaned towards you, the scarlet robe shifting slightly to give you a glimpse of his toned pec underneath as he cupped your face in his mighty hand. “With my child, you would grow stronger.” He said, his eyes wandering your face whilst his fingers held your cheek with such gentleness. “This child shall heal all the wounds of your heart and return the joy you’ve lost back into your life, Cariño.” He explained, his expressions full of love and compassion, the most emotion you’ve seen since his appearance.

“This baby is your refuge— your solution if you wish to live in peace and happiness once more, Y/N.” He cajoled, the more he spoke, the more enticing his deal was…

Miguel, of course, was right…

The thought of having a demigod, a mighty being, a child would, indeed, help everything…

Before departing from your dreadful mother, she spoke heavily about you bearing a child—one that she could care for and love.

During that time, you didn’t understand her reasoning, only seeing it as her not loving you anymore and wishing to replace you, but it wasn’t that at all.

Your mother was wishing for something to fill the hole in her heart that was created when her husband, your father, passed away. She yearned for a grandchild that could help her mend her sadness and grief, which her desires blinded her from the pain she was causing you. This revelation changed your view of your mother. Over the years, you’ve grown to despise her when really, she was broken just like you.

Perhaps, like your great protector has said, this child could fix everything. With their mere divine presence, they can restore the good in your life and return it to how it was before…

Your mother, back to her happy and loving self.

Alden Hawthorne gone.

And lastly, peace and joy being restored to your life.

If this child was to impact your life this greatly, you couldn’t help but want to agree to these terms.

It seemed as if it was your last hope.

Your last chance to make things right…

Miguel stroked your cheek with his thumb, drawing you from your thoughts and back to the grand decision beforehand. “So what will it be, Cariño?” The divine being asked, his eyes seemed to glow with hope and reverence, the look rather foreign on the great protector. After thinking it over, you knew your answer, causing you to give him a hesitant nod.

“I-I agree…” You uttered sincerely. “I’ll bear your child and bestow upon it the love that I could only have wished for in my years of being with Alden.” You affirmed, keeping your eyes on the deity and holding the confidence in your voice.

At your declaration, Miguel gave you a warm, fanged smile. “I’m delighted to hear your acceptance of my terms, querida.” He said, caressing your cheek with his mighty fingers before pulling away.

"But may I confess something in return?"

He inquired, returning to his regal posture with his arms positioning themselves upon the stoned rests of his throne. You were intrigued, yet worried about what his confession could be.

Was it about the child?

Your fate?

What secrets could possibly be shared from a divine being to a mere mortal?

It was a troubling thought...

Giving him your approval with a nod, you shifted on your knees into a comfortable position, awaiting the deity’s confession.

Miguel smiled, keeping his crimson eyes on you. "I’m known as a being of protection, a divinity that is to guard the people of Nueva Yorkhaven, but that is my only role— it’s what I was created to do." His deep voice echoed off the walls of the sanctuary and blended well with the flickering of candles and torches inside; but to your surprise, the deity’s usual stern expression suddenly saddened.

"But recently I’ve grown to want more…"

He uttered, silence following his words. You were stunned at his confession, never wondering from the great protector’s perspective that possibly he could desire something other than being a guardian.

You felt sympathy for him…

"What is it that you want?" You asked with a compassionate voice, one that seemed to be new to the great being. His thick eyebrows furrowed and his posture faltered. Miguel tilted his head at you, confusion found in his usually stoic facial features. "I’ve…never had someone ask me such a thing." Miguel admitted, a soft and uncertain chuckle passing his lips. The mere question of his desires seemed to cause him to be unsettled.

"M-My apologies." You began. "It’s just…humans always come to you with requests and desires, and you consult them each and every time." The words being pulled from your being as your mouth continued to move. "Yes, we bring you offerings and tributes to thank you, but what is it that you truly want, Miguel? What is it that you seek but believe it’s too far away that even you cannot seem to grasp?" You sincerely asked.

Miguel’s crimson eyes widened, his defined Adam's apple moving with a hesitant gulp "What I desire sounds rather silly, but it’s a mortal want, something as a deity I find to be impossible to obtain." He said with a small laugh, the riddle troubling you. Miguel smirked, taking in your confused expression.

"I desire love, little one."

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession. You weren’t expecting that to be what he wanted from the world. Like he had stated, it sounded like a human desire rather than from a great being that has lived upon the world for many, many years.

Miguel took in your face as he shook his head, a snicker passing his tanned lips. "I know, a silly desire from a great being as myself, but I want to love like you, humans." He said once more, his expression turning into one of deep thought.

"I do not mean love as in worship, but intimacy and connection…I want to experience what it is that causes mortals, such as your mother, to not be able to live on without the presence of their loved one." Miguel said, looking off whilst he spoke.

"I want to feel the beating of the heart and the flutter of the stomach that you humans write of in stories and tales. I desire a love that drives and strengthens me; one that courses through my being and is the reason I breathe." He admitted so vividly that it could be seen as he turned his red orbs back to you. His eyes seemed to slightly glow a bright red hue.

"But that isn’t what I wish to confess to you, Cariño."

You were even more surprised than you were before at his words. "W-What is it that you'll l-like to share, Miguel?" You muttered with a voice stained with anxiousness. You were nervous to ask what he really wished to reveal that was even more shocking than what he stated before.

Miguel’s entire face hardened, his stern eyes trailing along your being, taking in every part of you—the aged bodice that framed your figure perfectly, the dark circles under your beautiful eyes, and the failed effort of taming the unkempt hair upon your head.

Even in this state, something was happening and it troubled the great being immensely.

"You’ve…done something to me."

He simply stated, causing your breath to become stuck in your throat. "W-what?" You asked in confusion and fear, not understanding what he could mean. "You’ve done something to me, human." He repeated, his piercing gaze never faltering from your kneeled being.

Your eyebrows furrowed in perplexity, his statement leaving you completely bewildered. Despite how troubled you were by his words, you kept silent, looking down at your lap as Miguel's thunderous voice filled the sanctuary once more.

"When you arrived and called out to me in tears, I couldn’t stop myself from appearing before you," he stated. "When you told me your request of wanting your husband gone and your reasoning, it made my heart behave…oddly, especially when you did what no human has ever done and asked me what I desired." He tried to explain; however, his gravelly voice was laced with rigor and disarray.

Your heart dropped at his explanation of these "odd" feelings he was experiencing.

‘He’s not feeling what I think he’s feeling, is he?”

You pondered, biting your lip and rising slowly to your feet. “M-Miguel, I do not wish to speak out of turn or assume incorrectly, but is it perhaps that you are experiencing what you desire…?

Love?”

As if a lantern was sparked inside of a dark forest, Miguel’s eyes widened. “It…It’s possible.” He replied in a suspicious voice while his gaze roamed along your figure once more before settling on your face. “To be honest, I’ve found you captivating since I first saw you in my sanctuary, Y/N.” He confessed with a small smile. “But it did sadden me to hear the debacles in your life.

I would’ve eradicated Alden sooner to prevent them.”

His tone was completely cold and serious as he looked at you, but your heart fluttered at his natural protectiveness, something you wished you had alongside you in the years of being Alden’s wife-servant. “But…with your help, we can fix them now.” You whispered, remembering the terms of your agreement with the great being that brought a smile to his lips.

“Indeed…” He replied in a tone that he, perhaps, didn’t mean to sound erotic but made your cheeks burn nonetheless. You gulped, trying to regain your composure. “And…how would this be done?” You inquired, believing it to be a divine touch of his hands upon your belly would magically create a baby into your womb.

But this was far from a fairy tale…

“To seal our terms, we must perform it in connection to one another.” He explained.

“As one.”

You suddenly felt like fainting. The thought of experiencing that, with the great protector, shocked you more than anything you’ve heard in your time in the sanctuary.

Completely stunned, you could only look at him with an agape mouth and widened eyes. Miguel laughed. “Don’t be so surprised, human.” He chuckled, suddenly taking your hand and pulling you onto his lap.

With a gasp, you found yourself upon his thick thighs, your legs resting upon the taut muscles. Your cheeks reddened as instantly you were aware of how close the two of you were—the divine silk of his scarlet robe and your bodice being the only obstacles between the two of you.

You gulped, the action not helping your rapidly beating heart like you hoped. Snapping you out of your thoughts, Miguel cupped your cheek in his large hand, caressing your skin with his thumb as his crimson eyes roamed along your face.

“I know your first time was…painful,” He said sympathetically, continuing to stroke your cheek soothingly.

“But I’ll be sure to replace that memory to be something truly wonderful.”

He promised, his other hand moving along your side, feeling your body through your bodice. A shaky exhale passed your lips, eyes fluttering at the sudden intensity of sensations that were coursing through your being. You believed that due to his divinity, it was causing everything to be more heightened, every touch seeming to linger and burn into the surface of your skin despite fabric blocking his bare touch.

You couldn’t help but nod in approval, craving his divine touch. Miguel smiled, drifting his hands down to run along your legs, disappearing under your bodice to bring your housekeeper dress up and over your head. He dropped the neutral colored bodice on the ground beside his throne, revealing the white chemise that covered your bare body underneath.

He sucked in a breath at the sight, caressing your thighs and rear. “So beautiful, little one.” He purred, placing a hand to the back of your head and pulling you in for a kiss. You instantly gasped as he kissed you passionately, massaging your chewed lips with his tongue before entering your mouth to taste you.

You’ve never experienced intimacy in this manner, allowing him to take the lead and bashfully returning the kiss. Miguel’s arms wrapped around your body, pulling you flush against him whilst he continued to kiss you. Every part of his being wasn't left unnoticed.

It was impossible.

It was hard to ignore how his pecs pressed into your peaked chest through both of your clothing, his burly arms and muscles that held you snug against him, and his thick thighs that flexed underneath your legs; even the intensity of his body heat was causing your core to throb in desire, a feeling you’ve never felt before. Everything about your deity was slowly blinding you, like a heavy fog was briskly clouding your mind with the only light source being him.

You wanted him, needed him to be able to see clearly again, and Miguel, like always, was there to cure your debacle.

He pulled away from your lips, the lingering buzz and taste of him still on your tongue and mouth. “Are you ready?” He asked, caressing your bare thighs soothingly, his suggestive question causing a pit of uncertainty and fear to fill your being. The memory of your dreadful honeymoon with Alden rushed to the surface along with the excruciating pain, sorrow, and the suffocating feeling of helplessness that followed.

Miguel instantly saw the fear that grew upon your face, bringing him to take your chin in his powerful fingers, his eye contact with you, unshakeable. “What occurred with Alden will never happen again,” he sternly said, his crimson eyes roaming your face, taking in every expression.

“If you are worried, the pain will not exist with me; your body will be too consumed with…other feelings that it will not allow it.” Miguel reassured, stroking your cheek. “And if, by chance, the pain does occur, don’t hesitate to speak—to tell me to cease, and I will. Do you understand me, querida?” The great protector inquired.

With trembling lips, you couldn’t help but nod, wholeheartedly believing his words of assurance. In Miguel’s arms, you’ve never felt safer, and you trusted that he would make this intimate experience with you enjoyable.

The deity gave you a smile, reaching down to undo his robe and drawing back the scarlet fabric to reveal his perfectly defined olive pecs, abs, stomach, and thighs; but what instantly got your attention was the enormity that sprung up from the red fabric to rest against your belly.

In all of your life, you’ve only seen the male’s intimate part once, and it was with Alden; but his was nothing compared to the great being’s.

Miguel’s tanned member was large and thick with a bulging vein and an angry mahogany tip. It pointed up to the ceiling, perfectly erect and hard. The sight intimidated and aroused you as you looked up at Miguel with stunned eyes. Miguel chuckled at your astonished expression, running his fingers through your hair. “We will take it slow,” he said, consoling you once more.

You bit your lip, looking back down at the size of his length, trying to imagine how it’ll possibly fit.

It seemed incredulous.

Your eyes snapped up at Miguel at the feeling of his hand beginning to draw your white chemise up, revealing your bare rear underneath. A heavy blush spread across your cheeks at being exposed in front of your mighty protector, drawing a laugh to rumble from his chest at your flustered state.

His crimson eyes looked down at your exposed crotch and up at you. “Do you mind if I touch it?” He asked, his tone sweet and not wanting to overstep. “I just need to see if you are…

Ready.”

Miguel explained, but you didn’t understand what he meant. Your mother had never gone into thorough detail when it came to intimacy, only stating this was how babies were born and what occurred, other than that, you were lost.

Nevertheless, you placed your trust into your mighty protector, giving him a nod. You assisted him by lifting your chemise to your stomach, allowing him more access to your sensitive area whilst you nervously awaited for his touch.

Miguel looked pleased at your approval, moving his ringed fingers between your thighs to run the pads of them along your folds. You sucked in a breath, eyes instantly becoming hazy at his divine touch. Miguel clicked his tongue at your lack of saturation before pulling away. He looked up at you, meeting your flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes. “You aren’t…wet enough.” He stated, causing your eyebrows to furrow as he continued. “We’ll have to get there before we begin.”

Despite your perplexity, you followed his every word absentmindedly. Miguel placed his hands on your waist and slightly lifted you upon the girth of his cock. He groaned softly, his length laying against his stomach while your folds rested on the base of it. You moaned softly at the feeling of his warmth and hardness in between your folds.

Miguel looked up at you, a fanged smirk on his lips as he rocked you against him. The most unlady-like sounds began to be pulled from your throat at the sudden bursts of pleasure; his cock sliding between your folds and pressing into your sensitive bud with each push and pull of your hips upon him.

The great being grunted and groaned, his crimson eyes looking between the grinding of your pussy along his cock and up at you. “How does it feel?” He inquired, but you were unable to speak.

The pleasure was so intense and foreign, a tingling sensation seeming to sprout from your core and throughout your body. With clouded ears and dazed eyes, you noticed the divine being snicker softly, satisfied that you were enjoying it.

He gripped your hips tightly with his large hands, grinding your body along his cock with much force and speed causing your heavy gasps to change to loud moans in an instant. A wetness began to spill from your core, coating your thighs and his cock with each nudge of his base and tip into your swollen bud.

In all of your life, you’ve never felt this blissful. Naturally, you overheard the many housekeepers at Alden’s mansion speak of this type of intimacy with their husbands and lovers—of euphoric feelings that were so addicting, one could become entranced by the activity.

At the time, you couldn’t understand…

Your time with Alden Hawthorne was anything but enjoyable and euphoric as the ladies spoke of, but now…

You understood what they meant…

Everything about this moment was what they described—euphoric, blissful, and most of all, addicting.

Your hands landed upon his broad shoulders, a heat pooling at your stomach as you took control, sliding your hips forward and pressing your core along his base with each grind. Miguel’s large hand held your lower back to steady you, but his attempt in holding in his groans was intensifying the feeling.

“Just like that, pequeñita.” Miguel moaned softly, meeting your dazed gaze. “You know how to please me.” He chuckled between his heavy breathing, the praise only making your stomach tighten like the thread of a spinning wheel about to snap.

“M-Miguel…” His name fell from your lips in a whine as your thighs began to tremble and still. You were feeling like you were about to burst with each ongoing friction upon your sensitive bud.

“I can’t…Something’s c-coming.” You whimpered, gripping his shoulders tightly, blunt nails piercing the skin, but it didn’t seem to bother the divine being. At your words, you felt Miguel’s massive length twitch against your core, and a soft groan to escape his lips. “Can you hold it for me, pequeñita?” He inquired in a stable voice, despite being so aroused. The tension in your belly only heightened at his request, however, you bit your lip, nodding.

Miguel grinned at your willingness and obedience, soon effortlessly lifting your body and standing from his throne. You gasped at his suddenness, his large hands holding your bare thighs and pressing you closely to his muscular body. Your arms wrapped around his neck as your white chemise fell down your body to cover his large hands that rested upon your legs.

When you met the great being’s face, the look he held was different and very unexpected. His crimson eyes were brimming with love and affection, but something that you’ve only hoped your true lover would cast upon you. The sight made your heart skip a beat and your stomach flutter.

The thought of a great being such as him feeling this way towards you, despite all that you’ve been through, made you feel profoundly grateful and touched. Everything about him felt heavenly, like this moment was the world apologizing for what it had put you through, and you couldn’t have been more thankful…

He walked to the side of his throne, lowering you to the floor without breaking eye contact with you. Your white chemise covered your figure once more, whilst Miguel’s hands were placed upon your waist to turn you around. You followed along with his wishes, giving him full control. He gently laid you across the armrest of his stone throne and pulled your chemise up to rest on your hips once more, revealing your bare bottom.

You bit your lip in anticipation, feeling a wetness sliding down your thighs at the longing for the addicting pleasure he could bestow upon you. A contented groan left the lips of your protector at the sight of your rear, his massive, ringed hands moving to roam the soft skin of your bottom. You moaned softly, the need to release was still evident in your belly, but only intensified with every divine touch of his hands upon your body.

You suddenly became aware of how massive and close the deity of protection was. His body heat was like a furnace on a cold winter night, his mere presence being able to warm you in an instant. His toned pecs and abs were palpable against your back through your chemise as he leaned over your body. The great protector’s hard cock poked against the back of your thigh causing your wet core to drip along your legs. Miguel’s lips grazed along your ear, the feeling sending a wave of heat to sprout through your body.

“Are you ready for me, Querida?”

He asked, seeking clarification in case of you regretting your decision; but you could sense he hoped you didn’t.

The many fearful and anxious thoughts overwhelmed your senses once more, but his sweet kisses along your ear and cheek were causing them to fade. “Y-Yes.” You replied hesitantly, still nervous about performing such intimacy that always terrified you after Alden.

Miguel was relieved but still sensed your hesitance. His large hand caressed your stomach through your white chemise and continued his soothing kisses in hopes of calming you. “Trust me.” He whispered into your ear. “I promise, it would not feel how it was with Alden. It’ll be better.

I’ll make sure of it…”

You always found the traits of the great beings fascinating, one of them being their inability to deceive. The deities could only speak the truth which only made you believe his words even more.

“O-Okay.” You replied, taking the hem of your chemise in your hands to cope with your anxiousness but to also grant him better access. The sight only made Miguel smile, thankful that his words were able to settle your troubled thoughts. He pressed a final kiss to your cheek before pulling away.

Your heart was beating rapidly against your chest as you felt him slide his tip along your soppy folds, the squelching filling the room. “Take a deep breath for me,” Miguel told you, stroking your hips.

You took a deep breath, inhaling deeply, and upon exhaling, he pushed his length inside. A loud moan erupted from your throat, fingers gripping the chair at the intensity of your stretched core.

“G-Goodness, you are…so tight.” Miguel groaned into your ear, his grip tightening on your waist. His enormity filled you up completely, and to your surprise, you didn’t feel pain as you thought, only pleasure that only heightened when he bottomed out. He groaned, kissing along your neck. “How do you feel?” He asked, his voice full of lust and desire, his hips stilled to allow you to adjust to his massive length.

You could only frantically nod, your stuffed core quivering in delight at how wonderful the sensations felt. Miguel smirked, pulling out to the tip before slamming back in, causing you to release a choked moan. It was as if an avalanche of pleasure crashed into you and overwhelmed your every sense with the suffocating emotion. At your wonderous response, the great deity began to slowly thrust into you, dragging his massive length into you and sliding out.

In all of your life, you’ve never felt something so good and addicting. Your unkempt hair spilled over his throne whilst the most unladylike sounds were pulled from your lips with every smack of his hips against your rear. “Such pretty sounds you are making for me, Cariño.” Miguel cooed behind you, wrapping an arm around your stomach to hold you close.

The great protector kissed along your neck, nipping softly and grazing his fangs along the skin. It wasn’t long before the tension in your stomach returned. You whimpered and moaned, the improper sounds of skin and squelching bouncing off the walls of his sanctuary as the divine being took you to your blissful end.

“M-Miguel, I- something’s coming.” You whined through body tremors and the clenching of your walls. “You may let go, querida. Give it to me.” Miguel moaned breathlessly into your ear, aiming his rhythmic thrusts to attack your sensitive spot over and over.

Unable to hold it any longer, with a loud cry, you released the pent-up pleasure that was building in your stomach. Your eyes rolled, body shaking horribly in Miguel’s arms. Suddenly a rush of euphoria overcame you, making you weightless, like a feather being drifted off into the wind.

Miguel’s hips never ceased their movement, rutting into you as his grunts louden against your ear. "Are you ready to be mine, querida? To bear our child?" He asked, his pace quickening.

The blood rushing to your ears and the pounding of your own heart made his words faint, but nevertheless, you heard him. Frantically you nodded. "Y-Yes. I'm...ready." You told him through breathless gasps and the slapping of his hips against your rear.

At your final approval, a guttural groan escaped his lips as he burrowed his length deep inside you and released his warm, hot essence into your womb. You could feel his thighs tensing up against your legs and his toned chest heaving on your back whilst he filled you; granting you a child and fulfilling the terms...

The sanctuary was now laden with both of your heavy pants and the small flickering of fire upon the torches and candles. A comfortable silence fell upon the two of you as Miguel slowly pulled out, leaving you empty and longing for him once more.

The great being kept you in his arms, seeming to not be able to let you go…

Not like you wanted him to anyway.

It felt like forever since you were loved, and in Miguel’s arms was where you were cherished.

But like all good things, they must come to an end…

“Your request will be completed, Y/N,” Miguel promised against your backside, caressing your stomach through your white chemise. In your moment of pure bliss, you’ve forgotten the reasoning behind the shared passion between the great being and yourself.

His words brought you back to the harsh reality that you’ll have to eventually leave him…

He pulled away, fixing the scarlet robe upon his mighty, chiseled body whilst you also got dressed, drawing down your chemise and adorning your neutral-colored bodice once more. When you were finished, you turned to look at Miguel to see he was already staring back at you, his crimson eyes holding adoration in them.

He walked up to you, his divine body towering over your form. “Y/N…” He said your name upon his mighty tongue, making your heart flutter. You looked up at him, trying to calm the desire to avert your eyes due to how intense his gaze was. “Y-Yes?” The inquiry leaves your lips in a timid voice. Miguel gave you a small smile, cupping your face in his large hand and stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I need you to promise me something.” The great being uttered, his words greatly intriguing you. “W-what is it?” You asked, willing to do anything for him.

The divine being’s eyes roamed over your face, taking in your every facial feature. “In all of my years that I’ve traversed this world, I’ve never experienced something like this.” He confessed, tracing his fingers along your jaw. “You’ve done something that no human has ever done, Cariño.” He whispered, leaning closer to you, so close that his breath fanned against your lips.

“You’ve fulfilled the wish of a deity and have set my heart ablaze.”

You sharply inhaled, staring at the great being with widened eyes. You wanted to believe that his words were false, that the great protector of Nueva Yorkhaven had mistaken his feelings of love for you as something else; but the truth of the most alluring trait about the deities continuously filled your head.

He couldn’t lie.

He was created unable to…

His words of adoration and affection were all real. The great being loved you out of all mortals and that thought only made you even more confounded.

You wet your lips, meeting the red-eyed protector, and taking in everything about him: his morals, values, greatness, natural will to protect his people, and even his physical appearance with his perfectly sculpted body, chiseled face, dark wavy hair, and beautiful, scarlet eyes.

In all your life, you’ve never fallen deeply in love, you were never given the chance to—being forced into marriage with Alden severed your ability to find love for yourself, however, after all this time, you believed you’ve succeeded.

You’ve fallen in love with your divine protector...

“I…love you too.” You said, the words leaving your mouth before you could even think about it. Miguel’s thick eyebrows rose briefly in shock to soon settle once more. He hastily pulled you into a kiss, his plush lips interlocking with your own in a passionate entanglement that seemed to go on forever.

When he finally pulled away, he kept you snug against him, his arms protectively wrapped around your body. “I want you to promise me you’ll never love another—that your heart will always burn for me as mine does for you,” he uttered, his deep voice filling the small space between you and adding to the tender moment even more.

Unbeknownst to him, his promise was an easy one...

In the pit of your stomach, you knew from this moment onward, things would never be the same, and you were content with that.

When you first pressed your lips against the great protector’s, it was as if you were being reborn, your wretched life leaving you as a new one welcomed you.

Once you leave this sanctuary, Alden Hawthorne would be like a terrible nightmare that never occurred. Your mother and yourself could mend the relationship between the two of you, and you would always have a piece of Miguel with you even if he wasn’t there physically, holding you in his mighty arms.

And you were satisfied with that…

Like the sun emerging to dispel away the shadows from a long, dark night and bring light across the lands, goodness was being revived into your life all because of the might of Nueva Yorkhaven’s great protector—Miguel O'Hara.

Looking up at Miguel with glossy eyes, you smiled at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him into a loving embrace.

“I promise.

I’ll love you till my last breath.”

A/N: Thanks so much for reading my oneshot! Shoutout to the wonderful anon who gave me the request, there is still more to come for you, but I hope you enjoyed it!

Make sure to like, comment, reblog and follow! If you would like to add a request to the kink series or have an idea in general, just message me or submit an ask! ❤️

<3 Taglist:

@oscarissac2099 @powerful-niya @szapizzapanda @mcmiracles @mreowmoreww @thedevax @jadeloverxd @lazyotakuofficial @migueloharacumslut @nattywattyy @homewreckingwreck @kinkybandages @prazinos @huniedeux @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak @anniee-mr @crimin4llyins4ne

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veronicaphoenix · 5 days

Text

until the stars stop shining | noah sebastian

previous part to all that's left, but it can be read as a one shot.

summary: noah and his girl spend an evening by the lake | words: 1.2k | reading time: 5mins

tags & trigger warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff. noah is an illustrator, reader loves baking cookies, mentions of noah having been reader's first, and that's it—they love each other a ton.

This is for the anon that asked for something sweet and fluffy after i posted All That's Left. I hope this does it. It's not actually a standalone work, but a sort of flashback belonging to the same story where All That's Left happens. I have a full plot developed in my head, but I can't tell if I'll ever write it and post it, so here goes this little thing where you get to know a little bit more of those characters and the story.

Thank you for all your constant love and support <3

͢ until the stars stop shining

Noah leaned back in the Muskoka chair, one leg lazily stretched out, balancing his sketchbook on his lap. He was shirtless, only wearing his bathing suit. For over an hour, he had been sketching, savoring the tranquil solitude offered by the lake, the warm caress of the late afternoon sun, and the rustling of leaves. Early fall was the perfect time for moments like this, when nature felt intimate and unhurried. Most of the tourists had long gone, leaving behind only the soft chorus of birds and the quiet murmur of waves licking the shore.

The breeze teased the pages of his sketchbook, carrying with it the crisp scent of pine needles and the rhythmic whisper of water against the rocks. Noah’s pencil glided in slow, thoughtful strokes as he tried to capture the scene before him, but his thoughts drifted constantly to his girl.

The door to the cottage creaked open right then, and she stepped outside. She carried a wooden tray filled with oat cinnamon cookies, their powdered sugar dusting glinting in the soft afternoon light. The sweet, comforting aroma mingled with the crisp air, making Noah smile to himself even without glancing back.

She padded softly down the dock, her bare feet almost silent against the worn wood, and placed the tray on the armrest of his chair, her fingers grazing his shoulder in a brief, affectionate touch.

“I baked something,” she said, her voice carrying that familiar warmth. Of course she had. Baking was her favorite thing to do. “Something sweet for my favorite artist.”

Noah grinned as he finally looked at her, his eyes catching on the spot of flour smeared across her nose. She had no idea it was there, and he decided not to tell her—she looked adorable like that.

“You need to refill your energy after working so hard for hours on end,” she pointed out as she glanced at the open sketchbook on his lap.

Instead of reaching for a cookie, Noah broke off a small piece and gently brought it to her lips. Her smile widened as she took a bite, the sweetness melting on her tongue. A moment later, he let out a soft chuckle, reaching to brush a crumb off her lip with the pad of his thumb. His eyes lingered on her for a beat longer before dropping back to his half-finished sketch.

“I’m not half as good at drawing as you are at baking,” he admitted.

She tilted her head, glancing at the sketch. “This one looks pretty good to me, Noah.”

He smirked, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Wait until you see the one I did last night, after you fell asleep on the couch.”

“Why do you find it so entertaining to draw me?”

His gaze softened as he looked back at her. “Because you’re my favorite subject.”

That’s when he bopped her nose, making the flour stain disappear.

Her grin was bright and effortless as she leaned over the back of his chair, wrapping her arms around his neck. She rested her chin on his shoulder, close enough to feel his warmth. “And you’re my favorite person to bake for,” she whispered.

Noah’s cheeks flushed slightly at her words, a rare blush coloring his usually composed expression. She kissed the warm skin of his left cheek, lingering for just a moment before pulling away with a satisfied smile. She wandered toward the edge of the dock, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden planks. She sat down, her legs hanging off the edge.

Noah watched her for a moment, admiring how the wind gently tousled her hair and the way the light danced off her skin. The contentment in her posture, the way her eyes reflected the colors of the setting sun—everything about this moment felt perfect.

“You ever gonna let me teach you how to swim?” Noah asked.

She hesitated for a moment, her gaze fixed on the water before she responded quietly, “I don’t know... I’m still a bit scared of it.” She dipped her feet a little deeper, letting the cool water lap around her ankles. “But... I love being here. With you.”

The memory of that first visit just the two of them was vivid in both their minds. This was Jolly’s cottage, the same place where Noah and her had meet back when she was still fourteen and he was eighteen. They had spent countless of weekends and birthdays and fourths of July in this very same place. But nothing had been as special as the weekend Noah convinced Jolly to let him stay with her, alone. It had been six years since then, and even now, the memory of taking her virginity—in Jolly’s bed—was still as clear as water.

Noah watched as the wind played with her hair, blowing soft strands across her face. He picked up his sketchbook again, unable to resist capturing her in this moment—the peacefulness, the effortless beauty. His pencil moved in quick, steady strokes as he sketched her sitting at the edge of the dock, her feet in the water, the sun casting an orange glow over the horizon. He knew that one day, he would marry this girl. There was no question in his mind.

Once satisfied with the drawing, Noah quietly set his sketchbook aside and rose from the chair. He walked over to her with slow, deliberate steps, his heart swelling as he took in the sight of her in this perfect, secluded spot. Without warning, he bent down, pretending to lift her by the underarms as if he were about to toss her into the water.

She yelped in surprise, her heart leaping as she felt her feet lift off the dock. “Noah!”

Before she could fully react, Noah pulled her back into his arms, turning her around to face him. She clung to him, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, her arms tightening around his neck, her pulse racing from the surprise.

“Don’t you dare!” she gasped, breathless from both fear and thrill, burying her face against his neck.

Noah laughed with her, holding her close, feeling her warm breath against his skin. “I wouldn’t let you go that easily,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

Still holding her, Noah carried her over to the blanket they had left spread out on the dock earlier. He gently laid her down, her body sinking into the soft fabric, and then settled beside her.

“Don’t you ever,” she started to say, “ever, let me drown, Noah Sebastian.”

“Never ever,” he promised, showing her his pinky finger.

She laced it with hers and finally, she let out a heavy sigh and cuddled closer to him, nuzzing her cheek against his bare shoulder.

They lay close, facing each other, their fingers lazily tracing along each other’s arms and faces. Neither spoke for a long while. Her fingers trailed down his chest while his hand rested lightly on her hip. Above them, the stars began to appear, one by one, until the sky was a dark, glittering canvas. The moon’s reflection shimmered on the water.

“How long will you love me?” Noah asked, his voice barely louder than the breeze.

She gazed at him, eyes warm and steady. She placed the most tender of kisses on his lips.

“Until the stars stop shining.”

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian one shot #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fluff

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monstersandmaw · 11 months

Text

Male drider x trans male reader (nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Commission number three! This one got away with me, for sure. Hope you folks enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!!

Content: trans male reader, some afab language to refer to the reader’s lower parts during non-penetrative, oral sex; chest area not mentioned. Kidnapping, some threat to life and mild injury (not from drider), brief mention of blood and stitches. Reader has submissive tendencies, enjoys being restrained, and the drider is gently dominant.

Wordcount: 10,123(!)

Running headlong into the dark pines that made up the forest which, according to your captors, had acquired such nicknames as the ‘The Bone Garden’, ‘Spectre’s Haunt’, and the ‘Blood Wood’ was probably not the wisest decision you’d ever made, but you’d been held by these thugs for four days of hard riding, and you were ready to risk it all to escape.

Had it really only been four days since you’d locked the door to your tidy little cottage on the edge of the village? With a gleaner’s bag slung over one shoulder and a basket in hand, you’d set out in search of the mushrooms that only grew at this time of year when the conditions were perfect — not hot and dry, not yet frosty, and just rainy enough. They loved the misty turn of the year almost as much as you did.

Without a care in the world, you’d stepped out along the weed-strewn gravel path that led through your herb garden, latched the wooden gate behind you, and meandered through the houses as the sounds of the village waking began to fill the air.

Gwyn had recently lit his forge and the rush of the bellows to stoke the heat reminded you of a dragon’s steady breathing; in and out, in and out. You’d snaked past the bakery just to swipe a fresh cinnamon roll before Garrick or Mercy or any of the woodcutters who also tended to rise early could finish them all off, and the orc behind the counter gave you the biggest one he had and a wink that made you just a little gooey inside yourself. “You’re a shameless flirt, Thom,” you said as you slid your coppers across the counter to him with two fingers.

“Hey, a man can dream, right, gorgeous?”

He was pretty fine himself, but he wasn’t really your type, and you’d made that clear when he’d asked you to dance at the first Spring Equinox dance you’d attended after moving to the village, then just a lowly herbalist’s apprentice. Ever since, you’d fallen into an easy banter of flirting that was destined to go nowhere, and it was harmless fun for both of you. You left the bakery with a smile on your face, and headed past Gwyn’s forge as you made your way north out of the village.

The smith, a colossal centaur with a dapple grey coat and a thick, white mane and tail that made anyone with long hair in the village green with envy, called after you and beckoned you over. “Headed north?” he asked with an uncharacteristic scowl.

“Yeah, why?”

“Take care, alright? Mercy said she’d seen sign of bandits in the area, and Willem said he’d heard talk of people being snatched when he took those fleeces to market last week. You shouldn’t be going out alone. None of us should really, not til things calm down.”

A little growl of frustration left you and you adjusted the gleaner’s bag on your shoulder. “I really need these supplies, Gwyn,” you said. “They’re ingredients I need to help fight off winter fevers, and if I don’t have enough, we could be in trouble come the cold in a few weeks’ time…”

“Can’t you take Garrick or Mercy with you? A good woodsman’s felling axe’ll do a hell of a lot more damage than that little sickle you’ve got on your belt…”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you breezed. “I’m not going to be on the main road anyway.”

“Please take care,” he rumbled, and you smiled up at the enormous blacksmith. He might have had the shoulders of a rock troll and iron-shod hooves big enough to knock down a castle door, with a big burn mark all up his left arm from an accident at the forge a decade ago, but he was the gentlest and most softly-spoken person you knew.

You cursed yourself three hours later when your basket of rare, purple mushrooms lay trampled to a slimy paste on the floor of the clearing and a nasty looking wood elf with a sneer and a cruel glint in her eye had her bow trained on you, while a second elf trussed you up like a solstice bird. Your head was ringing from the surprise blow they’d dealt you to the back of the skull, and you were lucky you didn’t have a worse concussion.

“You’ll make a nice little offering for the mage,” the female elf purred while her companion straightened and marched you on unsteady feet back towards the road. “Humans like you always fetch a decent price. Something about your blood being universal for most rituals, I think…”

There on the dirt road, four horses were waiting, three of which were a normal size while the last was built like a castle wall and large enough to carry the orc sitting astride it. The orc had one milky eye and the brand of a murderer across his right cheek. “Shit,” you hissed when you saw that, and the male elf laughed cruelly when you flinched as the orc swung down and prepared to heave you onto the back of the spare horse.

Normally, if you were going to be tied up and bent over something for some rough treatment, this was not how it went. There was absolutely nothing fun or consensual about the way these bandits chucked you over the back of the horse and lashed your hands and feet to the tack so you didn’t slide off. The orc guffawed and spat off to one side when you cried out on impact as your ribs creaked and your lungs expelled all the air they’d ever contained in one ugly grunt. After that, you did just about everything you could to move with the rhythm of the cantering horse, but it was probably the most miserable experience of your life. When the group slowed to trot, the motion was so painful that you actually slipped into unconsciousness for a while, only to be jounced back some time later.

At the crossroads about ten miles north of your village — the furthest north from your little patch of paradise you’d ever roamed — they met up with a couple of other riders who had apparently been on a recce of their own to look for more people for this blood mage or whoever, but they got laughed at by the orc on his enormous, cantankerous horse for not finding any victims and rode off again without joining the party.

So, it was just you, alone in the wilderness, being taken gods-knew-where, by two feral elf siblings and a murderous orc. Stowed like a sack of potatoes over that rangy, stinking horse for five hours of hellish riding, you were barely conscious. When they eventually stopped to make camp that night, they did let you relieve yourself in relative privacy, but once you were done, they hauled you back to their pack animals and lashed you to a tree next to them so that you couldn’t hope to escape. You could still smell the stink of them though, and it was enough to turn your empty stomach.

Their food was revolting, and their company equally repulsive. They joked loudly about all the cruel things they’d done to people in the past, and you sat there wondering why you hadn’t let Gwyn talk you into going out with the woodcutters. There were mushrooms where they were currently coppicing hazel for the winter, but no. No, you’d decided to be adventurous and clever, and to collect only the best mushrooms for your salves and tonics.

Four days later, you were almost ready to give up.

The mage’s castle they were taking you to was legendary in the northern reaches, and no one who was taken there against their will ever returned. Tales of blood magic and horrific rites involving chimera and creatures brought back from the dead had entered the local lore, and now apparently you were going to be drained of your precious blood for whatever this necromancer had planned next. And the price of that precious blood had been discussed and debated by the bandits for the last day.

Personally, you agreed with the female elf and thought you were worth more than a couple of weeks’ wages in gold, but you had no intention of allowing yourself to be squeezed dry like an orange for your blood. So, after the group stopped in a dark and snow-mottled pine forest after the fifth day of hard riding, you enacted your plan. You’d been plotting it all day, and hoped you weren’t too delirious and weak to pull it off.

When they’d let you relieve yourself the previous night, they’d not bothered to tie your hands together or watch you, since there was nowhere for you to go. You knew woodlands though, and you were pretty confident that if you gave them the slip in the dark, you could take care of yourself in the wild for a few days. Long enough to get back home anyway.

So when they started their daily round of bragging and trading boasts about how many vampires they’d killed or how they’d survived the venom of three different nagas in the same attack, you made your move.

If that darned twig hadn’t snapped, you might have got away with it, but when the male elf barked, “Oi!” into the gathering dark and swung his lantern around, you knew you’d messed up.

Breaking cover completely and legging it into the endless ranks of black-barked pine trees in the fading light of day seemed like the only option now, so you began crashing through the debris and dead branches that had gathered beneath the choking canopy of dense pine needles overhead.

These woods were different from any you’d known before, and something dark and foreboding lingered there like a shade above a gravestone. These woods were not kind. The air was not fresh and sweet like it was between the beech and oak back home. It pooled and festered, stagnant between the rough sentinel trees, and the lower branches seemed to reach their sharp, bare fingers towards your face as you ran like a rabbit from the pack of hunting dogs behind you.

Your toe caught a root and you stumbled, and in the space where your head had just been, an arrow whizzed through the air and sank into the tree ahead of you with a thunk that almost made your heart stop. Your lungs were burning already and your legs felt shaky and weak after your rough treatment and half-rotten rations, but a brush with death that close shocked you to the core. The water they’d given you had been rancid, and your stomach churned as adrenaline curdled in your gut, but somehow you forced yourself on into the darkness.

Their voices dwindled, muffled by the carpet of fallen pine needles, until a shout went up and another arrow flew past you. This time, it left a searing pain in its wake and you clutched at your ribs where the hunting broadhead had torn through your skin. Luckily, it was superficial, but it hurt like hell and it was bleeding. Blood might draw predators out of the darkness, if your blundering and their bellowing hadn’t already.

Shit, you hadn’t thought about the horrors that probably dwelled in a place like this.

The bandits had been crowing about the ghouls and rabid cannibals that supposedly haunted these woods, and you’d passed plenty of skeletons along the roadside on your journey, your down-turned head providing you with a first-class view of them as your half-lame horse had jolted past them at its permanent, slightly-panicked jog. They hadn’t all been pack animals and horses lying in the ditch either. Some of the skulls had been humanoid, and there had been the horns of a minotaur at some point. This was a place where living things entered unwillingly, and most of them never left.

Forcing yourself onwards, you clutched your stinging side, but they were closing on you. The orc was thundering through the forest like a boar on a rampage, and the elves were quick as shadows.

“You little shit!” the female shouted from right behind you. Something heavy hit you across the back of your knees and you tripped and fell hard onto your palms as a flung tree branch rebounded off onto the forest floor. The force of the fall sent your cheek smashing into the muddy ground and you cried out as she landed triumphantly atop you and turned you over, smacking you full in the mouth out of sheer frustration.

“Gotcha,” she grinned. “You’re gonna pay for running, little rabbit,” she added with a laugh as she hauled you to your feet.

You kicked her knee from the side as hard as you could and she yowled like a cat dropped into a bath, letting go of you to stagger sideways, limping. The thing about being a healer is that you also know the weak spots where it can hurt most.

Before she could turn on you again though, something moved in the trees behind you and you all froze. The orc crashed to a halt nearby breathing hard, and the elf’s brother came over to help her stand while she spat curses at you that would have made a pirate’s ears bleed.

“What is it?” the orc growled, low and tense.

“Fuck knows. Tie him up again and let’s get the fuck back to camp,” the female elf wheezed. “I’m gonna drag him behind my horse for the rest of the way there. Shit that hurts!”

“Quiet,” her brother hissed. “Something’s out there.”

“Then let’s get fucking moving!” she countered.

You turned to glance over your shoulder and caught the shape of something white drifting in the distant trees just as the orc spotted it too. His grip tightened on the haft of his huge war-axe, and he took half a step back. Until then, he’d been the one who’d seemed steadiest; unshakable and immovable as a cannon, and he hit just as hard. Now though, he looked spooked and scared.

“They say the Death-Spinner hunts in these parts,” he said, eyes wide as he looked from side to side. “A massive white drider that strikes from the shadows and wraps you up in his web and sucks you dry…”

“It’s been too long since someone sucked you dry,” the female elf sneered at him, though the remark came out feebly and she looked around her in a twitchy, nervous motion. “Your blue balls are making you hallucinate. Come on. What are you waiting for?”

“He’s got other names too, you know,” her brother interrupted, reaching for you with a jerky movement that halted when the steady rhythm of something moving nearby rose above the whispering of the wind in the canopy. “Soul-Eater, The Weaver Ghost…”

“Please, the Death-Spinner is just a myth…” the female on your right hissed.

“Decidedly… not,” came a thin, harsh voice from the trees ahead, and your captors just bolted.

The supposedly tough bandits – the ones who had been talking about selling an actual person to a bloodmage to use in some disgusting ritual; who had joked just the previous night about flaying a minotaur like a cow on a butcher’s block; who had told you that there was nothing out here that would give a single, flying fuck about you – had fled with no more than a shriek and the clatter of boots in the dead underbrush, and left you alone with the being they called ‘Death-Spinner’.

“Better and better,” you spat, still tasting blood in your mouth from where the elf had cracked you across the mouth. “First it was ‘sold to a blood mage’ and now it’s ‘death by drider’.”

A pearlescent pale leg speared down out of the gloom that gathered between the black pines, its ivory chitin shining softly. Shaped like a thin, curved shard of polished bone, the limb moved with slow, silent grace, and it was joined by a second, needle-slender limb, then a third and a forth, until the white underbelly of the creature loomed large into your limited pool of light, followed finally by the lower part of a humanoid torso, and the large, armour-plated abdomen of the creature.

The whole of the eight-legged being was utterly colourless.

White and pendulous as the moon, the drider’s chitinous body looked like drifts of wind-blown snow that had then set into solid ice, swirling and churning across its body to rise in small peaks and troughs at the joints and high points of its legs and over the swollen curve of its abdomen.

The humanoid torso melted upwards at the hips from the body of the spider, and two, smaller, pincer-like limbs — pedipalps — were angled slightly inwards, both ending in single, wicked talons and looking like they were ready to spear you through the middle in the blink of an eye.

The drider wore no clothes, and patches of white chitin formed a kind of armour up its humanoid torso: over the hips but skirting around its lean belly, then up over its shoulders like pauldrons and creating natural bracers and gauntlets along its long, wiry arms. Its hands, you saw as it dipped a little lower into the faint glow from the elves’ abandoned lantern, were clawed, but its slightly curved talons weren’t like those of a mammal. They were simply an unbroken extension of the chitin that covered its hands and forearms.

Its face remained mostly out of sight, wreathed in the upper shadows of the trees, but you got the impression of two reddish eyes glinting at you in the dark, and long, silk-white hair flowing down its back.

“You’re bleeding,” came the slightly hoarse tenor that made your skin prickle. A creature that large should have a deeper voice, but the mellifluous timbre of the drider’s tone made you think of sirens luring sailors to their death with sweet songs and empty, deceitful promises.

“Only a bit,” you choked out, stepping back and catching your heel on the branch that the female elf had used to trip you. When you fell hard onto your backside, you caught the glint of steel in the sea of rust-red pine needles all around you, and realised that one of the elves had dropped their precious sword in their haste to escape this creature.

In a rush of blind panic, you snatched up the unfamiliar weapon and held it aloft. “Stay back!” you barked.

The laugh that rippled out of the drider chilled your blood.

“Please,” it crooned, and then it loomed down out of the shadow and into the light, squinting its two scarlet eyes against the sudden brightness. “As if a little stick like that could hurt something like me.”

The sword fell from your fingers as weakness washed through you, and you bit back a sob. “Please,” you said instead. “Please, they brought me here to sell me to a necromancer, but I… I don’t want to die like this either.”

“Die?” the drider said, and its red gaze flickered to the wound in your side. “You won’t die from that. A few silk stitches and a rest, and you’ll be good as new…” It frowned again, its white eyebrows pulling in like a loose thread in a perfect tapestry. “You’re filthy,” it said, and you noticed a diagonal scar cutting across its pale mouth as its lip pulled up on one side in a gesture of revulsion.

“Yeah, well, you try being thrown over the back end of a bandit’s horse for five days and see if you’re still that pretty at the end of it,” you retorted, exhaustion making you bold and just a little bit stupid.

The drider laughed, the sound like autumn leaves rolling down the road, and you paused. It sounded genuinely amused.

“Come, human,” it said, holding out a clawed hand. “Let’s get you somewhere where you can rest in safety.”

“Safety? What… What about… all that ‘Death-Spinner’ stuff?”

The drider paused, its huge body hanging in the twilight like a pearl. “I have no interest in consuming sapient creatures, but the rumours help to keep people out of my forest. It’s as much for their safety as mine,” it went on. “There are nastier things even than me in these parts.” The self-deprecating venom in its tone drew you up short.

“You don’t seem so bad…”

“Thank you,” it replied with flat sarcasm.

You took three more steps towards the drider before your legs gave out. In a flash faster than thought, the drider darted at you, and before you could even flinch, strong, armoured arms had caught you and lifted you up.

“You poor thing,” it crooned, and you looked up properly into its face for the first time. “You’ve really been through it, haven’t you? Easy now. I’ll take care of you.”

“Why?” you breathed, trying not to let your treacherous muscles relax into the solid frame that held you. You felt the chitin of its chest against your shoulder as it bore you along in a strangely smooth, gliding motion, the dark trunks of the trees whipping past in a blur.

“Evidently I have a soft spot for brave and lost creatures,” the drider smiled. “My name is Feluän, by the way.”

You exhaled your own name in return, and then said, “Isn’t Feluän an elven name? Some prince or something…?”

“You know your history,” the drider chuckled. “Yes, he was a prince of the snow elves a long time ago. I came across it in a history book I picked out of a caravan that was destroyed by a band of gnolls once. Their tastes run more towards beer than books…”

“I chose my own name too,” you said, the consonants feeling thick and slurred as the tiredness seeped throughout your whole body and the pain in your side mounted. “You’re a male drider then? If you named yourself after a prince, I mean. I don’t know anything about your kind really. Never… Never met one before.”

“Hush for now,” he said, squeezing you a little more tightly into his arms and drawing a moan unbidden from your lips. Gods, even in these circumstances, it felt so good to be held like this. “But yes, I am.”

The journey through the dark forest passed in a hazy blur, until you had the vague impression of torchlight and soft firelight and you were laid down on the softest surface you thought you'd maybe ever touched in your life. A long, deep groan left you and you suddenly didn’t care what happened to you.

“I’m going to stitch you up,” came the drider’s voice from somewhere nearby. “It might hurt. I can use a little of my venom to numb the area if you like…”

You nodded, not wanting any more pain, and out of the corner of your eye, you watched the drider’s white body move in the blurry shadows of the cave. He loomed over you and pressed the tip of one clawed finger to his upper canine, before bringing it to your side where he’d hitched up your shirt just enough to access the glancing wound from the arrow. A blissful numbness crept like winter ice across your skin, and you let the drider tend to you.

Tiredness claimed you not long after, but you had the distinct impression of a warm cloth being wiped gently across your face and hands before blackness washed in and you slept.

Over the course of the next few days, Feluän tended to your wound, and you forgot to be afraid of the strange creature. Centaurs had always held a fascination for you, with their animal lower halves and their humanoid upper bodies, and the way the drider moved was no less fascinating. When he wasn't tending to you, he was weaving linen and silk into the most wondrous bolts of fabric. His cave was dotted here and there with trinkets that he’d clearly pilfered from the sporadic ‘visitors’ to his part of the world, but aside from that, the cave was just that: a grotto carved out of a rise in the ground in the middle of a dank, desolate forest.

“You live alone?” you asked on the first evening you felt strong enough to get out of bed without his help. Until then, he’d forced you to stay still, and honestly, you’d been only too happy to let him boss you about and carry you around. He was sweet, but he didn't take no for an answer, and he didn’t let you wheedle your way out of anything either. Your best ‘puppy-dog’ eyes had crumbled his iron resolve a bit though, and finally he’d let you get out of his soft, cosy bed to join him by the gentle light of flames in the fire pit at the centre of his cave.

Feluän nodded. “Yes. I have spent my whole life alone. Driders are not sociable with each other by nature, and most people fear us too much to want us anywhere near them, as you saw yourself when your captors realised I was there.”

“Thank you for that, by the way,” you said as you took the carved wooden cup he offered you. It had some kind of sharp, pine-needle tea in it and he looked embarrassed that that was all he could offer you to drink apart from water. In the few days you’d been there, you’d had some kind of game broth which, while nutritious, hadn’t been particularly flavoursome. “I didn’t think I’d find anyone out here more intimidating than that orc, but you managed it.”

Across the fire, his ruby red eyes glittered and he laughed, tilting his head in your direction. He didn’t always meet your eye, you realised, and you wondered if his albinism affected his eyesight. “I live to serve,” he purred.

“The way you behave, I’d say you live to be served, but what do I know?”

Again, he laughed. “You offering, little human?” he said, cocking a white eyebrow in a way that made you feel a little dizzy.

“I might, if the rewards for service were worth it,” you replied archly, sipping the sharp tea. Its flavour reminded you of the tinctures you brewed at home, and of the people who would need you as the autumn drew to a close and winter began to coil around the edges of the village. Your shoulders dropped, and you sighed, steam from the cup swirling in front of your eyes for a moment.

“You clearly don’t think I could offer you much,” he said dryly.

“It’s not that,” you said. “It’s… I have a responsibility to the people in my village. I’m a herbalist, and the whole reason I was captured was because I was out looking for ingredients that would help fight winter fevers. If I don’t get home before the snows settle in, they’ll suffer.”

He shifted his weight where he was resting casually with all his long, spiny limbs tucked close to his pendulous body, and you realised he was feeling uncertain. “It must be nice,” he began in a new, faltering voice that you’d not heard from him before. “Nice to have people… who need you. Who… Who look to you for protection…”

You laughed softly and shook your head. “I wouldn’t say I provide any kind of protection — you want an orc or a centaur like Thom or Gwyn for that — but I help people where I can, and they’ve been good to me. I was apprenticed with their previous healer, and when he passed, I took on his mantle.”

“Tell me about them?” Feluän asked, red eyes blinking slowly in his frost-pale face. His long, white hair fell down loose to frame his high cheekbones, and the scar on his mouth was the only element in his face that interrupted the otherwise perfect symmetry of him, and it made you want to press your lips to it and see what it felt like beneath your kisses.

You looked away.

“Tell me about them before I take you back tomorrow?”

“Wait, take me back? You’re coming too?”

“You’ll never make it out of these woods alive without me,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t go to all this effort to keep you alive just to turn you loose for the ghouls and shadow wraiths to tear you to pieces when the sun sets tomorrow night.”

“Shadow… wraiths?” you croaked, eyes flitting to the cave entrance where the dark night pressed in against the tiny light of the fire. You shuddered and Feluän smiled to reveal his double set of canines, the larger, outer pair of which were actually hollow fangs that could inject his paralytic venom into his prey.

“Don’t worry, little one,” he said with a rumbling, seductive purr in his tenor that went right through you to your core. “I’ll protect you. You’re safe here anyway. It’s warded.”

“Right.”

“Your people?” he prompted, and you started with Gwyn the dappled centaur. By the time you’d listed almost everyone in the village, your mind was slow and your eyes gritty with sleep.

Some time earlier, Feluän had moved behind you so that you were resting your weight between his lethally-taloned pedipalps, buttressed up on either side by something that could skewer through you in the blink of an eye, and his hand had recently moved to card idly through your hair.

The world tilted slightly as you dozed off halfway through a sentence about Thom the orc who ran the bakery and made the most incredible fruit pies in autumn, and you realised that Feluän had picked you up again and was carrying you towards his wide, soft bed of silk webbing.

As he drew a feather-filled silk duvet up around your ears and you hummed with deep satisfaction, you heard him murmur, “I wish I could live somewhere like the place you described for me tonight. I wish I could know ‘home’ as you do, but I fear I would never be welcome somewhere like that.”

“They’d love you,” you mumbled. After all, you were half in love with him already and it had only been a few days.

The journey south took about a week. On the first day, you were forced to ride on his back after only a few miles due to the lingering ache in your side. “If you don’t get aboard, I will refuse to take you anywhere at all,” he said sternly, and a thrill of heat shot down your spine at the steel in his tone. “Do as you’re told, human.”

“Fine,” you croaked, ignoring just how much you liked the way he seemed to mingle concern, respect, and command in a single sentence. “Bossy.”

You did enjoy having your arms around his middle as you rode behind him though. And he was quick when he got scuttling along.

Your pride did have you walking the next day, and before too long, you got to see the ‘Death-Spinner’ in action. In the rocky lower slopes of the pine forest, before it melted into a dewy, autumn meadow, a roar shattered the silence and a bear reared up from the thick grass, as surprised by your exit from the trees as you were by her.

Feluän hissed like a snake and immediately drew himself up, lashing out with his long front legs. Like twin swords, the lowest section of his legs flashed in the misty air and the bear threw herself up onto her hind legs with another bellowing roar.

The drider jabbed at her faster than your eyes could follow, nicking her ear and her shoulder in turn with left and right forelegs, his huge body filling the space between you and the threat like a bulwark. The bear turned on the spot and thundered away, and he dropped silently back to all eight legs and looked down at you. In the starker light of the meadow, he was squinting and his red eyes didn’t quite land on your face.

“Are you alright?” he asked, bare marble chest heaving. His clawed hands were curled at his sides and his arms looked incredible, and suddenly it was very hard to focus on anything but how gods-damned beautiful this creature was. He barked your name and lowered himself down, still squinting. “I can’t see very well in full daylight like this. I need you to tell me if you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” you croaked at last, trying to swallow your inconveniently-timed arousal. “Are you? I’ve lived in the woods a long time, but I’ve never been that close to a bear before.”

“She really didn’t want to tangle with me,” he laughed, and you caught the way his articulated joints sagged in relief as his white hands found your shoulders and he squeezed you tightly for a second.

“You can’t see very well? What do you mean?”

He smiled sadly and let go of you. “As I understand it, people born like me, without pigmentation, often struggle with their vision, and bright sunlight in particular. I do anyway. Why do you think I chose the darkest place I knew of for my home?”

“I… I hadn’t really thought about it. You sure you want to be out here then? You didn’t have to walk me all the way home you know?”

“I want to,” he said, gesturing for you to continue on your way across the open meadow.

The overnight frost had melted a little, but it still lingered at the foot of the thicker tufts of grass and it crunched softly as you walked through it. Not Feluän though — he moved as silently as his spectral nickname suggested, but you did catch him tilting his head a little and inhaling, as though scenting the wind. His lips parted softly and you caught your best glimpse yet of his double set of canines. His tongue shifted a little behind his teeth, as though he was tasting something on the air, and you looked away. Everything about him was sensuous and it made you want to touch.

You were perhaps a day’s walk from the village now, but he still hadn’t turned back even though you’d told him you could manage alone from there.

That night at camp, you sat together as you had back in his cave, with you resting between the two smaller limbs that jutted out from his spider’s shoulder area. They twitched from time to time as he ate the now-roasted rabbit he’d skewered earlier for dinner with the talon at the end of one of them, and when you’d finished your meal, you reached out without thinking and ran your fingers down the chitin that covered them.

He jumped slightly and then went very still, but as you brought your hand closer to where the limb met his chest, he drew in a shuddering breath that made his whole body rock.

“Does that tickle?” you asked, wondering how much sensation he had with all that natural armour.

“Not exactly,” Feluän rasped. “It’s… It’s been a while since I’ve… since anyone’s — ah…” he gasped and his chest heaved. The little bone he’d been idly cleaning with his tongue dropped from his fingers to land in the carpet of beech and oak leaves around your feet.

“You want me to stop?”

“No,” he replied immediately. “Gods, don’t you dare stop.”

“Alright.”

You stood and faced him, and ran both hands up his ‘hips’ at the base of his humanoid torso. He shuddered again and sucked in another sharp breath. Gradually, you moved your touch up over the marble contours of his abs and ribs until you could reach no higher. “Come down here then,” you said quietly.

His scarred upper lip twitched and he surged down towards you, snatching you up in his hands and lifting you away from the fire. He pinned you against the smooth bark of a nearby beech trunk, and held you there four or five feet off the ground. His hands were secure around your waist as the spears of the two pedipalps lanced into the tree on either side of your face and you gasped, feeling heat rushing to your groin.

“The things you make me want to do to you, human,” he purred around a snarl, red eyes glowing in the night. His huge body was pale, standing out starkly against the darkness, and you felt a familiar, tingling weakness washing through you as he held you pinned there and growled those lustful words into your ears. You wanted him to take control. You wanted to submit to whatever pleasures he had in mind. It made your head go vague.

“What’s that then?” you slurred softly, dangling blissfully in his hold. “What do you want to do to me?”

“I want to tie you up with my silk,” he said, leaning in so he could kiss up your neck. He nipped at you, but not enough to break the skin or inject you with his numbing, paralytic venom. The trail his kisses left was cold though, and your flesh tingled. “I want you trussed and immobile for me while I give you every pleasure I can think of. Your body is so soft compared to mine. So vulnerable. I want it all. I want all of you.”

“You can,” you smiled. “Please.”

His lips twitched into another little snarl and he kissed you again. Your tongue tingled and you swallowed, realising a drop of his venom had landed there. “I can’t,” he said, stepping back and lowering you slowly to the ground. Your knees were too weak to take your weight at first and he steadied you.

“Why not?” Disappointment stung through the creeping haze in your head and helped to clear it a bit.

You glanced along his curved, spider’s abdomen and saw that a clear fluid was dripping slowly from a point on his underbelly. His obvious arousal looked obscene, and your core tightened at the sight of it. When he saw where you were looking, he shivered. “That’s what you do to me,” he croaked. “But I’ve lost too much control of myself tonight. I might hurt you.”

“Kiss me again?”

“No. My mouth is full of venom.”

Your breath caught and you bit your lip. “Please?”

“No.” He sounded angry now, and you looked away, ashamed of still wanting something he didn't want to give. When he saw the expression on your face though, his whole demeanour changed and he softened. “What is it?” he asked.

You shook your head, stepping back. “Forget it. You’re going home again tomorrow anyway. You’ll forget about me in no time.” But you wouldn’t forget about him.

Feluän’s lighting-fast reflexes left you breathless all over again as he snatched for your wrist when you turned away from him. “I will never forget you,” he hissed fiercely. “I can’t. You think I give every lost wanderer I find in my forest a personal escort home? If I had my way, I’d never leave your side again.”

The grip he had on your wrist was tight enough that it was just shy of painful, and you gasped, eyelids fluttering. You glanced down at where his claws were pricking into your skin and then slowly raised your gaze to his face. “Not helping…” you smirked softly.

He closed his eyes slowly and eased his grip just a fraction, and then he opened his eyes again, moved both hands to your face, cupped your jaw, and kissed your forehead. “Best I can do for the moment,” he said apologetically.

“You don’t have to go back, you know?” you said, giving voice to the idea that had been floating around your mind for a few days. “I mean, I know all your stuff is back there, but there’s a really cosy place that’s only a hundred yards or so from my cottage on the edge of the village. I think it would be perfect for you. You could… You could live there? If you wanted…”

Feluän raked his claws gently across your scalp and you shuddered. “And what of the rest of the village? What would they say about a monster taking up residence in their midst?”

“You’re not a monster,” you hissed, grabbing for his wrists and clinging to him while you glared up into his face. Gods, he was so beautiful, with his sharp features and red, gemstone eyes and his silver-white hair. “You’re not. How could they not love you once they got to know you?”

His throat worked and he lowered his spider body down, drawing his legs in so that he was as close to your eye level as he could get. “Do you really want me to stay?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please. I — The thought of you going back to that horrible place with all those bones scattered everywhere, and no life — there’s no life in those woods, Feluän. It’s —” He silenced you with a kiss.

Your lips turned numb almost immediately but you felt his tongue brush yours as he growled and reared over you, overpowering you with just his presence. “The way you said my name,” he said. “No one’s ever spoken my name before. Say it again. I want to hear you say it again.”

“Feluän.”

“When we’re not camping in a forest, I’m going to take you apart, my beautiful human. I’m going to tie you up and take you to pieces when my mouth isn’t dripping with venom.”

“Could be fun for you to have your way with me while I can’t move…” you said.

“You wouldn’t be able to feel it either,” he said, deliberately moving away from you and breathing hard. “Gods, I’m a mess,” he chuckled. You glanced down and saw that he was leaking a little webbing too from the gland at the tip of his abdomen.

“So am I,” you said wryly, because you absolutely were.

“I know. I can smell it,” he said. “Taste it too.”

“Fuck,” you groaned. He’d smelled it earlier as well then, back in the meadow after he’d protected you. “You’d better live up to your promise, Feluän. I’m not letting you go home without feeling some of that silk around my wrists first.”

“Say my name again and I’ll give you anything you want.”

Getting to sleep that night proved difficult to say the least, but it helped that you both talked quietly, with you lying in his arms again, and when you woke to the gentle caress of his knuckles against your cheek, you blinked your eyes open and smiled up at him.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, awestruck by the creature looming over you. Honest delight lit up his whole face and he laughed quietly, helping you to your feet and brushing the dry leaves from your clothes and the borrowed cloak he’d lent you.

“How do you want to do this?” he asked as you kicked the cold ashes of the fire apart and made sure you left the forest as you’d found it. “You said we’re within a day’s walk of your home now?”

You nodded. “We’ll probably meet a few of the woodcutters on our way in — they’re working about three or four miles from the village at the moment, cutting hazel for fences and ash for firewood. If we meet anyone, let me do the talking?”

Feluän agreed, and you set off along the main road together.

“I’ll introduce you in the village if you like, and explain where I’ve been, and then I’ll say I’d like you to stay. If… If you want to.”

“I do,” he said. “I don’t have anything in that cave that I would particularly miss, but I could still go back and fetch it if I wanted to.”

The first people you met were indeed Garrick and Mercy, and when the satyr and the half-orc-half-elf saw the drider, they hefted their axes in their hands and stepped warily into the clearing they’d made beside the road. Mercy spotted you and called out your name, and you and Feluän held up your hands.

It took some persuading to let the two of you approach, but when you were close enough, Mercy dropped her axe and hugged you. “We’ve been so worried,” she said, squeezing you tight. With her muscles, it was enough to make you wheeze. “Gwyn and Thom and Gale searched for you for days but even Gale’s werewolf nose lost your scent when it rained. Gods, they’ve been beside themselves.”

“I’m only alive because of Feluän,” you said, gesturing to the pale drider who was waiting on the road. All his eight legs were drawn up tight and he looked tense and wary. At that distance, and in the clear, wintry light, you suspected he also couldn’t see very far, and for someone so powerful, he was probably feeling quite vulnerable. “I’d like him to live here with us. He was living alone in that dark forest, and I don’t think anyone should have to live alone like that. Not if they don’t want to.”

Garrick jutted his small tusks and said, “Driders aren’t exactly sociable creatures. What’s he gonna do around here?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” you said a little defensively. “While I was recovering in his care, he was processing and spinning flax and weaving bolts of cloth, so he could help Rowan, but I don’t think his place here should be determined by what he can do for us, do you?”

Garrick’s eyes darkened with shame, and he shook his head.

“I’ll catch up with you later. Right now, all I want is a bath and a change of clothes.” Your own shirt had been washed while you’d been recovering, and Feluän had stitched it up, but it was still stained with your blood and more than a bit travel-worn now.

The approach to the village was deserted, but when you stepped out from the shady road and into the brilliant, afternoon sun that bathed the thatched houses in stark light, Feluän grunted and closed his eyes, shielding them with one hand and wincing.

“You alright?” you asked.

“It’s so bright,” he rasped. “I… I can’t even see you and you’re right next to me.”

You paused and said, “This way. We’ll take the side road and go along one of the deer paths through the trees to the cave home I’ve got in mind for you. You can meet everyone tonight when the sun’s gone down.”

“I’m sorry.”

Shaking your head, you frowned. “No, Feluän. You have nothing to be sorry for. Let’s go.” You laid your hand on his foremost left leg, and changed direction, heading for the tall oak and beech trees that bordered the village.

You passed by your cottage, though you did point it out to him, and continued up the slope to the small, rocky outcrop where the old cave had sat empty since its previous occupant had moved to be nearer to her relatives. “This used to belong to Dinara,” you said. “She’s a dwarf, but the cave isn’t at her scale, don’t worry.”

He laughed, and now that you were in the shade, you noticed that his eyes were meeting yours again, and he wasn’t squinting so much. “Come here,” he said, and he lowered himself down to kiss you. “Thank you. I’m sure it’ll be perfect.”

“If it’s not, I know people will help you alter it. They helped me build my house when I moved here, so you could always just build something new if it doesn’t suit.”

“You make them sound like good people,” he smiled.

Squeezing his hand, you said, “They are. They’re going to love you, I promise.”

“So long as they don’t try to hack me to bits with their axes… The one you called ‘Garrick’ sounded ready to cut my legs off earlier.”

“He’s protective, not unlike you,” you said wryly. “Come on. Let me show you the cave and see if you want to live there or not.”

“If you’re nearby, it’ll be perfect,” he said smoothly, and you immediately tripped, making him laugh.

In the end, the empty cave house suited him perfectly, and, as you’d predicted, people were wary to start with, but when they heard how he’d saved you and taken care of you, and brought you home, they welcomed him like a long-lost relative — something that clearly moved him deeply. He did bristle when Thom swept you up into his bone-crushing, baker’s arms outside the village inn that night and nuzzled his tusks against your neck and expressed just how worried he’d been about you though.

When you returned to Feluän after Thom had set you down and promised you a week’s worth of free pies and cakes, Feluän was prickly and distant, until you grabbed a hold of his pedipalp and refused to let go as he turned. The moonlight flashed along the polished chitin and the limb straightened as he turned away while you held it, but he twitched back to look at you with his red eyes blazing quietly.

“Feluän…?” you purred. Oh, you liked the way he clearly wanted to be possessive of you but was forcing himself to behave. It made you flush hot all over.

“What?” he hissed, still scowling.

You caressed your hand up the limb to his shoulder and splayed your fingers wide. He gasped.

“You promised me something…”

“What was that?” he said, spreading his legs a little wider, as though he needed the extra stability to brace himself upright all of a sudden. You enjoyed seeing that the effect you had on each other was mutual.

You drew back your hand from him and he rocked forwards as if seeking the contact again. You brought your wrists together and held them out as though waiting to be tied up before looking up into his face.

His white eyelashes fluttered and his red eyes rolled closed for a moment. “Where?” he asked in a whisper. “Where do you want to go?”

“I’m not sure you’ll fit easily in my cottage…”

“You’d be surprised,” he said, “But I’ll take your word for it. I don’t have any furnishings in my new home yet.”

“You can sling me a silk hammock,” you said boldly and he groaned audibly. “You like that? You like the idea of me lying on your silk?”

He choked softly and nodded, jaw working.

“What?”

“I’m trying to keep my venom to myself this time,” he said carefully. “If I don’t let it out, I can put my mouth wherever I want to this time.”

“And where’s that?”

“Let me tie you up and you’ll find out,” he snarled, baring his double canines, patience fraying.

“Take me home then,” you whispered.

He picked you up, letting you loop your legs around his humanoid hips and holding you there with his arms and his two pedipalps while he scuttled away from the village and up the hill to the cave where an oil lamp was already burning softly on a shelf.

The cave wasn’t so much a cave as a rock-hewn home, with an additional masonry front covering the opening from the elements, and stone shelves cut into the rock inside for storage, and a shelf at the back for a bed and a huge stone bath as well. Spring water was plumbed directly into a copper cylinder for hot water beside a fireplace with a chimney built into the mountainside. It was a vast improvement on his former, tunnel-like home in the forest, and someone had brought up a load of firewood for him.

Before he’d left his new home to greet the rest of the village earlier that evening, Feluän had lit a fire in the grate and it had since filled the space with warmth, driving away the lingering damp of disuse, and as he made his way on his long, skittering legs to the back of the cave, you kissed the chitin of his shoulders and watched the firelight lick along the sculpted shape of his natural armour. He shivered and then rose right up, tucking his abdomen under him and slinging a web across the shelf where the mattress would be when you eventually found him one. For now, a low, secure hammock of web would more than suffice.

He pitched you back onto it and you bounced softly while the drider’s huge body filled the air above you. The power and ‘otherness’ of his body made you hot beneath the skin and set your core burning, and you squirmed softly while he lowered himself down around you, all four right limbs braced on the wall to your left to give him the best angle. It was unnatural and eerie and creepy and wonderful and strange and everything you wanted in that moment, so you raised your hands above your head and crossed your wrists invitingly.

“You’re so good for me,” he purred and you arched upwards. The web hammock was substantial enough that you didn't feel in the least like your bodyweight was going to tear through it, but it left you feeling exposed and at his mercy. He undressed you carefully, his claws peeling the fabric back until you were as naked as he was. His spider’s body twitched and that clear fluid dripped down onto your shin, betraying his own arousal even as your own was made all the more evident to him.

He parted your legs with one clawed hand and carefully pressed the heel of his palm against where you were soaking wet. “Look at you,” he smiled, eyes glinting. “I can smell you. I can’t wait to taste you properly.” Then he licked his hand clean and your brain went blank for a moment as you watched and heard him groan.

His silk was cool as he wrapped your wrists tightly enough to immobilise your arms and then he secured the line to one of the others, pinning you in place as securely as any rope tied to a headboard ever could be.

“Fuck…” you cursed, arching your spine and spreading your legs. Your clit was swollen and sensitive already, but when he slid his arms underneath your thighs and brought his face close enough that his breath shivered across your wet skin, you gasped and bucked.

Feluän’s tongue teased you to start with as he simply savoured the taste of you, but when he got to work in earnest, his claws pricked your skin and he held you down while you tried to writhe and squirm. You weren’t shy about the sounds you made, and when you saw the way his abdomen was moving in time with his tongue on your body, you realised he was every bit as turned on as you are. You knew that driders didn’t mate the way humans did, and that when he came, he was most likely going to make a mess all over you. The thought of it made your eyes roll.

His nose nudged against your clit as he delved deeper into you with his tongue, moaning and kissing and sucking and devouring.

“I’m getting close, love,” he whispered in the tiny silence that blossomed around you when he drew back to adjust his grip on your legs. You’d never been rendered immobile like this by a partner before, with your hands tied and your legs clamped in his grip, and you felt your body clench in the absence of his tongue. He laughed, low and seductive. “So are you, aren’t you?”

Mind a blur with pleasure, you just nodded and keened.

“When I come, can I come over you?” he asked, and he sounded utterly wrecked.

“Gods, please,” you gasped, bucking weakly. “Please, anything, Feluän. Please… I need… I need you to… please…”

“Need me to do what, love?” he asked, licking teasingly over you with the tip of his tongue, savouring you without returning to his earlier endeavours to make you come. It was too much and nowhere near enough and you let out a broken sob. “If you don’t tell me, I can’t do it,” he said provocatively.

With a growl of frustration and effort, you wrangled the words into the right order in your hazy mind. “I need you to make me come, Feluän.”

“That’s good,” he praised and you arched upwards, legs parting a little wider for him. “Gods, you’re everything,” he whispered as he leaned back down and closed his mouth around your clit.

You gave another wild yell at the barrage of stimulation, and under a minute later you came with a heaving shout against his mouth. Waves of pleasure swept through you, and only a second after you stuttered out his name again, you heard him give a tiny ‘oh’ of surprise before he reared up, his whole body tensing and starting to shake, before his own release gushed over the spot where his mouth had just been. The heat of his come against you there sent you over the edge again and you thrashed beneath him. He was still coming when he lowered his humanoid torso down atop yours again and pulled you close, one clawed hand around the back of your head.

“Oh gods,” he said, his whole body twitching and coming while he cradled you beneath him. “Oh gods, you’re everything. You’re perfect… gods… oh…”

Eventually, his orgasm faded and he staggered, all his legs moving out of sync as he tried not to crush you while the strength fled his limbs and he collapsed onto the webbing.

You’d never been such a mess after sex, and you’d also never come quite so hard.

He reached dazedly out with one of his taloned pedipalps and carefully slashed through the silk holding your wrists together, then he raised his head a little more to regard you. “Are you alright?” he asked. “That wasn’t too much?”

“Perfect,” you mumbled. “You made a big mess though,” you said when you felt his release sliding over your thighs and hips.

“I’ve never made that much mess,” he said and he looked genuinely embarrassed when he pushed himself upright.

“Good job there’s a bath over there,” you said, eyeing the basin that was practically a small swimming pool. It was certainly big enough for a drider to soak himself in relative comfort too.

Feluän staggered over to it and turned the bronze tap that started a flow of hot water from the gigantic cistern beside the fire and then returned to you. “Can I carry you?” he asked, looking shy for the first time in your relatively short acquaintance.

“You’re going to have to. I can’t feel my legs,” you said.

“I didn’t — My venom —” he sputtered in horror. “I —”

“Oh, it’s not you,” you chuckled as you floundered to sit upright. “I mean, it was you, but not your venom.”

He deflated comically in relief and laughed as he scooped you up and bore you towards the tub. Glancing back, you saw that his come was all over the webbing and had dripped through onto the floor.

Feluän set you down on the shelf that ran around the edge of the bath washed you off while it filled. The gentle action of his caring, attentive hands on your body soothed you and worked you up again, and when you moaned and bucked weakly into his hand, he raised an eyebrow. “Again?” he breathed, as though hardly daring to believe it.

“Please?” you whispered, eyes half-closed where you floated in the warm water.

He was careful with his claws, using only the pad of his finger against you, and when you came with a little sigh and heaved into his arms a few minutes later, he smiled at you and leaned down to kiss you.

“I want to do that to you every day,” he said over the rush of water into the bath. “I don’t want a day to go past where I haven’t seen you make that face for me.”

How could you refuse an offer like that when it was so generously made?

I really hope you enjoyed this. If you did, and you made it all the way to the end, please consider showing your support by reblogging. It really is the best (and totally free!) way to help the artists and writers whose work you enjoy.

Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#drider #drider x reader #male drider #trans male reader #reader insert #male drider x reader #male drider x trans male reader #monster fucker #exophilia #monster romance #fantasy romance #non human romance #monster boyfriend #drider boyfriend

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azrielslightintheshadows · 10 months

Text

Princess

Azriel x Reader

One of the series I'm currently working on, hope you enjoy it.

You can find the prologue in the Princess masterlist.

General masterlist

Summary; Reader is Mor’s new friend that she found in the winter court while she was away for business. Y/n has been raised as a princess since her parents wanted to wed her to a noble fae in order to climb the social ranks. When her parents are brutally murdered y/n is left alone without a clue about the harsh reality or the brutality of the world. Mor finds her and takes her back to Velaris afraid of what might happen to her if she was left to live on her own. Will y/n survive the hate she will receive from certain members of the inner circle -including her mate- regarding the way she grew up?

Warnings; angst, mentions of abuse and death

Chapter 1

Feyre showed you the first guest room and started walking toward the second one, but your voice stopped her “This one is fine”.

She looked at you with kindness, her features soft and a small smile decorating her face. “You know… the first time I visited the night court I was wearing a similar dress”.

“Your wedding dress… yes we all heard” you smiled.

She chuckled and continued “I was scared, I had only heard awful rumours about the night court and Rhysand so trust me when I say that it’s all bullshit. Rhysand is kind and thoughtful, the same goes for everyone in this house… maybe not for Nesta but she loves us in her own twisted way” You kept staring at her not quite understanding why she was telling you all of this. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that we will protect you and be by your side for as long as you need, even forever, but if you try to harm any of us the consequences will be like the rumours of this court.” You gulped and took a step back, your eyes quickly scanned the room for possible hiding places, Feyre noticed and lifted her hands up “Hey calm down, I didn’t mean to scare you, but you are a stranger that Mor brought here and as the High Lady of this court it is my duty to inform you. I must make sure that my people are safe. I know that Mor wouldn’t bring someone dangerous here, but females forced to wed is a soft spot for her and it might cloud her vision.”

You stared at her, guilt building in you. Ladies should please others. “High Lady Feyre I’m so sorry if I offended you. You are right you should protect your people” you replied, a polite smile appearing on your face. She frowned but said nothing more, with a nod she disappeared down the hall, probably back in the dinning room.

You entered the room, it was twice the size of the main room in your cottage, you stared at the huge bed in the middle, the windows that looked like paintings because of the view outside. Soft fae lights decorated the room creating a gentle atmosphere. A sigh left your lips and you walked to the closet, curious if you would find anything inside, you really needed to get rid of this dress. To your surprise the closet was filled with every kind of clothes but none like your usual attire. Everything here was so revealing, you remembered one time that you saw a dress like those back in the winter court, you quickly tried it on but immediately regretted it when you saw your mother’s face filled with disgust. Ladies keep their bodies for their husbands. Only the females working in the brothels wear things like that.

You opened the drawers to find something less revealing and you were met with multiple pairs of pants and shirts. You almost gasped. There must have been some mistake maybe a male was staying in this room before me. You thought. A female can’t wear those, right? You grabbed a long-sleeved nightgown and entered the bathroom. You were met with a deep bathtub. Your brows furrowed in confusion, and you jumped back when water started to pour in it. You scanned the bathroom, but no one was there. Maybe some kind of spell? You stripped your clothes and entered the bathtub hissing when your leg touched the water. So hot you thought and closed your eyes as you laid inside, every muscle relaxed, your body going numb but not in a bad way. When you boiled water, you always thought how it would be like if for once you bathed in hot water. Turns out it is better than you could ever imagine. You thought about what Azriel said “raised like a princess”, everyone seemed to believe that, you did too. You saw the females in your village working and you always thought that you were getting special treatment because you didn’t work. But raised like a princess? You doubted that. You didn’t even know the feeling of hot water around your body until now. You stayed in the bathtub until you were sleepy enough. You dried yourself with the soft towel and tried the nightgown, you frowned when you saw the length… mid-thigh. You pulled it until it reached beneath your knees and slipped into bed. You stared at the ceiling; you were exhausted but the feeling that anyone could walk in at any time kept you awake.

Sleep finally came and your body relaxed -still facing the door.

You woke up just when the sun appeared in the sky, the city even brighter. You watched the river, so calm yet wild. You tried to find a dress decent enough for your taste -or your mother’s taste, finally you saw one, midnight blue with long sleeves and it reached your knees. This will do. You thought. You usually wore light colours since your mother believed that a proper lady should look gentle and sweet, but this colour looked good on you too, it made you look powerful.

You walked around the house enjoying the silence and trying to find the kitchen. After countless guest rooms and bathrooms, you finally found it.

You searched the cabinets and after collecting all the ingredients you needed you started cooking. You hummed a song your mother had taught you and twirled around to pick the spatula almost smacking on a hard chest. You gasped and took a step back, hazel eyes were staring down at you, a musky scent of cedar and smoke filling your senses. Azriel’s face was cold, even colder that the ice in your court, the thought made you shiver.

“What are you doing?” he questioned, his deep voice was raspy probably because he just woke up.

“Breakfast” you stuttered. You wanted to disappear.

“The house can do that” he rolled his eyes and left.

You frowned and continued cooking, feeling stupid for even trying but you wanted to thank them for taking you in and cooking was one of the few things you could do.

You finished the food and placed it on the dining table, footsteps echoed through the house and a few minutes later everyone was in the dining room. “Smells so good” Cassian breathed and started filling his plate. “You made that?” Feyre asked.

“Yes, as a thank you for accepting me in your court” you replied with a small smile.

Azriel stared at his plate, it was still empty. Suddenly a platter with several kinds of food appeared next to him and he started to eat. You frowned but didn’t dare to say anything.

“Y/n, would you like to go shopping with me today?” Mor asked you.

You glanced at Rhysand and Feyre.

“You don’t have to wait for our approval” Feyre’s voice was soft.

“But before you leave, I need to see you in my office” Rhysand added.

You gulped but nodded anyway.

Your attention moved to Azriel who dropped his fork and stared at Rhysand, their eyes unfocused. “They are having a mental conversation” Cassian told you as he noticed your curious look.

“You can talk in each other’s minds?” you gaped. “Rhysand is daemati” Nesta spoke with a bored look.

You didn’t know what else to say, your questions seemed to annoy her, so you kept your mouth shut. A few moments later Azriel stormed out and Rhysand pinched his nose.

“Let’s go to my office” he told you and got up, you followed him and almost flinched when you saw Azriel already in there. Rhysand took a seat behind his desk and cleared his throat. “I asked Azriel to go back to your court and find out everything he could about you and your family. Turns out that everything you told Mor was true, so it is my pleasure to welcome you in my court.” “Thank you” you bowed your head. “Please don’t do that, I want you to consider me your friend. I want to help you find your own personality, you need to find your own strength. Your goal should be to become powerful and confident not someone’s wife.” He continued. You could only stare, no one ever spoke to you like that, no one offered to help you become something else.

“I know that you and Azriel don’t get along, that’s why he is assigned to show you the city and help you with everything you need. I hope this will be enough for you to toughen up”

Silence.

Your jaw almost touched the ground. Azriel was fuming, he opened his mouth to protest but Rhysand lifted a finger and dismissed you both with a “That’ll be all” and a smile.

You exited the office and were pushed against the wall, scarred hands grabbed your arms and kept them above your head, a hot breath against your cheek.

“You won’t speak without my permission, you won’t follow me around like a toddler and you won’t seek me out. I will come find you when I want to.” He growled. “Is that understood?”

You stared at him, your eyes filling with tears and your body shaking. You frantically nodded your head wanting to get as far away from him as you could.

“Words princess” “Y-yes” you stuttered.

And with that he was gone, only a few shadows stayed who approached you and caressed your cheeks, drying the tears you weren’t able to hold back.

You couldn’t go to Rhys you knew he would tell Azriel, and you didn’t want to find out what the consequences would be for you. You went back to your room.

You dreaded the moment he would find you again.

What do you think?

@cleverzonkwombatsludge

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birdkatze · 7 months

Text

"But werewolves aren't real?" || werewolf! 141 x werewolf! reader Part 2

Future pairings = poly 141 x reader

Chapter pairings = You meet the boys this chapter!

Words = 2.2k

[Chapter 1] --- [Chapter 3]

Summery: After moving out of the big city and into the forest, you meet some men that might have some awners about whats been causing your pain.

Talks of injury and EXPLICIT under the cut

Behind the door was a very handsome man. He was wearing a boonie-hat and a partially unbuttoned red and black flannel shirt. You stood there blue-screening for a moment just staring.

“You alright there love?” The man asked, looking incredibly concerned. He ran a hand over his beard “I heard you fall..”

You snap out of your staring “Yeah I did..” you lift up your wrist, it was already bruising and swelling, “Sorry, I didn’t get any sleep last night…I had a chronic pain flare up…” You say dizzily.

The man stepped into your house, carefully looking at your wrist “I can go run back home and grab a brace…?” He looked at you earnestly.

You nod, “I don’t think I could even drive right now..” blinking back tears as another wave of pain crashes over you, you let out a stuttered gasp and your knees buckle.

The man looks even more concerned “Let’s get you somewhere comfortable, I’ll call one of my boy’s to bring it down..”

Carefully the man picked you up and brought you over to the couch, laying you down with such gentleness it surprised you. He had held you with a shocking amount of care, he was so warm too, like a heated blanket but better. He stepped back quickly typing something on his phone before looking back at you.

“Is there anything I can get you, love?” he crouched down next to your head, moving strands of hair out of your face.

“On my bed there is a heated blanket…” You explain breathlessly, wincing as the pain got worse.

The man nodded and walked upstairs to grab the blanket. He quickly brought it down and plugged it in “What setting?” he asked, holding the controller.

“Four please” You whimper and start crying feeling embarrassed.

The man sets it on level four and sits down next to your head, “Do you have any medication?”

You shake your head “no..not really, I only have muscle relaxers but it’s not gunna help”

The man nodded “I forgot to mention I’m John Price, I was in charge of taking care of the cottage while it was up for sale, I saw you moved in and wanted to give you the key back..” he anxiously checked his phone “The boy’s should be down soon love, can I get you anything else?”

“No thanks” You start crying again as your body feels like it is trying to come apart, “I’m sorry” you gasp out and curl up into a ball on the couch “It’s not usually this bad..”

“You’re okay, Love,” He reassured you, smiling.

You hear a knock on the door before the door creaks open and two men step inside. One had a mohawk and another had a baseball cap on, that's all you could see through your glassy tear filled eyes.

The men speak in hushed tones before Price sits back down next to you and gently grabs your upper forearm, close to your elbow “Gunna fit the brace on alright love..?”

You just groan softly “Okay” and watch hazily.

Price rotates your arm and freezes as he sees the bite scar on your wrist “What happened here?” he asks softly. His touch easing some of the pain.

“Got attacked by a dog, it broke my wrist, the doctor p-put something in there to help with the infection and to set it and so it’s really tender..” you quietly explain.

Price set your arm down “Love, what did the dog look like?” making you whine in pain, Price instantly picked your arm back up and the pain leveled out. Sighing in relief you manage to cobble together some understandable thoughts.

“Uhm, it was oddly really dark out since it was a full moon…it was massive though, the nurses joked it was a werewolf, the doctor got oddly mad at them..it was kinda funny” slurring your words as you feel another wave of pain.

Price looked at your wrist and then at you, “Well I think your body is rejecting it, I can see it starting to come out, can we take it out? Gaz here was a field medic and can take it out, he has his med kit..?” pointing at a small lump on your wrist that had been getting bigger over the years.

“Sure..” you slur out feeling delirious from pain.

The guy with the baseball ca-Gaz slowly gives you some pain pills, making sure you swallow them before he puts on some gloves. You fell asleep before he even started.

When you woke up you felt eons better, nothing felt as sore. Looking at your wrist you realize it wasn’t even bruised or sprained. Groaning softly, you sit up and look around. Rubbing your eyes blearily.

“Good to see you up” Gaz sat on the other side of the couch smiling “You feeling better?”

You nod sleepily “What did you even do? It’s not even bruised anymore?” you ask confused, looking at your wrist surprised.

“That was all you Duck..” Gaz smiled kindly, “Why don’t we get some food in you and talk, yeah?” Gaz gently helps you up, leading you into the kitchen.

Mohawk was heating up soup on your stove top, he was humming softly. Price was sitting at the table looking at his phone with the implant sitting on a paper towel. He looked up, smiling at you.

“Glad to see you up, love!” He looks at you and then the implant “Soap brought down some soup, which is..?”

“Done!” Soap places five bowls on the table “Ghost is on his way down..”

“What kind of name is Soap?” you ask curiously “Did your parents want you to have a unique name?”

“Ach noo, it’s a nickname, my name is John and so is Price’s and apparently everyone else here is named John so it helps us keep everyone apart..” leaning against the counter Soap explains with a smile.

“Ohh..” nodding as you think about it “Most of the men I used to work with were named John and it was a nightmare to distinguish which was which because none of them wanted to go by their last names”

Sitting down you look at the implant curiously, it looked like a small silver ball.

“Makes sense that was messing me up, I’m allergic to silver!” You explain looking a bit surprised “I’m surprised I didn’t keel over and die..”

Suddenly all eyes are on you.

“Did I say something wrong” you ask confused looking between all three men.

“Duck, let’s get some food in you before we go any further…” Gaz spoke softly

You nod nervously “Alright..”

Someone knocked on the door right as you started sitting down. The door opened to reveal a tall, strong but not muscular, blonde. Your mouth dried up instantly, he was just as hot as the other three.

Then it hit you, you had four unknown men who were all extremely attractive were in your house. You had let them perform a procedure while you had been knocked out from pain medication. However, no alarm bells rang out in your mind, if anything you've never felt so safe and content.

“Don’t think too hard, pup” the blonde one who upclose appeared to have eyeliner on. Smirking at you as you realized you were probably staring.

“Sorry..” you flush, feeling a bit embarrassed looking at the table.

“You’re okay Duck, let’s get some food in you..I have a feeling you missed breakfast.” Gaz’s soothing voice pulled you from your embarrassment as he softly brushed his hand over your back.

You nod and watch as Soap serves everyone soup. You anxiously waited for someone to eat first, an odd anxiety created as a child from praying before eating or else you’d be punished.

Price took the first bite and you immediately started eating, you felt famished and half-starved.The soup was potato-bacon soup, it was hearty and delicious. You almost moaned from how good it was.

“Soooo..” Soap started “Where are ya from?” He was looking at you with curious eyes.

“I moved here from the city but uh I grew up in a smaller town north here.” You smile while finishing up your soup. “Some of our property went into the woods and so me and my friends would camp out there, then I got attacked by some dog and we moved almost right after….”

“I assume you guys are from here?” You return the question with a small smile.

“We've been around here for a long time, pup” Scraping his bowl, Ghost responded.

“We live a few miles south of you, love” Price continued for Ghost, also finishing up his soup.

Gaz looked at you quizzically “Did you not go to college? Not to be judgemental but I’m surprised you could afford to move out here so young, Duck..”

Laughing you shake your head “You’re fine, I get this a lot.” setting your bowl to the side you reply “I’m actually 60! Everyone always thinks I’m still in my late teens, I have no clue why I look like how I did as a teenager.. I went to college and now I do freelance accounting work!”

Gaz dropped his spoon in his bowl, his eyes wide staring at you before they darted over to Price. Soap slapped his hand over his mouth with an expression similar to Gaz’s. Price didn’t look super surprised and neither did Ghost.

Sighing Price looks at you sincerely “Love, you're going to think we are crazy but you’re a werewolf.”

You just stare at them blankly.

“What?” You ask incredulously, looking at each of the men. They all had genuine looks on their faces, you could tell none of them were lying. “But werewolves aren’t real..?”

“Let’s head outside and we'll show ya, pup.” Ghost stood up and opened up the sliding glass door, Gaz and Soap quickly walked outside looking excited. You followed hesitantly with Price gently leading you outside.

Gaz and Soap are stripping out of their clothes, it didn’t surprise you that Soap was commando. It was a pleasant surprise to see Gaz wearing lace panties. Your face heated up as you turned away and pinch yourself unsure if this was real. “Um, what are you guys doin?” You ask, blushing.

“Don’t wanna rip the clothes pup” Ghost huffs, while also undressing.

“Oh!” nodding you glance up only to find them all naked, you avert your eyes to the ground immediately.

Soap walked up to you, looking confused “Why aren’t ya..”

“Soap..” Price grabbed Soap’s shoulder “Go over with Gaz.”

Gently lifting your chin up, Price held your face so you were looking at Gaz and Soap. Price chuffed at the boys and motioned for them to get on with it.

Soap grinned at you as you watched as his body transformed into an actual wolf. Gaz did the same, it was an odd mix of animorph-type transformation and something out of a horror flick.

Gaz and Soap trotted up to you licking your hands and brushing against your legs. Lifting your hand you hesitantly brush your hand over Soap’s head, much like you would a dog, it seemed like he had a ‘mohawk’ even in wolf form. Gaz just sat next to you leaning against you.

“Love,” Price grabbed your attention as he spoke. “Now they can just do a regular wolf form, however, there is another form which I’ll show you now…”

Price stepped a few steps back before he shifted, it was an interesting mix of human and wolf, it vaguely reminded you of a furry but more wolf-like. He could stand on his back legs but also could easily run on all fours, then he shifted all the way to a wolf form.

Clasping your hand over your mouth you look at them in awe. You pinched yourself to make sure this wasn’t some insane dream. Maybe they were right?

Ghost clasped a hand over your shoulder, startling you from your awe. “Wanna try? It’ll feel good, ease that ache?”

You look at Ghost a bit confused on how he knew about the ache…

“I um, don’t know how to...” you look at Ghost curiously.

“I’ll help ya’ pup” sighing Ghost tightened his grip on you.

It was an odd feeling shifting, it was quite painful but it was over fast. You have a shocked look on your face looking between everyone. You huff once you realize that you're smaller than Soap, Ghost, and Price. You and Gaz are roughly the same size which eases the frustration quite a bit.

You walk around a bit getting used to walking on all fours. It felt odd and wrong- but also right? Feeling conflicted you look up at everyone else, Soap and Gaz are play wrestling, Ghost and Price are sunning themselves pressed up against each other.

It was clear the pack(?) was very close with one another. It made you feel oddly left out…sitting off to the side you watch the men-wolves? It was a really nice day out and for once in the past few decades you felt no pain. It was relaxing and so incredibly soothing. Resting your head on your paws you doze off, still quite exhausted from the past few days.

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz x reader #john price x reader #john price #captain john price #werewolves #werewold au #mw2

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thoughtsfromlayla · 6 months

Text

My Dearest Defiance

Summary: Equal as an Endless, more than a human, yet less than a god. Where did you even belong? The question has haunted you since you first saw humanity rise into power. Now your brother has been kidnapped and you can't do anything to help him.

Notes: ~7.5k words, This fic is a follow-up to this post sent in by the lovely @kpopgirlbtssvt, thank you so much for the idea! I took a few liberties with the plot and I hope that's okay with you!

Warnings: Platonic! Big Brother x little sister! Reader, *side eyes* a lot of angst, violence, physical abuse, heavy mentions of cancer, implied alcohol consumption, minor Dreaming mind-fuckery, death of Reader (you come back...ish), death of characters, comfort in the end :)

Masterlist

Mother Night and Father Time, the first lovers, the everlasting lovers. And it was through their love that the Endless were born. Your eldest brother Destiny came first, birthed in dark cloaks and the book that was named after him. He is in charge of the fate of every being to live.

Every being who has lived must follow the path of this fate and fate always ends in Death, your eldest sister. When Mother and Father realized that the humans must do something while waiting for Death, they birthed your favorite brother, Dream. He is hope, the one who gives the humans courage to stand up for themselves and make do with their lives. Soon, humans wanted more and in succession, the rest of your siblings were born: Destruction, Desire, Despair, and sweet Delight soon to be Delierum.

While every Endless was busy tending to their own realms and their own duties, you were born. Endless in name but not in power. You were the runt of the family, with no realm to call your own, and no responsibilities of your own. Yet here you stood amongst the humans that soon called you Defiance, the human spirit, the resilience to continue despite all odds.

You’re sure your siblings knew of you, certainly enough to be invited to family dinner once every 100 years. Yet you could never shake the feeling of inadequacy when you were sat at the far end, only to be over-talked by everyone. They were discussing important matters, after all, nothing that you had to concern yourself with.

You only find solace in Dream, where no matter how difficult the days get, you may always find a home in his realm. While he is adamant about letting you stay in the castle, you find it more comfortable to live in a cottage at the edge of the realm where the forest meets with the vast unknown and you grow vegetables from the soil you tow. It also allows you to escape to the waking world without Dream knowing.

You love humans, their lives fascinate you to no end. They know of you, just as they know of all of your Endless siblings, but sometimes it just takes a little more for them to realize. You would never push them to admit to your existence and somewhere along the millions of years of existence, you have given up trying to be the center of attention.

To understand humans is to live like them, talk like them, and love like them. Unfortunately, humans are more than that and often succumb to feelings of anger, depression, righteousness, and violence. You try not to associate yourself with those emotions, but it’s innate.

It’s been a few weeks since you stepped foot in Dream’s castle, and who could blame you? The village in which you reside is much more fun than the dreary castle your brother tends to enjoy more. The thick castle wall blocks out the sunlight, it’s filled with dust and smells of wet stones and old books. Not to mention, when Dream was busy, there was no one to talk to. Lucienne was always busy, picking up after her King, and you don’t even want to get started on Mervin.

He’s only nice to you cause you gave him his pumpkin head when his original turnip head started going out of style. Otherwise, it’s cigar smoke being blown into your face and sassy remarks.

You’re out in the market square when you feel the presence of your Endless Sibling. You turn from the flower vendor with a big smile and wave at Dream as he makes his way towards you. The dreams that he created step to the side in the presence of their sovereign.

“Brother!” You exclaim when he gets close enough for you, wrapping one of your arms around his while the woven basket hangs in the other.

The basket was filled with a few apples and a fresh loaf of bread. You were just about to buy a few glass snowdrop flowers before you were pleasantly surprised by Dream.

“How do you do this afternoon, dear sister?” He speaks, leaning into your face to tease you.

You giggle at him as the two of you walk the main road, passing dreams and nightmares alike, a few waving at you in greeting that you return.

“I’m doing great. I was thinking of going to the waking world later today and spending some time with Death, actually.” You respond, your arm leaves Dream’s as a different vendor catches your eyes. They were selling acrylic paints in colors that you haven’t seen since half a century ago.

“Here, hold this,” You say as you hand off your basket to Dream. He does as he’s told and holds the basket, the white paint offputting to his otherwise completely black outfit.

You grab a few jars of paint and can already think of the wonderful things to draw when you get back into your cottage. There was a specific lake nearby that you haven’t been able to do justice to, but you think you finally can with the new color.

A brief conversation of exchange happens between you and the vendor before you turn around. You burst out laughing at the sight before you. Dream stood in the middle of the road where you had first told him to hold your basket and hadn’t moved an inch. His shoulders were stiff and taught as he held your basket as far away from his body as possible.

“It’s not going to bite you, you know!” You practically cackle at him. Your giggles follow you as you carefully place the jars of paint into your basket. You think that you will paint some flowers and ivy onto your basket later tonight.

You go to take the basket back from him but he’s quick to move it away from your grabby hands.

“You specified that I should hold it, so hold it I shall,” He says and holds the basket higher, just out of your reach, when you go to grab at it again.

You huff at his rather stubborn behavior, but he’s been like this since the beginning. He always looks after you and takes care of you. You’re always grateful for it, but you can carry your own basket. You resolve the conversation with a roll of your eyes but the smile on your face stays in place when you turn your back to him.

Dream walks you home, basket now significantly heavier and full of things you didn’t really need. Well, except maybe the paint, it’s good to splurge every once in a while. Your cottage is basked in a warm light as the Dreaming’s sun slowly disappears beyond the horizon to rise in another universe. The pie you had baked this morning had long since cooled and you brought it inside with a hum, your brother still following you.

He set the basket on the simple kitchen table before taking a seat and watching you slice up the pie with a smile. You set the pastry down in front of him and another plate for yourself. The savory apple flavoring takes over the senses when you take the first delicious bite.

“I would like you to come back to the castle soon,” Your brother says as you take another bite.

“Whatever for?” You question, a little bit of apple filling falling out of your mouth. “The cottage is my home.”

Dream sighs but answers anyway. “I will be gone for a moment, I need to take care of a rouge nightmare, and would like you to be cared for while I am away from the Dreaming.”

“How long will you be gone for you to want me to live in that dreadful place?” You make a face as you think about the boring days ahead of you. Well, maybe you can escape to the castle garden if Mervin isn’t paying attention.

“I cannot tell you for I do not know.”

You purse your lips as you think about his request. “Fine,” You groan.

“Best not see Sister Death today.” When you don’t bother with a response he speaks against “Farwell, sister. I will be back soon,” He promises you before standing. You didn’t get the chance to follow him to the door before he leaves, his apple pie still untouched.

“Ugh, how wasteful.” You joke to yourself.

You spend the rest of your evening painting your basket as you had wanted before packing up a few items for the castle. Your basket was a gift from your brother and had an infinite amount of storage. So you managed to shove an extensive amount of your wardrobe, the paints, and some of the freshly baked pastries into the small wooden thing. You set off when the moon was high in the sky and the stars came down from their afternoon nap and danced in the village square.

Their stardust shoes clink like pure jade against the cobblestone road, illuminating the otherwise quiet and sleeping town. A few wave at you, shimmering particles following their movements before they return to their waltz. You wave back to them before continuing on your journey, mindful of where you stepped.

When stars come down to the Dreaming they become transparent and more gaseous than solid but that doesn’t stop them from burning hot. And unless you wanted to recounter that one time you stepped through one and started sneezing and coughing stardust for the next 10 years, you’ll keep your distance - only allowing for their natural light to guide your way out of the village and towards the castle.

By the time you reach the castle, Dream is nowhere to be found and you assume he went out to do what he mentioned earlier that day. Your room was set up for you, Dream obviously had some palace staff tidy up the room as you took a look around the clean environment. Otherwise, everything was in the same place you had left it since the last time you were at the castle. You yawn as you set your basket down by the door. First a good night’s rest, then you can go to the waking world to do your own things.

You sneak out of the castle a few minutes before dawn, the soft bed and good night’s rest giving you the energy you need to do so. You grimace when the door creaks loudly as you slowly open it, smelling the early morning dew on the grass and the warming dawn wind.

“Where are you headed, my dear?” A voice stops you in your tracks. You suck your lips into your mouth as you soon recognize the voice.

“Good morning, Lucienne,” You greet curtly, holding, or rather, hiding, your basket behind your black skirt.

Lucienne gives you a pointed look. “Yes, good morning.”

You give her a smile before stepping back out the door, only to be stopped when she purposefully clears her throat.

“The question?” She presses.

You feign innocence and bat your eyelashes, not that it would work. “What question?”

“Lady Defiance, my Lord specifically states that I keep my eyes on you.” Lucienne holds her hands behind her back as she takes her stance.

“By all means, keep your eyes - hey what’s that?!” You gawk as you point behind Lucienne.

Lucienne snaps her head around to look at what you were so surprised by. She doesn’t see or sense anything when she does. It’s about two seconds of her searching before she realizes that she has been duped. When she turns around the door is swinging shut and you are nowhere to be seen. She slams the door open and only sees the last of your figure disappearing on the horizon.

You’re still giggling to yourself about pulling off that little trick when you reach the ocean of the Dreaming. The little wooden dock creaks under your weight as you skip across it. Having done this traveling before, you jump right in with a squeal, holding your nose close so you don’t get any water in.

The water pushes and pulls but you don’t fight the current knowing that it will take you where you wanted to go. When you emerge, you cough once and the water falls off your body, leaving you dry in cloudy 1916 England. You wrap your blazer closer to your body as the wind picks up and leave the alleyway. The familiar smell of roasted peanuts from street vendors and car fumes tickles your nose when you turn the corner to walk into the hospital.

“Hi, I’m here to visit Genny, uh, Geniveve, Geniveve Colemen,” You correct yourself to the receptionist. The woman nods and looks down at her computer.

“She’s in the same room, 443. Here’s your visitor’s pass.” She hands you a laminated badge on a lanyard.

You thank her before wearing the lanyard and going towards the nearest elevator. The elevator smelled of shoe polish and disinfectant spray and it made your nose crinkle. You just hope the smell doesn’t transfer onto your clothes.

When you reach your destination, you knock on Genny’s door before entering. She wears her hospital gown and was reading a book when she looks up. A smile pasters onto her face when she sees you.

“Y/N!” She drops her book and sits up straighter.

“Genny!” You exclaim back with the same amount of excitement. You place your basket by her bed before pulling out a fresh vase of flowers and setting it by her bedside table.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, what have you been up to?” She asks.

“Yeah, my mother took me to some private tutor to help me study for my tests,” You lie through your teeth as you fluff the flowers to make them look more appealing.

You tuck your school skirt underneath you when you sit down next to Genny and reach for your basket again. “I brought you some homebaked goods. I know this hospital’s food has got to be horrendous.”

You bring out the baked loaf of bread you bought the day before and rip off a slice for her. She takes the loaf and inhales the scent.

“Gosh, Y/N, I don’t know how you make such good baked goods. Your husband will be a lucky one if you stop trying to chase them off.” She giggles and muffles through her full mouth.

You laugh with her, sparing her the details of your actual life. You bring forth the lie you had carefully planted yourself as instead. A straight-A student that goes to the same school as Genny before she was diagnosed with cancer, how you were her best friend that visited her when you got the chance, how you had gotten onto the school council and despite all of her poking and prodding, she would not get to know what the school formal’s dance theme is going to be unless she went with you tomorrow to the dance. You try not to think about how frail she has gotten since the first time you’ve met her. Her collarbones were poking out and you can see how hard it was for her to take even breaths.

When she asks you again later in the visit about the school dance you rebuttal quickly.

“Are you going to come to the dance with me?” You laugh. “Speaking of which, I got you a dress, too!” You go back to your basket, pulling out a formal dress, and setting it in front of Genny.

“Wow! Look at the bead stitching,” She says, running a delicate finger over the beading and gems then over the lacing.

“I’ve got a good eye, don’t I?” You sit back down with a smile and a tilt of the head. “It matches my dress, too.”

“What about your own date?”

“Oh, please, I don’t have time for boys!” You giggle again, hiding behind the lie that you don’t actually go to her school.

“Oh alright, I suppose I must go to the dance with you so you won’t be lonely.” Genny surrenders.

You smile at her, happy she finally agreed. “You’re a great friend.”

Genny coughs after your compliment and you’re quick to reach for the water and hand it over to her. When she sits up to drink you go to fluff her pillow. Genny lays back down with a sigh and all of the warmth that was in the room leaves through the window. She looks like she’s aged when she looks at you again, another cough crawling its way past her throat.

“I’ll leave you to rest,” You say, turning around to grab your things.

“No,” Genny refuses. “Can you stay for a little bit longer?” She coughs again and holds your hand weakly. “I want to feel like a normal girl for a little while longer.”

“Okay,” You whisper and sit back down, feeling the chill of the hospital around your ankles.

You watch over her as she falls asleep, the conversation taking the last of her energy. You begin to stare off into space, thinking about your life. You did your best with the gift of immortality, but as you stare at Genny’s tense face, you wish you could do more. Equal as an Endless, more than a human, yet less than a god. Where did you even belong? The question has haunted you since you first saw humanity rise into power.

Your thoughts leave you when you feel the beating of wings and a flush of wind from the door. Your head snaps and you see your sister standing there in her black tank top and the same combats boots you wore.

“Sister Death,” You greet with a small smile, previous thoughts disappearing. “What brings you here today?”

Your sister only smiles at you. Your excitement of seeing your sister again is soon taken over by dread. You look between your sister and your friend and the dots connect.

“Oh... what? No!” You stand abruptly between your sister and Genny. “No! She still has so much to do in life!” You try to reason with her.

“You cannot bargain with me, Defiance. You know that,” She says in her soft voice.

“I don’t care,” Your lips form into a line. “At least let her go to the dance with me?” You try one more time.

Death sighs with exaggeration. “Fine, but not an hour more.”

“Thanks…” You’re not entirely sure how you managed to pull that off, unbeknownst to you that your sister has a soft spot for you much like Dream.

Your sister looks you up and down before she leans on the door. “So how are you doing, then?”

You look off to the side when you answer. “Fine,” You grumble out.

She lets out a huff, or perhaps a laugh, you can’t really tell. “Would you like to go on a walk with me?”

It was a tempting offer, after all, you haven’t spent time with your sister in a while. You thought about it for a little while longer. “No,” You end up refusing.

“Genny asked me to stay a little while longer, so I shall.” You turn away from your sister and sit back down in the uncomfortable hospital chair. You keep your head straight, looking after Genny, and don’t take your eyes off her even when you hear your sister departing.

When she does, a tremble runs over your body. You feel tears prick at your lashline as you come to terms with the fact that your friend will be dying soon. You did your best to prevent the inevitable, but with no powers of your own, it’s only a waiting game now.

You leave when visiting hours are over, Genny has yet to wake up from her nap. You leave the rest of the loaf on her bedside table, and a slice of your apple pie. You decide to tidy up the room as quietly as you can and hang her dress on the hook that was nailed to the wall. With one final look at her, you leave, only hoping that your sister doesn’t go back on her word and take her before her allotted time.

You spend the rest of the evening in the waking world, catching up on new things the humans have done with their time. You end your day on a park bench, illuminated only by a single street lamp. The park was quiet, you’re only accompanied by the sound of crickets and the wind along the trees. You take in a deep breath of fresh air. Oh, how you have missed this. If only it was closer to summer vacation, you would’ve taken Genny to the beach and had some sun time with her.

When you are done relaxing you go to the pond at the center of the park, the fountain in the middle still squirting out water and creating magnificent shapes and splashes along the surface. You could see the stars' reflection rippling as you peer at the lake over a bridge. The wind blows and you close your eyes to savor the moment.

“I wouldn’t jump if that’s what you’re thinking,” Someone says next to you.

You open your eyes and turn to see a man standing next to you, no older than 20. He takes off his hat when you speak.

“I wasn’t, but thank you,” You reply simply and go back to looking out towards the expanding city. He doesn’t leave your side despite your answer and it gets a bit awkward.

“Are you thinking of jumping? Because I would also not recommend that, sir,” You turn to him again and see him laughing.

“No,” He says. “I am just here to think.”

“Just like me then. What bothers your mortal mind?” You ask.

“Many things… I’m afraid I have let my family down.”

“How so?”

“We came here on a boat from the motherland, nothing to our name but a few pennies. I was supposed to go to college and finally put our family on the map. But I failed and now here I am, talking to a stranger on a bridge in the middle of the night.”

You laugh along with him. You knew of him and saw his dreams a few times when you went out exploring in the Dreaming. He wanted to be a doctor, specifically an athletic injuries doctor but failed out of medical school before he even got the chance. You rack your brain to think of his name, and when it comes to you, you speak.

“Do not worry, Albert Brocken, I’m sure there are many opportunities that will come alight in the near horizon. Perhaps you should take the entrance exam again, and see where it takes you.” You yawn and you realize that you should probably start heading home.

“Yeah… maybe I should,” He concludes with a sigh. “I think I might go into somnology,” He says more to himself than you.

“Somnology sounds fascinating,” You agree. “I must go home now, but best of luck to you!” You walk away, your shoes barely audible on the stone bridge over the gushing fountain. Albert doesn’t look your way when you depart, too focused on his new goal in life.

You find yourself standing before an old winding cottonwood tree in the same park. It’s been here for years, growing into the magnificent tree it is today. It’s passed by thousands of England residents almost every day, yet none of them are willing to stare at it hard enough to realize that the bark of the tree isn’t real.

You take one last look around the park to make sure no one else sees you before walking straight into the tree, the danging leaves caressing you like a gentle mother’s touch. The trunk of the tree turns into a curtain of falling sand and you pass through with no problems. When you emerge on the other side, the bright moon of the Dreaming greets you, illuminating and basking you in a soft welcome. When you come back into the castle, Lucienne is on top of you like a hot iron.

“Thank the Gods you are well,” She panics as she holds your arms. After taking a good overall look at you, she wraps her arms around your body and brings you into a hug.

“Lucienne?” Your question muffled against her crisp uniform. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, my dear, you hadn’t come back all day. I thought perhaps…” She trails off before she takes a breath. “Lord Morpheus hasn’t returned, and neither had you, so I presumed the worst.”

“Morpheus hasn’t returned?”

“No, but you are here. Tell me, did you see him while you were in the waking world today?” Lucienne holds hope in her eyes and you resent the next word you say.

“No,” Your thoughts trailed off. “Morpheus hasn’t returned?” You ask again.

“I am sure there is nothing to worry about. I may just be overthinking is all.” Lucienne reassures you.

“Okay…” You don’t completely believe her, somewhere deep inside you you can feel that Morpheus is in danger. As the King of Dreams and Nightmares, a rouge nightmare shouldn’t be anything to be worried about. He should be home by now.

Your eyes close as soon as your head hits the pillow, but thoughts consume you. After the dance tomorrow night with Genny, you will go searching for your brother. The following day came quickly and you paced back and forth in the castle hall, the formal dress you had on jingling with your movements. Your thoughts were in overdrive, there was Morpheus of course, but you also knew that tonight was going to be Genny’s last day. And knowing that puts a weight on your shoulders. You have to make sure that tonight is going to be the best night of her life.

When the time came, you went to the waking world feeling dolled up and in an antique car with the roof down. Your hair had enough hairspray to survive a storm from Zeus himself. You pull up to the hospital in a screech, Genny already waiting for you in the lobby. You check your lipstick in the mirror one last time before Genny reaches your car.

“You know how to drive?!” Genny says with a smile and excitement that you found contagious.

You resecure the silk scarf that protected your hair from the wind and open a pair of sunglasses to put over your eyes. You look at her over the bridge of your nose, your eyes shining past the sunglasses before stepping on the gas pedal.

“I know how to do many things, sweet Genny!” You shout over the wind, pushing the glasses back to their original position.

Each time you looked over at Genny, her smile still hadn’t faltered and the last bits of the sun’s rays caught on the embroidery of her dress. Her softness brings a smile to your face and for a moment you forget about your brother.

You pull into the gravel driveway of the school formal’s destination. You had managed to weasel your way into the school council and they were able to get help from the local people. The theme for this year's dance was “A Magical Night” and a local citizen opened his manor to the students for the night. He called himself a mage, something that you rolled your eyes at as magic has been rare in this world since the faeries left it half a century ago. But you kept that to yourself, if he wanted to play make-believe, then so let him.

Students were already lining up outside the decorated manor when the two of you arrived. You hand your keys off to a valet and walk towards the door, hand in hand with Genny. Her excitement buzzed through her like a shot of tequila.

When you cross over the threshold of the manor you are genuinely surprised at the decorations of the place. The ballroom had been cleared out and a live band was playing music for students to dance to. There was a bar on the far end of the ballroom serving drinks and small snacks. A doorman takes your jacket away from you before you grab Genny’s hand and head to the dance floor.

Many of Genny’s old friends soon recognize her and start to surround you two, the night is still young and the sound of laughter soon fills the air. You and Genny danced the night away until you both were sweaty and out of breath. Your make-up had gone a bit smudged but you didn’t mind. It was nearing midnight when most of the students started to leave and you pulled Genny away for one last surprise.

Genny started to slow down a bit, the exercise of the dance sapping away her energy. She pulls through though and follows you to a winding staircase that leads to one of the roofs of the manor. The spring air chills you to your bone, but it is well received after the sweat you have built up. You help Genny sit down before you sit down next to her, the shingles of the roof poking through your dress in an uncomfortable way.

A satisfied sigh leaves your lips when you look out to the vast countryside behind the manor. The stars twinkle as far as the eyes can see and from your advantage point, no trees are blocking the view either. Genny pants beside you as she calms herself down from the climb and leans her head against your shoulder.

“I am so glad you made me come to this dance,” She whispers as she looks out to the stars.

“Me too,” You agree, you begin the absentmindedly swing your legs back and forth. Your heels come loose and slip from your feet and both you and Genny laugh at it.

“Gosh, I hope that didn’t hit anyone,” She continues to laugh as she cautiously peers over the side.

“Or else they’d have to smell my stinky feet, ewww!” You continue her joke.

Her laugh turns into a cough and your mood shifts to melancholy.

A shift in the winds tells you that her time will soon be up. “Genny,” You start. “My sister is going to be here soon.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Yes, I have a huge family actually.”

“Well, tell me about your sister,” She smiles, head feeling heavier as she puts her full weight on your shoulder.

“She is really sweet, and a soft, kind-hearted soul. Just like you, I suppose.” You say.

Genny doesn’t reply and tears prick your eyes. When you turn your head you see Genny standing up with a smile, yet her body still remains on your shoulder. Behind her stands your sister, a reassuring smile and a gentle hand rest around Genny in a side hug.

“Your sister says that she’ll take great care of me,” She starts and looks at Death with a solemn smile. “Will she?”

“Yeah, she’s one of the best…” Your voice dips into a murmur as you feel your lips tremble.

Your answer is enough for her and she turns to leave. She seems to have remembered something as she turns back around and wraps her hands around your shoulders, her ghostly figure slightly falling through your physical form.

“I’ll see you again, right?” Genny asks, hope lines her figure and you can’t bear to see it fade.

“Yes,” You lie through your teeth. “Good-bye.”

She turns to leave with your sister, blissfully unaware of your last farewell. The sound of Death’s beating wings was the last thing you heard before it was just the barren countryside again. Genny’s body grows cold by your side as you pet her hair for the last time.

The manor staff came soon when you faked a scream and soon ambulances came and went with her body. You’re left in the aftermath of a romantic dream of confection and ribbons alone in the middle of the dance floor feeling numb.

“Hey, lady, if you’re going to stand here moping you can at least help out,” A staff member calls out and you snap out of your thoughts.

He hands you a few foldable chairs and tells you to put them up. You nodded along, not really having much else to do. You meander through the halls when you realize that he didn’t tell you where to put the chairs. It’s when you find yourself at a set of stairs that lead down towards the basement. And to you, it made all logical sense for humans to store their things in the basement.

You open the heavy double doors and descend further into the musky basement. Candles were lit on the stairs and its melted wax coats the edges as it lightens the path. When you get to the bottom, you’re greeted by the host of the party that you met earlier in the night.

“What are you doing here, girl!” He scolds.

You hold up the chairs, unaware of his tone. “Hi, Mr. Burgess. I’m helping with clearing up after the dan…” Your final word trails off as your eyes wander past his figure.

Behind him sits your brother and your jaw drops. Mr. Burgess tries to stand between you and him when he notices that your attention is no longer on him. Dream stands fully in his glass prison and you would have made fun of the fact that he was fully rocking out in his birthday suit if not for the situation at hand.

“Oh, what the fuck,” You whisper, dropping the chairs.

You breeze past Mr. Burgess and stand before Morpheus. Golden runes that surround his prison stop you short as if there was some sort of invisible force field. Your head whips around and faces your host again. He stands tall as he stares back.

“Why do you have my brother in a-a… fucking FISH BOWL!” Your words stumble out at the utter audacity of the situation, your hands moving around expressively.

Realization dawns on him and you realize that you made a mistake. “So, you are one of his family. That man warned me about your kind. Which one are you.” He seethes as he walks towards you.

“You face Defiance of the Endless,” You spit back at him.

You were in no mood to play, first, your friend dies in your arms and then you learn that Lucienne’s suspicions were right and that something did happen to your brother. This whole time he had been here under your feet while you were having fun. His clothes, tools, and dignity stripped from him as you drank enough sparkling cocktails to make Dionysus jealous.

The man scoffs at you and spits at your feet. “Oh please, and I thought that it was going to be hard. I’ve heard of you, little girl. They told me that you are nothing, a nobody. You have no realm, no powers, you are barely a god.”

You stay silent as he speaks, rage flushes through your body and your muscles tremble. His words rang true, but here you shall stand for your brother. He advances on you and you find that you have nowhere to go. A sharp pain burns across your cheek as his pierced cane comes into contact with your skin.

Your body follows the force as it throws you off balance. Your head cracks against the stone floor of the basement and a gasp leaves you. Your vision blurs from the hit and you feel warm blood sliding down your cheek like an unshed tear. In the distance of your mind, you hear Dream slamming his fist against his glass prison. You stand again, determined to not be bested by a mere mortal.

His cane comes down again like a whip, hitting your shins and then once again on the back of your knees. The blow forces you to kneel before him, and your cries of pain echo in your head. The coarse floor scratches at your palm but you keep your breath as even as you can.

“Is that all you got?” You sneer as you look up at him through your eyelashes.

His foot comes towards your face and you squeeze your eyes shut right before the impact follows. Your body tumbles further away from Dream, but his slamming continues. You feel the wall behind you, its surface cooling down your heating body.

“Stop, I command you to stop!” Morpheus shouts, command muffled.

“Dream of the Endless commands you to stop,” You repeat your brother's words. You use the wall to brace yourself to stand on wobbling legs.

Iron fills your mouth and you spit it out back at Burgess’ feet, much like he did to you before. You grin when you see him grimace at the act. You wipe your mouth clean with the back of your hand, very unladylike, but between the three of you, who is going to judge?

A backhanded slap snaps your head to the side and another painful scream follows.

“Stop! Cease yourself or face my wrath!” Dream continues to scream as your vision blurs again.

“No, I can take it,” Your voice is coarse but the message is heard loud and clear.

“Oh, you can take it, hmm?” Burgess taunts and his cane jabs into your abdomen.

You feel like you couldn’t breathe, that no matter how much your mouth gaped open, oxygen didn’t fill in your lungs as you needed it to.

“I can take it,” You wheeze out again, another hit forces you back down and this time you don’t have the strength to get up again.

“I suppose one step higher than capturing an Endless is to kill one,” Burgess laughs on top of you. His heavy body straddles you and you feel his hands wrap around your neck.

Black dots swarm your vision like the expanding universe. Your nails claw at his hands, drawing blood, as your body tries its best to fight back. Burgess picks you up by the neck and slams your back down, stars waltz behind your eyelids and a brief vision of home comforts you. A ragged breath crawls through your throat before another slam into the ground silences you. Despite your efforts, your hands grow limp and you feel your body start to break down. It flakes away like spring cherry blossom petals as you take your last breath.

“No!” Dream’s scream is the last thing you hear.

Your consciousness fades to black and it is quiet for once. It’s odd to think that an immortal being can die, but it’s true. The only thing that differentiates it is that you could be reborn. Immortality is a fickle thing.

When you come back into consciousness, you can feel the Dreaming heal your soul. It wraps its warmth around you like a soft blanket and you finally feel safe enough to stop everything that ran through your mind. When you stretch out your limbs you realize that you weren’t in your human form anymore.

Your perception spans further and you can see new angles you haven’t seen before through your eyes. You wiggle your toes, or what you thought were your toes and feel soft and fertilizing soil below you. When you look down you notice that your legs have turned into the soft bark of a willow tree. Your arms shake and the reaching leaves of the tree shake from the action. You sigh and your bark groans and creeks under your deflation.

You soon become a welcomed resident in Fiddler’s Green, providing shade for the decreasing amount of dreamers that come to visit you. As the years pass, the Dreaming starts to die around you as Morpheus stays entrapped under the Burgess Manor. You stay as a tree, unable to move and help. Guilt eats you alive, leaving your core to rot from the inside out.

Lucienne comes to visit now and then, but as the castle starts to fall apart, she can’t find the time to come by anymore. Your days grow lonelier as Fiddler’s Green decides to leave the Dreaming as well. You stand on dry soil in a barren wasteland. Your inaction keeping you hostage like a ladybug in a spiderweb. The more you struggled, the harder you found it to keep your human consciousness.

So, you did the most human you could think of: you cried. Fitting, you thought to yourself, a weeping willow, well, weeping. Your tears came to fruition in the form of vibrant yellow blossoming flowers against the beige and cracking surroundings.

You stayed like that for the next 106 years. Your roots had grown so long that you could feel each corner of the dreaming, searching high and low for water to drink from. Soon, even that would run out. Another tear runs down your bark, your trunk growing deep grooves where the previous century of tears had carved. Despite all odds, your leaves were still vibrant and your flowers would change colors based on your mood. A trick that took you a few decades to learn.

The moon rises higher and higher over the horizon. You follow its path, counting the fragments to keep your mind from boredom. It split in half 15 years after Dream’s capture and every five years or so, another fragment separates from the moon. You counted 18 fragments this time around, the same as the day before, and the week before that. You yawn, the bark shaking as you do so and close your eyes to rest.

You wake to a soft hand on your bark just as dawn cracks. Your leaves shake in surprise as someone touches you. It takes a moment to reorientate yourself and when you look down from your height your breath hitches.

“Sister?” Dream calls out, his hand still on your bark.

Relief floods your system just as a soft breeze runs its fingers through your thin leaves. Your catkin flowers caress his skin when he smiles at you. Just as fast as relief has found you, guilt consumes you again. Morpheus has escaped, it had taken him 106 years and all you have done is stand here and do nothing. Your branches groan again, more flowers blooming in its wake as you weep again, and the individual petals turn a deep blue color.

Dream grabs one of your leaves gently as it tries to recede from his touch. “Y/N,” He calls out carefully. “I do not blame you for what happened 106 years ago.”

“I am touched by your sacrifice.” He pauses as he picks his next words carefully. “You were the only one who came to my side when I needed it.”

You still stay quiet but your petals slowly start to return to their yellow colors. Morpheus takes this as a good sign and continues.

“I love you, dear sister, I wish for you to never doubt that. If only I could give you a hug for all that you had done for me,” He prods and extends both of his hands outwards.

You purse your non-existent lips in thought, a very tempting offer. Why not try one more time, to be by your brother’s side? Your bark groans again and you concentrate. You try to remember the details of your human body. How did your hair look? How did you hold yourself? Did you have a mole on this side of your face?

Your leaves and branches start to shake and shrink in on themselves the more you think. You call in your roots and start to wiggle your toes. You think of your fingers and how they had done so much for you: the paintings you made, the pastries you baked. One last tear escapes down your raw skin and when you open your eyes again, you are looking at Dream through new eyes.

Morpheus comes into your space and wraps his steadying arms around you. You sob into his jacket until it becomes uncomfortable. Your throat is raw when you’re finally reduced to hiccups. Through it all, Dream is holding onto you, gently caressing your hair the way you have liked since you were born.

“I like this new hair of yours,” He comments as he pulls at a few strands of your hair. It’s longer this time around and kept the same emotional properties your flowers had. It changes from blue to green as your mood shifts.

“Great, now I can’t hide my emotions anymore.” You mutter weakly to yourself as it changes to red at your slight annoyance.

Dream chuckles above you and gives you one final tight squeeze.

“Welcome home, sister,” He whispers. You take a deep breath, letting it fill your lungs thoroughly.

“Yes, I am home.”

I did a surprising amount of research for this fic. Apparently, the first woman to attain a driver's license was like in 1900 so that's why Genny was so surprised you could drive. Also, I would not recommend driving in a 1916 vehicle? Looks like it could explode at any minute.

This was a request! And requests are open, just go to my page and hit that button to submit one.

If you do submit a request, it may take me a bit to get to them just because of the nature of it and my classes are starting to get ready for finals. (Your girl is graduating this semester woohoo!)

I will see you in the next fic!

♡ Yours, Layla

#the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #the sandman fanfic #the sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #sandman x reader #siblings #sibling reader #platonic relationships #platonic #x reader #angst with a happy ending #angst #reincarnation

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