#Chapter: [Unseen Whispers]

[joelsrose]

Guns and Roses: Chapter 8

here she iss eeeek insert monkey hiding emoji im scaredddd of yallll haha side note - i lowkey picture Caleb as Adam Brody from Nobody wants this but imagine him as you wish

previous chapters

The air thickened, suffocating and heavy, as Tommy’s words sank deep, each one like a leaden weight dropping into the quiet depths of your mind.

Joel was gone.

The world seemed to tilt, a hollow ache unfurling within your chest, spreading with a pang that left you breathless. Just yesterday, he had been here, a solid, reassuring presence beside you. How was it possible that he had simply… vanished?

His warmth clung to you, hauntingly vivid—the scent of his worn flannel lingering in the air like a ghost. You could still feel the subtle intimacy of that final night together, the easy quiet that had stretched between you beneath a sky scattered with stars. His shoulder had pressed against yours in quiet solidarity, his steady breaths breaking the silence, grounding you in a way you hadn’t fully appreciated until now.

Every detail replayed, sharpened by his absence, each memory carving a deeper hollow within you. He had spoken softly, apologizing, explaining, baring a part of himself he rarely showed, and you had made a promise—a desperate promise that he wouldn’t lose you.

And now, with that promise hanging in the still, empty air, you felt like you could hardly breathe.

Late last night, he’d lain beside you, his hand warm and grounding on your arm, each gentle stroke of his fingers slow and tender, as if he was memorizing the shape of you. Those soft, lingering touches left you breathless, daring you to imagine a world where this could last—where he might finally be yours.

Now, that memory felt fragile, like something barely grasped from the edges of a fading dream, slipping further away the more desperately you tried to hold onto it. The warmth, the tenderness, the quiet promise nestled in his touch—it was all dissolving into something hazy and unreachable, leaving only the ache of his absence behind.

Questions surged, one after another, relentless and raw.

Why now? Why after all the moments that tethered you to him? Had you misstepped, said something to push him away, or was it something left unspoken?

Or, perhaps, had this always been inevitable, a slow unraveling that you’d been too afraid to see?

Your voice wavered, a faint tremor betraying the fragile hope you clung to—a hope that, somehow, this was all just a mistake.

A simple misunderstanding.

Maybe Tommy had it wrong. Maybe Joel was only out gathering supplies or down at the market, grabbing something for dinner, about to walk back through the door with that familiar, unhurried stride. Any moment now, you told yourself, as if willing him into existence.

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” The question slipped from your lips, barely more than a whisper, hanging thick in the quiet air. The weight of it lingered, pressing into the silence, as though waiting—just as you were—for an answer that might make everything right again.

Tommy’s face tightened, worry etching lines deep into his brow, his gaze heavy with a fear he was barely holding back.

“He left early this morning,” Tommy murmured, his voice low and thick with a heaviness he couldn’t quite hide. “Just before dawn. The folks at the gate saw him with Ellie, said it looked like they were headed out on a quick supply run.”

He paused, swallowing as his eyes drifted past you, as though searching for some unseen answer. “But… they haven’t come back. Hours have gone by, and their places are empty—Ellie’s room, Joel’s…” His words trailed off, and his gaze shifted, a shadow of dread flickering across his face. “I don’t see any of his things downstairs. Not a trace.”

Each word settled into the silence between you, the weight of what he wasn’t saying sinking in, thick and foreboding.

Your heart seemed to stop, caught in a painful, suspended beat, as though time itself had faltered. The familiar sight of Joel’s worn work boots by the door, his rifle resting against the wall, his jacket—a constant, comforting fixture draped in your doorway—was gone. The absence felt like a wound, a piece of him violently torn from the space you’d shared, leaving nothing but a hollow, unsettling silence in its place.

Tommy paced the room, his shoulders rigid, his eyes locked on the floor as if searching for some hidden answer in the worn planks. “Did he… did he say anything to you? Act… different?” His voice broke, the words laced with a frantic desperation he couldn’t quite mask, each syllable threaded with a rising panic he fought to keep at bay.

“No… no, he didn’t say anything,” you stammered, the words barely escaping as panic coiled tighter around your throat.

Tommy’s gaze softened, but there was something raw in his eyes, a disbelief that seemed to waver, shaking the resolve he was so desperately clinging to. “Joel… he doesn’t just disappear like that. Not him.” His voice cracked, the tension in his tone betraying the fear he tried to bury beneath his words. “We’ve already got people out looking, but…”

“What if… what if something happened to them?” The question slipped out, trembling, every syllable weighted with the dark possibility you’d been trying to keep at bay.

“Hey.” Tommy stepped closer, his hand settling firmly on your shoulder, a solid, grounding presence amid the chaos spiraling through your mind. “We don’t know that,” he said, his voice calm but charged with urgency. “They’re tough—you know they are. But we need to move, and we need to move fast.”

A surge of determination flooded through you, sweeping away the fear that had nearly anchored you in place. You took a steadying breath, nodding to Tommy, and followed him out of the room, each step quick and resolute despite the dull ache pulsing through your leg. The discomfort faded into the background, pushed aside by the urgency driving you forward—there was no space for weakness, not now.

As you stepped outside, the sun had already dipped low, casting a fierce, amber glow over the horizon. The world was bathed in a fading warmth, a fleeting light slipping into shadow as dusk descended, cloaking everything in quiet anticipation.

No matter where they were, no matter how far you’d have to go, you would find them—no matter the cost, no matter the sacrifice. Joel had been your anchor in the storm, the steady, unbreakable presence who had saved you more times than you could count. He’d been there, unwavering, his voice guiding you through the darkest nights, his strength carrying your burdens when you could no longer bear them alone.

Now, it was your turn to be relentless. You owed him that much.

•••

You and Tommy rode through the wilderness on horseback, moving silently under the cover of night. The rhythmic hoofbeats thudded against the ground, muffled by a thick layer of fallen leaves, the only sound breaking the oppressive quiet. The moon hung high above, casting silver shadows over the trees, but offered little warmth, and even less comfort. There was no calling out, no shouting their names; a single echo could draw attention from raiders—or worse, infected lurking in the woods, hidden in the inky dark.

The hours dragged on, each minute blurring into the next, stretching into an eternity as you scoured the trail. Your flashlight cut through the dark, casting narrow beams over twisted branches, scattered leaves, the faint outlines of abandoned cabins and crumbling fences—yet there was nothing.

No trace of Joel or Ellie. You searched desperately for any sign: footprints, a drop of blood, anything to tell you they’d passed this way.

The air bit into your skin, each gust of wind stinging your cheeks, but you barely registered the cold. It felt distant, insignificant against the gnawing dread growing steadily in your chest. With every step, the silence pressed heavier, yet you refused to slow, driven by a single thought—finding them, whatever it took.

Tommy rode slightly ahead, his gaze darting to the shadows that moved along with the trees. He would glance back at you now and then, his expression a mix of determination and worry, as if he shared the same stubborn resolve but feared what he might find—or not find—in the end.

Each mile you covered without a trace of them chipped away at your hope, your initial conviction giving way to an aching uncertainty. You felt your heart race with each bend in the trail, hoping, praying that around this corner, or maybe the next, you’d see them, that familiar, solid figure of Joel watching over Ellie as he always did. But every turn led only to more shadows, the dark swallowing each ounce of hope you tried to cling to.

The cold seeped deeper into your bones as the hours passed, a slow, creeping chill that even the steady, jostling movement of the horse couldn’t shake. Your grip on the reins tightened, knuckles white, muscles tense as you fought to keep moving, refusing to let your exhaustion show.

But as the night wore on and your flashlight flickered in and out, casting faint shadows along the trail, a heavy realization settled over you.

You were running out of time.

•••

You found yourself back at Tommy and Maria’s house, the quiet weight of the late hour pressing down on everything. Maria stayed close, her hand a gentle but firm presence on your shoulder as she guided you to sit, her movements tender. “Just take a moment, sweetheart,” she murmured, pressing a warm mug of tea into your trembling hands. Her voice was low, soft as a lullaby, each word laced with quiet reassurance. But the comfort felt thin, hollow—a shadow of solace in the absence of the one thing you truly needed.

A surge of frustration flared within you, hot and suffocating, threatening to consume the fragile composure you clung to. Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, blurring the dim room as the questions swirled, relentless and unforgiving.

Why did he leave? Was he hurt? Dead?

The uncertainty gnawed at you, twisting deeper with every silent second, each tick of the clock amplifying the aching void he’d left behind.

“I just… I don’t understand why they’d leave like that,” you whispered, your voice trembling, barely more than a fractured breath.

Tommy stood in the hallway, pacing once more, his footsteps a muted rhythm against the walls, each step laced with his own silent worry.

Maria settled beside you, her hand resting warmly on your shoulder, an anchor in the swirling tide of your worry. “I know, honey,” she murmured, her voice soft, filled with a compassion that felt both comforting and achingly bittersweet.

Her gaze held yours for a moment, then she offered a small, reassuring smile. “Why don’t you stay here tonight? Just for a bit, hm? Give yourself a chance to breathe.”

You managed a nod, unable to find words past the tightness lodged in your throat.

Deep down, you knew Maria was right—you needed rest, a sliver of calm to steady yourself. But as you lifted the mug to your lips, the warmth did little to soften the hollow ache gnawing inside you. The tea, the gentle comfort, none of it could fill the void left by his absence.

All you wanted—all you needed—was Joel.

•••

You tried to eat, but each bite felt like swallowing shards of glass, the anxiety coiled tight around your throat, refusing to loosen. Staying at Tommy and Maria’s only magnified the loneliness; every quiet, familiar corner of their home served as a relentless reminder of Joel’s absence.

The routine you’d fallen into with him—those stolen glances over morning coffee, the quiet, easy conversations under starlit skies, the warmth of his presence near you—now felt like memories from another life.

It had been a week now. A week of riding along rugged trails, combing through barren fields and dense forests, silently calling out into the dark, praying for even a flicker of his shadow.

Hours spent on horseback, searching until your legs burned, and nights of restless tossing and turning in a bed that felt all the more empty and cold.

Every night, you and Tommy would return empty-handed, the weight of defeat pressing down on both of you as you rode back in silence. And every night, Maria would be there, a cup of tea in hand, her eyes soft with worry, her presence unwavering. She’d sit beside you, her hand resting gently on your shoulder, a steadying presence as she tried to lend you some of her quiet strength.

“Sweetie,” she’d murmur, her voice a soothing balm against the raw ache in your chest, “I’m sure he’s fine. Joel’s the toughest person I know. He’ll come back any day now.” The words would change, the phrasing slightly different each time, but the message stayed the same—that he was fine, that he’d come back.

But it wasn’t enough.

But you shook your head, anguish spilling from your heart and filling the space between you. “You don’t know that, Maria.” The words came out sharper than you intended, tinged with a desperation you couldn’t hold back, fear and sorrow woven into every syllable.

As the first tear slipped down your cheek, the floodgates opened, and you felt the weight of it all—the fear, the unanswered questions, the hollow ache of his absence—crash down on you.

The world felt like it was closing in, darkness pressing against the last flicker of faith within you. But even as you trembled, heart aching with an unspoken plea, you refused to let go of that hope, dim but unyielding.

You couldn’t lose him—not now, not after everything.

•••

Six months.

Six months had crawled by—a slow, painful stretch marked by the fading of summer’s warmth and the creeping chill of winter. The once-vibrant air, alive with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and laughter echoing through Jackson’s streets, had turned crisp and silent, as if holding its breath.

The landscape shifted, the lush greens giving way to brittle browns and steely grays, trees stripped bare, their branches stark against the somber sky. Snow draped the ground, muffling the sounds of daily life.

Christmas was approaching, but the usual festive spirit was dampened to you, swallowed up by the bleakness of winter. Jackson itself had changed; the streets that once pulsed with the warmth of camaraderie now felt strangely deserted, the weight of the cold driving everyone indoors.

Flickering lights in windows were the only hints of life in the wintry gloom, a reminder that, even in this frozen quiet, people clung to routine. Each day, the sun rose half-heartedly, casting a pale, listless glow that barely seeped through the thick, oppressive clouds.

Since Joel and Ellie had left, you’d been staying with Maria and Tommy. It was an unspoken agreement, a shared understanding that you all needed each other to get through this. Returning to your own place felt unbearable. You’d stop by now and then, just to keep things in order, but the emptiness inside those walls weighed too heavily on you.

Every corner of your home seemed haunted by memories of him—the kitchen where he’d quietly worked, assembling dinners with a surprising tenderness, the living room where he’d settled close beside you, his quiet presence filling the space.

And your bed, where traces of his warmth lingered like an imprint on your heart. The silence in those rooms was razor-sharp, each echo of him too raw, too overwhelming to face alone.

From your window, the world seemed a reflection of your own heart: numb, blanketed in a persistent, aching silence. You watched as Christmas lights went up in Jackson, their soft twinkling swallowed by the heavy, endless gray, like distant stars in an unyielding void.

You’d been drifting in a numb haze, the days blurring together into a colorless stretch of time. A heavy fog wrapped around your thoughts, dulling every sensation until nothing felt real. Each morning bled into the next, weeks passing without distinction as you moved through life on autopilot.

You ate, you slept, you helped Maria with whatever needed doing. You went on patrol nearly every other day, half for distraction, half—though you didn’t admit it to yourself —in the quiet, desperate hope of catching some trace of them. But nothing held meaning. Each task was empty, a hollow ritual performed on borrowed time.

Memories drifted through your mind, stolen glances and shared laughter slipping away like fragile snowflakes, melting before you could hold onto them. The quiet conversations, his voice low and steady, the way his eyes would soften just for you—each memory surfaced only to fade, leaving behind an ache that settled deep in your bones, a constant, unyielding reminder of everything you’d lost.

Every time the gate creaked open, your heart leapt to your throat, a brief, painful surge of hope that maybe—just maybe—it was him. You’d rush to the window, breath caught, anticipation tightening in your chest.

But each time, the flicker of hope shattered, leaving you with the heavy, familiar ache of disappointment. The emptiness that settled in your stomach felt like a lead weight, dragging you back into a despair that felt inescapable.

Joel was everywhere and nowhere, haunting the edges of Jackson like a lingering shadow, an echo reverberating through a hollow space. Each corner of this town held pieces of him, fragments woven into the fabric of your days, reminders of a bond now stretched across an impossible distance.

You saw him in the stables, the scent of hay and leather stirring memories of his quiet strength, his gentle hands calming restless horses. In the dining hall, a glimpse of an empty chair tugged painfully at you, bringing back the rough warmth of his laughter, the way his gaze would linger on you just a moment too long when he thought no one else was watching.

Walking past the workshop, the faint hum of tools conjured memories of him bent over his work, sleeves rolled up, the intensity in his eyes softened only by the rare, almost shy smiles he’d save just for you. Even in the simple rhythm of Jackson’s streets, you felt his presence—a figure rounding the corner, a low voice in the distance, each one a cruel mirage, dissolving the moment you got too close.

He was everywhere and nowhere, an ache that settled deep in your bones, a ghost that followed you, unshakable, as though he was still here, just out of reach. Every memory sharpened the yearning, the quiet desperation to have him back beside you, to feel his hand graze yours, to see him in flesh and blood rather than in the flickering fragments that now consumed you.

As snow drifted gently outside, blanketing the world in a pristine layer of white, you allowed yourself a moment to slip back into memories. Outside, the world lay silent and frozen, but in your heart, a faint warmth lingered, a stubborn ember that refused to be extinguished.

Even in the heart of winter, a flicker of hope persisted, like a quiet promise that spring would come again.

•••

Maria’s figure had transformed, her belly now round with the weight of new life as she neared her last trimester. You could see the way Tommy clung to the anticipation of his child’s arrival as if it were a lifeline, his focus locked on the future as a shield against the shadows that had crept into your lives since Joel and Ellie’s departure.

The excitement of a new beginning felt bittersweet, casting a harsh light on the hollow space left by Joel’s absence. You saw Tommy’s attempts to mask his worry in forced laughter, the strain showing in his eyes, his gaze clouded with an unshakable concern that he carried silently, like an invisible scar.

Months ago, you’d both stopped mentioning Joel, a silent understanding forming between you and Tommy. Hope had become a delicate thing, slipping through your fingers like sand. Instead of grappling with the gnawing possibility of Joel’s fate, you filled the empty spaces with small talk, with musings over nursery colors and baby names, each word a distraction, a balm against the ache of what might be true.

With your leg fully healed, you spent your days at Maria's side, helping her with tasks that had grown too challenging in her final trimester. The rhythm of daily chores brought a small comfort, a steadying anchor in a sea of uncertainty, as you focused on caring for someone else.

Yet, beneath the surface, an unease shadowed your every action, a quiet tension in the space between you and Maria. You both fell into an unspoken game of play-pretend, smiles and small laughter filling the silences, as though you could craft a reality where Joel’s absence didn’t weigh so heavily.

But you both knew, deep down, that everything had changed. Life had shifted in a way that couldn’t be undone. Each meal prepared, every chore tended to, reminded you of the hollow truth: Joel could be gone. He might never come back. And the thought was like a wound that never fully healed, a grief that echoed in the quiet moments—a phantom ache for someone who felt as much a part of you as your own heartbeat, but who remained painfully out of reach.

Helping Maria set up the nursery, sorting through baby clothes and arranging tiny blankets, you often found your gaze drifting to the window, half-expecting to see him coming up the path, his familiar stride cutting through the cold. But the streets remained empty, the winter air heavy with silence.

In those moments, the world felt impossibly vast and indifferent, a stark reminder of all you had lost and all that might never return.

•••

It was 2 a.m. when you were jolted awake by a scream that tore through the stillness of the night. Your heart pounded as you leapt out of bed, rushing down the hall toward Maria’s room, adrenaline surging through your veins. Tommy was there by her side, wide-eyed and tense, his body coiled with worry.

“It’s happening!” Maria gasped, her voice raw with both pain and urgency. Her face was pale, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and determination as she gripped the edge of the bed, her breaths coming in sharp, shallow bursts.

“Oh, God. Okay!” you stammered, fighting to steady yourself against the wave of panic surging up, clawing at your composure. “I’ll—I’ll get the doctor!” The words tumbled out, breathless and unsteady, as you turned, urgency propelling you forward even as fear tightened around your chest.

You sprinted down the stairs and out into the freezing night, mind racing with everything you’d read and rehearsed. The signs of labor had seemed so straightforward in theory—contractions building gradually, giving everyone time to prepare.

But this was nothing like you’d imagined. It was sudden and overwhelming, every moment infused with urgency and the weight of what was to come.

The doctor—the same woman who had once treated your leg—lived just a few houses down. You sprinted through the silent streets of Jackson, the night air sharp and biting against your skin. Maria’s panicked cries echoed in your mind, propelling you forward, blocking out the cold and exhaustion.

Within twenty minutes, you returned, breathless, leading the doctor into Maria’s room. The doctor moved with calm efficiency, her gaze sharp as she took in the scene. “How are you doing, Maria?” she asked, her voice steady and grounded, a quiet force amid the chaos.

Maria gritted her teeth, clutching the bed as another contraction wracked her body, her face twisted in pain. “I think my contractions are getting stronger,” she managed between labored breaths, her fingers gripping the sheets until her knuckles whitened.

The doctor nodded, stepping closer. “Alright, let’s get you comfortable, and I’ll check your progress,” she said, her voice soft yet unwavering. She spoke with the practiced calm of someone who’d seen it all, grounding the tension in the room with her presence.

You took a step back, your heart pounding as you watched the scene unfold, an electric mixture of anxiety and awe buzzing in your veins. Maria was about to bring a new life into the world, and you were here to witness it, to support her through this momentous night.

•••

The hours bled together in a haze of low murmurs, Maria’s labored breaths, and the doctor’s steady, calming instructions as he guided her through each wave of pain.

You stayed close by Maria’s side, whispering words of encouragement, while Tommy held her hand tightly, both of them drawing strength from each other in those final, agonizing moments. The doctor’s usual brisk demeanor softened, her voice now warm and steady as she guided Maria through each push, her confidence a steady beacon in the room.

And then, with a final, guttural cry that seemed to echo from the depths of her soul, Maria summoned the last of her strength. The room fell silent as the doctor lifted a tiny, wriggling baby into the air, and in that instant, time seemed to stand still. A swell of warmth flooded your chest, catching in your throat as you took in the sight.

The baby was beautiful—a perfect blend of Maria and Tommy. She let out a small, tremulous cry, a sound so pure it filled the room with an unmistakable sense of life, breaking the stillness with its sweetness and bringing tears to your eyes.

“Congratulations!” the doctor announced, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s a girl!”

Maria sank back against the pillows, her face flushed with exhaustion but glowing with joy, tears slipping down her cheeks as she gazed down at her daughter for the first time. Tommy was at her side in an instant, his eyes filled with wonder and love as he looked at his family, a raw, unfiltered happiness radiating from him.

As you stepped back to give them space, a soft smile tugged at your lips. The room was filled with an overwhelming sense of love and hope, a quiet magic blooming amidst the chaos of the world outside. This was a moment you knew you’d carry with you always—a reminder that even in the darkest times, life had a way of breaking through.

You stayed with them, entranced by the tiny miracle before you. The baby’s delicate features, her tiny hands wrapped around Maria’s fingers, seemed almost too precious for this world.

“She’s beautiful,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, eyes fixed on the little girl nestled securely in her mother’s arms.

Maria looked up, her eyes gleaming with warmth and affection as she held her daughter close. “Do you want to hold her, Auntie?” she asked, her voice gentle, the title wrapping around your heart like an embrace.

Your breath caught, and you nodded, managing a quiet, “Yes, please.”

Maria carefully passed her daughter into your arms, and you marveled at the weight of her, so light yet so full of promise. The soft fabric of the blanket brushed against your skin as you cradled her close, an overwhelming wave of love sweeping over you.

“Hey there, little one,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper as you looked down into her wide, curious eyes. “Welcome to the world.”

Your heart ached in ways you couldn’t quite define—a bittersweet mixture of joy and longing as you cradled the baby close. She was warm, her tiny breaths soft and steady against your chest, and you wished with every fiber of your being that Joel could be here, standing beside you, sharing in this tender moment.

You pictured his face softening, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he nudged you gently. “Well, would you look at that—you’re Auntie now,” he’d murmur, his voice soft and warm. The thought sent a tender ache through your chest, filling you with a longing for a moment that felt so close, yet achingly out of reach.

You looked up at Maria and Tommy, their faces bathed in the soft glow of love and pride as they watched you holding their daughter. For them, this was a fresh start, a new beginning to bring light into the shadows that had long lingered.

As you glanced back down at the little girl in your arms, a gentle realization settled over you—despite the ache in your heart, despite the empty space Joel had left, you were grateful to be here, to be part of this beautiful chapter in their lives.

•••

The makeshift Christmas market in Jackson was alive with the vibrant energy of the season, the air filled with laughter and the gentle hum of holiday cheer. People moved between stalls, exchanging goods and warm greetings, their voices blending with the soft music drifting from a nearby record player.

The winter sun hung low, casting a golden hue over the scene, while the crisp air carried the scents of woodsmoke, pine, and the sweet spices of freshly baked treats.

Stalls were draped in strings of scavenged twinkling lights, each one a small beacon against the stark backdrop of winter, and for a brief moment, it felt as though the world outside had faded away, leaving only this small oasis of warmth and celebration.

That’s when you first saw him.

He was new to Jackson, having arrived only a few weeks before with a small group of survivors. His arrival had been the talk of the town, a blend of excitement and wariness threading through the community.

You’d caught snippets of conversation about them—stories of their long, treacherous journey, of how Tommy and some others had found them during a routine patrol and brought them to the safety of Jackson.

As you stood by a stall cluttered with recipe cards, your mind drifted, fingers skimming over options—cherry tart, pecan pie, a rich stew. You were lost in thought, weighing the choices for Christmas dinner with Maria, Tommy, and the new baby.

The gentle hum of the crowd faded into a quiet murmur as you sifted through the recipes, each one conjuring an image of their cozy home filled with laughter, the warmth of the fire casting a golden glow over familiar faces, the simple comfort of a shared meal.

Then, without warning, you felt a presence beside you.

“Tough decision,” a voice remarked, his voice warm and casual, drawing you out of your thoughts. Startled, you looked up, meeting his gaze.

He stood tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy confidence that immediately set him apart in the bustling crowd. Dark curly hair framed his face, tousled while his clothes—faded denim, a well-worn jumper, and scuffed boots—carried the unmistakable signs of long days on the road.

“Oh—sorry?” you replied, a little thrown by his sudden appearance.

“The recipe cards,” he explained, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “Seems like a big decision.”

You laughed softly, feeling a bit self-conscious as you kept your gaze fixed on the table. “Oh, right. Yeah, well… I’m a terrible cook, so I’m not sure these will do me much good,” you murmured, a small, nervous smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, a deep, easy sound that wrapped around you. “Believe me, you’re not alone. Once, I managed to go a whole week without dinner because I accidentally set my kitchen on fire trying to make spaghetti.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the mental image pulling a grin from you as you looked up at him. “A whole week? That’s impressive, in a way.”

He shrugged, his grin widening. “What can I say? Survival skills might be high, but cooking…not so much.” He shrugged, a glint of humor in his eyes. “I figure if it’s not completely inedible, it’s a win.”

There was something refreshingly genuine in his easygoing manner, a warmth that made you feel instantly at ease. For a moment, the chaos of the world outside faded, leaving only the twinkling lights, the soft hum of holiday cheer, and a stranger who felt oddly familiar.

A smile crept onto your face, the sheer absurdity of it all tugging laughter from somewhere deep within. It bubbled up, unexpected and warm, filling you with a lightness you hadn’t felt in what seemed like ages.

For the first time in months, the weight of your memories loosened its hold, if only for a moment, allowing you to breathe freely. You hadn’t laughed like this in so long—it was as if a piece of yourself had finally broken through the clouds.

“I’m Caleb,” he said, offering his hand with an easy smile that radiated genuine warmth.

You took his hand, feeling the steady strength in his grip as you introduced yourself. There was something in his gaze—an openness, a sincerity—that sent a quiet warmth through your chest.

He looked at you not with the guarded wariness so common in Jackson, but with the unmistakable ease of someone who was simply, honestly, glad to meet you.

For that brief moment, as your hands met, a quiet spark flickered between you—a connection so subtle it was almost unspoken, a warmth that lingered just beneath the surface, delicate yet undeniable.

But with that glimmer of warmth came a piercing pang of guilt—a hollow ache for Joel that twisted deep in your chest. Memories of him surfaced unbidden, vivid and relentless. The feeling of his hand on yours, rough and reassuring, the quiet strength in his touch—it all washed over you, an aching reminder of what was missing.

You shook your head slightly, as if somehow, with that small motion, you could dispel the thoughts, push them back into the shadows. But they lingered, stubborn and insistent, weaving themselves into every quiet corner of your mind.

“I should probably head out,” you said, your voice steady, though memories tugged at you, filling you with a sudden urge to escape. You forced a polite smile, masking the quiet turmoil churning beneath the surface. “It was nice meeting you, Caleb.”

The words felt hollow, yet you held them there.

“Same here,” he replied, his smile warm and sincere. There was something in his gaze, a friendliness that reached beyond mere courtesy.

You turned to leave, offering a quick wave as you walked away, Caleb’s smile lingering in your mind.

•••

Over the next few months, Caleb became an unexpected constant in your life, seamlessly weaving himself into the rhythm of your new reality. His presence was a quiet comfort—a steady, familiar face that always seemed to show up when you needed it most, as though he had an instinct for the moments when silence weighed a little too heavily.

He and Tommy had quickly struck up a friendship, their bond forming over early morning patrols and long days in the fields. They’d joke about the little things—who had the better aim, who could lift more, trading stories of life before and after Jackson.

Caleb had this easygoing charm that drew Tommy in, a quiet humor that paired perfectly with Tommy’s unguarded nature. Soon enough, they were inseparable, working together to repair fences or sharing a drink at day’s end, laughter echoing into the quiet streets.

For you, it was comforting, even endearing, to watch them fall into step with each other. You soon found Caleb everywhere—At the clinic, he’d be there often, volunteering to sort supplies or assist with whatever needed doing.

Sometimes you’d catch glimpses of him at the library during storytime, surrounded by children, his voice rising and falling with animated enthusiasm as he brought storybook characters to life. His laughter, bright and infectious, filled the quiet spaces, drawing smiles from even the sternest faces.

And at the stables, he’d be coaxing a skittish horse with gentle patience, exchanging quiet smiles with the ranch hands as he worked, his presence a calming influence on both people and animals alike. He was kind, always there with a helping hand or a lighthearted joke, his warmth settling into your life like a gentle balm.

As weeks turned to months, you found yourself looking forward to these moments. In his presence, you felt an unexpected ease, a sense of reprieve from the lingering sorrow tied to memories of Joel.

Soon, he became a regular presence at your table, joining you, Tommy, and Maria for dinners that filled the house with shared stories, the warmth of food, and laughter echoing through the walls.

One evening, you watched as Caleb gently cradled Tommy and Maria’s baby in his arms for the first time. His expression softened, wonder and tenderness in his eyes as he gazed down at her tiny face. “I’ve always wanted kids,” he admitted quietly, his voice filled with a sincerity that struck a chord within you. He held her with a tenderness that was unmistakable, every little sound she made bringing a soft smile to his lips.

Yet, even within the warmth of these moments, a bittersweet ache would surface—soft but unrelenting, a reminder of Joel that lingered in your heart. You’d imagine him with the baby, envisioning how he’d hold her with surprising gentleness, his rough hands steady and protective, softened by a past that had once made him a father. You could almost see him cradling her close, the hard edges of his face easing, his expression slipping into a rare tenderness, a quiet gentleness breaking through the weathered lines he so often wore.

The thought would catch you off guard, slipping into your mind like a familiar melody, stirring memories you’d tried to bury. No matter how much warmth surrounded you, a part of you still felt that quiet pull toward the one person who remained just out of reach.

•••

One evening, you found yourself beside Maria in the warm glow of the fire, its flickering light casting gentle shadows across the room. The crackling flames filled the quiet, and Maria cradled her baby, the soft coos and gurgles creating a soothing backdrop. You held a drink in your hand, but your gaze was fixed on the hypnotic dance of the flames, lost in thought.

Maria’s gentle voice broke through your thoughts. “You okay, sweetie?” she asked, her tone soft, though a hint of concern threaded through her words. You turned to her, pausing, the weight of everything settling a little heavier in that moment.

She asked you this question often, and every time, you’d give her the same small, unconvincing smile.

You’d lie, and she’d accept it, knowing but never pushing, letting you hold your pain close.

But today was different.

Today, you couldn’t bring yourself to smile or hide behind hollow reassurances. Today, the ache felt too raw, too close to the surface, and you found yourself unable to pretend.

“No,” you murmured, barely audible over the fire. “Maria, I miss him.”

Maria’s face softened, her eyes reflecting an understanding that only deepened the ache in your chest.

“I know you do,” she said quietly. She hesistared before continuing “But, honey, life’s gonna move on. You deserve happiness—even if it feels complicated right now.” Her words hung in the air, gentle but firm, a reminder that Caleb’s presence, his growing affection, hadn’t gone unnoticed by her.

Her words settled heavily within you, undeniable yet daunting. “But I don’t think I’m ready to let him go,” you admitted, voice tight with conflict. “I don’t know how to move forward without.. without feeling like I’m leaving him behind.”

Maria leaned in, her gaze steady and reassuring. “You don’t have to rush. But don’t let fear hold you back from living. Joel wouldn’t want that for you. You deserve to be happy—even if it feels impossible right now.”

Her words struck a chord, resonating with a truth you hadn’t let yourself fully face. But the thought of moving on, of letting go of the hope you clung to, tightened in your chest like a vice. “What if I take that step and… regret it?” you whispered, a tremor of uncertainty in your voice.

Maria’s hand drifted to her baby’s head, her fingers brushing over the soft hair as if grounding herself in the love and life she held. “Life’s too short to live by ‘what ifs,’” she said gently, her voice filled with conviction.

“Taking a step forward doesn’t mean forgetting him. It just means you’re choosing to live, even with the pain. You’re allowed to find happiness again.”

•••

The night they left

You had fallen fast asleep beside him, blissfully unaware of Joel's watchful gaze. As he lay there, his mind was tangled with thoughts of the evening—the way you’d looked up at the stars, your face softly illuminated, a quiet glow in your eyes as you’d whispered promises meant just for him.

He’d finally lowered his guard, letting slip the long-buried apology along with a hint of the feelings he’d guarded so fiercely. In return, you had placed your hand in his, a quiet promise that you wouldn’t leave. The warmth of your touch anchored him, grounding him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed, filling the empty spaces he’d carried within him for years.

In that moment, lying beside you, Joel felt something he hadn’t in a long time—relief. The years of guilt, the weight of holding his feelings in check, all eased in the comfort of your presence. For the first time, he allowed himself to feel at peace, letting go, if only for a night, of the burdens he’d carried alone for so long.

Slowly, he reached over, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingertips lingering as he gently traced circles at your temple, as if etching this moment into his memory. He wanted to tell you how much you meant to him, how your quiet promise had started to ease the weight in his chest. He ached to close the distance, to press his lips softly against yours—but he held back, waiting for the right moment, fighting the pull that had never felt stronger than tonight.

And he let himself smile, knowing you wanted it too. You stirred something deep within him, a feeling nestled low in his stomach, reminding him just how far out of his depth he was.

But then he froze, hearing movement downstairs. A sharp knock at the door cut through the silence, urgent and relentless.

He squinted at the dim-lit clock, barely making out the time—4 a.m.

Jesus Christ, had he really been awake this long? And who the hell would be knocking at this hour?

With a sigh, he slipped out of bed, glancing back at you once more, his heart twisting at the thought of leaving you, even for a moment. He moved quietly, careful not to wake you, and made his way downstairs, each knock echoing louder as he approached.

As he opened the door, he found Ellie standing there, pale and shaken, her backpack slung over her shoulder, eyes wide with a fear he’d rarely seen in her.

“Ellie?” he whispered, dread pooling in his stomach. “What’s wrong?”

“They know,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “They know about me, Joel. They know I could be the cure. And they’re coming. They know I’m here in Jackson.”

Joel’s blood turned to ice. He glanced back at the staircase he’d descended just minutes ago, the image of you peacefully asleep etched sharply in his mind. Then he looked at Ellie, his mind racing.

Joel’s jaw tightened, memories of Sarah flashing painfully through his mind, the ache of that loss still raw, still haunting, even after all these years. Protecting Ellie felt was a second chance—something he couldn’t afford to lose.

He looked back toward the stairs, a silent vow etched in his mind—he’d return to you and explain everything once Ellie was safe, no matter what it took.

“Then we leave—now.”

•••

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[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 :)

[alicesivory]

Old Habits Die Hard [4/?]

Previous Chapter // Main Masterlist // Next Chapter

Pairing: Nightwatch! Aemond Targaryen x wildling female! Reader

Genre: Historically accurate Aemond

WC: 3370

Summary: Aemond ventures beyond the Wall.

“Your hair looks nicer when it’s braided now.”

It seemed that the she-wildling could not keep her mouth shut. Rolling his eyes, Aemond changed the subject quickly, “How long ‘til we reach your people’s camp?” Aemond asked. “Just keep the horse in a steady pace up ahead and we’ll reach them in no time,” she answered him whilst comfortably sitting in front of him, between his arms that held the reins of the stallion. The reins were relaxed, and the stallion responded effortlessly to his light guidance through the cold and dark forest. The forest stands in eerie silence, its dense canopy casting a perpetual twilight over the twisted, gnarled trees. Shadows dance menacingly across the forest floor, where fallen leaves and branches lie in disarray, as if disturbed by some unseen force. The trees themselves seem alive, their bark scarred and contorted into grotesque shapes, carrying with it the faintest whisper of forgotten secrets, and the occasional creak or groan of the wood echoes through the stillness, adding to the sense of foreboding. 

No wonder they call this the haunted forest. 

“What lies in these woods?” Aemond asked once again. “Wild animals, mostly. But we don’t really hunt at night. It's a bad omen,” she replied. “Sometimes we see them at night, that’s where they emerge.” Her words made Aemond wonder, “Who do you speak of?”

“What do you think the walls were made for?”

Aemond thought for a moment. 

“To keep your kind away from entering the realm,” he said, hesitantly. Not quite confident with his answer. For he knew that the wall’s purpose was more than just keeping a few wildlings out of Westeros but, he does not know what. “It wasn’t even built because of us. My people were separated from yours because we were unlucky enough to live beyond the wall when it was built,” she explained. “It was the others that they were afraid of.”

“Others? Other tribes?”

“No. The undead.”

Chills ran down from Aemond’s spine.

The White Walkers. 

He has read countless books about the white walkers and the long night. How the battle for the dawn unfolded, yet all he knew was that it was all a myth. A fairytale. Stories to scare your child so they would sleep for the night. He recalled how the White Walkers were first written and mentioned during the Age of Heroes. Born of powerful and untested magic, they were created to protect the Children of the Forest during their war with the First Men. What once used to be puppets and soldiers for the Children of the Forest, the magic within the white walkers took a turn and rebelled against their creators and brought nothing but destruction to the realm. 

“But they were nothing but old stories. Fiction, even,” Aemond protested. 

“They are far from fiction, snow-hair.” 

The wildling looked back to him, surprisingly close since they were cramped at horseback. 

“What did they call you back there? I couldn’t recall. Was it Almond?”

“Aemond,” he grunts. 

She chuckled, “I like snow-hair better.”

“And what of you?” Slowly speaking her name which seemed foreign to his tongue. 

“Close enough,” she shrugged with a smirk, looking back into the road. Aemond wondered once again of the undead she mentioned. Were they lurking behind the old trees of this very forest? Were their lives at stake when they stepped their foot to this forest. “They took my brother,” she said, capturing Aemond’s attention. “The undead?” She nodded at his question. “He seemed to forget about time that day. But what kind of child remembers time, really? They wanted to play all day. So he did, running inside the woods without me or my mother’s attention, wanting to become a great hunter who enters the forest with no fear like my father. And he never came back.” 

He felt sorry for the girl, for he himself had felt the same kind of grief when he heard of Aegon’s death. Especially when they could’ve done something to prevent their deaths. “Sometimes I wonder if they buried him at all. If they did, I wonder where they buried him,” she said, spacing off into the distance. “There is no sympathy from the dead. Nor do they care for the living,” he said to her. “I know. But I’d like to think they did. He was just a child.” 

The whole ride quickly became gloomy and sour as the pair battled their grief as bad memories and remorse overcome their thoughts. “Does that stop you from hunting in the forest?” Aemond asked, trying to bring peace to her. “No, not really. I think I became eager to hunt here. Maybe one day I can find him well and just…cleverly hiding between trees,” she said with a bitter chuckle, sensing her denial of her brother’s disappearance. A sense of protectiveness washed over Aemond, knowing what it felt like to see light in the midst of darkness. Denying the truth to comfort yourself. He knew of that feeling. 

“Maybe one day you would. One day.”

Crack. Swish. 

“What was that?” 

Crack. Crack. Crack. 

“A wild beast?” Aemond asked. 

A figure emerging slowly behind the tree as they pass. “That is no beast,” the wildling alarmingly said, taking over the reins and snapped it making their horse gallop through the dark forest. “I would’ve preferred it to be a wild beast so we can take it home, yet you and I know that is no beast, snow hair,” she spoke as the harsh winds of the north hits their faces. Aemond looked back, seeing two..three...four figures catching up onto them. 

“How do we escape them?” He asked. 

“Hold on tight.” 

She took a turn in a swift motion, galloping off the road going between trees. In hopes for them to stop gaining on them. The wildling kept snapping the reins ordering the horse to go faster with only the moon being their source of light. “C’mon…c’mon…,” he heard her grunting as she took a glance behind and saw some still following their tracks. Galloping between trees, their horse finally took them to safety at the edge of the forest, to a clear opening. 

Making Aemond have a clear vision of the undead. 

Their skins were pale, almost blue. 

They look like humans yet they were not at the same time. 

The creatures frightened him more than anything else, but as they neared the edge of the forest, the White Walkers ceased their pursuit and vanished behind the trees. Aemond exhaled deeply, relieved that they had escaped the forest unharmed. Suddenly the horse neighed, abruptly stopping. Making both of them grunt in pain when they nearly fell. “What’s wrong?” The wildling asked the horse before an arrow striked a tree behind them. They looked around, trying to find any signs of life. 

“What are you doing?” Aemond hissed when she stepped down from the horse. “Where’s my dagger?” She whispered, ignoring his previous question. Aemond sighed, tossing her the dagger beneath his black cloak. Catching it with ease, she spoke into the air,

“It’s only me! Gruff? Yuri?” Aemond was curious about those people she called out. Were they one of her people? Who were they?

“Blimey kid, you scared the shit out of us!” 

A loud booming voice suddenly said, emerging from the snowy ecosystem. Their thick fur coats also seemed to be efficient for camouflage. Aemond saw how his peculiar she wildling smiled brightly when she spotted her friend, running towards the tall red haired man giving him a tight hug making them both laugh as he picked her up in his arms. 

Aemond rolled his eye.

“Thought you were gone for! We saw those creepy dead people- thank the gods!” The red haired wildling said, ruffling her hair. “Oww! No! Do you think that low of me, old man?!” She asked with a laugh, shoving the man away from her. “Oi, I'm not that old, young lady.” Locking her head once again with his arm. “Yuri! Look who just came back from the dead!” The red haired shouted, now another wildling emerged from the opening. His hair was blonde, almost as light as the hair of the Lannisters. “We really thought you were dead, kid,” Yuri said, patting her shoulder. 

Who were they? Why were they awfully close with her? 

From what he witnessed, a young woman could only interact like this with the opposite gender if they were siblings or wedded. Even he never saw any of his wedded acquaintances interacting this way. Were they her siblings? They don’t seem to resemble one another, were they bastards? Did they came from different mothers?

Aemond cleared his throat, stepping down from his horse, interrupting their reunion. 

“Ah yes- Gruff, Yuri, this is ehm..Aemond Targaryen. The man that I spoke of to the both of you,” she said. The red haired, who was named Gruff looked Aemond from head to toe. “Gruff and Yuri are my hunting friends. We’ve been hunting together since we were children and fun fact, we have the same grandsire.”

Gruff slowly approached the one eyed prine, keeping an eye on him. Aemond straightened his back to appear taller, gripping the handle of his sword, preparing himself. Once Gruff stopped in front of him, their noses bumping into each other, he spoke, 

“Did your mum fucked a snowman?”

“I beg your pardon–,” Aemond stepped closer, ready to draw his sword out.

“–Alright that’s enough!” She quickly stepped between the two men. “What Gruff was trying to say was, how is your hair silver?” She asked. "My father, my grandsire, my great-grandsire—all of them had silver hair," Aemond hissed, his gaze fixed on the red-haired wildling. "How did they end up with silver hair?" the red-haired wildling asked, crossing his arms. Aemond couldn't believe how absurd this conversation had become. Frustrated, he let his hands drop. "We're from old Valyria," Aemond explained with resignation. "It's simply a trait we have—silver hair is just part of who we are."

“Valyria? What’s that?” The blonde wildling asked curiously. “It's a place far from the north, Yuri– Now come on! We must bring him to the Chief.” Walking past them, she held the horse’s reins and started walking ahead. Gruff purposely bumped Aemond’s shoulder as he passed through the one eyed prince. Aemond rolled his eyes again, resigned to the childish behavior of these people, before catching up and walking alongside her. Compared to the two wildlings, he found her more tolerable. At least she didn’t ask pointless questions.s. “I have told our Chief about you,” she said. “I am sure he will take it easy on you,” she said.

��“Does he takes it easy with anyone else?”

“No, not really. He’s quite rude if you ask me.”

“As rude as your friend there?” Aemond chuckled bitterly.

“You’re in for a ride,” she chuckled, patting Aemond’s shoulder. 

As much as Aemond would like to worry, he could not as he knew that she was the one who brought him to her people. For her people needed him, not the other way around. He hoped that this agreement would be the means for her to fulfill her promise and return him to Westeros once and for all. Additionally, he couldn’t help but notice her diminutive stature compared to his own—she barely reached his shoulder, smaller than any lady from Westeros yet possessing a fierceness and demeanor that defied conventional femininity. A smirk tugged at his lips.. 

And there he saw it. In the vast expanse of snow-covered terrain, a tribe lives a nomadic life, their existence marked by resilience and adaptability. Their tents, typically made of sturdy animal hides or woven materials, scattered across the field. The tents are insulated with layers of fur and cloth, designed to withstand the biting cold. The camp itself is a lively hub of activity despite the harsh environment. Smoke curls up from several central hearths, where fires are kept burning to provide warmth and to cook meals. The scent of roasting meat and simmering stews mingled with the crisp, cold air when he stepped closer to them.

Like when he first entered Winterfell, all eyes fell upon him, following him as he walked side by side with her. “It seems you have captured the people’s attention,” she teased with a cocky smile. “Why is it because of my hair or my eye?” He asked. “Neither. It’s your attire.” Aemond looked down to his clothing. Of course, he’s still dressed like a member of the night’s watch.

“We hate the crows in here, so it’s better for you to strip those clothes after you meet our Chief,” she said, giving him a wink. Before he could protest, a snow hit his cloak, making him flinch. Turning around, he saw a couple of children running around, even snickering at his presence. “Careful now boys!” She chuckled, greeting some of those children. “Never seen a crow, huh?” She crouched down, talking to the children surrounding her. 

“He only has one eye!” One of the children tried to whisper to her. “Scary, isn’t he? Tell you what, I’ll let you pick on him when I’m not around,” she said to the kids, making them snicker and giggle in excitement. 

She was really good with children. 

Throughout his life, he rarely sees his mother or even his sister being this natural with children. It makes him wonder if she has one. 

“For the meantime, can all of you keep an eye on our horse?” Offering the rein to the children, in which they eagerly accepted before taking the horse away. Aemond curiously kept his eye on the horse as the children led it away. “Don’t worry, they are very gentle with horses. They know their purpose,” she reassured him before she started to walk once more. 

Approaching one of the biggest tents in the area, the spearwife stops beside him, “If the Chief likes you, you’ll live another day.” Before smiling mischievously stepping inside the tent. Slightly on edge, he hesitated to follow them inside. But he would not cower in fear and enter anyways. Reminding himself to keep himself in check if he wants to go home. He stepped inside, his eye falling onto a man sitting in his chair as his companions surrounded him, whispering to each other. 

“Chief, I would like you to meet the crow I spoke of. This is Aemond Targaryen,” she introduced him. Aemond nodded with respect to their chief, an older wildling who carefully inspected Aemond, standing up from his seat. “Targaryen,” he said. “A peculiar tribe. Was it true that your family had power over dragons?” The Chief asked in which Aemond instantly nodded, “Yes, my Lord.”

All of them chuckled humorously. 

“Lord? I’m flattered to be called a Lord,” the chief said in humour. 

“So, where is your dragon now?”

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Aemond spoke. 

“She was killed at war.” A sense of bitterness, trying to mask his grief and sadness for Vhagar’s death. 

“A shame,” the Chief said. 

A pregnant pause.

“I want everybody out of this tent.” Aemond’s eyes widened. Was he going to be murdered? Did he not fulfil the Chief’s expectations? 

“But Chief–,” 

“–Especially you, girl. I shall talk to you when I’m done with this crow.”

Aemond instantly locked his eye with hers. Even her expression was unreadable as she hesitantly turned around to exit the tent. She gave him a nod, giving him support before leaving him alone with the Chief. Aemond turned his gaze back to the Chief who was crossing his arms inspecting Aemond from head to toe. 

“The girl likes you,” the Chief chuckles. “If it wasn’t for her you’d probably be dead by now. Killed by those crows.” Aemond kept his expression stoic as he brushed off the Chief’s words. “Speaking of crows, she told me you were forced to be one. Was that true?”

Aemond nodded.

“Yes, Chief.”

“What was your crime?”

“I was called a traitor to the Starks. Yet I beg to differ, for it was them who were traitors,” Aemond bravely said. 

“Traitors to whom?”

“The Throne. My brother.”

“Your brother? Your brother sat on a throne?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“That makes you a prince, then.”

A title he deeply missed. Aemond stood proudly, straightened his back as he kept his chin up high. 

“I am–,”

“You were.” 

“For you are currently not in Westeros, my boy. You are beyond the wall. Everyone beyond the wall fights for survival. For nature does not care if you’re a king or a criminal. And so far as I know, you stand before me,” the Chief said, telling Aemond to abandon his title as prince. “Where does your loyalty lie, boy?” The Chief asked, stepping closer to the one eyed prince. “To the crows?–”

“–No,” Aemond spoke with no hesitation. 

“The Starks?”

“Never.”

The Chief hummed in agreement. “The girl told me you wished to be rewarded. To go back to your family.” Aemond nodded, wishing nothing more than that. “So you’re loyal to your family,” he pointed out.

Aemond nodded. 

“Good. A man should always stay loyal to his family.”

He poured his drink onto his cup, “But will you stay loyal to us as you serve my tribe? And lead us to victory?” Aemond looked down, seeing the cup lent to him. Offering a friendship– an alliance– trust. Trusting a wildling. It seemed impossible for him, but he recalled simple questions by those wildlings about his hair. They were a simple tribe, living out of the complicated politics of Westeros. He could outsmart them easily and they’re offering him friendship. 

She paced back and forth in front of the Chief’s tent, waiting for the Targaryen to exit the tent unharmed. “You seemed stressed, kid,” Gruffed snickered, crossing his arms as he took notice on worried expression. “Of course, I am,” she said, stopping her steps abruptly. “May I know why?” He chuckled.

 “Is it because of the crow?–”

“–He is not a crow. He loathes the crows as much as we do.”

Gruff chuckled amusingly. 

“And? I bet Chief will tolerate him–,”

“–What if he doesn't? What if he beheaded that man and puts him on a spike?!–”

“–So what? What if he were beheaded? You should not care for that outsider—,”

“–I don’t care about him! I-I-I just want what’s best for our people–,”

“–You like him,” Gruff points at her with a mocking laugh. “I don’t! You pig!” She shouted defensively, quickly slapping Gruff’s arm repeatedly. “You do! You like that snow haired boy!” Gruff kept pointing at her as he teased her. The young she wildling grunts in frustration as he denies her feelings for the Targaryen. “If you speak of this one more time, I will kill you in your sleep, Gruff.” 

“Oooh you’ll kill me in my sleep, eh? Right, sure you don’t like that boy, surely if he one day betrays us will you kill him in his sleep?”

“I will. And I’ll cut off his cock and hang it in front of your tent,” she speaks bluntly. 

“Right, you sure you won’t use that for anything else?”

Her face turned red before she threw a hard punch across the red haired’s face. Groaning in pain, Gruff still laughed at her being so flustered with his words. “Why do you like him anyways? Is it because of his hair? His eye? Ooh his other eye, the sapphire?” Gruff asked, sitting up curiously looking at his friend. “For the last time, I do not like our new comer,” she repeated herself. “Keep telling that to yourself, kid. If I see silver haired babies one day–.”

The tent opened, Aemond stepping out of the tent.

Unharmed. 

“Ah, so he gave you a chance to live another day,” she said quickly, changing her once worried demeanour into the confident young wildling she is. Aemond could only nod, towering over her. “I shall, and I will.” 

His purple eye fixed on hers, “Where can I find new clothes?”

a/n: stay tuned for the next chapter and I apologize if this is not my best work but😊✨

[valkyrieromanoff]

God bless your dad's genetics… Dilf! Anakin x son’s girlfriend!reader

PREVIOUS NEXT

CHAPTER THREE: NIGHT BREEZE

synopsis: after Anakin's embarrassing outburst at the wedding anniversay, you escape to the ship's deck for some air—only to find yourself face-to-face with your boyfriend's father once again.

warning: age gap (Anakin is 44 years old and the reader is in her early 20s), cheating, alternate universe, mild flirting in front of his wife

words: 1.4k

a/n: hello there, I'm so happy with the engagement the fanfic is getting, I'm thinking of having 10 chapters. So, get ready because in the next ones we'll have a little more action, if you know what I mean… kisses, and enjoy reading ;)

The mixture of alcohol and the constant sway of the high seas was a disastrous combination. You realized this as your steps wavered across the deck, each movement feeling heavier, less certain. The lingering tension from dinner still buzzed in your veins, amplified by the wine that had flowed too freely. Luke had left, needing time alone after the awkward family reunion. You hadn’t noticed his departure until the silence around you grew loud and the chill of solitude seeped in.

You staggered, the thin heels of your sandals a cruel joke on the uneven deck. Squinting, the world swayed, lights blurring into golden halos. "Oh, for fuck’s sake," you muttered, the words slurred and childlike. Your foot caught on an unseen groove, the delicate heel wedging firmly into the platform's slope. You shifted your weight, trying to free it, but your movements were slow, uncoordinated. The imbalance felt inevitable, gravity pulling you into its sway.

Suddenly, strong hands gripped you. “I got you, angel.” Anakin's hoarse whisper ignited goosebumps along your skin, his breath hot against your ear. The scent of whiskey and spice enveloped you, grounding and disorienting all at once. He held you suspended a few inches off the ground, one arm around your back, the other firm on your waist. 

You met his intense gaze, an electric current crackling between you, unspoken desires simmering in the depths of his eyes. His fingers, strong and calloused, pressed into your waist, searing through the thin fabric of your dress. Every nerve seemed to wake under his touch. Neither of you moved, the moment stretching into something charged and unspeakable. When he finally set you back down, his hand lingered, the heat of his palm a brand against your skin.

You tried to speak—to thank him, to say anything—but the words tangled, emerging as a soft, incoherent murmur. His eyes danced with amusement, a mischievous smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Oh, angel, do you need some help?” His voice was a low, teasing drawl, the nickname sending a shiver down your spine.

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak. He smiled, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he knelt before you. The sight made your breath hitch. His hands, strong and sure, slid over the arch of your foot, fingertips barely brushing your skin. 

The feather-light contact sent electric tingles racing up your leg, each touch igniting sparks that spread through your body like wildfire. You couldn't suppress the soft gasp that escaped your lips, the sound barely audible with the waves of the sea, but he heard it, his eyes drawing back to yours, a smoldering intensity burning in their depths.

With careful precision, he unbuckled the delicate strap of your sandal, his fingers warm against your ankle as he worked. It was a simple task, but the way he touched you, the way his gaze never left your face, made it feel like so much more. Like he was unwrapping a precious gift, reverent and hungry all at once. As he slid the shoe off, his touch lingered, calloused fingers skimming along the sensitive skin of your instep, drawing another breathy sigh from your parted lips.

Anakin's eyes never left yours as he repeated the process with your other sandal, his movements slow, deliberate, each touch a caress. The heat of his gaze seared your skin, igniting a different kind of fire low in your belly. By the time he straightened, both shoes removed, you were flushed and trembling, your body thrumming with the force of your desire.

He held out your sandals, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Can't have my angel stumbling around all night." The words were casual, but the underlying growth in his voice hinted at a deeper possessiveness. As you took the shoes from him, his fingers brushed against yours, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice small and unsteady.

Anakin’s eyes softened, the intensity giving way to something warmer. “Come on, let’s get our feet wet,” he suggested, taking your hand. His grip was firm, grounding, as he led you to the pool.

You watched, bemused, as he sat at the edge, pulling off his shoes and rolling up his pant legs before dipping his feet into the water. He looked up, a boyish grin softening his features. “The water’s good.”

Tentatively, you joined him, gathering your dress in your lap as you dipped your feet in. The cool water was a relief, soothing the ache you hadn’t noticed from the heels. The tension in your shoulders began to melt.

But the relief was temporary, quickly replaced by a different kind of tension as Anakin's thigh brushed against yours. You tense, heart racing, the heat of your skin burning through the thin fabric of your dress.

Anakin's eyes were on you, warm and intense. "You okay?" he asked, his voice low, his thumb brushing over your knee.

You nodded, swallowing hard, trying to find your voice. "Yeah, just... tired." The lie tasted bitter on your tongue, but it was easier than admitting the truth. That you were dizzy with forbidden desire, that every touch from him set your nerves on fire.

He smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. "Well, then, let's relax." His hand slipped higher up your thigh, his touch light but insistent. Your breath hitched, the ache between your legs growing with each passing second.

You couldn’t look away. Every inch of you was hyper-aware—of the way his shirt clung to his broad shoulders, of the roughness in his voice when he’d spoken your name. On the way his fingers had lingered on your skin, igniting something dangerous.

You knew this was wrong, knew that he was your boyfriend's father – well, technically, you're just pretending to be Luke's girlfriend, but still – he’s married, so much older than you. But none of that seemed to matter in the face of the raw, pulsing need that consumed you. Your eyes fluttered closed as his hand crept higher, your hips shifting unconsciously, seeking more of his touch.

Anakin's breath hitched, his fingers stilling. "God, you're beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. His gaze drifted to your lips, his own parting slightly. Your breath hitched. The space between you felt electric, fragile. Time seemed to slow, the air thick with unspoken desires and impossible possibilities.

Would he kiss me? The thought was intoxicating, terrifying. Do I want him to? Your heart pounded, each beat a thunderous echo in your chest. The answer, whispered from somewhere deep and reckless within you, was undeniable.

Yes.

The silence stretched, and for a moment, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you. His hand, rough and warm, shifted slightly, almost reaching for you. You leaned in, breathless, the scent of him—spice and whiskey—filling your senses.

But before the moment could shatter into reality, footsteps echoed on the deck. You both froze, the spell broken. You pulled away abruptly, your heart hammering as the sound grew closer.

A uniformed crew member appeared, clearing his throat apologetically. “I’m sorry, but the pool is closed at this hour.”

You swallowed, cheeks flaming. “Oh, of course. Sorry.” Your voice felt too loud, too breathless.

Anakin’s eyes never left you as he stood, extending a hand to help you out of the water. His grip was firm, steadying you when your legs wobbled. He held your high-heeled sandals in one hand, his gaze lingering as if he wanted to say something, but the words hung unspoken between you.

You stood there for a moment, barefoot on the cool deck, your eyes locked. The world seemed to tilt, every rational thought fleeing in the face of what had almost happened. What would have happened?

As you walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last, the questions swirled in your mind, relentless. Would I have let him kiss me? The answer, a dangerous yes, twisted your stomach with guilt and something darker—desire.

You reached your cabin, sliding down against the door, heart pounding. The cool metal at your back did nothing to calm the heat still simmering under your skin.

What the hell am I doing? This was Luke’s father. Married. Older. Everything about it was wrong.

Yet the memory of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, burned like a bonfire. The trip was going to be harder than you’d ever imagined. And a part of you, a reckless part you tried to ignore, knew you were already in too deep.

[moonlitstoriess]

The Hidden Legacy- A Ruhn Danaan x Rhysands sister series

Chapter 1: The Echoes of a Forgotten Name

Summary: Rhysand’s sister, Seraphis, long thought dead, was taken by the Asteri/Valgs, her memories erased and turned into a ruthless killer loyal to their cause. After Bryce kills the Asteri, Seraphis seeks vengeance on her and everyone else involved. As she hunts them down, Rhysand and the Inner Circle discover the shocking truth: she’s alive, and now their enemy.

See masterlist

Chronomancy: The mastery of time, allowing one to bend, twist, and manipulate the fabric of temporal reality.

The Asteri realm, once an epitome of unyielding power, now lay in ruins. The remnants of it's dark grandeur whispered of a time when it reigned supreme. Shadows flitted through the crumbling architecture, now an empty expanse where the only echoes were those of a fallen empire. The stillness was profound, the silence punctuated only by the faint hum of residual magic.

Amid the debris walked Seraphis, her presence a stark contrast to the desolation around her. Clad in a black cloak that fluttered with her steps, she was a figure of cold determination. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the remnants of what had been the heart of the Aster's domino. To her, this destruction was not merely a loss but a catalyst for a deeper mission.

Seraphis' existence had been shaped entirely by the Asteri. From a young age, she was taken and molded into their perfect soldier. They told her that her parents had abandoned her, leaving her out on the streets as a newborn to die. She was an orphan with no form of family, no parents or siblings. Her upbringing was harsh and uncompromising. She was trained to harness the full spectrum of temporal manipulation--abilities that allowed her to travel through time, reverse it's flow, and manipulate it's very essence. The Asteri had crafted her to be both a weapon and a guardian of their interests.

Under their guidance, Seraphis had become a master of time's complexities. Once she was old enough and they deemed her fit for it, the Asteri took her with them to new world's as they went on conquering--no sharing their greatness with the world. That's how she ended up joining them when they would go from one universe to another, her time-manipulating power's growing stronger with each time.

She remembers how in Erilea she would send Maeve and Erawan the direct orders coming from the six Asteri. Of course, no one was more pissed than Seraphis when that Aelin Galathynius and her lapdogs ended up winning the war. Well, atleast they got rid of incompetent idiots like Maeve and Erawan. She also played a covert role in the shadowy events that unfolded, aiding the Valgs in their machinations and ensuring their influence remained unchecked. She had begged Polaris, The North Star, to let her go finish what Erawan couldn't but...they didn't allow her, seeing her as too valuable to risk.

When the Asteri's control extended to Midgard, Seraphis continued her work with the same ruthless efficiency. She wove through the intricate tapestry of its politics and power struggles, her presence a silent but undeniable force. Her actions, often unseen, played a key role in the Asteri's manipulation of the city's dynamics.

Now with the fall of the Asteri and their defeat at the hands of Bryce Quinlan, Seraphis found herself in a new reality. The Asteri, the only family--no matter how cruel--she had ever known, were gone, and their cause lay in ruins. Austrus, Eosphoros, Hesperus, Octartis, Polaris, Sirius, Vesperus and....Rigelus.

Oh, Rigelus.

Though millions of years older than her, Seraphis was the only being ever that Rigelus didn't look down on. Instead, he saw her as a close second, always being kind towards her--or as kind as someone like him could be. The respect and authority she held over everyone else just like Rigelus and the other Asteris was impressive.

Seraphis wouldn't call what they had with him love. No, a far cry from that. More like a sick obsession and posession that he felt towards her, always having her watched and protected, kept by his side on every event and conquest. And Seraphis loved every moment of it. She didn't care if that made her look sick, yearning for his and only his attention.

No one could ever understand what she and him had anyway.

Does it matter now? No. No, it doesn't.

Their loss ignited a fierce loyalty within her, driving her to seek vengeance. Those Midgard rats, particularly the bastard Bryce Quinlan, had disrupted everything she had been programmed to protect. Seraphis's focus was singular and unyielding. Her powers, unparalleled in their scope, were a tool for her vengeance. The remnants of the Asteri's legacy would be avenged, and she would ensure that their enemies paid dearly for their defiance.

Maybe, maybe Rigelus was against her being in the battlefield and focusing more on improving her powers more for this very reason. Knowing him and how he would always be fifteen steps ahead of everyone, even his fellow Asteri's, Seraphis wouldn't be surprised if he knew something like this would happen and she would be left as the one to avenge them.

Seraphis’s thoughts were interrupted by a faint sound—a shuffle, almost imperceptible. Her head snapped toward the noise, eyes narrowing as a figure stepped out from behind a crumbled pillar.

The figure was hunched, draped in ragged robes that trailed on the ground, their face obscured by a deep hood. There was something otherworldly about them, an eerie stillness in their movements, as if they weren’t quite tethered to the reality around them.

An oracle, perhaps. Or one of the soulless travelers that drifted through the remnants of the universe, always seeking but never finding.

“You,” the stranger rasped, their voice a dry whisper carried by the wind. “You are lost.”

Seraphis’s expression remained impassive, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of a blade at her side. “I am not lost,” she replied, her voice cold. “I know exactly where I am.”

The traveler’s hooded head tilted slightly, as though studying her. “Do you? You walk among ruins, chasing ghosts of a fallen empire. What is it you seek, child of time?”

Seraphis bristled at the title, her grip tightening on the hilt of her blade. “That’s none of your concern.”

The figure seemed to sigh, a sound that echoed strangely in the empty space. “Vengeance is a heavy burden to bear. The threads of time do not forget. Every action leaves a scar, every choice a ripple. You of all beings should understand this.”

Seraphis regarded them with a penetrating stare. “The Asteri were my family. Their enemies are now my enemies. The vengeance I seek is not for solace but for justice.”

The stranger nodded slowly, their gaze thoughtful. “Justice and vengeance are often indistinguishable in the eyes of those who wield power. But remember, the threads of time you manipulate weave through all that exists. Even in vengeance, there are consequences that ripple forward.”

Seraphis stiffened, her eyes narrowing. “You speak in riddles. Say what you mean.”

The traveler raised a bony hand, palm out, as if to placate her. “I mean only this: Beware of the paths you walk, for time is not a line, but a web. Tug on one thread, and you may find yourself tangled in another. The truth you seek may not be the truth you remember.”

A flicker of unease stirred in Seraphis’s chest, but she pushed it aside. “I know my truth. I will restore the legacy of the Asteri.”

The traveler bowed their head slightly, as if in resignation. “Then may you find what you are searching for. But remember, time itself may turn against those who wield it carelessly.”

Seraphis said nothing, her jaw clenched as the traveler slowly turned away, disappearing into the shadows as if they had never been there at all.

She stood still for a moment, staring after them. Their words clung to the air, echoing in the empty halls of her mind. But she pushed them aside as she always had. There was no room for doubt, no room for hesitation.

There was only vengeance.

Seraphis remained standing, her figure outlined by the towering ruins of the Asteri realm as she watched the shadows engulf the mysterious traveler. Doubt was a weakness, a sentiment she had long been trained to overcome. Her purpose was clear.

Turning back to the wreckage of the Asteri empire, she let her gaze wander over the shattered remains, of what had once been untouchable. Each piece of debris, every crumbled wall, was a reminder of her mission--of the legacy she would rebuild through blood and retribution. The ancient cities, once towering, had now faded into dust, but she would ensure that their enemies would remember them. They would remember through pain, through fear, and through her.

She moved through the ruins with a calculated stride, her mind already spinning threads of time, pulling at the edges of the past. In her hands, time was no mere concept—it was a weapon, one she had sharpened over centuries. She had walked between the lines of history, bending it to the will of the Asteri. They had shaped her, honed her into the ultimate instrument of control.

Rigelus had always been there—overseeing her progress, pushing her further, demanding more. Where others would have seen cruelty, Seraphis had only seen purpose. His obsession with her, the cold possessiveness, had been her source of strength. It drove her to perfect her abilities, to become more than just a soldier. She was his favorite, his chosen, and she had relished every moment of his attention.

The whispers of time teased her now, fragments of events from Erilea and Midgard slipping through her consciousness. Maeve and Erawan had been her pawns, their strings manipulated under the orders of the Asteri. She had done their bidding, silently observing the collapse of entire worlds, her presence unknown to the mortal players. Aelin Galathynius, Bryce Quinlan—all of them had merely been cogs in the Asteri’s grand design, and yet, somehow, they had prevailed.

Seraphis’s jaw clenched. She could still remember the sting of watching Aelin ascend, of seeing Erawan fall. The threads of time she had woven through that world had come undone, slipping from her grasp, leaving her powerless to intervene. That Aelin had won infuriated her. She’d wanted to be there to ensure Erawan’s success, to be the force that would crush the rebellion—but Rigelus had forbidden it.

And now, Bryce Quinlan. Seraphis’s hands twitched, her magic itching at her fingertips. The half-fae princess had killed the Asteri, destroyed everything Seraphis had been built for. Seraphis knew that Bryce’s power over the Gate was formidable, but it wouldn’t save her. No, not when Seraphis had centuries of control over time at her disposal. The moment would come, and Bryce wouldn’t even see it approaching.

But she couldn’t rush. Not yet.

Seraphis knew that striking without preparation was foolish, especially after the Asteri had been blindsided. Bryce would be expecting retaliation, the remnants of Midgard’s population on high alert. Seraphis needed time to plan, to gather intelligence, to weave herself back into the folds of the worlds that were left.

And maybe, just maybe, she’d need allies.

She came to a halt at what had once been the central hall of the Asteri’s council. The chamber had once thrummed with power, where decisions that shaped entire worlds had been made. Now, only silence reigned here. Seraphis’s silver eyes flickered as she raised a hand, time itself responding to her unspoken command. The air shifted, the ruins stirring as she pulled at the threads of the past.

For a moment, the hall was whole again. The pillars straightened, the ceiling restored. Seraphis stood at the heart of it, watching as ghostly figures flickered into place. The Asteri council in all its glory—Rigelus at its helm, the others in their seats. She stepped forward, her fingers grazing the edge of the spectral table.

“I’ll restore it,” she whispered, her voice filled with cold resolve. “I’ll bring you back.”

She let go, and the illusion faded as time returned to the present. The ruins crumbled once more around her. The past, it seemed, was not yet willing to reveal its secrets.

But Seraphis knew it was only a matter of time before she’d be ready to act. The Asteri’s cause had not died with them, and neither had their most powerful soldier.

She turned, her cloak swirling around her as she left the council chamber behind. The traveler’s words, though dismissed, lingered in her mind like an unwanted guest. The idea of consequences—of time itself rebelling against her—was absurd. She controlled time. She was time. The scars she carved into the fabric of history were her own to shape.

As she stepped out into the barren expanse once more, the wind picked up, swirling dust into the air. Seraphis narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t alone.

A voice, soft and detached, called out to her again. “Still chasing ghosts, I see.”

Seraphis’s hand was on her blade in an instant as she turned toward the sound. The traveler from earlier stood at the edge of the ruin, watching her with the same unsettling stillness. This time, though, they did not approach.

“I thought I told you to leave,” Seraphis said, her voice a low growl.

The traveler smiled, though it didn’t reach their eyes. “I did. But time has a way of bringing us back to the places we least expect.”

Seraphis’s patience wore thin. “You enjoy speaking in riddles. Speak plainly or be gone.”

The traveler’s smile faded, their voice lowering. “I am not your enemy, Seraphis. But your path is darker than you realize.”

“I know my path,” she snapped. “And I don’t need your advice.”

The traveler studied her for a moment longer before nodding slowly. “Very well. But remember this—time is not as loyal as you think.”

With that, the traveler turned and walked into the wind, their form fading into the dust.

Seraphis stood there, alone once more, her mind already discarding the encounter. There was only one thing that mattered now: finding Bryce Quinlan and finishing what the Asteri had started.

She would bring time itself to its knees to see it done.

With a final glance at the desolate landscape that had once been the center of her life, she turned on her heel and began to walk, her steps deliberate, her mind racing with plans. She couldn't afford to waste any more time in this hollow place of memories. Midgard awaited her, Bryce and her puppets blissfully unaware of the storm that was coming for them.

Seraphis extended her hand, her fingers shimmering with the familiar hum of temporal power. She closed her eyes, focusing on the thread that would lead her to Midgard. Time bent to her will, the universe shifting around her as she tore through the veils of reality.

When she opened her eyes again, she was no longer in the ruined empire. The air was crisp and cold, the sky above a muted gray. She stood at the edge of Lunathion, the sprawling metropolis stretching out before her, it's towers scraping the sky.

For a moment, Seraphis took it all in--the hum of life and magic, the scent of the sea carried on the breeze, the distant sounds of the city's chaos. It was an intricate web of power, alliances and fragile peace. She would tear through it all.

She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, her mind already calculating her next move. Bryce Quinlan might have been the one to kill the Asteri, but she wasn't foolish enough to think that her target would be that simple. Bryce wasn't alone--she had allies, strong ones, and it would take more than brute force to bring them all down.

No. She would need to be smarter, patient. The plan would unfold piece by piece, and by the time they realized what was happening, it would be too late. The city would be hers to dismantle, it's champions falling one by one.

Seraphis began to walk, blending into the crowd with ease, her hood low over her face. The streets were filled with fae, shifters, and ordinary citizens going about their lives, blissfully aware of the storm brewing in their midst.

This was no longer just about vengeance. It was about control--taking back what had been ripped ripped away from her. And Seraphis had no intention of stopping until the last remnants of these street rats were nothing more than dust.

Let the games begin.

Seraphis moved through the crowded streets of Lunathion like a shadow, unnoticed and undisturbed. She watched the people around her with detached curiosity, studying them, their movements, their habits. They lived in this world, so sure of their safety, of the new order that had come with the Asteri’s fall. Fools. 

The Asteri had been invincible for eons, and now that they were gone, these mortals believed themselves free. But freedom was an illusion, fragile as glass. Seraphis would shatter it.

Her power thrummed beneath her skin, the flow of time bending ever so slightly as she moved. With a mere thought, she could slow it to a crawl, watch the world freeze around her while she continued untouched. But now was not the time for such displays. Now was the time for observation, for patience.

She knew the city well, even if she had never set foot in it herself before now. Through the Asteri’s influence, she had seen Lunathion grow, its streets mapped out in her mind long before her arrival. The Asteri had ensured her knowledge was extensive, always keeping her one step ahead of their enemies. That was how she had operated—always in the shadows, just out of sight, but always present.

Bryce Quinlan was the key to it all. She had torn down the Asteri, and for that, she would suffer. But Bryce wasn’t the only one on her list. Hunt Athalar, Ruhn Danaan, and all the other lap dogs. All of them had played their part in toppling the only order Seraphis had ever known.

As she passed through an open market, Seraphis paused, her gaze locking onto a news holo-screen. The display flickered to life, showing a broadcast about the city’s newest heroes. Images of Bryce and her allies flashed across the screen, their faces well-known to everyone by now. The city had hailed them as saviors, but Seraphis only saw targets.

Her lips curled into a faint sneer. “Enjoy the limelight while it lasts,” she muttered under her breath. “It’ll all come crashing down soon enough.”

Without another glance, she moved on, slipping into an alleyway where she could plan her next steps in peace. She leaned against a brick wall, closing her eyes briefly as she reached out with her powers. Time was a river, flowing constantly, but she could see its branches, the possible futures that stretched out before her.

She saw herself confronting Bryce, the clash of power, the chaos that would unfold. But it was distant still—there were obstacles to remove first, pieces to shift into place. She saw glimpses of Bryce and her minions, saw them moving through their lives, unsuspecting. They had no idea she was here, that she was watching, waiting.

But something else stirred at the edges of her vision. Something… unfamiliar.

Seraphis frowned, her concentration breaking as she pulled back from the threads of time. There was a presence she hadn’t expected, a ripple she couldn’t quite place. Someone—or something—was watching her in return.

Her eyes snapped open, and she tensed, scanning her surroundings. The alley was empty, the market bustling just beyond, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being observed. Her hand moved instinctively to the blade at her hip, her muscles coiled for action.

“Show yourself,” she called softly, her voice low and dangerous.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, from the shadows at the far end of the alley, a figure emerged.

They were tall and cloaked, their face hidden beneath a deep hood. But unlike the ragged traveler she had encountered in the ruins, this one moved with purpose, with grace. There was a weight to their presence, a power that prickled at the edges of Seraphis’s awareness.

“Seraphis,” the figure said, their voice smooth and calm. “It’s been a long time.”

Seraphis’s eyes narrowed, her grip tightening on her blade. “Who are you?”

The figure took a step closer, their movements slow and deliberate. “You don’t remember me, do you? Perhaps that’s for the best.”

Her patience was wearing thin. She stepped forward, her power surging to the surface, the air around her thickening as time began to bend. “I won’t ask again.”

The figure paused, as if considering their next words. “I’m not here to fight you. In fact, I’m here to offer you something.”

Seraphis’s eyes darkened. “I’m not interested in offers.”

“Oh, I think you will be,” the figure said, a hint of amusement in their voice. “You’re here for revenge, yes? To make those who wronged the Asteri pay?”

Seraphis remained silent, her gaze cold.

The figure chuckled softly. “You may be powerful, Seraphis, but even you can’t take on this crew alone. They have allies, resources—things you can’t even begin to imagine. But I can help you. I know things. I know their weaknesses.”

Seraphis tilted her head slightly, intrigued despite herself. “And why would you help me?”

The figure’s hood shifted as if they were smiling beneath it. “Let’s just say I have my own score to settle with Bryce Quinlan and her friends. We share a common enemy.”

Seraphis studied them for a long moment, her instincts on high alert. She didn’t trust easily—especially not strangers who appeared out of nowhere offering help. Whoever they were, they were dangerous. But perhaps, in this case, dangerous could be useful.

Seraphis let her hand fall from the blade at her hip, though her guard remained up. “You speak as though you know much. And yet, you haven’t even shown me your face.”

The figure laughed softly, a low, melodic sound. “Trust isn’t something freely given, is it? But for now, let’s keep things this way. You’ll find out more when the time is right.”

Seraphis’s eyes narrowed, but before she could respond, the figure stepped back, already fading into the shadows. “Find me when you’ve made up your mind,” they called over their shoulder, their voice trailing off. “You know where to look.”

And with that, they were gone. Only the stillness of the alley remained, along with the faint hum of magic in the air.

Seraphis stood there, contemplating the encounter. Whoever the stranger was, they clearly knew more than they let on. If they could be trusted—or if she could control them—they might be the key to speeding up her plans. For now, she’d keep her distance but watch closely. 

She pushed herself away from the wall, stepping back into the crowd, disappearing once again into the flow of this metropolis life. Her focus sharpened. She didn’t need anyone’s help—yet. She would deal with Bryce and her gang in her own way. But there was something about that presence earlier. It lingered, unsettling her in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn't quite like anyone she'd known before.

Moving toward the heart of the city, Seraphis caught a flicker of movement to her left. Just a glance, quick, fleeting—but her gaze caught it in time. A tall figure, cloaked in shadows, moved through the market. For a split second, his profile appeared—just long enough for her to notice the tattoos curling up his arms, the way his eyes scanned the surroundings like a predator assessing the area.

Ruhn Danaan.

She didn’t know him. But as her gaze followed him for that brief moment, something stirred in her. A pull. It was faint, distant, almost unnoticeable. She clenched her jaw and forced it aside, refocusing her attention.

He turned a corner and vanished into the crowds, oblivious to her watchful eyes. 

Good. He should remain that way for now. Her target wasn’t him—not yet. She had bigger prey to hunt.

But as she moved away, that strange feeling lingered in the back of her mind.

Seraphis continued through bustling streets, her mind a storm of plans and calculations. She navigated the urban labyrinth with practiced ease, the weight of her mission pressing heavily on her shoulders. The city’s vibrant life was a stark contrast to the darkness she harbored within.

As she walked, she observed the people around her with a cold, analytical gaze. She noted their routines, their behaviors, and the various places that could serve her needs—resources, potential allies, or convenient places to remain hidden. The city had a pulse, a rhythm that she had to understand if she wanted to exploit its weaknesses.

Finally, she found a small, nondescript motel tucked away on a quieter street, away from the main thoroughfares. Its faded neon sign buzzed faintly in the dusk, and the building itself seemed to blend seamlessly into the backdrop of the city’s urban sprawl. It was perfect—low profile and unremarkable, a place where she could stay under the radar.

Seraphis pushed open the door to the motel with a practiced nonchalance, the bell above the entrance jingling softly as she stepped inside. The small lobby was dimly lit, and the air carried the faint, musty odor of old carpets and stale coffee. Behind the reception desk, a man sat hunched over a magazine, his eyes glancing up as she entered.

The man looked up, startled by her sudden appearance. He was in his mid-forties, with a graying beard and weary eyes. He quickly set the magazine aside, his expression shifting from mild curiosity to apprehension as he took in her commanding presence.

Seraphis walked up to the counter, her gaze sharp and unyielding. She placed a stack of cash—more than enough to cover the cost of a room—on the desk, her fingers lightly drumming on the surface as she spoke. “I need a room. Now.”

The man’s eyes widened as he took in the cash, and he gulped nervously. “Of course, ma’am. Right away.” He fumbled with a set of room keys, his hands trembling slightly as he tried to keep his composure.

Seraphis leaned closer, her voice a cold whisper. “I don’t want to be disturbed. Understand?”

The man nodded vigorously, his face pale. “Yes, yes, of course. Room 7. Just down the hall to the left.”

Without acknowledging him further, Seraphis took the key and turned to leave. The man watched her go, his relief palpable. As she walked down the narrow hallway, she heard him muttering under his breath, though she couldn’t make out the words. It was clear he was shaken, and that was exactly what she wanted.

Once she reached Room 7, Seraphis unlocked the door and stepped inside, closing it behind her with a decisive click. The room was small but adequate for her needs—a bed, a table, and a window overlooking the street below. She set her belongings on the table and began to prepare for her next steps, her mind already working through the plans she had laid out.

The motel’s ambiance, with its dull colors and low hum of activity, was perfect for laying low. The chaos outside was a useful cover, and she would use this time to strategize her moves carefully.

The hunt was just beginning and Midgard's fate hung in the balance.

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Taglist is open!

[d-z20]

The Ballad of Agatha Harkness

Ongoing - follow this post for updates

Summary: The night of Agatha Harkness's birth was anything but ordinary. Under the shroud of a lunar eclipse, magic crackled in the air as a formidable coven prepares for a moment that will change their legacy forever. In the shadowed heart of a forest clearing outside Salem, power and prophecy intertwine, weaving an eerie harmony with the haunting notes of a song carried from a nearby tavern. As the storm inside and outside the chamber grows, unseen eyes watch from the veil, drawn by the promise of a destiny both dangerous and extraordinary. - OR - The backstory of Agatha Harkness we were robbed of

A/N: Big sad that we didn’t get more Agatha (and Rio) backstory so I’m taking matters into my own hands and taking us back to the very beginning. It's going to be like so so gay dude

Any 18+ chapters are not essential to the plot and can be skipped

Click here for to find the story on AO3 | Master List

Navigation

Chapter 1: Birth Under Darkness

Chapter 2: Shadows of Youth

Chapter 3: Sorrow and Solace

Chapter 4: A Difference Punished

Chapter 5: The Night of Reckoning

Chapter 6: Whispers Made Flesh

Chapter 6.5: Before the Dawn (NSFW)

Chapter 7: In Her Shadow

Chapter 8: The Hunter's Moon/A Kiss With Death

Chapter 9: Death's Dilemma

Chapter 10: A Confrontation of Hearts

Chapter 10.5: Death and the Woman That Defied Her (NSFW)

Chapter 11: Power Plays

Chapter 12: Twisted Bonding

Chapter 13: The Confession of Death

Chapter 13.5: She Who Comes for Death (NSFW)

Chapter 14: Love in the Darkness

These chapters are coming soon:

Chapter 15: Shifting Tides

Chapter 16: Life and Death

Chapter 17: Two Years Of Blood

[winxanity-ii]

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Eileithyia rushed through the marble halls of Olympus, her breath coming in short, labored pants. A silver torch flickered in her grasp, the flames matching the intensity of her frantic heartbeats.

She was a striking figure—her dark hair tied beneath a kerchief, the embroidered peplos of pinkish-red flowed behind her like a stream. The wreath adorning her head shifted as she ran, her lips muttering prayers to herself—each word an urgent, unyielding reminder.

No, no, no... I'm going to be late, she thought, a fearful frown etched on her face.

Eileithyia had a purpose today—a life hung in the balance, and she was supposed to be there. As the goddess of childbirth, her presence was crucial.

The birth couldn't conclude without her.

She had seen centuries of births, had delivered souls into the harsh yet beautiful realm of humanity, and she had never been late.

Not once. Yet, this evening had not gone as planned.

Ate—the goddess of mischief, ruin, and destruction—had decided otherwise.

She had taken it upon herself to set a thousand small obstacles in Eileithyia's path—misplaced tools, disruptions among the mortals, inexplicable detours. A labyrinth of mischief that made her late—far later than she'd ever imagined possible.

Annoyances. Delays. Each a thread that tangled itself around Eileithyia's feet, keeping her from where she needed to be. The weight of her tardiness bore down on her chest, a gnawing fear taking root within her.

By the time she arrived on Earth, it was far too late.

She arrived to a quaint carriage, situated alone under a starlit sky. Its windows glowed softly in the night, and inside, she could hear the low murmurs of those gathered.

The humble room she entered was dark, the shadows deep, illuminated only by the glow of her torch. And at the center of it all sat a woman, her skin a warm sepia, her dark hair pulled away from her tear-streaked face.

"Nooo!" The woman sobbed, her face buried into a bundle of cloth that she cradled to her chest.

Eileithyia's heart sank as she ventured silently along the walls of the room, She observed the scene before her, her chest aching.

Eileithyia moved along the walls of the room, unseen and unheard, her presence cloaked from mortal eyes. Her heart broke for what she saw: the woman was crying, her face twisted in a sorrow that needed no words to explain.

Beside her sat a young man, his blond locks disheveled, his hands trembling as he gently held his wife.

"Aleka, my love...," he whispered, his voice a soft rasp that shattered the silence. He held her, and she clung to him as if she could drown her sorrow in his embrace.

"I-I can't... it hurts, Kairo," she whimpered, tears streaming freely, her body still trembling with pain, her lower body coated in blood.

The room was shrouded in somber silence, broken only by Aleka's soft cries and the muffled movements of the midwives as they cleaned up the remnants of the birth that had gone so terribly wrong.

The atmosphere weighed heavily with sorrow, grief, and the undeniable finality of death.

Eileithyia walked closer to the grieving parents, her heart aching with each step.

She peered down, her heart fracturing further at the sight of the stillborn child. The infant lay so small and delicate in her mother's arms, her tiny features illuminated by the flickering torchlight.

She was perfect—round cheeks, a delicate button nose, tiny lips formed in an innocent pout, like a rosebud just beginning to bloom.

A beautiful soul, taken far too soon, Eileithyia thought, her fingers reaching to trace the baby's soft cheek, committing every detail to memory.

With a soft hum, Eileithyia leaned over, her torch casting a glow that seemed to wrap around the infant like a final embrace; her fingers brushed Aleka's arm in a silent farewell before she lifted the child from her mother's grasp, cradling her in her arms.

Stepping back from the grieving parents, Eileithyia kept her gaze lowered, her steps quiet and deliberate. She knew her path—she would descend into the Underworld, where the souls of the dead found rest.

It wasn't fair, but it was life.

As she walked away, the parents' anguished cries softened, fading into the distance. The baby's body felt heavier in her arms as she began the descent, the air thickening around her with the scent of earth and ancient mist.

Before she could cross the threshold into the underworld, a servant burst into the room.

"Wait!"

Eileithyia paused, glancing over her shoulder to see a servant running towards the grieving parents; he was out of breath, his eyes wild with urgency, his voice stammering as he spoke.

In his hands, he held a small, glowing flower—its petals shimmering with an ethereal light, as though capturing the very essence of dawn within its delicate form.

"A-a prophecy," he gasped, as the midwives turned to face him, "from Delphi. This is a sacred flower, blessed by Apollo himself. It is said to have grown in Apollo's sacred groves, glowing with a golden light, and its essence has the power to bring a soul back from the edge of death. But it must be used swiftly—before the child is taken beyond the threshold of the Underworld!"

The servant's head turned, almost supernaturally, his gaze distant but unwavering. It was as though his eyes pierced the veil between mortal and divine, locking onto Eileithyia.

For a heartbeat, Eileithyia paused, her steps faltering as she felt the weight of his stare. It was almost as if he could see her—an ethereal figure, a goddess holding a child who had yet to fully cross into death.

She glanced down at the small bundle, her heart torn between sorrow and an instinctive sense of duty, before looking back up, determination setting into her expression; she would wait.

The father, Kairo, looked at the servant with suspicion, his face hardening. His voice was edged with both desperation and anger as he asked, "What is the cost? A life saved by the gods always comes with a price, doesn't it?"

The servant hesitated, his gaze flickering, clearly struggling with the burden of the answer. The tension in the room was palpable as the father repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "Tell me, what's the price? Or are you just here to give us false hope?"

Swallowing nervously, the servant finally spoke, his voice trembling. "The oracle says that the child will carry the weight of Apollo's favor—a debt that may come due at any time, with no guarantees of what the gods might ask."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the air almost too thick to breathe.

Aleka's gaze met Kairo's, her eyes filled with tears, wide with both fear and desperate hope. She looked at her husband, searching his face for guidance.

Kairo stared back at her, the love for his wife evident in the way his hardened features softened ever so slightly.

Kairo finally lowered his gaze, looking down at their stillborn daughter. She looked so peaceful, her tiny form held in her mother's embrace.

His throat tightened, the pain of the decision weighing on him, but he knew there was no choice—only a chance to give their daughter the life she deserved.

He nodded, his eyes filled with determination and love as he whispered, "Do it."

Aleka let out a shaky breath, her trembling voice joining his. "Yes... do it. Whatever the cost, we will bear it."

The midwives moved with urgency, retrieving all the materials needed for an impromptu salve. The flower's petals glowed with a gentle golden light, and its aroma filled the room with warmth and magic.

The servant cradled it reverently, before crushing it in his hands, the glowing powder falling into a small dish.

With practiced hands, the midwives mixed it into a poultice, and applied it gently to the baby's lips, her chest, and her tiny forehead.

For a long moment, nothing happened. The room was silent, the air thick with anticipation, Aleka and Kairo holding their breaths.

Eileithyia paused, her hands trembling, her eyes never leaving the babe in her arms.

And then—a miracle.

The baby in Eileithyia's arms squirmed, her eyes opening wide. The goddess stared down, her heart swelling with relief and wonder.

A small, smoky puff enveloped the baby, and before Eileithyia could react, the infant vanished from her arms.

Over the veil separating mortal and divine, a sharp, piercing cry filled the once-silent room. Aleka gasped, her head snapping up as the bundle in her arms moved, the baby's eyes open, her cries loud and full of life.

Through her sobs, Aleka cried out her daughter's name, "____" her voice trembling with joy as she held her daughter close. Kairo, too, let out a shaky breath, his eyes wide with disbelief, his hands moving to wrap around both his wife and child.

The baby was alive, saved by the flower—a favor of Apollo himself, bestowed only upon those whose fate had caught his eye.

Eileithyia watched quietly from the shadows, her heart heavy and hopeful at once.

She knew what this meant. This child was touched by the gods.

And the gods... the gods did not simply forget those who had been touched by their favor.

As the infant settled into her mother's embrace, Eileithyia whispered to herself, her voice a soft promise that disappeared into the night.

"May the gods be kind to you, child. For their favor is not always a blessing."

A/N: now, for my long-awaited fic! hope you guys enjoy what i have planned ❤️❤️😩, also if not known, this will be post-EPIC, so after odysseus returns...

[randomdragonfires]

If The Sun Ever Rises | Chapter 5

Chapter 5 | Symptom Of Your Touch

SUMMARY | After narrowly escaping the Battle Above God’s Eye, Prince Aemond is now a hidden fugitive within the very kingdom he once ruled. Driven by vengeance, he plans to usurp Aegon III and avenge his family. His rage-blinded path to the throne begins with getting rid of Cregan Stark and the men who support his nephew’s rule. Having nothing to lose, he recklessly kidnaps the Northerner’s betrothed - his own niece - hoping to lure him and his men out to fight.

Soon, Aemond finds that memories of a first love are strong, and that he cannot steel his heart against the woman he has loved all his life.

WARNINGS | 18+; Smut; Canon Divergence - Aemond lives (but barely); Violence; Stockholm Syndrome; Mental and Physical Trauma; Angst; Canon Incest; Manipulation; No Happy Endings In This House YAY; Slow burn, I think?

WORD COUNT | 3k

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

As the first light of dawn began to creep through the mouth of the cave, she stirred from her slumber, the chill of the morning air seeping into her bones. Nestled near the entrance, she could see the forest floor spread out before her, bathed in the soft light of the rising sun. Beyond, the calm river wound its way through the trees, its tranquil waters shimmering like liquid silver in the early morning light.

With a sigh, she rose to her feet and stepped out, the soft earth cool beneath her bare soles. The forest lay silent around her - muted hues and shifting shadows as the sun cast its golden rays through the tangled branches overhead. But despite the tranquil beauty of her surroundings, there was a tension in the air that she couldn't quite shake. She dropped a hand into the river to drink, water going through her throat smoother than she ever thought possible.

Looking around, her eyes desperately searched for her uncle’s lithe form - but she could not spot him. Where has he gone?

It amazed her how quickly her heart had become too heavy to bear in his absence. She may be physically worn and barely holding on, but it seemed that her heart had taken a worse beating. Her mind churned with conflicting emotions, memories of happier times warring with the bitter taste of betrayal and hurt that lingered on her tongue. She couldn't shake the image of him standing over her, his features twisted with silent, dangerous rage as he pressed the cold edge of a knife against her throat. The fear that had gripped her in that moment still clung to her like a shadow, whispering of dangers yet unseen.

But beneath the fear, there was something else, something she couldn't quite name. A flicker of longing, perhaps, or the ghost of a love she had thought long extinguished. Despite everything, she couldn't deny the pull he still held over her, an undeniable force that drew her back to him time and time again.

All he had done in her presence was plot against peace, her brother and her betrothed - and somehow, her heart refused to let her see him for anything apart from the man she fell hard and fast for before their carefully curated world had crumbled from underneath their feet.

Setting her thoughts aside with a heavy heart, she laid a hand onto her stomach as the hunger settled in. She then assumed that he’d gone away to hunt and must be nearby. She shouldn’t move from here, she knew - but her feet carried her on their own accord as she scanned the underbrush for any sign of his presence. The forest remained stubbornly silent, its secrets hidden beneath layers of foliage and fallen leaves. The scent of pine and damp earth filled her nostrils, mingling with the distant echoes of birdsong and rustling leaves as she pushed deeper into the heart of the forest.

As she treaded cautiously through the forest, her senses heightened by the eerie silence that surrounded her, she caught the faint sound of footsteps behind her. Heart pounding, she spun around, expecting to find Aemond emerging from the shadows, but there was nothing. Only the whisper of the wind through the trees and the rustle of leaves underfoot.

Wary now, she continued on her path, her steps quickening with each passing moment. But before she could react, a strong arm wrapped around her from behind, pulling her back against a solid chest. She gasped in shock, struggling against the unseen assailant's hold, but his grip was firm and unyielding.

Not Aemond. It is all her mind manages to register as the man’s hands tighten around her, his beard nauseatingly close to her neck as it poked.

Not Aemond. 

Not Aemond. 

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond-

“Let me go,” she choked.

Amusement colored his voice as he spoke, his breath hot against her ear. "Wandered away from where you're supposed to be. Have ye, Princess? Trying to escape?" Her heart hammered in her chest as she thrashed against his hold, her scream dying on her lips as he silenced her with a quick, brutal motion. A blade pressed against her throat, its edge biting into her skin, drawing a bead of blood that trickled down her neck.

Helplessness. The feeling makes her want to retch.

Terrified and disoriented, she allowed him to guide her, her thoughts consumed by the fear of what Aemond would do when he found her gone. As they walked, she couldn't help but notice the sack slung over the man's shoulder, hanging by his side. Her confusion deepened when she caught sight of the worn-down skirt peeking through the edge of the pack, alongside short swords, jerkins, fruit, and scrolls bearing the unmistakable seal of House Hightower.

Of course. If anyone would help Aemond, it would be his mother’s family. How did she not think of this before?

“Who are you?”

“Quiet, Princess. I’m under instructions to not hurt you, but I don’t have much patience for girls, eh?”

She pushed her back against him firmly in what could only be described as an act of defiance, but she felt his cock harden against the swell of her backside. Immediately, the disgust took over her and she gritted her teeth together as the man guided their steps. His touch made her squirm, and she hoped she’d find Aemond in time.

The sigil of House Hightower. This man will not attack her. 

But he was a man nonetheless. And she was a woman with no strength to summon and no one to help.

He won’t. He won’t. He won’t. Aemond will have his head.

He will. Won’t he?

As they approached the mouth of the cave once more, her eyes caught sight of a tall black horse tethered to a nearby tree, its powerful form standing sentinel in the dappled light filtering through the forest canopy. A sense of unease prickled at her skin as she wondered who could have left such a magnificent beast outside their secluded sanctuary. Was it this stranger? If he knew the cave, surely he had been here before?

Before she could ponder the mystery any further, the man behind her gave her a rough shove, propelling her forward into the comparative darkness of the cave. She stumbled, her hands reaching out to catch herself against the rough stone walls, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she struggled to regain her footing.

As she straightened up, her eyes adjusting to the dim light, she couldn't shake the feeling of dread that settled over her like a heavy shroud. Despite her circumstances, the cave never felt like a prison closing in around her - but it did now.

House Hightower. They’re surely part of this. As she steadied herself, she couldn't help but wonder what twisted game fate had set in motion, bringing her back to the one place she had hoped to escape.

The man’s gaze lingered on her, a predatory smile curling his lips as he took in her disheveled appearance. His eyes roved over her with a mixture of amusement and something darker, something that made her skin crawl. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to maintain her composure.

"You're quite the curious one, aren’t you Princess?" 

She closed her eyes, turning her head away from him in a desperate attempt to block out his leering stare. She could feel his presence, his eyes boring into her, and it made her feel exposed and vulnerable. The cave's shadows seemed to stretch and twist, enclosing her in a suffocating grip.

The sound of footsteps approaching the cave’s entrance made her heart skip a beat. Hope and fear tangled together in her chest as she opened her eyes. Aemond emerged from the shadows, his one remaining eye flashing with a cold, dangerous light.

“You weren’t to speak to her, Hugh.”

“I wouldn’t have, but your little chit insisted on a little expedition. Luckily, I was around to bring her back to safety… was I not, Princess?” She did not look at either man, but she felt both their stares bore into her from where they stood - one amused, and the other furious.

“Regardless, I’m here for a reason,” Hugh said, and pushed the sack into Aemond’s hands. “I’ll be outside, Your Grace.” And with that, he was gone.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded, but the fear of being manhandled by a stranger in a forest she did not know refused to dissipate. In all honesty however, she found it hard to be as shaken as she should have been - multiple instances of near death have a way of doing that, she supposed.

“Stay here. I need to speak with him. Will you listen to me?”

“Yes.” How could she say anything but?

She listened to Aemond's footsteps recede, accompanied by the other man's heavier tread. The silence that followed was oppressive, broken only by the distant murmur of the river and the rustling leaves outside the cave. She sat alone and the hours dragged by, daylight waning into twilight.

The cave felt stifling, its walls pressing in on her with a suffocating intensity. Desperate for a moment of respite, she ventured outside to the river, the moon casting a silver glow over the serene landscape. She slipped into the cool water, the sensation soothing her frayed nerves as she scrubbed away the remnants of her fear and uncertainty. Each stroke of the water against her skin felt like a balm, washing away the grime and the memories of the day's encounter. The cut from Hugh’s blade stung, but she couldn’t be bothered.

Returning to the cave, she noticed the dress inside the sack Hugh had left behind. Assuming it was for her, she shed her old damp clothes, letting it fall to the ground in a heap. The cool night air kissed her bare skin, sending a shiver down her spine as she dried herself with the rough fabric before slipping into it as quickly as she could to preserve what little was left of her modesty. The worn-out dress was unlike anything she’d ever worn before - old, ordinary and almost maidservant-like. It laced at the back, and she struggled to reach the ties, her fingers straining in vain. Frustration mounting, she gave up, her back left exposed to the moonlight filtering through the cave entrance.

And then she felt it. She felt the air change, a presence darkening the entrance of the cave. 

She could always sense him before she saw him.

Aemond's stealthy, catlike steps approached, and she watched the shadows move before he even touched her. The heat of him, so close yet not quite touching, was intoxicating. His presence was a heady mix of danger and desire, making her pulse quicken and her thoughts blur. Every inch of her skin seemed to come alive under his gaze, her senses heightened to a near-painful awareness. 

And then he touched her.

His fingers traced a line down her spine, sending a cascade of goosebumps across her skin. She held her breath, her body taut with anticipation and an unnameable yearning.

He’d brought her here against her free will. Abducted her, subjected her to hurt. She must not love him. She mustn't. 

Oh but she did. She did she did she did-

Aemond's hand traveled to her collarbone, then down the front of her neckline, his touch firm and possessive as he cupped her breast. Her breath hitched as his lips brushed the back of her neck, the warmth of his kiss a stark contrast to the cool night air. A shiver ran through her, her body responding to his touch despite all that they’d been through.

For what seemed like years, Aemond leaned in closer, his face buried in her damp hair as he inhaled deeply. His hand remained inside her dress, fingers splayed over her skin in a possessive grip that sent waves of heat radiating from where he touched her. The sensation was intoxicating, overwhelming her senses and drowning out the lingering fear and uncertainty.

The blood of the dragon runs hot, he had once said. Hot indeed.

"Aemond," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

He pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck, his lips trailing a line of fire down her skin. "You are mine," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "No one will ever take you from me."

She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t-

Before the war, their paths would never have crossed in such a way. Now, he was a fugitive, and she was betrothed - what future could they possibly have together?

Gathering her resolve, she lifted her head and looked into his eye with a determined gaze. 

To fall out, or give in?

“I’m going to ask you one last time,” she managed to breathe out. “When all this is over, what will you do with me?”

Aemond's expression softened as he traced his fingers over her lips, his touch both tender and contemplative. She watched him, her heart in her throat, as he seemed to weigh his words. Finally, he sighed, leaning in to kiss her with a tenderness that took her breath away, all while his eye housed a dilated pupil so dark that she thought she could count stars.

"You will be my queen," he said softly, the conviction in his voice making her heart skip a beat.

Wasn’t that what she’d wanted her entire life?

To fall out, or give in? To fall out, or give in? To fall out, or give in? To fall out, or give in? To fall out, or-

For a still moment, they simply looked at each other, the intensity of the connection between them almost tangible. The weight of their past and the uncertainty of their future hung in the air, but in that instant, none of it mattered. All she could see was Aemond, the boy she had once known, and the man he had become.

Damn it all. Damn it to all Seven Hells.

I want him. I love him.

Throwing caution to the wind, she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was both tentative and fervent. She gave in to her passing desires, letting them grow and burn her from the inside out. Her hands found their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the silken strands as she deepened the kiss, pouring all her longing and desperation into it.

In that moment, she forgot about Cregan, Aegon, and all the tangled webs of duty and betrayal. It was just the two of them, as it had always meant to be. The world outside the cave ceased to exist, and all that remained was the fire between them, consuming and all-encompassing.

Aemond responded with equal fervor, his hands roaming over her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. His kiss was hungry, filled with a need that matched her own.

His warmth seeped into her skin and ignited a fire in her veins. She barely dared to breathe as he pushed her into the cave wall and knelt down, his hands reaching for her bruised feet with a surprising gentleness. His touch was light, reverent almost, as he traced the contours of her ankles and then moved upward, lifting the skirts of her dress along. The fabric rustled softly, the sound mingling with the pounding of her heart.

His fingers brushed over her inner thighs, the sensation sending shivers of pleasure racing through her body. He was so close to her core, the anticipation making her breath hitch and her body tense with need. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the intoxicating blend of his touch and the heady sense of his dominance.

Aemond stood up, his breath warm against her ear before he captured her lips in a kiss and lifted her leg up to wrap around him. It was fierce, almost desperate, as if he were a man starved, finally tasting what he had long craved. She responded in kind, her hands fisting in his old linen shirt as she pulled him so close that neither knew where he ended and she began.

Between his kiss and his wandering hands, her head went light and hazy as she gave in to her desires. His fingers found their way to her slick folds and she gasped into his mouth - his touch both demanding and expertly gentle. The pressure built inside her with each stroke of his fingers pushing her closer to the edge.

Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her body arching into his touch as she felt the pleasure build, taut like a bowstring. His lips never left hers, their kiss deepening in intensity, a mirror of the growing storm within her. She could feel herself unraveling, every nerve ending alight with pleasure - the kind that she thought she’d never experience again.

How had she gone so far without him?

“Mine,” he said. His, his, his, his, his-

She always had been. In dreams and in desire.

With sped up ministrations, he sent her careening over the edge. Her peak crashed through her, a wave of ecstasy that left her trembling and breathless in his arms. Aemond held her tightly, his fingers still gently stroking her as she rode out the aftershocks of her release.

As she came down from the high, her body still shivered as she looked up at him. His one violet eye burned with a fierce, possessive light. He held her gaze as he brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean with deliberate slowness. She blushed deeply, the intimacy of the act making her pulse quicken again.

He pulled her closer, her head resting against his chest as he whispered, "Mine, mine, mine." The steady beat of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest calmed her, grounding her in the moment. “My queen.”

Inhaling the smell of him, she watched over his shoulder as the river sparkled in the moonlight. “Yours."

In the distance, a pained wolf howled in pursuit.

NO TAG LIST. Follow @randomdragonfics and turn on post notifs for fic updates!

A/N: This feels a bit like I've completely forgotten how to write lol. It's been a while, please be a little nice about it hehe thanks loves!

[jinnyeo]

不浄な結婚 UNHOLY MATRIMONY

Fem reader x Gojo x Geto x Sukuna x Choso

╰┈➤ They all had always been obsessed with you from the moment they laid their eyes on you.

Masterlist | Wattpad link

CHAPTER ONE

Chapter content: Mild abuse

WC: 4.2k

You were set to marry Naoya Zenin, the very man you despised your entire life. In the quietness of the Zenin household, the air was thick with tension as you sat in your new room, you were adorned in your finest kimono for your marriage.

From a young age, your parents had set to marry Naoya Zenin. He was always there, his presence looming over you like a dark cloud. Even as children he was obsessed with you, a fact that both disgusted and frightened you.

Born into a noble family, you were known as the most beautiful woman in Japan, desired by many. However, Naoya's obsession with you turned your life into a nightmare. He destroyed your reputation, tainted your purity, and ensured that no other man would want you.

You were trapped, with no choice but to marry him.

Now as the day of your wedding approached, the dread that filled your heart was suffocating. The thought of spending your life bound to a man you despised was almost too much to bear. Yet, you knew that this was your fate, chosen for you by your parents, leaving you with a future that seemed bleak and devoid of any happiness.

In a few minutes, you were going to be the wife of Naoya Zenin. Despite your hatred for him, you wanted to fulfil your parents dreams of being allies with the Zenin clan, you just wanted to make your parents happy for the first time. So with a heavy heart, you wiped away your tears with the forever of your kimono before putting down your wedding veil.

The wedding ceremony began, and you walked down the aisle, the red carpets contrasting with your kimono. As you reached the stairs, you took a seat in front of Naoya Zenin, unable to summon the courage to look up at him. The air was heavy with tension as he lifted your veil, revealing your face to him and sealing your fate in a marriage you never wanted.

"You look beautiful as ever Y/N" Naoya's voice cut through the music. His words only served to deepen the resentment and disgust you felt towards him.

Ignoring Naoya's comment, you reached for the cup of tea in front of you and handed it to him. Without a word, you then picked up your own cup and took a sip, the bitterness of the tea matching the bitterness in your heart.

With the tea ceremony complete, you were now officially married to Naoya Zenin and the new lady of the Zenin clan.

Throughout the entire wedding ceremony, you remained seated in your chair, a silent figure of a ruined beauty. You didn't gaze at anyone, nor did you speak a word. Ever since Naoya tainted your reputation, everyone had abandoned you, unwilling to associate with someone they deemed tainted and immoral. Left with no one by your side, you endured the ceremony in silence while watching everyone praise and cheer on your so called husband.

Finally, the ceremony came to an end, and as you stood to leave your mother approached your side. "Remember what I told you Y/N" She whispered, her voice lacking any empathy, it was cold and empty as always.

You turned to look at your mother, her face was stone-cold with no expression. You looked at her with pleading and sorrowful eyes that screamed the words of help, about to open your mouth to say something.

But then Naoya's butler came. "Lord Zenin is waiting for you in the wedding chambers" He said.

Before you left your mother had put her hand on your shoulder. "At least try to please your husband" She said.

Your mother had always been neglectful of you, treating you more like an obligation than a daughter. Her lack of care and concern had been constant in your life, leaving you feeling unloved and unseen.

You were always aware that you were unwanted by both your mother and father. Your mother was the first and legal wife of your father, your mother's repeated attempts to conceive a male heir failed, resulting in you- a mere woman and a burden to your family name. Your mother neglected you, wishing you were a male instead because this failure led your father to take on multiple concubines, distancing himself from your mother and you. Finally your father had succeeded in fathering three sons with his beloved concubine, forgetting about you and your mother. Your father had abandoned you and your mother within the family walls, you guys were nothing but mere ghosts with everyone ignoring the both of you.

The only success you could bring to your family was earning the title of the most beautiful woman and marrying into the Zenin clan. It was the only moment your father acknowledged you, recognizing you for your beauty and the advantage your beauty could take you. You had secured multiple marriage proposals from high ranking noble families. Your father had used your reputation to his advantage, he used you to climb up the ranks, he pretended to love and cherish you in front of others but in reality that was far from the truth because you were still and would always be nothing but a failure in his eyes.

Your father was more than happy to see you bring power to your family name. So, he was more than happy to marry you off to someone with high ranking like Naoya Zenin.

So now here you were, holding back tears as you walked towards the wedding chambers, multiple maids followed behind you. You knew not one of them would ever pledge their loyalty to you because they were the property of Naoya Zenin, they only and will ever follow your husbands orders, never yours.

Once you entered the wedding chambers, the maids immediately began to undress you, carefully removing your wedding kimono and the multiple hair ornaments that were in your hair. They stripped you down to your wedding night attire, all while brushing out your hair.

"Lord Zenin is here!" A voice yelled from outside the room, signaling Naoya's arrival. As you clenched down onto your inner cheek, you watched your maids all walk out, leaving you in the room alone. The sound of the door closing echoed in the silence, and you were left to face Naoya on your own.

You sat on the bed, watching Naoya walk in, a sense of dread settling over you. As he approached, you couldn't help but plead silently for this night to be over quickly.

To your surprise, you watched Naoya kneel down in front of you. He took your hand, kissing it gently. "Your so beautiful Y/N" He said, his actions had caught you off guard as he looked up at you with those slick green eyes you once fell for.

Naoya was a man full of arrogance and power, always ensuring that everyone knew their place beneath him. He was cocky and always abused his powers. He demanded respect and obedience from everyone below him, making sure that everyone kissed his feet to maintain his position of authority.

Yet here he was, Naoya Zenin kneeling in front of you.

"N-Naoya, are you drunk?" You stumbled over your words, unable to process the fact that he was kneeling in front of you. "Get up, you can't be seen like this" His behavior was so out of character that it left you questioning his motives, unsure of what to make of this unexpected gesture.

"Can I not worship my wife?" Naoya replied, his tone soft yet firm. His words caught you off guard.

There was silence in the room for a bit, the weight of Naoya's words hanging in the air between you.

"Can we just... get this night over and done with Naoya" You said, unable to meet his gaze.

"Why do you always think of me negatively Y/N?" Naoya said, his voice carrying a hint of sadness. Despite this, you ignored it, convinced that it was just another one of his manipulative games.

"How could you ask me something like that?" You snapped back, your brows furrowed in anger. The audacity of his question, the way he seemed to expect you to overlook all the pain and suffering he had caused you, infuriated you.

"All I've ever done was love you Y/N" He sighed, resting his head on your lap. You felt a mix of emotions, anger, frustration, and perhaps a hint of pity.

"You don't even know what love is" You replied, the words coming out sharper than intended.

"I've done everything for you Y/N" He said. "I bought you everything, the most expensive jewels, kimonos, and ornaments. I even built your own private estate here. But you still won't return my feelings and see me as your husband." His words were filled with frustration and hurt.

It was true that Naoya loved you. Throughout the years, he had stayed by your side, his love suffocating. However, what he didn't know was that you were disgusted by his love. His perception of love was different from yours. Naoya was obsessive, going to great lengths to ensure you would always be his, but in a way that felt like you were his hostage rather than loving.

He would send people to follow you, watch you, and report back to him. Naoya's obsession with you was evident even from a young age. When he found out he was betrothed to you at the mere age of 11, he spent seven years building your own private estate within the Zenin walls, all to your liking.

Naoya's obsession with you reached such heights that when you came of age and garnered the attention of many suitors, he grew incredibly jealous. To ensure that no one else could have you, he began spreading rumors that you had lost your virginity to him. These rumors tainted your reputation, causing men to stop courting you, believing you to be impure and immoral.

Left with no other options, you were forced into a marriage with Naoya, trapped with a man you despised.

"Please Y/N" Naoya begged, desperation evident in his voice. "Why can't you love me back?" His words were filled with a longing for something that seemed unattainable, a plea for a love that you could never return to him.

"You are a man who doesn't know what love is Naoya" You suddenly said, your voice firm. "You are not capable of loving me, you're just infatuated with the thought of me. You don't love me" Words began spilling out of you. Naoya's love was not true, it was a twisted obsession that left you feeling trapped and suffocated.

"No..." Naoya stood up, his expression desperate. "Is it the concubines I have? I'll get rid of them all for you" His offer was sincere, a last-ditch effort to win your affection. But you knew that even without the concubines, his love would remain the same. Selfish and possessive.

"You can take on as many concubines as you can, you can sleep with them as much as you want Naoya. But at the end of the day, no matter what good or bad thing you do towards me, my feelings for you will always stay the same. I can't love you Naoya, I can never love a man who ruined my life, I can't give you the love you want so please just give up on me!" You finally snapped, standing up to face him as he hovered above you. "We both know that this is just a political marriage Naoya, please don't bring love and feelings into this. I can't be a wife who loves you, but I can be a wife who can bear you a son, and that's all I can do for you"

Naoya's expression was a mix of shock and hurt, his eyes searching yours for any hint of a lie. But you stood your ground, your words final and resolute. The truth was painful, but it needed to be said.

"You...you" Naoya muttered, he then looked down at you with a dark and intense look in his eyes. It was almost like you flipped a switched in him and it terrified you.

Suddenly you felt his strong grip on your neck, you gasped in shock as Naoya's grip tightened around your neck, you struggled to breathe, fear and shock coursing through you. His eyes, once filled with adoration now bore into you with a cold and menacing glare. You tried to pry his hand away, but his strength was overpowering.

"Naoya....please!" You managed to gasp, your voice strained. But he remained silent, his expression unreadable as he continued to tighten his grip. Panic surged within you as you realized the gravity of the situation. This man, whom you were bound to by marriage, now held your life in his hands.

Just as you felt yourself starting to lose consciousness, Naoya suddenly released his grip, stepping back and letting you fall to the floor gasping for air. He stood over you with his chest heaving, a mix of anger and hurt evident in his eyes.

"You will love me sooner or later Y/N" Naoya said, he looked down at you with those dark and intense eyes. His words sent a shiver down your spine, his tone menacing and full of intent.

With that, Naoya turned and left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. As you lay on the ground you gulped, trying to catch your breath, your hand instinctively reaching for the spot on your neck where Naoya had choked you. Tears welled up in your eyes. No matter how hard you tried, you could never escape Naoya's obsessive grip.

You had spent your wedding night all alone on the floor. The night passed in a blur of tears and despair as you lay curled up on the ground.

As the morning light shone through the windows of your chambers, you sat in front of the mirror, your reflection stared back at you with that same sorrowful and dull face full of nothing but sadness. Your maids busied themselves around you, dressing you in a delicate floral kimono and adorning your hair with luxurious ornaments. They tried to conceal the redness and puffiness of your eyes with powder.

"Get the carriage ready" You suddenly said, ignoring your maids surprised looks, you got up from the chair and walked towards the door.

Two maids ended up accompanying you from behind. As you were about to reach the carriage, your eyes were drawn to a scene that froze you in place. There, hand in hand with another woman, was Naoya Zenin.

You brushed off the sight of Naoya Zenin with another woman. You reasoned that she might be one of his concubines, dressed in luxurious kimono befitting her status.

"Lady Zenin, please do not worry" A maid spoke up from behind you, her voice soft and comforting. "You are the lady of the house, she is just a mere concubine"

You turned around and were met with a young girl who couldn't have been older than 16. She stood before you, petite and fragile. "What's your name?" You asked.

"H-Hana" She stumbled over her words, clearly nervous in your presence. "I've been assigned to serve only you my lady"

You silently stared at Hana, her words echoing in your mind. Despite her seemingly innocent demeanor, you couldn't shake the feeling of distrust that lingered within you. Was she truly here to serve you, or was she merely a pawn in Naoya's game? The thought gnawed at you, leaving you wary of the young girl standing before you.

You took a deep breath, continuing to walk to the front gate. Yet the heavens seemed to be against you as you would have to walk past Naoya first. With a stoic demeanour, you walked past Naoya, ignoring him as best as you could. Just as you thought you had successfully avoided him, he called out your name.

"Y/N" His voice cut through the air, stopping you in your tracks. Despite your reluctance, you turned to face him.

You sighed. Stopping in your tracks, you turned around to meet Naoya's gaze, only also feel the intense lingering stare of the other woman wrapped in his arms.

"My lord" You said, bowing to Naoya.

"Where are you going?" Naoya's voice cut through the air, his tone unreadable.

"To the city centre" You replied, keeping your tone neutral. Avoiding Naoya's gaze, you hoped to end the conversation quickly and continue on your way.

"Oh, do you mind if Emi and I accompany you?" Naoya's voice dripped with mockery, and you could hear the chuckles of the woman beside him.

With a forced smile, you agreed to Naoya's request, though every fiber of your being resisted. "The more the merrier" You said, masking your true feelings.

"Great, I'll get my driver" Naoya said, releasing the woman beside him and then tightly grabbing your hand. You flinched at his touch, a shiver of discomfort running down your spine.

The whole ride was full of tension. You sat bundled up in the corner, the distant laughter of the woman who had snuggled up in between Naoya's arms echoing in your ears.

Finally, the carriage arrived at the city center. Naoya was the first to step out, and he reached his hand out to help you. However, you ignored his hand and stepped out of the carriage on your own. After you, Emi got out and ran to Naoya's side, seeking his attention once again.

"A wife who does not want to accompany her husband?" Naoya's voice was laced with amusement as he snickered. His words were like a knife, cutting through the already strained atmosphere between you.

"You have enough company by your side" You said, your tone calm but firm. You ignored Emi's gaze, refusing to be drawn into any drama within the walls. All you wanted was to fade into the background, to live your marriage in peace without the burden of Naoya's relationships weighing you down.

"And here I thought you would succumb to jealousy Naoya remarked, his tone mocking.

"Naoya, I'm here to buy gifts not to chatter with you" You sighed, trying to keep the conversation as brief as possible. The less interaction you had with Naoya, the better.

"Gifts? For whom?" Naoya raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued at the thought of you knowing anyone else apart from him.

"My father" You replied curtly.

"Your father? He already has the power he wants after you married me, what else could he possibly need?" Naoya replied. "Hm, I guess instead of a gift for your father, we should buy you jewels"

"Naoya... I already have so much" You sighed.

"No, my wife will only have the most expensive and fine jewels. It's never enough" Naoya insisted, his tone firm.

So, here you were, walking behind Naoya and Emi as they led you to reknown jewellery shop in the heart of Tokyo.

You felt out of place in the jewelry shop, surrounded by married couples in love while you stood there looking like a mere maid, awkwardly holding your own hand as Naoya and Emi held hands like teenagers in love.

"What would you like to get for your wife?" The shopkeeper said, completely ignoring you and looking towards Emi, assuming she was the wife. You felt invisible, a mere bystander in your own life.

Naoya suddenly took your hand by surprise, pushing Emi away to the side. "You remember the woman I bought all those jewels for last week?" He asked, looking at you with what seemed like love. But you ignored him, maintaining your stone gaze.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry, Lord Zenin. I thought that other lady was the new Lady of the Zenin House" Fhe shopkeeper apologized, realizing his mistake.

"Give me the most expensive necklace that would suit my Y/N. I only want my wife to wear the most lavish ones" Naoya instructed, his tone commanding.

Naoya let you go, turning his attention to the multiple pieces the shopkeeper showed him. Meanwhile, you gazed out, losing concentration, lost in your thoughts and emotions, feeling trapped in a life you never wanted.

You wished someone, anyone, could save you from this life, from the suffocating marriage and the emptiness that consumed you. But you knew deep down that there was no one coming to rescue you right?

You were gazing out, lost in your thoughts, when your attention snapped back at the sound of an unfamiliar voice from behind you. "Bring out Yuji" The voice said to the clerk.

You didn't know what came over you, but you suddenly turned your head to the side and were met with the sight of icy blue eyes and white hair.

His presence was like a beacon in the room, drawing everyone's attention. Dressed in the attire of a high-ranking noble, his aura screamed power and authority. His unique features, with his striking face and ethereal appearance, made him stand out as if he were an angel among mortals.

His gaze met yours, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to disappear. It was just the two of you, locked in a moment that felt suspended in time. You could see the curiosity in his eyes, the flicker of interest, but also something else, something you couldn't quite place.

As you felt someone touch your arm, your attention snapped back to Naoya. You turned to look at him, momentarily forgetting the presence of the man. Naoya's expression was unreadable, his eyes searching yours as if trying to decipher your thoughts.

"I called you 3 times Y/N" Naoya said.

"Forgive me, I must have been lost in thought" You replied, meeting Naoya's gaze with a forced smile.

"Isn't this necklace beautiful Y/N?" Naoya said, showing you the lavish necklace adorned with sapphire, shaped like a butterfly.

"Yes" You replied absentmindedly, your thoughts still lingering about the mystery man.

"Zenin" The familiar voice said from behind you. You could feel his presence strongly, close behind you. Inching your head slightly back, you looked up at him, your eyes immediately locking as you felt your heart flutter.

"Your... majesty..." Naoya gritted his teeth as he bowed to the male. You also stopped in your tracks and immediately turned towards the male bowing to him, not realizing the man behind you was possibly the emperor.

"What are you doing outside the palace... are you not afraid someone would try to assassinate you again?" Hatred was evident in Naoya's tone.

"Enough questions, Naoya. I'm glad I met you here" The man said, his eyes lingering on you as you gulped by his intense eyes. "So, this is the infamous Y/N Zenin?" His eyes never leaving your body.

"What do you want Gojo?" Naoya finally snapped, grabbing your arm and forcing you against his chest as you gasped.

"Wow, already dropping the honorifics?" The male laughed amusingly.

"Cut the bullshit Gojo. You never talk to me unless you want something," Naoya retorted, his grip tightening on you possessively.

"What? Are you afraid that I would take your beautiful wife?" He laughed. "You're not entirely wrong Naoya" He said with a smirk.

"Y-you" Naoya snapped, about to take out his katana, but Emi stopped him by throwing herself on him, hugging his chest tightly.

"Naoya don't! Not here" Emi screamed, gathering more attention as they all watched the scene unfold between the emperor and Zenin head.

"Naoya Zenin, you really are a shameless man" He mocked. "Naoya Zenin, you're a despicable man. I heard rumors that you managed to marry the beautiful yet immoral daughter of the L/N family. But here you are, taking advantage of your wife's love and taking in concubines" He said.

Naoya's eyes flashed with anger. "You bastard, how dare you speak like that in front of my wife" He spat out.

You felt cold hands cup your chin, gently lifting your face to meet his icy blue eyes. Your heart skipped a beat as your faces were mere inches apart.

"It's a shame to see you lose your purity over a man like Naoya" He said, his voice almost a whisper, sending chills down your spine. "You should have picked an emperor over a lord" He added, his tone cutting through the air like a blade as whispers began erupting in the store.

@jinnyeo

I’ll be publishing chapters rlly slow on tumblr, but wattpad is where I publish on.

[sunnie-angel]

Part 11: The Eavesdropper

part 10 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x f!reader

summary: no one really talks about how getting half of what you wanted is almost worse than nothing at all. as the killer haunting gotham starts closing in, you'll have to rely on jason anyway, no matter what it does to your poor heart

tags: off screen violence, reference to serial killer, reference to torture, implied (off screen) sexual violence, slight misogyny, implied sexual content

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 2.2k

a/n: surprise! @janybabyy left some wonderfully enthusiastic tags on the last update that hit my brain just right so now you have another chapter! we are getting darker with content, so please heed the tags and let me know if you think anything is missing

Sleeping with Jason Todd does not cure you of your feelings for him. If anything, it digs the knife in deeper. You know him now – the smell of his skin sleep-warm, the way his chin drops to his chest when he comes, how tender his voice can curl around your name –  only you don’t have any reason to keep your distance anymore. Can card your fingers through his curls in the privacy of your apartment, tangle your legs together, steal sweet mouthed kisses from him. You have Jason now, as much of him as he’ll let you have, and it hurts worse than having nothing at all. A slow acting poison that tastes sickeningly sweet as it slides down your throat burning everything it touches on the way down.

The pain of the distance he used to insist upon is nothing compared to the agony of his closeness. He whispers tender things into your ears he doesn’t mean, helps himself to your personal space with a casual cruelty, keeps being the friend (god you hate that word) that you’d fallen in love with only he won’t love you back.

It helps, a little, that there’s still this unseen line drawn between your friend – Jason – who you see in the daylight, and your fuckbuddy – Jay – that only appears when the door to your apartment is firmly closed. Jason is kind, brings you homemade lunches and takes your bag when he walks you home. He makes you laugh, bickers good naturedly with your friends, camps out in the library with you as long as you need. He pays attention to you, considers your words and the weight of them, makes sure your voice never goes unheard. Your friend Jason makes you feel like you could take on the world with the strength of his belief in you. If Jason makes you feel 10 feet tall, Jay does the opposite. Jay has you second guessing every move, every word, just in case you drive him away again. Has you wild eyed and sleepless over how you’re not good enough to love but good enough to fuck. Wondering if one day he’ll look at your desperate attempts to let him in – into your heart, into your bed, into your body – and see someone note good enough for that either. It’s not enough, nothing about you is enough, enough to make him stay. There’s a nebulous expiry date hanging over your head but you are too weak and greedy to do the smart thing and break it off.

You want to scream, to cry, to pound your fists against his stupidly broad chest and demand to know why. Why can he so easily disregard the fragile pieces of your heart underneath his boots when all of you is so ruthlessly consumed by him? It’s not fair. But then he looks at your with those smiling eyes and every angry part of you crumbles. Can almost hear the rubble as it hits the floor when he brushes your hair out of your face and false compliments fall from his tongue. Weak as you are, you steal whatever comfort from him you can.

Refuge, wherever you can find it, is necessary. If you weren’t almost being driven mad by your heartsickness, you would have lost yourself to fear ages ago. Three bodies now, girls that could be you, found in dark alleys. Maybe there’s more of them but the Red Hood has iced you out. Girls with eyes that look like yours, features you could describe with your eyes closed. Same height to them, same width to their hips. You can’t bear to look but you can’t bear not to know either. Jason won’t tell you the truth of it. So you force yourself to look. Check the news obsessively each morning, waiting with the most awful kind of terror from any kind of safety update from the university (too many bodies too close to campus – they have to say something even if it’s only to cover their asses).

You can feel the stares like a physical thing every time a body drops. Whispers behind hands as strangers compare you to the face on their screens. Everyone sizing you up, sizing up your potential to be found dead the next week. It doesn’t matter how many bottles of mace you carry or even that you’ve got one of Gotham’s own crime lords dogging your steps. The judgement lays heavy on you, breaths down your neck until the possibility of it is impossible to ignore. Dead corpse still walking. Only a matter of time before the grave calls you home but not before one of the most dehumanizing deaths the city has ever crafted. You can see it in the way your friends won’t look you in the eyes after every new article comes out. In the way that Dannika holds your hand tight and Lina doesn’t smile so widely anymore. It’s choking, this fear. Your cuticles are a mess and there’s a smooth spot on the back of your pearl pendant from all the times you’ve nervously rubbed it for comfort. Gotham doesn’t feel like home anymore, the alleys and side streets suddenly looming tall to suffocate you.

The GCPD is both horribly inept and terribly corrupt because it doesn’t take long before details of the murders start trickling out to the press in a steady stream. Always taken on a Friday evening. Bodies found early Sunday by garbage collectors. Beaten. Tortured. Mutilated. Violated. The list of adjectives drags on, swimming before your nauseated eyes. It’s not until the fifth girl is found that the last detail is leaked: all of them, every one, had made a single phone call from an unknown number in the early hours of Saturday morning to their loved ones. What it was that they discussed is unclear, but the news anchors all agree it was not a call they made by choice.

The screen fades in and out of focus as you read that particularly gruesome detail, heart breaking in to pieces at the thought of those poor girls’ last words. The ones whose calls got declined out of fear of a scam, the ones whose messages went straight to voicemail because of the early hour. Hysterically, you begin to think about who your phone call would be to. Your parents? You haven’t been on the best terms with them in years, been ignoring your mother’s calls lately because her fear is contagious. One of your friends then?  Jason? But a random murderer wouldn’t know those fine details, would probably just have you pick a number at random, whoever they thought would hurt the most at hearing your voice.

A heavy hand on your shoulder shakes you out of your spiralling thoughts.

“Hey,” Jason says and suddenly you can breathe again. “You won’t be one of them, so stop thinkin’ about the phone calls, yeah?”

You nod – a lie – and chew at your lip. A few months ago your only concern was finishing out the year and getting in to grad school. Now, you don’t know that you’ll ever feel safe again.

Campus remains relatively dead, people too afraid that the killer might deviate from his well established patterns and suddenly attack them at random. You scoff when you hear a couple of freshman discussing it; they aren’t anywhere near the killer’s type, not like you are. But for you, it’s a choice between sitting at home and staring at the walls, jumping every time the pipes rattle or a neighbour slams a door too loudly while your sanity slowly unravels, or this. Putting in extra hours as Professor Llewellyn’s research assistant, haunting the common spaces and libraries for the company of strangers, killing the time that stretches out between the brief moments you can spend with your friends.

You’re early on this particular Wednesday, desperate to get out of the apartment. Danika and Will are the only other ones haunting the student commons with you, Rei and Lina conspicuously absent. With a pang, you try to ignore the awkward silence that lives where Jason should be beside you. It’s quiet, save for the scratching of highlighters and the rushed clacking of keyboard keys as you work. Will’s not the best conversational partner and Dannika seems preoccupied by something. You’re so absorbed by your work that you don’t notice the stranger standing at the end of the table until he clears his throat. You jump and Dannika strangles a scream, knocking her notebook onto the ground. The man stoops to pick it up.

“Sorry,” he says with a grin that should be charming but your hackles are raised. “Didn’t mean to scare you all, I was just looking for my brother Jason. I was told that he’s usually here on Wednesdays?” He slides the notebook back to Dannika and she snatches it up to her chest.

Surreptitiously you send a text off to Jason under the table, unwilling to look away and let your guard down.

You: there’s a stranger here with a creepy smile that’s too wide for his face, says he’s your brother

Jason: that’s Dick

You sag with relief at the confirmation. Dannika takes her cue from you and starts to look at the man (Dick?) with less suspicion and more blatant appreciation. He simply beams under her stare.

Jason: wait please tell me you told him you think his smile is creepy

You: yeah I’m not doing not insulting your brother this soon after meeting him

“So,” Dick interrupts, still smiling that suspiciously happy smile. “Is he coming any time soon? I’d love to meet all of his friends if he’s gonna be a while.”

Will snorts at that you hold back the urge to stomp on his toes.

You: wants to know what he should do

Jason: tell him to go buy chilli dogs at the Batburger and I’ll meet him there

“Jay says to buy him a chilli dog from Batburger and he’ll meet you at the stand,” you say, jutting your chin out to indicate the order window on the other side of the commons.

“Jay, huh?” Dick says consideringly and you swear in your head.

Fuck. You really should know better by now to keep them separate. Dick shrugs and lopes off. The unfair grace must be genetic, you decide.

“So Jay, huh?” Dannika echoes, and you swear again.

“He doesn’t actually like to be called that,” you demure, frantically trying to dig yourself out of this hole before Jason actually does show up.

She turns to you, wraps a hand gently around your wrist where it lays on the table.

“No, no I’m just glad that you two made up. You both seem a lot less awkward around each other now. I’m just happy to see you less unhappy.” Her words are sweet but you can’t help but to clamp down on the wild giggle bubbling up in your throat. Less unhappy. Right.

“Yeah because she’s obviously fucking him,” Will interjects, derailing your train of thought. You slam your laptop closed.

“Oh fuck you too,” you hiss out through bared teeth. “You think guys and girls can’t be friends without sex? Newsflash Will, we’re supposed to be friends and I’d never in a million years fuck you.”

You grab your bag and storm off, shame and anger sparking in your chest and clawing their way up your throat.

“You know, it’s really rude to make comments about someone’s sex life or lack of one...” you hear a voice that sounds like Dick start to say.

You stumble out into the blinding whiteness of the snowy outdoors, squinting at the sudden change in light. Your coat is still slung over your arm but you don’t feel the bite of the cold yet, chest still heaving as an emotion you try not to look at too hard bubbles up inside of you. Why his words had landed so badly with you, well that’s not something you want to cry over in public before you can put yourself back together without anyone seeing. The frozen air cuts open your lungs with each heaving inhale but it grounds you, pulls you out of your racing thoughts and into the present moment.

“Hey!” Dannika puffs out, running into the cold morning air after you. “Wait up!” She bends in half, hands resting on her knees as she tries to catch her breath. She groans and stretches out her lower back, grinning at you ruefully. “Let’s find somewhere else for the rest of today. Will was so far out of fucking line. He’s been such a little asshole ever since he broke his wrist and I know we’re supposed to be understanding that he’s grumpy from the pain but that was just him being mean and neither of us need to put up with that shit.”

“You’re not gonna ask if it’s true?” you ask her, starring at the dirty snow on the ground.

“Well if it was true and you didn’t tell me, I’d assume you had a good reason. And if you didn’t have a good reason but were worried I was gonna judge you, I wouldn’t. But those are all hypotheticals of course.” She says it so kindly that you can feel the first pinpricks of tears in your eyes.

“One of the library group study rooms should be open, let’s go snag one,” you settle on instead of the secret that’s been burning a hole through your tongue.

“Sure! Oh lemme text Jason real quick to let him know we changed spots for today,” she agrees easily and you let out a sigh of relief.

No, sleeping with Jason Todd hasn’t cured any of your feelings for him.

'part 12

[augiewrites]

"secret admirer" - dead poets society (part 4)

summary: y/n finds yet another note in their desk and sees something interesting on a late night walk home from the library

pairing: anonymous!dead poet x gender neutral reader

word count : 1.1k

previous | next

a/n: i think this is my favorite chapter so far—thanks for all the love on this story :)

Y/N didn’t receive another letter that week. Doubt was swirling in their mind—what if their admirer had lost interest? Maybe they met a real, feasible person and forgot about them. The endless swirl of scenarios was eating them alive. They needed a distraction, but they knew it wouldn’t do much for them. Their mind bounced straight back to their poet during any moment of silence.

They had taken Meeks and Pitts up on their offer to study with them, and they found themselves growing increasingly fond of the two boys. Y/N would be elated if their poet turned out to be anything like them.

Passion was a rare commodity at Welton, and dissent was especially hard to come by. Y/N had been beginning to feel as though they were the only person unhappy with being forced into conformity—or, at least, the only person willing to vocalize their discontent.

That changed as they got to know Meeks, Pitts, and, in turn, the random assortment of boys that popped in during these study sessions. They had forgotten how good it felt to speak their mind to non judgmental ears. Hell, even the ever-bashful Todd Anderson was slowly coming out of his shell in their presence.

The only issue, of course, was Charlie Dalton.

There was just something about the boy that got under their skin.

The line between confidence and arrogance was extremely thin, and Charlie was constantly teetering along that threshold. 

If there were a social hierarchy within the group, Charlie was at the top of it—and the boy was well aware. The other boys were often onlooking Charlie’s antics with a noticeable level of admiration.

Y/N knew that there had to be another layer behind—far behind—the boy’s often pompous attitude. After all, at every teenager’s core is a half-child that wants nothing more than to feel a sense of belonging. A level of vulnerability that most teenage boys don’t want being observed.

A level of vulnerability that Y/N didn’t stick around long enough to see in Charlie Dalton.

The boy in question was currently reciting an excerpt from Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew.

“Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,

Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,

But that our soft conditions and our hearts

Should well agree with our external parts?”

Y/N couldn’t help but think that his voice was quite nice—velvety and assured.

They shook the thought from their mind and opened up their desk. A gasp was suppressed at the sight of a neatly folded piece of stationary atop their mess.

Eager hands unfolded the parchment as discreetly as possible.

Darling Y/N,

Did you know that you get this adorable wrinkle between your eyebrows when you’re frustrated? I love seeing it almost as much as the dimple of your cheek when you smile.

In shadows cast by moonlight's gentle gleam, A heart entwined in love's elusive dream. Captivated by a smile so divine, Another's joy, a radiant sign.

Each curve and grace, a sunlit dance, Ignites a flame, a tender trance. In stolen glances, a world unfolds, Where every story of passion is told.

A symphony in the heart's soft sigh, A love that blossoms, soaring high. With every grin, a melody sweet, Two souls in rhythm, destined to meet. I hope to see that smile again soon.

x, Yours.

Y/N’s entire body was buzzing as they flipped to a blank page of their notebook.

In crowds unknown, a face concealed, Yet a whispering heart, its fate revealed. Mystery veils, like a silent star, In the vast unknown, I find you, afar.

No words exchanged, no history traced, Yet in your presence, a love embraced. Falling in realms of the unseen,  An enchantment, profound and serene.

Y/N ripped the page out and left it on top of the clutter within their desk. They didn’t look back once when the class was dismissed.

_________________________________________

“We should probably head back to the dorms if we don’t want to get reamed for missing bed checks.”

Y/N and Meeks were the only members of their study group left conscious. Charlie was long asleep—spread across the seats of four chairs.

“That’s too bad,” Y/N grinned, “this is the first time I’m actually enjoying Dalton’s company.”

“You always enjoy my company, Y/N,” Charlie muttered with his eyes still shut, “don’t lie to poor Steven.”

“Whatever helps you rest easy.”

Meeks just shook his head. the ghost of an amused smile threatening his lips, “you live in the East wing, right? One of us should walk with you.”

“I think I’ll survive, Meeks,” Y/N said on a laugh, “you need to be getting back to tuck Pitts in, anyway.”

The two exchanged good nights and good lucks on the Latin oral the next day before Y/N left Meeks in charge of rousing Charlie.

_________________________________________

It was uncharacteristically warm for late January, and Y/N decided to take the slightly longer scenic route back to their dorm. They would happily be chastised for getting back slightly after curfew if it meant they were able to be outside for a while and still be able to feel all their limbs.

A hushed giggle floated across the courtyard, snapping Y/N out of their thoughts. They spotted a familiar head of shaggy brown hair accompanied by another with perfectly curled blonde locks.

“Knox, really,” another giggle, “I have to go.”

“C’mon, Chris. Just a couple more minu—” his head snapped toward the sound of Y/N’s soft footsteps. The panic in his expression quickly melted into relief and a sly smile.

“Hurry, Chris! Hide,” he gently pushed the girl behind him, “we have a spy on our hands.”

Y/N stuck their hands in their coat pockets, feeling as though they were the one caught instead of the couple before them.

“Just an innocent bystander, I swear,” Y/N shot them a sheepish smile.

Chris nudged Knox, looking much more anxious than the boy.

He startled, glancing between Chris and Y/N with a soft, “oh.”

“Chris, this is Y/N—a friend of the poets,” poets? “Y/N, this is Chris, my girlfr—”

“His friend,” Chris interrupted, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

Knox held a hand over his heart, feigning offense, “she’s just in denial. Girlfriend.”

“Denial is probably the safest option here. Smart woman,” Y/N smirked at the boy, “I should be getting back. I’ll let you two…finish up here.”

Y/N barely registered the pair’s goodbyes as they walked away. Their thoughts were in overdrive.

I guess it’s not Knox. I should have realized that sooner. I guess that pathetic poem really wooed Chris. Y/N laughed lightly to themselves. What did he mean, “a friend of the poets”? 

The more Y/N found out, the more confusing it all felt.

~~~

part five

[hellfirecvnt]

Light my Fire

Lee Russell x Fem!Reader pt. 5

Summary: Your plan goes awry. Tensions are high. What's everybody gonna do about it? Ooh.

Warnings: sex, edging, creampie, quickie, crime makes him horny, low-key fluff at the end (idk how to end stories????)

Notes: EW this chapter is so short, but it's only bc this is the end of this series and I'm about to do another Lee Russell series I'm really excited about. Stay tuned!

Read part one here. // Part two here. // Part three here. // Part four here.

The night air is brisk as you park your car in the far-off lot behind the school. You're swift and careful sneaking inside, unseen. You beeline straight for the principal's office where Neal and Lee wait for you.

"'Bout fuckin' time, Y/L/N," Gamby barks, holding the door for you and scanning the surroundings as if you've been followed. You haven't. That's just how he is.

"Shut up, I forgot we were even doing this until Lee texted me."

"Both of you shut up, this is serious," Lee takes a seat at the desk and Gamby enviously joins him on the other side as if an audience of just you is enough to require them to validate their seniority.

"Why're you so serious? We're just scaring her a little," you laugh, unable to imagine anything going wrong with a plan that's meant to knock a vase or two over.

"Might have something to do with it being a felony." Neal arches his brows.

"You know what else is a felony? Doing hallucinogens on the school campus during a football game. You're already in it, Gamby. I hope you look good in orange," you taunt, earning a pair of narrow eyes from him.

"Will you two fuck sticks shut up for five goddamn seconds?!" Lee bursts, his voice hitting that cracked note it does when he's stressed. You and Gamby look at each other, confused. It seems the two of you have underestimated how much pressure Lee is holding right now.

"Damn, dude. It's alright, calm down." You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Let's just get in there and get out. Easy." Your pep talk seems to do the trick and all three of you file out to the bus lanes to hop in a rented white van.

The trip is silent and eerily long. You and Neal exchange tense glances, but Lee stays stone-focused on the road. He's not even driving, Gamby is. Lee's just unwavering his attention from the asphalt, deep in thought, you assume.

The van pulls up to a house in a small neighborhood, stopping out front. It's a little bold for your tastes, but you don't plan to be in there long anyways.

"Oh shit, is this where she lives?" You ask.

“What a shit-hole.” Neal adds, laughing.

"This is my house, motherfucker." Lee looks at him with wide, angry eyes. "It’s a mid-century sea ranch!"

"It's a... It's a great sea ranch, Lee." You attempt to talk down his stress, but he just shakes his head as he climbs out of the van, promising to be back after he grabs something from inside. When he comes back, his hands seem empty, but you don't question it.

The act continues and Neal pulls the large rental van into the nearby cul-de-sac and parks, turning off the headlights. You stare out the window, scanning for any movement inside the house.

"Looks still to me," you whisper.

"She's gonna be at that game all night," Neal mumbles, unbuckling his seatbelt.

The three of you pile out of the van quietly and make your way up to her back porch. Neal begins to wrap his tie around his fist.

"Are you seriously gonna punch out that window?" You ask, concerned about the risk factor. Gamby only raises his eyebrows.

"Oh, fuck you. No you're not," Lee's laughter is cut off by the shattering sound of a small window in Dr. Brown's back door.

"Oh, shit!" You and Lee exclaim at the same time.

"Bitches first." Neal holds out his arm, welcoming Lee inside. The three of you scramble to find things of value to knock around and stage a thorough break-in. Suddenly, you hear the sound of a loud crash.

"A little much, Lee, don't you think?" You hiss, annoyed by the monstrous volume of the crash.

"Gamby broke the fuckin' window," he protests.

"Yeah, so we could get in. It's a fake robbery, you think they're not gonna break a fucking window?" Neal's sass only amplifies Lee's.

"Darlin', smash this mug and we'll leave right now, I promise." The look on his face tells you loud and clear that he's lying to you.

"You're a lying piece of shit, Mr. Russell," you huff and he shrugs with a "shy" grin.

"And yet, you're gonna do whatever I say, aren't you?" His eyes twinkle and you know he's right. Your expression is one of defiance as you snatch the mug from his hands and slam it on the ground. The tiny shards of porcelain explode in every direction against the polished hardwood floor.

"Well, look at you, hardened criminal." Lee grins, breaking out into a damn near rampage. Gamby seems to have caught whatever enraged bug bit Lee and the two of them tear through the house like maniacs.

"Oh, no..." You stare in horror as the two buffoons tear Belinda's home to shreds. You're watching Neal in horror as he wrecks her china cabinet. The only thing that can tear your eyes away from the mess is the unmistakable stench of burning synthetic fabric. "Lee?!"

"Don't look at me like that, sweetheart. We need her gone," he says with an emotionless face. He tilts his head to the side, still looking at you as the flames get higher. It's like he's someone else for just a second, and while you know you should be off-put and even scared, you can't stand how much you want him right now. The two of you are frozen in a stare-off as the house fills with toxic black smoke. Gamby's yelling something, but everything's muffled as all your attention belongs to Lee.

"Y/N, come on!" He screams one more time before cursing aloud and grabbing your arm. Neal drags you out of the burning abode and shoves you out the back door onto the lawn where you land with a thud, only then being knocked out of your lusty trance. Gamby hacks and coughs from the amount of smoke that filled his lungs while he waited for you to get out of the house.

"Neal?! What the fuck? Where's Lee?" You scramble to your feet, blackened by the tarish nature of the soot. You look around frantically for your third other superior, but he's nowhere to be found. "Gamby!" You snap at him, demanding answers.

"Hey, motherfucker. Let's not scream each other's names out here while the place is burning down," Lee appears from the bushes like some sort of Halloween trick. You roll your eyes, relieved to see him.

"Let's get the fuck out of here!" You whisper harshly, leading the men to the van. The drive back to the school is silent. You're unsure what everyone else is feeling now that the heat of the moment has cooled. Have you all gone too far? Did anyone see you? Your mind races with anxiety. You've just been an accessory to arson just because the man behind the lighter looks a little too good in his silly patterned suits.

The van pulls into the school lot and Gamby drops the two of you off by your cars.

"I'm gonna... Get this thing off the road. Return it tomorrow." Neal drives off, leaving the two of you alone in the parking lot. Mr. Gamby is clearly distressed and dissociating from the reality of what he was just a part of, but Lee? Lee's calm. More calm than you've ever seen him. So calm, you wonder if it's an act or if he truly did find that much release and relaxation in destroying another person's home for his own gain. It's disgusting behavior, and the way he's carrying it makes your knees weak.

Lee Russell looks you up and down with a flat face. His lack of readability makes you nervous and excited. His eyes trail back up your body and to your eyes, inviting you to follow him inside the dark, locked school. You can barely stifle an excited squeal as you trail happily behind him. He's uncharacteristically silent, bubbling at the brim with adrenaline and desire. The feeling of conquering his enemy is almost as orgasmic as fucking you senseless in the principal's office.

He opens the door and you giddily trot inside, taken aback by how dark it is in here at night. You're attempting to let your eyes adjust when you hear the door close and feel Lee's nimble, needy hands groping roughly at your chest from behind.

"You looked a little scared back there, darlin'." He kisses and nips at your neck, whispering with warm breath in your ear.

"Lee, we could get in so much trouble," you speak through small gasps.

"But we won't," he chuckles against your skin, tightening his grip around your breasts. "I'm fucking invincible." He suddenly spins you around, almost like dancing, before he guides you backward toward the desk, laying you back on it so he can lift your legs around his waist. Neither of you pays attention to any of the small ornaments and stationary that fall off in the process.

He crashes his soft, balmed lips against yours, moving his head back and forth in sync with yours. It was unclear to you until now how touch-starved you were before he had his hands on you so roughly, never mind having him only a few days ago.

"Lee-" you huff his name, hoping to speed this heated affair along so you can feel him inside you.

"Shh, sweetheart," he whispers, placing a thumb on your pouting lips. "Let me savor this." He tilts his head back, hands gripping your waist, pulling your clothed cunt to his growing erection straining against his slacks. You lie back on the desk, accepting each of his sexual prods and squeezes. Primal groans of pleasure rumble lowly from his chest as he slides his palms up and down your body, studying every inch of you, mesmerized.

It feels like he's toying with you forever. Pressing your breasts together and slipping his hands under your bra. He catches you off guard when he finally slips a hand up your skirt and skillfully slips your lace and silk panties off your legs. You gasp, suddenly fully exposed to him yet again.

"I really don't give a shit if they bring in a new principal as long as I've got a claim on this tight fucking pussy of yours," he sighs, jaw hanging slack as he slips a well-manicured finger up and down your throbbing clit. "Fuckin' Christ."

You release a string of hearty moans, desperate for more and more. He smiles a big, white smile as he plays you like an instrument, filling the room with the sounds of your pleasure. Lee's lips part as he focuses intently on his fingers scissoring inside you, bringing you closer and closer to your climax. Just as it seems you're going to give, he pulls away without so much as a kiss.

"Lee!" You whine, quickly replacing his fingers with your own. That's not part of his plan, though. He grabs your wrists and holds them in front of you, staring into your face in the very dimly lit office room. He holds your wrists in place and watches your shifting, desperate face. "Please!" You arch your back, attempting to run against him like you're in heat, but he doesn't let you reach. Your climax quickly dwindles away and your knees feel like they're made of gelatin.

"Shhh," he whispers, but it turns into a taunting chuckle. He's laughing at you. Laughing at the puddle of a woman you turn into for him. He truly feels invincible. "Do you want it, sweetheart?" He asks with the same emotionless face and tilted head he had in Belinda's burning home.

"I need it, Lee. Please," you moan, hoping so badly this is finally it. Lee reaches for his belt and unfastens the metal and leather painstakingly slowly.

"God, look at you, begging for me to fuck you after what you helped me do." He frees his throbbing cock, positioning his pre-cum soaked tip at your awaiting cunt. He hovers there, hanging his mouth open and tilting his chin up as he looks down at you, taunting. "So close..."

You do all you can to meet him halfway, to feel him inside you, and to dismiss this erotic display of dominance. Lee slaps the head against your sensitive slit a few times, collecting your arousal with his before sinking his tip into you. You release a filthy, guttural moan that makes him shudder as he slips in all the way to his hilt.

"Fucking, god damn it," he groans. "All I've been fucking thinking about..." He slowly slides out, nearly withdrawing completely, but then he slams his hips against yours. This brutal thrust defines his rhythm and he begins to fuck you like he hates you. His bucking hips slam into you hard and fast as ravenous moans pour from his lips.

"You're... Fucking insane," you giggle between rough thrusts.

"This pussy's fucking insane." Lee quickens his pace, throwing his head back in ecstasy. He quickly removes himself from you, only to yank you off the desk and spin you around. Once you're facing the desk, he bends you over and roughly lifts your pencil skirt to expose your round ass. He repositions himself at your pussy and slams his way in. The room is an echo chamber of the two of you expressing your pleasure through loud, sensual moans.

"Lee!" You gasp, arching your back to better present yourself to him. He fucks rhythmically as you're quickly pushed closer and closer to your orgasm.

"Come on, darlin'," he whispers, chasing his own high. After a few more minutes, a vulnerable groan escapes Lee's lips, and the two of you climax at nearly the same time. He finishes inside you as you flood his desk and pants. The two of you hold still for a moment before he slowly slips out of your sensitive entrance and allows the rest of the mixture of cum to pour out of you.

"Lee... That was-"

"You're coming home with me tonight, Y/N." Lee smiles warmly, almost as if he's waiting for you to accept or decline. You're still fuzzy-brained and dripping with the evidence of his violations.

"Oh, yeah. I'd, um, love to," you accept shyly, confused and aroused by this new genre of dominance from him. Lee stands next to you where you lie face down on his desk, knees buckled beneath you. He gently strokes your hair as he speaks.

"I don't wanna go scaring you off or anything, but" he pulls your hair away from your face. "We don't have to call this anything-"

"I wanna call it something," you say, quickly. He grins.

"I don't care what you wanna call it. I'm calling you mine."

End.

•••••

Taglist: @therest-stillunwritten // @its-in-the-woods // @justme12200 // @sixx-writes // @littlenosoul // @itsyellow // @blackwoodtree // @hiddlebatchedloki // @ivyinthesun // @alastorsw1f3 // @sexy-monster-fucker // @writtenbyhollywood //

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Eight-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 Theós fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviours, Jealousy, Possessive Behaviours, Manipulation, Angst, Kissing, Sadism, Grinding.

***FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

Monday dawned, heralding the return to the comforting rhythm of routine. It was the day that marked the return to navigating through a series of classes, where the majority of students seemed disinterested--their attention merely a sliver of the fervor you felt for the subject matter being presented.

Strangely, Monday held a special place in your heart, a day you embraced with boundless enthusiasm. As the sun stretched its golden fingers through your window, you sprang out of bed, brimming with a vitality that could rival the sunrise. Every cell in your body hummed with energy, enough to fuel you through the day and perhaps even run a marathon around the school grounds before your legs begged for respite.

However, on this seemingly mundane Monday, time seemed to drag its feet, the minutes stretching into endless hours as you maneuvered through class after class. Familiar faces that once held no significance now sent a shiver down your spine, tightening your stomach into knots so constricting they threatened to suffocate you whole.

Normally, classes with Mattheo, Tom, Enzo, and the rest of the Slytherin boys were unremarkable--a monotonous routine where you blended into the background. However, after the tumultuous events that unfolded in the Slytherin common room that past Friday night, it felt like every single pair of eyes in the room bore into your skin with an unsettling intensity, leaving you acutely aware of the weight of their scrutinizing glances.

The memories of that evening hung in the air like a lingering mist, casting a somber aura over your every interaction. Each sidelong glance felt like an interrogation, and hushed conversations reverberated with the unspoken questions that hung between you and your peers. Their collective scrutiny bore down on you, and as the day wore on, you found yourself yearning for the respite that the night would bring, where you hoped to escape the watchful eyes and find solace in the darkness.

With the finesse of a skilled acrobat, you expertly maneuvered through the day's treacherous waters, keeping your head low and your presence inconspicuous. The weight of wary eyes and whispered rumors hung in the air, yet you managed to evade their grasp, emerging unscathed by nightfall.

As darkness cloaked the castle, you found sanctuary in the Astronomy Tower, something you done quite often. There, beneath the celestial tapestry of the stars, you immersed yourself in your weekly research, finding solace in the quiet solitude of the night. The distant hoot of an owl and the gentle rustle of leaves provided a soothing backdrop as you delved into the captivating realms of celestial phenomena.

With parchment and quill in hand, you meticulously documented the positions of stars, planets, and constellations, observing their intricate dance across the night sky.

Your research focused on celestial events, planetary alignments, and their potential impact on magical energies. Guided by the wisdom of ancient texts and your insatiable curiosity, you sought to unravel the cosmic mysteries that intertwined with the magical fabric of the wizarding world. Each Monday night since the start of the fourth year, you climbed the tower's spiraling steps in order to gather documentation and compare with the previous week.

Lost in the ethereal dance of the stars, your quill moved across the parchment as if guided by some unseen force. Each stroke of your pen felt like an incantation, weaving together the threads of magic and the celestial realm.

Suddenly, the soft echo of footsteps on the stone floor snapped you back to reality. Your head whipped around, eyes wide and heart pounding, only to find Mattheo Riddle sauntering over without a sheer care in the world. His cheeky grin mirrored the mischief that danced in his eyes as he slumped down on the ground in front of you, his back resting against the cold railing.

For a moment, the enchanting allure of the stars faded, replaced by the enigmatic presence of the boy who always seemed to tread the line between trouble and fascination. His eyes glittered with amusement, and you could sense there was more to his presence than mere curiosity.

The stars held their secrets close, but Mattheo Riddle was an enigma you were yet to decipher.

"Stargazing, Raven?" he asked, his voice a smooth melody in the quiet night. "Or might you be decoding the secrets of the universe?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" you retorted, your heart still pounding in your chest, nerves still recovering from the fright he had given you. "You scared the bloody life out of me."

The moonlight cast eerie shadows across his features as he nonchalantly pulled out a pack of cigarettes, the metallic glint catching the dim light. He skillfully extracted one, placing it between his lips, the end glowing briefly as he lit it with the flicker of his lighter, the scent of smoke wafting through the air. Amused indifference danced in his eyes as he exhaled a plume of smoke into the night, his gaze meeting yours with a teasing glimmer.

"What's the matter? Thought I was Berkshire?" he teased, his voice a low murmur, the cigarette smoldering between his fingers. "I came up because I knew you'd be up here...you're quite the creature of habit, even after all these years."

The tension between you hung in the air, thick and palpable, the silence broken only by the distant rustle of leaves and the soft crackle of the burning cigarette.

"You knew I'd be up here?" you huffed, irritation lacing your words, the annoyance palpable in the air. His Berkshire comment had struck a nerve, and you felt the sting of it. "What, are you stalking me now?"

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, smoke curling around his lips like a ghostly veil.

"Hardly stalking, princess," he said, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a smirk. "This used to be my smoking spot. Had to find a new one ever since your prissy little ass decided to take up stargazing as a bloody extracurricular."

His voice slithered with a playful venom, a tantalizing blend of sarcasm and arrogance that only Mattheo Riddle could master. Each word was like a silk thread, wrapping around your senses, leaving your skin prickling with irritation and your pulse quickening with an unsettling desperation. The emotional whirlwind he stirred within you was as intoxicating as it was maddening--a dizzying concoction of annoyance and desire, a sick dance that left you both infuriated and oddly enticed, your heart pounding in your chest like a caged animal desperate for release.

Your eyes narrowed, a flicker of realization washing over you as you caught on to his unspoken admission, your lips curling into a devilish, twisted smirk as you tilted your head in challenge.

"Oh no...how utterly tragic, Riddle," your words dripped with sarcasm, each syllable carefully enunciated, as you arched an eyebrow in mock surprise. "I'm so sorry for the inconvenience I've caused you--please, tell me, should I get on my fucking knees for you now, or later?"

A wicked smirk curved Mattheo's lips as he took a leisurely drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brightly in the darkness. His posture oozed unfazed arrogance, his sharp features highlighted by the soft glow, casting a sinister shadow across his face.

"Now...later...doesn't matter to me, Raven," he purred, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "You'll end up on them for me eventually."

"Just charming, you are," you retorted, rolling your eyes to hide the flicker of arousal that his words ignited. "Look, I appreciate the company...but if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to my 'prissy' little activity in peace."

You chewed your cheek, your tone laced with sarcasm as you turned your attention back to your celestial research, not bothering to look up at him as you tossed him another jab, seemingly unable to control yourself.

"And no, I wasn't worried you'd be Berkshire," you muttered, focused on your parchment. "I was worried you'd be your brother, you know, the prefect...getting caught by him is the last thing I need right now."

Mattheo's eyes narrowed, a glint of annoyance flashing in his gaze like a stormy sky. "Sorry to disappoint," he retorted, his voice low and laced with irritation. "Bet you'd love a punishment from him, huh? He'd make you face the wall, maybe even bend you over and have you lift up your skirt...the sixth years certainly seem to fucking love it."

Your stomach twisted, the weight of his words sinking in as you peeled your eyes away from your work. You met his gaze, desperately assessing him for any sign of bluffing, but not finding even a shred. His words hung heavy in the air, and you couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that he might be telling the truth. A scoff escaped your lips, a mix of disbelief and nervous tension.

"Don't believe me? Maybe try crawling out from under your little rock for once and listen to the talk." He took another drag of his cigarette, his lips curling into a half-smirk. "Consider me your guardian angel tonight, saving you from that terrible fate."

"Guardian angel?" you muttered, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you tried to brush off the uneasy feeling settling in your gut. "So that's why you're here...you're worried Tom is going to find me and touch me without your fucking permission, aren't you?"

Your words carried a biting edge, challenging him to reveal his true intentions. His half-smirk deepened, the corners of his lips tugging upward in a way that made your skin crawl. Mattheo's gaze bored into yours, his eyes flickering with a mix of amusement and something darker, something possessive that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I prefer to be the one that decides who gets to play with my toys," he said, his voice low and laden with a subtle threat. "And as it turns out, I don't like sharing what belongs to me, Raven."

The way he said your nickname sent a shiver down your spine, his voice wrapping around you like a dangerous promise. A predatory edge underscored his words, a warning wrapped in seduction, making you acutely aware of the dangerous game you were playing with the messy, brown haired boy in front of you.

And in the aftermath of his words, something inside you snapped, tired of his games, a fierce energy propelled you forward. With swift purpose, you cast your parchment and quill aside, shifting across the unforgiving stone floor, each movement deliberate, until you found yourself nestled in the space between his legs, the cold stone biting through your robes. Your eyes bored into his, your gaze intense and unyielding, as if you could find the answers to all of your questions painted on his skin.

"You're going to give me grey hair, do you fucking know that, Mattheo?" you whispered, your voice laced with frustration as you locked eyes with him, searching for any semblance of truth in his gaze. "When are we going to talk about what you said in the library? When you-"

"What's there to talk about, Raven?" He cut you off, leaning his head back against the railing, his expression nonchalant as he brought his half-lit cigarette up to his lips, taking a slow draw while his eyes remained fixed on yours. "I already told you, I was drunk."

Your stomach plummeted like a stone, a sickening mix of disappointment and hurt gnawing at your insides. Despite your efforts to conceal it, to suppress it so deep that it diminished into absolutely nothing, the sinking feeling was undeniable, overshadowing any semblance of composure you tried to maintain. Each shallow breath you took seemed to echo the hollow ache within you, amplifying the aggravating vulnerability you felt.

"So when you said I'm not just your toy, you didn't mean it..." your voice wavered into a barely audible whisper, trailing off into the unspoken ache. "When you said I'm the one girl you can't get enough of...you didn't-"

"Perhaps I meant one of those things," he said, his voice carrying the weight of the world. "I'll leave which one up to your interpretation, Raven...you're a bright girl, yeah?"

The dim light from the tower's single lantern cast uneven shadows on his face, highlighting the contours of his features. His eyes, usually a bottomless abyss, now held a glimmer of something you couldn't quite decipher. Mattheo's gaze flickered, darting from your eyes to your lips and back to your eyes, brows pinched in focus. His lips, once so teasing, tightened into a thin line, and the playfulness that usually danced in his eyes was replaced with a shadowed intensity.

His hand found your arm, the touch feather-light, yet still somehow managed to send shivers down your spine, as if the grip had the power to unravel every thought you harbored. You felt the weight of his fingers, warm against your skin, a stark contrast to the cool stone beneath you, and you exhaled; a long, trembling breath.

"Why do you have to do that?" You couldn't contain the frustration in your voice, the pent-up emotions breaking free. "Why do you always deflect everything? It's impossible to-"

Your words were cut off abruptly as his touch tightened ever so slightly, his grip firm yet still strangely gentle. His eyes drilled into yours, now, as if daring you to continue--the silence between you speaking louder than any words could, the unspoken tension lingering in the air like a storm on the horizon.

"Raven," he said, his voice low and measured. "You said you didn't want to make things complicated-"

"Too late for that, Riddle..." you cut him off, now. Your voice was edged with frustration, your emotions swirling like a storm inside you. "You already blew that door wide open when you started getting possessive and then said we should just forget about everything-"

His grip tightened further, tugging you closer, the tension between you palpable. "Yeah, and how long did that last?"

"Are you blaming me for that, Mattheo?" you said, your voice a mere whisper, your gaze flickering to his lips, almost involuntarily.

"I'd never blame you for any of this, Raven." He retorted, voice tight and controlled. "But you didn't stop me...you didn't push me away..."

Your lungs stalled in the wake of his words, your chest constricting, every syllable bouncing around in your head like a basketball. His words rattled your brain, a heavy truth you couldn't deny. The weight of your own desires and the reckless dance you both had engaged in settled upon your shoulders.

"You called yourself a monster..." you whispered, your voice barely audible, as if you were afraid of setting him off with too loud of a pitch. "You said you'd never deserve-"

"I am a monster, Raven," he spat, his throat working as he swallowed. "I have blood on my hands in ways you could never imagine…and that doesn't even do it justice…it’s on more than my hands…it's not as though it stops there, at my wrist like a fucking glove..."

His words hung in the air, laden with a haunting ache that resonated in the nighttime silence. A defeated exhale escaped your lips as you shifted against the cold stone, feeling Mattheo's hand slip around your back and pull you into the warmth of his chest. Your head nuzzled involuntarily into the hollow of his neck, seeking solace from the frigid night, every inch of your body tingling against his. You didn't understand what this was between you two, what the fuck you were even doing, but the biting cold seemed to fade away in the embrace of his body, offering a fleeting sense of comfort in the midst of uncertainty.

As the silence settled around you both, broken only by the steady drumming of his heart, you couldn't escape the profound curiosity that gripped your thoughts--you wondered what he'd gone through, what he'd done, or perhaps even what he'd seen--but even more than that, you couldn't help but to wonder--was it better to out-monster the monster, or allow yourself to be quietly devoured?

"What's your story, Mattheo?" you asked, your voice tinged with a bitterness you hadn't meant to unleash, shattering the silence between you. "What the hell made you such a complicated asshole?"

"What's yours, Raven?" His body tensed at your words, his Adam's apple bobbing against your head as he swallowed, a subtle tremor betraying the calm facade."Actually, don't even tell me...I'm pretty certain I've already got it."

"Is that so?" You cocked an eyebrow. "Let's hear it then."

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "You're the girl who craves chaos but hides it beneath a veneer of perfection."

His words almost immediately made you tense, and yet, you knew he wasn't finished.

"Silver spoon-fed, parents too busy climbing social ladders to notice their own daughter drowning in their expectations...private schools, debutante balls, a picture-perfect life that's paralyzing you. You're the good girl, always following the rules, always striving for the unattainable...classic overachiever clawing for perfection just to win daddy's fucking approval," he pressed his mouth to your temple, dropping his voice into a low, growling whisper. "Tell me, how does it feel to wear that suffocating mask every day?"

"Fuck you," your gaze hardened, the words slicing past your teeth like a razor, pulling yourself off his chest as you shifted to face him. You couldn't believe how scarily fucking accurate he was, but you refused to give him the satisfaction."If I didn't know any better, I'd think there was jealousy in your tone, Riddle."

"You can't deny it because you know I'm right," he shrugged, voice as cool as ice. "I see the look in your eyes...eyes don't lie, Raven."

"You think you have me all figured out, yeah?" You huffed, irritation flooding through you now, searing your skin. "Well you're not the only one...I fucking see you, Mattheo Riddle...the black sheep of a prestigious family...daddy's little disappointment, constantly overshadowed by your genius brother...a rebel without a cause, desperately seeking validation in all of the wrong places. The reckless bad boy facade is merely a shield to hide the cracks in your own pitiful self-worth."

You couldn't even believe the words leaving your own mouth, but if they affected Mattheo in any way, his expressions would never show it. You let your words linger for a moment before you countered his earlier question with one of your own.

"Don’t you ever get tired of pretending, Mattheo?"

A flicker of vulnerability crossed Mattheo's eyes, swiftly overshadowed by a simmering anger. His lips tightened into a thin line, the muscles in his jaw clenching visibly. The silence that followed your question was thick with tension, pregnant with the weight of unspoken emotions. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he managed to draw out a composed response, his voice laced with a bitter edge.

"Tired?" He spat. "I don't have the luxury of exhaustion, Raven."

"Grow up, Mattheo..." you physically had to refrain from rolling your eyes. "It's about fucking time you got over yourself, don't you think?"

"I'd be careful with your next words, princess..." he spat, his tone sharp as a dagger. "You don't know anything about me…it's bold of you to think you can make assumptions like that."

"You fucking started it," your voice was low and laced with intensity, leaning in closer until your breath mingled with his. "You don't know half of the woman you stare in the face."

Mattheo paused, his eyes, deep pools of intensity, bore into yours, drawing you in with their magnetic pull. Every glance exchanged with him was like plunging into the depths of a storm, your heart racing with the force of the emotions he stirred within you. The pause stretched, the silence thick with unspoken desires and unquenchable passion as you held his gaze, feeling the unrelenting pull that seemed to tether your souls together.

"You know what I think, Raven?" The tone of his voice switched to a seductive purr, his calloused palm finding your thigh, slithering higher. "I think we're more alike than you'd care to admit."

Each word dripped with a venomous mix of arrogance and seduction, carrying the weight of the truth you both refused to acknowledge--the touch of his hand on your thigh rid any desire you had to speak, seemingly possessed and silenced simultaneously, clinging to his voice.

"I think we're two sides of the same coin, struggling to find our place in a world that demands we choose a path..." Mattheo continued, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. "We both wear masks, Raven. Yours might be polished and refined, but it's still a mask. Underneath, we're both drowning in expectations, haunted by our own ghosts."

His fingers traced circles on your thigh, a touch that sent electric jolts through your skin. "We're both searching for something, aren't we?" he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "Maybe that's the point of all of this...after all, it is equally as fucking inhumane to be totally good, as it is to be totally bad, don't you think?"

A charged silence enveloped both of you as Mattheo pulled you closer, his fingers trailing a fiery path along your skin. His lips hovered inches away from yours, teasing but never quite fulfilling the promise of a kiss.

"Maybe...we make each other feel alive...does it matter if it hurts?" His thumb brushed gently over your bottom lip, a touch as soft as a feather but laden with an undeniable intensity. "It’s a risk…for both of us…but I tried to fight it and didn't even last a fucking day...it's wrong, Raven, it's so fucking wrong...but I just can't stay away from you..."

In the wake of his touch, his words, his fucking voice--you found yourself utterly breathless, frozen in a moment where time seemed to stand still. In the silence that followed, his eyes bored into yours like twin obsidian orbs reflecting a stormy sky, and you were rendered powerless, your every sense overwhelmed by the intoxication he effortlessly wielded.

His presence was a potent elixir that seeped into your veins, setting your blood on fire and entangling your soul in a web of desire. You were caught in a whirlwind, a chaotic dance between anger and need, a tempestuous passion that only he could incite. Every fiber of your being rebelled against the pull he had on you, yet you found yourself irresistibly drawn to the very source of your turmoil.

He was a living contradiction, an enigma wrapped in layers of darkness and charm. His presence was suffocating and intoxicating, a potent mix that left you both exhilarated and vulnerable. In that moment, you realized he was more than just a person; he was a force of nature, a hurricane you couldn't escape, even if you wanted to.

As the truth hung heavy in the air, you admitted it to yourself--despite the chaos he brought into your life, despite the risks and the dangers, you fucking craved him. A dark villain you found yourself strangely drawn to, unable to outrun the allure of his darkness. His touch, his words, his very essence--they made you feel alive in a way you had never experienced before, in the most chaotic and exhilarating way, and in the midst of this internal battle, you acknowledged the undeniable reality--you wanted him, fiercely and recklessly, consequences be damned.

You inhaled a shallow breath, drawing in his exhales like a forbidden addiction. "You're going to be the fucking ruin of me, aren't you, Mattheo?"

"Yes." Mattheo huffed, his breath mingling with yours as he grazed your lips once more. "Does that scare you, princess?"

"Yes," you admitted, your hands instinctively slithering around his neck, words leaving your lips without thought. "Everything about you scares me."

Your confession hung heavy in the air, your fingers instinctively curling around the fabric of his jacket. His response was a low, rumbling purr that sent shivers down your spine, the intensity of his gaze burning into your soul.

"I can't believe you just said that, Raven..." he husked, his grip on your waist tightening possessively. His lips brushed against your jawline, sending electric currents through your skin.  "You don't even know how fucking hard that just made me."

Your eyelids fluttered, heat pooling between your thighs, as his touch ignited a wildfire within you.

"You're fucking insane..." you breathed, your fingers digging into his jacket, desperately trying to ground yourself in the midst of the overwhelming desire he stirred. "I don't know how you do this to me..."

"It's useless to fight it, princess," he purred, his teeth grazing your pulse, each touch seemingly branding you as his. "I've already made you mine."

"Your toy," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "You've made me your toy."

"Yes, my toy." He growled, his grip intensifying. “Mine...all fucking mine..."

Under the moonlit sky, the Astronomy tower stood silent, the night air thick with a dark lust. His teeth sank into the sensitive skin of your neck, the cool breeze caressing your heated skin, intensifying the pleasure-pain sensation coursing through your veins. Your head fell to the side instinctively, the distant twinkle of stars above bearing witness to the passion igniting between you. Your body trembled under his touch, the night itself seeming to shiver in response to the escalating desire enveloping you both.

With a sudden intensity, he cupped your face in his hands, his touch both possessive and oddly gentle. His dark eyes bore into your soul, their intensity searing into your skin.

"Are you sure you're good with that, Raven?" he demanded, his voice low and raw. "You're good with being my little toy? You're good with continuing this with no strings attached?"

"Yes," you murmured.

"Say it." He said, vibrations of his chest rumbling through you. "Say you're good with it."

"I'm good with it," you said. "I'm good with being your little toy, I'm good with no strings, no bullshit-"

Cutting you off, his mouth crashed onto yours, a hungry, fervent kiss that seemed to convey years of pent-up desire--it was as if he had waited his whole life to kiss you, his lips molding perfectly against yours, igniting a fiery passion that consumed the both of you with ease. His lips moved with a purpose, a desperate need that mirrored your own--the air crackled with anticipation, your heart pounding in your chest as you surrendered to the intoxicating pull of his lips, the heat of his body pressed against yours.

You were lost in him, your senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating blend of pleasure and need. The world ceased to exist, and there was nothing but the electrifying connection between your lips, binding you to him in a way that felt inevitable, unstoppable, and undeniably right. His kiss was a storm, wild and unrelenting, consuming you entirely, moving with a fierce hunger, his tongue seeking entrance, and you welcomed him eagerly, your mouths dancing in a heated tangle of desire.

As he deepened the kiss, the intensity grew, an inferno raging between you. Every touch, every taste, every second seemed to set your skin ablaze, leaving you breathless and aching for more. Your fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, as if trying to merge your souls through this kiss--the two of you shifting positions until you were straddling his lap, the feeling of his erection pressing against your centre pulling a guttural groan from your throat; his fingers digging into your skin in response.

With a gasp, he broke the kiss, his lips leaving a trail of searing kisses down your neck, igniting a fire wherever they touched. Your head fell back in response, exposing the vulnerable curve of your throat to him. His hot breath fanned over your skin, sending shivers down your spine, as he pressed soft yet possessive kisses along the column of your throat. His lips moved with purpose, exploring every inch of your neck as if it held the secrets to the universe, his tongue flicking out occasionally, teasing, before his teeth grazed your skin, a promise of both pleasure and pain. Each touch sent shockwaves through your body, amplifying the intensity of your connection, as you clung to him, lost in the whirlwind of desire and need.

"I want to make you cum again..." he murmured against your skin, his hands gripping your hips and pressing you down against his crotch. "I want to make cum over and over, fuck..."

"Matty..." you moaned, his teeth grazing your pulse, your hips rolling against his lap involuntarily, a soft gasp escaping your lips as his hands moved to your ass; squeezing with malicious intent. "Shit...we can't...not here..."

"I know." He groaned, his hot exhale showering your skin. "Wednesday."

"Yes..." you breathed. "Wednesday."

—————

Here’s chapter nine->

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 6 - J'ai Dansé Avec L'Amour

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none, really… some kissing and some awkwardness

Word Count: 2.4k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Well, this isn't the wedding yet, but it's them both dealing, rather awkwardly, with the idea of getting married as they grapple with their attraction to each other. The wedding will be the next chapter. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Montivilliers (just outside Le Havre), September 1939

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Eloise whispers into the inky blackness.

“What other choice do I have?” you whisper back, unwilling to admit how weirdly calm you are about the scheme.

You are lying in the spare room of Solène’s sister, Marie and her husband Jérôme’s cottage. Sharing the compact double bed, shoulders touching as you converse quietly. It must be after 2am. Benedict chivalrously insisted on taking the sofa downstairs despite being stuck on yours in Paris for the last few days.

“I still say we should find some forgers,” Eloise opines; you can hear the shrug in her tone. “You shouldn’t have to go through with a marriage to my brother just to escape.”

“It’s fine,” you placate, waving your hand dismissively, although likely unseen.

“What about Stanley?”

“I’m sure he will understand when I can eventually get home,” you fib.

There is a brief lapse into silence, and outside somewhere, an owl hoots.

“You know we may have to bribe someone to do this regardless, don’t you?” 

“What are you talking about?” you frown, turning your head to face her.

“There are rules about residency for French civil marriages, and you’ll need identification neither of you have with you, like birth certificates,” Eloise points out.

“Ohhh…” you stutter, feeling sheepish you didn’t even know that.

“Although… Jérôme is the mayor of Montivilliers…” Eloise offers thoughtfully. “And he is sleeping just through that wall…”

“He can marry us?” You’re unable to hide the excitement in your voice.

“If he’s willing to overlook a few things… yes… he could marry you in the Town Hall.”

Internally, you are celebrating even as you try to temper your excitement.

“Then, for my sake, let’s hope he is,” you answer, attempting to sound gravely concerned.

Eloise hums sleepily in response, and it’s your last words before she drops off. You lay awake for what seems like hours, staring up at the beam of moonglow on the whitewashed ceiling. A myriad fluttering in your stomach—a cautious optimism that this could work, a strange excitement at the thought of marrying Benedict, and a vague dread that your family could still be upset if it all works out. 

—

A light, dewy mist lingers in the garden outside the kitchen window as you sip coffee the following morning. A moment of solitary contemplation that has you considering a telegram to your family but deciding against it. Until you know if you can get out of the country, it seems pointless to make them more concerned than they already are.

“Dress shopping?” Eloise asks over a yawn as she plops into the seat next to you at the rustic wooden table in the kitchen, breaking your reverie. “For the wedding…” she adds when you frown nonplussed.

Oh.

“I, umm, was just going to use one I already have, to be honest. That off-white silk tea dress?”

Eloise cocks her head to the side in thought. “Hmm, that might just work - that can be your something old. I have a little faux fur stole you can wear to dress it up - something borrowed. I know you have some powder blue underwear, so we only need something new!” 

“You believe in that stuff?” you frown, taking a sip. It seems so anachronistic for her. You also decide not to ask how she knows about your underwear.

“I know it's not…” she leans in, likely worried about prying ears, mouthing the word ‘real’, before continuing at her regular volume, “...but best not to tempt fate,” she raises a pointed eyebrow, silently reminding you of what is at stake.

“Good point,” you concede as she gets up to grab some fruit.

“Your humble sage at your service,” she jests, taking a comedic bow. 

“But we still have to ask Jérôme…”

“Ask me what?” a genial, heavily accented booming voice rings out from the doorway.

“This one and my brother have gone and fallen in love,” Eloise explains, rolling her eyes. “The soppy idiots want to get married in France as soon as possible. I don't suppose you could help, could you? It would be their dream come true and so very romantic, non?” 

She appears to be piling on the theatrics, but you see that winning smile, the one she deploys whenever she manipulates an unsuspecting man to get her way. Sometimes, you swear it is almost too easy to navigate the world as an attractive Bridgerton.

“Pour vous, ma petit chou-fleur, peut-être…” he responds, an avuncular glint in his eye. It is evident from this interaction and the previous evening when you arrived that Marie and Jérôme have spent time with Eloise, likely in Paris with Solène.

“Merci Jérôme!” she celebrates, kissing his cheek as he affectionately chuckles. “Demain?” she adds cheekily.

“Mon dieu Eloise,” he exclaims as he grabs a croissant, “C'est très bientôt!”

You try to listen in as they rapid-fire converse in French, but you only follow along with every few words, maybe something about paperwork, but really, you are not sure. It mostly seems fond exasperation on Jérôme’s part, so you sit hopeful, just as Benedict wanders in.

“Ah, the other love bird!” Eloise cuts away from their chat. “I know you want to get married so quickly, but please do not make out too much in front of Jérôme!” she titters pointedly at Benedict, her eyes cutting from him to you.

Benedict seems to cotton on very quickly, and you startle as he leans down and brushes a featherlight kiss onto your cheek.

“Bon matin, mon amour,” he rumbles, his minty breath warm, causing goosebumps to break out over your arms.

“Morning, my love,” you whisper back stutteringly, the words almost tacky on your tongue, your mouth suddenly so dry. Your eyes meet, and it's the closest you have ever been, captivated by the tiny flecks of colour in his iris. He doesn't look away, and you seem unable. 

“Oh oui, je le vois, l'amour vrai… ” Jérôme mutters quietly across the room. “I will see what I can do,” he offers in English as you finally tear your eyes away, him giving you a nod before he takes his leave.

“Well done!” Eloise enthuses quietly with a big thumbs-up gesture once Jérôme has left the room. “Really convincing!” she adds before twirling out of the room with an apple jammed in her mouth.

“Sorry about that…” Benedict offers, a little flustered.

“No, please…” you can't think of anything else to say, almost tongue-tied as you replay his kiss on your cheek like a looping projector reel, wanting to add ‘do it again’, a tingle still lingering on your skin. 

There are a few beats of awkward silence where he seems on the precipice of saying something, but you are almost afraid to hear it, as if worried he wants to conjure an excuse to back out.

“I…I need to buy my something new!” you exclaim, jumping up and scurrying out of the room, leaving Benedict mildly perplexed about what that might even mean.

—

After a successful trip into Le Havre, where you and Eloise found your ‘something new’ - a pair of ivory Mary Janes that will complete your outfit - the day ends with Jérôme and Marie taking you all to a local restaurant. A delicious meal of many courses with flowing carafes of wine under the bright red canopy outside. It turns into one of those late nights with convivial conversation and bonding with strangers.

A band strikes up in the cobbled square, and after a few numbers, Jérôme drags Marie up to dance as the three of you cheer.

“Les tourtereaux!!” Jérôme exclaims after the song ends, gesturing for you and Benedict to join them on their makeshift dance floor.

“Non..non!” you protest, gesturing a no with your arms and laughing, a languid feeling in your bones from good food, drink and conversation.

But it appears he won't take no for an answer, and as Marie giggles and applauds, Jérôme marches over and grabs you both by the elbow, hauling you to your feet.

“Danse!” he commands.

You and Benedict exchange slightly nervous looks but emboldened by wine; then you gasp as a strong arm wraps around your back, and your other hand slides into his.

“Just go with it,” he breathes into your hair, and suddenly, you are spinning, the stars above you twinkling, as he leads you expertly in a swing dance.

“Mr Bridgerton, you can dance!” you exclaim in blithe amusement, clinging to him as you move together in a balletic union.

“As can you, Mrs Bridgerton!” he peels carefree.

Your heart jumps into your throat, and you lose your footing. Benedict has to grab hold and haul you back upright before you collapse onto the cobbles.

“Sorry…” he blusters, his arms still around you, “I…I wasn't thinking…”

“No, no. That will indeed be my name…” you stumble, almost as if that is only just occurring to you now. “I'm just getting used to it, that's all,” you lie, knowing that is not why you lost your footing. 

He seems to accept that with a nod, and after a beat, you begin to move again, tentatively, Until the wine takes over and you are once again both giggling and dancing, his arm a strong brace around your back as you move together for many minutes, a joy fizzing in your veins.

At one point, you glance over and see Eloise with an odd expression on her face before she orders a drink from the waiter, but Benedict whips you around, and you get lost in the dance and in him. The feel of him wrapped around you at once safe and exhilarating.

“Kiss!” comes the yell from Jérôme as the song ends.

“You know, he's not going to shut up until we do it,” you raise, a little breathless from the dancing.

Without you having to say anything else, Benedict’s hands grasp around your waist, and you are lifted off the ground, taller than him. Then he tilts his head up and captures your lips with his.

Time stops.

The feeling is like an explosion and a perfect calm silence all at once. His lips don't open, but they don't need to - even this gentle kiss is a soft, sensual plushness that obliterates all your thoughts. A lingering tang of wine on his slightly dampened lips that you want to lick off, a plunge of lust in your belly that has you fighting the urge to wrap your legs around his hips and open your mouth, demanding a real kiss.

His hands slide around your back in a gentle cage as he lowers you to your feet. What upends you is the breathtaking look in his eye when he finally pulls away, pupils blown, face soft and full of yearning. You could never tire of that look.

“Get a room!” Eloise yells, and there is an uncharitable tart edge to it that breaks the spell and makes you look over at her. She appears much more inebriated than she was before.

“Is she okay?” you ask, your hands still wrapped around Benedict’s biceps, warm through his shirt sleeves.

“I think she ordered absinthe, so maybe not,” he answers, and you feel a pang of sadness as he releases his hold and gestures gentlemanly for you to walk ahead, to return to the table, the moment lost.

Half an hour later, Benedict and Jérôme are on either side of Eloise, helping her back into the cottage, much worse for wear. They get her to the sofa, where she promptly passes out and begins to snore lightly. Marie covers her in a blanket, and you realise it's unlikely you will be able to move her tonight.

“Well, you two will have to share the bed. But do not worry, I shall not tell your families,” Jérôme winks. “I can’t say Marie and I were saints before our marriage,” he adds with a tap on his nose and an uproarious chuckle.

Your eyes dart to Benedict and his to you. Panic, excitement, and apprehension all bubbling up inside—a volcanic eruption in your gut. You trust him not to take advantage; it’s yourself you don't trust.

Jérôme wraps an arm around both of your shoulders, red wine heavy on his breath “Oui, I will marry you tomorrow, mes amis. I can overlook some rules for a true love like yours.”

With that, he takes his leave, with you and Benedict left looking uncomfortably at each other, unsure if you should celebrate. That feeling remains as he suggests you go up first and get ready for bed, and once you are nervously tucked under the covers as he enters from the bathroom, those broad shoulders framed with a white t-shirt and the same bottoms he wore in Paris when you watched him sleep.

“I really wish I'd packed a proper pyjama set,” he sighs ruefully as he approaches the other side of the bed and slips under the covers, seemingly arranging himself right at the far side.  “I'm also so sorry about Eloise landing us in this situation. I can't believe she was that irresponsible,” he adds with his back turned but an unmistakable tinge of irritation in his tone. 

Even then, it’s a small bed, and you can feel his body heat radiating under the covers.

“You don't have to cling to the edge,” you offer hesitantly, “we are to be married after all…”

The last words are a whisper that sounds almost wounded, and he twists over, a look of surprise crowding his features.

“I am merely being respectful...” he replies cautiously.

“I know…” it's barely audible, and you can’t look at him.

The overwhelming awkwardness makes your chest ache, your hands wringing together nervously under the covers. What feels like mere moments ago, you were swept into his arms, and he was kissing you as if your lives depended upon it. And now this… the juxtaposition of reality and the fairytale you both act so well draws a lump to your throat.

“This whole situation is so odd,” you confess quietly, unable to be anything but honest with him.

“I know… I'm so sorry it has come to this.” 

You have no idea if he means tonight, the marriage or even life in general, in a war that could come to your doorstep any day.

“I don’t regret anything,” you volunteer after a beat.

“Neither do I…” his earnest whisper makes something inside you crack open, your palm itching to squeeze his hand.

Instead, you exchange soft goodnights, and you lay stock still for a long time, backs towards each other, feeling at once too close and a million miles apart.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[peachesyeo]

The Maestro 0001 - the invitation

word count - 2.8k words pairings - seventeen ot13 x fem!oc genre - mature, dark romance, cultish/yandere, mystery, crack chapter warnings - none

author's notes - no preview, whoops. anyway, do you like the new outline? i really hope you do! if you want to join the chapter's taglist do comment down on the masterlist page!

thank you @sousydive for beta reading!

series taglist — pernament taglist — @sousydive @yeodeulz @oddracha @jaerisdiction @yukichan67 @evidive @onysmamas

back to masterlist?

Dear Ms. Kang Raeyang,

It is with sincere solemnity that we extend our invitation to you. You have been chosen to reside within the Maestro, as per your parents' prior instructions, following their untimely departure.

In the midst of our condolences, we trust that you will heed this summons and join us promptly.

Yours faithfully,

The Residents of the Maestro

The apartment complex loomed over the quiet street. Its sleek exterior, while undeniably contemporary, exuded an aura of mystery and unease. The building's design was a juxtaposition of sharp angles and smooth curves, creating an unsettling yet intriguing silhouette against the skyline. Dark tinted windows lined its façade, offering no glimpse into the secrets hidden within.

As I approached, a chill seemed to linger in the air, sending shivers down my spine. The atmosphere around the Maestro seemed to be cloaked in a thick fog, obscuring the true nature of what lay beyond its imposing exterior. Despite its modernity, there was something ancient and foreboding about the building, as if it held secrets that had been buried for centuries. It loomed over the surrounding landscape like a silent sentinel, watching, waiting.

A heavy iron gate stood sentinel at the entrance, its bars twisted into elaborate designs that seemed to writhe and shift in the shifting light. Beyond it, a cobblestone path disappeared into the darkness.

In front of the entrance, a small security post with tinted windows stood like a sentinel, its presence adding to the eerie atmosphere. My breath hitched as I grip the invitation tightly, slowly approaching the post. 

Upon inspection, the post seems to be empty. Its tinted windows give no clue of whether there was anyone inside of it. I raised my knuckles, politely knocking on the window three times. 

“Hello?”

The sound echoed hollowly in the still air. For a moment, there was no response, just the faint chirp of a passing bird. Then, a shuffling noise came from within, followed by the creak of a chair.

A figure emerged from the shadows, their features obscured by the tinted glass. They leaned forward, peering out at me with unseen eyes.

"Yes? Can I help you?" Their voice was muffled, distant, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Erm, h-hi," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I received an invitation to... to live here."

There was a moment of silence, as if the figure was considering my words. Then, with a slight nod, they reached out and slid open a small panel at the base of the window.

"Give it here," they said, their voice low and gravelly.

I hesitated for a moment before passing the invitation through the opening. The figure took it, their hand disappearing back into the darkness.

It felt like eternity, before they slid the window door open with a metallic scrape. A man sat behind the window, holding the invitation. He wore a black, security guard’s outfit and had a chiselled, handsome face with a strong, angular jawline and piercing eyes. His sleek black hair frames his face in waves, and he ran a veiny hand back his hair as he handed the invitation back. 

“You're… Miss Kang Raeyang?” he asked, his voice deep and resonant, carrying a hint of intrigue.

I nodded, nervous under his strong and commanding presence. The man observed me with a judicious gaze, his eyes seeming to weigh every aspect of my being.

���My name is Choi Seungcheol,” he said, his voice low and measured, as if each word carried a hidden weight. His lips formed a tight smile, but there was a hint of something unreadable in his eyes, shrouded behind a veil of mystery. “I’m a resident and the security guard here.”

“I’ve been told to… show you around,” he continued, his tone betraying a reluctance. Cautiously, I bowed in response, feeling a shiver run down my spine. “I’m Kang Raeyang. Nice to meet you.”

Seungcheol shut the window panes with a deliberate click. The iron gates slowly opened, and he stepped out of his post, his movements smooth and controlled. He handed me a card, his eyes flickering to the luggage behind me.

“Your apartment has been prepared by your parents, Miss Kang,” he informed me, his tone neutral but his gaze penetrating. “This is the key card to your apartment, 201.”

“Thank you… You can call me Raeyang, by the way,” I replied, my voice a little uncertain as I peered at the keycard with interest. It was the size of a credit card, plain black with a ‘M’ logo in gold. A small ‘201’ was etched in the corner of the card.

Seungcheol hummed softly, his expression unreadable as I looked back up at him. “Likewise. You can just call me Seungcheol.”

There was a period of awkward silence. Seungcheol's gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, as if assessing something beyond the surface. Then, with a nod, he motioned towards my luggage.

"You can leave them here," he said, his tone softening just slightly. "I'll take care of your luggage. Follow me."

With that, he turned and began walking towards the entrance of the building. I fell into step beside him, feeling a mix of apprehension and curiosity about what lay ahead. As we walked, the grandeur of the Maestro became even more apparent. The intricate details of the architecture seemed to come alive in the fading light, casting long shadows that danced across the cobblestone path.

Seungcheol remained mostly silent as we walked, his footsteps echoing in the quiet surroundings. Occasionally, he would look towards a certain direction, as if expecting somebody to be waiting there. But nobody ever showed up.

Finally, we reached the entrance, where the heavy black doors stood slightly ajar. Seungcheol pushed them open with a gentle push, revealing the dimly lit foyer beyond.

"After you," he said, his voice soft but commanding, as if granting permission to enter a forbidden realm.

I stepped inside, feeling a rush of anticipation as the doors closed behind me with a soft thud. I found myself in awe of a grand lobby adorned with marble floors and ornate chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. The room was bathed in a warm golden glow, the light casting intricate patterns on the polished surfaces.

Seungcheol gestured towards the row of gleaming elevators at the far end of the lobby.

"Your apartment is on the second floor," he explained, his voice echoing faintly in the spacious room. I nodded, following him towards the elevators. The doors slid open silently as we approached, revealing a plush interior with mirrored walls. Seungcheol pressed the button for the second floor, and the elevator began its ascent with a soft hum.

As we rose, I couldn't help but steal glances at Seungcheol. There was something about him, something mysterious and intriguing, that drew me in despite my apprehension. 

After Mum and Dad died in the sudden car crash, they left me nothing but some money and an instruction to wait for an invitation to an apartment building, which they had signed me up for. But why? Why this place? Why didn’t they tell me anything when they were alive?

These questions plagued my thoughts as the elevator came to a stop. The doors slid open, revealing a long hallway lined with doors. Seungcheol led the way, his steps echoing on the polished floor. As we reached the door marked with the number 201, Seungcheol paused. “Here.”

With a deep breath, I slid the keycard into the lock and pushed open the door, stepping into the apartment that was to be my new home. Inside, the space was bathed in soft lamplight, casting a warm glow over the furnishings. It was tastefully decorated, with touches of elegance and comfort that spoke of my parents' love and care.

But even as I took in the familiar surroundings, a sense of unease lingered in the air. What secrets lay hidden behind these walls? And why had my parents chosen to keep me in the dark?

"New neighbour?" I jumped at the new voice, turning around. A young man stood in front of the door opposite mine, his almond-shaped eyes peering at me with interest. He was dressed in a plain white tank top that accentuated his toned arms,and blue jeans that hugged his legs comfortably. Seungcheol frowned.

"Soonyoung, you scared her."

"Sorry," Soonyoung scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "I was just about to go over to Chan’s; he had a new routine to show me."

If Seungcheol’s aura was commanding and mysterious, Soonyoung was the opposite. He cheerfully walked over to us, holding out a hand. "Hi, I’m Kwon Soonyoung. You can call me by my stage name Hoshi," he beamed, revealing two rows of pearly white teeth. "I live in 202.”

“I’m Kang Raeyang. You can just call me by my name,” I said, shaking his hand carefully. His skin was cool to the touch, like it was dipped in iced water. “Nice to meet you, Hoshi.”

Soonyoung gave me another huge smile before turning to Seungcheol. “How come you’re the one showing Raeyang around? I thought Jeonghan hyung was supposed to do the job.”

Seungcheol's expression shifted subtly, a shadow passing over his features before he replied, "Jeonghan is busy with other matters."

Soonyoung nodded, though there was a curious glint in his eyes as he glanced back at me “Well, I really need to go. You can always look for me if you need help,” he said, jabbing his thumb in the direction of his apartment door. “See you around, Raeyang.” 

With that, he flashed me one last bright smile before bouncing off towards the elevator. Seungcheol cleared his throat, attracting my attention. 

“Your parent’s lawyer lives in the Maestro,” he said. “He will be here shortly to explain some things to you. I advise you to wait in the apartment while I go get your luggage.”

I nodded, taking in his words. The mention of my parents' lawyer only added to the mystery surrounding this place.

"Alright," I replied. "I'll wait in the apartment."

Seungcheol gave a curt nod before heading off to retrieve my luggage. As I watched him go, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was much more to this building—and to my parents' intentions—than met the eye. 

I entered my apartment. It was small and cosy, with a few decorative plants scattered around. The soft light filtering in through the windows added to the warm atmosphere. Seungcheol mentioned that my parents had decorated the place for me, and I smiled when I saw a framed photo of my parents and I on the counter.

The sight of their smiling faces brought a bittersweet pang to my heart. Despite the unanswered questions surrounding their sudden passing, it was comforting to have a piece of them here with me.

I moved further into the apartment, exploring the space. The living area was furnished with a comfortable-looking couch and a coffee table, while the kitchenette boasted modern appliances and neatly organised cabinets. Another soft smile found its way to my face when I saw a bookshelf filled with books on the wall. 

A hallway led to the bedroom, where a cosy-looking bed awaited me, adorned with soft blankets and plump pillows. It was a simple yet inviting space, one that felt like home despite its unfamiliarity.

I left the bedroom, taking a book from the shelves before settling on the couch. The Girls, by Emma Cline. I frowned, staring at the cover of the book.

Strange. I don’t read books of this genre.

Just as I was about to open the book and flip through its pages, the doorbell rang. I hurried over to the door, revealing a tall, lean man standing outside. His presence exuded a sense of polished professionalism. He stood tall and composed, with an air of confidence that commanded attention. His dark hair was neatly styled, framing his face in a way that accentuated his striking features.

Dressed in a well-fitted suit, the man spoke, his voice was smooth and articulate, carrying a sense of assurance.

"Miss Kang Raeyang?" he said, his tone professional yet warm. I nodded. “You’re my parent’s lawyer?”

His lips were set in a gentle curve and his eyes crinkled kindly into a crescent moon. “Yes. My name is Hong Jisoo, or Joshua. Do you mind if I help you with these?” He gestured to the luggages behind him. “Cheol had to rush back, so he told me to help you.”

“Oh, thank you, Joshua!” I said gratefully. Joshua flashed me a small smile before he easily lifted the two heavy suitcases into the apartment. "I am sure that you have many questions, Miss Kang," Joshua said as I quickly pushed the suitcases into the bedroom. "I’ll try my best to answer them.” 

“Please, take a seat. I’ll make you some tea… Do you have a preference?” I turned to Joshua, who sat on the couch. He thought for a moment.

“Some earl grey tea will do, Miss Kang,” Joshua replied.

“Alright. Do call me Raeyang,” I replied as I busied myself in the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove and retrieving the tea leaves and cups. The layout of the kitchen was surprisingly similar to the one in the house where both my parents and I lived.

As I waited for the water to boil, I couldn't shake the feeling of anticipation and nervousness that hung in the air. Peeking from the kitchen, I could see Joshua looking around the living room, humming contentedly. He seems nice… and very handsome.

In fact, the three men I’ve come across were all very good looking. Seungcheol, mysterious. Hoshi, friendly. Joshua here gives me an aura of a gentleman.

I shook my head, dispelling the thoughts, and went back to preparing the tea. When it was ready, I set it on a tray, placing it in front of Joshua.

"Here…" I said, offering Joshua the tray with a small smile.

Joshua gave me a nod of thanks as he took a cup and had a sip of the warm tea. “Like I said earlier, Raeyang, I’m pretty sure you have many questions about this arrangement. I cannot promise that I know the answer to all of them, but I am pretty sure I can answer some basic ones.” He sat the cup down back on the tray, turning to me. “Let’s hear them.”

“Firstly, when did my parents get me an apartment in this place?” I questioned. 

“Your parents actually own this building, Raeyang,” Joshua dropped the bombshell, his words heavy with significance. I gaped at him in shock. “What?”

“In fact, I am considered a tenant of yours,” Joshua continued, taking another sip of tea. “Now that your parents have passed, and the building is under your name.”

“I-I see…” I stammered, still digesting the fact. “I never knew…”

“Now you do.” Joshua said kindly. “If I am not wrong, the documents are in your letterbox already. Have Cheol shown you where it is?” I shook my head robotically in answer. “No worries, I'll retrieve it for you.”

“Thank you.” I composed myself. “Secondly… Did my parents leave anything else for me other than this building?”

Joshua shook his head. “I’m afraid not.” I nodded. “I see. Since when did my parents own this building?”

“For quite a long time.” Joshua answered. “Perhaps, around the time when you were born.”

Twenty five years? I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle of disbelievement. How could Mum and Dad keep something like that from me for twenty-five years? What other secrets are they keeping from me? 

“I understand how you are feeling now, Raeyang.” Joshua’s smooth voice pulled me out of my darkening thoughts. It was then I realised that tears were gathering in my eyes. I quickly wiped them away, embarrassed. “Sorry…” 

“There’s no need to apologise, Raeyang,” Joshua said gently, his eyes filled with empathy. “It’s perfectly natural to feel overwhelmed by all of this. Your parents loved you very much, and I’m sure they had their reasons for keeping this from you.” 

I must have said my thoughts out loud. "I guess so…" I sniffed, dabbing at my eye. Joshua turned away for a moment, peering intently at the artificial plant next to the couch. I was grateful for him to give me a little private moment to gather my thoughts.

When I composed myself, Joshua turned back to me. “Let’s talk about this another day,” he suggested, reaching for the tea again. “Over here at the Maestro, we usually would have dinner together. The residents of the Maestro,” he added, noticing my look of confusion. “You should join us; it’ll be a great way for you to get to know the rest of us later.”

I nodded, feeling a sense of relief at the suggestion. "That sounds like a good idea. Thank you, Joshua."

Joshua smiled warmly. "Of course, Raeyang. Over here, we all support each other. You’re part of us now.” He stood up and I followed him. “Dinner starts at seven, apartment 301. If you’re not sure of where to go, just look for Soonyoung. I believe you have already met him.”

“I’ll see you out,” I said, following him to the door. Before he left, Joshua turned to me, holding out his hand with a smile on his face.

“I forgot to say this,” he said softly as I held onto his ice-cold palms, shaking them. “Welcome to the family, Raeyang.”

next

©peachesyeo, 2024

i do not own the dividers nor pictures used in banner. all credit goes to their original owners. owner of animated / 18+ banner ; owner of rose banner

[03jyh23]

— capturing us || choi san

every moment captured with you is a masterpiece painted with love, each frame a testament to the beauty of our journey together

vlogger!san x reader

genre: fluff

trigger warnings: none!

words: 1.6 k

reminder: what you're about to read is purely fiction, so let's keep it separate from reality.

minors do not interact

— hi there! thank you @monstaxdirtywonk for requesting this prompt, i hope you will like it! in my country spring has finally arrived, and since it's my favorite season i can't help but write about it.

love, monika. ♡

Spring was your favorite season. The vibrant blossoms, the lush greenery enveloping you, and the gentle caress of sunshine on your skin filled you with boundless joy. With the first sip of your beloved iced coffee, the perfection of spring seemed complete. Yet, amidst all this beauty, there was one presence that outshone even the splendor of the season - Choi San, the one you cherished above all else. Spring always brought a sense of renewal and joy, but nothing compared to the warmth that San brought into your life. With him, every moment felt like the perfect blend of sunshine, laughter, and love. As you sipped on your favorite iced coffee, you couldn't help but smile, knowing that spring was made even more beautiful with him by your side. 

Describing San as merely handsome felt like a gross understatement; he embodied all that was good and beautiful in this world. When his smile lit up his face and reached the depths of his eyes, it was as if the entire universe aligned just to witness that moment. He was the epitome of perfection, your favorite sight in the whole world full of wonders. In San's embrace, every doubt melted away, for his love was a constant beacon of warmth and reassurance. Never did you question his love, for his actions spoke volumes, always placing your comfort and happiness above all else. With him, there was never a moment of feeling unloved or unseen, as he showered you with care and attention in ways both big and small. His selflessness knew no bounds. In his arms, you found solace and security, knowing that you were cherished beyond measure. 

In the park, surrounded by the vibrant energy of spring, even the people passing by seemed to carry an extra bounce in their step, their smiles mirroring the blossoming flowers around them. As you waited for San to wrap up his recording for his latest vlog, you couldn't help but feel a swell of pride witnessing his passion for filming flourish. From humble beginnings to now, with a growing community of subscribers, his dedication was inspiring. This year marked the third chapter of your relationship, as you watched him work, you marveled at how far you had come together, cherishing every milestone and triumph along the way.  

Returning from the depths of your thoughts, you were greeted by the familiar click of a camera. Following the sound, your eyes lit up as you saw San, your heart swelling with affection as you realized he was the one behind the lens. His mischievous grin mirrored your own bright smile, with him by your side, every instant was a precious memory.  

"I like seeing you smile." San's words danced in the air, wrapping around you. His tender affirmation ignited an even brighter smile on your lips, your heart fluttering with joy at his sweet sentiment. ''So beautiful...’’ As he swiftly pressed the camera button, freezing the moment in time, his whispered declaration washed over you, filling you with a sense of pure adoration. In his eyes, you saw reflected the depth of his affection, a love that made every moment infinitely beautiful. 

"Well, hello to you too," you greeted playfully, rising from the bench. San's response was immediate, his arms enveloping you in a gentle embrace as if he couldn't bear to be apart from you for another moment. 

"Hi, my love," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine affection. "I couldn’t wait to kiss you." As San leaned in to press a gentle, feather-like kiss against your lips, a wave of tenderness washed over you. In the early days of your relationship, there were whispers of "puppy love" and the expectation that it would eventually fade after the first year. Mentally preparing yourself for this supposed shift, you braced for changes that never came. But as time passed, you realized that your love defied such constraints. With each passing day, your connection only grew stronger, deepening into something far beyond the fleeting infatuation of puppy love. Your relationship was anchored in mutual respect, understanding, and unwavering support, traits that only strengthened as you journeyed through life together. 

"How did the recording go?" You asked, intertwining your fingers with San's as you began to stroll down your favorite path in the park. With each step, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in your own little bubble of happiness. San smiled warmly, his gaze softening as he recounted the day's events.  

"It went really well," he replied, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "I lost to Yunho about three times, but it’s fine. He was always a better gamer than me." You chuckled, imagining their friendly competition.  

"Well, at least you gave it your best shot," you said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Besides, it's all in good fun, right?" San nodded a playful glint in his eyes.  

"Exactly! Plus, I'll just have to practice more for our next gaming session." Yunho and San's friendship traced back to their teenage years, they bonded over shared interests and endless hours of gaming together. Initially, they started their YouTube journey with a joint channel, where they showcased their gaming prowess and took on various challenges. However, as time passed, San's creative aspirations blossomed, and he yearned to explore more artistic avenues through his vlogs. Recognizing this, they made the mutual decision to branch out and create separate channels, each tailored to their individual passions. Yunho's channel became a haven for gaming enthusiasts, where he could delve deep into his love for video games and connect with like-minded viewers. Meanwhile, San's channel emerged as a platform for his artistic expression, showcasing his unique perspective through visually captivating videos and thought-provoking content. 

"I’ve been working on the vlog from our trip to Rome " San shifted the conversation, his tone filled with excitement. "And my favourite shots are with you... " The truth was, fame held a certain fear for you, and the thought of being recognizable sent unpleasant shivers down your spine. It wasn't that you didn't support San's endeavors or take pride in his accomplishments; rather, the idea of stepping into the spotlight yourself felt daunting. San, ever understanding and considerate of your feelings, made a conscious effort to respect your privacy. He never mentioned you in any of his content, carefully safeguarding your relationship from the prying eyes of fame. Three years had passed, and San's desire to share your love with the world had only grown stronger. Despite accumulating a treasure trove of videos featuring you two together, he had refrained from posting them out of respect for your privacy. Yet, deep down, he had a silent hope that one day, he could introduce you to his audience, showcasing the beauty of your love. The thought of sharing your journey with others filled him with excitement and anticipation, a dream he held dear to his heart. 

"San..." you sighed softly, feeling a mix of apprehension and affection at his words. 

"I know, baby," he murmured, his voice filled with understanding. "I know you’re scared, but it’s just... I really want to show you off in my art." In these words, a gentle plea echoed. While the thought of being exposed to the world still made you nervous, you couldn't deny the sincerity and love in his words. San didn't see you as a mere subject for his videos; he viewed you as a muse, an integral part of his creative expression. "You know I won’t let anyone hurt you"  

"I know," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, filled with gratitude for his unwavering protection. "I trust you completely." With his reassurance echoing in your mind, you took a deep breath and met his gaze, allowing yourself to be vulnerable in his presence. In his eyes, you found a place where fear dissolved into the warmth of his love. 

"Okay, San," you whispered softly, "Let's do it." San's sweet laugh filled the air, in one swift motion, he enveloped you in his arms and lifted you off the ground, spinning you around in a whirlwind of happiness. 

"I can't believe you finally agreed!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with delight. Caught up in the moment, you couldn't help but laugh along with him, feeling a surge of exhilaration and contentment coursing through your veins. In his embrace, you found courage and reassurance. "I love you so much," San whispered tenderly, his voice carrying the weight of his affection as he gently set you back down on the ground. With a gentle touch, he lifted your chin, drawing you in for a sweet and lingering kiss. After pulling out of the kiss, San wasted no time and immediately started recording. Surprised and a bit flustered, you couldn't help but laugh at his spontaneity.  

"What are you doing?" You chuckled, trying to compose yourself as he aimed the camera at both of you. 

"I'm not letting this moment slip away," he replied with a grin, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Hi, everyone," he addressed the camera, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "I couldn't wait any longer to introduce you to someone very special to me." And as he spoke those words, a mixture of emotions swirled within you— anticipation, nerves, but above all, a deep sense of love and appreciation for the man standing before you. With San by your side, you felt ready to embrace whatever the future held, knowing that your love would guide you through every adventure, on and off camera.