#to deny that is to deny the book in it's entirety

[wishthefish]

Just as Wei Wuxian lost his golden core for Jiang Cheng, Jiang Cheng also lost his golden core for Wei Wuxian

[hybridirl]

i’ve never done this before…

18 + only, please!

ellie x f!loser!reader

a/n: so basically i was on janitor ai because i’m genuinely an addicted freak and this was inspired by a chat i had :3 im also replaying tlou2 bc i cant stop i need it i need it i need it. also i think a LOT more things make sense now, so i think you should replay after u play it.

brief summary: ellie is ur big sister’s best friend! but, unfortunately you’re dubbed an “annoying little sister,” your sister’s not home, ellie’s high when she comes over, and ur a loser nerd who can’t deal with confrontation :(. (au if it wasn’t obvious!)

tw / DUBCON?, ellie is very mean, degrading, praise, pet names, reader is a virgin, small age gap if you really squint, porn without a plot, rushed sex, scissoring (tribbling?), use of y/n i think…

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꪆৎ ˚

with a grunt, you pulled your pajama pants up the rest of the way. you were headed to the door after hearing seven hard knocks on the door.

“hello—“ you began, cutting yourself off when you see ellie, your sister’s best friend. “ellie?” you glanced behind her, then behind yourself. “she’s not home right now.”

“yeah, yeah,” she slurred, and your lips went into a thin line from her state, so obviously intoxicated. “she told me come ‘n wait. she’s gettin’ her shit rocked, ‘r whatever. she dropped me off ‘ya know? said you wouldn’t mind. you don’ mind, do you?”

being such a caring person had its ups and downs. you weren’t fond of ellie, and she wasn’t fond of you. she had been your biggest bully throughout the entirety of middle and high school. but, you couldn’t deny her entry. she could get hurt or worse, and you didn’t want that. or to be responsible of it.

you adjusted your glasses, eyeing her with a thoughtful look. her eyes were halflidded, red, and she smelled disgusting. she eyed you right back, her stare almost intimidating.

“no, ellie. i don’t mind,” you said begrudgingly, stepping aside to allow her in. you watched her make her way around the all-too-familiar home while you shut the door. you mentally prepared yourself for tending to her needs; you knew she’d tell if you hadn’t. you also prepared for the anger she would inevitably feel. she was an angry person when intoxicated. you leaned against the door and watched her opened the fridge.

“what do you got?” ellie asked, shutting the refrigerator and looking at you. “what’re you gonna make?”

“i don’t know,” you responded and took a glance at the stove. you hadn’t noticed what she took from the fridge, only gasping when you heard the familiar sound of a beer opening. “hey, hey, hey! that’s my dad’s!” you watched ellie shrug and give you a “so what?” look. “stop it, that’s not good for you!” you rushed over, reaching for the beer, but her rough hand kept you in place as she chugged it down. “ellie, stop! you’re already high, that’s gonna make it worse; ellie, stop!”

“and what the fuck do you know?” she asked as she slammed the beer bottle of the counter, “you stupid fuckin’ loser, what the fuck is wrong with you? i’ll do what-the-fuck-ever i want. you’re such a fucking lame-ass, you won’t even take a lil sip o’ this thing,” she stuck the beer can up to your mouth, which you turned away from, “that’s what i thought, you stupid bitch. you’re probably a virgin, too, huh? you don’t even try- nobody even tries for you. no man, no woman, no whatever. never been in a relationship, never been in fuckin’ nothing. you are such a fucking loser.”

your jaw was slack, almost looking like a fish out of water as it tried to shut and open.

“you’re too high for this,” you said slowly, still shocked at her words. you took a step back, your back pressing against the island counter.

“you don’t know the first thing about ‘too high,’ jackass. bet you never had a dick in you before. too busy studyin’ your stupid fucking books to be the good girl you are. can’t even do this because you’re always bein’ a teacher’s pet, always bein’ a goody-two-shoes, know it all, fucking bitch. probably got a few toys like the desperate freak you are. maybe a dildo? nah, you want that pussy t’stay tight, huh?” you thought it couldn’t get worse than the insults before, but this was insane. your eyes were wide, shock filling your features.

“ellie!” you gasped in horror and embarrassment, “i— i’m calling my sister!”

“you��re a fucking snitch!” she giggled, pointing at you. “she doesn’t care what the fuck i’m saying to you. she’s too busy slutting herself out to give a fuck about your pathetic ass, baby.”

“go away, ellie,” you whimpered out, eyes at the ground. you attempted to push past her, but her hands gripped your wrists. “please.”

“you’re not getting rid of me,” she growled, her beer-breath filling your nostrils, “you’re a goddamn joke. i’m not going anywhere ‘til i’m good ‘n ready. you just know i’m right.” she leaned in, her lips brushing your cheek as she whispered deep into your ear, “you just want my hands all over you, don’t you, y/n? i’ve seen how you watched me. you want a real woman’s hands on ‘ya. all of over your pretty body, hm?”

“no,” you whispered right back, your brows furrowed. this was your sister’s best friend. this was just… wrong; you couldn’t explain it, but it wasn’t right. and she was high! she didn’t know what she was doing, what she was saying, but her touch felt so…

“don’t you lie to me,” she huffed her breath hot in your ear, “you wanna get touched bad. you know you do. you want my hands slidin’ down your pretty panties and touchin’ that clit. make you cum all on my hand. you want that, don’t you?”

“ellie,” you almost moaned out at her dirty talk, your brows knitted together in conflict. your hand went to cover your mouth as her hand slipped beneath the waistband of your pjs and simultaneously your underwear.

“let it out, baby,” she told as your hand muffled a broken moan, “you’re already so, so wet for me. this pussy’s just beggin’ for my touch, huh?” her finger-pad ran across your clit and your knees buckled. she giggled in response, a lazy grin plastered on her face. “mm, ya feel that? this’s what y’ve been missin’ out on with all that nerdy bullshit you do.” her fingers slipped easily inside you, making your eyes roll with pleasure; another moan escaped your throat. “y’so tight. just like i thought.” she pulled her fingers out, quickly giving them a lick before tugging your bottoms down. “oh, baby…” she moaned at the sight, licking her lips as she took you in. “look at that pretty pussy. mhm, ‘n all f’r me, huh?” she knelt down, getting face to face with your cunt. “answer me.” she kissed at your inner thighs. all you could do was watch, trembling under her dominating touch.

you yelped, jumping in surprise as she bit your thigh harshly.

“i said answer.”

“y-yes! all for you, ‘s all for you,” you whimpered, whining as her mouth finally met with your drooling pussy. your resolve had slipped away, only thinking about that needy, touch-starved vulva of yours. “oh, ellie…” she grinned as she watching you come undone, your fingers slipping into her hair and tugging at it. she lapped and lapped at your clit, tongue running circles around the sensitive bud. she gave it a last kiss before she pulled away, smirking at your distress.

“preview, baby. all that was. go to your room, m’followin’ you.”

you were anxious to walk, taking just a moment before giddily rushing to your room. the masculine woman easily followed your direction, shutting the door hard behind her as she pulled you down to the bed with her. her hands were immediately on you as you lay atop her, caressing and running down your back, cupping your ass and squeezing.

“you’re so ready for me baby, aren’t you?” she asked with a small smirk playing at her lips. “you wanna grind that pretty pussy on mine, don’t you?”

“i-i’ve never done this before, i-i don’t know what to do,” you admitted, although she already knew your circumstance.

“makin’ me do all the work, you pretty lil pillow princess?” she teased, that same lazy grin on her face. she easily flipped you over, watching your eyes widen in surprise. “god, how are you so perfect…” she moaned softly to herself, her hands running down your sides, down your legs, and down your calves. she reached her jeans, unbuttoning them and tugging them down quickly. you gulped as you eyed her pubic mound, her dark hair trimmed finely.. she lifted your hips up, appreciating your vulva once more. she used her thumb to lift up your clitoral hood, bending down to meet the pearl with her tongue. “mm, god, i can’t get enough of you. pull your shirt up, wanna see those tits ‘ve been wantin’ to see.” you did as you were told, quickly pulling your nightshirt up and showing her your breasts. a groan left her throat as her hands reached out to touch them, tweaking and rolling your nipples between her fingers.

“please,” you whined, your head tilted back. “please, ellie…”

“oh, i know you’re so needy, huh? never done this before? never been touched so good by another girl b’fore, huh?” ellie teased once more, and all you could do was nod. it was all true. “say it, baby. tell me how much of a loser you are.”

with an embarrassed grimace, you obliged, “i-i’m a big loser. ‘ve never, ever gotten laid ‘n i wanna… oh!” you gasped as you felt the sensation of her pussy meet yours. “ellie…” her hips ground against yours, your clits bumping and running across each other.

“you like this? my pussy all over yours?” she growled, rolling her hips to meet your cunt. “fuck, you’re so wet.” you moaned out, your hands trying to find a place to stay as they flailed. they gripped the sheets and you watched above as her pussy slid across yours. you both glistened with a thin layer of sweat, your bodies becoming hot with arousal. “you feel so fucking good.”

“yes,” you cried, “more.” and she gave you more, her hips rolling with fervor while you writhed in pleasure. “p-please— ellie!”

“yeah, scream my name you little slut,” she purred, her auburn hair sticking to her sweaty face. “let ‘em know— let the neighbors know you’re finally getting laid.”

you continued to moan her name, completely drunk on this feeling. she let out small little ‘just like that’s’ as your voice echoed off the walls of your room.

it was intense, your bodies moving together and so perfectly in sync. sweat dripped from her forehead onto your belly, slightly coating your skin. her hands gripped your chest as she ground against you, the position slightly awkward, but pleasing nonetheless as your heats mushed together in symphony. sloppy squelches filled your ears, almost drowned out by your moans and cries as she took you.

“i’m gonna,” you began, tears welling up in your pretty eyes, “i’m gonna cum, ellie!”

“yeah? right on my pussy? cum right on my pussy, baby,” she moaned, her hands reaching her cup her own breast. you moaned, following her command like a dog as your canal contracting around nothing, costing her slick folds in all your essence. your body convulsed as you came, and the sight forced a moan out of her throat. “yeah, that’s it, my good girl, fu—ck… i’m cumming!” with her orgasm following in suit, she gripped your leg hard, riding out her orgasm as you tried to come down from your own. you whined from the overstimulation, feeling her arousal spread out on your flesh. she shushed you, her index finger on your lips as she calmed her breathing. she dropped your leg, plopping beside you with a grunt.

“t-that was good,” you said to her, your eyes lingering on her glistening face.

“mhm, now you get to brag to a—ll your nerdy, little virgin friends that you,” she jabbed a finger, “got laid.”

“you’re mean,” you huffed, a little pout on your face. she smirked, bringing a hand to the back of your neck and bringing you in to kiss.

“yeah?” she chuckled, “but you like it.”

[baeshijima]

— how to woo the acting grand sage 101

wherein you pull out all the stops in an effort to persuade alhaitham on why he should date you, only… he woos you instead?!

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 7.8k wc, fluff, (attempts at) humour, angst if you squint, reader gets ill from overwork in one part, slight spoilers for 3.2 archon quest (brief mentions/recap of end events)

A/N : reader is struggling but they’re trying their best, alhaitham is a (smitten) menace and bad at feelings (kinda); the embodiment of u fall first, he falls harder (i just think we need more energetic/cute readers with haitham TヘT)

It wasn’t anything special. Really. Just you, your first day jitters, and the calm boy beside you in his Haravatat beret; the same one as yours.

Perhaps he’d noticed your flitting eyes, your shifting feet, or your wrung hands that swung gently in front of your robe-clad body because, when your eyes met (and, oh, what pretty eyes he had), he gave you a small nod. Of what? Comfort? Acknowledgement? Salutations?

You couldn’t tell, and you couldn’t ask. By the time you regained your senses he’d already walked off, the blank space beside you feeling strangely empty.

It wasn’t anything special.

But to you, that one, singular moment was all you needed; the comfort it gave was immeasurable, your first day jitters nonexistent.

--

You soon found out his name: Alhaitham. The boy in the matching Haravatat beret, the one who gave you a simple nod, and the one who sat in front of you in class.

As far as first impressions went, he was in your good books! Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for your classmates or your professor. He was aloof and indifferent to your peers, sometimes riling them up with his blunt remarks or blatantly ignoring their presence. As for the professor’s apparent dislike, it was most likely due to him rarely attending class after the first week or so (something about self-study being a better use of his time, if you recalled correctly).

But even so, through all the harsh whispers and scorn you saw surround him, no one could deny his academic prowess. How could they when the scores and praise spoke for itself?

In all honesty, you don’t remember when or how Alhaitham accepted your presence amongst others. It took you a while, sure, but he eventually began taking time out of his own to converse with you. Passing conversations soon turned to greeting each other a good morning and bidding the other a farewell, which then turned to late night study sessions in the House of Daena, which then became a regular hangout spot for you both, and so on and so forth.

Oddly enough, knowing you were the only one he would tolerate was somehow rewarding. While he paid no heed to the world around him and moved at his own tempo, you’d always find him waiting for you up ahead.

In that sense, you were comforted by the idea he would be willing to wait for you — and, undoubtedly, you would wait for him too.

--

Fast forward a few years and you’re now stuck in a long-term unrequited love for the scribe of the Akademiya.

Lovely.

You’ve had a lot to reflect on these past few years (most of which you’d rather not recall), but one thing seemingly remains stagnant; you love Alhaitham. That’s been something you have long-since accepted, and something you’re sure the entirety of Sumeru City are aware of by now.

While you definitely weren’t one to shy away from your (blatantly obvious) feelings, it doesn’t mean you flaunted your love at every opportunity presented. In fact, you were pretty happy with how things are now!

But, well, you only live once, as they say. And, by process of elimination, that just means you should act on your feelings so that you can either finally move on, or land yourself the most eligible bachelor in Teyvat!

(No one other than yourself thinks that, but hey! One is better than none!)

And so that was the origin story for your journey — Operation: “Get Alhaitham to Fall In Love With Me” was then set into motion!

Step 1: Be upfront with your feelings!

Confess to Alhaitham.

You can do that.

All you have to do is strut up to Alhaitham, ask him to hear you out for a moment, (metaphorically) spill your heart out to the man of your dreams, and anticipate a response! A positive one, preferably.

Easy enough, right?

Well, that’s what it should be. So why is it that you’re now pacing back and forth in front of his office door, mentally rehearsing your pre-written confession you spent too many sleepless nights redrafting until you were somewhat satisfied?

A severe oversight on your part, that’s what.

Hm, maybe I should wait another day. The timing doesn’t feel quite right, and the weather is a bit gloomy for a confession. Yeah, maybe I can just head back and pretend I wasn’t even here—

“I can hear you pacing back and forth even with my earpieces on.”

At the familiar, low intonation, you freeze. Body stiff, you slowly turn your head to the man leaning cross-armed against the door frame, an unimpressed look greeting you.

Crap. Was I really that loud...?

With one brow raised and a slight frown tugging his lips, he gives a once-over at your haggard appearance. It doesn’t take long for his expression to morph into one of concern as he takes a step away from the door frame and closer to you.

“Are you alright?” he asks, eyes honed in on yours; or more specifically, the area under your eyes. “You look like you haven’t slept for a decade.”

It sure feels much longer than that...

“I’m alright. I think. Wait. That’s not important right now,” you stammer, head shaking to regain your resolve. Ignoring the judgemental look cast upon you, you lift your head to meet his gaze, fists clenching in an effort to disperse your nerves. “I have something I want to tell you.”

“What is it?”

And with a deep breath and eyes squeezed shut, you blurt out, “I think you’re really good-looking! I really like you, too! Like, a lot! And you have super pretty eyes! And really fluffy hair! And you’re really smart, though you can be a bit of a pain... And... And you have a nice physique!”

Silence.

Under the weight of his blank stare and the impending doom known as ‘silence’, it takes a drawn out second for a horrified gasp to escape you. Belatedly, you realise your absolute abomination of a screw-up — an insatiable urge for the ground to swallow you whole consumes all remaining sense of rationale (which isn’t all that much, really).

Aaaaaaahhhh I went completely off script!!

Perhaps sensing your next move, Alhaitham snaps out of his stupor and begins reaching out for you. “Wait—”

“Ha-Have a good night!”

And then you’re sprinting off into who knows where, leaving Alhaitham stranded at his office doorway with an arm outstretched in your fading direction and a dumbfounded expression settled on his features.

Disgruntled, he rubs the bridge of his nose, the heat washing over him doing little to help reorganise his thoughts. “It’s eight in the morning, not eight in the evening...”

(Alhaitham’s never been more grateful for his soundproof earpieces. Not only does it tune out the outside world at his beck and call, but it also prevents you from seeing the tips of his ears stained a scarlet hue; this being one time out of the many.)

Mission Status: Success...?

Step 2: Give him flowers! A bouquet never hurt anyone!

“Tighnari!”

At the call of his name, Tighnari’s ears flick and perk up. In a swift movement, he turns his head to witness you dashing towards him with a grin, hands waving manically in the air.

“How many times have I told you not to run?” he tuts, head shaking in exasperation. But even with his nagging, you can still detect the smile seizing his lips from a mile away as he begins approaching to meet you halfway.

When you come to a stop in front of him, you merely beam. “Not enough times!”

“Clearly.”

“Anyway,” you begin, “as much as I’d love to stay and chat, have you prepared what I asked for?”

He scoffs at your request, “Of course. Just who do you take me for?”

“The bestest, most reliable friend ever, of course!”

You don’t think you’ve ever witnessed someone switch to a deadpan so quickly before.

“Buttering up to me only goes so far, y’know.”

Amidst your grumbles and his chuckles, he leads you back to his house in Gandharva Ville. You’ve always enjoyed the Forest Watcher’s presence, and you’re glad he’s happier now compared to his time in the Akademiya. 

The trek back was filled with your usual back-and-forth, lively chatter making its way up and filling the air.

(“Oh, is that a new essential oil?”

“So you’ve noticed. I see your sense of smell is evolving.”

“Well, it’s an entirely different scent from the last one, and I think I’d have to be a little nose-blind to not notice.”)

When you make it back to his abode, you find a bouquet already neatly wrapped up and propped against the wall. A sweet, calm aroma wades through the air, becoming more potent the closer you get.

Simply put, it’s perfect.

With this, I can move on from my previous embarrassment!

“Thank you again, Tighnari. I owe you one. Oh,” you gasp upon remembering something, “and be sure to send my regards to Collei.”

“Don’t mention it,” he responds with a smile and a nod to your request before bidding you farewell. “Be careful on your way back! Be mindful of your step and any stray roots in the ground. Wouldn’t want you to trip and tumble down, after all.”

“I thought we were past that already...”

--

“What?!”

“Apologies,” the scholar in front of you replies, scratching the back of his neck in a sheepish manner. “Scribe Alhaitham left earlier in the day to explore some ancient runes in the desert...”

You’re pretty sure your heart just cracked.

“It can’t be...” you murmur. The bouquet in your hand feels heavy, just like your heart.

The scholar panics at your apparent dejection, wracking his brain in an attempt to rectify the predicament at hand. “When he comes back, I could tell him you were looking for him?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just... see him when I see him...”

You manage a small smile at his efforts, but the scholar only spirals into further panic when you trudge away with a gloomy aura hanging above.

I’m sorry, Tighnari. I’ve failed you and your botany skills...

Mission Status: Fail...

Step 3: Show him you can be dependable!

It’s a good day.

The sun’s out, the birds are chirping, and there’s not a single cloud up in the sky!

Yeah, it’s a good day if you ignore the stacks of paperwork piled up on your desk.

Dejectedly, you sigh and slump against the wood. You can already feel the forthcoming headache from just a single glance at the blurred words. Ideally, you wish everything could just be signed and done with at the mere thought. Realistically, you know that’s next to impossible.

...Maybe putting off your work and procrastinating wasn’t the smartest of decisions but, well, it’s too late now! Guess you’ll just have to suck it up and pull a couple all-nighters. Nothing out of the ordinary, unfortunately.

“Well,” you sigh to yourself, stretching your arms overhead, “good luck to me, I guess...”

(Distantly, you hear Alhaitham’s voice in the back of your mind reprimand you for leaving your work to later, but you swat the thoughts away without missing a beat and get started on the first pile.)

--

“[...me].”

“[Nam...].”

“[Name]!”

You gasp, shooting up from your slouched position. Though you come to regret the action when a sharp pang pierces through your conscience, eliciting a harsh wince to leave you. Immediately you fall forward and clutch your head, another pair of hands grasping your shoulders to steady you.

Huh...?

“Are you alright?” A cold hand makes contact along the expanse of your forehead and you subconsciously lean into the touch. “You’re burning up... When was the last time you rested?”

At the prompt, you strain your eyes to the left. Eyes squinting, you can barely make out a blurry figure, but the mesh of white, purple, red, and tan has you murmuring his name, “Cyno...?”

“Yes, it’s me.” His image wavers, and you can no longer distinguish his features. “You... last slept... hey... [...me]!”

His voice bleeds into white noise — drowned out by the world tipping on its axis before eventually it, too, is consumed by darkness.

--

Groaning through the overbearing warmth and fragmented light against your closed eyes, you breathe out a sigh and shuffle in place, trying to find a comfortable spot. Burrowing further into the duvet you feel yourself relaxing.

A musky scent surrounds you; one that’s warm and familiar, tinged with an aroma of worn pages and nature. The blends are few and far between, and yet they harmonize perfectly — its calming undertones help further relax you.

In the back of your mind, there’s a nagging feeling that there’s something you’re forgetting. But just what is it...

Your eyes snap open, heart lurching.

“Ah! The paperwork!”

In the midst of your frantic actions, a weight falls off your shoulders and tumbles onto your lap. Mouth agape and breathing erratic you look down, only to blink at the familiar item.

Alhaitham’s cape...?

“Lie down.”

Your shoulders jump when a voice comes from your left. Before you have time to protest, you feel yourself gently pushed back into bed, the covers lifted back up to your chin and Alhaitham’s cape draped on top once more. Though your movements are slightly restricted, you can still just about turn your head.

Alhaitham’s silhouette against the sunrise is hunched in your chair; elbows on knees, hands wrung together, and gaze focused on the ground. When your sight clears up, you notice his hair looks more dishevelled than usual.

You continue watching him as he heaves a light sigh and reaches over to his side. His hands wring a small cloth, water seeping out as his knuckles turn white from the pressure exerted. When he turns to you, the newly dampened cloth laid across your forehead, he doesn’t make eye contact. No, it’s more like he’s avoiding looking at you in general.

An awkward cough escapes you and he flinches ever so slightly at the sound. “How long have I been out for?”

“Two days.”

“I see,” you murmur. “Ah. Where’s Cyno? It’s kinda blurry, but the last I remember is him waking me up.”

“He’s busy.”

“Oh... Okay.”

A suffocating silence lapses over you after his blunt responses. It’s been a while since he’s spoken like this to you, so you’d be a bit of an idiot to not realise he’s mad. As for the reason why... Well, you’d rather not acknowledge the cause, even if you have a feeling he’ll bring it up sooner or later.

“[Name],” Alhaitham calls, voice low and even.

Averting you gaze, however hard you may wish for it, doesn’t help you avoid the inevitable confrontation set in stone. (That still doesn’t stop you from subtly lifting up the covers.)

His voice comes out weak and fuzzy against the ringing in your ears. “Why... didn’t you say anything? That you were ill? Were you going to just sit through it and not say a single word at all? Did you plan on pulling all-nighters again, even when you were on the verge of collapsing? What do you think would’ve happened if I didn’t overhear some scholars talking about how you fainted and had to be carried by the General Mahamatra?”

If this were you any other day, you’re sure you would’ve been over the moon at the sight of Alhaitham being the first thing you see upon waking up — taking care of and worrying over you on top of that. But alas, you’re sick and the string of questions he directs towards you does nothing but irritate you, the dull ache that previously lingered like white noise now blaringly clear.

“I don’t know. I guess I just—” you wince at the pain shooting through your head, “—I just thought there was no point so long as I get it done quickly then rest after. It was my fault I left it till recently.”

“Besides,” you add in a whisper, straining your eyes in an effort to stay awake, “you don’t like incompetent people, and I... didn’t want you to think that of me...”

“...”

It was quick.

One moment you felt warm and feverish, but now you feel warm and feverish and your forehead stings.

“Don’t be so stupid,” he retorts nonchalantly.

You’re dumbstruck, for a lack of better words. Through widened, bleary eyes you can just about register his unreadable expression, lips taught and brows furrowed slightly in your direction. A weak “What...?” slips through your lips, hoarse and broken.

For some reason, Alhaitham’s expression morphs. One of his hands tightens around yours (when did that get there...?) while the other reaches over to wring out a newly dampened cloth. He stays quiet, gaze avoiding yours as he focuses on wiping away the sweat clinging to your face while being mindful of the cloth already on your forehead.

“If you’re struggling, tell me. Don’t keep these things to yourself. And don’t...” he trails off with a grimace, and you barely catch sight of his lower lip tugged back by his teeth before it’s overshadowed by his hair. “Don’t ever think of yourself as incompetent again. You’re far from it.”

Oh...

Oh.

Out of all the things Alhaitham could have possibly said, you weren’t anticipating assurance and comfort.

“I... Uh... Hm. Okay,” you bumble like the fool you are, thoughts incoherent at the unexpectedly caring words. The only form of acknowledgement you received was him gently patting your hand; if you had the energy to squint, you could probably detect a teeny smile teetering the corners of his lips, but that could also be your half-delirious brain making stuff up like usual.

A cool sensation lands on your forehead, regulating the overwhelming heat permeating through your body. The sudden weight forces your eyes to close for a brief second and, upon opening them again, you find Alhaitham rummaging through his belt pouch. When he sits upright again, your attention is drawn to the object resting on his lap.

A... book?

“I’ll read to you,” he announces, probably noticing your blatant stare at the hardback cover now in his hand. He’s still avoiding your gaze, more interested in the book’s cover as his thumb traces over its surface.

There’s a brief pause.

Then, for the first time since you awoke, Alhaitham looks at you.

“It’s the new light novel from that author you like.”

“Huh? You mean...“ you trail off, eyes darting to take a closer look at the illustrated cover. A gasp soon escapes you after confirming it is, in fact, exactly what he said. “No way! You can’t even get this version unless you pre-ordered it months in advance! Wait, did you...?”

Another silence settles in your room. He averts his gaze to the side again, lips pursing as you send an accusatory stare his way, but shifts his sights back to you just as quickly.

“Enough talking, more resting.”

“But—”

“I’m opening the novel now.”

Despite your huff and low grumbles, you settle back in your bed and tug the duvet up to your chin. You listen to his low, comforting voice narrate the first couple pages, a familiar warmth vastly different to this feverish one washing over you. Your nose makes contact with the fabric of his cape and his scent surrounds you, coaxing your ailed body into a much-needed slumber.

Eyelids heavy, you use your last remaining strength to mumble your gratitude before drifting off, a content smile resting on your lips.

“Thank you, Haitham...” 

Alhaitham’s breath hitches, eyes widening and the novel in his hand nearly slips from his grasp. His head snaps up to stare at you, only to find you already fast asleep with a few soft snores escaping you. He stays silent for a moment, taking a moment to process the sleep-induced words you’d uttered; namely the nickname you addressed him with.

Right. [Name] was merely influenced by the sickness and drowsiness. Don’t read too much into it.

Even after confirming that to himself, he continues to read the novel aloud to your unconscious self, replenishing the cloth at frequent intervals and staying by your side. 

Even after confirming that to himself, Alhaitham finds himself unable to extinguish the heat that persistently clings to his skin — neither does the soft smile nor the flutter stirring in his stomach seem to have any intention of leaving; even more so at the sight of you burrowing into his cape.

Mission Status: Failed successfully!

Step 4: The fastest way to one’s heart is through their stomach! (Read: give them food.)

A lot has happened over the past couple weeks. Other than Azar and his minions being overthrown and Lesser Lord Kusanali being freed from solitary confinement by a few of your friends, Alhaitham is now the Acting Grand Sage!

Well, you only heard about this recent development from Cyno and Tighnari after returning from an expedition to decode some ancient runes in the desert. Not the welcome back you were expecting, but a welcome back nonetheless!

And upon confronting Alhaitham about his involvement in the rebellion you’d heard so much of (Cyno sure had a blast detailing his annoyance and praise over your last Genius Invokation TCG match), he merely heaved an exasperated sigh before adamantly explaining to you it wasn’t his intention to have his current position, but “Since everyone is so incompetent, I’m the only capable person who can take charge.”.

(His words, not yours.)

In all honesty, it almost feels like he’s still the scribe with how often you see him — as though nothing has changed and his duties are still the same. Though the same can’t be said with the other scholars and researchers, you suppose.

Recently, you’ve had more researchers come up and ask you to deliver papers to Alhaitham in their stead. Their reason? Well, it typically fell under one of two categories; “The Acting Grand Sage never spares us the time of day outside his work hours, and you’re our only hope...” or, “He wouldn’t turn you away or avoid you since he likes you so much.”

Maybe it’s because of the massive ego boost you’d gotten from their comments, but you now find yourself lugging a stack of papers that need to be looked over and signed, along with the freshly boxed up meal you bought earlier dangling from your other hand.

The journey back to his new office isn’t all that bad, just... a little awkward. You’re pretty sure the librarian hasn’t seen someone come and go from the (Acting) Grand Sage’s office-slash-elevator as frequently as you do, but hey! That just means you’re pretty special!

(For what it’s worth, you do kinda wish they had elevator music. Talking and humming to yourself can only do so much.)

Upon reaching the top floor and stepping off the platform, you’re greeted with the sight of Alhaitham leaning back and reading another one of his books. Ah, I feel my heart getting lighter at the sight.

“I’ve returned with food, Grand Sage!” you call out with a grin, waving your hand which carries the bag.

“Acting Grand Sage.”

“I’ve returned with food, Acting Grand Sage!”

A deadpan stare is all you receive at your quip, a sigh soon escaping him. “Why are you even addressing me with that title? Surely just saying my name is more efficient.”

“Because it’s fun, of course!” you merely laugh out in response.

A frown tugs his lips at that, eyes narrowing slightly before relaxing. He beckons you over with swift eye contact, and the chair opposite to where he’s sat is pushed back with his foot.

Wow. What a gentleman.

Plopping yourself down on the chair with an audible “Oof!”, you place the newly bought meal onto his desk. A mouth-watering scent wafts in the space between you, and you find yourself holding back a gulp at the delectable aroma. You quickly divvy up the food between you before glancing around the room.

As if reading your thoughts, Alhaitham nonchalantly says, “If you’re looking for my assistant, he’s not here.”

“Oh?” you ask between delightful mouthfuls. Swallowing down your food, you continue. “Where is he now? There should be plenty for his share too since I bought a lot this time around — or, well, I guess Lambad insisted I took more...”

There’s a small beat of silence after your words, though you barely register that fact when he speaks up again.

“No need. I’m feeling hungrier than usual, so I doubt there will be any leftovers to share.”

“Huh?” It takes you a couple seconds and a raised brow from Alhaitham for his words to register. When it does, however, you find yourself beyond ecstatic. “Oh! Of course, eat as much as you want! You need the energy for your Grand Sage duties, after all.”

“Acting Grand Sage duties.”

“Yeah, yeah, same thing.”

The rest of your lunch is spent in idle chatter and shared food. When you put more food on his side, he pushed his drink towards you or gave you more of your favourite bits.

(For someone who claimed to be really hungry, he sure was giving you a lot of food...)

Leaning back with a hefty sigh, you pat your stomach in content. Ah, Lambad never fails me, you think to yourself. Now that you’re done with your mini lunch date, it’s probably about time you head back and get your work for the day done. Your once content sigh now turns dreary, the energy you had barely seconds ago already dissipating.

Unbeknown to you, the corners of Alhaitham’s lips quirked up at your obvious dejection. Fist on cheek, he stares fondly at your ever-changing expressions; the familiarity of such a sight bringing him more comfort than he would ever let on. Eyes sweeping across the desk, his mood sours when spotting a stack of papers that wasn’t there before your arrival.

“Did those scholars bother you to run errands for them again?”

“Ah, this?” you drawl, head tilting slightly to view the contents. A low giggle escapes you when remembering the reason you originally brought it. “It’s because they can never find you.”

A huff escapes him at that comment. “Then they should have come during my work hours.”

“Apparently you’re never here when they come looking for you.”

“And? It’s not my problem they simply have bad timing.”

You all but shake your head at his antics, an amused smile blooming on your lips. Taking a quick glance at the time, you startle. Oh boy, where did the time go? Time really does fly when you’re having fun. Panic settles in you when the stack of papers needing to be sorted and signed appears in your mind. Scrambling up from your seat you spew out hasty apologies, too absorbed in your panic to notice the startled man you previously ate with.

“Aaaahh! I’m so sorry Haitham, but I really have to go! I have a million papers that need to be sorted and— gosh. How did the time fly by so quickly?! I could’ve sworn it was twelve just a minute ago—!”

“Wait!”

His voice is rushed — panicked, almost — and you find yourself unable to move. The ironclad grip on your wrist is tingling, even more so as it moves to envelop your hand completely.

His cool facade wavers slightly when you regard him with astonishment, but he gulps down his frayed nerves and steels his resolve. “Call me that again.”

“Huh? Like what?”

His hold on your hand tightens ever so slightly.

“Haitham.”

Mission Status: Success?

Step 5: Make him... jealous?

Apparently, your sad attempts have garnered Kaveh’s attention (and pity). Why else would he be at your door at 4 a.m. and suggesting you use him to make Alhaitham jealous, all the while grumbling how “It’s so painful to watch you do so much, only for that guy to do nothing.”, as well as the addition of “Maybe this time I can finally get the upper hand over him and that infuriating arrogance of his!”

“Is someone like him really going to get jealous over something so...” you trail off in thought after he explains the plan he had in mind, eyes screwing shut as you try to think of the word to describe, well, whatever it is Kaveh proposed, “so trivial? It just seems like something so beyond him to get jealous.”

“Hah!” he barks out, settling back into your sofa and patting down the blanket on his lap. “You’re kidding, right?” When you don’t respond, he levels his sight with yours, perplexed. “Wait, you really don’t know?”

“Would I be asking if I knew?” At your retort, his face freezes. He seems to have come to a realisation, if the way he instantly sits upright has anything to say about it.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Kaveh intervenes, hands resting on his temples. “Let me get this right. You’ve been pursuing him for how many years now—”

“Five years,” comes your instant reply.

“—I wasn’t expecting you to answer, but exactly. Five years. And you think something like this would be ‘trivial’ to him? That guy??” You nod; he groans. “Ugh. You’re hopeless. The both of you.”

An offended gasp escapes you. “Well, excuuuse you! I’ll have you know I’m trying my best over here.”

“Unfortunately, I’m aware of that.”

He deflates against the cushions with a sigh, lifting the fallen blanket up his torso. A slew of unintelligible grumbles leaves his lips, and you just barely make out “I still don’t understand what you see in someone so unromantic...” before shaking your head at his antics.

When you take a glimpse at the time, however, a thought sticks out in your head.

“Also, why are you here at 4 a.m.?”

“Am I not allowed to visit you at 4 a.m.?”

You blink. He blinks back.

“...Did Alhaitham take your keys again?”

Silence.

“No...” he trails off, like a liar.

That night — or morning, rather — you let the temporarily homeless Kaveh crash at your house, discussing your plans on making Alhaitham jealous.

--

As a result of your late-night plotting, you’d somehow ended up spending around a week solely in Kaveh’s presence; as per the plan, that is. According to him, if you took some time away from Alhaitham, then it would “make him question that annoying mindset of his and force him to realise what a bumbling fool he’s being!”.

(Kaveh’s words. Not yours.)

Well, you suppose taking a break from his presence wouldn’t do that much harm. The blond makes for fun company, and you would never turn down an invitation from him! In short, this plan of his just gave you an excuse to hang with him even more than you already do!

You strayed from the Akademiya as much as you both could without neglecting your work, but the majority of your time was spent with Kaveh in the House of Daena, your house, or Puspa Café. And when Alhaitham was in the nearby area, or directly approaching you both, Kaveh would be quick to pull you away to a different spot. And when he managed to catch you when you were alone outside your working duties, you would conjure an excuse before hurriedly taking your leave. (You mentally apolgised to him each time as you scurried away, not daring to look back in case your resolve crumbled.)

Luckily, today, you haven’t encountered him.

With a much needed stretch after working through the morning, you turn to Kaveh and see him doing the same as a yawn slips past his lips. You’re feeling a bit peckish now, and you’re sure he is too. Plus, the weather was pretty good so going outside wouldn’t be too bad!

“Hey, where do you wanna go for lunch today? Lambad’s—”

Though, you barely get to utter the restaurant’s name when he pulls you into an embrace, arms wrapped around you as you both sway slightly in tandem. Instantly, you realise what’s happening.

Wait, we’re starting that part of the plan now?!

Sure enough, footsteps resound from behind you, a deep and familiar voice following soon after. “So this is where you’ve been. Strangely enough, you seem busier and harder to find these days.”

Kaveh parts from you a second later, but takes your hand in his. Instantly, you see Alhaitham’s eyes dart to your interlocked fingers before returning back to you. Kaveh seems to take note as well, and deftly swings your hands in front.

“Yeah, and what of it?“ You gulp at his smug tone, mentally preparing yourself for the incoming argument they usually fall into. “But you seem to have caught us at a bad time again, because we were just on our way to a date!”

...That wasn’t part of the script?!

His hand gently squeezes around yours, and you will yourself out of your surprise. Right. This is part of the act. Even if it doesn’t sit well with you, it’s not like you have many options left!

And so with that being said, you steel your nerves and turn to face Alhaitham. Not even a second later do you find yourself faltering when you take note of his expression — blank and slightly shadowed by his hair.

“...Is that so?”

“Of course. We were just on our way to Lambad’s Tavern,” Kaveh responds before turning to you with a smile. “Weren’t we, [Name]?”

And you smile back (albeit through gritted teeth). “Haha, yes, that’s right! We were just about to have lunch.”

A pregnant pause lingers in the air after your agreement.

(Is it just you, or did the temperature suddenly drop?)

“I see,” Alhaitham finally breathes out. He spares another glance at your hands before meeting Kaveh’s eyes. “Well, I hate to be the one to ruin your plans, but I need [Name]’s help for some urgent matters.”

A scoff. “What could be so urgent for someone who makes it a point to get all his work done in advance?”

“I can assure you it’s far more urgent than your... date.”

There’s a distant sheen in his eyes as he forces out the last word. The air around you turns frigid as the two men stare each other down and, if this were depicted in a show of some sort, you’re sure lightning would crackle in the space between the two.

An agitated sigh breaks the silence. The grip on your hand loosens.

“Alright, fine. You can have [Name] for your ‘urgent matter’.” Kaveh gently nudges you forward until you find yourself standing before Alhaitham. “If you do anything strange to [Name], I’ll come and personally sort you out myself!”

Besides the brief scoff and mutter of “I’d like to see you try”, Alhaitham spares you a prolonged glance before wrapping his hand around your wrist and turning away, forcing you to follow hot on his heels. When you look back at Kaveh, all you see is a double thumbs up with an agitated expression (no doubt he heard Alhaitham’s snide remark) that screams “I told you so”.

Well, that’s no help at all.

The walk to the elevator is silent. The ride up to his office even more so. And awkward. Very awkward. You’re probably the only one feeling this awkwardness though. After all, you were the one ignoring him this past week, not the other way around, so he has no reason to feel awkward around you. In fact, Alhaitham should be more annoyed than awkward...

Ah. I’m screwed.

The lift comes to a halt when the realisation sets in, the presence of his hand on your skin even more prominent than before. He still hasn’t said a word to you. And, if you’re being completely honest here, you’re not sure whether to be grateful for that or not.

There’s an unnerving silence in the (Acting) Grand Sage’s office. Upon closer inspection, it seems his assistant isn’t here today either; only you and Alhaitham stand in the centre (of his office, and the world). As your gaze flits across the expanse of the room, you note how messy the interior appears — well, messier than usual, that is.

“I didn’t like you when we first met,” he begins; unprovoked. He doesn’t turn around, and so you’re left to gape at his back. “You were annoying and kept hovering around me, even when I made it abundantly clear I didn’t want to be bothered. You were a nuisance; a thorn in my side and I would always get irritated at the mere mention of your name.

I never understood your naivety. Were you pretending, or were you really that unaware? Why would you go out of your way to make a good impression on others? Did you have to be liked by everyone so desperately?” A harsh scoff leaves his lips, but you couldn’t tell whether that was directed to you or to himself. “I couldn’t understand you and thought of you as a fool.”

Wait… isn’t he just straight-up insulting you now?

“I couldn’t understand you back then but now, I know you like the back of my hand.” His voice remains unchanged. Perhaps if it weren’t only you two in the room, the slight waver of his voice would have gone unheard. Then he breathes out a sigh and tilts his head back, still with no intention of facing you. “Do you remember? That winter back in our first year. The one where we were partnered for a presentation.”

(Oh. He’s actually talking to you now.)

“Uh, yeah,” you stammer, “that’s the one we were given two months to prepare for, right?”

He hums in confirmation, “Do you also know, [Name]? At the time, I considered those two months we spent together to be the worst of my life.”

...What.

Too stunned to even think up a retort, he seems to take your silence as his cue to continue.

“Your views on the world; your naivety; your foolishness... I soon realised they were all qualities I had merely made up, simply because I couldn’t grasp your intentions until I actually talked to you. Hah,” he laughs, bitter and remorseful, “it turned out I was the naive one, and that made me question my values.

At the end of our project, I came to realise it wasn’t anything to do with your disposition, but more so my feelings for you. I knew what it was but, at the same time, I denied them. I avoided you more than anything in hopes of them dying out. But... they didn’t. They only grew stronger, as if to mock me for my vain efforts.”

And then he turns — slowly, hesitantly — knitted brows and lower lip caught between his teeth. It’s bashful and shy and tentative; and yet you’re sure his eyes have never held such a confident and resolute glint before now. And now, with both of your hands engulfed in his, he continues on.

“Ever since accepting my feelings, I grew more aware of your presence. No matter where I looked, no matter where my thoughts were, you were always there. I soon came to value your opinion and thoughts of me when I hadn’t cared about such things before. With time, they grew stronger. More desperate. And when realising that just being by you was no longer enough, I... became greedy.”

(Alhaitham has a vague sense to stop here, but he can’t. He won’t let this chance to reveal the true nature of his feelings slip by.)

There’s a small beat of silence as he lowers his head — foreheads touching and noses brushing.

"I want to kiss you, hold you, experience all the mundane and extraordinary things life has to offer with you. I want to be there for you and grow old with you, and...” His hold on you tightens, angling his head to get a better view of you, and for you to see his glossy eyes and near-trembling smile. “And I want to keep your smile in my eyes for the rest of my life. If this isn't love, then I'll probably never know love for the rest of my life."

Your mind’s a mess; jumbled and incoherent. Unfocused, your eyes dart from every dip of his face to the furniture in the background, unable to keep your mind and concentration at bay from his sudden confession. His eyes bore into you, seemingly inching closer and closer; so close they’re all you can see, speckles of umber and teal that would usually go unnoticed becoming very prominent.

Somehow, he leans in even closer. Your mind blanks, throat parched and senses going into overdrive.

“Wait, Alhaitham—”

“No,” he interrupts, his unwavering gaze never once straying from you. “I refuse to wait any longer than I already have. I should have said this long ago when I realised our feelings were mutual, as opposed to waiting it out for so long.”

And then you hear it.

“I love you.”

“What...”

“If you need me to say it a thousand times over just so you understand, then so be it.” His eyes soften considerably, a smoldering passion now unconcealed and consuming you whole. “I love you, [Name]. I’ve loved you for a long time, and I’ll continue loving you for even longer.”

You want to respond. No, you have to respond. After years of showing your affections you finally received a clear response. You should be jumping in his arms and professing your love again! So why...

Why can’t you say anything...?

The pad of his thumbs gently swipe under your eyes, catching beads of tears you hadn’t realised were accumulating. The residue follows the path of his thumb, dampening your cheekbones as his hands slide to cup your cheeks. 

“Are you backing out now?” he breathes out, a silent laugh puffing from his lips. “After all this time you’ve spent pursuing me, and you go silent when I confess my undying love for you?”

“Ah, no, I just... can’t believe it, I guess,” you respond sheepishly after regaining yourself. In a haze of excitement, you turn slightly to fist-bump yourself, his cupped hands following your slight movement. “Your efforts have finally paid off, [Name]!”

Just then, a small “Bfft” rings out. You blink and cautiously turn your focus to the man wearing a stoic expression in front of you.

“Did you… just laugh?”

“I didn’t,” comes his instantaneous response.

(A bright grin alights your face at that, and Alhaitham finds it hard to not kiss you right then and there.)

“You liar. You so did!”

“You’re just hearing things.”

“Yeah, because I just totally heard you turn your head in a failed attempt to hide that laugh—!”

Your words are muffled, swallowed and silenced by his lips on yours. An overflowing warmth seeps through the point of contact. It traverses through your body, now hyper-aware of every strand of his hair tickling your cheeks, to the pads of his fingers searing your skin, to even the faintest brush of his clothes against you.

His touch is warm and all-consuming — and you find yourself leaning in for more.

(Strange. You thought his lips would be a little rough, but they were actually quite soft.)

Slowly, your lips detach. He lingers and hovers over you, everything from half-lidded eyes to his lips brushing against yours consuming you whole. When you try to move back to cool down, he follows; an aimless pursuit for your touch.

“I think you talk too much,” he finds himself murmuring, mind still reeling from what just transpired. Your dazed blinks-turned-smile sets his heart alight at such an adorable sight only he is privy to, as he relishes in the warmth diffused from your cheeks to his palms.

“Hehe, but you like it though— let gwo obf my cheeks.”

In the midst of your complaints, Alhaitham grins, eyes crinkling at the corners as he stares at your puckered lips from his hands smushing your cheeks. How cute... he muses to himself, before planting a chaste, lingering kiss on your forehead.

“By the way,” he whispers against your skin, “your little act with Kaveh hasn’t been forgotten.”

“Uggh. You’re sho stingyy...”

“Hm, perhaps. But you like it.”

Alhaitham had never seen you with such a dumbfounded expression until now.

Mission Status: Who cares? You just won in life! (But also: success!)

“Ugh. They’re at it again.”

Aether and Paimon share a glance upon hearing Kaveh’s grumbles. They follow his line of sight to see what put the architect in such a state, only...

“Is that... Alhaitham?!”

Paimon’s cry earns her more than a few glares from researchers, scholars, and students alike, but that’s not the main issue. The main issue here is in a far corner tucked away in the House of Daena sits you and Alhaitham, the man in question pinching and tugging your cheeks as you try (and ultimately fail) to swat his hands away.

The travel duo had met you a handful of times. Within those few meetings, Aether had thought of you as someone sincere and resolute, whereas Paimon had deemed you as the “nice researcher with the tastiest food recommendations!”. And within those few meetings, never would they have guessed your relationship with Alhaitham.

“Oh?” Kaveh cocks a brow at their apparent surprise. “You didn’t know they’re dating? That guy is so obvious about it with how clingy he is.”

Aether hurriedly covers Paimon’s mouth before she could spew another set of cries that would surely put them in the bad books of the nearby occupants.

A beat of silence passes. A distinct murmur from your direction can be heard amidst the faint scribbling of pen on paper and the rustling of pages being turned. And then comes a sigh from beside them.

“Y’know, that guy’s been in love with [Name] for as long as I can remember, and probably even before then,” Kaveh starts, arms crossed over his chest as he stares at you quietly giggling away at something Alhaitham whispered. “He was so obvious about it too with his blatant favouritism. And even then he never outright acted on his feelings — that were very much reciprocated, mind you — until a few months ago! If it weren’t for me, this whole thing could’ve taken another few years!”

Aether and Paimon share another glance before focusing back on Kaveh and his seemingly never-ending rant.

“Honestly,” he huffs, head shaking in line with his exasperation and still in his own world, “I still have no clue what he’s thinking. For all I know, he probably just wanted to see how far [Name] would go; that smug bastard. Wouldn’t surprise me.”

While Aether awkwardly chuckles at the tagged insult, Paimon continues to watch your shared interaction in wonder — namely the smile which adorns Alhaitham’s lips.

“Wow. Paimon can’t imagine a guy like him being in love...”

Kaveh scoffs. “There’s no need to imagine it when he’s so blatantly love-struck right in front of us. However...” he trails off when you nudge Alhaitham, the new angle allowing the trio to witness him chuckling fondly at your action before placing a kiss on your cheek. A light sigh slips past Kaveh’s lips, “I’m glad they’re finally together.” 

“Why so?” Aether asks, head tilting at the man’s change in tone.

“It was painful to watch.”

“Ah...”

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[dilf-lover99]

And I Love Her | J.P.

Pairing: James Potter x Female Reader

Summary: The 3 times James tries to get the girl and the 1 time he finally does. Or In which James Potter is hopelessly in love with his best friend.

Warnings: so. much. pining., idiots to lovers, miscommunication(s), a dash of angst, some heavy kissing, james potter being the literal definition of boyfriendism

Word Count: 4.8k

a/n: hi ! james potter won the poll and i am so completely okay with it. i really intended for this to be angst but he's just SO boyfriend. this may be my favorite thing i've ever written and i really hope you enjoy it too ! p.s. i missed u guys lots and i'm so grateful you've stuck around after months of crickets from me. love u love u love u<3

(y/n).

Depending on who you asked, it was only a name. The name of a classmate, or a friend, or yourself, but only a name nonetheless.

Unless you asked James Potter.

It wasn’t only a name. Not to him. To James, it was everything.

Because it was your name.

Your name that hastened his heartbeat with every mention.

Your name that sent a salient stream of blood rushing to his cheeks, tinting them a lucent shade of scarlet.

Your name that, once mentioned, seemed to follow him everywhere, as though the wind itself would begin whispering it, rustling alongside the branches of the whomping willow tree before floating its way over to his ears, sounding sweeter than any melody he’d ever heard before.

To state it simply, James Potter was irrevocably, inconceivably, in love with you.

But saying it that way didn’t seem like enough.

He didn’t just love you with his heart, for his heart could stop beating. And he didn’t only love you with his mind, for his memories could fail him one day. James Potter loved you with the entirety of his soul, with every fibre making up his being. Of that, he was certain.

What he wasn’t certain of however, was how to bare his infatuated soul to you.

After all, how exactly does one tell his best friend he’s besotted with her?

He tried the gentle approach first. 

The train back to Hogwarts was filling up quickly. Stories of his peers’ summer holidays flow obstreperously through the air as James’ eyes remain glued to the door of him and his friends’ usual compartment.

“Ease off it with the evil eye, Prongs. She’ll be here.” Sirius’ teasing voice breaks James away from his thoughts, which were unsurprisingly fixated on you.

He doesn’t bother denying it, well aware he’s been staring daggers at the door since he stepped foot off platform 9 ¾, anxiously awaiting your appearance after spending the entire summer holiday apart from you.

“Leave him be, Pads. He misses her.” Remus interjects kindly, not lifting his eyes from the well-worn pages of whichever book he’s decided to burrow his attention into for the ride back to Hogwarts.

“Well he can join the bloody club then, can’t he?” Sirius starts, intent on ignoring Remus’ suggestion, “I’ve just about fallen for her myself after spending my entire holiday listening to this git recite his bloody sonnets for her,” he continues with a not-so flattering mimicry of a lovesick James, “It is the east! And (y/n) is the sun. O Romeo!” He throws himself dramatically to the floor on his knees, clasping his hands above his heart.

Peter watches the spectacle with a grin, covering up his chuckle with a cough after James sends him a look of warning. Before James can defend himself against Sirius’ melodrama, the door to their compartment slides open, revealing a beautiful and slightly out of breath you.

And suddenly you’re not the only one who’s out of breath.

You’ve gotten even prettier over the summer, somehow. If somebody had asked James before, if he thought you could possibly have gotten any more beautiful, he’d’ve laughed in their face, telling them tales of how your beauty could put Aphrodite to shame. But now? Now his heart was beating so violently in his chest he was almost certain it was attempting to escape, trying to take its rightful place upon your sleeve.

“Sorry I’m late, I nearly broke my neck out there!” You stop briefly to catch your breath, the jog on your way over winding you more than you’d care to admit. “Someone ought to tell those first-years there’s enough seats on here for the lot of us. I’ve just been walloped by a bloody eleven year old! Cheeky little-” You cease your rambling amidst your confusion at the sight before you, Sirius on his knees at James’ feet.

“Have I interrupted something? Perhaps a proposal of sorts?” You jest, your amusement growing at the wide eyed look on James’ face as he scrambles to stand, coming to greet you properly with a hug that doesn’t last nearly as long as you wish it would.

“No!” He protests instantly, amidst wrapping you in the soft embrace.

“Cor, I’ve missed you.” He mumbles after pulling away, leaving a hand on your back as he gently guides you to your seat beside him, hesitant to do so, as once you’re sat he’ll no longer have an excuse to touch you.

“I missed you more!” Your enthusiasm brings him optimism, there’s a chance she means it the way you do, he thinks, there’s a chance-

“And what of me?” Sirius and his bloody interjections. James has half a mind to lock him out of the ruddy compartment and leave him to fend for himself amongst the overzealous first-years.

“I’m sorry, have we met?” You feign confusion, though not very well, James can see the brilliant smile forming leisurely upon your lips. What I would do to those lips, his thoughts are running rampant after a summer spent away from your presence, too caught up to hear the jokes you and Sirius are trading back and forth, and that laugh! His internal monologue continues, ’s like a proper bloody song. Just ask her, right now. If she says no you can play it off as a joke. It might sting a bit, but surely it’d be better than keeping it all locked away.

“Will you go to Hogsmeade with me? Just us two? We’ll have a lovely time, I swear it.”

He knows what he was hoping you’d say, something along the lines of ‘Yes, James, I’d love to!’ but he wasn’t expecting it.

He also wasn’t expecting your given response.

“That’s a wonderful idea, Jamie, thank you! D’you see that, Sirius? A helpful suggestion. You ought to try one of those sometime.” You’re back to chatting with Sirius and Remus as Peter leans over to James, whispering an explanation to his visibly confused friend.

James had caught you mid-complaint about how you’d forgotten to bring the dittany leaves you need to make the special healing chocolates you gift Remus after a particularly bad full moon. After Sirius’ not-so-helpful suggestion to try substituting them with pot leaves, you gladly welcomed the chance to pop over to Hogsmeade with James and buy some more.

You’d mistaken his date proposal for a shopping trip.

Marvellous.

This is going to be the year that James tells you how he feels. He’ll make sure of it.

If for no other reason than this was your seventh and final year at Hogwarts together. His stomach churned at the mere idea of allowing you to slip through his fingers for good; you acting as the coarse sand to his adamant hourglass. He wouldn’t have it.

So he’d try again.

In the few weeks since you’ve returned to Hogwarts, your time’s been consumed by studying for your N.E.W.T.s. You’re also determined to acquire a spot in the internship programme at St. Mungo’s. The sheer amount of time you’ve spent there with your boys over the last few years has more than prepared you for a future as a healer if you end up enjoying the work.

“Alright, who was the first witch to extract floo powder?” James has spent the last hour and a half quizzing you on all matters Herbology, if it were anyone else he’d’ve been bored to slumber by now. But it wasn’t anyone else, it was you.

The two of you were sat outside together on a blanket, taking full advantage of the uncharacteristically sunny day. James is leaned comfortably back against a tree as you sit across from him, simultaneously taking notes and answering each of his questions without pause.

“Ignatia Wildsmith. Ravenclaw. Come ‘ead James, I’ve told you to stop going easy on me! Every seventh-year applying will know all of these.” Bloody lucky I love her so much, James thinks to himself, I thought that was a hard one.

He’d like to laugh your nerves away, crack a few jokes and tell you that you may be going a bit overboard. You’re going to get the internship, and not just because you’re brilliant and perfectly qualified, but also because your Herbology professor had written a glowing recommendation letter singing your praises.

But he can’t find it in himself to mess around when you’ve got that adorable little wrinkle between your eyebrows displaying your worry, and your lips have turned down into a delectably kissable pout. It takes nearly everything in him not to brush it away with his own lips. 

“(y/n),” He starts, wetting his lips with his tongue as he desperately attempts to keep his thoughts from overtaking his voice, “It’s going to be alright, I promise. You’re more than ready for this. Why don’t we try taking a little break?” His heart feels as though it’s leapt into his throat when you glance at him and send a delicate smile of gratitude.

“I’m sorry, Jamie. We’ve been at this for hours, you must be exhausted of me by now.” You smile, more cheerful this time as you realize a break is precisely what you need.

James can’t contain the laugh that escapes him.

Exhausted? Of you? 

The absurdity of thinking he could ever grow tired of you was an inherently laughable concept to him.

He’s nearly clutching his stomach when he finally manages to compose himself, making heart-stopping eye contact with his equally amused and puzzled best friend.

“Are you mad?” James’ dimpled smile sets a kaleidoscope of butterflies aflutter in your stomach, “I’d spend all my hours with you if I could.” He means it with every atom that makes up his being, he’s meant it for years but now he’s actually saying it to you.

Your smile grows wider with each word he speaks, your own thoughts matching the underlying sentiment of his articulation more than he could ever know.

“I-” He pauses, inhaling deeply and squeezing his eyes shut tightly in an effort to maintain his courage, “I love you.” You did it, he thinks to himself proudly, you actually bloody did it, Prongs! He exhales shakily, reinitiating eye contact with you as a small smile begins to blossom on his tender lips.

“James,” Your voice holds an underlying tone of sadness that causes an adorable crinkle of confusion to settle between James’ eyebrows, “I love you too.” You smile tightly, almost as though it’s causing you discomfort to do so.

“You do?” James is more perplexed now than he had been when you’d explained to him in painstaking detail the intricate relationships between each member of Fleetwood Mac the first time the two of you listened to Rumours together.

“Of course I do,” Your smile stretches intimately, the somber quality of your voice never wavering, “You’re my best mate, after all.”

Best mate? James thinks, is that really all she sees?

Had he not been so caught up in his own racing thoughts, he may have picked up on yours. He may have realized that his situation was holding a gargantuan mirror up to your own, casting a perfect reflection of the feelings within.

Best mates, you internally chastise yourself, that’s all he sees.

A proper bloody mirror.

“It was completely humiliating, Pads. She might as well’ve called me her bloody brother.” James has been yammering on about what happened that day for the past three weeks. Three weeks. Sirius is going positively mad, somehow having become James’ sounding board to rehash his complaints every time he remembers the encounter.

“I mean, how am I supposed to tell the girl I’d like to spend the rest of my life with her now?” James is pacing back and forth agitatedly at the foot of Sirius’ bed, as the aforementioned boy lays back uninterestedly, wishing his duvet would come to life and swallow him whole in an effort to escape the worlds most redundant conversation.

“She’d probably tell you that sounds lovely. Make you her future child’s godparent.” Sirius jokes dryly.

James abandons his invisible footpath, a wave of panic comically widening his warm hazel eyes substantially.

“She what?”

“For Merlin’s sake, Prongs! I can’t take any more of this,” Sirius sits up agitatedly, now far beyond his capacity for James’ lovesick commentaries, “Just go tell her. Right now.”

“Are you mad? Have you not just heard everything I’ve said?” James would normally find humour in Sirius’ lackadaisical attitude, but confessing his feelings for you was an entirely serious matter with no margin for error.

“Oh I’ve heard it, Prongs. For the past three weeks. And the entire bloody summer. And every single year before that.” He moves to stand in front of James, his agitation fading into sincerity, “I know how you feel, Prongs. But does she?” James swallows thickly as Sirius continues, “I don’t mean just telling her you love her, I mean telling her how you love her. As more than a friend. Maybe she feels the same way.”

James takes his time considering Sirius’ words. He’s tried to tell you, clearly, but he assumed that you’d only seen him as a friend. But what if you hadn’t? What if Sirius is right, and you told him you loved him as a friend because you’d assumed that’s what he’d meant when he said it?

“I’m a proper git, aren’t I?” James concludes aloud.

“Most certainly, Prongsy. It’s why I keep you around,” Sirius’ playful mood returns swiftly, “Makes me feel better about myself.” 

You’re talking softly with Remus in the library, voices low enough not to disrupt your peers but just detectable enough for James to catch your words when he finds you, internally preparing his declaration of unwavering devotion for you.

“You’re not going out with him, are you?” Remus’ hushed voice holds a curious tone.

“Of course not, Rem.” You smile softly, “Could you honestly imagine that? Him and I dating?”

James’ eyebrows furrow together in confusion, he presses himself slightly against a nearby bookshelf in an attempt to hear your conversation more clearly.

“No, I guess not,” Remus chuckles faintly, “It would certainly make things awkward if they didn’t work out. Being friends and all.” 

“No kidding.” You chuckle good-naturedly. 

James feels like a bag of cement has been poured down his throat, constricting his lungs and settling into a block of concrete in the pit of his stomach.

Sirius had been wrong. You didn’t love James as more than a friend, in fact, you’d practically laughed at the thought of it. In his hasty escape from the scene of the melancholic crime, James neglected to hear the rest of your conversation with Remus.

“He’s a lovely lad, truly,” You smile genuinely, “Any girl would be lucky to call Amos Diggory her boyfriend. We’re just better as friends is all.” You trail off, leaving out the part where your heart already belongs to another shared friend of yours and Remus’.

It’s not like it was ever going to happen anyway. Your love for James Potter was entirely unreciprocated.

Wasn’t it?

James is avoiding you.

As painful as it is to spend each never-ending moment of spare time away from you, James can only think of how much more agonizing it would be to spend those moments with you.

To fix his loving gaze on your sparkling eyes, only to find them filled with affections one would hold only for a friend.

To accomplish the feat of bringing a luminous smile to your delicate lips, only to remember those lips would never brush tenderly against his own.

To be so close to the girl he loves, only to be denied her heart in equal measure.

It’s easier, in a sense, to push you away.

It’s only temporary, just until he can stomach the thought of spending the rest of his life as your best mate and nothing more.

But it’s been weeks, and the idea still makes his head feel like it’s underwater, like he’s fighting to reach the surface but his leg’s been caught on a viciously determined blade of seaweed.

Still, he’s convinced himself that this is his best course of action.

Unbeknownst to James, however, you’ve been going stark raving mad.

You’ve hardly spoken to him in weeks. When you think about it, you’ve barely even seen him, save for a few quick glimpses in your classes and across the dining tables in the Great Hall.

You’ve tried to talk to him, clearly something is bothering him. Maybe you’ve said or done something to upset him without realizing it. But he’d brushed you off before you could even get out the words ‘are you alright?’

You’d asked Remus, Sirius, and Peter about it, each of them giving you vague semblances of justification that fell entirely flat, a few “He’s just busy with quidditch”s and a couple of “Must be studying today”s. You’ve grown tired of the excuses and you’re determined to get to the bottom of it yourself.

You’re leaning picturesquely against the wall outside of the lad’s changing room when James finally sees you again. His curly hair is spilling droplets of water from the shower he’s just taken, successfully washing away the evidence of his quidditch practice.

You’re beautiful. That’s all he can think as he finally allows himself to take you in fully for the first time in weeks. He feels like he’s been holding his breath since he saw you last and now he can finally exhale, a sense of euphoria filling his chest as his lungs deflate mercifully.

“Hi.” You state gently, a delicate smile painted daintily across your lips.

“Hi.” James echoes once he’s relearned the inhale-exhale repetition of breathing again.

“I waited for you,” You start after a brief silence, “Which- You can see that, obviously.” You chuckle a ebullient breath that causes a small smile to form on James’ face, Merlin, I’ve missed that, he thinks as you continue. “I just, um- I thought maybe we could talk?” You’re fiddling with your fingers, a nervous habit of yours that James has long since memorized by now.

He instantly reaches for your hands, tenderly taking one in his own and carefully intertwining your fingers together with his. The action is like second nature, he hardly thinks twice about it.

You smile visibly at the act of comfort, if he’s upset with you and that’s the reason he’s been avoiding you, it makes your heart skip a beat that he’s putting it all aside to calm you down when you’re anxious.

“About what?” He tries, though you both know that’s not going to work.

“Nice,” You smile teasingly, “Want to give it a real go this time?”

James swallows something akin to a lump in his throat, averting his resplendent hazel gaze from your eyes to land somewhere along the floor as he overthinks which approach he should take.

He could try honesty. Yes, he thinks, because that would go over proper well. I’m avoiding you cause I’ve been gutted since I heard you’re not in love with me. Surely she’ll find that real mature, Prongs.

He could also try lying his arse off. And that would work, he sarcastically chastises silently, Me? Oh nothing’s wrong at all. Just tired, y’know? Practice and homework and the like. As if she’s ever believed a lie you’ve told her before.

He finally chances resuming eye contact with you, heartbeat hastening expeditiously as his hazel orbs lock onto your patently awaiting eyes. You should be looking far more frustrated, James wouldn’t blame you if you were. You have every right to be upset, and yet you’re not.

Instead, you’re you. 

You, who’s calmly awaiting a response, fingers still gently intertwined with James’. 

You, who’s looking at him with soft, sparkling eyes, eyes that are silently promising him no matter what he says, everything is going to be alright.

You, the girl he loves more than anything in the world.

“You.” He states after an implicit eternity.

“Me?” Your features mix together to create a perfectly darling display of confusion that, even despite the circumstances, causes a modest smile to tug upwards at the corners of James’ mouth.

“I’ve been avoiding you.” He conveys, sounding as though he’s just revealed to you a hidden secret you’d’ve never otherwise been able to uncover.

You can’t contain the short laugh that escapes you, a smile taking its rightful place on your face. “Yeah, ‘m not exactly Sherlock Holmes, but I managed to put that one together.”

James can’t subdue the traces of guilt that seep onto his face.

“I was hoping maybe we could talk about why. If I’ve done something to upset you-”

“No!” James cuts you off, “No, love, you haven’t done anything. Nothing you could control anyway.” His voice is less than half of its usual volume at the last sentence he utters.

Your face is back to holding that adorably confused expression that James so desperately yearns to kiss away.

“I have to admit, Jamie, I’ve got no idea what you’re on about.”

James sighs, finally releasing the hand that’s been holding comfortably on to your own and running it through his leisurely drying hair. He releases a sigh of distress and squeezes his eyes shut firmly in an attempt to figure out the best way to explain himself.

“If you’re not upset with me, then why have you been avoiding me?” You’re trying to put it together on your own as James is proving to be no help, “Wait a mo! Is this some kind of prank or something?” You smile, though you’re not entirely certain you’re correct yet, “Are you trying to get back at me for dying your knickers pink? Because that was an accident!” 

James can’t help but smile at your incorrect deduction. Merlin she’s adorable he thinks, how am I supposed to tell her now?

“Yes!” James concludes untruthfully, “You got me. Just a prank. Might’ve gone a bit too far with it though. Sorry ‘bout that, love.”

He brings you into a hug and, after going weeks without it, it feels like home.

You feel like home.

You’re hugging James, after having just gone weeks without it. And you just know. 

You have to tell him.

You have to tell him, right now, that you’re in love with him.

And so you do.

“I love you.” You state breathlessly, pulling away from the warm solace of his embrace and looking bravely into his glimmering hazel eyes.

James nods his head mechanically, as if he’s agreeing to your suggestion on what to have for dinner and not taking in the confession of eternal love you’ve just spouted.

“Yes, I love you too,” He smiles a tight, strained smile, “Mate.” He punctuates his final word by bumping his fist gently into your shoulder.

Oh, you think, I’m going to have to spell it out for him, aren’t I?

“No, James. I love you,” You take a step closer to him, not breaking eye contact despite the nerves that are jostling around your insides like a violent sea in a raging storm, taking a deep breath before exhaling somewhat expeditiously, you continue, “Like- Like, I’m in love with you.”

The first thing James feels in that moment are his eyes widening emphatically behind his round-rimmed glasses, his dark lashes making direct contact with the top of his eyelids. He’s certain he must have heard you wrong, that or he’s understood you wrong.

The second thing he feels is hope. What if he hadn’t understood you wrong?

The third thing he feels is his heart, beating faster than it ever has before, so fast he thinks it might be ready to do him in for good. Surely a heart shouldn’t be beating that fast.

“You’re in love? With me?” James speaks disbelievingly, though he’s unable to hide the traces of optimism he’s feeling as a modest smile begins to form on his face.

You nod your head assuredly, a genial smile of your own starting at the sight of his, “Yes, I’m in love with you. Madly, in fact.”

You’ve spent months, years even, deliberating on how you would tell James, if you would tell James. You’d spent countless hours wondering how he would react and what would happen after all was said and done.

You’d planned to tell him all about that. About how long you’ve felt this way, when it started and why it’s taken you so long to tell him, how you were too afraid of risking your best friend should anything have gone wrong.

What you hadn’t planned on was what happened the second you got the last word out.

James eagerly presses his plush lips onto your own, savouring the long overdue sensation of your mouth against his. He tenderly brushes your bottom lip with his tongue once he feels you respond to the kiss with equal fervour. Enthusiastically, you grant his tongue access into your mouth, pulling him closer to you by the roots of his damp hair.

James lets out a low groan at the contact, pulling you flush against his body by your waist, his hands hungrily gripping onto you for dear life as, somehow, the kiss deepens even further.

When the need for oxygen outweighs your mutual need for each others lips, you reluctantly part the slightest of distances, foreheads resting tenderly against one another.

“I’m in love you too. So bloody madly.” James whispers contentedly with a lovesick grin. 

You’re each donning smiles brighter than you can ever recall before.

The moment you’ve caught your breath you’re back at it again in full force, gripping at each others clothes and tangling nimble fingers through the other’s hair. James pulls back when your beaming smile makes it a little harder for him to kiss you, returning a smile just as wide that compels you to pull him back in for another kiss, or two, or three.

When the two of you finally feel satiated enough, James pulls back again, a noticeably farther distance. He’s still smiling but it isn’t quite as bright as it was a moment ago.

“What was all that about in the library, then? With Moony?” He asks you the question that’s been clawing at his insides for the last few weeks.

You pause, visibly confused as you shuffle through the files of your memories until you land on one a few weeks ago with Remus in the library. The two of you were discussing a friend who’d asked you on a date. You’d declined as politely as you could, valuing his friendship but knowing your heart had long since been beating for James.

“What about it?” You smile confusedly.

“Well, you were talking about me, weren’t you?” James looks down to the floor, expression now almost devoid of the happiness that had previously overtaken every inch of his face.

“What?” You laugh briefly before it registers, not just his words, but the reason he’s been avoiding you for the last few weeks.

“Wait- James!” You tilt your head into his line of vision, gently cradling his face with your hand as you turn his head to face you fully, “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? You thought.. Oh, Merlin.”

You pull him into a hug, holding him tight enough to convey just how wrong he’s been.

“I was talking about Amos Diggory.” You state with a gentle exhale, something between a laugh and a sigh, pulling back you rest your arms at your sides. “He asked me to dinner.”

James doesn’t hide the relief that courses through his body, despite the slight scoff of jealousy he lets out at your final sentence.

“But,” You wrap your arms back around him in reassurance, looking up into his eyes that are once again sparkling with happiness, “I’ve been a tad busy, being in love with my best friend and all. So I told him no. Obviously.”

“Right, obviously.” James replies with a cheeky smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

“You’re a git, you know.” You roll your eyes, the action a mixture of lovesickness and frustration. “You could’ve just asked me then. Instead of hiding in the books like a proper stalker. And then avoiding me. For weeks,” You’re smiling, but you know you’re still getting your point across, “You git.” You punctuate your final word with a gentle swat to James’ chest, smiling adoringly when he grabs that hand and brings it up to his lips, placing a tender kiss to it before dropping your intertwined hands back at your side.

“I know,” He admits apologetically, “I’m sorry.” He’s smiling breathtakingly, “Still love me?”

You can’t find it in yourself to be upset with him, because in some roundabout way, it’s what led you to this moment right now, where you can reach over and kiss him if you want to.

And you want to. 

Pulling him into you by the fabric of his shirt, you plant another kiss upon James’ lips. The passion and tenderness in the kiss meld together just as perfectly as your lips do.

“Yes.” You mumble happily when your mouths finally break apart. “Always.”

[wonjns]

citrus — p.wb

⌗ pairing. . . park wonbin x male reader

⌗ genre. . . smut,, pwp tbh

⌗ summary. . . your fwb coerces you to drink pineapple juice solely because he loves the way you taste when you do. he's simply a man of science.

⌗ includes. . . switch!wonbin, semi-public, blowjob (rec.), overstimulation, mdni!!

⌗ wc. 1.4k

°A/N. . . requested by 🐈‍⬛✓ "....can I request a dom Wonbin whose obsessed with giving you blowjobs 🫣 I know he's a certified babygirl but something about his aura onstage mixed with those perfect lips of his makes my stomach do PIROUETTES." // HI ANONNN so sorry that this took me FOREVER love,, and that its so short. but i hope u enjoy it & i have more riize content coming very soon!!

the last thing park wonbin was, is predictable.

its been nearly 6 months since you've started your whole friends-with-benefits-borderline-situationship ordeal, and every time you hook up he still manages to make the butterflies in your stomach go absolutely haywire.

you couldn't quite pinpoint what it was about him that always got you so worked up. truthfully, it could be anything from his passion, versatility in bed, or more obviously his painstakingly good looks — but the one thing that you couldn't deny was your favorite is that he was the absolute king of giving head.

and it was his favorite, too, if the way he'd randomly start stroking you to full hardness throughout the day was anything to go by.

at first, you simply loved the way his soft lips would mold against yours whenever you'd make out. even more so when it was in a frenzied manner in the backseat of his car after a rough exam. that cloud 9 feeling would descend upon you whenever he would draw your tongue into his mouth, sucking on it rhythmically. yet, even that quickly proved to be only a warm up for what he was about to do when he’d begin to unbuckle your pants.

wonbin was a beautiful man, with beautiful eyes and a beautiful soul to match. there were books full of wholesome things you could list that contributed to your attraction towards him. but at the end of the day, you just had to admit that the motherfucker had those tantalizing, plush, pillowy lips that felt even better than they looked when he would wrap them around your needy cock.

he loved how subby it made you - how easily only he could reduce you into a pile of desperation for him with just his mouth alone. one touch from him and desire was radiating off you in waves of shameless pheromones.

he knew how much you loved it, causing the prideful boy to take even more joy in sucking you off.

one day, wonbin even went as far as to start convincing you to add pineapple to your diet, after he was scrolling through tiktok and found out it made you taste better down there. the blonde already thought you were naturally the best thing he’d ever tasted, so he practically had to stifle a moan at just the thought that he could make your orgasms even sweeter.

it felt a bit silly, the way he would start ordering pineapple juice for you at restaurants, but you went along with it regardless for the sake of testing the theory.

and oh boy, did it turn out to be true.

after the fruit had become part of your habitual snack routine, the orgasms wonbin would give you were nothing short of out of this world. you'd noticed his grip on your hips would be even tighter once your precum started seeping on to his tongue, and his throaty moans became even deeper.

you'd feel his eager, pink tongue begin to lap up and down the bottom of your shaft with more intensity, goosebumps rising from every inch of your skin as you were catapulted into your climax.

"oh my god, binnie...." you couldn't help but whimper, fingers curling into his silky golden locks when you saw his eyes roll back in ecstasy.

that first time, the way he licked up the entirety of the mess you made even after spilling down his welcoming throat showed you how serious it was to him.

"fuck," wonbin would groan, making sure to collect any remnants off of your lower stomach before grinning up at you. "we are definitely sticking with that method."

then before you knew it, he quickly became greed personified.

you'd think with how in command he always was, that you'd be the one usually on your knees for him - but he easily made it known that he wanted access to your sweet juices whenever he wanted.

and to wonbin... there was never an inappropriate time.

you'd have to use both hands to count the amount of times that you'd been out in public when he'd lay one of his ridiculously attractive, veiny hands on top of your core just to feel how your member would twitch at his touch.

it didn't matter if you were out shopping. it didn't matter if you were in the library. and it definitely didn't matter that you were now at dinner with the entire friend group.

wonbin didn't hesitate to give you that signature look, the one he knew you couldn't resist, while cupping your quickly growing erection after playing with under the table for the past ten minutes. for good measure, he also gave his plump bottom lip a singular tug between his teeth, just to seal the deal, to make sure he got you in the bathroom with your jeans pooled around your ankles.

you had to admit it was addicting, the way wonbin's smooth hands glided under your shirt to run along your torso while he teasingly licked your bulge through the thin layer of your underwear. your head fell back against the cool tile, unable to voice out your thoughts of how irrational this was.

nothing mattered when wonbin finally tugged your boxers down, removing that final blockade from him and your aching cock, already glistening with leaking arousal.

he shamelessly moaned when he pulled you into his mouth, wantonly sucking on your length as if it were his well earned dessert. in a way, it was — you have no idea what wonbin did in order to earn it while your friends were mindlessly chatting away back at the table, but you couldn't say no to him.

"god, y/n, i've got to be a fucking genius." the potty (albeit talented) mouth groaned. "you taste so good and haven't even cum yet."

you whined at his words, causing him to smirk as you meekly attempted to pull his head back to your cock, silently begging for more. he loved to tease you by randomly stopping just to utter nonsense, knowing the cool air exposed to your private parts after being wet from his mouth made you shiver.

you furrowed your hands in their familiar spot in wonbin's hair as he fiddled about leaving opened mouth kisses along your thighs. he took the time to gently suck the skin just below your belly button to drive you insane before he went back to the real work.

you often wondered how he never complained about his knees hurting, but just as you were about to ask him, he started bobbing his head up and down your length with vigor.

a loud moan managed to escape your lips when he hollowed his cheeks out around you, his warmness sending your body into overdrive.

"c-cumming—" was all you had to mutter before wonbin was pulling back, a smug look on his face as he held his thick tongue out.

"give it to me, pretty boy."

you nearly sobbed, overwhelmed with how sexy he looked - baffled with how dominant his aura could still be even while on his knees for you. he was commanding you while below you, and you’d never thought once about disobeying.

all it took was a quick jerk of your wrist after grabbing hold of your length, your love liquids shooting out and landing right on their target.

it was lewd, and a little embarrassing, watching wonbin swallow all you had to offer, but the way his adams apple bobbed while he lowly hummed to himself in satisfaction nearly sent you into another climax.

"so good, baby." wonbin drawled, keeping eye contact with you as he leaned forward to firmly grab your thighs, catching your relaxing cock back in his mouth.

you whined out feeling wonbin’s tongue properly clean all around your length, the overstimulation making your legs shake erratically.

weak attempts to push his head away were futile, wonbin absolutely having to lap up every inch of your skin he could to truly savor in the moment. it was a lot, but your body craved it. your head feebly swayed back and forth against the wall, and you swore your legs were seconds away from giving out when he finally pulled back.

wonbin pulled your underwear and jeans back up around your waist as he stood, softly kissing your lips to bring you back down to earth.

you swore during moments like this, that you loved him.

"lets go wrap up with the guys, then we can watch a movie at the house. how's that sound?" he questioned, raising a brow while gently pinching your flushed cheeks.

you nodded, before taking a deep breathe to compose yourself.

it was a cute offer, but in reality you were aware that the rest of your night fully entailed of you chugging a to-go pineapple juice on the car ride home, knowing that wonbin was gonna have you on your back drawing at least two more orgasms out of you before even turning the tv on.

© 𝐟𝐥𝐰𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐢 — all rights reserved

[primofate]

A Shot in The Dark (Chapter 2) Wriothesley x fem!reader

Summary: As the upcoming Weapons Master of the town, you've started to take more responsibilities in your father's shop. Little did you know that taking up this job would cause you to get thrown into the messy world of criminals and the messy world of confusing feelings for the Duke of Meropide.

Warnings: blood and talks about the use of blood for something unconventional, some might find it disturbing.

Read other parts: Chapter 1

Wriothesley didn’t show up.

Not the day after, nor the day after that.

At first you wondered if he was thoroughly offended by you not remembering who he was, but on second thought, he didn’t really seem like the type of guy to be offended by someone—especially you—not remembering his name.

And so the days passed by normally, the usual number of customers, the usual number of people walking in and asking general questions about weapons and the like. No sign of Wriothesley, nor any other “celebrity”.

It was a week after meeting the Duke that the shop door nearly flew off its hinges and in came a man with a sword strapped on his back.

You took one look at him—scraggly beard, mid 40s, head of hair that was somewhat long, but tied back into a small tail—and was immediately transported to a conversation with your father.

“We usually don’t judge books by its covers, Y/N, but you’ll know when to deny service to someone,” your father exclaimed, magnifying glass in one hand, pointed at a piece of metal.

You purse your lips at the statement, watching him quietly, until you had to ask. “What do you mean? How would I know if they were good or bad people? There’s no way to tell in such a short amount of time,”

Your father muses a bit, a slight hum emanating from his chest. He puts the magnifying glass down and meets your gaze. “Sometimes, your instincts just know, my dear,” he smiles a tiny one. “Our talent of fixing any weapon in existence may be a mundane skill…but weapons are powerful things Y/N! There are times where we have to stop and think, will I be doing the right thing if I fix this?”

“Good afternoon,” the man speaks and you blink back to present day. He stands confident in front of the counter and pierces you with his gaze. There is nothing inherently wrong with how he looked, but you could tell he wasn’t from Fontaine, and there was a strange feeling of anxiety trying to surface from the bottom of your stomach.

Instinct, huh?

You smile at the man. “Good afternoon,” you reply, eyes darting up to the hilt of his sword, peeking behind his back. “How can I help you today?”

The man moved with a type of grace and fluidity that told you he was no ordinary citizen. He most likely had been wielding a sword for years. His hand came up to the hilt of his sword and he pulled at it until it came off its scabbard, revealing that the blade was a blood red colour.

You controlled a shiver that ran up your spine as the man laid the peculiar looking sword on the counter. On closer inspection, the hilt was a deep purple. And the blade was a natural red colour—for a moment you thought that it had been dipped in blood—it was, to your knowledge, a katana, and a very beautiful albeit uniquely coloured one. The wear and tear was visible and you knew that this weapon was most likely centuries old. You dare not to touch it.

“What’s wrong with it?” You simply ask, prying your eyes away from the weapon and towards the man.

The man doesn’t show any sign of disappointment nor worry. “It’s not as strong as it previously was,” he explained. “I assume it needs a bit of refinement,”

A bit, was an understatement. It needed A LOT of refinement. It was an old blade, anyone could see that, weapons master or not. Your hands hovered above it and you ask, just as you always do “May I?”

Your hand inched closer as the man nodded and you took time to run your hand over the entirety of the sword. It had…a lot of ill intent. How you could tell, you weren’t quite sure. It was not wholly about its colour, but its aura, and how heavy and tired it looked.

“…I’m sorry, I can’t fix this,”

It’s time for this blade to rest.

You never thought that you would decline someone of service, it just didn’t seem like something that would happen.

“Do you know of Dendrobium flowers?” The man’s voice is rather low, but still smooth and somewhat friendly.

You blink up at him, taken aback by the sudden topic change. “…I can’t say I do,”

He talks, and while he talks he tries to retrieve something from his rucksack. “Dendrobium. A rare and expensive plant, found in Inazuman soil,” he takes a small box and opens it, revealing a blood red flower that you’ve never seen in your life before. “Rumor has it that these plants are watered using blood,”

There’s a small pause. A moment for you to internalize the information he just shared, and you were sure now, that there was something strange going on with your customer.

“…Mmhmm,” you let out quietly with a small nod, not knowing what else to say, feeling the atmosphere in the shop grow colder.

“The bloodier and more brutal the battlefield, the more lovely the Dendrobium blooms,” he closes the box, and hands it over to you. “Consider it, a gift,” he takes his blade in his hand and stretches it out for you to see clearly. “This here, is Muramasa… and the only way to fix him…is to refine him with Dendrobium ore,” He sheathes the katana onto his back and levels his gaze back towards you. “…but, it’s been centuries, since anyone has seen a Dendrobium ore. People say that the Dendrobium flowers crystallize when it’s been watered with enough blood…and yet I haven’t seen a single Dendrobium ore in my life,”

You stay silent, merely letting him finish his story.

“Well then, ma’am, I’ll be on my way. My thanks, for taking a look at Muramasa,” he tips his head forward, turns, footsteps towards the door, pulls it open and he pulls it close again as he leaves.

You stand still, the flower box in your hand. You wait a few minutes before you can completely feel yourself relax back into your normal state—you hadn’t even realized that you had been tense the whole time—and your eyes drop back to the small black box.

…Does he know? I’ll have to tell father about this…

And just as you always do with your other customers, you try to replay the interaction back in your head, to see if you missed anything or if you said anything wrong. The next customer didn’t come in until lunch time, so you were thankful that you had time to unpack your interaction with the strange man whose name you didn’t get.

The more you thought about it, the stranger it had been, or perhaps he was merely an eccentric? Still, it was completely unnecessary to tell a long-winded story about the Dendrobium…what was his purpose?

“You look out of sorts today,” A smug, familiar voice echoes through the shop. Wriothesley is suddenly there, you hadn’t even heard the door open nor the bell ring.

“Oh, Wriothesley,” you absentmindedly let out, snapping out of thought, eyes adjusting to the view in front of you rather than staring off into space. “Welcome back,” you give a small smile, which has the man a little suspicious.

He thought you were just tired, and maybe hungry, it is lunch time after all, but on closer inspection Wriothesley was conscious of the deeper frown lines you wore. Something as subtle as that, he would notice. Having a good eye for detail was one of his job descriptions.

“Ah, she finally remembers my name,” He takes a jab at you, grin appearing on his features. You can’t help the upward tug of your lips, and refrain from rolling your eyes. You don’t get to retort back because he follows up almost immediately: “Something happen?” He has his gauntlets tucked under his arm yet again, his frame seems taller today, or perhaps you were just feeling small after your weird interaction with your earlier customer.

“…Nothing for you to worry about,” You give a real smile this time, eyes darting over to his gauntlets. “Just…mulling over some fixes,”

It was convincing to the normal person, but to Wriothesley, it was a good attempt at diverting his attention from the real problem. Nevertheless, he didn’t push it, and set his gauntlets down on the counter for you. “Brought these back… I would’ve been back earlier but things happened at the Fortress…” he chuckled under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck as if he had done something disappointing.

The sight made you raise an eyebrow in amusement, mouth turning up the slightest bit more. He seemed to have a talent for making people feel at ease. “That’s nothing to apologize for, it’s your job,” your hands rest on his gauntlets, remembering the exact fix that it needed. “I say I’ll be done with this in 3 hours. You can come back for it right around then,”

He made a sound of understanding watching you start to take tools out to finish up the work. Wriothesley seemed to pause for a moment, his weight shifting from his left to his right. “You’re not getting lunch?”

You shake your head no, “I tend not to get hungry when I’m busy…or I guess I get too occupied with things and forget to eat,”

He again indicated that he heard you with a slight hum, but adds “…Well I’m reminding you now. Café Lutece is just down the road from here,” he points his thumb behind him. You look up to blink at him, your mind blank for a moment.

Was he asking you to eat with him or was he telling you to eat by yourself? You weren’t quite sure and you were stuck about what to say, until he made it clearer to you.

“Come on, I haven’t eaten either.” He jerked his head towards the shop door, indicating that he was about to go, and it sounded like he wasn’t going to offer again.

“Mm…” You think aloud, loosening your hold on the screwdriver in your hand. “I…guess I could go,” you decide, and its as if he relaxes the slightest bit more, waiting for you to walk around the counter, then walking ahead to hold the shop door open for you.

As you lock the shop up for lunch, you turn to him when done, somehow completely forgetting about your strange customer earlier, pointing a finger up to make a point “Lunch break is one hour max, otherwise, I’m charging you a late fee!”

Wriothesley chuckles, “and I thought I was a hard worker,” as the two of you walk together towards the restaurant down the road.

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Five- Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, SMUT, Throat Fucking, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Blackmail, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Jealousy, Possessive Behaviours, Manipulation, Begging, Spitting, Gagging, DubCon, CNC.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

"Yes, Wednesday stays the same, but I've added Friday evenings for potions." You said, shutting the creaky wooden door behind you as you trailed inside the empty classroom after Mattheo. "I've already informed Professor Dumbledore."

"But, Raven...Friday nights are for the fucking boys." He grumbled, a playful yet frustrated pout on his lips as he practically threw himself into the chair. "You've absolutely sewered me here."

You cocked an eyebrow. "Sewered?"

"Yeah, you know...you sewered me...it's the clean version of 'you fucked me'," he said, staring at you as though you were an alien with three heads. "I would have just said that but we both know you've never fucked anything..."

You rolled your eyes. "No need to be so crude, Riddle."

"Crude?" Mattheo smirked, his eyes widening with sheer amusement. "What's going on with you, princess? You finally get into the club of your dreams and now you're back to being all uptight? Trying to impress someone, perhaps?"

You were on the verge of scoffing, ready to roll your eyes so far back that the inside of your skull would be your view--but then, he stood up, advancing toward you with an electrifying intensity in his eyes--a look that effortlessly stalled your breath, seizing your lungs and making your heart race without the slightest effort--and you already knew you were doomed, your defiance cracking more with each one of his footsteps.

"Guess that just means I'll have to loosen you up a bit, yeah?" He purred, gripping your jaw and directing your eyes up to meet his. "After all, my pretty little slut still has a job to do..."

Your mind reeled. My pretty little slut. The first two words were almost enough to make your stomach wind up in your goddamn feet. Not only did he call you pretty, but he fucking called you his.

"Yours?" Your voice was a mere breath as it left your lips. "Did you just call me yours?"

"I did, Raven...because it's true..." A smirk curled upon his lips, his eyes deepening into pools of darkness as he pulled you closer by the grip on your jaw. "You know it, and I know it."

"N-no..." You stammered. "It's not."

Mattheo paused, his gaze fixated on yours, a flicker of something primal dancing behind his eyes, sending a shiver down your spine that seemed to reverberate through every inch of your body.

"You sure?" He snickered. "Who else do you get on your knees for every fucking week?" His tone dropped into a low whisper, tilting his head slightly as he scanned your face, free hand finding purchase on your hip. "Who else touches you like this?...or kisses you like this?..."

With a tenderness previously unseen, Mattheo tilted your chin up, leaning in and brushing his lips against yours--once, then twice, and finally, a third time before he pressed the plush entirety of his mouth to yours--his movements so gentle, so incomprehensibly tender they made everything around you fade into insignificance, your lids fluttering shut as his mouth worked over yours. The sensation in your chest grew stronger as his hand cradled your jaw, ensuring your lips remained connected to his while his free hand traced a path around the small of your back, pulling you snug against his frame.

And as you melted into the kiss, your mind reeled with the reality of the situation. You couldn't deny the whirlwind of emotions inside you as the two of you continued this potentially perilous game; a game where the line between obligation and necessity blurred into an indistinct haze.

You knew you fucking despised this boy, but you weren't naive enough to deny that the line between love and hate was a very thin one to begin with. You were well aware that your heart was teetering on the brink of destruction, and caution was your only lifeline--so with trembling fingers, you gripped the wrist to the hand holding your jaw, exhaling a shaky breath as he pulled back, dark eyes searching your face.

"Please, don't do that, Mattheo..." you whispered, swallowing the lump of anxiety in your throat. "If you have even the smallest ounce of respect for me, you'll stop that."

His brows pinched, his hand falling from your face. "What am I doing, exactly?"

"Complicating things." You said, trying with everything in your power to keep your voice steady. "When I agreed to this, I agreed to helping you get your release and that's it...I didn't agree to whatever the hell is this is...whatever this has become..."

Mattheo huffed, seemingly amused. "And what has this become, Raven?"

"I-I don't know...you're acting weird...being possessive, calling me yours...I think you know exactly what you're doing, and I think it needs to fucking stop..." your voice was trembling, your brain telling you to stop fucking talking, but of course your mouth had other ideas. "This is what you do to every girl, I've heard your story countless times. Your little act won't work on me."

"My little act, huh?" He sneered, not even attempting to hide his arrogance. "All of that sounds like a you problem, Raven...maybe you need to be honest with yourself..."

Your brows furrowed, heart pounding. "What are you talking about?"

"You're falling for me," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I see it in your eyes...you know you can't fucking resist me..."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes until you were seeing white. "Please, don't you dare flatter yourself..." you said, sharply--the words simply flowing from your lips without even a mere second of consideration. "I would never fall for the likes of Mattheo fucking Riddle...the schools best-known delinquent who blackmailed me into becoming his little pet, only for him to harbour some obsessive need to bloody own me and keep me as his with nothing but selfish intentions...I know I'm just a body to you, and nothing more."

"What did I tell you about denial, Raven?" He sneered, his eyes darkening and jaw tightening, seemingly dismissing your last sentence. "It's highly unusual for the schools most uptight little good girl to spew such amusing lies like that...guess I really have rubbed off on you, huh? Wonder what Dumbledore would think if he found out?"

"Get out of my fucking head, Mattheo," you hissed, anger searing your skin now, kinking your neck back and leaning in until you were as close to his lips as you physically could be without touching. "You think you are possessing me...but what you fail to realize is I've already sunk my teeth into you...you're as much mine as I am yours."

"Mm." He murmured, leaning closer. "You're so fucking hot, you know that?"

"Go to hell," you breathed, your mouth brushing against his.

"Only if you come with me." He whispered against your lips, before shifting toward your jawline and grazing up toward your ear. "Someone's gotta suck me off while I'm down there."

Amused, you couldn't suppress a laugh, shaking your head at him. "You have no right having such a smart fucking mouth, Mattheo Riddle."

Mattheo's smirk deepened, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "My tongue makes up for what my brain lacks, princess...perhaps you'd care to find out?"

Your lungs stalled, fingers trembling. You knew what he meant by that, and almost instantly your body was torn in half--one half of you screaming excitement, the other half screaming in nerves.

You exhaled, ignoring the tingling in your cunt. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Undoubtedly, but I'm certain you'd like it more..." he purred, voice a low, seductive murmur. "And about yesterday, don't mistake my possessiveness for weakness, Raven...I still can't bloody stand you, but I will admit that I have a clamouring need to fucking ruin you."

"I can't stand you either, Riddle." You said, without hesitation; breath hitching as his teeth grazed your ear. "It pleases me to know that the feeling is mutual."

"It's settled then." He hummed, tugging on your earlobe, hands slithering to your hips. "I hate you, and you hate me. Let's see who hates best, yeah?"

Your stomach twisted, leaping with excitement. "Oh, Riddle...I promise you, you won't win..."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, princess..." he whispered, head tilting. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."

Your breath hitched, a potent surge rushing through your veins, a blend of anticipation and something far more primal. Your hands instinctively left your sides, fingers finding the cool leather of his belt, and with a bold tug, you pulled him closer, feeling the tension in his body as he stiffened against you. His reaction confused you slightly, but when his eyes locked onto yours, there was no trace of hesitation--only an intense, unbridled hunger that mirrored your own.

You tilted your head, your voice a sultry, whispered invitation. "Why don't you fucking show me, then?"

Mattheo's eyes darkened, his grip on your hips tightening like a vice, pulling you fiercely against him. "Salazar fucking save me, Raven..." your hands glided up his chest, finding solace on his shoulders. "You are one hell of a fucking mystery..."

You smirked, a hint of challenge in your gaze. "Am I?"

"You should have never come near me...you should have ran the second you heard my fucking name..." he whispered, his stare penetrating yours, deadly and serious. "Now look at you..."

"Yes..." you whispered, your voice barely a breath, "look at me..."

His chest heaved in shallow bursts, synchronized with your own erratic breathing as he inched closer. His long lashes danced as he blinked, his gaze lingering on your lips, each glance feeling like an eternity passing in mere moments. Your lungs seemed to stall, captivated by the profound depth of his eyes--which, despite their rich brown hue, held a mesmerizing quality akin to the brightest hazel you'd ever seen.

And as you lost yourself in the depths of his eyes, it was there that you found the essence of the sea--deep, mysterious, and boundless--drawing you in like an irresistible tide. This is how people drown, you thought. Stupidly diving headfirst into eyes like his.

"I warned you that I was bad for you..." he murmured, one hand slithering up your side, finding your chest and softly grazing over it; forcing a small whimper from your lips. "But here you are...the sweet little angel...unable to take her fucking eyes off the devil."

As he teased your nipple through the fabric of your shirt and the sheer lace of your bra; you gasped, a low, needy sound escaping your lips while your nails dug into his shoulders, your body arching toward his with an insatiable hunger.

"Mattheo..." your voice came out as a soft plea.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips parting in a mix of exasperation and amusement. "Raven..."

"Please," you implored, your tone laced with desperation. "Just fucking kiss me."

Without a fraction of hesitation, Mattheo's hand seized the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he captured your mouth in a kiss so fervent and scorching that your teeth clacked together. A guttural groan reverberated from his chest, mingling with your own soft gasp, while your fingers found refuge in his unruly chocolate curls, tugging him closer. His lips moved against yours with a possessive hunger, as if he sought to devour you entirely through the kiss--the intensity surged, amplifying as he skillfully shifted your position, pushing you back against the desk until your ass met its edge, urging you to perch on top of it.

The cool wood raised gooseflesh over your bare thighs, but Mattheo's hands quickly worked to soothe them, one slipping under your skirt and gripping your hip, tugging you closer to the edge while the other kneaded your tits, his grip possessive and needy; turning the kiss primal and hungry.

Long fingers circled your nipple, groaning as he felt it harden under his touch, and you mewled into his mouth at the foreign sensation, your entire body engulfed in flame as his mouth moved to attack your neck, tongue tracing heat as he nipped at the sensitive skin, another aggressive shiver rippling through you.

You were trembling, hardly able to withstand the collective sensations of his teeth on your neck and his fingers toying with your nipple--your thighs screaming with need as you moaned, head absentmindedly falling to the side to give him better access to your neck.

"Mhm...so good for me..." he purred, licking a flat line up the side of your throat. "You like that, princess?"

Your lids fluttering, heart pounding, fingers trembling as you gripped the fabric of his shirt for dear life. "Y-yes..."

He hummed, nipping your ear. "Yes, what?"

As he pinched your nipple between his fingers, you yelped, the pain eliciting an intoxicating mix of sensations that made your eyes roll--desperately wishing you could press your thighs together in desire of sating the insatiable need between them.

"Yes, Mattheo..." you whimpered. "Please..."

At your plea, Riddle stopped everything, his body turning to stone as he pulled back--brows pinched, throat knocking as he swallowed, eyeing your features with enough intensity to scare the breath from your lungs.

"What are you asking for, Raven?" His voice was a low, almost imperceptible rumble, despite his lips being mere inches away from yours.

Your lungs stalled, words fleeing you. "I...I-"

He seized both your hips with a commanding hold, pulling you tighter against his chest, his lips crashing back into yours in a momentary, fervent kiss. As he pulled away, he inhaled sharply through his nose, his eyes locking onto yours with an even greater intensity than before.

"I'll ask you one more time, Raven," he whispered, his voice threaded with both desire and restraint, the aggression in his tone doing inexplicable things to your body. He inhaled again, slowly releasing it. "What are you asking for?"

Trapped within the depths of his stare, you sat there, a battlefield of emotions raging within. The yearning for his touch was an overwhelming tide threatening to drown your senses, yet fear clung to you like a vice, squeezing your heart with icy fingers. Each heartbeat echoed with the dread of consequences, the turmoil of what could happen if you succumbed to this raw desire.

The unspoken tension between you two hung heavy, an electrifying charge in the air that crackled with unfulfilled longing. Both of you stood on the fragile edge of control, teetering between surrender and restraint--wanting to give in, but afraid of what might be lost in the aftermath.

Yielding to him using your mouth felt transactional, a physical act detached from any emotional involvement. He might have been your first in that aspect, but the experience held no sentimental value. He was merely exploiting you. However, the second his hands ventured into uncharted territories, bestowing upon you a pleasure unprecedented and unimagined, you both knew that moment marked a line crossed--a point of no return.

"I...I don't know," you whispered, your voice a mix of vulnerability and desire, eyes locked onto his with unwavering intensity. "I have no idea what I'm asking for."

In a heartbeat's pause, Mattheo's world seemed to hang suspended--his eyes, intense and filled with desire, blinked once, then twice, betraying a flicker of vulnerability before he swallowed audibly. His gaze, magnetic and hungered, fell to your chest, tracing the curves beneath fabric as one hand shifted to his crotch, palming the insistent bulge in his pants. His eyelids fluttered like the wings of a trapped butterfly, a deep, slow exhale escaping his lungs as if he were attempting to regain his unraveling self-control, time stalling until he seemingly collected himself and met your stare.

"For both our sakes, I hope you figure it out soon..." he said, taking a step back, fingers working at his belt. "Now, stand up for me."

Your heart thundered in your chest, an adrenaline-fueled symphony as you complied with his command, the sharp click of his belt being undone resonating in the charged atmosphere. Rising to your feet, you barely had a moment to react before Mattheo lunged, his fingers deftly undoing the buttons of your blouse with a fervent determination, a hunger you had never witnessed from him before. The second your skin was bared, his eyes met yours, a mixture of desire and possession burning in his gaze--and with a gentle yet forceful grip, he cupped your jaw with one hand, and shoved two fingers past your teeth with the other.

"I just want to make one thing very fucking clear here, Raven..." his words dripped with intensity, his hot breath washing over your face. "In moments like these, when I tell you you're mine, I fucking mean it."

His tone was as dark as the midnight sky, a promise of dominance lingering in the air.

"Right here, right now, you belong to me--you answer to me, you listen to me, you are obedient to me...and this perfect little mouth," he emphasized, waggling your jaw in his hold, "...is fucking mine to command. Do you understand?"

Under the strength of his grip, you attempted to nod, desperate to convey your understanding, but your attempts faltered, leaving you vulnerable. An amused, devilish grin spread across his face as he witnessed your struggle, and in response, he shoved his fingers deeper into your mouth, eliciting a gag from your throat, his expression one of twisted pleasure.

"What was that?" He sniggered, relishing in your vulnerability. "Couldn't quite catch that, princess. Try again."

You struggled against his grip, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of desperation and desire. You couldn't believe the control he had over you. Although you'd never admit it, not to him, that is--you fucking loved it.

"I understand," you managed to say, your voice slightly muffled around his fingers.

"That's it..." he praised, his voice a low purr of satisfaction. "Show me your obedience. Stick out your tongue."

With his fingers still in your mouth, you struggled to comply, but somehow managed. He tilted your head back slightly, leaning down to spit into your mouth before he straightened your head and pushed his fingers deeper, the intrusion leaving you gasping for breath.

"Good girl." His lips parted as he watched you. "Now do your job and suck.”

With unwavering determination, you enveloped his fingers, your tongue dancing around the coarse skin, lids fluttering shut as you lost yourself in the submissive act. As you hollowed out your cheeks, your head moved along their length, following the rhythm dictated by his desires. Mattheo's hand, which had been gripping your jaw, released its hold, traveling down to his crotch--his face flushed with heat as he watched you, captivated.

"Fucking hell, Raven..." he breathed, tugging his pants down his thighs, forcing another gag from your throat before he pulled out his fingers and cupped his hand in front of your mouth. "Spit."

When you did, he hummed, bringing it down to his cock, rubbing it into the smooth skin of his shaft as he eyed your exposed chest; which was heaving rapidly in attempt to gulp down air.

Mattheo snatched your hair, bringing your mouth dangerously close to his, his hard cock pressing against your belly. "Are you going to be my good little slut and let me fuck your throat as hard as I want? Hm?"

You swallowed, nerves tingling. "Yes, Mattheo."

"Yeah?" He exhaled, you could tell he was testing his self control. "You like being used like that? My smart little Raven likes to be throat fucked like a dumb, mindless whore?"

Your stomach twisted, your thighs fucking screaming for his touch. How the fuck does he do this to you. "Yes, Mattheo..."

"Fuck..." his grip on his cock tightened, stroking his length with increased motion as he watched you. "You want to beg for me, baby?"

Your heart palpitated, your knees nearly giving out from under you. That nickname fucking did something to your cunt. Something so disgustingly dirty you could only hope the four founders couldn't hear you now.

"Gods, yes...Matty, please..." you whined, practically throwing yourself against him, ignoring the pain he was inflicting on your scalp. "Please, let me suck your fucking cock."

Mattheo's entire demeanour shifted, and if you thought he was possessed before--that was nothing compared to this.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" he growled, his voice so deep it scared your bones from your body.

Your heart plummeted to your feet. "I...I'm-"

"No, no," he hissed, cutting you off, his eyes ablaze with an intensity that left you breathless. "Say it again."

"Oh..." You were utterly speechless, your voice barely a whisper. "Matty...please.."

"Fucking hell..." he groaned, immediately shoving you down to your knees by the hold on your hair, stroking his length in a slow, languid motion as he waited for you to settle. "Open up for me, princess."

Both hands shot into your hair, holding you still while he rocked into your mouth, and you hummed, peering up at him with wide eyes, cunt clenching at his exasperated appearance. Your tongue pressed to the underside of his dick, earning a growl from his chest, and he jerked your neck back, sliding in deeper.

"Yeah, that's it..." he breathed, voice strained. "Take this fucking cock."

Groaning, your lids fluttered while you drooled onto him, slicking your saliva down his length, bobbing your head while you struggled to keep your attention trained on his face. His cock filled your mouth, the tip poking your soft palate, and you sucked, revealing in his sharp intake of air as you pulled back for a moment.

He adjusted his grasp, urging you back and forth on his cock, making you gag. "Mhm. Choke on it, fuck-"

You moaned against his shaft, hardly even realizing that you did, but the sound awakened something inside Mattheo, and without warning he yanked your head back further, shoving his cock down your throat in one aggressive thrust.

You retched, choked, vision flooding with tears, but with him handling your hair like reins, he trapped you there, your mouth a helpless hole for him to fuck. He snapped his hips, his dick bulging in your neck, his breath labored with the pace of his thrusts. Sweat spilled down your back, and you retched again as his cock twitched on your tongue, cranked your jaw wide, plunged in and out of your throat.

"Fuck..." he said, sighing your name.

The sound of your actual name leaving his lips did something indescribable--you couldn't remember the last time he's actually said your name, actually addressed you by anything other than the Raven nickname he seems to love so much. Your lids fluttered, and admittedly, so did your heart--with this realization, you moaned again, and his hips bucked hard, earning a stifled retch from you.

Without warning, he crushed your nose against his skin, sinking into you, cock pulsing between your lips as he shot his cum down your throat. He groaned--low, deep--head bowing and breath sputtering as he watched you take his release.

"Swallow it," he hissed, chest heaving, eyes feral. "Swallow my fucking cum, slut."

You winced when you swallowed around him, and he twitched and cursed with every ripple of your throat.

Finally, his breath stilled, and he pulled out, moaning when his cock slipped between your lips. Able to finally catch oxygen yourself, you devoured the air, wiping your puffy lips and saliva-slicked chin on the back of your arm. Riddle hovered over you for a moment, gaze roaming your figure while he tucked himself away, not daring to look away as you pulled yourself up to your feet and started re-buttoning up your shirt.

"Good girl," he mumbled, switching focus from your eyes, to your breasts, to your lips. "Come here."

The instant his words left his lips, his powerful grip snaked around your wrist, pulling you towards him. Time seemed to freeze, your lungs momentarily forgetting their function as you stood there, caught in a whirlwind of emotions. With a deliberate gesture, he tenderly brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes scrutinizing your face intently, searching for something elusive that you couldn't quite grasp.

"You okay, Raven?" He whispered, not blinking as he met your eyes.

Your throat was more arid than the desert, your fingers trembling against his chest, but you nodded. "Yes, Mattheo..."

"Good." He exhaled, releasing you. "When do you meet with my brother?"

An inexplicable fear twisted your stomach, a sense of foreboding you couldn't put into words. You felt his shift in demeanor, waiting for your response, and despite the fear gnawing at you, you tried to conceal it. Summoning a halfhearted smile as he pulled out your chair for you, and sat down in his.

"Tomorrow night."

Mattheo's jaw tensed, and he nodded, flipping open the textbook as he remained silent.

——————-

Here’s chapter six so you don’t have to scroll back to the top. Xoxo :)

[ladyreadalot]

batfam + motion sickness

bruce: had the absolute worst car-sickness as a kid; threw up on his parents multiple times, had to get them to pull over to take deep breaths outside every twenty minutes, etc, etc.

after he came back from training, it didn't happen again. he claims it's because he trained his motion sickness away, but really, he just hides it significantly better.

dick: nope! never. also never understood why bruce would begin to slowly look paler and paler over the course of a long drive.

jason: in cars, no. in planes, yes. the lazarus pit cured his seasickness, for some reason. he's the type of asshole to be perfectly fine reading books for the entirety of a twelve-hour car ride.

cass: yup! not too bad, though. she keeps a little canister of regular Dramamine in her pocket-- she doesn't bother with the non-drowsy one, since her goal is just to try and to nap through the drive, so she doesn't have to be awake to feel the nausea.

she always knows exactly when to offer it to bruce. he never accepts it, but he still pulls over for a "coffee break" not too long after.

tim: eh. only if he reads or looks at a screen for too long-- not that he lets it stop him.

steph: she doesn't get carsick, but she does go stir-crazy pretty quickly. her and dick take turns throwing things at bruce and/or jason (if bruce is driving).

cass offers her Dramamine too, in the empty hope Steph will fall asleep. nope! she actually has a paradoxical response to the dimenhydrinate and becomes Even Worse.

damian: ohhhhh, yes, absolutely. just as bad as bruce's, if not worse, but he'll deny it until he's blue green in the face and hurling into the nearest bucket

[jaylaxies]

MEMORIES BRING BACK YOU

PAIRING: ex boyfriend!jaemin x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, unprotected sex, fingering, themes of jealousy, obsession, stalking, drinking, breeding, usage of nicknames.

WORD COUNT: 2.1k words

SYNOPSIS: You were just about to head to sleep when you head loud knocking on your door. Turns out, it’s your drunk ex boyfriend who claims he misses you.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni

A/N: omg hihi, it’s my first time writing about jaemin! i hope you guys enjoy it! all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

It was nearing midnight when you decided to close your books. Your eyelids automatically pressed shut to find tranquillity as you had spent the entirety of your evening studying when you could have easily gone out to Johnny’s party for the night, especially when you had no tests coming up for two weeks straight. 

A sigh left your mouth as you got up, changing into your most comfortable pair of shorts along with a skimpy top, which suited to be the best outfit for you while you slept. 

It wasn’t as if you were trying to avoid your friends or the party, it was rather that you were trying to avoid a certain black haired guy, who’s dazzling smile stood out in the crowd. 

It was none other than Na Jaemin, the guy you’ve been trying to avoid all month, especially because he kissed a random girl while being in a relationship with you. He’s been trying to apologize ever since, but you weren’t one to take his excuses. 

“I thought it was you,” he had said. 

Your jaw clenched as you remembered the whole scenario, your broken heart and endless tears. But what made it worse was the fact that you still wanted him, you missed him, and that’s the reason why you avoided being at the same places as him, which also included tonight’s party. 

With a sigh, you tied your hair in a loose ponytail, almost getting into your bed before you heard loud banging on your front door. The noise was enough to galvanize you as you jumped slightly, your hand coming to rest on the top of your chest in an attempt to calm your fast beating heart. 

Who would come this late at night?

You hurried to check it out, looking out of the peephole to find a very disoriented and drunk Jaemin, who was mumbling something which was inaudible to you before he raised his voice. 

“Open up, angel,” he spoke, “let me in, you know you’re still fucking mine. You belong to me.” 

You bit your lower lip, trying to contain your feelings yet even you couldn’t deny how your skin shivered when he called you his. You didn’t know whether to open the door or not. 

But you did know that you didn’t want your neighbours to hear Jaemin. 

Hesitantly, you opened the door which was a successful attempt to make him stop shouting. His grin widened when he saw you, eyebrows raising once his eyes took you in from head to toe. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You asked, agitated. 

“I missed you, kitten,” he whispered. 

It would have been a sweet thing to say if he said it when he was sober, but his current situation didn’t make things better, especially when you noticed the switch in his expression. Lust took over his senses. 

“Jaemin, you should go home,” you said, voice softer for him to understand. 

He chuckled, it almost sounded sinister. He looked sinister with his messy hair falling over his eyes, his glossy lips turned up in a smile, his shirt which was halfway unbuttoned, revealing his torso and showing the slightest bit of his defined abs. 

“Why would I go home when you’re here, kitten?” He asked, stepping closer and also shutting the door in the process, “you know I love you, right?”

It was bad enough that you were anticipating it, and then it got worse when your heart fluttered at his confession. You wish you had one bit of self respect for yourself, you thought you did, but it was quick to fly out of the window as soon as Jaemin turned up at your door. 

He took another step closer and your body felt weak, “I know you won’t let a little mistake get in between us,” he cradled your face. 

Your body shivered with the proximity. He smelled of alcohol mixed with the scent of his musky yet lightweight perfume. It was intoxicating. 

“Jaem—” you tried to say but he cut you off. 

“That’s not what my kitten calls me,” he whispers, nose touching yours. 

You gulped, knees feeling weaker by second, “nana,” you let out softly, causing his smile to grow. 

“That’s right, that’s my good girl,” he praised and you swore his voice sounded even more sensual whenever he whispered. 

Your mind had blanked out, the only things you could still register were Jaemin and his voice. However, you tried to convince him with the littlest sanity left inside you, “nana,” you said, “it’s too late, maybe you should go home and get some rest, yeah?” 

That seemed to have angered Jaemin because he grabbed your nape and pulled you even closer to him, lips almost touching. 

“Are you trying to make me leave, kitten? Aren’t you happy to see me?” He asked, exasperated. 

“Of course, I’m happy—” 

“So why are you doing this? Do you have someone else now? I’ll fucking kill them.” Your eyes widened at his statement, his tone even deeper now. 

“Oh my god, no! That’s not it,” you tried to say. 

He scoffed, “I fucking saw Haechan leave your house two days back, are you fucking him now?” He raised his brows, almost like a challenge. 

That was enough to bring you back to your senses. Even though you did not fuck around with Hyuck, it wasn’t any of Jaemin’s business to be lurking around your place. 

He was stalking you. 

“Why do you care? Are you a stalker now?” You raised your voice for the first time. 

“Because you’re fucking mine, kitten,” he growled, turning you around and pushing you against the door. 

His plush lips were quick to be pressed against yours, sending a jolt of pleasure down your spine but you didn’t kiss him back. 

With his fingers gripping your waist harder, he pushed his knee in between your legs and your thin shorts barely acted as a barrier between his rough jeans and your cunt. 

A gasp left your mouth, which just provided him with the perfect opportunity to shove his tongue down your throat. He tasted like raspberry and beer mixed together, you tried to keep your walls up but it was beyond you how this guy managed to make you swoon over him despite fucking everything up. 

Slowly, you gave in as your body worked on its own accord, rubbing on his knee while your lips whispered out his name before kissing him back with equal intensity, as if you were transferring all your frustrations into him. 

He only smirked, trailing his soft lips down your neck, “I’m gonna have to mark you up, kitten. I need to teach you who you belong to,” he murmured against your weak spot, right below your jaw. 

He had your body memorized, his fingers tracing your nipples in circles through your skimpy top, which again, provided you with no help as you could feel his warm fingers too distinctly. 

“Jump,” he commanded, tapping your thighs twice as he picked you up effortlessly and walked towards your bedroom, continuing to ruin your neck as he sucked it strong enough for purple marks to appear. 

Your breath was shaky, your whole body was in his control as he took you to your bed, getting on top of you with his devilish smirk, his lips glistening more than ever as he kissed you, a string of saliva connected your mouth when he leaned back and diverted his attention to your shorts. 

“Seems like you were waiting for me, kitten. Why else would you dress up like this, huh?” He asked, his voice almost innocent despite his words, and actions. 

He proceeded to grab the upper portion of your top, your eyes widening as he tore it open, not wasting a second in taking your tits in his mouth. You rubbed your thighs together, wetness pooling down your shorts as you were devoid of panties, just how he liked it. 

“Did you fuck yourself with that filthy toy of yours when you missed me?” He asked, his hand coming down to cup your clothed wetness.

“Nana,” you whimpered, body heating up as your eyes teared up with pleasure. You had missed him so much. 

It was embarrassing how he knew exactly what you did, using a dildo to replace his huge cock, trying to feel something but you couldn’t. Nothing compared to his cock. 

“Did it make you cum?” He asked, jaw clenched as wrapped his fingers around your neck, your eyes almost closed shut with how your body shuddered. 

“No,” you whispered, bucking up your hips to meet his palm pathetically. 

“That’s right. Now tell me who makes you cum, kitten?” His voice sounded like pure melody, he talked to you as if you were a baby. 

“Nana makes me cum s—so hard!” You whimpered, how smirk growing. 

That’s all it took for him to rip open your shorts too, your eyes widening as you saw his sleeves tightening with his muscles flexing. 

He was so hot. 

You didn’t get a chance to mourn for your destroyed clothes as he pushed his two digits right into your cunt, knowing that you’ll easily take him in with your dripping wetness. 

He was right. 

Your back arched as the room seemed hazy to you, covered with the thick mist of your sinful activities. Your walls clenched, taking his fingers in deeper as you ached for more of him. All of him. 

“No bra, no panties,” he said, “just how I like it,” he whispered right in your ear as his hand started to pump in you at a faster pace. 

He didn’t stop, muttering the filthiest things in your ear. Something about Jaemin being fully dressed while you were fully naked in front of him felt hot to you. He treated you like a doll. 

You whined, stuttering midway at the feeling of your walls squeezing him in, his chuckle only sending you into a frenzy. You were so gone when it came to him. 

“I can’t—” you whined, feeling heat pool up in your abdomen. 

He chuckled, “not so fast, kitten.”

You took a deep breath, excitement filling up your veins as you saw him remove his clothes, unbutton his shirt to reveal his abs, and unbuckling his belt to get rid of his pants. 

You groaned, almost shuddering when you saw his hardened cock, tip angry and leaking as he caught the sight of your wet slit again. 

“Nana’s gonna make you cum on his cock,” he grinned. 

You looked so innocent to him, desperate for his cock, his touch. Desperate for him. He got on top of you yet again, his hand smoothly taking off your scrunchie, letting your hair free. 

“My pretty kitten,” he whispered, successfully capturing all your attention, which was on his face. 

It was a given that you didn’t think about the fact that he was going to slam his dick into you so hard that you’d dig your nails into his shoulders, only making him smirk wider. 

“So, wet for me,” he bottomed out, thrusting in yet again, hitting your g-spot, as you barely could utter a word, “I knew it, you can’t stay without me, not when you want my cock shoved into you every twenty four hours,” he increased his force, the bed slightly shaking at his intense pace. 

The noise of his balls smacking your ass reverberated all over the room as you bit your lip to contain the lewd moans which threatened to escape. He knew your high was near with how your stomach tightened. 

He kept his hand on your lower abdomen, getting a feel of how deep his cock is inside you and how your stomach feels so full when he thrusts into you. You could basically see his imprint on your skin. 

“Kitten loves it when Nana fucks his babies into her, doesn’t she?” He whispered, kissing a tear on your cheek. 

You loved it. 

“Say it,” he urged you, eyes demanding. 

“I want your babies in me,” you said, voice shaky as he never once stopped thrusting into you. 

“That’s my good girl,” he said, his smile turning angelic for just a second before he started ramming his cock into you. 

You screamed and moaned, throat hurting as you blacked out for a second, reaching your high as you felt his warm liquid coating your walls, filling you up with a few more thrusts before he held you in his arms, sitting up. 

“I knew you had missed me too, kitten,” he smiled. 

“Guess we’ll be together forever.” 

THANK YOU FOR READING

TAGGING: @ddeonuism @celeste-hoon @en-myworld @jayzdaze @robyn-core

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[uglypastels]

Ridlington Park | II | Eddie Munson regency!au

Dear reader, my sincerest apologies for the delay in the upcoming chapter. It seems that there had been some technical problems at the printer's shop and some terrible time management on this writer's part. Before we resume this tale of love, however, I would also like to thank all who have read the first chapter and shared their thoughts on it with not only me but others. Know that your support does not go unnoticed, and I cherish it with all my heart.

Word Count: 8.1k

Do be warned, Dear Reader, for this story in its entirety may contain:

female!reader. slow burn. forbidden romance. jealousy. pining. smut. alcohol consumption. swearing. OC family. family disputes. horses. talks of arranged marriage. historical facts as well as trivial inaccuracies.

Due to the adult nature of the story, this author also kindly but sternly requires underage readers to pursue other works. 

The Ridlington Park Collection | Correspondence | Join the Taglist - Read Chapter 1 here -

Chapter Two: A Time for Scandal

“At a private ball, no lady will refuse an introduction to a gentleman. It is an insult to her hostess, implying that her guests are not gentlemen. It is optional with the lady whether to continue to drop the acquaintance after the ball is over, but for that evening, however disagreeable, etiquette requires her to accept him for one dance, if she is disengaged, and her hostess requests it.” - The Ladies' Book of Etiquette, 1873

The Royal family's return to London brings a new life to the city each year as its elite congregates fervently for all possible occasions. The notable number of balls, soirees, and other social gatherings mark a particularly eventful point in the year that no eager lady or gentleman would want to miss. And whilst the matchmakings occupy most thoughts, this motivation somewhat overshadows the mere social aspect of the season. The parties offer the perfect meeting ground for all ton members, as they can indulge in all the niceties the hosts provide. Whether it be the music, magnificent foods and drinks, or simply pleasant conversation. To miss a social event, especially for a debutante such as yourself, Dear Reader, is to miss an opportunity to present oneself to her suitors and the entire town. It is to miss the happenings that drive the whole court forward. 

Thus, you were obligated to accept every single invitation presented to you and your family. And as spectacular as they all were, weariness settled deep in your bones with each new event. No matter how lavish, it all began to blur together into one repetitive pattern.

Each time, you would find yourself atop a grand staircase, your family trailing behind, as the earlier arrivals looked up in awe and envy. With a shaky breath and a tremble to the hand holding your skirt, you descended the steps onto the dancefloor, where a wonderful yet pesky gentleman awaited to greet you. If fortune were in their favour, they would even gather in a pack, making you the bearer of choice who to greet first, whose offer for refreshment to accept, and whose signature to claim on your dance card in which order. Meanwhile, your mother gawked in a nearby distance with a smile stretching for miles, already planning what cakes to ask the chef about for the next morning’s calling hour. 

The lights around you sparkled wonderfully, and you could not deny that Lord and Lady Parsnell had outdone themselves for their annual ball. Theirs was a particularly beautiful ballroom, with windows covering the entirety of the large west wall. It overlooked the gardens illuminated with lanterns of all colours, and the room was in an everlasting golden glow. The music played from the far right corner, where the musicians were located on their platform, all dressed in elaborate costumes and wigs, completely painted in bronze to imitate the likeness of statues and as the bypassing guests were gawking up at them, you felt a twinge of a connection between yourself and the talent across the room.

‘Would you care to dance, miss?’ one of the gentlemen asked, and as you could not find a single polite response in your entire vocabulary, you opted for a kind smile as you extended your hand in agreement. 

As with all the others, this was making itself out to be a long and dreadful evening.

On your way to the centre of the floor to join all the other couples, you caught a glimpse of your oldest brother, Nicholas. To no one’s surprise, he had found himself in deep conversation with a young lady dressed in a gorgeous sea-blue dress, a fan to match fluttering purposefully over her bosom. For the entirety of the dance, you kept your eyes on the two of them. No matter how lacking intellectual stimulation your brother’s endeavours may be, they forever remained more fascinating than anything your dance partner had to offer. You only turned your attention to the man at the harsh sound of his laugh. It appeared he had been entertaining himself with his jokes for the duration of the waltz. This and how he slurred you around the room, practically dragging your limbs behind him, made you doubt you were very needed at that moment. 

Finally, the music slowed, and you were released from Lord Bramley's harsh hold on your hands. You bid him farewell with a respectable curtsy and walked away before the man could utter another word, let alone request another dance. As you walked off the floor, a most horrid apparition revealed itself in the corner of your eye in the shape of another available man in conversation with your mama. Too occupied by the gentleman, she had not noticed you to have finished your dance, and so you saw the opportunity to make yourself scarce in the crowd, at least for the moment.

‘You cannot hide forever.’ A hum more irritating than a critter tickled at your ear as your second brother, Christopher, appeared by your side at the confectionery table. 

‘I certainly can try, can I not?’ you grinned, tasting the icing on a strawberry cake. 

‘Because we know how well that turned out for you the last time,’ he reminded you. All you could do was grin at him maliciously as you thought back to the day when— 

❀❀❀

Your mother had lovingly retrieved you from the stables as you had attempted to escape one of your family’s countless matchmaking attempts. And while the man you had met, Mr Steve Harrington, had turned out to be quite pleasant, you still struggled to relive the embarrassment of being hunted down by your mother through the garden. Not to mention the judgment of your siblings the very next day at breakfast as you learned they had been told all of what had occurred the day prior.

You walked into the room with an appetite that disappeared as soon as you saw the amusement on your family’s faces and heard the hushed tones with which they spoke as you found your seat. Perhaps if they had been more straightforward, you could have endured it, but they all remained silent as they watched you take your pick of the food, portioning it onto your plate at your own pace. Only as you took your first bite did the first words erupt, nearly leading you to choke. 

‘Your lunch with Harrington went well, I take it?’ Nicholas asked, much to his amusement.

‘What makes you say that?’ you asked, answering with your own question, with no intention of looking your family in the eye as you did. 

‘Mother has just caught us up with the events of yesterday afternoon,’ your brother stated, his enthusiasm in stark contrast to your discomfort at the moment. 

‘I cannot see how there was much to speak of.’ You tore off another piece of the toast with your teeth. ‘It was dreadful.’

‘Dreadful, you say,’ Christopher snickered, barging into the conversation, as unwelcome as the rest, ‘it is not the word I would use, given what we have heard.’

‘Please enlighten me, then, brother? What do you deem an appropriate summary given what I can only assume was mother’s thoroughly accurate recount of what happened?’ You could imagine that she had embellished aspects of the day to fit her narrative; one that most definitely would not suit your future objectives in any way. Truly, since when had the breakfast meal also become the time for your entire family to torture you? It seemed that any moment you all found yourselves in one place, it was deemed the designated time for inquiries regarding your prospects. 

‘I had only told them that you seemed to have rather enjoyed yourself with Mr Harrington,' your mother said nonchalantly as if she had not just struck you with a verbal mallet over the head. 

‘Mother!’ you said with a frozen-in-shock expression, but your mother only blinked slowly in bewilderment. You blinked slowly as well. ‘How could you?’

‘Is that an offence to say these days?’ She replied, chuckling, underestimating the damage she had caused with that simple phrase. You had rather enjoyed yourself with Mr Harrington. The string of simple words opened the floodgates that until then kept back the unwanted commentary of your siblings, in particular, the vaunting of Nicholas, who had pridefully acclaimed the matchmaking between you and Mr Harrington to himself and would not let anyone forget that for the rest of the meal or the hours, even days, after—

❀❀❀

But you were happy to put all this far behind you. No matter how keen your siblings or parents were to return to that day, you were not one to dwell in the past. You looked forward. More specifically, right ahead of you, where there seemed to be a clear exit route in the form of a pair of large oaken doors—like a gleaming, delicious yet forbidden fruit tormenting you from a distance. You shook the silly thought out of your mind, returning your attention to Christopher, who indulged himself in a puff pastry delicacy.

‘Can you blame me, brother, for acting out after having endured an entire day of the most monotonous, unspirited, and, dare I say, upright dull conversation a man has to offer?’ You watched Christopher pick up a glass of wine, quickly grabbing it out of his hands to consume the drink yourself, leaving him, in turn, in a slightly shocked state of confusion.  

He blinked slowly and sighed. ‘You do not have to explain yourself to me, and I hope you do recognise that,’ he said as he watched you finish the last drops of his wine. ‘I am merely suggesting that if you know what is good for you, you will open yourself up to these opportunities, as by defying, you will only end up causing yourself more harm.’

Now it was your turn to heave out a heavy and tired breath. You put the glass down, perhaps a bit too harshly, as the thud against the table spurred on a few looks from the ladies around you, but you were too occupied with your brother’s words. He was right, of course, on both accounts. Of all your siblings, Christopher was most like yourself, never entirely understanding the need for marriage. Of course, as a male and a second-born son, he had no such obligation or needs to fulfil. It was perfectly well for him to remain a bachelor for as long as he pleased, not to mention pursue any interests he might have.

Meanwhile, all of these “opportunities” you had that he spoke of were in matters of either matchmaking or to enhance your appeal for such exact situations. Yes, you had a more than fortunate education. You spoke various languages, understood maths and geography, could play the pianoforte prettily, perform any dance in your sleep, and occupy yourself with perfectly fine needlework. But it was disheartening, as at the end of the day, all these accomplishments were meant as nothing more than to advertise yourself to men who could not care one bit for any of it as long as your face and body were adequate for their tastes.

But you also knew, through your assumptions and fair warnings from others, that if you were not to find a husband yourself, someone else would do so for you, and a last resort comes to be just that for apparent reasons but ones you would rather not familiarise yourself with. 

‘Do not tell me I have managed actually to silence you and put a stop to your wit.’ Christopher chuckled. 

‘You wish,’ you responded, possibly proving his point. Meanwhile, another song began to play as more couples took to the floor. Your eyes immediately examined the room for any threats of men reaching for your hand for a dance, particularly a certain Mr Bridgerton, who you read to have claimed a spot on your dance card. 

‘Rules are rules,’ Christopher sang teasingly as he saw you check the card tied around your wrist. ‘You cannot deny a gentleman’s—’ but he never entirely managed to finish his sentence as he watched you tug at the ribbon connecting you to the list of men waiting for a dance. The material tightened, most likely leaving a nasty red line across your arm as you pulled and pulled until—snap—you broke free. The piece of paper fell to the floor. 

‘Oh my!’ You covered your mouth in faux-wide-eyed perplexity as you kicked the discarded card behind a large potted plant, far into the forgotten shadows of the room. ‘How can I remember the gentlemen’s names whom I have promised a dance now?’

Against his better judgement, your brother cracked a smile, ‘I can tell you now, you will regret doing that.’

‘Somehow, I rather doubt that,’ you twirled your wrist, enjoying how freeing it felt not to be tied up any longer. 

‘The second that mother finds you without that silly little thing around your hand, you will sing a different tune, sister.’ He finally took another glass of wine, cheering you on, ‘And do not come crying to me about it when that happens.’ The large chug he took was anything but galant. Still, it was his final act before he bid you farewell and left you at the confectionary table to fend for yourself. You had not expected the doubt to settle as quickly as it did, but perhaps the lack of a big brother-shaped guard dog by your side made you feel abnormally self-conscious. For a moment, you considered running after Christopher, but from what you could see through the crowd, he had quickly crossed the room and was already entertaining his friends—each of them a gentleman you were attempting to ignore. 

Things only seemed to be taking a turn for the worse when you picked up a foreign accent which deafened all others around you. 

Harrington. 

You cursed to yourself, quickly turning around to face the tables. What on earth was this man doing here? The Parsnell family was ever the charitable one, but never in the matters of their parties. You could not imagine what would make them want to invite some foreign merchant’s son. 

Well, the answer was simple. It was the same as any other question regarding Steve Harrington and his actions towards you. It must have been your eldest brother’s doing, of course. It was all Nicholas from the very beginning, and he would not let you forget it ever since that breakfast the day after you met with the American—-

❀❀❀

‘I knew it from the moment I met the good man; you would make a perfect pair.’ He said as he sat across from you in the drawing room, feet hanging over the couch’s armrest. 

‘And how, pray tell, could you predict this exactly?’ You rolled your eyes. While most often, it was Nicholas who attempted to drown out your voice through the words on a page, it was your turn that day to try to ignore his rambling.

‘As much as you would like to think better of yourself,’ Nicholas leaned forward, more than happy to keep talking about the subject, mainly if it covered a topic that could humble you: ‘the truth is that you are as shallow as the rest of us, sister, not to mention as easy to read on the subject of these matters as everyone else.’ 

‘Even if I had such biases, I would not share them with you,’ you scoffed, flipping an unread page. 

‘There was no need for that explicitly, I have conducted my research and come to the right conclusions, have I not?’ It was impossible to wipe the smug smile off his face; you knew that by now, and yet…

‘If you do not shut your mouth this instant, I swear, I will throw this book at you,’ you threatened, putting the book you had occupied yourself with over your head. 

‘You are only this upset because you know I am right.’ Nicholas gloated, but you were happy to see him tense up in the shoulders as you began aiming the book in his direction. Not that you would actually throw it… just yet. A lady can do heinous things if pushed far enough, and you felt yourself standing on the edge. 

‘I know that you are being completely maddening.’ You dropped the book in your lap. ‘And must be mad if you think I am in love with this man. He was a pleasant conversation partner, that is all. I assume mother has been deprived of social engagements for far too long, if she thinks me laughing at this man’s jests is enough for there to be an engagement already.’ Harrington’s jokes had been funny, you had to admit, but it must have been a joke from the powers above that sent the following footman into the room in that instance, announcing a gift had been left for you at the door. 

Before you could say anything, Nicholas requested it to be brought into the room. From the irrepressible smirk on his face, he seemed to have an edge of knowledge on you on what was about to be presented through that door in the following moments.

And indeed, not much later, the man returned holding an oversized vase filled with flowers—a bouquet of colours combined into a lovely smell overpowering your senses. 

You said nothing as you walked up to the table where the heavy gift was set, but your lips could not help but part in surprise. You noticed the paper sticking out from between the buds and gently pulled it out. 

See these flowers as a token of my appreciation for thy hospitality and benignity. 

Sincerest greetings, 

S.H. 

You groaned out, reading the words. ‘You are despicable, brother!’ Nicholas, who had been reading along with you from behind your shoulder, quickly stepped aside as you turned his way, ‘You set him up to do this.’ the accusation came out of your mouth like venom. 

‘I did no such thing.’ But his smile remained easy to read. Although… was it a remnant of his earlier pride, or did he see the flowers as yet another gratification for his unbearable attitude? 

‘But you did! It has your grimy hands written all over it.’ You flicked the paper in his face. How many times had you seen your brother write notes to the ladies he attempted to court or send out servants to pick flowers from the garden? ‘Did you scheme this whole thing out on the boat on your way home?’ You could already see it all so clearly. The two of them standing in a corner of the ship, your brother acting like a snake charmer, teaching Harrington everything for him to win you over. It all left a rather sour taste in your mouth.

‘I promise you, I had nothing to do with this.’ He glanced at the flowers, ‘but you must admit that the man has a great taste.’

‘Yes, I am sure his servant has great botanical knowledge. Do you think me to be so dense that I would expect the man to do this all by himself?’

‘You cannot make me believe you were not impressed for even a moment?’ Nicholas argued. You glared at him, eyes formed into narrow poisonous slits, but in the end, all you could emanate from your mouth was another angry groan. Feeling hopeless, you let your body guide you back to the chaise across the drawing room. The smell of the flowers seemed to linger on despite your effort to distance yourself.

‘So you are to say that you have no feelings for Harrington? What so ever?’ Nicholas trotted behind you, taking the seat next to you.

‘No more than I have for you at the moment,’ you said with gritted teeth.

‘Ah, so you do love him!’

‘Ugh,’ you exclaimed—

❀❀❀

 Much as you did when you suddenly felt a presence behind you calling your name. To compose yourself in the crowd and avoid further embarrassment for anyone, you quickly turned back around to face the man approaching you. However, by doing so, your sudden movement caused a chain reaction in the glass you had just reached for, spilling all its content on your person.

‘Mr Harrington!’ You gasped. However, any possible enthusiasm you might have felt for the man’s presence was overtaken by the shock as your bodice soaked in the cold beverage, knowing that the material of your dress was gaining more damage with each passing second. Of course, a handful of people nearby stopped what they were doing to gawk at what surely must be a rather embarrassing moment between a young lady and a suitor she was attempting to seduce. 

‘Miss Byrnwick,’  Harrington jumped into action, ‘let me find you a maid.’ Within another second, he had disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to cry in shame at your brother’s side—your brother, Nicholas, who did not seem one ounce affected by your dramatics.

‘Have you no shame?’ he asked between tight lips, leaning in your direction to avoid the eager ears of the nearby audience.

‘Oh, brother, I have only begun.’ You smiled with a whisper before taking a step back, and another, until your back was met with the soft texture of the cake placed directly behind you. How ridiculous of you to have forgotten. 

You cried out.

‘There there, sister,’ Nicholas failed to find a single sincere vocal cord from what it seemed. ‘Let us get you cleaned up.’ He reached for your arm, smiling at a hoard of ladies standing a few feet away, but you quickly pulled away.

‘Do not be ridiculous, my dress is in ruins!’ You did anything but shout. Anyone paying attention, and by this point, this had included the majority of the gathering, would be no fool to expect your eyes to be on the verge of tears as you attempted to cover yourself up to no avail. Why, after this fiasco, no one could blame you for making a swift departure out of the ballroom.

That is nearly nobody, for your mother caught you just as you were about to exit. 

‘Dearest, what has happened to your dress?’ Her face showed an awkward smile filled with concern, but you knew that not that deep inside, she was raging with fury as she took in your state.

‘It was an accident, mama.’ You sniffed, wiping at your dry cheeks. ‘Now, will you excuse me? I would like to go home, please.’ 

In this instance, with more and more people collecting around you to look at and their whispered words making their rounds around the room faster than the country dance performed just moments ago, there was very little your mother could do. After a final look around the room in hopes of finding a suitable reason for you to stay, yet failing to do so, she had no choice but to let you go.

‘Let me at least find one of your brothers to escort you,’ your mother sighed in defeat.

‘I am perfectly capable of going home by myself, mother.’ You resumed taking steps toward the doors, their appeal practically pulling at your feet eagerly. ‘And besides, I will not be alone. I will have the carriage driver for company.’ This did not make your mother any more confident in the situation, but both your brothers also appeared to have vanished into thin air, and the gossip was only growing more potent the longer you stood there in your stained ensemble.

‘Alright then,’ Mother gave in, ‘just… be careful.’

‘Of course.’ You reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly. ‘Thank you.’ With this farewell, you ran out of the room as politely as it was possible in good society. There had not been many occasions in which you had visited Lord Parsnell’s estate, so it took a moment before you found the main entrance. 

‘Everything alright, miss?’ a footman standing by the door called out, clearly having noticed your distress. 

‘Perfectly well,’ you caught your breath. I simply require my carriage.’ To this, the man nodded and disappeared into a corridor to call for your transport. The music seeped through the main hallway from across the other side of the large house. Mindlessly, you let your body move in sync with the violins. You took small but correct steps over the marble flooring until the man returned, announcing your carriage would be ready momentarily.

‘I shall wait outside,’ you explained, and just like that, the grand doors opened to reveal the late night. Crickets chirped across the fields nearby as the moon and stars illuminated the gravel at the entrance. With nobody around and the cool night air pleasing to your heated skin, you took a deep breath and let your legs give in.

‘Danced too hard, miss?’ a familiar voice called over the sound of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels rolling. ‘You look like you have just walked through a storm.’

‘Balls have that effect on a lady.’

‘They sure do,’ Eddie chuckled, for a reason unclear to you.

‘Did I say something funny?’

‘No, it’s nothing,’ he shook his head, changing the subject, ‘Will your family be long?’

‘They shall take the second carriage. I will be making my return alone.’ With your numbers, one carriage would have called for a relatively tight, possibly hazardous fit. So you and your brothers had taken the larger coach—steered by your family’s coachmen—whilst your parents drove in the smaller hansom that Mr Munson had kindly offered to operate for the other regular driver had coincidentally fallen ill. 

Thus, now that you were returning alone, you had the smaller carriage all to yourself. 

‘No chaperone?’ Eddie asked, somewhat apprehensively.

‘I have you, have I not?’ you said as you hiked up your dress to climb aboard. The footman that had so generously opened the coach door looked reasonably stunned as, instead, you took your seat next to Eddie in the driver’s seat. He looked at you with just as much surprise. ‘I’d like to enjoy the mid-night air, if that is alright with you,’ you explained.

‘You won’t hear me complain, miss,’ he smiled, pulling the reigns and setting the horses into motion. As you drove off, you dared to take a peak behind you. The footman remained confused in his place, trying to comprehend what exactly he had just witnessed and whether or not to call it a scandal or not. But, in your modest opinion, you could not find anything scandalous in a young lady who was seeking comfort from one of her family’s employees and one you had, above all, learned to trust a great deal in the last weeks.

As you know, you have always found comfort in the gardens surrounding your house, yet after your first meeting with Mr Munson, you found yourself seeking refuge on the grounds even more often than before. Especially as the arguments regarding your prospects grew more heated and the tensions between you and your family became more tiresome by the day. It became an almost daily routine for someone to shout out obscenities and slam a door in protest, and nearly every fight ended in you needing to catch a breath amongst the flora. And more often than not, you wandered around until you found yourself at the stables. But unlike in your childhood when it was the horses’ company you were looking for, it was now a person’s attention you were hoping to catch—

❀❀❀

You certainly had no intentions of returning to the stables the first time you did so. Initially, you had planned to visit the orangery, but the gardeners were currently occupying it, and in your need for solitude, it did not feel like the right place to be, which is why you surprised yourself as you called out into the empty aisle. 

‘Hello?’

No response came. Nobody was around except the stallions and mares, who were comfortably munching away at their hay, unaware of anything happening outside the building. 

You stood in front of the entrance, looking ahead of you, unsure of what to do next and still not entirely certain why you had come here in the first place. You listened to the soft, unbothered noises of the horses and fiddled with the fabric of your dress for a moment or two until the silence became unbearable. It could not have been longer than a minute that you stood there, but to you, it felt like an eternity, and with each passing second and no plan on what to do next, you only felt sillier and sillier. You had to leave here before someone caught you standing and waiting like a statue. And as you turned around, you slammed into the arms of the one person you had hoped would not catch you this way. 

‘We must stop meeting this way,’ Eddie smiled, but the grin quickly disappeared as he caught a glimpse of your expression. ‘Everything alright, ma’am?’ 

‘Yes, of course,’ you wiped the folds in your dress nervously. Something about his gaze made it impossible for you to return it. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘You look as if you’d just seen a ghost.’ 

‘Well, you did just scare me half to death, Mr Munson.’ It was true. You felt your heart leap up into your throat as your bodies collided. ‘You are far too stealthy, you know.’ 

‘Apologies. I have learned to be quiet around the horses so as not to startle them—’ 

‘Which has the exact opposite effect on humans, does it not? ' you said, pushing the corners of your mouth into a smile. 

‘It appears so, miss.’ He returned the gesture. 

It took far too long for you to realise that, according to the general rules of conversation, you were expected to say something next; however, before you could remedy that misstep, Eddie spoke up once more. 

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ 

‘Yes,’ you shook your head, ‘perfectly so. Is the weather not lovely?’ You looked up, just anywhere but at him, to see the cloudless sky. ‘I er— I thought of taking Barley Sugar out for a ride.’ Suddenly, your intentions of finding yourself in front of the stableman were perfectly clear. 

‘Of course, ma’am. Which horse will your chaperone be taking?’ The question stumped you, which must have been clear to the man looking so intently at you, for he quickly asked: ‘You do have a chaperone, do you not?’ 

‘I do not. I am more than capable of riding the horse on my own, thank you. I have been doing so since I was 5 years old.’ 

Eddie hovered over his words briefly. ‘I did not intend to question your skills, ma’am; it is only that it had been made clear to me upon my employment that you are required to have someone accompany you when you leave the residence—for the horse’s safety, if anything.’ He quickly added, sensing that it might soften the blow of your horse-riding chastising.

‘I did not think you to be such a stickler for the rules, Mr Munson,’ you found yourself to tease the man. Where the nerve to do so came from, you did not know, but it looked to be appreciated. Eddie shook his head, possibly already regretting his following words.

‘May I at least ask where you will be headed then?’ 

‘I have not thought of that yet,’ you responded honestly. ‘I might just see where Barley takes me.’ At this, however, the stableman visibly winced. You raised a brow. ‘Is something the matter?’

Eddie shook his head in disappointment.  ‘I only wish you had not said that, miss. I cannot, in good conscience, let Barley Sugar go out unprepared like that. The old thing could get lost or, even worse, hurt. To even think of such a thing happening—’ he looked away, reminding you of how the actors moved in the many plays you had visited at the theatre. ‘Well, it is simply too painful even to consider.’  

‘I am sure Barley can manage such a venture… and she is certainly not old.’

‘Of course,’ he corrected, ‘But we must consider the risks and wouldn’t want anything to happen to Barley, now, would we?’ As he spoke, you made the grave mistake of finding his eyes and the stare he greeted you with, while warm, was intense and rather dizzying. 

You cleared your throat, suppressing a smile, ‘Well, perhaps, if you insist, you should be the one to accompany me on this ride… for Barley’s sake.’

‘For Barley’s sake.’ He echoed your words softer, and just like that, any protocol that should have been considered was thrown out the window. As a newly acquired help, Eddie had no right to accompany you on outings as a chaperone, not without senior permission, at the least. And yet, it was not even ten minutes later that you were both seated on your horses— you upon Barley Sugar and Eddie on the back of a dark brown stallion named Marzipan—and briskly making your way out of the enclosed grounds of the estate.

Ever since, as if by a magnet, you felt yourself pulled towards that particular side of the garden at the sight of any inconvenience. You knew that there was not only an ear always eager to listen but a voice happy to speak to you freely and happily. And though most days, there would be the excuse of a horse or carriage ride for your visit, other times, you would plainly sit by as Eddie worked, chatting away for hours on end or however much time you had to offer. 

‘Are you quite sure that it is alright for you to be here, miss?’ Eddie asked after a week’s worth of your visits. You watched him pick up a large sack of feed as if it weighed nothing at all and put it across the stable room. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing that however strainless the carrying of the weight might seem, he had certainly put his muscles to work.

‘I may not own this house directly,’ you answered, ‘but I am the lord’s daughter, and I am free to do as I please… to a certain extent.’ No one could tell you not to roam through the grounds or converse with the groom in your free time, but total freedom you had not. 

 ‘Well, with risk or not,’ Eddie threw another sack on top of the previous, ‘I consider it a great honour to be the recipient of your company.’

‘I am surprised none of the gentlemen have attempted to use such a phrase to charm me.’ You could not help but roll your eyes. ‘And besides, Mr Munson, the honour is all mine. It is rare for me to find a person that finds me agreeable enough to talk to me at such length as you do.’ And one I find as agreeable too, you considered adding but decided against it. 

That smile peeked out over his lips again as he walked up to you. ‘Well, I have hardly any choice, I mean, when you come here to my place of work, it’s not like I can just walk away.’

‘Oh, you,’ you pushed at him lightly. But with him having squatted down to meet you at eye level, the slight push was enough to topple him over onto the ground. And to think I wanted to ask you to escort me on another horse ride.’

‘In these clothes?’ Eddie looked at the both of you, him covered in mud and dust, and your dress was much the same. ‘What will people think?’ 

You got off your makeshift seat to help him back on his feet. 

‘Then let us hope there will be no one to see us.’

❀❀❀

The carriage wobbled over the uneven ground as you distanced yourselves from the Parsnell estate, and the quiet of the night was filled with your retelling of the evening.

‘So I am to understand that this,’ Eddie cocked his head your way, referring to your dress, ‘was your own doing?’

‘I thought it quite ingenious,’ you shrugged.

‘And what of this Mr… Harrington? He must still be looking for you with that maid of his I imagine.’ 

‘No.’ But the image of a disappointed Mr Harrington walking through the room, a maid in tow, with you nowhere to be seen, did sting at your heart a little with guilt. ‘Do you really think he is still looking for me?’ A giggle burst through against your better judgment despite your attempts to suppress it with the hand you covered your mouth with. ‘I am quite cruel, aren’t I?’

‘Absolutely wicked,’ Eddie commented with a weirdly proud smile. As the road went on straight, he took his eyes off it from time to time to glance your way—just briefly and only a handful of times, but enough for you to notice. You could only hope he was not as observant towards your actions.

‘What is it?’ you asked after several more glances directed towards you as a sweet silence fell between you. 

‘It is nothing,’ Eddie smiled it off.

‘Which means it is certainly something. Go on, enlighten me.’

He shook his head. ‘I suppose it is just that, from how you described the night, I do not see what must be so awful about it— you speak of delicious food, drinking and dancing. I don’t necessarily see a problem in this.’

‘Because that is not the problem. It is not the dancing, it is who I am to dance with.’ You sighed. ‘Night after night, it is an endless rotation of the same men I am as uninterested in as the very first day I met them. They corner me to ask me a million questions, each shallower than the last, only to then try and coax me into a dance where they will surely trample my feet.’

‘I see,’ Eddie nodded, but perhaps it was only the vibrations caused by the carriage’s movement that made him agree with your ramblings. 

‘I apologise. I do not mean to talk of my problems constantly.’ Indeed, the man must have his own issues, and ones that most likely outweighed your marital prospects severely. 

‘You have nothing to be sorry for, miss. I am happy to listen,’ he said earnestly.

‘Very well,’ you contemplated your words for a moment until you quickly blurted out with curiosity, ‘but how was your evening?’ 

‘Mine?’ To your surprise, your question had caused Eddie to chuckle.

‘Yes. I assume you must have done something to fulfil the last hours. Or do carriage drivers freeze up when unattended, only to thaw at their master’s command?’

‘I would say that is partly true.’ He quickly looked your way with a smile before explaining himself. ‘For the most part, when on duty, you have to keep your mind on the job, so I cannot exactly indulge in things and have to be ready in case a lady’s dress is ruined and she is in dire need of her getaway carriage.’ Your eyes met briefly. ‘But that does not mean that I am to sit still in an empty room until you come to call, no.’

‘So? What is it that you do in the meantime?’ 

‘Card games, for the most part.’ He shrugged, not seeing your interest in the topic, too focused on the road ahead to notice how you eagerly looked at him, awaiting his following words. 

You had to admit, until that night, you had never put much thought behind the private lives of those who waited on you. Yes, you understood that not all their day revolved around you or your family, but you also never considered it to be any of your business to follow theirs. You listened whenever your maid, Claire, told you stories about her family, storing the basic information of the names and so on in the back of your mind, but at the end of the day, these were nothing more than anecdotes amid polite conversation. Yet, with Eddie, you were eager to know everything about him. The longer you spoke, the more questions filled your mind, and the less adequate you felt to ask them. You were, after all, friendly, or so you hoped, but you knew there was a thick line in society when it came to friendships such as this one, and you were not sure where that line would be crossed and if to be scared of what would happen once it happened. But now and then, curiosity got the better of you, and you managed to trickle in a question for Eddie to open up to you.

‘What er– kind of card games?’ You nudged on in your questioning. 

‘The regular kind, the ones nobody mentions by name, but everyone simply knows the rules of.’

‘I do not think I am familiar with any of such kind,’ you admitted. In the meantime, the carriage drew to a slow halt at the crossing of two roads. ‘You take the left here,’ you told Eddie, who looked at you in surprise. 

‘I cannot say my navigational skills are perfect,’ you said, ‘but I pay attention, and I remember going past the large boulder on our way to the party. There.’ You pointed towards the rock some meters away from the crossing in the left direction.

‘You are quite observant, I’ll give you that.’ He brought the horses back to action, and the rattling of hooves and wheels on the uneven ground resumed. As you passed the large boulder once more, Eddie then resumed your conversation. ‘You do not play any card games, then?’

‘I will admit, I prefer chess, but I do often play Cribbage with my siblings—or Brag. My brother Nicholas is also very fond of Piquet, and as I am the only one in the house that can stand his unsportsmanlike antics, he often forces me to play it with him.’

‘Very well,’ Eddie listened, then asked, ‘Do you know Trischaken?’

‘Pardon?’ you barely understood what he had said. 

‘Trischaken. It’s a Prussian card game, or perhaps Austrian; you’ll have to excuse my awful memory for geography.’ At this, you both laughed politely,

‘No, I do not think I have heard of it.’

‘Oh, it’s great, I must teach how to play one day.’ Only once his enthusiasm unfogged his mind a second later did Eddie pull back the excitement of his invitation to a polite suggestion, ‘If that is something that would interest you… ma’am.’

‘I would like that very much.’ You smiled, showing a bigger and more authentic smile than you had the entirety of the passing night. And barely did that smile fade for the remaining hours as you drove back home and listened to Eddie talk, trying to explain the rules of the intricate foreign game or tell you about his life outside of work. 

‘I did not take you for a music fanatic.’ You admitted as you approached the vicinity of Ridlington Park, its gates already glowing from the lights around it in the near distance. 

‘It must be a very sour sort of man that does not enjoy music. Are there really such types?’

‘And he is more common than you’d imagine, I am afraid, and it seems to be the type that my parents see me to marry one day.’

‘I am beginning to understand your problem,’ Eddie said, ‘but yes, music has always had a special place in my heart. My father had taught me how to play when I was a young boy and since then, it’s always brought me a great comfort. It was actually one of the very few things I brought with me from America.’

‘Is it hard? being so far away from your family?’ You asked softly, unable to imagine how you would feel if you were to leave everything and everyone you had ever known to work in some foreign land on the opposite side of the world. 

‘There are many things that I am still growing accustomed to, but I cherish the change.’

‘That is a very diplomatic mindset. I for one could not bear a day without the possibility of seeing my family, I think, no matter how meddlesome they are.’

Eddie’s eyes shimmered with kindness for your words. ‘I suppose I have grown used to it. I have been travelling for years now and have not seen my family for an even longer time, so it is actually the lack of independence and presence of…. this closeness of others that I am attempting to grow used to now.’

‘Ah.’ You blinked, not having expected that kind of response. Immediately, as the door of Eddie’s past unlocked, even if just for a moment, a mountain of questions spilt inside you, but you pushed those urges back. ‘I see. Well, if you ever require solitude and wish me to leave you alone, please be not afraid to just tell me so. I shall respect your wishes.’ Had you been too eager to sit beside him for the entirety of the ride, talking his ear off? Or all those other days when you bothered him at work. Oh, the embarrassment. If it was not for the fact that you were already coming through the Ridlington Park gates, you would have jumped off the carriage and walked the rest of the way home.

‘No, I did not mean it like that.’ Eddie quickly recovered his words. ‘Please, do not think I do not greatly appreciate and enjoy our conversations. They— they have been the highlight of my days.’

‘Really?’ Your proud smile was too strong to keep at bay. 

‘Yes, really.’ Eddie’s words pushed out a breathy laugh. ‘I see it as a welcome escape from the work.’

‘So do I,’ you noticed the wrong fit of your phrasing, ‘I mean, I enjoy our conversations as well.’ Would it be too much to call them an escape from reality? To him, perhaps. The entire night had already been a far breach of that line of what is proper or not for a lady to do. You knew you were awaiting a scolding the second your mother returned from the Parsnell ball. Now, the territory your and Eddie’s exchange was heading into felt anxiously foreign, somewhere you realised you had never gone to with any of your friends or acquaintances. Your heart picked up its pace as the carriage slowed down for the final time that night, arriving at its destination. 

Before you could do or say anything, Eddie had jumped out of the driver’s seat and ran across the back of the hansom to assist your exit. He extended his hand for you to take, and the moment your fingertips met, you knew it had been a mistake. Your hold tightened around his hand as you took the steps onto the ground, and though you found your footing perfectly well, you did not find the power to let go of Eddie.

And neither did he of you.

The two of you stood in front of each other, eyes locked into a deep gaze, only broken by his glances to the point where you were connected. Your hand was in his and burning like a fire between you; for the brief seconds as they pulled you closer together, your fingertips felt like the centre of the entire universe.

A fire that surely would burn and scar if you were to touch it.

It was dangerous. You knew it.

But what was life without a bit of risk?

‘My apologies,’ Eddie cleared his throat, taking a step back, letting your hand fall through the cold air.

‘There is no need for that.’ You shook your head out of all thoughts, or at least attempted to do so. ‘It is I who should apologise. If you will excuse me, I must change into something less… cakey. Good night, Mr Munson.’ You looked down at your dress, which was still, very much, covered in remnants of wine and cake. You were to leave, but Eddie quickly called to you, almost as if the words were faster than his mouth.

‘How many times must I ask you just to call me Eddie?’ His eyes were those of a pleading man, pleading for something you did not quite comprehend, but at the same time, you knew the consequences of giving in to his request.

You looked back at the windows of Ridlington Park. The building was enveloped in darkness, as no one was there to occupy the rooms or to see you. All you could do was remind yourself that there was nothing wrong with you being alone with a carriage driver or any other member of staff, but it certainly did not feel that way. There was undoubtedly something dangerous going on in that instance.

You took a deep breath as he held it in. The line you were scared to cross was getting thinner, and you grasped for something to hold onto as you felt your feet slip away. 

‘Good night, Eddie.’

And just like that, with only the hope there was no one around to see it, you both fell.

To be continued...

Thank you so much for reading!! I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Remember the best way to support writers is to reblog and share. I love to hear what people think of my stories so feel free to leave a comment or an ask or message. And don't forget to join the taglist if you want to be kept up to date on the chapters [yes, I promise, more will be coming]

[sabokunsmalia]

ʚ 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗬 (𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃) 𝗗𝗢 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨 ɞ 𝖋𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: monkey d. luffy, roronoa zoro, vinsmoke sanji 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌: nothing much except for pet names, sweet stuff and gestures 𝖍𝖎 𝖎'𝖒 𝖒𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖆: between the entirety of smut i've written and have prepared, have something sweet about the monster trio, and be prepare for more!

ʚ monkey d. luffy ɞ

↷ there's no need to deny the fact that food, in any shape or form, is luffy's biggest priority besides becoming the king of the pirates. he needs it, he graves it. not even the smallest dish, or the largest plate stand a chance against his indescribable hunger. so when you joined the straw hats, and sanji called the crew for dinner, they almost lost their minds as the cook placed a plate in front of luffy first, and their captain pushed it a seat further in front of you. his stomach was grumbling wildly and loudly, almost sounding like a bear. yet, luffy decided, you should eat before he inhales the meal. he even shared a couple of spoons with you from his favourite meal, without thinking or asking.

↷ same situation with the one appearance feature that the people remembered perfectly about the raven-haired boy. the straw hat which once belonged to shanks and became a promise between the two of them. no one was allowed to touch it; his crew members were expctations but even they knew better. enemies, who destroyed the smallest straw were defeated quicker than a watcher could believe. but with you, luffy was different. he loved to place the straw hat on your head, pushing it down completely and even asking you to hold onto it closely as he entered a fight. the trust was immense, and the crew watched in surprise the first time it happened.

↷ luffy is such a sucker for physical touch. whenever the crew wasn't trapped in a storm or attacked by the enemies, the calmness settled on the deck. everyone returned to their own activities like zoro's weight lifting or robin's sun bathing while reading another book. for luffy it was clear that he could leave his signature place at the front, and finally enjoy a minute with his love. stretched out arms wrapped around your waist multiple times before you could even realize that he was on the way to you. his body flew after the stretched out limbs, and the captain pulled you along with a laugh. oh, it was scary every single time but it was difficult to be mad at such an addictive laugh and wide smile.

ʚ vinsmoke sanji ɞ

↷ you didn't even need to say a word to him when your moods shifted. the little wrinkles between your eyebrows as you pulled them down so harshly, sanji could tell you were angered. eyes darting up and watching the lights swing from left to right, he could tell you were deeply thinking about an important topic. over the days by your side, the cook learned the exact changes in your facial features to figure out your moods without having to ask. it was a long-term observation with all his attention belonging to you or maybe he just received the right information after staring at your beautiful face with heart eyes all day. both were possible options but sanji would never tell you that secret.

↷ two words, calm mornings. sanji loved cooking and expanding the recipe book he was secretly writing and hiding in the kitchen. so, when he had the chance to add one or two new creations to his list after you revealed your cravings to him, he could not decline that chance. sanji started to get up earlier in the morning, at least an hours, preparing the quick meals for the other crew members, and taking his sweet time to make your favorites. placed on a wooden tray, he carried the plates towards the room that you two shared on a couple of nights, and woke you up with a good, warm breakfast and a sweet smile.

↷ luffy defeated another important enemy? the crew had to run away from the arriving marines or the destruction of another land? well, don't bother to use your legs. before even setting the first step, sanji had you swooped up in his arms and carried you across the pavement bridal style. after a particularly hard fight, when you joined in with the crew and decided to defeat a couple of pirates, and were too exhausted to run the entire way back to the thousand sunny, sanji would allow you to jump on his back. an easy way to touch your body and give him another good reason to keep running, keeping you on his back until the thousand sunny was reached. sanji would rather die than stop.

ʚ roronoa zoro ɞ

↷ zoro had difficulties with touching a woman the right way in the beginning. obviously he was used to clutching the hilts of his swords tightly while engaging in a particularly difficult fight. so the pda with him was very rare. he would stay in the crows nest all day, lifting weights until almost passing out or sitting in a corner, drinking one glass of booze after another. so when the time arrived that you two shared a bed, you prepared to be cold the entire night but zoro's muscular arms wrapped around your body tightly. his naked and scared chest pressed against your back, warming you through the entire night. it was unexpected but at the same time, you were grateful for the slightest touch that you did not receive on deck for days.

↷ if you wanted advice, zoro would always send you to nami or robin, maybe even usopp but never sanji. but as soon as you climbed up to the crows nest, seating on one of the stools and staring him down, zoro knew you had to rant and he did not need to answer. listening was his greatest specialty. he might not be able to provide advice for you but he would state his truthful opinion while lifting another round of weights to receive his desired result. you ranted on and on, sentence after sentence while zoro worked out further. you did not need an answer from him, just the small nod as he informed you that he gathered all the words you spoke, was enough for you to release a calm breath.

↷ once zoro got used to being in a relationship and having the chance to touch a beautiful woman as much as he fought with his swords, the green-haired man used his chances. while being in a conversation, he would subtly place his large paw on one of your butt cheeks, slapping carefully and ever so gently. his rough, calloused fingers would slip into the back pocket of your skinny jeans or shorts, listening to the words of nami, or luffy's wild plans. it became such a signature little thing for the swordsman to show his affection towards you, without giving the enemies a hint at what his greatest weakness was. after all, being a pirate was dangerous, and he wouldn't want to lose you, simply because he could not keep his hands off you.

[spiriteddreams]

what leads me back to you

Or, the five times you look for Al-Haitham, and the one time he looks for you  Pairing: Al-Haitham x Reader Warnings: fluff, some angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending Word Count: ~5.3k A/N: happy birthday to the feeble scholar himself, al-haitham! <3

I. Feels Like “Met you at the right time, this is what it feels like.” The Acting Grand Sage is a busy man. There are papers to be filed, positions to be filled, and an entire political government to be reconstructed. The reconstruction process is slow and tiresome and with each passing day, Al-Haitham looks forward to the day that they accept his resignation letter. The day that he returns to simply being the “Scribe,” and a “feeble scholar,” is a day he swears he looks forward to. In the meantime, he is stuck to a large desk in an office that is far too spacious for his liking. 

When he hears the rumble of the elevator coming up, an irritated groan escapes his lips. He runs through the words in his mind, ready to chew out whoever has decided to disturb him. His office hours are posted just outside of the elevator entrance, and everyone in the Akademiya knows that he’s far too busy to deal with menial things. Which means there are only a few reasons as to why someone might be coming to bother him: there is more paperwork to be filled out, some old scholar has come straight to him for complaints, or there’s an emergency. He counts the seconds in his head, waiting for the elevator to rise until he can see who’s decided to disturb him. 

“You are here!” your voice cuts through the silence of the room before he can even get a glance at who it is. You’re a rush of words and feet, marching up to his desk and near slamming a book on his table, whilst ignoring the glare on his features. You are one of the last people he expected to see. That isn’t to say he doesn’t mind your presence. You’ve proven to be a sensible person, unlike his ridiculous roommate, and he’s had the pleasure of spending more time than he would have ever anticipated with you. As a good friend of Kaveh’s (Al-Haitham thinks it’s a shame), you’re often invited over for dinner or found sharing drinks with Dehya, Cyno, and Tighnari. But ignore that for now, instead, he wants to know what could be so important that you’ve decided to ignore his office hours and disturb him while he’s knee deep in paperwork.

“Okay look, I know you’re probably not happy to see me but this is important! I have this new research project that I wanted to start, I even ran it through Cyno this morning!” you’re flipping through a notebook, not even looking up at him. Since approaching his desk, Al-Haitham hasn’t been able to see the entirety of your face, not that he’s actually searching, yet you’re far too caught up flipping through papers to see the way his eyes follow your every movement. He takes in the differences in your appearance since the last time he’s seen you, which he feels like has been forever with the way he’s been cooped up in his office. There’s a cut on your finger that’s in the process of healing, and a new padisarah charm hanging at your side, right next to the Vision that seems to glow brighter than usual, as if reflecting your upbeat mood. He’s only half listening to you ramble about this project, which by all means, was approved the moment you approached him. You’re a brilliant scholar, there’s no doubt about it, careful about everything you do and meticulous about the smallest of details, and frankly, someone who’s research seeks to better the Akademiya. So why would he deny your approval?

When you finish speaking, Al-Haitham clears his throat and his eyes shift from your papers to your face, surprised to see that you’re already looking at him. He can see the uneasiness in your eyes, and something in the back of his mind whispers that he doesn’t like that when you’re looking at him. Do you not feel comfortable around him? The thought is bitter to swallow but he pushes it down anyway and looks back down at the papers.

“I see no reason to reject this, do you?” he asks flatly. You stare at him incredulously, eyes narrowed and ready to snap back at him. “Besides, you ran this through the General Mahamatra earlier, no? If he thinks it’s fine, and from what I’ve heard, there’s no reason for you to be making such a fuss about this.” For a moment, he’s afraid he might have irritated you beyond belief with the way you glare at him. But almost instantly it’s washed away as you sigh and shake your head with a fond smile.

“Glad to know I have your approval,” you say it so warmly that Al-Haitham’s chest nearly lurches. He locks that expression in his memory, tracing over the smile on your face, the one that reaches your eyes and makes them glint a bit brighter than before as an amused huff leaves your lips. It’s a pretty expression he thinks to himself. And when you leave him to the silence of his office, only joined by a mountain-load of paperwork, he finds that he misses your presence immediately.

II. Pancakes for Dinner “I wanna eat pancakes for dinner, I wanna get stuck in your head.” “A little birdie told me that you haven’t come home to eat dinner.” 

“Is this little birdie’s name, Kaveh?” Al-Haitham doesn’t even look up from his spot, secluded near the back of the House of Daena. He had found this spot as a student, and since then, had claimed it as his own. Other Akademiya scholars knew better than to disturb him if they saw the light flickered on in the back corner of the library. It was an unsaid rule that started when he was a student, and continued on through his occupation as Scribe. Don’t bother Al-Haitham if he’s working in the back of the library. He’ll get mad at you. And yet here you were, pulling out the chair from across from him and leaning forward as if you were going to try to read his book upside down. 

“Perhaps,” you hum, “but regardless, spending the entire day working on paperwork isn’t healthy. I thought you would have left by now. What happened to making it clear that you wouldn’t be working outside of your working hours?” You have a point, Al-Haitham thinks. At his first meeting as Acting Grand Sage, he had made it clear that he would not engage in any Akademiya work outside of your working hours, and yet he was here, secluded in the back of the library. The only catch, he wasn’t actually working, simply reading a physics book for pleasure.

Al-Haitham slides his bookmark between the pages, “I’m not doing work. Just reading.”

“Reading a physics book?”

“Yes.”

“Archons above…”

Al-Haitham casts you a dry look. “You’ve seen me read these types of books before, what’s so different about this time?” 

“This time,” you reach over and slowly close the book, maintaining eye contact with the Scribe, “it’s late. So you need to tuck away your physics bedtime story and get some food.” Al-Haitham holds your gaze, multi-coloured eyes seeming like they were digging into your mind. He prides himself in the fact that you break eye-contact first, clearing your throat as you lean back. Your fingers accidentally brush against his and you murmur apologies but Al-Haitham can only focus on the way your touch on his ungloved fingers had sent tingles up his arm. 

“Are you planning to cook then?” Al-Haitham brings his focus back to the conversation at hand. His words are meant to be sarcastic and yet you take them in a completely different manner.

“Of course not, it’s late, you silly Scribe.” His heart jumps at the childish nickname. “Instead, you and I are going to get dinner at Puspa Cafe!” He raises his eyebrows, making no effort to move. Is that what you’ve come to bother him about?

“Hey now, don’t give me that look. I know you enjoy a good meal at Puspa Cafe, and I’m craving food there, so it’s a win-win situation,” you scold him. “Come on, pack up your things or I’ll drag you there myself.” He wants to remind you that there’s no way that you would ever be able to drag him anywhere but he still sweeps his book into his arms, tucking away his other papers before standing. He’s only doing this because you won’t stop pestering him if he declines, that’s the only reason, he tells himself. The thought of eating dinner with you is nothing special. It’s just as if he was eating dinner with Kaveh, except that you’re much more tolerable. He keeps reminding himself of such facts as you lead him out of the House of Daena, talking animatedly about the research project that you had been working on, the same one that he had approved. You’ve already made so much progress, from extensive notes and an in depth plan ready for execution. The next step, you excitedly ramble on about, is finally exploring the ruins in the desert. Yet Al-Haitham shoots you a concerned glance. The ruins you’ve mentioned are dangerous and he hadn’t realized you might be interested in actually exploring them. There was no doubt that you could protect yourself. You were skilled in elemental practice and weapon alike, so really, there was no reason for him to be worried. And yet the creeping desire to protect you from harm had planted a seed in his mind.

III. Glowing Review “You ask what I tell my friends, said ‘It’s a glowing review.’”

When Al-Haitham knocks on your door, his palms feel unnaturally clammy. He’s not nervous, no, why would he be. It’s just you. You had found him hard at work the other day with a small bag of pastries and two cups of coffee in your hands. One was for you and the other for him, you had said cheerfully, placing it on his desk. A housewarming gift, you joked, seeing as he had finally stepped down from Acting Grand Sage and was back in his office as the Scribe. He hadn’t even realized that you were staring at him when he took a bite of pastry, and perhaps his expression was enough for you to propose that the two of you go to the little shop hidden within Sumeru City to check out the other pastries. 

Which is how he finds himself here, counting the seconds as he waits for you to open the door. It’s just a hangout between friends, right? You hadn’t specified anything more, so, by Al-Haitham’s rationale, you simply wanted to try out more pastries with him. Why you didn’t ask someone like Kaveh, is beyond him. He’s sure that his roommate would immediately jump on the opportunity to try something as simple as a “pastry.” And yet he finds the thought of you going out to a bakery with Kaveh to be something he doesn’t ever want to imagine. His roommate, despite what he may argue, has no taste when it comes to romance, so there’s no possible way that the two of you would have a good time. Al-Haitham freezes as he replays the thought in his head. Romance? He shakes his head, how did a thought like that pop up in his head? The two of you were just getting pastries. Because you asked. And you’re friends. That’s all.

“I’m so sorry about the wait!” you throw open your door and the snarky remark on his lips dies instantly. You’ve traded your usual wear for something lighter and rather fitting for the nice weather. Your vision still hangs at your side, clinking against your padisarah keychain but you look different. In a good way of course. Al-Haitham thinks you look more relaxed like this, and for a moment, he feels silly that he’s dressed in his typically day-to-day wear and that maybe he should’ve chosen something more casual because what if you feel uncomfortable around him and what if you roll your eyes with a sigh and what if—

“You look good,” you tilt your head and Al-Haitham feels his cheeks flush when he catches the way your eyes drag from his feet up to his chest, and up to his eyes. “I mean, you always do, but you seem more relaxed today. You should try that expression on more often, it’ll scare people less.” Your teasing words comfort him instantly and he realizes there was really no reason to be so nervous about this. It’s just you and him. 

“The less people that try to stop to talk to me at work, the better,” he responds dryly, earning a bark of laughter from you as you lock your door. He watches your every movement carefully from the second you turn back around to set off, up to when he steps ahead to open the door for you. And when the warming smell of fresh baked pastries envelops the two of you, Al-Haitham finds himself looking over at where you stand. Your hands are clasped in front of you, eyes closed and soft smile painted across your lips. You look so peaceful, so calm and serene that the thought of what’s coming next at work makes him want to hide away. If you knew what papers lay on his desk, ready to be signed and put into effect immediately, you might hate him. If you knew about it, would you still want to get pastries with him? If you knew about it, would you be disappointed? Angry? Would you ignore him? If you knew about it, would you still like him the way that he can tell you like him now?

But instead of saying anything, he pushes the guilt down his throat and shifts closer to you. He’ll take what he can for now and deal with the consequences later.

“What are you thinking of getting? And I’ll pay. No arguing with me,” he glances over at the display of mouthwatering cakes and croissants. You still try to argue with him, batting his hand away when he goes to pay, much to the baker’s amusement. He still manages to toss them a bag of mora and you still push him gently, mumbling under your breath that “next time, I’m paying, you got that?”

Next time. Al-Haitham smiles to himself at the thought. Next time.

IV. An Ego Thing “I won’t go first, won’t apologize. Pretty sure it’s an ego thing, but I can’t stand a compromise.”

If the Akademiya scholars thought the General Mahamatra was terrifying, then this was a close second. You were furious, hands clenched and eyes laser focused on finding Al-Haitham. You stormed through the halls, glaring at any scholar that tried to meekly call out to you. You could deal with the repercussions later. Finding the infuriating, cocky, self-absorbed, emotionless Scribe came first.

What had gone from a good day, waking up early in the morning and ready to set out on the expedition that had been approved for research had quickly fallen flat. Cyno had been the one to break the news, knocking on your door in the morning with his mouth pressed into a thin line. The expression on his face was enough to spark concern as you offered to make him a cup of coffee and sit down to talk. But Cyno’s hesitance had your mind racing. 

“It has to do with the research expedition” his eyes searched your face. “It’s been called off, by the Scribe’s order.” It was those words that led to where you were now, storming through the Akademiya halls in search of the same man who had approved your project, and now had gone back on his word. Poor Cyno had been the one to watch your expression crumble, words near breathless as you asked for the reasoning behind such a sudden decision. And when he sheepishly said that Al-Haitham hadn’t said anything further than that, you felt the spark in your chest light. If he wanted to play dirty and hide behind words and walls alike then you would tear them down yourself. 

“Archons above you’re so infuriating!” you snap. “This is why no one wants to be around you! You knew how much this project meant to me and you even approved it! And the next thing I know you’re halting it halfway and you can’t even come up with a decent explanation as to why?!”

“Look, I get you’re upset—” 

“I’m more than upset!” you shake your head, mouth parted in disbelief. “Do you not trust me or something? What did I do wrong? Please, enlighten me!” He finds himself at a loss for words. Should he lie and protect his own dignity or lay out the bare truth? Neither were ideal and yet you stand in front of him, chest rising and falling in anger as you impatiently wait for an answer.

“You know it’s not like that. It’s just not safe,” he says bluntly. “And it really isn’t that big of a deal, you’re just being prideful.” He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Because the sight of your face falling, a tired scoff falling from your lips as you nod slowly and take a step back is enough for Al-Haitham to know that he said the wrong thing.

“You’re calling me prideful?” The laughter that falls from your lips is dry and painful to hear. The words bubble up from your chest, laced with such anger and poison that it even shocks you when they fall from your lips. “Aren’t you one to talk? You, the great Scribe Al-Haitham, pride and joy of the sages, bowing to their every will then working behind their backs. So what you did was for the greater good, should I grovel at your feet then?”

“Archons above, you’re being unreasonable.”

“I’m being unreasonable?! That’s rich coming from you,” you run a hand across your face. “I’m humiliated. Is that what you want to hear? You approved my project and then rejected it just as I was getting to the most important part. I’ve told you about how excited I was about this and the next thing I know, you’re shutting it down! Was this some sort of act, some sort of game to you, to humiliate me like this?” Al-Haitham hesitates and that one second of hesitation is what marks his downfall. He reacts too slowly and you take it the wrong way. You shake your head in disappointment, lips pressed together. You refuse to meet his eyes, refuse to let him see the hurt that’s built up all day. If he wants to play dirty, then so can you.

“You’re a shitty person,” you don’t mean it, but you want to hurt him back. “Clearly, nothing that comes out of your mouth is sincere. Nothing about you is genuine. I can’t believe I’ve tried to be your friend, tried to get closer to you. This was clearly a mistake. Everything between us was a mistake.” He’s quiet at your words. Perhaps you’ve stepped over the line this time and when you look up, Al-Haitham just stares at you. There’s hurt in his eyes, something you didn’t think you would ever see, and it’s because of you. The apologies die on your lips, because how do you apologize to someone after tearing down their walls and striking where you know it hurts? You open your mouth to say anything but Al-Haitham turns away first. His back faces you and he asks you to leave, and as the door clicks shut behind him, you swear you hear a sharp sniffle followed by him clearing his throat. You don’t stay to hear anything more. 

V. Tough Act “Saying goodbye to a best friend is the bad part of the right thing to do.”

Guilt, in its most basic terms as defined by any Akademiya dictionary, is “a feeling of having done wrong or failed in an obligation.” And yet the feeling that brews inside of your chest can’t quite be encapsulated in just the word “guilt.” There is a heaviness that weighs down, burdening your every thought since you’ve left his office. The words that had spilled from your lips were cruel. They were sharpened knives ready to strike and the sight of Al-Haitham’s face falling, letting you see the hurt flashing across your features, was enough to know that a line had been overstepped.

Everyone knows that he’s a rather rational person. He doesn’t always express his emotions, and when he does, it’s usually because he has a plan rolling in his mind. So to catch him off guard like this, and see how hurtful your words really were, quickly plagued your thoughts. That didn’t mean his own words and actions hadn’t hurt either. By the time you left his office, you still hadn’t quite gotten an explanation as to why the research project had been cancelled. The first day after everything had unfolded you cursed Al-Haitham’s name, grumbling to Dehya over dinner.

“You know… I’ve noticed that you’ve spent a lot more time around Al-Haitham recently,” she tosses the statement on the table, forcing you to stop eating and stare up at her with a spoon of soup halfway to your mouth. 

“He’s just nice— well, I just find that I enjoy his company,” you let the words stumble out.

“Haven’t you gotten dinner with him nearly every day this week?” Dehya says it so nonchalantly that it surprises you. You had, in fact, had dinner with Al-Haitham five of the seven days of the week. Three of them were a result of both of you leaving work at the same time and two of the times you had been invited over by Kaveh for dinner. Al-Haitham had volunteered to walk you from the Akademiya to their home, then from their home back to yours, sending you off with a gentle smile and the promise to see each other the next day.

Admittedly, neither of you had clarified the relationship that had grown between the two of you. Unsaid promises, unsaid labels, unsaid confessions lingered in the air. It had become a dance of back and forth footwork, your hands gliding along his figure until you had stumbled, tripping over your feet, curses tearing from your lips as you pushed him away by accident. There was no doubt that he was actively making an effort to avoid you and while you weren’t seeking him at every moment, it still hurt to hear that he wasn’t anywhere that you could find him when you wanted. Which is exactly what leads to you seeking help from Kaveh, who had at first, rolled his eyes, claiming that you were better off without him. But upon seeing the crestfallen expression on your face, he mumbles that the “feeble scholar himself” is in his room.

To your surprise, he lets you in and yet you stand as close to the door as possible. Al-Haitham doesn’t like the way you’re so tense and ready to run, as if the slightest movement might send you fleeing. But he can’t reach out to pull you in. The fraying rope is on its last thread, ready to snap unless the two of you can find some sort of compromise. 

“I’m sorry,” your head hangs low and you can’t look at him. “What I said to you, I didn’t mean it. You’re not a bad person.” You’re afraid of what you might see in his eyes. You can hear his breathing, counting the seconds between each breath as you wait for him to say something, anything. It’s clear that he’s trying to find the words to say and you’re preparing for the worst.

“But you think anything we had was a mistake?” Ah, that’s not what he wanted to say but he had blurted it out anyway. He knows that you don’t think so, but he just wants to hear it from your lips. But saying it this way, he isn’t sure he’s going to get an answer because his chest physically hurts when you flinch at his words and inhale sharply. You still refuse to look at him and it’s eating him up inside.

You exhale sharply, “No. I don’t. I just… I was upset because I was looking forward to going on the expedition and it was cancelled without even a day’s notice. And when I heard that the order had come from you, I didn’t even try to hear you out, I just… yelled at you instead. I’m sorry.”

  Your words are honest, and Al-Haitham knows that you didn’t mean the words you had said. You were upset, rightfully so, and had taken the anger out on him. But the words still stung, leaving him reeling from the sudden burst of anger and the subtle truth that had been woven in. You didn’t mean them, and he knows it. So why is forgiveness so hard to give out?

“I’m also sorry about what I said and did.” Al-Haitham ducks his head slightly in hopes that you might meet his eyes. You don’t and it frustrates him. It worries him that he can’t read the expression on your face. You, who wore your heart on your sleeve, was now covering it up and he hated it. “I cancelled the project because I was worried about your safety. I know you’re more than capable of handling yourself but I didn’t want to put you in any danger. And I ended up cancelling your expedition. I’m sorry.”

“I understand.”

But do you? What are you supposed to do now?

“Are we okay?” your voice is small and tight, as if Al-Haitham’s room is starting close in and suffocating you. The tension continues to build and there are no signs of it dissipating. 

Al-Haitham answers honestly, “I don’t know.” It’s three words, but not quite the words you’ve dreamed of hearing from him. It’s three words that tear into your chest and hit you full force because it tells you that Al-Haitham can’t forgive you.

“Right.” You clear your throat. “Right! I understand. I’ll leave you be then. And I’ll give you some space for a bit. Thank you… for hearing me out.” Your voice sounds a bit more high pitched, words choppy and sentences fitting together awkwardly. But the tension in the room has filled to the brim and it feels like it’s hard to breathe, so the next step is the run. And you leave immediately, pushing your way out of his room, down the hallway, past Kaveh who glances up at the sight of your tear-filled eyes and hasty steps. You leave out the front door with shaky breaths, unaware of the way Al-Haitham tries to go after you with his hand outstretched and your name silent on his lips. But the door clicks shut, and the rope snaps.

+ I. Invisible String “And isn’t it just so pretty to think, all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?”

“Have you seen (y/n)?” Al-Haitham stops Dehya as she’s slipping through the streets of Sumeru City. The Flame Mane raises her brows at him, sending him a suspicious look. Her arms cross over her chest and she tilts her head as she studies the expression on his face. He looks more tired than usual, less composed and shaken. It’s quite a surprise to see him like this, but Dehya knows better than to poke fun at him. Now, she’s seen both ends of the Spectrum. She’s seen your disheveled look, puffy eyes and half-hearted attempts to do your work at home. And now she’s seen Al-Haitham, actively searching for you in the middle of the day, exactly when he should be caught up with menial tasks at the Akademiya. It’s been a couple weeks since the aftermath of an attempted reconciliation and while you’re attitude

“They’re not feeling well.” Dehya answers carefully. It’s not exactly the truth, but also not a lie. You had been under the weather just a week prior but had recovered quickly. Today was the first day you had returned to work without feeling congested, but Al-Haitham didn’t need to know that.

“They’re sick?” his back straightens and almost instantly he looks more alert. An interesting reaction, Dehya thinks to herself.

“Well, not anymore.” Dehya shrugs, “They went back to work today.” She watches the change in his expression and gives herself a little invisible high-five. This is just the push the two of you need. Then maybe she won’t have to hear the groans from your lips whenever someone brings up Al-Haitham’s name, and she won’t have to hear from Kaveh how his roommate has been “moping” around. As if on cue, Al-Haitham thanks her, bids her farewell, and walks down the street, not quite in the direction of the Akademiya but she assumes that he’s off to pick something up for you.

That something just so happens to be flowers from one of the local vendors. And when you tiredly open your door to get ready to get lunch you’re greeted by the sight of Al-Haitham about to knock on your door, mouth parted in surprise, one hand raised and poised to knock and the other holding a small but pretty bouquet of flowers.

“Grand Scribe?” Ouch, that hurt. “Is everything okay?”

“Um… are you free?” he tries to regain his composure and yet you stare at him like he’s grown a second head.

You clear your throat, “I’m about to get lunch. Did you need to… discuss something?” Your eyes flick between the flowers and his face. He wants to curse himself because he has no doubt that he looks like a ridiculous gaping fish. But you had thrown open the door when he hadn’t even finished planning what to say and now his plan was falling apart.

“Could we get lunch together? I just wanted to talk about us.”

You’re silent. Al-Haitham curses and you giggle quietly, trying to cover it up immediately. It’s almost as if the laughter melted any tension between the two of you because he feels his shoulders relax instantly and a fond smile crosses his features.

“Sure! Puspa Cafe?” you propose. There are things to be said, boundaries to be discussed and no doubt a relationship to be repaired, but if this is how easy it is for the two of you to move past such arguments and find comfort in one another, then, you think to yourself, things will be okay.

“Ah, would it be too soon to call it a ‘date?’” Al-Haitham blurts it out before he can stop himself. It’s like he loses his filter around you, the words that he wants to phrase better just falling out and laying bare his true feelings.

You raise your eyebrows and Al-Haitham wants to run. “Are you going to give me the flowers first?” He feels like an absolute fool with the way he’s acting. It’s like he’s a teenager again and he wants to hide away. He swears that he’s more composed than this. But instead of replying, he offers the flowers to you with a sheepish smile. When your fingers brush against his he feels all too aware of the close proximity of the two of you. 

No doubt, there are things to talk about, but for now, the two of you can bask in the moment. You both find that despite all that has happened, when standing in front of one another, it’s difficult to stay mad. It’s as if there was an invisible red string wrapped around your pinkie fingers, leading you through life and tugging you towards one another, waiting for your pinkies to intertwine and a confession to be sealed. Just wait, let time be the guide, let your friends cheer on the sidelines and whisper to one another that of course you and Al-Haitham were meant to be. After all, only the two of you could keep up with one another and match one another in every way possible. Isn’t it so pretty to think?

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3 a/n: if you know all the songs i used i love you

[helenofsparta2]

Rick did Jason Grace so dirty in HoO

Before I explain, I think I should establish that I really like Jason as a character. While he isn’t one of my favourites, he has really grown on me over the last couple of years. But he never really had a shot with the fandom, after his introduction in The Lost Hero, and after Son of Neptune and a lot of that has to do with the way Rick set him up for failure from the very beginning with a variety of writing decisions. The odds were really stacked against him.

Let’s first recap the very base of who Jason Grace is. He had an unstable mother, who gave him up to Juno when he was two years old, so that she could claim him as her champion. He is the only demigod child of Jupiter, and grew up raised by wolves, then later raised in a relatively strict military hierarchy since a very early age without any knowledge of his mortal family. He had to deal with all the pressure and expectations that came with who his father is. Over time he managed to become one of the two leaders of said hierarchy and has been committed to change its society for the better ever since. He led Camp Jupiter in the titan war and managed to defeat the titan Krios with his bare hands,  He is the long-lost brother of Thalia Grace, one of the more popular characters from the PJO book. He is extremely kind, protective, and loyal, and one of the most powerful demigods in the Riordan verse.

This should have easily made him into a fan favourite character. But what happened instead was for him to become the least favorite member of the seven, to be considered boring and skippable by a lot of fans, and to even get a lot of haters. (I know especially here on tumblr a lot of people really love Jason, but I’m talking about the more general part of the fandom, and I don’t think anyone can deny that Jason gets quite a lot of hate there.)

So, what went wrong?

I think there are three main reasons for the dislike he receives.

Telling, and not showing on part of Rick’s writing

A constant forced comparison with Percy

A lacking character arc in the hoo books

Let’s start with the first one.

Telling, and not showing

Piper’s and Leo’s POVs did him a huge disservice in that regard in the lost hero. During the entirety of the book, Piper wore rose-tinted glasses when it came to him. There is barely a chapter without her glazing Jason, or commenting on his looks or generally how perfect he is. Leo deals with a lot of insecurities and, while not as extreme as Piper, puts Jason also on a pedestal in his chapters. This was, for one, quickly becoming repetitive, but also put a lot of expectations on Jason, which are impossible to meet for any character.

It doesn’t help that Jason didn’t achieve all that many impressive feats in The Lost Hero. He didn’t do nothing, but in comparison to Leo and Piper, he gets a bit overshadowed.

Leo pretty early on established himself as a mathematic genius. He repairs Festus, saves Piper and Jason from the cyclops, and fights against Khione at the Wolf’s house.

Piper uses her charm speak to convince Boreas and his sons to let them go, frees Leo and Jason from Medea’s control, breaks Hera’s cage together with Leo, and is able to revive Jason after he accidentally looked at Juno in her divine form.

Jason, meanwhile, defeats a venti at the Grand Canyon and saves Piper’s life, defeats Lityerses and Midas, and defeats Encaladeus with the help of Zeus.

Don’t get me wrong. Those are great accomplishments and put Jason at the very top of the demigod power hierarchy, but with the way everyone talks about him, and with the standards we already have for children of the big three as readers of PJO, he just falls a bit short. Especially when you focus on top of that on other moments in that book where he gets knocked out by the cyclops or looks unprompted at Juno in her divine form, to list a few examples.

Despite this, his actions and abilities would have probably still made him into a fan-favourite character, if there wouldn’t have been this constant comparison with Percy.

A forced Comparison

Jason and Percy are getting compared in the hoo books in a very obvious way. They are set up as equals by Rick with its entire premise in the first two books and the weird rivalry thing he wrote in Mark of Athena, which is, I think, the main reason why Jason is so disliked.

Percy Jackson is probably the most popular character within the Riordan verse. The only characters who even come close are Nico di Angelo, Leo Valdez, and maybe Annabeth Chase. He is the main character for the entire prequel series, and had much more time to develop and for the readers to get attached to than any other character.

This was a lost battle, even before the first chapter of the lost hero was written. By the time, Percy and Jason meet, Percy was the main character, or at least one of the main characters, in 11 adventures, if you include the short stories, while Jason was one of three POV characters in a single book. A book, where he had amnesia for the entirety of it. People are protective of their favourite characters, and if you make a direct comparison between the most popular character in your franchise and some new guy, even (try to) establish them as equals and force them to have a rivalry, people are naturally going to develop a dislike for the new guy.

And Rick certainly didn’t help matters with the way he wrote them.

At the end of the lost hero, Hera tells Jason, that he is going to be the leader of the seven, but we know he isn’t. We, as readers, who have followed Annabeth and Percy since they were 12 years old, know that he doesn’t deserve this role, judging by what we have seen of him.

Even if he were to be portrayed as strong as Percy in the following books, it would feel undeserved. While we have seen Percy fight the many monsters and titan’s he did in the PJO books, and seen his growth in both power and character, we only get told that Jason defeated Krios with his bare hands. There isn’t even a flashback in either his or Reyna’s POV chapters of the incident, which could have at least elevated this accomplishment.

And then, Rick publishes Son of Neptune and every possibility of Jason being on the same level as Percy gets instantly flung out of the window.

Percy is the MVP of that book. Frank and especially Hazel are awesome, absolutely no discussion there, but for me at least, Son of Neptune was really Percy’s time to shine.  (Though I have to admit, I’m pretty biased towards Percy, so that statement is probably really subjective.)

Even before he leaves for the quest, Percy already killed one gorgon, demolished the romans in the war games, sees through Octavius’ performance, figures out what happened with the golden eagle and proves his selflessness by choosing not to take the gorgon blood to recover his memories. Then later he tricks Phineas in what is for me one of the coolest moments in the entirety of hoo, fights an entire army, destroys a glazier, defeats Polybotes basically by himself and, again, makes a fool out of Octavius in front of the senate, and all that after Rick already nerved him by removing the curse of Achilles.

Comparing especially the fights against Polybotes, and Enceladus respectively does Jason absolutely no favors.

Jason fought good, he fought greatl even, he had this very cool moment with his speech explaining who he was and boasting of his accomplishments, but in the end, his weapon got destroyed and he had to pray to his father to kill Enceladeus with a lighting bolt. That was an amazing feat for a demigod, absolutely no discussion, but really pales in comparison to Percy’s fight at the end of Son of Neptune.  

Percy absolutely bodied Polybotes. I don’t even know if he received a single injury in this fight. The “help” he received from a god was him smashing the decapitated head of Terminus into Polybotes. Like, Terminus didn’t do shit in that fight.

You can’t describe two characters as being equals and then portray so huge differences in their accomplishments.

Yes, Hazel and Frank also often say that Percy is powerful, or a good leader, or handsome, or smart, in a similar way to how Piper and Leo describe Jason, but with Percy it feels more like a reward as a reader. Because we have already seen him be all of that in the original books. It’s just acknowledgement and no new information.

Also, the absolute dissonance between Jason’s disappearance and camp Jupiter’s reaction also doesn’t help him. How can we believe that he is a leader of the same calibre as Percy, when most of the people in the camp he has lived in since he was four years old, don’t even care that much about his disappearance and are so quick to replace him? (Even worse, they replaced him with Percy) I know that this is just the way, Camp Jupiter works, but simply as a narrative choice, it’s very questionable.  

A lacking Character Arc & Amnesia

Coming to the last point. Jason’s character arc in the entirety of Hoo fell flat to me (Though, to be fair, most character arcs, if they even existed, fell flat to me in Hoo.)

His predominant character arc is him struggling with his identity, between being a roman or a greek. Now, this would be a very compelling arc, if we’d know who Jason Grace was as a roman. But we don’t. We know close to nothing about Jason’s life in New Rome. The only meaningful relationship he apperantly had was with Reyna, and he barely thinks about her in his povs, and even in Reyna’s chapters in boo we barely find out about their friendship. The entire camp turns against him in Mark of Athena. By the end of Boo, he still has not regained his entire memory, and never really confronted his past as a praetor. This is not a full, or satiscfactory character arc.

There are many other points I could name, like his relationship with Piper, or how him being Thalia's brother came completely out of the blue, or how he didn't built any meaningful relationship with characters who weren't Piper or Leo in the four books he's been in, but, to be honest, this post is already getting too long.

I'm just frustrated because he could have been one of the coolest characters in the Riordan verse, but he was really sat up to fail.  

[posttexasstressdisorder]

They killed our Jesus: A Lament for Generation Jones

Two things happened in 1980 that would ensure the iron grip of the fascist state would (first slowly, then quickly), tighten on the entirety of the nation's populace from that moment forward: Ronald fucking Reagan was installed as president, and a CIA-psyop'd Christian Nationalist shot and killed John Lennon.

Those two things are connected.

First let's look at exactly who "Generation Jones" encompasses, and specific moments in the generational timeline that defined our future. The wiki page is actually quite good. Here's an excerpt that really hits it on the head:

"The name "Generation Jones" has several connotations, including a large anonymous generation, a "keeping up with the Joneses" competitiveness and the slang word "jones" or "jonesing", meaning a yearning or craving.[17][18][19] Pontell suggests that Jonesers inherited an optimistic outlook as children in the 1960s, but were then confronted with a different reality as they entered the workforce during Reaganomics and the shift from a manufacturing to a service economy, which ushered in a long period of mass unemployment. Mortgage interest rates increased to above 12 percent in the mid-eighties,[20] making it virtually impossible to buy a house on a single income. De-industrialization arrived in full force in the mid-late 1970s and 1980s; wages would be stagnant for decades, and 401Ks replaced pensions, leaving them with a certain abiding "jonesing" quality for the more prosperous days of the past.

Generation Jones is noted for coming of age after a huge swath of their older brothers and sisters in the earlier portion of the Baby Boomer population had; thus, many note that there was a paucity of resources and privileges available to them that were seemingly abundant to older Boomers. Therefore, there is a certain level of bitterness and "jonesing" for the level of doting and affluence granted to older Boomers but denied to them.[21]"

That sets the stage, for the most part. I was four when JFK was shot on TV. I was a wide-eyed, open-eared five year old when The Beatles were on Ed Sullivan and The Supremes were on the radio. I was ten when we landed on the moon, and I wanted to be a hippie at Woodstock at eleven. "Basketball Jones" came out when I was 12...I jonesed for a telescope because SPACE and got one from that great maker of fine telescopes, KMart.

Generationally, we jonesed to be ten years older, so we could have had all the cool shit THEY had. They had The Beatles, and we had the solo Beatles, they had Hendrix, Cream, Jefferson Airplane, and we had the fucking BeeGees and disco. It's like we, as a generation, were fated to live The K-Mart Knockoff of Life, instead of the bright, shiny Brand Name One all our older brothers and sisters got.

MUSIC and SCIENCE were EVERYTHING to us as kids/teens...the Eshittification Of Music truly began in 1973, and proceeded through SynthPop Hell in the '80s. Rock and Roll heroes became hairdos with guitars. The rock heroes of the '60s were getting married and having kids and baking bread. AM Radio ceased to be something you listened to for music...it began to replace music with strident, screaming hate voices that would eventually engulf all of AM Radio 24/7/365.

We were continually thwarted most of the way from our young adulthood on, blatantly from the moments in 1980 that the vile Ronald Reagan and the core operatives of evil for the next 50 years took over, and then the moment of what I call "Our Generational Wounding", the murder of John Lennon.

Back in '66, John had inflamed all the grandpas of todays magats by saying (truthfully) that with teens, The Beatles were more popular than Jesus. Beatle hate became a Very Big Thing in Bumfuck South Texas. Record burnings, merchandise burnings, book burnings, all were commonplace. A very palpable, and very specifically "Anti-Beatle" hate got instilled in a lot of kids/teens at that point, so anything to do with the Beatles was taboo for "good people" (read Southern Baptists) to like.

That, of course, made me love them that much more, and to follow their paths from their breakup forward with 'bated breath, buying every 45 they put out, trying to save pennies up to buy their albums.

John was the radical hippie, the one who wanted peace, the one with the weirdo wife, the one who held a "Bed-In" for peace. In a very fundamental-to-our-generation way, John Lennon was OUR "Jesus".

Richard Nixon (president from '68 to '74) HATED him.

In 1971, there was a true mass consciousness that incorporated us along with our older siblings, a musical mass consciousness. I became aware of many things in 1969, specifically fall of '69, so I was experiencing all this in real-time, as it happened. When the news that The Beatles officially broke up came across the AM radiowaves in May of '70, it was A. Very. Big. Deal. Everyone watched everything they did from that point on with GREAT interest.

George put out "My Sweet Lord" and "What Is Life" (first record I ever bought), John put out "Instant Karma", "Mother", then "Power To The People", then "Imagine". Ringo put out "It Don't Come Easy", and Paul & Linda had "Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey". EVERYBODY was a "post-breakup Beatle critic", panning Paul's very first solo 45 "Another Day", "Uncle Albert" was the followup. This band called Badfinger that sounded suspiciously like The Beatles appeared on American radio, and would make 1972 one of the final "Golden Years" of AM Rock Radio.

In 1970 we heard about this Elton John guy, by the end of '72, I was playing as many of his songs on the piano as I could figure out. My favorite album was (still is) "Madman Across The Water". When "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" came out in '73, a very noticeable shift was occuring.

Pop became much less political. It softened. It mellowed. It grew its hair long and lived in the country, learned how to grow potatoes and play the mandolin, making Country Rock the one lasting "legacy" of our sad sub-generation. By the time I graduated HS in May of '77, it was all there was on the radio, besides....disco. Oof.

One of my first TV memories was JFK getting shot. That was the Generational Wounding of our older brothers and sisters. When Mark Chapman (a Christian nationalist who changed the words of "Imagine" to "Imagine there's no John Lennon") shot John in December of 1980, it was the 2 in the 1-2 PUNCH done to our OUR generation. The first, of course, being the installing of Reagan and the evil Evangelical influence beginning in earnest.

It also began the buildup of the "Holy War" radical right, and an utter denial and clampdown of "hippie", of "counterculture" in general began, ensuring that John's vision of world peace would never come true, at least not on their watch. They had, effectively, killed OUR Jesus, along with our chances of the kind of security our older sibs got in spades. It also marked the unholy marriage of the evangelicals and the republican apparatus.

When Reagan got elected by virtue of the vile Newt Gingrich's 'Southern Strategy', a clampdown in earnest on the very SPIRITUAL EXISTENCE of our generation's incredible want and need, our collective JONESING for world peace began. Richard Nixon had planted the seeds. Nixon hated John Lennon with a passion. After Reagan was elected, I firmly believe Chapman was "activated" and they killed John as a Christmas present to Nixon.

It was after that, when the dream of a scientific future began to die, as well. When we were in high school, SCIENCE WAS EVERYTHING, so we wanted to be some kind of scientist "when we grew up".

I dealt with four years of college, majored in Biology, and in early 1981 realized my dream of being a Forest Ranger in Yosemite or some other national park somewhere, living in a cabin, giving talks to visitors about the biology aspects of the park....all that went POOF, almost instantaneously. My degree would get me nowhere, so I left before the end of that year and started working in record stores.

I was effectively the Cusack character in the movie about record stores, but it led to a dead end. Record stores weren't all that glamorous, and yes, the pay was dogshit. I tried working in record stores for the love of the music, while trying to BE a musician in a town FILLED OVER FLOWING with musicians, but that was quickly shat on by the beginning shrieks of late-stage capitalism.

It was like working in the record stores was my trying to keep holding onto the dream, our generation's dream...John's dream of world peace (along with my dream of being a working musician) died a pitiful death by the end of 1986.

What followed was nothing but a series of Jobs I Hated, and the beginnings of the true Jonesing for the life we'd been promised, because we didn't get the raises, the pensions, the house, the car, boat and camper, none of that shit for us. A life of being a low-paid, no-insurance drub, destined to be a life-long renter, unless a financial miracle happens.

So when people ask why we (as a generation) hate Ronald Reagan so much, let's just say I'm with Bugs on this one.

[emilystheories]

The Bryce and Azriel theory.

Matching weapons, ancient prophecies, dusk, and true equals.

Before you scroll away or block (which I totally understand if you do anyway - you are entitled to curate your own experience on here!), please note that I am not trying to convert anyone to this ship. I am fully aware that most people in the fandom are in favour of Gwynriel, Elriel, Elucien, and/or Quinlar, and I 100% respect those preferences.

I am also not saying this is canon, or will be canon - it's a theory. However, I very rarely (if ever) see people correctly talk about the actual evidence for the Bryce x Az pairing, especially when they're mocking it as nothing more than a 'crackship.' Given the sheer size of this post (and the fact that it took me weeks to put together), it's no surprise that I disagree with such a sentiment.

Feel free to form your own opinion on the matter; I only ask that you keep an open mind. And if that's not possible, then at the very least, I hope this is still an entertaining read, as it breaks down a sizeable chunk of the SJM multiverse.

(So, evidently: SJM universe spoilers ahead).

[art by Gabrielle Ragusi].

To begin: Bryce's connections to dusk.

Throughout both Crescent City books, Bryce is repeatedly connected to dusk. For example:

Bryce's scent is of dusk.

One of the first things Hunt notices about Bryce is that her scent is of the "first stars at nightfall." Nightfall is another word for dusk. This is important, as SJM often uses scent to foreshadow a character's true home (e.g. Rowan's scent being of Terrasen).

"She's here," Hunt said. The scent of her still lingering on the sidewalk, lilac and nutmeg and something he couldn't quite place - like the gleam of the first stars at nightfall."

Bryce is repeatedly associated with dusk imagery.

For example, Bryce often has her nails painted in "twilight" colours (again, another word for dusk), and even her damn nipples are described as being "dusk rose."

"She examined her nails, now painted in some sort of color gradient that went from pink to periwinkle tips. Like the sky at twilight."

Bryce is obsessed with pegasuses and unicorns (which originated from the Dusk Court).

Bryce has been obsessed with pegasus dolls (i.e. Jelly Jubilee!) since book 1; they are iconic to her character. In fact, there is a unicorn-pegasus hidden on the cover of every Crescent City book (see image below).

It's then no coincidence that the pegasuses in Prythian came from the Prison Island... the Dusk Court.

"According to legend, the pegasuses had come from the island the Prison sat upon—"

"Dusk's Truth"

The entirety of Crescent City 2 centred around "Dusk's Truth," which was confirmed to be about the Dusk Court. This logically implies that dusk (and the Dusk Court) is a pivotal aspect of Bryce's storyline.

This is also why I believe that Bryce's entrance into Prythian isn't just a fun cameo, nor a brief, temporary visit (as many seem to believe) -- instead, all roads point to dusk.

"An isle of near-permanent twilight, the home world of her breed of Fae … A land of Dusk." “Dusk’s Truth,” Bryce breathed. It wasn’t just the name of this room that Danika had been talking about with Sofie."

Bryce is also connected to Prythian.

As much as people try to deny this (for reasons I still don't understand), Bryce is strongly connected to the ACOTAR world, and this has been heavily foreshadowed all along. For example:

Bryce is the true owner of Gwydion; the High King of Prythian's sword.

Crescent City 2 makes clear that Bryce is the true owner of the Starsword (or Gwydion, as it is known in the ACOTAR world).

"He snarled. "The sword belongs to Theia's female heir. Not the male offspring who corrupted her line."

But, this isn't just any sword - it's the sword of the first and only High King of Prythian.

In ACOSF, Amren states that Rhys could use Nesta's "made" swords to set himself up as High King. So, what does that mean for Bryce, who owns the real deal?

“But you, Rhysand, are not.” Amren nodded to the still-rotating weapons. “With these three blades, you could make yourself High King.”

Bryce literally glows for Prythian.

Bryce possesses a star on her chest that is a "beacon" to Prythian; its purpose is to guide people home to the ACOTAR world.

As such, Bryce literally glows and lights up for Prythian. Not Midgard. Prythian.

"The star on your chest - do you know what that is?" "Let's assume I know nothing," Bryce said grimly. Rigelus inclined his head. "It's a beacon to the world from which the Fae originally came."

Bryce possesses the exact starlight of Theia; the rightful queen of the Starborn fae in Prythian.

The star inside of Bryce's chest is that of Queen Theia's. Bryce's starlight is Theia's starlight. It's even suggested that Bryce possesses the same powers that Theia once did (though, she hasn't yet accessed said powers). It's for this reason that many believe that Bryce is the reincarnation of Queen Theia.

“I thought Theia’s light was forever extinguished.” “So did I. I thought they’d made sure she and her power died on that last battlefield under Prince Pelias’s blade.” His eyes glowed with ancient rage. “But Bryce Quinlan bears her light.”

But Theia wasn't just any old queen. Instead, she was the queen of the Starborn fae in Prythian (with it being hinted that she once ruled the Dusk Court).

As such, I find it hard to believe that the land (and the Cauldron) won't recognise this; that Theia (Bryce) has come home at last.

“I remember the last Starborn Queen, Theia, and her powers.” He seemed to shudder."

[art by AnaSebag].

Putting two and two together; Bryce is likely the future High Lady of the Dusk Court.

At the end of CC2, Rigelus confirmed that Bryce's bloodline - the Starborn fae - not only originated from Prythian, but specifically lived in a "land of dusk."

"An isle of near-permanent twilight, the home world of her breed of Fae... A land of Dusk."

Putting all the clues together across both the ACOTAR and CC books, this is likely in reference to the Dusk Court. ACOTAR readers will know this as the Prison Island (which was suggested to be the "eighth court").

"Rhys told me once that this island might have even been an eighth court.”

In linking with this, when Nesta visits the Prison Island (Dusk Court) in ACOSF, she senses that "something great" had once existed here, but seemingly vanished. However, she then states that the land "still waited for it to return." Many agree that this is in reference to Bryce and the Starborn fae.

"The very land seemed abandoned. Like something great had once existed here and then vanished. Like the land still waited for it to return."

However, now that Bryce has indeed returned to the Dusk Court (or is about to in CC3); I believe that her presence will awaken the Dusk Court once more, and what was vanished, will return.

As foreshadowing of this, recall this scene in CC1:

"The gentle illumination danced on Bryce’s hair as she ambled down the stone path, night-blooming flowers opening around her. Jasmine lay heavy in the twilight air, sweet and beckoning." "Bryce didn’t flinch as he dropped into step beside her. “I wanted some fresh air.” She admired an unfurling fern, its fronds lit from within to illuminate every vein." "She continued past beds of night crocuses, their purple petals shimmering amid the vibrant moss. The garden seemed to awaken for her, welcome her."

Bryce is walking through a garden. As she continues walking, flowers open around her, and ferns unfurl in her presence. Hunt remarks that it's as if the garden "seemed to awaken" for Bryce.

And the kicker is; as this was happening, Bryce was walking though the "twilight air." This scene occurred during dusk.

Let's also not forget that the star on Bryce's chest is that of an eight-pointed star; the symbol of the Starborn fae (the same symbol engraved on the Prison Island floor, as shown in ACOSF). As a comparison, that's like Rhys having the Night Court insignia branded on his chest... it's rather overt foreshadowing.

“Well,” she said with a sigh, “that’s new.” Indeed, just visible down the V-neck of her T-shirt, a white splotch—an eight-pointed star—now scarred the place between her breasts."

Combined with the fact that Bryce is the heir to the Starborn fae, that she possesses Queen Theia's starlight, that she glows for Prythian, and that even her scent is of dusk... there's no one better suited (and heavily foreshadowed) to rule the Dusk Court, than Bryce Quinlan.

"Homecoming."

As we know, Bryce has now just arrived in the true home world of her people: Prythian.

"An isle of near-permanent twilight, the home world of her breed of Fae... A land of Dusk."

The instance of returning back home is known as a "homecoming."

"Homecoming" [noun]: an instance of returning home. (e.g. "she spent most of the day preparing for her husband's homecoming.")

And, that's exactly what SJM (curiously) labelled this image on her Pinterest board for Bryce.

Many believe this image to look like Bryce and Azriel (especially when SJM could have labelled it "Bryce and Hunt," which she happily did for the other photos on her CC Pinterest board...), and thus, the Bryce x Azriel theory begins.

The knife and the sword.

In the first Crescent City book, we are told of an ancient fae prophecy; "when knife and sword are reunited, so shall our people be."

"It's another of the Fae's countless inane prophecies," Bryce muttered. "When knife and sword are reunited, so shall our people be." "It's literally carved above the Fae Archives entrance - whatever the fuck it means," Ruhn said."

We now know that this prophecy is referring to Azriel's knife (Truth-Teller) and Bryce's sword (the Starsword). Keep in mind that SJM could have connected this prophecy to any number of characters, but she specifically chose Bryce and Azriel.

Additionally, we are also told that the knife and sword need to stay together in order to activate their full powers. Given the importance of these weapons in defeating the Asteri/Daglan, this suggests that Bryce and Azriel will also need to stay together in some capacity.

"Ruhn shook his head. "The sword doesn't work like that. Aside from being picky about who draws it, the sword has no power without the knife."

[art by itswibell_art]

Azriel as Starborn.

The Starsword (Gwydion) is a Starborn weapon, as only those with enough Starborn blood can wield it.

"Ruhn shook his head. "The sword doesn't work like that. Aside from being picky about who draws it, the sword has no power without the knife."

Given that Truth-Teller is the twin to the Starsword, this suggests that the knife is also a Starborn weapon. And, the fact that Azriel can wield it, implies that he too is Starborn (or at least connected in some capacity).

This is further substantiated in CC2, in which we learn that the Starborn fae aren't just those with starlight powers, but shadow powers too. This was confirmed by Cormac, who stated that the ability to wield shadows (and teleport through them) was once a gift of the Starborn fae.

"But Hunt didn't so much as sniff as he asked Cormac, "Where did you inherit the ability from?" Cormac squared his shoulders, ever inch the proud prince as he said, "It was once a gift of the Starborn. It was the reason I became so... focused on attaining the Starsword."

In fact, Cormac believed that because he could teleport using his shadows, this was an indication that the Starborn bloodline had resurfaced in him. However, this wasn't true; he had "some Starborn blood," but not enough to be "worthy of the blade."

"I thought my ability to teleport meant that the bloodline had resurfaced in me, as I've never met anyone else who can do it." His eyes guttered as he added, "As you know, I was wrong. Some Starborn blood, apparently, but not enough to be worthy of the blade."

But, do you know who can also use their shadows to teleport...? Azriel.

And, do you know who else has been "deemed worthy" and can wield a "Starborn blade" (i.e. Truth-Teller)? Azriel.

[art by cludi_a_]

Bryce + Azriel = Dusk Court.

The crux of this theory is that with their matching weapons and connections to the Starborn narrative, Bryce and Azriel represent the two halves of the Dusk Court.

This is because dusk is the crossover between the light and the dark.

This is further exemplified by SJM's own definition of dusk, as seen in Throne of Glass:

"Nightfall. That was when Maeve had told Erawan to meet. That liminal space between light and dark, when one force yielded to another."

As such, Bryce is light, and Azriel is dark. This is evidenced by their powers:

Bryce's power is pure starlight.

Azriel's power is pure shadows (in comparison to other characters, who have shadow powers + something else).

Further, and perhaps most importantly; Bryce and Azriel's weapons also symbolise this same dusk imagery:

Bryce's sword (the Starsword), glows with a GLITTERING, WHITE LIGHT (as if symbolising starlight).

Azriel's knife (Truth-Teller), glows with a DARK LIGHT (as if symbolising shadows).

"It was its twin. The Starsword began to hum within its sheath, glittering white light leaking from where leather met the dark hilt. The dagger - The male dropped the dagger to the plush carpet. All of them retreated as it flared with dark light."

Bryce (starlight) + Azriel (shadows) = Dusk.

And I mean, look at that dusk imagery on the CC3 cover (when the previous two covers were just solid red and black...).

(I'll also point out that the sword and knife are featured on this cover, with the knife right over the woman's heart...)

Alpha and Omega.

Further, Bryce's sword and Azriel's knife - together - is described as "Alpha and Omega."

"The male dropped the dagger to the plush carpet. All of them retreated as it flared with dark light, as if in answer. Alpha and Omega."

This term means "the beginning and the end."

"Alpha and Omega" [noun]: "the beginning and ending."

Which, is also a term that SJM often uses to describe love, or mated couples. For example, Feyre and Rhys:

"and saw and smelled that bond between us, until our scents merged, and I was his and he was mine, and we were the beginning and the middle and the end."

And this quote here, from Throne of Glass:

"She would find that love again—one day. And it would be deep and unrelenting and unexpected, the beginning and the end and eternity, the kind that could change history, change the world."

Additionally, when the weapons are finally together at the end of CC2, it's said that Azriel's knife glowed "in answer" to Bryce's sword.

"The male dropped the dagger to the plush carpet. All of them retreated as it flared with dark light, as if in answer."

They are matching halves.

Bryce and Azriel as rulers.

Given everything mentioned thus far, I believe that Bryce and Azriel are destined to become the High Lady and High Lord of the Dusk Court.

But, I actually think it goes one step further than this, and it has to do with Bryce's likely rule as High Queen of Prythian. As proof of this:

SJM is drawing from Arthurian mythology, and Bryce is King Arthur.

Throughout both Crescent City books, there are a number of nods to Arthurian mythology. Most obviously is Avallen Island (where Cormac lives), which is likely inspired by the renowned Avalon Island.

In fact, Ruhn retrieving the Starsword from the Avallen caves (and being "deemed worthy" to "pull the sword from its sheath") seemingly parallels King Arthur being deemed worthy of the famous sword, Excalibur, and thus being able to pull the sword from the stone.

"That your son, not you, stood among the long-dead Starborn Princes asleep in their sarcophagi and was deemed worthy to pull the sword from its sheath."

However, as mentioned previously; CC2 makes very clear that the Starsword belongs to Theia's "female heir." The Starsword belongs to Bryce.

As such, I believe that in this series, King Arthur is actually represented by Bryce. And, as further proof of this, consider Rigelus's words at the end of CC2; that Bryce's star glows for those she chooses as her "knights."

"It also glows for those who you choose as your loyal companions. Knights."

Just like King Arthur's own knights; the famed Knights of the Round Table.

King Arthur was the High King of Great Britain. And, Prythian is in the shape of Great Britain.

Putting two and two together, could this suggest that Bryce will become the High Queen of Prythian?

2. Bryce has the High King's sword.

As mentioned previously, Bryce is the true owner of the Starsword (Gwydion). The same sword that the High King of Prythian once wielded long ago. That alone is heavy foreshadowing.

3. Bryce is repeatedly foreshadowed as a queen.

For example, Hunt often notices Bryce's queenly demeanour:

"She spoke with the imperiousness of a queen. Hunt could only rise with her."

And even the contact name for Bryce in Hunt's phone is "Bryce Is a Queen."

Ruhn also implores Bryce to become queen:

"But you have to live, Bryce. You have to be queen."

To which Cormac agrees, stating that the decision to lead their people forward, will be up to Bryce:

"But after today..." Cormac's words grew heavy. Weary. "I think the choice about whether to lead our people forward will be up to you now."

Additionally, SJM often uses the phrase "lifted their chin" when someone is signifying their authority (e.g. "she lifted her chin, every inch the queen"). Then when Bryce meets Feyre and Rhys, the same term is used:

"So Bryce addressed the two of them as she lifted her chin. “My name is Bryce Quinlan.”

And most of all, is Ruhn's final words to Bryce:

"Her brother pulled away. And Ruhn said, shining with pride, “Long live the queen.”

(Speaking of Ruhn, recall his prophecy from the Oracle; that the royal bloodline ends with him. Considering that he is connected to both the Valbaran and Avallen royal houses, this suggests that there won't be any 'queen positions' left for Bryce to take in Midgard. But, there might be in Prythian...)

4. Bryce has Queen Theia's starlight (and likely her same powers).

Again, as mentioned previously, Theia ruled in Prythian (with some even believing that she was High Queen).

If it's bloodline alone that determines who would be High King/Queen (as Amren appears to suggest in ACOSF), then again, as Bryce is the true heir to the Starborn fae, placing her at spot #1.

5. Bryce glows for the ACOTAR world.

The star in Bryce's chest glows for Prythian. She is a beacon for Prythian. That's queen symbolism right there.

6. Bryce is a main character.

It is a well-known fact that all of SJM's leading ladies rise to power; Aelin as Queen of Terrasen, and Feyre as High Lady of the Night Court.

And, although I have heard some solid theories suggesting that Rhys or Lucien may become High King... it's also a well-known fact that SJM loves a female ruler (especially when Prythian is already so overly patriarchal).

Bryce, however, would be perfect.

[art by Gabrielle Ragusi]

7. Lastly, and perhaps the most important of all: Bryce is foreshadowed to unite the worlds.

Notably, the last High King (Fionn) rose to power because he united the people of Prythian.

"A millennium of peace followed, and the lands were divided into rough territories that were the precursors to the courts—but at the end of those thousand years, they were at each other’s throats, on the brink of war.” His face tightened. “Fionn unified them and set himself above them as High King. The first and only High King this land has ever had.”

Bryce is foreshadowed to do the same, as per that same ancient fae prophecy; "when knife and sword are reunited, so shall our people be" (and, this is where Azriel comes in).

Although this prophecy can be interpreted in a variety of ways, I believe it to mean that Bryce and Azriel will reunite the Starborn fae, lost across two worlds (Midgard and Prythian). A unification of people... just as Fionn once achieved.

Now, it is theorised that Bryce and Azriel will continue this legacy, as High Queen and High King. In doing so:

Bryce will represent the Midgardian fae, Azriel will represent the Prythian fae.

Bryce will represent starlight, Azriel will represent shadows. Light and dark. Dusk.

Together, Bryce and Azriel are two halves of whole. Alongside their weapons - which are also matching halves - you can't get anymore equal than that.

As mates are supposed to be.

A common rebuttal to this theory, however, is the belief that Azriel "doesn't have what it takes" to become a High Lord or a High King -- that he is inferior to other contenders (such as the likes of Feyre and Rhys).

Yet, I'd argue that the one character who could match up to Feyre and Rhys (and has foreshadowing hinting as such; power-wise)... would be Azriel. For example:

With Feyre (ACOSF):

“Give me some credit, Feyre,” Az said. “I can keep hidden well enough.” “We take no risks,” Feyre said, voice flat with command. “Pull all your spies out.” “Like hell I will.”

With Rhys (ACOFAS):

“And what would you have me do, then? Disband the largest army in Prythian?” Az didn’t answer. I held his gaze, though. Held that ice-cold stare that still sometimes scared the shit out of me."

“You sure about that?” I asked quietly. Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea. “Where did Lucien go.” I straightened at the pure order in the words."

Az nodded knowingly. He’d always understood me best—more than the others. Save my mate. Whether it was his gifts that allowed him to do so, or merely the fact that he and I were more similar than most realized, I’d never learned.

With Rhys (ACOSF; the bonus chapter):

"Azriel stiffened. Let his cold rage rise to the surface, the rage he only ever let Rhysand see, because he knew his brother could match it."

Similarly, it is also argued that Azriel would "never leave the Night Court." Yet, take it from Azriel himself; that he too is not sure where he truly fits in.

"I don’t really know where I fit in anymore,” I admitted, perhaps only because the wind was screeching around us and Rhys had already winnowed ahead to where Cassian’s dark form flew—beyond the wall. “I’ve been alive almost five and a half centuries, and I’m not sure of that, either,” Azriel said."

Combined with Azriel's disdain for the Illyrians and their culture (and the fact that when Az refers to the Illyrians, he will often say "they/them" as opposed to "we/us"...) could it be that something else is in store for Azriel's future?

Especially when we know Azriel has always been so curious about what lies beyond...

"At the far end of the room, a little dais led into a broad raised alcove flanked by more books—and in its center, a massive, working model of their world, the stars and planets around it, and some other fancy things that had been explained to Cassian once before he deemed them boring and proceeded to ignore them completely. Az, of course, had been fascinated."

Bryce and Azriel's beast forms.

If Bryce and Azriel are indeed set to become High Lady and High Lord of the Dusk Court, then they will presumably possess beast forms.

To expand on this, in a recent Marie Claire interview (August 2023), SJM stated that her favourite place to write is her desk, where she's surrounded by the things that remind her of the current book she's writing.

SJM: "I like to write at my desk, where I'm surrounded by lots of little items that remind me of either the book I'm writing, or things that just make me happy."

SJM then mentioned that when writing House of Flame and Shadow, she kept a vintage My Little Pony pegasus figure that was the inspiration for Jelly Jubilee.

SJM: "While writing House of Flame and Shadow, for instance, I had a vintage My Little Pony figure with me that was the inspiration for Bryce's beloved Jelly Jubilee!"

Then, when SJM announced the title of Crescent City 3, we were offered a glimpse of her desk, and sure enough - that vintage My Little Pony figure is right there.

But most importantly, this tells us that the items featured in this video aren't just random, but are instead (part of) the inspiration for House of Flame and Shadow.

Which then begs the question; what is the Godzilla toy hinting at? Well, the only connection I have been able to make... is to Azriel.

As proof of this, recall that in ACOMAF, Azriel's Siphon is described as being the "great eye" of a "half-slumbering beast" from a "frozen wasteland."

"I watched the light shift inside the sapphire Siphon instead, as if it were the great eye of some half-slumbering beast from a frozen wasteland."

This description matches Godzilla almost perfectly; who is an ancient monster, often slumbering at the bottom of the ocean, and also often frozen within ice.

And, if Azriel's Siphons are supposed to be reminiscent of the "great eye" of this beast, then it's perhaps no coincidence that Godzilla is famed for his blue, glowing eyes.

Similarly, Godzilla's atomic breath manifests as blue fire (which is what you can see coming out of the mouth of SJM's own Godzilla toy).

Coincidentally (or perhaps not), Azriel - and specifically his Siphons - are repeatedly described as blue flame.

"The shadows deepened around Ariel, his Siphons gleaming like cobalt fire."

"Azriel caught his eye. Rhys nodded. The Siphons atop his scarred hands flickered like rippling blue fire as he reached for the Attor."

"Illyrian lines buckled. Azriel sailed closer and closer to them, Siphons trailing tendrils of blue flame in his wake."

In linking with this, I have also theorised that Bryce has a beast form, and that hers will be a unicorn-pegasus (as outlandish as that may sound, it's one of my most well-received theories; link here).

Thus, I believe that the pegasus and Godzilla toys on SJM's desk in the CC3 reveal video, are symbolic of Bryce and Azriel.

Bryce and Azriel meeting for the first time.

When CC2 first came out, people started shipping Bryce and Azriel based on their first interaction alone. Some even noted that Azriel acted in a particularly uncharacteristic manner towards Bryce; he touched her repeatedly, and seemingly showed more emotion (or rather, a lack of composure) than what is usual. For example:

"He hissed, and then a strong hand clamped on her shoulder, hauling her up and twisting her to face him."

"The male’s hands were gentle but thorough as he fitted it tightly over her eyes."

"He set her down, taking her by the hand."

"He caught her, and sighed. She could have sworn he sounded … exasperated. He gave no warning as he hauled her over a shoulder and tromped down a set of stairs."

(It is argued that this is because Bryce is a danger/threat; but if that was true, then why would Azriel take Bryce to the townhouse?)

To me, the last line is the most significant. Azriel is usually calm and collected. He is polite and respectful towards women. Yet within only a couple of minutes, he is already frustrated and "exasperated" with Bryce, and he immediately chucks her over his shoulder.

[art by Paint Faery]

And speaking of parallels to other couples, Azriel and Bryce meeting for the first time seemingly shares many parallels with Feyre and Rhys meeting for this first time:

As well as parallels to Elide and Lorcan meeting for the first time:

And although this is more of a fun tidbit (one I acknowledge is definitely a reach), it's interesting that in ACOSF, we are told that mating ceremonies are commemorated using black ribbons.

"But all that mattered, she realized, was the male who would be standing with her, first as they swore their vows, then as they offered each other food, and then as their friends and family bound their hands together with a length of black ribbon, to remain until the mating was consummated.

Then, this is what Azriel does as soon as he meets Bryce...

[art by witchlingsart]

It's also interesting to note that when SJM was asked about her "favourite part" of HOSAB (in an interview with Entertainment Today), she answered the "penultimate chapter," where "a lot of major things come together for Bryce."

Interviewer: "What is your favorite part of House of Sky and Breath?" SJM: "The penultimate chapter - where a lot of major things come together for Bryce!"

SJM is referring to the very chapter mentioned above; when Bryce meets Azriel and the Inner Circle.

Bryce was "yanked" into Prythian.

Speaking of the penultimate chapter of HOSAB (and the events leading up to it), we know that Bryce originally intended to travel to Hel. However, her journey to the underworld was interrupted, as Bryce was instead "yank[ed]" into Prythian.

"It was the last sound Bryce heard as the darkness within the Gate swallowed her whole. She fell, slowly and without end—and sideways. Not a plunge down, but a yank across."

The definition of "yank," is pull, or tug. And, it is a word frequently used when SJM is describing the mating bond. For example, with Feyre and Rhys:

"No sign of him. No pound of beating wings. But the tug yanked again in my mind, my gut - a summoning. Like some servant's bell."

As such, fans of the Bryce x Az ship often speculate that Bryce was "yanked" into Prythian, right at Azriel's feet, because of their (yet to be discovered) mating bond.

Mor and Azriel = Bryce and Azriel.

It is widely accepted in the fandom that SJM initially intended for Mor and Azriel to be endgame (before changing this in ACOWAR). Not only is this because of the way Mor and Azriel interact in ACOMAF, but SJM's Pinterest board also strongly hinted at their pairing, for example:

With this in mind, consider that whenever Azriel's shadows were around Mor in ACOMAF (when they were likely supposed to be endgame), they lightened and faded in her presence.

"It was almost enough to distract me from noticing Azriel as those shadows lightened, and his gaze slid over Mor's body."

"Azriel, who kept a step away, whose shadows trailed him and seemed to fade in her presence."

Curiously, in the final chapter of CC2, Bryce doesn't mention Azriel's shadows once (when in comparison, she always noticed Ruhn and Cormac's shadows...). As such, could it be that Azriel's shadows lighten and fade in Bryce's presence?

Consider also these points connecting Mor/Azriel to Bryce/Azriel:

In ACOMAF, it's mentioned that Mor's family once ruled the Prison Island. However, we now know that the Prison Island is most strongly connected to Bryce; the Dusk Court.

In ACOMAF, we learn that Azriel's knife is called "Truth-Teller." Many speculate that this was also evidence of Mor and Azriel being endgame (as his knife was "Truth-Teller," and Mor has the power of "Truth"). However, now Truth-Teller is connected to Bryce and the Starsword.

Additionally, if we know that SJM once believed Mor and Azriel to be compatible, then it's worth noting how similar Mor and Bryce are:

Both Mor and Bryce have very similar personalities. In fact, if you're into MBTI (and are familiar with Personality Database), you'll note that both Mor and Bryce are said have the ESFP personality type.

Both Mor and Bryce are physically described in the exact same way. An example of this is outlined below:

"[Mor] wore a gown of pure white, little more than a slip of silk that showed off her generous curves. Indeed, a glance over her shoulder revealed Azriel staring blatantly at the back view of it, Cassian and the stranger already too deep in conversation to notice what had drawn the spymaster's attention. For a moment, the ravenous hunger on Azriel's face made my stomach tighten."

"Bryce Quinlan leaned against the large ironwood desk in the center of the space, her snow-white dress clinging to every generous curve and dip."

Although these comparisons in itself aren't a slam dunk of any sort (as evidently, Azriel is attracted to lots of different body types/people/personalities), I just can't help but wonder if SJM did a copy + paste with Mor and Bryce for this very reason...?

[art by mftfernandez and wictorian_art]

Speaking of personalities...

Although Bryce and Azriel have only interacted for a single chapter (yet are already causing waves with that alone!), some readers have been contemplating their (potential) compatibility.

More specifically, it appears that Bryce frequently mirrors Azriel's dark and cold demeanour. For example:

"The sprite crawled off her arm and floated in front of her, arms wrapping across her round belly. "You can be cold as a Reaper, Bryce."

"Bryce said quietly, her amber eyes full of cold fire, "I'll find them." She met the Archangel's gaze. "And then I want you to wipe them off the fucking planet."

"Bryce's face remained cold as stone. Colder. Males approached, saw that expression, and didn't venture closer."

"The last gift of the synth before it destroyed her. Yet in her eyes. ... he saw no haze of insanity, of self-destructive frenzy. Only cold, glittering vengeance."

"That icy look—their father’s look—passed over her face. The sort of look that told him there was a wild, wicked storm raging beneath that cold exterior. And the power and thrill for both father and daughter lay not in sheer force, but in the control over the self, over those impulses. The outside world saw his sister as reckless, unchecked—but he knew she’d been the master of her fate since before he’d met her."

In line with this, there have been frequent discussions within the fandom that Azriel needs "healing" or "curing" from his darkness; that he needs to "change his ways." But, what if instead, Azriel needs someone who can match, and embrace his darkness?

And what if that person is Bryce?

(Speaking of 'embracing the darkness,' I find it interesting that Azriel "is a freak," as confirmed by SJM herself. With that in mind, let me remind you that upon first meeting Bryce, Azriel put a knife to her throat and then blindfolded her...).

[art by brielyasmin]

The Little Mermaid: a hint to Bryce and Az?

I know this is a popular Gwynriel theory (with extremely valid evidence to support it!), which is exactly why I haven't spoken about this connection before, as I don't want to offend anyone.

However, I am going to briefly mention it (only once) right now, and suggest that The Little Mermaid retelling SJM has alluded to, may in fact be Bryce and Azriel.

To first demonstrate this: there are several similarities between Bryce and Ariel (the mermaid).

Bryce and Ariel both have red hair (in comparison, Gwyn is canonically more of a brunette, with "coppery-brown" hair).

Ariel's story is about her journey from life underwater, to life in the human lands (where she meets Eric). Bryce's story involves her journey from Midgard, to Prythian (where she meets Azriel).

However, upon arriving in the human lands, Ariel's voice has been stolen; she cannot communicate with Eric. Similarly, Bryce arrives in Prythian and does not speak their language; she cannot communicate with Azriel.

In Ariel's story, the main antagonist is Ursula, a witch. Bryce also knows (a rather suspicious) witch... Jesiba.

[art by Morgana0anagrom]

Further, many in the fandom have already pointed out that SJM saved a variety of 'The Little Mermaid' inspired photos to her Pinterest. However, SJM specifically saved these photos under a Pinterest board titled "Story Kernels," meaning that we have no idea whether it's in reference to ACOTAR, CC or both (or neither!)

Some believe these photos to be reminiscent of Gwyn, but, when you compare these photos to the Pinterest images SJM saved of Bryce... the resemblance is most certainly there as well.

However, some may argue that "Bryce has no real link to mermaids" (in comparison to Gwyn, who has water-nymph heritage; though, that's different from being a mermaid as well).

But I disagree. Recall that in CC2, Bryce seems to rely on other people to "charge up" her power (such as Hunt and Hypaxia). However, I don't believe that is the true manifestation of her abilities. Instead, Bryce hints that she can feel a "giant cloud" of power inside her, one that she can't yet access.

"Bryce sucked in a sharp breath. “I can feel it—like, this giant cloud of power right there.” She ran a finger over the eight-pointed star scarred between her breasts. Starlight pulsed at her fingertip. Like an answering heartbeat. “But I can’t access it.”

The bulk of Bryce's power came from the Gates in Lunathion. Power that was donated by thousands (perhaps even hundreds of thousands) of different beings every time they touched the Gates. And given that the civilians of Midgard herald from different worlds... the variety of this power is staggering.

And it's exactly this power that I believe Bryce can feel (as the "giant cloud") but can't yet access. The evidence for this is engraved into the Gates themselves; "the power shall always belong to those who give their lives to the city." Just as Bryce did.

"The quartz Gates were memorials, though she didn’t know for which conflict or war. But each bore the same plaque: The power shall always belong to those who give their lives to the city."

As such, I believe Bryce's true power is that of the four houses of Midgard; she is Earth & Blood, Sky & Breath, Flame & Shadow, and Many Waters. It's similar to Feyre's power (but x 100).

(And, look again at the cover of CC3 and tell me it doesn't align perfectly with this...)

We even see this in canon when Bryce is making the Drop (after obtaining the power from the Gates):

"But his princess fought for every bit of progress upward, her power shifting, traces of everyone who’d given it to her coming through: mer, shifter, draki, human, angel, sprite, Fae."

"She was sea and sky and stone and blood and wings and earth and stars and darkness and light and bone and flame."

Thus, I believe a good chunk of Bryce's arc in CC3 will be about unlocking this power. And when she does... she will have access to the power of House of Many Waters (the highlighted quotes above emphasise this).

There's even a section of Bryce's ascent (during the Drop) where she thrusts upwards with a "mighty tail." I believe this is a mermaid tail.

"Her power shifted, dancing between forms and gifts. She thrust upward with a push of a mighty tail. Twisted and rose with a sweep of vast wings. She was all things—and yet herself."

And to tie the 'Little Mermaid = Bryce x Az' connections together even further; what's the likely title of the next Crescent City book?

House of Many Waters.

(And as a bonus fun fact: recall that the items on SJM's desk seemingly hint to the inspiration behind HOFAS? Zoom in and you'll see a Little Mermaid cup...).

Hades and Persephone too!

If you scroll back up to the Pinterest photo SJM saved as Mor and Az and reverse-image search it, you'll discover that it's actually an image of Hades and Persephone.

(So no, Feyre and Rhys weren't the only couple inspired by Hades and Persephone).

Similarly, the above Little Mermaid inspired photo that SJM saved (top left)? Also of Hades and Persephone.

The story of Persephone is that of a woman who once lived on Earth and was taken to the underworld. There, she eventually fell in love with Hades, the ruler of the underworld.

[Hades and Persephone art by oblivionsdream; it's giving Bryce and Az...]

Similarly, the final chapters of CC2 detailed Bryce's decision to use the Horn, and travel to Hel; the underworld. In doing so, she was taken to Azriel; someone who is heavily theorised to be a Prince of Hel (or connected to Hel, at the very least). As evidence of this:

The Princes of Hel are repeatedly connected to the cold. For example, when Apollion reaches out to touch Bryce, it's said that his touch was like "ice so cold it ached."

"[Apollion] reached out a hand, and Bryce flinched as it touched her. Truly touched her, ice so cold it ached."

Then Feyre touches Azriel for the first time, it's said that his skin was like "pure ice." (The similarities are uncanny!).

"But my attention drifted to Azriel, who took my still-offered hand and rose. The scars were rough against my fingers, but his skin was like ice. Pure ice."

However, this isn't the only instance. Instead, Azriel is repeatedly and consistently linked to being cold/icy/frozen. For example:

"I took Azriel’s hand, and his rough fingers squeezed mine. His skin was as cold as his face."

"There was an icy rage in Azriel I had never been able to thaw."

"Azriel’s dark breeze was different from Rhys’s. Colder. Sharper

"Azriel tucked in his wings and left without another word, stalking through the house and onto the front lawn to sit in the frigid starlight. To let the frost in his veins match the air around him."

We also know that Azriel is "different," and that even Rhys has "no explanation" for Azriel's shadowsinger abilities.

"Az is different. In a lot of ways." His tone didn't invite further questioning.

"Though the cobalt Siphons were proof that his Illyrian heritage ran true, even the rich lore of that warrior-people, my warrior-people, did not have an explanation for where the shadowsinger gifts came from."

Thus, if Azriel is indeed connected to Hel (a storyline far more prevalent in the Crescent City series than the ACOTAR series, by the way), then one could logically assume that his mate will also be someone connected to Hel.

Who do Hel's armies strike for? Bryce.

“Hel’s armies shall strike at your command, Bryce Quinlan.”

Who has Aidas (the 5th Prince of Hel) been watching over? Bryce.

"The cat’s whiskers twitched. I told you. Come find me. Her eyelids drooped—a final descent toward sleep. Why? The cat angled its head. So we can finish this."

Who is Apollion's (the 7th Prince of Hel) "greatest opponent?" Bryce.

I also find it interesting that when they meet, Apollion refers to Bryce as "Princess," and Bryce refers to Apollion as "Prince." I understand that Bryce is the Princess of the Valbaran fae, but the way they spoke in this scene felt more like Apollion and Bryce were on equal footing...

“Princess.” The voice was like Hel embodied: dark and icy and smooth.” “Prince.” Her voice shook.”

Many people in the fandom have been theorising that Prythian (and the broader ACOTAR world) is a layer of Hel. Could it be a missing 8th layer?

And if so, if Bryce and Azriel are set to rule Prythian (as High Queen and High King, as per this theory), wouldn't this make them both also Princess and Prince of the 8th layer of Hel? Ruling from the Dusk Court... the 8th court? Signified by an 8-pointed star?

(This is ultimately why I ship Bryce and Azriel: their epic story potential is unlike anything we've seen before).

As further proof of this, recall the connections between Bryce and Theia (with many believing that Bryce is a reincarnation of Theia). Although Theia's backstory is still shrouded in mystery, at present we can deduce that:

Theia lived in Prythian, and had two daughters with an unknown man.

She then travelled to another world; Midgard (unwillingly), and allied with the Princes of Hel.

She was then said to have a relationship with Aidas, a Prince of Hel (as she was said to be Aidas's "great love").

(Fun fact: Aidas is another name for Hades).

Compare to Bryce:

Bryce lives in Midgard, and is currently with Hunt.

She then travels to another world; Prythian (unwillingly), in search of the Princes of Hel.

As per this theory, she will have a relationship with Azriel, a (theorised) Prince of Hel.

History is repeating. Rigelus even notes the similarities himself:

"Rigelus sighed dramatically at their stunned silence. “This all seems very familiar, doesn’t it? A Starborn queen who allied with a Prince of Hel."

Twilight of the Gods: SJM's multiverse series?

"But Bryce won't forget about Hunt!"

"She's not going to skip off into the sunset with Azriel in just one book! All of this is too much!"

I agree. I don't believe any huge shipping revelations will be made in CC3.

Instead, things will be much more tame to begin with. Perhaps Az will be the one to guide Bryce around Prythian (and they'll figure out their matching weapons, and the origins of the Dusk Court - both together, and alongside other pivotal ACOTAR characters). I believe Bryce and Az will develop a friendship, and that will be all (sort of like Aelin and Rowan, and their dynamic in Heir of Fire).

(That's not to diminish the significance of their interactions, though. If this theory is correct, then Bryce's POV may be the first to include Azriel at the forefront - no other character within the Azriel ship wars has had this opportunity yet).

Then, if Bryce and Azriel are indeed true mates and endgame, then I think that will be explored further down the line in what I predict will be SJM's multiverse series; Twilight of the Gods (which, as per the latest SJM publishing news, seems to be looking veryyyy likely; more information here).

"Twilight" is also another name for DUSK. Given everything I have already discussed, I am sure you can see how I believe that Bryce and Azriel's story (if they are indeed endgame) will be explored in this series - Twilight of the Gods (if it does indeed come to fruition).

Interestingly, both the Crescent City and Twilight of the Gods Pinterest boards are full of Sailor Moon imagery, and it appears as if Bryce (and her powers) have also been modelled after Sailor Moon herself. Knowing this, this image (which was also found in the Twilight of the Gods Pinterest board) is particularly interesting...

The sword? The multiverse-esque aesthetic?

This is fundamentally what the Bryce x Azriel ship comes down to: the promise and intrigue of a multiversal romance.

And don't you think SJM has considered this too? I find it hard to believe that SJM (the queen of fantasy romance) spent 5+ years planning out a crossover between her worlds, and didn't once stop to think about the possibility of a multiversal romantic pairing.

I mean, even back in 2015 SJM admitted to thinking about "crossover fanfic" with her own characters...

Moderator: "So, speaking of fandoms, different fandoms, um obviously you have ACOTAR, which is different from the TOG series. If both worlds could collide, which two characters would get on really well?"

SJM: <giggling>

Moderator: "Get on really well, not get it on really well" (laughs).

SJM: (laughs) "In my head I already have like, crossover fanfic (laughs). Like, is it fanfic if I'm writing it, or is it ultimate universe, canon things?

So, knowing all of this... why pair Bryce and Azriel together?

Most people in the fandom agree that Bryce and Azriel are connected in some way. I'm hoping that this post has made clear this connection even further.

But here's the thing: if we can all agree that Bryce and Azriel are connected, then why? What's the reason? And why not connect Bryce with other characters instead? Why Azriel specifically?

The two explanations I have heard are:

"Bryce and Azriel are cousins/related."

We already have the Ruhn and Rhys reveal, so why add another? I also don't see how Azriel could be related to Ember Quinlan or the Autumn King... (I also feel like Bryce's descriptions of Azriel's "tall, muscled body" and "gentle but thorough hands" is a lil weird for cousins...)

"Bryce and Azriel will be just friends."

Whilst I don't deny the likelihood of this, I also think that Bryce has the potential to become close friends with Nesta, Rhys, Feyre, Mor, Cassian (and many of the other characters). "Just friends" still wouldn't explain why SJM chose Azriel over everyone else (for example; why not make the prophecy around the Horn in Bryce's back and the remaining 3 Dread Trove items that Nesta can wield...?)

Instead, whenever there has been this much build-up or this much foreshadowing of a pairing... it's usually a sign that they are something special. Something more akin to mates - endgame.

[art by m_bohnet]

After all, consider things from Azriel's POV.

Sure, he has been busy with Mor and Elain and Gwyn (as people often tell me in response to this theory), but what happens when a beautiful woman from another world shows up, carrying the matching sword to his most prized knife? What happens when these weapons start glowing for one another in unison?

Don't you think Azriel would think something of this?

And, don't you think that if Elain or Gwyn had a sword that was the matching half to Azriel's knife (and a significant prophecy to boot!), it would be used as irrefutable evidence that their ship is endgame...?

But what about Hunt?

It's an opinion that earns me no favours in the fandom; but despite liking Hunt, I have always been sceptical about his relationship with Bryce (and am not yet convinced that they'll be endgame). This scepticism predates CC2 (and isn't just a feeling I conjured up in the hope that Bryce x Az will be endgame, as certain people assume).

For starters, both the Asteri and Apollion need Hunt and Bryce together to operate the Horn, and this is concerning.

To put it simply, Hunt was bred (for reasons we still don't yet know). However, as a result of Hunt's breeding, he possesses power that works with the Horn. In fact, CC2 makes clear that Hunt's lightning is the best source of power to "charge up" Bryce (and more specifically, the Horn).

“Your teleporting works when your power gets charged up by energy—considering what I heard about how quickly you ran out of steam with Hypaxia, Hunt’s is the best form of it.”

Bryce has the Horn in her back.

“Don’t think for one moment that Aidas and the Prince of the Pit have forgotten the Horn in your back. That Thanatos didn’t have it in mind when you spoke to him.”

To explain it in simple math terms:

Bryce + Hunt = fully operational Horn (they are like lock + key).

Apollion + Rigelus = both really want the Horn.

Apollion + Rigelus NEED Bryce + Hunt if they want a fully operational Horn.

In fact, we see Apollion egging Bryce and Hunt on to explore their powers more, and Rigelus fully admits to luring Bryce and Hunt to the Asteri palace at the end of CC2.

"Hunt’s blood iced over. “That was why you lured us here?” he found himself demanding of the Asteri, even as he roared with outrage at Bryce’s offer. Rigelus said, “I couldn’t very well snatch you off the streets. Not such notorious, public figures."

What's more, Bryce killed Micah, and Hunt killed Sandriel. The Asteri have punished (and killed) civilians for far less than that, but not only do the Asteri keep Bryce and Hunt alive, but they actively encourage their relationship together (and no one really questions that...).

"We also trust that this favor will serve as a reminder for you and Hunt Athalar. It is our deepest wish that you remain in the city, and live out your days in peace and contentment." "Fear gleamed in Hunt’s eyes. In her own, too, Bryce was sure. Nothing was ever this easy—this simple. There had to be a catch."

I just can't help but think of Maeve. She used her power to manipulate fate, leading Rowan to believe that Lyria was his mate instead of Aelin (for her own selfish gain).

Could it be possible that the Asteri, just like Maeve, have been... meddling with mating bonds for their own agenda - to use Bryce and Hunt for the Horn?

(Recall that in her latest interview, when asked if Bryce and Hunt's mating bond was the same as Feyre and Rhys's, SJM said "pass").

This leads to my second point.

The mating bond is a little strange between Bryce and Hunt.

I know this is a contentious subject, but there are enough people in the fandom who have stated a similar opinion for it to warrant suspicion. No one ever questions Rhys and Feyre's mating bond, nor Nesta or Cassian's, nor Aelin and Rowan's. But many don't buy Bryce and Hunt's mating bond.

In part, this is likely due to the nature of how it was initiated; after only knowing each other for 5 months, Hunt suggested calling each other mates because they couldn't find another term that fits. It happened randomly, and Bryce seemed to come up with a million different excuses initially; it just felt lacklustre in comparison to other mating bond reveals.

(That's not to invalidate Bryce and Hunt's clear affection for each other though - mating bond or not, their love for one another is more than evident).

“I thought that’s what this thing between us is.” “We’ve known each other for, like, five months.” “So?” “My mom will throw a fit. She’ll say we should date for at least two years before calling ourselves mates.”

But for me personally, it comes down to Bryce and Hunt's power (and the Horn). Again, using Throne of Glass as an example, when Maeve messed with Rowan's mating bond, she admitted that she didn't suspect Rowan and Aelin were mates once they met, because their carranam bond (which involves the sharing of power, as Bryce and Hunt do...) was masking the mating bond.

"I’ll admit I did not anticipate it. That I had broken Rowan Whitethorn so thoroughly that he did not recognize his own mate—that you were so broken by your own pain you didn’t notice, either. And when the signs appeared, the carranam bond washed away any suspicion on his part that you might be his."

Instead, the only indication that Aelin and Rowan were mates, was that they could feel each other's pain.

"Maeve ignored her. “Well? When did you know?” “At Temis’s temple,” Aelin admitted, glancing to Manon. “The moment the arrow went through his shoulder. Months ago.”

This is objectively absent in Bryce and Hunt. Not only that, but in the Bone Quarter, Bryce seems to question the validity of the mating bond herself:

"Hunt's lightning had stopped. Where was he? Would a mate know, would a mate feel-"

Which again, you have to wonder; if SJM is trying to sell Bryce x Hunt as endgame to her readers, why include this?

Further, even if Bryce and Hunt are mates, we don't yet know how this works across worlds. Given that the Cauldron (supposedly) assigns mating bonds in Prythian, and Bryce's "true world" is also Prythian, does Bryce have an additional Cauldron-assigned mating bond in that world too...?

Maybe that aligns with this tweet from SJM:

The Oracle.

In CC1, Hunt visits the Oracle, and she tells him to "keep well away from Bryce Quinlan."

"Do yourself a favour, Orion Athalar, and keep well away from Bryce Quinlan."

The Oracle could presumably see into Hunt's future, and could see whether he and Bryce live happily ever after. If this was the case, and the Oracle could indeed see such a happy outcome, then why would the Oracle say such a thing...? Why warn Hunt like that?

Similarly in CC1, Aidas reveals to Bryce that although the Oracle was blinded during her visit all those years ago... he wasn't. Aidas was there too, and he saw Bryce's future.

"Aidas had nearly vanished into nothing when he added, the words a ghost slithering through the room, "The Oracle did not see. But I did."

Yet in that exact same scene, Aidas turns to Hunt and has no idea who he is, asking "who are you?"

Hunt kept perfectly still as Aidas studied her. Then his eyes registered Hunt. He blinked—once. As if he had not really marked his presence until this moment. As if he hadn’t cared to notice, with Bryce before him. Hunt tucked away that fact, just as Aidas murmured, “Who are you.”

Thus, if Aidas has seen Bryce's future, and Bryce and Hunt are indeed endgame (and he is in her future)... then why didn't Aidas recognise Hunt?

Hunt's future.

If this theory is correct, and given that we have two beings with foresight (the Oracle and Aidas) hinting at Bryce and Hunt's ominous future... then what could possibly happen to Hunt

Theory 1) Hunt may die.

This theory has been around even since the HOEAB days, and is well-known by most (so I won't expand on it too much). However, the basic premise of it boils down to Hunt's birth name, Orion, and Orion being famously killed (often by his lover) in mythology. Perhaps this also explains the Oracle's warning to him.

Recall also the quote repeated again and again (often by Hunt);

"Memento Mori. Remember that you will die. They now seemed more of a promise than the mild reminder from the Meat Market."

Similarly, knowing what happened to Sam in Throne of Glass, I find this parallel to Bryce and Hunt a little uncanny (and is exactly what we mean when we talk about death flags...).

[Sam and Aelin]: "I can wait," he said thickly, kissing her collarbone. "We have all the time in the world." Maybe he was right. And spending all the time in the world with Sam ... that was a treasure worth paying anything for."

[Bryce and Hunt]: "Assuming I live through it, you mean." "Assuming you live through taking on the Archangels and Asteri, what then?" "I don't know." He gave her a half smile. "Maybe you and I can figure it out, Quinlan. We'll have centuries to do it."

2. Hunt may become an Asteri weapon; an (unwilling) villain.

In fact, it has recently been theorised (such as in this post here) that Hunt may already have acted as an Asteri weapon in the past, and may have even had a part to play in Danika's death. As unbelievable as this may sound, consider these two quotes.

In HOEAB, Hunt remarks that his victims always said the same words; "please."

“Please.” It was always the same word. The only word people tended to say when the Umbra Mortis stood before them.

Then, this is the only audio we hear of Danika right before she dies:

"And then someone was roaring—a feral wolf’s roar. “Please, please—” The words were cut off. But the hall camera’s audio wasn’t."

To that people would say "Hunt would never!" And rightly so. However, consider that:

Hunt didn't know Bryce when this occurred.

Hunt was already tasked with killing one of Bryce's friends; Fury. Twice. The only reason it didn't happen was because someone higher up halted the orders.

"Micah had even ordered Hunt to kill her. Twice. But she had too many high-powered allies. Some, it was whispered, on the Imperial Senate. So both times, Micah had decided that the fallout over the Umbra Mortis turning Fury Axtar into veritable toast would be more trouble than it was worth."

However, regardless of whether this theory is true or not (as sure, perhaps the wording could be coincidence), one cannot deny the connection between the names of Hunt (Orion) and the Asteri; all named after stars and/or constellations.

In fact, Sirius (the 7th Asteri), is known as Orion's hunting dog in mythology.

And Rigel (as in Rigelus), is the brightest star in the Orion constellation.

Consider also Rigelus's words to Hunt; "I thought we were friends, Orion," and something just seems... off.

(Though, I'd be happy to be proven wrong, as Hunt is one of my favourite SJM males. Just because I think an awful thing could happen, doesn't mean I want it to happen).

What about Gwynriel/Elriel?

Another topic that I won't touch on in too much depth, as I'm sure that most people are already familiar with the points for and against these ships.

The only thing I will say is that things change. What ships appear to be canon or strongly foreshadowed in one book can totally change in the next. SJM has said as much herself (as outlined in the FAQ section on her personal website):

"Will [my favourite couple] be endgame?" "No spoilers! In all seriousness, while I do have ideas for all my currently contracted books, I would never guarantee any plot points or pairings until each book is written. I've been surprised by where characters have taken me before!"

But we also know this is true based on the Throne of Glass ship wars that raged on back in the day. If we were to time-travel back to 2012 and 2013 (when the first two TOG books were released), we'd see people arguing as to whether Aelin (Celeana) would end up with Chaol or Dorian. There was no third option.

And then in the third book, Rowan was introduced. But even then people denied the possibility of his romance with Aelin, instead siding with Chaol, with arguments such as:

"Rowan already has a mate!"

"Rowan and Aelin are probably just related and nothing more!"

"Rowan and Aelin are from two different kingdoms, it would never work. Chaol is back home in Rifthold waiting for her!"

(Sound familiar...?)

It was also argued that Chaol and Aelin would be endgame instead, given the mate-adjacent language that was used between them:

"Far inside of her, she found a golden chain that bound them together."

"The rest of the world quieted... she looked at him and realised she was home."

"She knew his every move and he knew hers, as though they'd been dancing this waltz together all their lives."

"It somehow felt as if it had always been Chaol, even from the beginning, even before they'd ever met."

But nope -- in the third book, Aelin stumbled into a foreign land and came face to face with Rowan; her true, fated mate.

In fact, this speaks to a certain SJM pattern I have noticed:

Aelin is forced to leave Rifthold for Wendlyn (oh no!)... but then she meets Rowan.

Chaol and Nesryn are forced to leave Rifthold for the Southern Continent (oh no!)... but then they meet Yrene and Sartaq.

Feyre is forced to leave the Spring Court for the Night Court (oh no!)... but then she meets Rhys.

Nesta is forced to leave the human lands for the faerie lands (oh no!)... but then she meets Cassian.

Now, Bryce has been forced to leave Midgard for Prythian (oh no!)... and she falls right in front of Azriel. He "gently" blindfolds her, grabs her hand, chucks her over his shoulder, and their matching weapons start glowing "in answer" to each other... and this is supposedly just a crackship?

And I get it; there's already Bryce and Hunt. And Azriel and Gwyn. And Azriel and Elain. However, I do think it's interesting that at present, the two biggest debates within the fandom are:

Are Bryce and Hunt truly mates/endgame?

Will Gwynriel or Elriel be endgame?

If any of these ships were a slam-dunk guarantee... these debates just simply wouldn't exist. Point is, with SJM (and especially with the multiverse opening up)... the possibilities are endless.

And, the promise of Bryce and Azriel is just one of these possibilities, but it's my favourite one of all.

After all, stars cannot shine without darkness.

(P.S. Some of these points were first identified by my friends - so credit and a huge thank you to them! ❤️)

[acourtofthought]

New Anti Take:

Rhys about Feyre:

Nesta about Feyre:

Nesta about Elain:

Feyre about Elain:

Cassian to Nesta:

Azriel about Elain:

But sure, it's so terrible to imagine Elain ending up being friends with a guy who said this:

while he was pretending to be the bad guy but went on to prove it was an act while providing them information that helped them save many lives. Who ended up becoming good friends with Elain's mate, the guy he made the comment to. Lucien who is almost certain to have a POV which means Jurian will be heavily featured.

😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

Anti's getting so furious over the BOE (which includes Elain's mate) being more connected to the same plots that Elain is connected to than the twins, being given way more dialogue, purpose and backstory than the wraiths have been given, being more connected to Elain's father than Nuala and Cerridwen have ever been (and the entire reason we theorize Elain's story will involve them) is the craziest new argument I've seen in a long time.

I'm not wanting anything, I'm simply following the authors bread trail of crumbs. The funniest thing is that when anti's claim we dislike them because of our ship it's inaccurate because Nuala and Cerridwen aren't a threat to the Elucien ship the way the BOE are to e/riels. They have never actually interacted on page with Az in the entirety of the series, he never once refers to them by name (funny how my anon accused me of this very same thing). Elain could end up with Lucien and the wraiths could still play a big role in her book. They are not heavily connected to Az beyond his training them ages ago and their "work" for he and Rhys but it's only ever mentioned in the background, never something we see play out. We actually witnessed Az training / speaking to Gwyn and going on a spy mission with Cassian yet we've never been given a scene where Az says "I'll send Nuala and Cerridwen out to gather information for me" or "I'll take the twins".

Elain needs to shine in her own pov so the wraiths would never be the ones leading the pack, they would be there to serve Elain's character growth which they could do regardless of her LI.

The reason I don't theorize them doing so (beyond them maintaining a casual friendship) is Sarah hasn't given me any reason to think that's where she's headed.

Lucien and Tamlin were / are friends.

Feyre and Lucien become friends.

Celaena became friends with Dorian.

Celaena became friends with Chaol.

Nesta became close with Amren.

Nobody is denying these friendships exist however it cannot be disputed that the nature of the friendships changed over the course of the series. It cannot be disputed that those friendships (while lasting) did not prevent the main characters from leaving a certain place and building a life elsewhere, making new friends along the way.

Why would Elain be any different?