#Grey Skies Fallen

[metalby]

Grey Skies Fallen [Molded by Broken Hands]. 2024. Bandcamp, Spotify, Facebook, Amazon, Youtube. Twitter(metalone). Artwork : Travis Smith.

2020年発表の前作[Cold Dead Lands]も共に．

[radiophd]

grey skies fallen -- molded by broken hands [album, 2024]

[kimkimberhelen]

GREY SKIES FALLEN - Knowing That You’re There (Official Video) 2024

[betweenstorms]

Part Four of Where We Part (previous chapter) (next chapter) (masterlist) Childhood Friend!Simon x fem!Reader

The motorway stretched endlessly before you, the grey skies mirroring the dull ache that had settled in your chest. London was still long hours away, and all you had to keep you company were the monotone hum of tyres on tarmac and the storm of regret swirling inside your mind. Too much time to think. Too much space for regret to fester. You cursed yourself, fingers tightening on the steering wheel as your thoughts kept circling back to the night before.

You had fucking blown it.

After all those years, you saw Simon Riley again—bloody hell, he stood right in front of you, and yet you’d managed to do nothing meaningful with that moment. You had let the beer and the shock cloud your better judgement. The one chance to say something worthwhile, to ask the questions that had haunted you for years. Instead of asking him about the things that truly mattered, you got wrapped up in your own misery, your own failed ambitions.

The thought made you wince.

He had asked about you, about your damn life, but you hadn’t even had the decency to return the favour. You hadn’t asked if he was alright, if he was happy. If he was satisfied with how his life had turned out after all the hell he must have been through.

You groaned, cursing yourself again for your inability, your bloody incompetency to see the bigger picture when it mattered most, too tangled up in your own pathetic web of insecurities to make sure that he was truly all right.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You pressed your lips into a thin line as you replayed the night in your mind, over and over, searching for the moments where you could have said something different, done something different.

Simon had been right there, and instead of taking the opportunity to reconnect, to ask the questions you had been holding onto for years, you let it slip through your fingers. You didn’t even give him your number or your address. You had let him walk away from you without leaving any way for him to find you again. Even if he wanted to, how would he know where to look? And, you realised with a sinking feeling in your chest, did he even want to? 

The bitter taste of regret coated your tongue as you tried to focus on the road ahead, but your mind wouldn’t stop replaying the encounter. In the cold light of day, with the haze of alcohol missing, it all felt so surreal, so far removed from reality. But the more you thought about it, the more it gnawed at you, and the more you realised just how much time you’d wasted. How ironic. But that wasn’t new, was it? Your whole life felt like a series of missed chances, of not recognising the significance of things until they were long gone.

The truth was, you had been doing this for years—

—letting life slip past you.

A miserable pattern that shaped your entire existence.

When you were younger, just out of university, full of fire and ambition, you thought survival was your strength, your forte. You were fully convinced you could handle whatever life threw at you. But what you hadn’t realised until now was that it wasn’t survival you excelled at—it was failing to see the things that mattered, right when they were in front of you. Survival, you’d come to learn, wasn’t just about getting through the hard times, it was about accepting and embracing the good ones, too. The moments of opportunity.

And that, it seemed, was where you had always fallen short.

Oh, you had it all mapped out, didn’t you?

The life you were meant to have. A good career, a happy marriage, kids running around in a house with a garden, maybe a dog or two. You had imagined it all so clearly, like a perfect picture in your mind. But that picture had never come to life. Instead, you had watched the years slip by, each one more disappointing than the last.

Maybe if you’d paid more attention…

Maybe if you hadn’t been so busy chasing the perfect job, you would have noticed the cracks in your relationship with your now ex-fiancé before it all fell apart. You should have seen the signs. The strange messages, the late nights, the unexplained absences. Maybe if you’d been more present, more attentive, your roommate wouldn’t have been the one to sink the knife of betrayal deep into your back. You hadn’t been watching and he slipped through your fingers, into the arms of someone you had once called a friend.

You had been so fucking busy chasing the perfect little future you thought you deserved that you hadn’t noticed the waving red flags in the life you were living.

And by the time you did, it was too late.

And your parents. Gosh, your parents.

You should have spent more time with them when you had the chance. You should have seen it sooner—your fathers’s illness. Would it have made a difference? Maybe if you had been more involved, it wouldn’t have progressed the way it had. Maybe there would have been more options, more time. But you were too wrapped up in your own life, in your career, in trying to piece together the version of yourself you thought you should be. And now your dad, your hard-working and loving father, was suffering, and you were left with the guilt of not having been there when it really counted.

The truth was, you had been drifting through life.

Existing, but not really living.

And now, as you stared down the seemingly endless stretch of road, the grey world outside your car, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had been doing it all wrong. You had always prided yourself on knowing your limits, on being self-aware enough not to overestimate your capabilities. But now, sitting here, you realised that maybe that was the problem. You’d been too cautious, too reserved, too unwilling to take the risks that mattered.

Maybe if you had fought harder for the things you desired, if you had been more aware of the moments passing you by, your life would be different now. Maybe you wouldn’t be driving back to a small flat in London, alone, with nothing but regrets for company.

It was bloody funny, wasn’t it?

As a child, you never think you’ll fail. You dream about the future with wide eyes and open hands, certain that everything will fall into place. You never think that one day you’ll look at your life and feel like you’ve betrayed yourself. Jesus, if you could meet your younger self now, what would you even say? You would probably sink into the ground with shame, unable to look into your own eyes. You should have done better for yourself. You should have loved yourself more, been braver, taken more risks.

Because the truth was, you didn’t know how you ended up here.

Somewhere along the way, the fire in your soul had gone out. The ambition, the hope, the belief in the greater good—it had all faded, replaced by this dull acceptance of mediocrity. You’d convinced yourself that this was enough, but the truth was it wasn’t. You could have done more. You should have done more.

And you didn’t.

But you could change, couldn’t you? You could pick yourself up, move out of the flat, find a job that made you happy, and take better care of yourself. It was all within your grasp. But you hadn’t done it yet, had you? You had let the years slip by, watching them drift past like birds on the horizon, too far out of reach to ever catch hold of.

Such thoughts became your constant companion over the following days.

Or had it been weeks? Months? Honestly, you’d stopped keeping track of time—everything blurred together into the same dull rhythm of work, sleep, and self-doubt. Life in London had become a strange, muted existence, the days bleeding into one another without distinction.

Tonight was no different.

You were sitting on the sofa, a thick blanket wrapped around your shoulders, working on a presentation for the following morning.

The small living room was bathed in the bluish light of your screen, the rest of the flat swallowed by darkness. Your focus drifted in and out, the words on the screen barely registering as your mind kept wandering, as if waiting for some small spark of inspiration that would never come. You sighed, running a hand through your hair, trying to will yourself to focus, but it was pointless.

Then you heard it—a knock. A soft, uncertain tapping at the door.

Your fingers froze over the keyboard, eyes narrowing in confusion. You glanced at the corner of the laptop screen. 02:29 AM. Who the hell would be knocking at this ungodly hour? Then, the knock came again, low but insistent, cutting through the quiet.

Your heart began to race, a prickle of unease settling over your skin.

You weren’t expecting anyone.

Not at this time. Not at all, really. Your parents were in Birmingham, visiting an old friend for the week, and you didn’t have anyone else in London who would drop by unannounced, especially not in the middle of dawn. You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how alone you were. The knocking didn’t stop, each thud echoing louder in the stillness of your apartment.

With a tight throat and a hammering heart, you carefully pulled the blanket off, your bare feet sinking into the softness of the carpet. Every step you took toward the door felt like it carried a weight of its own, your breath coming shallow as you pressed your ear against the wood. The knocking stopped for a moment, and you strained to listen, the eerie silence in the flat amplifying your heartbeat.

Slowly, you peered through the peephole, breath held. You blinked, your brain struggling to make sense of what you were seeing.

Hazel eyes, shadowed but unmistakable.

Simon fucking Riley.

A surge of adrenaline shot through you, your hand fumbling with the lock before you flung the door open with more force than you’d intended. The cold air from the hallway rushed in, but all you could focus on was him—standing there in the dim light, his broad frame filling the door. He looked the same as that night outside the pub back in Manchester, the same quiet intensity in his gaze. But here, now, it felt different. More immediate.

More real.

“Jesus Christ,” you snapped, words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Do you have any idea how much you scared me?”

“Didn’t mean to.”

His response was simple, understated, however, it didn’t calm the storm of emotions raging inside your chest.

You stared at him, your mind racing, your pulse drumming in your ears. He stood there, wearing a dark surgical mask that obscured half of his face and a beige baseball cap, the unmistakable Union Jack patch stitched on the front. His outfit was as unassuming as it was intimidating—black jacket, blue jeans, and military boots. And the way he was built, solid, bulky and imposing, would have made anyone else wonder if this wasn’t some kind of robbery. Or worse. He was an intimidating man after all.

But you knew those eyes.

Those sharp, piercing eyes that could cut through the fog of a thousand thoughts.

You’d know them anywhere.

For a moment, you both just stood there, staring at each other in the stillness of the dark. You looked up at him from under your eyelashes, your arms wrapped around yourself, whether for warmth or self-protection, you couldn’t say for sure. Simon stood still, his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze locked onto yours, unreadable behind the mask. The air between you was thick with a kind of tension that was hard to place. It wasn’t quite awkward, but it wasn’t far from it either, making the space feel too small, too intimate.

As the seconds stretched out in that strange, suffocating silence, you swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts. Your palms were sweaty, a reminder that this was real—Simon Riley, here, at your door. In the middle of the night. You shifted on your feet, feeling the chill of the hardwood floor seeping through your skin, and wrapped your arms around yourself tighter, as though that could ward off the growing sense of vulnerability creeping up your spine.

“Well… this is, you know, sudden,” you stated softly, your voice coming out quieter than you intended, almost lost to the tension hanging in the air.

Simon shrugged, his gaze flicking away before meeting your eyes again. “Told you I’d visit,” he replied, his tone casual, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You snorted, your nerves bubbling to the surface.

“Yeah, well, could’ve picked a better time, mate,” the sarcasm in your voice felt like armour, something to protect yourself from the whirlwind of emotions crashing against your ribs.

Simon tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“You want me gone, then?”

“No!”

The word flew out of your mouth far too quickly and with far too much force. It hung in the air between you, heavy and raw. You cringed at how desperate you sounded, biting the inside of your cheek as you quickly looked away, your gaze falling to the floor.

God, why did you always manage to make a fool of yourself in front of him? You were always like this around Simon—your emotions too close to the surface, your heart too vulnerable. It was like he had this power over you, and no matter how much time passed, you couldn’t shake it.

The familiar feeling of embarrassment crept up your neck, heating your cheeks and making your skin prickle with discomfort. Huffing softly, you dug your nails into your upper arms, grounding yourself in the sting of it.

“Do you... want to come in?”

Your voice was quieter this time, trying to hold onto whatever scrap of dignity you had left. But it felt clumsy and out of place, like they didn’t quite fit the gravity of the moment.

For a split second, Simon hesitated.

You could see it in the way his broad shoulders tensed, the slight shift in his stance, as though he hadn’t really thought through what would happen if he came here. Somehow, he seemed just as uncomfortable as you were, which surprised you. For a man who seemed to navigate life with such confidence and discipline, the idea of stepping into your flat, into your personal space, seemed to give him pause. You couldn’t quite understand why, but the longer the quiet stretched, the more you realised that maybe he hadn’t thought this through. Maybe showing up at your door in the middle of the night was more impulsive than calculated. And maybe he didn’t know what to do, just as much as you didn’t.

After what felt like an eternity, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

You immediately felt lighter as you stepped aside, awkwardly motioning for him to come in. “Sorry for the mess. I wasn’t expectin’ company. I mean, not that you’re company, well, you are, but… you know what I mean.”

He stepped past you, his frame taking up more space in the small flat than you’d anticipated. His presence seemed to dominate the room, making the icy air feel thicker, more charged. He glanced around briefly, his eyes scanning the room with the same quiet intensity you’d come to associate with him. Your tiny apartment felt even smaller with him inside it, his towering figure somehow making the room feel claustrophobic.

As he moved past you, you caught the faintest scent of something familiar—the earthy scent of leather and steel, mingling with tobacco. It was subtle but unmistakable, a reminder of the life he led, the world he inhabited now. A world so far removed from yours, yet here he was, standing in your flat like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You closed the door behind him, your fingers trembling slightly as you locked it.

You murmured something about making tea, your voice barely audible as you rushed into the kitchen, turning on the cheap neon bars over the sink. It was easier to focus on something as mundane as boiling water than on the knot of nerves tightening in your chest. You could feel Simon’s presence behind you, a silent weight of his intimidating aura pressing into the room. As you busied yourself with the kettle, your hands shaking just enough to make you scowl at your own weakness, you stole a glance at him.

He was still standing near the door, watching you intently.

His eyes tracked every movement, and it made your skin tingle under the scrutiny. He still wore his usual guarded expression, as though he hadn’t quite decided whether he belonged here or not. Plus, there was something unnerving about being the focus of his attention—Simon Riley had a way of making you feel exposed, as if he could see through every weak attempt you tried to hide behind.

Frowning slightly, you asked, “Why the mask?”

Your question seemed to jolt him from whatever thoughts were running through his head. He blinked once, twice, then slowly began to peel away the layers.

The cap came off first, revealing the familiar mess of sandy blond hair underneath. His boots followed, then his jacket, each item discarded neatly by the door with military precision. But it wasn’t until he tugged off the mask and placed it carefully on top of the neat pile that you realised how much tension you’d been holding in your chest.

It felt strange to see him wearing a mask indoors.

However, as usual, Simon didn’t bother answering your question.

He just continued as if you hadn’t said anything, leaving you to piece together the puzzle on your own. That was how it had always been with him, wasn’t it? The kettle’s shrill whistle startled you back to reality, pulling you out of the trance his presence always seemed to cast over you.

You cleared your throat and asked, “How d’you take your tea?”

“Plain.”

Of course, he did.

His familiar, deep tone that rumbled in the small space between you. You nodded and made the tea, handing him a mug with a cartoon character plastered on the front. Simon glanced at it briefly but, to his credit, didn’t say anything. He leaned against the counter, holding the mug with one large hand, his gaze once again sweeping over your small, cluttered flat. You watched him silently, mimicking his posture, leaning against the other side of the furniture.

The distance between you somehow felt too wide and too close at the same time. The sleeve of his shirt was slightly rolled up, revealing the edge of a tattoo that snaked its way along his muscular arm. Odd. You hadn’t noticed it before. The bold, black lines etched into his skin told you that this was something new, something he hadn’t had back then. You wondered what kind of significance it held.

There was a strange warmth pooling in your stomach, something unsettling about the way your mind lingered on his tattooed skin.

Before you could spiral any further into your thoughts, Simon broke the silence.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You quickly averted your gaze as heat rushed to your cheeks.

Had he caught you staring? God, how embarrassing. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, brushing your fingers through it in a futile attempt to detangle the mess.

“I wasn’t asleep,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the living room where your laptop sat abandoned on the sofa. “Was workin’, actually.”

You ran your fingers through your hair again, an unconscious attempt to make yourself look more presentable. It was absurd, really. You hadn’t exactly dressed to impress. The last time he’d seen you, you’d been more put together, more presentable, wearing makeup and decent clothes. But now, in the privacy of your apartment, you felt exposed, like he was seeing a side of you you hadn’t meant to show. You felt like a mess.

He nodded, taking a slow sip of his tea.

If Simon noticed your dishevelled look, or if he even cared, he didn’t say a single thing. The quiet stretched out again, the weight of his presence filling every corner of the room. You could feel your poor nerves fraying at the edges, but you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to act. You couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking, whether he was already regretting seeing you again.

“You know… I didn’t expect you to actually visit.”

Simon shrugged, almost imperceptibly. “Told you I would.”

There it was again.

That simplicity in his words, like everything with him was black and white. Promises made, promises kept. It was as though, with Simon, the world was reduced to the simplest, starkest truths. There were no shades of grey, no second-guessing. You almost envied that about him, the way he seemed to live without being tangled up in the anxieties and doubts that seemed to haunt you.

You stared at your hands wrapped around your mug, feeling the warmth seep into your skin, grounding you, as you let out a small huff of disbelief. You weren’t really used to someone following through so directly, so earnestly, and it unnerved you.

You shifted, “But… how did you even find me?”

Simon’s response was immediate—a sharp look that made your already timid stomach twist in embarrassment. The kind of look that seemed to say, Are you serious?

“I didn’t give you my address, did I? I mean, I didn’t think—”

Simon interrupted you with a heavy sigh, one of those annoyed sighs that made you feel like you were the one missing something obvious. It was the same tired sound you remembered from years ago, when he had little patience for things he considered trivial.

“Your father,” he said simply, as if that answered everything.

You blinked, confused. “My father?”

He gave a small nod. “I asked him for it. At the funeral.”

His words struck you like a direct punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs. For a moment, all you could do was stare, mouth parted in silent shock, your mind reeling.

Slowly, you pressed your lips into a thin, resolute line, eyes dropping to the floor as your bare foot nudged the kitchen furniture, seeking distraction in the quiet chaos.

“And you remembered.”

Simon, ever the pragmatic, gave a faint frown as if confused by your surprise.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

His response made your heart clench. Of course, only Simon Riley would remember something like that. He remembered everything, didn’t he? It wasn’t just a detail to him, it was a promise fulfilled, a matter of duty. You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly tight as you stood there in the dimly lit kitchen, the weight of his words hanging between you like an anchor pulling you both down into the murky depths of the past.

You had no words.

What could you say? That you were touched by his effort? That it meant something more to you than you could articulate?

Suddenly, the memory of the day after you met him came flooding back. The drive home from Manchester that felt endless, the silence inside the car thick with questions that swirled in your mind, never letting you rest. Those thoughts haunted you ever since, clinging to you in the days that followed like shadows, never letting you move on.

The questions that swirled through your mind like ghosts you couldn’t outrun, questions that felt urgent, vital.

And now, standing here in this moment, face to face with him again after everything that had happened, it felt as though the universe had conspired to bring you both back together. Every moment you’d spent wondering, waiting, longing, felt orchestrated by something greater than chance, as if God himself had pulled the strings, aligning the stars to give you this one moment.

This second chance.

But the questions you once agonised over, the ones that kept you awake at night, suddenly felt insignificant, small against the weight of this moment. What you thought you needed to ask him paled in comparison to the one question that now consumed you, burning through your thoughts like wildfire.

Nothing else mattered—only this.

“Did you… read my letter?” 

Your quiet words hung in the air, fragile and exposed.

It felt like a moment of reckoning, as if everything that had passed between you, the years of silence, the unspoken feelings, the grief, and the regret, had all led to this point, this moment. You weren’t sure if you even wanted to hear his answer, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking. You had to know.

Simon’s expression didn’t change much, but you noticed the flicker of something in his eyes, a flash of impatience, perhaps, or maybe just weariness. He let out a small grunt, his tolerance clearly fraying at the edges.

“Fuckin’ hell. You gonna keep askin’ daft questions all night?” His tone was sharp, but not unkind, and you could tell that, despite the frustration, he wasn’t trying to hurt you. It was just Simon—blunt, honest, unflinchingly direct.

The letter. He had read it.

Every word you had poured onto those pages, every emotion you had bared without ever expecting him to see it—he had seen it all. And not only that, but here he was, standing in your flat, at your door in the dead of night, as though he had been drawn back to you by the very things you had written down. It made you feel exposed, like you had laid your soul bare without realising it.

“And…?”

Simon’s beautiful hazel eyes flicked toward you, sharp and searching, as though weighing the unspoken between you both, carefully deciding how much to reveal. The silence stretched, thick with uncertainty, and for a heartbeat, you wondered if he would say anything at all. His expression remained unreadable, the hesitation palpable, until at last, he spoke—his voice low, gravelly, and frayed at the edges, like words worn down by years of being held back.

“Didn’t need the letter to know.”

You took a shaky breath, letting the reality of his words wash over you like a gentle wave.

Simon remained still, leaning against the counter, his piercing eyes locked onto yours. But that quiet intensity—the way he simply waited for you, like he was giving you the space to process everything, it was almost too much to bear. It was like he was standing on the edge of something, waiting for you to join him, but he wouldn’t force you to make the leap.

You placed the mug down on the counter, the ceramic clinking softly against the surface.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay at bay, but the dam broke, and before you could stop it, you buried your face in your hands. Because for the first time in a long time, maybe since birth, you felt like you could start to let go of the past.

Not entirely, not yet, but enough to stop letting it define you.

The sobs tore through you before you could catch them, erupting from deep inside, the kind of crying that you’d never really allowed yourself to do. It wasn’t the silent, dignified kind of tears that you’d always kept private, tucked away in the safety of solitude. No, this was raw, unrestrained. The kind that made your chest ache with the sheer force of emotion behind it. You were crying like a child again, vulnerable and scared, as if every moment of hurt you’d ever felt had been stored away for this exact instant. Your whole body shook with the release, as you gasped for breath between the words that tumbled from your lips.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking under the weight of the apology. “I’m sorry for everythin’. For never bein’ there. For not doin’ enough. For not sayin’ enough. I’m so sorry, Simon, I’m so sorry…”

The words spilled out like a flood, each one soaked with years of guilt and regret.

“I’m sorry you had to go through it alone,” you gasped for breath, clutching the edge of the counter for support as your legs threatened to give way under the weight of it all. “About… about all of it. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

You apologised for every moment of his pain that you weren’t there to stop. For his father, for the abuse. For his losses, his suffering, the unimaginable hurt he had endured. You apologised for not protecting him, for leaving him alone, for not being enough. You apologised for all the ways the world had failed him, as if you somehow could have prevented it.

The tears were relentless, burning hot as they streaked down your face as you hunched over, your hands covering your face as if to hide from the enormity of what you were feeling. You were just a child yourself back then, powerless and naive, but still, the guilt was suffocating. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you had let him down. That you hadn’t done enough to save him from that life. It was everything—everything you had buried, everything you had held onto for far too long, coming to the surface at once.

And it hurt. God, it hurt so much.

But amidst the pain, there was a strange sense of relief.

Like the weight you’d carried for so long, the heavy stone in your chest that had been there for years, was finally being lifted. You cried like the rain had finally broken through the clouds, years of pent-up emotion falling in a flood. For the first time in what felt like forever, you could finally breathe. The air filled your lungs, crisp and cold, and even though you were a mess of tears and shaking limbs, you felt lighter. Free, in a way you hadn’t felt since birth.

Your hands shook as they covered your face, trying to stifle the torrent of apologies that kept pouring out, unstoppable. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve known… I should’ve—”

But Simon didn’t let you finish. 

It was his voice, even after all those years, after a decade of longing, that cut through the storm inside you.

It was Simon—always Simon.

His words were simple, but they hit you with the force of something much greater.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

And you believed him.

[theealbatross]

isn't it delicate? (s.s.)

Plot: Sebastian is your best friend ... right?

or, Sebastian is being bullied (false), you can't possibly be falling in love with him (false), and he might have already, possibly, maybe, fallen in love with you too (true).

Tags: fluff on crack, jealousy, seb is a shit senior/lowkey bully (not rlly), imelda and ominis deserves reparations for their service to wizardkind, yandere!seb if u squint, kinda ooc but who cares, mentions of death and murder (rip anne, rot in hell solomon)

[A/N: This is me trying to beat writer's block if you even care. The scene in his dorm was so fucking difficult to write it was beating my ass. Anyways stream Delicate by T.Swizzle. Also, none of the photos are mine don;t sue me im poor]

Autumn was your favorite season – especially since it makes your short walks to Hogsmeade especially scenic.

After accepting defeat and admitting that you were hopeless at Herbology, you have made it a point to visit the Magic Neep every weekend to buy whatever you haven’t gathered yourself. The walk was a good excuse to get out from the walls of Hogwarts every now and then.

It’s surprising how loose the villagers are with their gossip when they’re just talking to a teenager. Plus, you do enjoy spending the afternoon with Mr. Timothy as he helps you improve your rubbish-handling skills with plants.

A noise from above alerts you that Imelda had the rookies on her team running drills just outside the quidditch field. The new players fight through the wind resistance as they make sharp turns and loops while they scream at each other in encouragement.

However, you can’t help but notice when one of them pointed at you while the other flew towards the stadium in a haste as if his broom had been on fire.  

Shrugging it off, you continued your pace, waving at familiar faces as you passed. You were just about to approach a couple of 2nd years you had been tutoring in Charms when there was a sharp breeze from above followed by a familiar silhouette dropping in front of you.

“Fun walk, pet?” he smirked when you jumped in surprise, roping you into a hug. From behind you, he casually shoo-ed off the 2nd years with a subtle flick of his head.

“Ew, Sebastian, no! You’re sweaty!”

Rather than acting like a gentleman, he drew you in close, leaning down to rub his cheeks against your neck despite your shrieks of protest as he lifted your feet off the ground.

Finally, you managed to push his stubborn form away, wiping away the skin that was now smeared in his sweat but he still managed to get ahold of your hand, pulling you close so you had to look up at him. Bastard.

Suddenly, it clicks, “Did you seriously have your rookies keep an eye on me?”

“It’s good practice,” He shrugged shamelessly, looking up at them in scrutiny, “Trains them to have sharp eyes, remain vigilant of their surroundings, and watch out for pretty witches on the ground that might be distracting while they’re in the skies.”

You slapped his chest, trying to ignore the burn on your face from his casually tossed compliments—and how solid he felt beneath his gear. “You and your brilliant ideas, Sallow.”

With the backbreaking, secret work (“You’ll see it soon enough, pet”) he does in Feldcroft to pass time along with the training he receives from Imelda along with a sprinkle of his glorious genetics, it was no wonder his social standing recovered as quickly as it did even when whispers of forbidden magic still followed him wherever he goes.

Not that he cared, you noticed. As he was clearly more than satisfied in spending his time with the same circle of friends despite the many girls that were bidding their time to steal him.

“Soooo, is there a real reason you had them monitoring me or is it just your unique form of torture?”

“Oh right,” you didn’t notice before but he had been carrying one of his satchels, digging into it to pull a grey knitted scarf that had an owl at the end of it. Before you could say anything, he was already wrapping it around your neck, even pulling up your hair for a second and tutting under his breath how ‘you never dress warm enough’. “It’s your scarf for autumn.”

It was tradition – something that started the first time you visited Feldcroft and he had let you borrow a spare scarf from his closet because you had lost yours in your haste to get to him. It was silly but that was the first time (aside from the troll) the two of you got into a real battle with only each other to watch the other’s back.

The scarf had become a source of comfort, especially on the nights that you had to do it on your own.

However, to Sebastian’s horror, you had worn the piece of cloth ragged. Refusing to let go of it because it was the first gift he had given to you. From then on, a compromise was established, he would be in charge of buying (and confiscating) your scarfs and you would pay him for it.

Only one of you held your end of the deal.

“And wear this,” he pushed your head on the hole of a sweater, helping you find the arms despite your grumblings about his fussing. “It’s getting colder now and you never wear your coat. And since we're always together, If you get sick that means I get sick. So please,” he glares at your petulant pout.  “Spare us both.”

“I’m sorry, mom,” you rolled your eyes. He pinched your cheeks painfully. “Hey!”

“No smart talk,” he chastises, chuckling. “And you better be back in the Great Hall once I’m finished here.”

You wave him off as you walk away. “Why? I like having you chase me around.”

“Don’t even think about it!” He screams, hands on his hips.

You laugh, poking your tongue out at him.

“Thanks for the scarf!”

“Do you have drills this weekend, ‘melda?”

Imelda stopped chewing her food to look at you with a raised, suspicious, brow. “No, why?”

You clapped your hands cheerfully, “I wanted to take Sebastian out on a day trip to Pitt-Upon-Ford before you guys start training for the upcoming game. One of the villagers told me a wild Dugbog was getting too aggressive and started killing their chickens.”

She nodded understandingly.

“Not the most romantic date but sure, just bring him back to the Quidditch Pitch in one piece by Monday.”

The nonchalant accusation plucked just the right string as your face morphed into a mixture of surprise, discomfort, and a hint of embarrassment. “It’s not a date! And how would you know what’s romantic?”

Imelda chuckled, raising her hands in mock surrender, “Alright, alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“Melda!” you shrieked, face heating up even more when you realized you had caught the attention of other students at the nearby tables. “I’m just worried about him.”

That made the Quidditch Captain frown, what is there to worry about? Is Sebastian having a tough time again? Imelda may be a bit dense regarding other people’s emotions but even she could tell losing his uncle and his twin sister in such quick succession had quite a toll on her friend.

It would take quite a toll on anyone.

But Imelda was sure he had been managing well, especially with his dearest witch by his side who, if the rumor mills were to be believed, basically spent all summer nursing him back to health. Not that she could blame her, from what Ominis told Imelda, Sebastian had damn near been catatonic and wouldn’t give anyone the time of the day unless it was you.

“Is he alright?”

You were quick to wave off her worries with a hand and a nervous smile, “No, he’s fine! Doing better than fine. It’s just … I’m worried he might be getting … bullied.”

In the confusion between laughing or swallowing or insisting that even a full-grown troll wouldn’t be able to bully Sebastian Sallow, Imelda instead choked on the pumpkin juice she was nursing.

“Imelda!”

She stops your fussing with a raised hand before speaking through the pain. “What *cough* What ever gave you such a ludicrous idea?”

You fiddle with your hands, clearly having kept this ceaseless worry for quite a bit of time. “Because Sebastian – ever since – he’s not particularly … very nice. Plus, there are all these ridiculous rumors of him being a dark wizard,” you roll your eyes but Imelda can still see the poorly concealed anxiety in them. “I’m scared he’s being ostracized. And I can’t be with him forever, you know.”

“Did you tell him that? Because I have a baaaad feeling the two of you aren’t on the same page.” Imelda is fairly certain Sebastian has already named their future children and dogs if you asked her. And if there was anyone that could have some sort of sway on that stubborn mule it would probably be you.

You shook your head, “He’s a man. He’ll just tell me not to worry about it.”

“Not worry about what?”

“Godric’s bloody heart! Sebastian, you scared me!”

“She thinks you’re being bullied.”

Without missing a beat Sebastian just bashfully smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of your head before straddling the bench to sit facing you amidst Imelda’s gagging. “Aw, you’re sweet, pet.”

Imelda watched in horror and disbelief as Sebastian just ignored her and cooed at you, teasingly trying to press kisses at your cheeks while you pushed away his face.

“Are you not even gonna deny that?”

“Should I?” Sebastian continued to stare as you stood up quickly, a flimsy excuse of getting some pastries on the other side of the table while huffing at Sebastian about misbehaving in public and creating misunderstandings. “I quite like it when I’m the only thing in her mind.”

“You’re seriously sick in the head, you know that?” she crosses her arms, studying him as his eyes stayed stuck while you got roped into a conversation with other students you were too polite to end quickly.

Sebastian just grinned, popping a grape into his mouth. “Of course, I know that.”

Suddenly, his gaze shifted to the side, spotting a sixth-year slyly stealing glances and eavesdropping on their conversation. He slammed his hands on the table, startling them. “Can I help you?”

“N-No – I’m sorry, Sebastian!”

Imelda shook her head, as the nosy students dispersed, prematurely ending their dinners. “Bullied, my arse.”

“Oh, if we have drills this weekend I won’t go, we’re going on a date.”

“I know that, Sallow.”

“Cheers, Reyes,” Sebastian tapped his fingers on the table twice and winked at his captain goodbye. Imelda watched as her prized beater decided he was done sharing you for the night. In a speed befitting a Seeker, he walked in your direction to grab you and your plate full of sweets towards the exit as you haphazardly screamed a goodbye to the witch.

Imelda stares at her cup before sighing, “Merlin, help her.”

Last night was the first time you had a dream about him.

Not a nightmare of losing him or a terrible recollection of the crimes you have buried together in the past – but a dream. A sweet, fuzzy dream that had you staring at your ceiling in a confusing blend of horror and butterflies as fuzzy memories of the touch of his lips on yours burned your cheeks.

You slap a pillow over your face.

“No, no, no.”

It would have been easier if it had been a nightmare. With one letter you and Sebastian would already be cocooned up the Room of Requirement and you would find sleep again under his careful watch.

But who do you call for this? When the one person you tell everything to is the one who can’t know.

This can’t be happening. You can’t do this to him.

You’ve been faintly aware of an attraction budding inside of you for your dear friend but you thought it was normal. Who wouldn’t be attracted to Sebastian?

He was tall, tanned, broad, and had that irresistible, mischievous grin that spells trouble—but somehow, it works. Because handsome features aside, he was protective, thoughtful, and was someone you could talk to for the rest of your days and never get bored with.

He’s your best friend.

And …

And you dreamt of kissing him.

You scream into your pillow.

Along with the life-shattering realization in the dark of the night is another horrible one in the morning: you’re probably not the only one who dreamt of kissing him.

You stare in horror at the small crowd of giggling girls that trailed after him, roping him into a conversation even when he politely excused himself once he saw you.

When has this happened?

The year you met, the two of you had been bombarded with problems bigger than each other that silly things like romance and crushes and jealousy were shoved and locked to the back of your minds. The year after that was spent recovering -- you had basically spent all of your days huddled together in whatever corner you both could find, too on guard to even think of socializing properly with other students.

Now, as you stand next to him, on the way to your next class, you finally see what you had been so obtusely blind to.

In a moment of grim clarity, you twigged that your good friend, one you had barely accepted as the boy that holds your adoration, was a handsome, talented gentleman in the race to become the most successful wizard to graduate in your year.

Of course, he would be bloody popular.

“Hey.”

You were so used to being at the center of all his attention (as depressing the context was) that you didn’t even comprehend otherwise – missed the flutter of their lashes, their shy giggles as he passed, or the coquettish whispers that followed him wherever he goes despite his aloof demeanor.

A couple of 5th-year Ravenclaws greet Sebastian sweetly as you pass by. You flinch at the tilt in their voice.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian notices the grimace in your face as you turn a corner, hands quickly soothing the back of your spine.

Well, you definitely see it now.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Avoiding him was definitely the wrong move – heedless, moronic, selfish –

But in your panic, it was the only move you had.

So, yes, it is horrendously short-term and stupid and back floating in the middle of the Black Lake in the morning of your weekend even more so.

Still, you and Sebastian had agreed months before the start of the term to pick mostly the same subjects as your last year, an idea that is now gloriously clashing with your ‘avoiding-him’ plans. Hence, you had no choice but to find solace in the big lake, submerging your ears under the water to tune out the noise of the rest of the world as you tried to think out of this predicament you have checkmated yourself in.

You are a brilliant student, a great strategist, and a powerful witch; you should be able to fix this.

He is suspicious, you know him well enough to know he’s slowly catching on to the fact that you would rather fight a graphorn wandless than be anywhere near him. He won’t be able to let it go. He’ll dig his claws in your brain and rip the reasons out of your mouth himself – which is something he definitely can’t find out.

You … like Sebastian – might even love him.

It’s the first time you admitted it to yourself, dunking yourself in the frigid waters to scream underwater (scaring the poor squid) before floating on your back again when you’ve sufficiently calmed down. You must positively look like an idiot but you have bigger fishes to fry than looking sane.

“I love Sebastian,” you whispered, trying and failing to get used to the idea, even if it was just on your tongue.

Should you tell him? That would be … difficult.

Everything is too delicate.

Your friendship was barely dangling on a thread a few months ago. If it wasn’t for your insistence to spend your summer together mending whatever was left of him and your bond outside the horrors in Feldcroft and in the small estate Professor Fig had left for you, you might’ve lost him altogether.

He tries hard to move on from it, to atone quietly, become a better man but you know he’s still struggling. On the worst nights you’ll find him staring at the empty walls of the Undercroft curled in on himself until you unwrap him out of his worst nightmares and into your arms.

Your feelings seemed infinitesimal compared to the demons he is fighting inside his head.

Does he even feel the same? Would he?

If you tell him, would you just become another one of his problems?

You slapped a hand on the water, trying to find the best outlet to let out your frustrations so you could piece together some form of answer or plan, cursing when a drop of water conveniently landed on your eye.

Realistically, he has his pick of the litter right now. Pretty girls tripping over themselves to be noticed by him. Beautiful, untraumatized, clean slates who would definitely be a sweeter companion than you.

The thought of seeing him with another makes your hands tremble – a strange combination of unjust anger, boiling jealousy, and a hint of heavy sadness flowing in your veins.

It feels strange to have your roles flipped. When you had arrived you were the new kid, a limelight at your every move and it was Sebastian who was always chasing after you, beating anyone else to hog your attention. As sick as it is to admit, you preferred it that way.

Being the jealous one wasn’t the kind of tune you were used to dancing in.

If you weren’t so caught up with saving the world maybe you would’ve been able to chain him to you.

Maybe it is too late now.

It feels unfair to add your confusion and emotions as yet another burden for Sebastian, who already carries so much. He’s happy now, finally finding some peace and stability. You refuse to be the one to break it all down.

You won't be another sin he'll have to take responsibility for, another person he stands to lose.

It's fine. This is fine.

“Accio.”

Your view went from the blue sky to a haze as you got rudely plucked out of the water and back into shore, face-to-face with the boy who had haunted your every waking (and sleeping) moment.

If you hadn’t been so dizzied you would’ve been offended.

“S-Sebastian?”

He does not look pleased. Fuck, fuck, fu –

“How many times must I tell you I don’t like chasing you around.” He quips but quickly removes his robes to wrap them around you. It was only when your feet were back on the ground did you realize all the eyes on you and the scene he had created.

Sebastian glared at the group of boys gawking and they scattered like ants. What a tyrannical senior he had turned out to be. You can’t believe you were worried about him getting harassed a few weeks ago. “We’re going back to the dorm to get you changed.”

Wait – what – “’s going on?”

One second you were having a heartbreaking crisis in the lake and in a blink, you were in his arms getting dragged barefooted back up the stairs.

He suddenly stopped waking, your face smashing into his back. You took quick steps backward when he gave you the most offended look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Oh no, you’ve messed up somehow. “Did you have somewhere more important to be than on one of my games?”

Ohhhh shit.

“N-No! I – I didn’t forget I swear it just … slipped my mind for a moment –”

And you didn’t! You even prepared your ensemble for today last night; it was hanging on your closet before you left your room. However, as you focused on not being seen by Sebastian the day had escaped you.

Your excuses seemed to just infuriate him even further because he just firmly grabbed your hand again and tugged you into the nearest floo. When you have teleported to the familiar walls of your Common Room you stopped on your tracks at the risk of lighting his fuse.

“I’m sorry. I promise I didn’t forget. I have my outfit ready in my –”

He stared, looking over your (no doubt) pitiful dripping form before sighing, pulling you so he could wrap an arm around your shoulders. “Let’s go to my room. We need to talk.”

It shouldn’t make you feel like a sulking child, but the way you are trailing from beside him with your head down had you fitting just the part. However, two firm squeezes on your shoulders were Sebastian’s silent way of telling you he wasn’t bringing you to his abode for a fight.

With his door closed and a quick silencing charm (when has he gotten so good at Charms) he was quick to pull out a spare skirt from the bottom of his bunk, unhooking one of his jerseys before handing it to you.

“Is this my skirt?”

A less secure boy would’ve been flustered but he just shrugged, you hate how his confidence just made him more attractive. “You left it when we were studying late here and you borrowed one of my sleeping shorts. Figured I’d just keep it here in case of emergencies.”

Even his reasoning was perfectly endearing and thoughtful. Clearing your throat, you gave him a grateful smile before going behind the dressing screen.

It was a few minutes of reprieve before he started his interrogation.

“Care to explain why I’ve barely seen you today?”

“Oh, I was just bu –”

“Or this entire week at all?”

You silently winced, seriously considering just apparating from behind the flimsy wood separating you. Though you had a feeling he'd just hunt you down again and that would just be awkward.

Because as much as he claims to hate chasing you, he does a perfectly good job at it.

Peeking from behind the wooden cover you flinched when he was already staring.

With a quiet sigh, he unwrapped his scarf from his own neck and threw it on his bed, his hands enclosed around each other as he leaned on his legs.

“I’m all ears, darling.” His frustration was evident, yet he was clearly extending his patience for you—a surprise, given his reputation for having a short fuse.

You finish zipping up your clothes, steeling yourself from behind the wooden screen before finally gathering all the courage you could muster and finally going out of your hiding spot and meeting his eye.

It was silent for a couple of long seconds before he decides to cut the tension by reaching out a reassuring hand which you quickly and gratefully accepted, letting yourself be dragged in between his legs as he stares up at you.

“Did I do something?”

“No!” You quickly reach a hand to his messy, brown, locks to placate him. A small smile gracing your face when he nodded quietly, earnest eyes hanging on to your every word. “It’s just …”

You squeaked when the door suddenly opened.

“Sebastian, Imelda said to get on the fie –”

“Out!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know your girlfriend – the captain said – I’ll let her know! I’m sorry!”

The door slammed with an echo, and Sebastian slumped into your stomach, hands loosely on the back of your knees. Despite the relief at being cut off, you can’t help but share his frustration. However, it didn't escape your notice his failure to correct what you believe is a common assumption among his teammates.

“We should go before it’s Imelda who bursts in next time. I think she won’t be as kind to your door.”

He sighs, nods, and stands up. However, instead of guiding you back to the floo he pulled you closer into him until you had to stand on the tip of your toes. His hooded eyes run through every inch of your face as he cradles it firmly, his work-worn thumb caressing your cheek gently while his other hand pulls you until you have to rely on his solid body for balance.

“Don’t think we’re finished talking about this,” he warns, his grip on your cheeks going tighter for a split second as the intensity of his gaze sharpens and he returns to the sweet, charming boy that stole your heart.

This is exactly what you had feared. Secrets weren’t a concept familiar to the two of you. Now that he had sniffed it out, it is only a matter of time before he gets to the bottom of it.

He gives you a mischievous smile at the unmistakable horror and guilt on your face, then leans in to press a kiss to your hairline. "Stop trying to run away from me while I'm still being nice."

"This is you being nice?" you tease but he only chuckles. "Maybe I should be running faster."

"You can play chase all you want, pet. But your chances of getting away from me are --" He mouths 'zero'.

"Oh? Zero?"

"To none."

The two of you laugh, and all at once, the small argument, the days spent avoiding him, and the guilt you feel about your emotions are lifted from your chest as you reach a bittersweet conclusion.

This was for the best.

This is how it's supposed to be. You shouldn't ask for more, not right now.

As long as he can keep laughing like a boy his age should after being forced to grow up so fast, and you remain each other's safe haven you can always retreat to, and he continues to look at you just ... like ... that ...

And you see it. Clear as day, you almost want to laugh at how silly and blind you had been.

In fast progression, you run through your memories, and it feels like falling through the ice-cold waters of the lake surrounding Hogwarts, like the path to Hogsmeade after an autumn rain -- clear and refreshing.

He hooks a strand of hair behind your ear and you realize that he knows you've finally figured it out.

"Is that a promise?" you ask.

It should be terrifying, it should terrify you – what you realize is his need for control of everything regarding you, his barely hidden obsession you had missed all this time, his unwavering dedication that only now did you see the depth of.

Instead, you beam, heart fluttering and meeting his commitment with a kiss pressed on his thumb.

You’re in love with Sebastian Sallow.

And for the first time since the two of you met, you finally see it – Sebastian Sallow might also be a bit in love with you.

"I promise."

“I know it’s been a while since I’ve been here but has the house gotten bigger?”

Sebastian stops his search on one of the chests in the storage to look back on his friend by the door. He looks up at the ceiling as if just noticing himself. “Oh, yeah, I did work on it over the past summers.”

Ominis frowned, raising his wand in different directions to get a clearer visualization of the new space, “I thought you spent the summer at her place?”

“I spent the first month finishing everything then flew back to hers for the rest. I’ve been working on it since the end of 5th year so there wasn’t much left to be done. It's honestly a good way to practice Charms.”

The Gaunt scion could barely believe the nonchalance in his statement, “And you added a second floor to your house because …?”

“Aha!”

In Sebastian’s hand was a fancy, brown velvet box, the emblem of the nearly fallen Sallow line embossed on the lid. With a quick peek, he confirmed that his mother’s ring was still safely tucked inside.

“Merlin, Sebastian.”

Ominis could almost hear his grin as he patted the dust off his pants before walking back to his frozen friend. “Are you planning to wed her by the time we graduate? Have you even courted her yet?!”

Sebastian just shrugged, looking around the house, a sense of pride filling his chest when he saw how perfect everything had been. Every nook and cranny made with only the thought of you in mind. Even the reading room you had mentioned in passing was thoughtfully plopped close to the backyard where he had hoped to improve your Herbology skills in the future when he manages to drag you into it.

“We don’t have to be married if she doesn’t want to be but we’re definitely getting engaged, I’m not risking it.”

“And you’re sure she’ll say yes?”

Sebastian scoffs and Ominis unfortunately quietly agrees at the stupidity of his question.

Ominis should be scandalized. The quiet, conservative part of him wants to scream about the impropriety of it all. However, with how headstrong you are and how stubborn Sebastian is he knew it would be a waste of his breath to scream about decorum and the formality of proper courting.

“Does she know about your grand plans yet?”

Sebastian slipped the box into the pocket on the inside of his coat. “My darling’s a skittish one but she’s getting there,” he smirks, the memory of the look of dawning on your face in his dorm room making his chest flutter in excitement. “If I make any moves now, I fear she’ll fly away.”

“Well, if a man told me he’s been obsessed with me from the moment we met to the point of building an entire house for a hypothetical future he has built for us without any of my say I’d be bolting for the hills too.”

Sebastian pushed the other boy enough to make him stumble.

“You wouldn’t understand, Omi,” he grins, smug. “We’re kindred spirits,” he releases the word like it had always been written – a fate he, for the first time in his stubborn life, was willingly letting himself get swayed into. “It was always going to end this way.”

Ominis couldn’t help but agree, both because of his confidence for his dear friend and a healthy part of it is of the potential horror he fears Sebastian would unleash on any other man that might risk taking you away from him.

He'd fancy not hiding another murder from the Ministry.

“For all our sake, I hope so too.”

“Sebastian?”

“Yes, pet?”

Sebastian casually flicks into the next page of the book carefully placed on your lap as you sit comfortably astride him. The wrinkle in between his brows a manifestation of his frustration with the Advanced Potions he was studying.

You could feel the stares and hear the whispers. Two of the younger Headboys tried to pretend not to see you improperly sitting in his lap while a group of girls gave you sharp glares as they passed by. You burrow yourself deeper into his lap, not forgetting to stare back with a sweet smile.

“Do you think we should start dating?”

Sebastian freezes, the speed at which his iris moved from the ink on the pages to your eyes was almost too comical but you held back your laugh, not giving him any space to misunderstand your words.

He does nothing but stare for the next 5 seconds before nodding, pushing a hand to rummage in his pocket before placing and opening a pretty brown box with a simple but beautifully carved ring inside it.

“Since we're already graduating, girlfriend seems a bit juvenile,” he clears his throat casually but a shake in his voice betrays his nerves. “Isn't it?”

You forced yourself to close your mouth as you stared at what undoubtedly is the Sallow’s family ring. It was only when he had plucked out the precious jewelry and gently slipped it into your finger that you finally managed to break yourself out of your stupor.

You sniff, now finally looking back at him, “You and your brilliant ideas, Sallow.”

[borathae]

“After listening to your friend’s story about how awesome it feels to sit on your boyfriend’s lap, you want to try it yourself. Jungkook is more than willing to offer his lap to you, even it makes his face burn up and his heart race like crazy (and maybe get his dick hard, but don’t tell anyone).

Alternatively: Maybe sitting on your boyfriend’s lap isn’t as innocent as you may have thought it would be.”

~ Requested by two anonies ~

Pairing: Jungkook x f.Reader

Gerne: College!AU, established relationship!AU, domestic!Fluff, Smut

Warnings: shy but horny!Jungkook, shy but horny!Reader, they both think the other is in charge which ends up with them being two needy subs grinding on each other, so much domestic sweetness, listen it’s so cute, making out, lap sitting, thigh riding, she rubs his cock over his clothes, grinding, she grinds her pussy on his cock, unprotected sex in the sense that he cums on her without a condom on but dw they are both clean & on birth control, cuddles for aftercare

Wordcount: 4.1k

a/n: I combined these two requests and decided to go with the Sense of Innocence!couple because they fit them really well. This is so adorable and cute and gosh, I love writing for them. They are both such sweethearts. Enjoy my lovelies, this is also my B-Day present for Koo 💗

You are hanging out at Jungkook’s place today. It is raining outside. The skies were grey and on the roads little rivers of fallen water were making their way downtown.

You don’t mind the weather. Not only because you love rainy weather, but also because Jungkook’s place was really cozy. He has his heaters on at their highest level, keeping the apartment nice and toasty. His diffuser was on as well, soaking the air in a sweet and perfectly faint vanilla scent. He even turned on his galaxy lamp. It is barely visible right now, as you not only have the lights on, but it’s also still bright outside. It still gave the room a slight colourful hue to it, which was nice.

Jungkook is playing Animal Crossing on his TV while you are next to him, playing on your phone.

Your feet you have buried under his thigh, using his body heat to keep your toes warm. Every now and then you can feel Jungkook caressing the back of your calf as a reminder that he was there and you were there and while he was busy with gaming he still thought of you. It was a nice reminder.

Right this moment you received yet another text from your classmate and friend Jia giving you dating advice.

-          Jia: are you serious? you never sat on his lap before??

-          Jia: haven’t you guys been together for like seven months??

Well, it was more of her shaming you for your slow step taking, but it was dating advice nonetheless.

-          You: not like this. not so random.

-          You: what if it’s weird?

Her answer is instant.

-          Jia: girl, it’s weirder that you’ve never done it before

-          You: :( i just don’t wanna be too much

-          Jia: he loves you like crazy, I don’t think he’d think it’s too much

You contemplate her answer long enough that she sends you three more messages.

-          Jia: besides. two things.

-          Jia: sitting on your guy’s lap is so comfy

-          Jia: and Kook’s a dude, he’ll love it cause dudes love that shit

You sneak a glance at Jungkook, who just this moment shoves a big handful of salted peanuts into his mouth. He wipes the access salt on his black shorts and chews with his big eyes focused on the screen.

So Jungkook loves it when you sit on his lap because all dudes do.

That sounds like a stereotype to you.

-          You: I feel like that’s way too generic. not every guy’s the same.

-          Jia: yeah, duh? but he’s into you and if a guy’s into you he likes it when you sit on him

You feel your cheeks heat up at her choice of words, looking at Jungkook in case he somehow heard what you just read. He obviously didn’t, still highly concentrated on planting pink flowers on his island.

-          You: you really think so?

-          Jia: yeah

-          You: and it’s worth it?

-          Jia: YEAH

You look at Jungkook again. He is chewing again, which means he shoved some peanuts into his mouth when you weren’t looking.

-          You: okay I’ll do it, brb

You don’t get to see her answer, but she is cheering for you.

You place your phone down.

“Hey, Kook, uhm.”

“Hm?” he says, cocking his eyebrow up but not looking away from his game.

“Can I try something?”

“Yeah, wanna play for a bit?” he offers, but follows it up with, “can I just finish the flowers first? I know exactly where to put them and I don’t wanna forget the spots.”

“No, I wanna uhm…can I just show you?”

Jungkook nods his head, “sure”, he says, still staring at his game.

You take a deep breath and peel yourself off your comfortable lounging spot to get on all fours and crawl to him.

He sneaks a glance at you from the corners of his eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asks, eating some peanuts again.

You take his arm and pull it around you. At that Jungkook finally looks at you, flashing you a sweet smile instantly.

“Hey”, he says, pulling you closer.

“Hey, uhm”, you murmur, doing the next step of climbing on top of his lap and then sitting down.

“Oh?” he widens his eyes, gawking at you with his lips parted in a perfect O-shape.

You don’t bear to look into his eyes. Instead you let yourself plop against his chest, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in the crook of his neck.

Jungkook lets out a soft chuckle, nuzzling his cheek against your head. He rubs his hand up and down your back.

“You’re cute”, he says and pecks your hair.

“Do, do you like it?” you ask him.

“Yeah, I do”, he says, returning to his game, “so snuggly.”

You smile. So Jia was right. He likes it. You cuddle closer and begin playing with his hair. You like it too.

His chest is strong, his thighs are soft now that they are relaxed and his arms around you feel so safe. He also smells heavenly. Like his body lotion and laundry detergent. The faint scent of his shampoo lingers on his neck as well, as does the actual smell of his skin.

“Feels nice, don’t stop”, Jungkook says.

You also really love that you can play with his hair so easily. He has the softest hair. It’s always so nice to feel it run through your fingers and tickle your skin.

“Your hair is so soft”, you tell him shyly.

Jungkook rests his head against yours in acknowledgement, humming a soft “mhm”. He knows that he doesn’t have to say more.

You spend the next moments like this. Cuddled up together as Jungkook plays Animal Crossing. He is preparing his island for a flower festival and he wants it to look as perfect as possible. Every now and then, you can hear him munch on some peanuts or mumble innocent curses under his breath when he accidentally planted the flower in the wrong spot.

You feel so cozy atop his lap. He is so warm and snuggly. And the touches he gives you make you tingle like crazy. Each time he eats some peanuts, he makes sure to connect himself with you by touching you softly. His fingers trace your spine, his palms run along your side or thigh and every now and then you feel his lips leave a little kiss on your head. It’s so, so nice to experience and you curse yourself for not doing it sooner.

You would have sat on him longer if the stupid doorbell hadn’t rang. Jungkook lifts his phone to check for the time.

“Our chicken”, he exclaims, “took them long enough. Wah, more than an hour.”

The doorbell rings again. He pats your butt gently.

“Baby, can I get the chicken?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m already getting it”, you say and peel yourself up with a heavy heart. You wanted to stay on his lap for longer.

You thank the delivery person, wishing them a safe drive home. The rain became stronger in the time you sat on Jungkook’s lap, entering his apartment and hitting your toes when you had to open the door. The delivery person trots down the stairs with their head held low to shield the rain. Poor them. You hope that they can warm up and dry off soon. 

You lock the door and return to Jungkook. He already has two plates set out and a pair of plastic gloves for each of you.

“Wah, look at the size of that box. I’m so hungry already, you have no idea. Thank you for getting it”, he says, meeting you halfway to take the box from you. He carries it to his coffee table and sets it down. Then he opens it, busying himself with taking out the different sauces and opening them.

You in the meantime, get comfortable next to him and switch the channels.

“Thank you”, he says.

“Sure. Should we continue Physical 100?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

And so it happens that you and Jungkook watch your current shared favourite show as you eat your crispy chicken. It is a very amazing time and the food is really tasty. But you can’t deny the sad little feeling deep in your tummy that you can’t sit on his lap anymore. You got a taste of it and now you want to experience it again.

You and Jungkook wash down the chicken with some beer. He sighs happily, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“The food was so good”, he says.

There is around seven minute of show left. He relaxes into the cushions and sips on his beer. You get up to clean the table.

“Baby, no”, he says, tugging you back down.

You fall with a squeak, landing on his lap. Your eyes flit up, meeting his playful gaze. Your heart is doing somersaults in your chest. 

“Don’t clean, you’re my guest. Just relax”, he says and wiggles his legs, “please?” he adds, widening his eyes cutely.

“Yeah okay”, you say, stifling a squeaky giggle as you settle against his chest. Your back is resting against it while your head is on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around you, nuzzling his nose into your neck and kissing you softly.

“I love that”, he says, “this is so nice.”

“Yeah it is”, you agree, feeling your heart race like crazy. This is the best feeling ever. It really is.

And so it happens that you finish the show sitting on Jungkook’s lap. You drink your beer, laugh or gasp at parts of the show and enjoy the other’s warmth to the fullest. And you are so, so happy that you dared to take the step. Being on his lap is amazing.

“Do you wanna watch another episode?” he asks once the show finished.

“Yeah, why not?” you say.

“Noice”, he says, pecking your cheek, “keep it playing, I just gotta wash the dishes. I thought I could handle them being here, but I can’t. I’m so fidgety.”

You get off his lap and help him clean the coffee table. The show is running in the background. His kitchen is located right behind the TV, allowing you to listening to the show clearly.

“I get it. It’s nicer when everything’s clean”, you tell him, throwing away the empty chicken box and cans of beer.

“Yeah definitely.”

It doesn’t take long for Jungkook to do the dishes. They were only two plates after all. You are already on the sofa again when he returns. He sits down next to you and sneaks a glance at you. You do the same.

“Do you…” you begin.

“Yeah”, he says, blushing softly.

“Okay”, you almost squeak the word and then you are already on your feet to change your position. You sit down on his lap again, cuddling into him while he hugs you tightly.

“This is so nice”, he says, resting his chin on your shoulder and smiling softly.

“Yeah, it really is”, you agree, feeling oh so happy.

You manage to watch a good two thirds of the show and then you have to get up to pee. You tell Jungkook to keep the show running because you don’t like the current team and don’t care about what happens to them. Jungkook still gives you updates when you are sitting on the toilet, doing so by yelling out what was happening. It made you chuckle because it was cute.

Jungkook is gawking at the screen with big eyes and parted lips once you return. He is resting his elbows on his knees, looking totally captured by the show.

Saddened by the fact that you can’t sit on his lap anymore, you sit down next to him.

His head turns to you instantly, he frowns at you, studying you with sad eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you sitting there?”

“What do you mean?”

“Get on here”, he says, patting his lap, “don’t sit there.”

“Oh”, your cheeks heat up instantly, “sorry, I just didn’t want to force myself onto you.”

“You’re not. Now com’ere”, he says and opens his arms for you.

You follow happily, doing it in a way so you were facing him again.

“But you can’t watch the show like that”, he says.

“It’s fine, I like this so much more”, you tell him, running your hands up and down his neck.

He gazes into your eyes and smiles with them. You retort it.

“You’re cute”, he says.

“You like this, don’t you?”

“I love it so much”, he says.

“I thought that I would try it tonight.”

“It’s amazing”, he smiles, caressing your waist.

You are so giddy! You have to kiss him! You do so rather forcefully, knocking a surprised squeak out of him. He falls into the cushions, accepting the kiss with his breath tickling your cheek as he exhales shakily. One more time you suck on his lips and then you pull back to sneak a glance at him.

His eyes are half-lidded, his lips are parted. He gazes at your lips then locks eyes with you. A soft, hazy smile lights up his face.

“What was that for?” he asks.

“Just so. I think you’re so cute”, you tell him.

“I think you’re cuter”, he says and looks at your lips, “I want to kiss you again”, he confesses, cupping your cheek, “please?”

You close the distance between you and him. You want the same. You got a taste of him and now all you want to do is have him on your lips for hours. It starts off innocent. Really, you didn’t mean for it to turn into the mess it will turn into ten minutes from now.

It starts off oh so innocently. You are feeling each other up, but it is never meant to linger on an intimate spot. You touch his chest, his shoulders, his face and neck, playing with his hair as well. While he feels up your back, your waist, your legs and your face, tickling your scalp every now and then as well. It was supposed to be innocent, but the thing with being stupidly and unbearably in love with each other is that there will come a time where the innocent touches leave exciting sparks on your skin and then those touches send your hearts into overdrive and make your breaths shaky.

You break the kiss, just so you can connect your tender lips with his neck.

“Baby”, Jungkook sighs, tilting his head to the side and closing his eyes, “that feels really good.”

His pulse is racing like crazy under your lips, encouraging you to keep going. Jungkook moans softly, sliding his hands to your hips. That’s when the innocence ceases to exist. You chase his touch, forcing your pussy to grind against his thigh.

“Ah”, you gasp, tensing up and lifting your head.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks, looking at you with big, worried eyes.

“I, I”, you stutter, feeling your face heat up unbearably.

“Baby, what’s the matter?” he stresses.

You wiggle your hips and bite down a little moan. The pressure and warmth on your clit felt really intense. Jungkook sneaks a glance down at you, widening his eyes.

“Oh”, he lets out, looking back at you.

You lower your head, feeling too embarrassed to look into his eyes. He’ll probably think that you’re such a needy idiot.

Jungkook takes your hand and guides it to his dick wordlessly.

“Oh?” you gasp, gawking at him. He is really hard in his shorts, twitching into your hand as he guides your fingers over his tip. He is blushing like crazy.

“I didn’t want to say, because I didn’t wanna be a horndog”, he says and grins shyly.

“Oh”, you let out and wiggle your hips on his thigh. The grinding motion feels so good that you let out a little moan. Jungkook answers you with a moan as well, looking at your lips with droopy eyes. He is still rubbing your hand over his clothed cock, but soon doesn’t have to anymore as you take over.

“This is good”, he sighs.

“Yeah, it’s good”, you agree.

Jungkook places his strong hands on your hips and helps you ride his thigh. He feels so good. You are so warm on his thigh and the way you seem to tense and shudder each time your hips roll over his muscle excites him a lot. You in return love how his cock is twitching under your hand and how hot he feels to the touch.

You exchange one look, one moan, one touch and then you are kissing again. Sloppier than before. More tongue as well. And with lots of little sounds escaping the both of you. The show is almost over by now. Only ten minutes left. Neither of you take it in. It’s background noise, just as the loud rain outside is.

You rub each other sensitive that way. The next episode is already four minutes in when you break the kiss again. You have soaked through your panties and sweats by now. Jungkook did the same with his shorts. You are panting like crazy, barely catching your breaths. You try to look at him, but barely can. He is so blurry in your vision. You cup his heated cheeks. Jungkook leans into your touch, moaning your name.

“I can’t hold it for long”, he confesses.

“Same”, you say, tensing on his lap.

“I wanna feel your pussy.”

“We could take our pants off.”

“Yeah please.”

“Okay.”

You scramble to get naked. At least your bottoms for now. You are too horny to care about your shirts. You just want to connect with each other again. You scramble back onto his lap, Jungkook welcomes you with open arms. He grips your hips instantly without ever guiding you. You still think that he is. Neither of you really think they’re in charge, both think it’s the other. It still works somehow. You find each other, pressing up against the other.

Like this, your pussy is grinding right against his cock. Said cock is resting against Jungkook’s stomach, twitching when your wet warmth comes into contact with him.

“Baby”, Jungkook moans, closing his eyes, “baby that feels so good.”

“Yeah”, you moan and chase him with rolls of your hips. His cock grinds right against your clit, sending electric pleasure through your veins. He is so much warmer than his thigh was. And softer. And so much wetter. Oh god, having his naked cock against your pussy feels so good. You don’t want to stop chasing him. He probably thinks that you are acting so needy right now, but you have to keep moving.

You lower your head to kiss his neck and suck on his skin desperately.

Jungkook moans, dropping his head on the edge of the backrest. Like this, his body slides down the cushions just enough that you have even better access to his cock. You press down on him and use the better position to focus your attention on his tip.

Jungkook shudders, tensing his thighs as he feels bolts of pleasure course through him.

“Don’t stop”, he begs, leaking in bliss.

You smear it all over your pussy and cock seconds later, mixing it with your own never ending slick. The movements are so easy because of how wet both of you are. You can’t stop grinding on him even if you wanted to. His request is unnecessary because all you want to do is keep feeling him in this way.

“Don’t stop”, you beg. You don’t know why you begged, but it felt so right to do. In your eyes it is Jungkook, after all, who controls the scene. Who guides your hips with his hands as you lose yourself on his cock.

While he thinks that you are having him wrapped around your every finger, laying willing victim to your sweet seduction.

Truly it is almost adorable how wrong either of you was. Just two submissive lovers grinding on each other, thinking they are the one submitting whilst in reality you are both equally submissive. It’s adorable, really. Adorable and very needy.

Oh so needy.

You break your lips from Jungkook’s neck because you needed to breathe. You are so dizzy that it gets hard to keep moving your hips. But you have to, Jungkook would want you to.

“I’m so close”, you whimper, twisting a bundle of his hair.

“Me too, baby”, Jungkook gets out, squeezing your hips. He is holding back. All he really wants to do is climax all over your pussy. But he holds back, because you would want him to.

Adorable, really. You both are so adorably stupid right now.

“Kookie”, you whimper, tensing up. Your clit is pulsating like crazy. You can’t describe how intense his cock feels on it, but it does. Oh it does. You can barely breathe.

“You can c-cum whenever you, you need to”, Jungkook stutters, squeezing your hips.

“R-really?” you squeak out, resting your forehead on his shoulder. You are so ruined. Oh god, so ruined. You need to keep grinding and grinding and grinding.

“Yes”, he says and in his ears it’s him making sure that you cum first, but to you it sounds like he is finally giving you permission to let go.

You press yourself closer and sob his name, hiding away in the crook of his neck as you let that tight knot in your tummy burst. You manage to grind yourself on him one more time and then the pleasure gets too difficult to bear.

“Oh god”, you choke out, convulsing atop his lap as your fingers twist his hair desperately. You feel so hot. Your pussy feels like she’s burning up. It’s so intense that you end up sobbing his name again and squeezing him for comfort.

“You’re so hot”, Jungkook mewls, helping you ride out your high by moving his hips which results in his cock grinding against your pussy, “oh god baby, oh god.”

You finish after five aggressive shakes of your legs.

“Kook”, you moan, chasing him even if it hurts a little. You already acted needy enough, now you need to get him off as well, “Kook please.”

“I’m gonna cum”, Jungkook whimpers, “I can’t hold back anymore.”

“Please”, you beg him, grinding your overstimulated pussy against his tip.

“___”, Jungkook moans and arches his back. The tight knot in his stomach breaks and fire takes a hold of his body. It feels so good to climax like that, leaving him to drop into the cushions and keen your name loudly.

“Yes, thank you”, you pant, helping him ride out his high by grinding on his cock. He made you so sticky and wet now that he is cumming all over your pussy. You really like the feeling, chasing it with needy ruts of your hips.

It takes Jungkook six rolls of your hips and then he gets too overstimulated. He grips your hips and drags you away from his cock.

“Please no more”, he begs.

You drop onto his lap, soiling his skin with your mess. Neither of you care.

“Thank you”, he gets out, hugging you against him, “oh god, this was amazing.”

“Yeah”, you agree with your head resting on his chest, “I was so horny.”

“Me too”, he says, chuckling breathily, “you’re amazing.”

“No, you are.”

You lift your head to send him a goofy grin. One he retorts happily.

Behind you the show announces the new challenge. You and Jungkook sneak a glance at it.

“What the hell is going on?” Jungkook asks, reaching for the remote to press the information button, “huh? How are we already halfway through the next episode?”

“Stop it. I don’t wanna spoiler myself”, you say.

Jungkook turns off the TV and drops the remote in synch with his head falling against the sofa, “we’re idiots. I didn’t even realise the show was still on”, he laughs.

“Yeah me neither”, you giggle, “but I don’t regret it.”

“Agreed”, he says, hugging your waist, “lean into me, I wanna hold you.”

“Mhm, Kookie”, you say, snuggling into him, “we gotta rewatch what we missed.”

“Yeah definitely.”

“I gotta go pee and clean up soon”, you whisper.

“Hush, just a few more moments. I need to savour you.”

“That’s fine with me”, you say, feeling oh so happy that you want to scream.

Jungkook feels the same, replaying what happened moments before in his head. He is smiling as he does, feeling his heart race like crazy.

Jia will ask you for updates when you meet her on campus on Wednesday, but you won’t give her more than a simple “he really loved it”. She smiled and then acted cocky about being right.

[utterlyotterlyx]

These Hallowed Halls

Cassian x Fem!Reader

Based on this ask x

Summary - You had begged Cassian not to leave you again, you had begged him to stay, and you had fallen apart when he had left without saying goodbye.

Warnings - swearing, ANGST, depression, weight loss, fluff, Cassian being a raging prick, Azriel being a softie, mentions of blood

The Mother was certainly mocking you.

Rain smacked against the stone balcony beyond the glass doors which were rattling in the wild wind, harmonising with your own sadness as you stood in the centre of your room, finding little to no comfort in front of the fire you were usually curled in front of.

Grey skies loomed overhead. It was rare for such a storm to descend upon Velaris, so rare that most didn't know what to do when it arrived. Most opted to stay in doors and wait it out, wait until starlight flooded the streets in welcome and fae journeyed on in their lives.

Cassian stood before you, dishevelled and tired, deep sunken patches under his one shade darker than usual eyes, his lips curled into a snarl, body lax and weary. The Illyrian ran his hands over his face, grazing his fingertips over his growing beard, and he rolled his shoulders and his wings with them before he looked to you and sighed, "Don't make this harder than it needs to be, Y/N."

You had been joined at the hip, had a relationship that no one could ever understand, not even Rhys or Az could figure it out. Cassian was your lighthouse in an ocean of fog, he had the ability to be your happiness or shatter your soul, and you clung to every piece of affection and attention that he gave to you. When he was gone, you felt as though you were on fire, like every single one of your nerve ends were being cauterised and there was no anaesthesia.

Brown waves fell from his loosely wrapped bun, drifting over his face which was illuminated by that golden glow emitting from the fireplace. Cassian had come to you right after he reported to Rhys like he always did, but instead of hugging you tightly and cracking open a bottle of wine to tell you his next enthralling tale, he stood before you to tell you he was leaving again with a cold and distant accent taking over his entire body.

"But, you've only just gotten back," you told him, fiddling with the cuffs of his jumper that you had stolen, just needing to be surrounded by him for one moment, it drowned your body since Cassian was a large framed male, and you adored his jumpers, they made you feel precious.

"I know that," he bit, his muscles tensing in a different order every few seconds.

He was exhausted, you knew that, it rolled off him in waves, no, tsunamis, and you wanted nothing more than to run your hand through his unbound hair and tell him it was okay. But you had missed him, too much.

The fire crackled at the head of your bedroom, a blanket lay strewn over the arm of the sofa from when you had flung it off of your body the moment his scent filled your lungs from down the hallway.

"Do you have to go? I've missed you Cass, it's been horrible without you," you pleaded, each one of your words made him feel heavy.

Cassian adored you, you were his shadow, clinging to him for comfort, he always found you in his clothes, he always found you waiting for him whenever he returned home to give him what he needed. Whether that be someone to laugh with or someone to hold until he fell asleep.

You were his person. In the most platonic way possible. Cassian couldn't say that about anyone else but you.

"Rhys had ordered it. So yes. I have to go," his words were harsh and laced with venom, a pure annoyance that radiated from him as he rolled his neck, unmoving from his place in front of you.

You were confused, he hadn't even smiled at you when he had entered your room, he hadn't hugged you or asked how you had been, he hadn't offered to tell you a story or let you know what he needed to feel better. The Cassian in front of you wasn't the Cassian you recognised.

It was the first time you felt small in front of him, the first time where his gaze made you cower and feel uneasy, "I can speak to him if you'd like? He might let you have some rest at least-"

"Fuck, Y/N. Will you just stop?!" Cassian shouted at you, the sound of his voice made you flinch backward as he took a step toward you, "I don't need you to do anything for me. I don't need you to stroke my hair or fight my corner, I don't need you to talk to Rhys for me like your words will make any difference in what my High Lord requires me to do. I don't need you suffocating me and wearing my fucking clothes. I don't need you, Y/N."

Water blurred your vision as his words sliced through you, deadly enough to make you feel as though you were dying, "I'm sorry, I was just trying-"

"Stop trying. Just stop. I am the General of the Night Court's armies, it is my duty to go where I am needed and I'm very sorry to say that it's not with you Y/N. Others need me more than you. Stop fucking clinging to me and find something else to obsess over."

Cassian was panting and breathless, fury blazed in his rich hazel orbs and you let out a pained sob, wrapping your arms around yourself and stepping backward again until your legs hit the back of the sofa, you rested your weight against it and let out a shaky breath.

You didn't dare look up when you heard Cassian shuffle, his feet scuffing against the floor breaking the silence that had consumed you. You had expected him to realise what he had said, you had expected him to rush to your side and apologise. But no. Cassian dragged his feet behind him and opened your bedroom door, allowing a gust a cold air to circle the once warm room before slamming it behind him, slamming it so hard that the canvases on your walls rattled at the force.

Sleep that night had not consumed you like it usually did, the ghost of Cassian's touch lingered on your skin and you cried until your throat was raw and head was pounding. You cried until the words he spat at your drowned you into the abyss.

The morning had come around quickly and you had groaned whilst getting out of bed, the little sleep you had gotten clear on your face and body, your tear stained cheeks were puffy and red, and your hair was a mess from your hands clawing through it, begging for some pressure to take your pain away.

You had to find him. You had to see him. You had to say goodbye.

But when you had entered his room without knocking, you gasped, his bed was askew, the scent of him lingered in the air, but he wasn't there. Cassian had left. His bedroom a haphazard sign that he had left in a hurry and as soon as he had woken up.

You hadn't realised that you had fallen to your knees sobbing until cedar and night-kissed mountains flooded you, Az's arms wrapped around you and he held you close, hushing you and whispered to you that everything was going to be fine. Rhys had appeared next, frowning at you with sad eyes before cradling you carefully to his chest, stroking your hair as he carried you back to your room and fitted your sheets over your frame. Rhys continued to hold you until your mind was weak enough to allow him in to put you to sleep.

They had tried everything to coax you out of bed the weeks following Cassian's abrupt exit, Amren had offered to take you to the library countless times, promising to buy you every book that you wanted. Mor had tried to get you to go to Rita's, to drink and dance the pain away. Azriel's shadows peppered kisses over your face and had done their best to curl around the edge of your sheet to pull them down, to which you had whimpered and pulled them back up to your neck. Rhys had even offered to take you dress shopping, he told you that if an expensive garment was going to make you smile then he would spend his entire fortune on it.

Nothing made you want to move.

Your soul felt empty, every fibre of your body felt dead and cold, like the crisp forest in the middle of a harsh winter. Nothing made you want to live your life. Cassian's words to you played over and over in your mind, maybe you were too much, maybe after all your years together in your family had made you too comfortable.

It took everything within you to not ask for one of his jumpers, he had made it clear that he didn't want you to be like that anymore. He didn't want you.

Your body felt heavy, the weight of your despair crushing your limbs into dust. You felt the weight dropping off of you, you felt your stomach cry for nourishment but didn't wish to satisfy it, you didn't want anything, anyone, but him.

"Please get up, Y/N. It's been three weeks, you've hardly eaten. We're worried about you," Azriel had settled into the space behind you and smothered you with his heat, he noticed how cold you were, how tired and lost your eyes were, how you wore an expression of pure heartbreak and loneliness on your beautiful face.

Azriel sighed at your weak grunt, pulling you back into his chest and doing his best to make you feel loved and cherished. He couldn't admit it but he had heard the words Cassian had so carelessly thrown at you that night, and it took everything within him to not burst through your door and pummel his brother into the ground, even his shadows wanted a piece of the General, how dare he say those things to you.

The Shadowsinger couldn't even put into words the relationship between you and Cassian. You had never been lovers, but you had never been just friends. Friends didn't peck each others temples or stroke each others hair. Friends didn't wait up for the other to return home and then scurry into one of their bedrooms to hold one another and talk. Friends didn't act like you and Cassian, two kindred spirits of chemically perfect harmonisation.

Azriel missed your smile, he missed the way that they all lit up when you laughed, or entered the room, or even looked at them. You made life feel lighter, you made life feel balanced. But now, now it felt disjointed, and they all felt it.

When you didn't move, or even tear your gaze away from the world beyond your window, he sighed and left the room with a soft click of the door. Cassian wasn't due to return for another couple of weeks, and Azriel feared so badly that the damage would be too severe for even Cassian to repair.

The days ticked on, days where you didn't eat or bathe, days where you only left your bed to use the bathroom before finding another nightgown to wear, days where your only sustenance were a few almonds and some water. Mor had gasped when she had seen your body through the crack in your door, the grey tinged sickly paled skin, the outline of your ribs, the deep hued sacks under your eyes; it was too much for her to witness, and she had to take herself into her own room and cry for you.

Azriel had knelt in front of you two weeks later, tears in his eyes, and you felt his sadness rippling off of him as his face entered your weak vision, it was the first time you had really looked at any of them since that day. He had taken your limp hand in his own, he had allowed his shadows to slither up your limb and coax you gently into smiling softly at him, "Please get up, Y/N. Please. I'll do anything you want. I can't watch you kill yourself anymore. We love you, we love you so much. Please."

You had squeezed his hand as hard as you could, which to him was nothing, and shifted in your bed, wincing as you pushed your legs over the side of the mattress. Azriel was beside you in a second, crouching in front of you and helping you to your feet, "I want to feel the sun," you voice was hoarse, Azriel was surprised that you still knew how to talk, "Take me to summer."

Cassian had sped home as fast as he could once his job was finished. The feeling of leaving you had broken him more each time he had thought about it, that pained look on your face had haunted his dreams. He never should have said those things to you, he never should have left you, he should have told Rhys to go and fuck himself instead of what he really did.

You had cowered like a wounded animal in front of him whilst every word cut you like a knife, if it were a knife you'd surely be dead.

He had to get back to you.

Cassian had landed on the lawn of the River House and he felt the atmosphere shift, what was once light and warm was now cold and ominous. The house held no joy, your laugh did not stalk the halls, it just felt lonely, abandoned. Just like you.

The door had flown open and Mor had stalked from the hearth, eyes blazing with hatred, pale and tired, and she wasted no time in bounding right up to him and planting her fist right in the centre of his face. Cassian lurched to the side at the impact, cradling his busted nose in his hand, "You prick," she seethed, Amren and Rhys had flown out of the house after her but were to late to stop her from jabbing Cassian right in the nose, "Today was the first time she's even spoke after what you did," her finger was in his face, her eyes were wild and frantic, "How could you do that to her? She's your person, she's your best friend and you did that?"

Rhys grabbed her wrist before she could land another blow, Amren had swooped in and guided Mor back into the house, not before growling at the male in front of her, leaving Cassian and Rhys out on the lawn, the latter of which was glowering at his brother.

"Count yourself lucky that she got to you first," Rhys was dead behind the eyes, Cassian had never seen a void like it, he looked to the house, hoping that the foundations would peel apart so that he could see you, Rhys scoffed, "Azriel has taken her to Summer. She needed the sun, she hasn't been out in it for four weeks."

"Four weeks?" Rhys hummed, his power throbbing around him, "Rhys I fucked up, I need to see her."

"I'm sure you can wait, like she waited for you. I hope you're proud of yourself brother, I really do."

Rhys turned on his heels and disappeared into the depths of the home, leaving Cassian stood in the grass cursing himself for ever taking his anger out on you.

Rhys had called to Azriel, had told him that Cassian was at the River House and that he should take you to the House of Wind instead. Azriel had obliged without question, not wanting to put himself in the situation where he would harm a member of his family.

You had figured it out, the reason why your residence had been moved so abruptly, and it shattered you. Your afternoon in the sun had been lovely, you felt the sun seeping into your pores, you felt the waves kissing your feet, you felt the sand between your toes, and you felt safe pacing beside Azriel who only spoke when you did.

Soon enough, you had found yourself in the deep tub of you House of Wind bedroom, you had always loved the view there, you could see the valley of gold at the foot of the mountains, you could hear the childish laughter drift upward from the streets, and you could see the starlight cascade across the sky.

Oils and warmth washed your grime and paleness away, the heat giving a new lease of life to your skin. You were sure that you still looked awful, that much was obvious from the longing stares your family had bestowed upon you over the past few weeks.

The tub rippled as you stood from it, you dried yourself off and pulled one of Azriel's jumpers over your figure as well as a pair of lax cotton pants that hung from your hips. Azriel had done his best to make your room feel cosy, he lit the fire with his own hands and refused to cower away, he wouldn't cower away from it for you, he had brought you tea and fluffed your pillows, but you still ached, you still yearned for something else.

Loud voices echoed from the hallway, the padding of feet drew closer and you frowned softly at the noises floating to your ears. The door of your bedroom flew open and you found Cassian stood before you, nose smeared with poorly wiped blood, he looked frantic and boiling with worry and fear, and his face contorted when he saw you.

Rhys had entered after him, he had surveyed you carefully, noticing the towel you must have been drying your hair with now a pile of cotton on the floor, "I'm sorry, Y/N. I can make him leave."

It was like your soul was burning with that aching fire, only this time it wasn't painful, your soul was singing a symphony of emotion, "No," you said weakly, your eyes moved to Rhys and you nodded, he told you he was only a shout away if you needed him and then left.

Cassian drank you in, the lifeless eyes and limp hair, the greyish hue to your skin, the dark bags under your eyes, he noted the way the clothes you wore hung from your frame and the way your cheeks sunk into the bone, and he broke, "Y/N, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I never should have said those things to you, I don't know what I was thinking," Tears streamed down his cheeks and it hurt you to see him that way, "You're not clingy or obsessed, I know you were trying to look out for me. You always look out for me."

"I love every single thing about you. I love the way my jumpers drown you and coat you in my scent, I love it when you wait for me to come home, I love the way fire spreads through me whenever you touch me. I love everything that you are. I'm so sorry that I've done this to you. You deserve the world and everything good in it, you deserve so much better than me," his words were floating between broken sobs, he tried to move to you and visibly winced when you took a step back, "You are my everything. You are the one who completes me, you are the one I search for whenever I enter a room, you are the only one who I feel safe with."

"My home is wherever you are, you are my home and I know I've fucked up and I understand if you never want to speak to me again. I just need you to know that I'm sorry. If I have to leave Velaris for you to feel safe then I will, I-"

"Why would you do that?" you voice called to him, you took a single step forward and examined him, he was distraught, "I went to find you that morning, to apologise for being so suffocating," you cringed at the word, at how it had made you feel when he had thrown it at you, "But you were gone."

Cassian took a step closer to you, "I knew what I'd done, I saw what I'd done to you and I couldn't see you look at me like that again. I wanted to protect you from me, I needed to get you away from me."

You wrapped your arms around your frame and found his eyes, his beautiful pools of rippling sadness screaming for you, "I don't need protecting from you, Cass. I just need you," you tucked a strand of your wet hair behind your ear and continued, "I don't know why I cling to you, it hurts to be away from you, I feel like my body is dying when you leave me. It feels like my soul is being ripped from my body and I can't breathe when you're gone. I'm nothing without you. I can't live without you."

Cassian had closed the gap between you, his hands finding a place on your hip and under your chin and he tilted your head upward, his eyes searched your face, delving into the deepest depths of your thrumming soul and his eyes widened, "Y/N," his voice was a whisper, his thumb glided across your cheek and you found yourself leaning into the touch, soaking up the affection like a sponge in the ocean.

Bottom lip wobbling, he took your face in his hands, "I think I know why you've been feeling like that."

Cassian's breath fanned across your face and you inhaled deeply, you felt your soul melting, all of the sadness now a painful memory, you felt hot white starlight and the shifting of those golden threads, webbing your essence together until it jolted into place. The snap. Cassian continued to hold you in his arms and your fingers brushed against his jaw, "We're mates," it was a fact, and he nodded.

"We're mates," a tear slid down his cheek, and you knew he felt all of your pain in that moment, "I promise that I will take care of that heart of gold for the rest of my days. I promise to love you endlessly until you tell me to stop," he rested his forehead against yours, "I knew it was you, I knew it was us."

"Meant to be," Cassian huffed out a gentle sigh and brushed his nose against your own before dipping his lips to meet yours.

It was better than you could have ever imagined, you felt your souls merging together into one, you felt the world grow lighter and your heart grow fuller, you felt your scent combining into something that could drown continents. You felt him.

And as long as you both lived, there would never be a day where either of you felt unloved.

Authors Note

Jeeeeez!

Love these requests, they make me so happy x

@jenniferpendragon @acourtof-wingspan

[doormatty3]

Ocean Eyes: Chapter 1 (Orm Marius x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Ocean Eyes Masterlink

Summary:

[Orm Marius x Female Reader] [Orm Marius x You]

The ocean has always fascinated you - the ebb and flow of its water, the marine life in the sea and the wild and untamed beauty it exudes. Your attempts to explain this fascination have always fallen short. But when you meet Orm at the seaside one rainy day you find, that he just understands.  You offer to show him around since he is not from the city. And you are intrigued by his rather strange quirks and his regal demeanour.  After all, how could you not? When his eyes mirror the ocean itself, deep and incredibly blue. OR: You impress Orm with the surface world and he impresses you with his Atlantean cock

Wordcount: 4134

A/N: This is the first chapter for a (probably) 4-5 chapter fic

Also: Our boy Orm deserves some love so this happened.

Normally, you actually like water; after all, it’s an integral part of your life as a marine biologist. 

You’ve spent countless hours immersed in the briny depths, studying the mysteries that lie beneath the surface. In the embrace of the watery depths, you’ve unravelled the secrets of hidden ecosystems, marvelled at the kaleidoscope of marine life, and witnessed the symbiotic dance between predator and prey. The ebb and flow of tides, the rhythmic movement of ocean waves – these are the elements that typically elicit admiration and wonder from you. 

However, this affection for water does not extend to rain, especially when it chooses to make an unannounced entrance when you’re out for a walk along the seaside.

As the heavens open up unexpectedly, you find yourself caught off guard, the rhythmic pitter-patter of raindrops on the sand disrupts the usual symphony of your thoughts. A muttered curse slips through your lips, a reflexive response to the inconvenience of precipitation, and you hastily reach for your umbrella.

The once-clear sky, a former blue sphere, now cloaks itself in shades of grey, as you struggle with the umbrella, desperately attempting to shield yourself from the sudden downpour threatening to soak you through.

“Thank god,” you mutter under your breath when you finally manage to open the umbrella before being drenched. 

As you trudge along the wet sands, your now open umbrella in hand, the lack of shelter becomes painfully apparent. The vast openness of the seaside, which had promised freedom and expansiveness, now offers no refuge from the relentless rain. 

The sea, once a source of inspiration, now seems indifferent to your plight, its waves crashing rhythmically as if mocking the irony of a marine biologist seeking escape from the rain. 

Amidst the relentless downpour, your attention is drawn to a solitary figure at the edge of the beach. Despite the bad weather and the onslaught of rain, the man remains unwavering.

His gaze is steadfastly directed towards the open expanse of the ocean. 

Even from afar you can tell that he’s completely soaked, his blonde hair clings stubbornly to his head, and his clothes adhere to his form like a second skin.

Intrigued by the enigmatic scene, you find yourself pausing in your own battle against the weather, momentarily captivated by the man’s unwavering focus. The rhythmic cadence of the rain seems to fade into the background as you observe the drenched stranger.

Curiosity propels you towards him, each step accompanied by the squelching sound of wet sand beneath your shoes.

Instinctively, you move closer to the man on the edge of the beach, extending the canopy of your umbrella to encompass both of you.

He turns around, surprise evident in his expression, as if awakening from a deep reverie. It becomes clear that your approach went unnoticed, his focus entirely absorbed by the vastness of the open ocean. The sudden shelter you provide seems to bring him back to the present moment.

As your gaze flickers over him, you find yourself inadvertently appreciating the details of his appearance. His smooth skin contrasts with a well-groomed stubble, and his piercing blue eyes hold a hint of depth, perhaps mirroring the expanse of the sea he was lost in moments ago. Expressive eyebrows, a straight nose, and pink lips contribute to an overall attractiveness that stands out even amidst the dampness and the downpour - perhaps the rain even intensified this as your eyes follow the path of a raindrop as it traverses his forehead and nose, eventually dripping from the tip.

Despite the adverse weather, it’s evident that he takes care of himself. The rain reveals the contours of a muscular physique beneath his soaked clothes. A defined chest, broad shoulders, and sculpted arms speak of a physicality that has weathered more than just the current storm.

A quiet “thank you” escapes his lips, accompanied by the subtle curve of a smile that plays on them. As he holds your gaze, his blue eyes reveal more than words convey. There’s an intensity in his look, a depth that suggests the weight of unspoken thoughts resting behind those expressive eyes.

As he breaks the gaze and turns back to the open sea, his presence lingers, all-consuming, and you find yourself unable to simply walk away. Instead, you remain rooted in your spot, holding the umbrella over both of you.

The rhythmic rise and fall of the waves draws your attention, each wave pooling onto the smooth surface of the sand before dispersing like foam. The ocean, in its relentless dance, momentarily recalls its waters, leaving behind a glistening trail of wet sand in its wake.

As you stand there, sheltered under the umbrella, the tableau before you becomes a canvas of contrasts – the vast expanse of the open sea, the ephemeral beauty of the waves, and the tangible presence of the stranger beside you. The sound of raindrops on the umbrella becomes a quiet rhythm, harmonizing with the natural symphony of the seaside.

It really has been ages since you allowed yourself to simply take in the beauty of the ocean and breathe. The thoughts of work, responsibilities, and the hustle of daily life seem to dissolve, rendered insignificant in the face of the vast, timeless expanse of the open sea.

Under the shared umbrella, the ceaseless rhythm of the waves becomes a soothing lullaby, and the salty tang of the sea air fills your lungs with a refreshing breath. The worries and stresses that usually occupy your mind are momentarily eclipsed by the sheer tranquillity of the moment.

With each inhale, you absorb the invigorating sea breeze, and with each exhale, you release any lingering tension. The rain, which was once an inconvenience, now feels like a gentle cleansing, washing away the mental clutter that often accompanies the demands of everyday life.

Normally, your beach walks are just a way to clear your head with familiar surroundings but nothing more than that. So you sift through your thoughts and you ponder the possibility of having seen the man before but his regal demeanour and striking looks leave no trace in your recollections.

Breaking the comfortable silence, you voice your curiosity, “I haven’t seen you here before…” He turns to you, fixing his intense gaze on your face, awaiting your words. “Are you from here?” you inquire.

A subtle smile graces his lips, a fleeting acknowledgement of your question. His hand glides over his chin, tracing the stubble that accentuates his features. Your gaze follows the motion, noting the details - the thickness of his hands, the length of his fingers, and the neatly trimmed nails.

“No,” he begins, and as if sensing your curiosity, he offers a bit more insight, “I’m from far away. I’m… just passing through.”

Despite the cryptic nature of his words, you find yourself captivated by the mysterious charm he exudes. His subtlety and intensity draw you in, leaving you with a desire to unravel the layers behind those enigmatic blue eyes.

“Well then, it’s nice to meet you!” you express with a genuine smile. Taking the initiative, you extend a hand in introduction.

In response to your greeting, he graces you with a full-blown, toothy smile that illuminates his face. His eyes sparkle, reminiscent of sunlight dancing on water, and the skin around his eyes crinkles with the warmth of the expression.

You… want to see that more often, you think. You’d like to be the reason for that infectious smile, to be the reason behind the sparkle in his eyes, and to cast away the haunted look that seems to linger within their depths.

“Happy to make your acquaintance,” he responds, his hand enveloping yours with a firm grasp. As his long fingers curl around yours, a subtle current of electricity prickles at the point of contact, and you find yourself missing his touch when he drops your hand.

“I’m Orm,” he introduces himself.

“Orm,” you test the pronunciation of his name, and you catch the flicker of his eyes as they briefly lower to your lips.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name,” you remark, your curiosity piqued. 

In response, he shrugs, a somewhat sheepish expression crossing his features. “As I said, I am not from here,” he adds.

“If you ever need a tour guide, let me know,” you offer, extending a friendly invitation. His eyebrows raise in response, and you catch a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “I know a few nice places… some even provide a better view of the ocean.”

As a gust of wind swirls around you, the dampness of your clothes coupled with the cold air sends a shiver down your spine, and goosebumps emerge on your skin. The sudden chill causes you to freeze, the contrast between the warmth of the moment shared under the umbrella and the elements outside becoming palpable.

In contrast, you observe Orm, still drenched but seemingly unaffected by the cold.

The offer to be his tour guide hangs in the air, and for a brief moment, a subtle fear creeps in. Was it too forward? Does he wish to cut the conversation short, politely concealing any desire to decline?

A sense of relief washes over you as Orm’s response breaks the brief tension. 

“That would be nice,” he says, his eyes straying back to the expanse of the ocean as if lost in thought.

The soft pitter-patter of the rain envelops you both in a cocoon, creating a serene backdrop to the moment. Despite the logical inclination to seek shelter and escape the rain, something within you resists the notion of leaving. A peculiar reluctance binds you to the spot as if an invisible force tethers you to Orm’s calming presence.

Standing beside him, you feel a sense of grounding and tranquillity it’s a sensation that you haven’t experienced before - well, if you’re honest with yourself, you have felt it before. It’s the same feeling you get near or in the ocean.

Maybe it’s his eyes. His deep, blue eyes seem to hold all the mysteries of the sea, mirroring the tranquil rhythm of the rain and the timeless expanse of the ocean.

____

A few days later you see him again and you find yourself back at the same spot.

Today, the weather is vastly different - there’s no rain, and the sun graces the scene with its warm glow.

As you approach the familiar location, the memories of the previous meeting flicker in your mind. You wonder how Orm will look in the bright sunlight - he had already been a vision when completely drenched.

When he comes into view, you find that he’s even more striking than before, 

He is clad in a basic black shirt and matching slacks, the fabric sits snugly on his broad frame, accentuating the contours of his muscular body. The sunlight enhances the contrast, casting a play of shadows that dance along the lines of his thick body.

The blonde hair, now dry and therefore lighter in the sun, is neatly combed back, reflecting the sunlight like strands of golden thread, creating an almost ethereal aura around him.

His gaze is fixed on the sea again. With his head held high and arms folded behind his back, there’s a regal air about him.

“Orm! Hey,” you greet him, genuine warmth in your voice as you approach, happy to see him again. As he turns around to face you, there’s a radiant smile on his lips.

The sunlight adds a gleam to his features as he returns your greeting.

“So, what do you want to see?” you ask Orm, eager to tailor the experience to his preferences. “Have anything in mind?”

He responds with a gracious simplicity, “No, I leave that in your capable hands.”

You can’t help but feel a subtle warmth creeping across your cheeks because he really is rather sweet and charming.

So you clear your throat before speaking, “I promised you some nice places to see the ocean, so let’s do that.”

With a subtle gesture, you signal it’s time to leave, and you start walking with Orm following closely behind. As you set the pace, you observe him adjusting his strides to match yours, a small yet thoughtful gesture that makes your heart beat faster. It’s rare that a guy just does that without having to be asked.

He slips his hands into his pockets, seemingly unsure of what to do with them.

“We’re gonna have to drive a bit,” you mention, looking up at Orm, and tugging your lip between your teeth, “Is that fine for you?”

You gesture towards your small blue car and watch Orm’s gaze as his eyes shift from you to the car before nodding slowly, “Sure.”

As you lead the way, Orm walks behind you, and you notice a hesitation in his movements when you reach the car. He doesn’t do anything until you open your door, watching your movements. To you, he looks a bit lost, as if he’s unsure about how to open the door. But you disregard that thought, it is probably just your mind playing tricks.

As you both get into the car, the doors closing with a reassuring thud, you settle into your respective seats.

“If you need more leg space, feel free to adjust the seat,” you offer, considering he is taller than you.

 He meets your gaze with those striking blue eyes before nodding, “Sure, but I’ll be fine.”

Orm’s gaze wanders around your car, and you notice his eyes catching on the seashell chain dangling from the rearview mirror. His hand raises, and his fingers delicately trace over the hard exteriors of the shells. The gesture carries a certain intimacy as if he’s unravelling the stories embedded in each shell.

The image in your mind briefly diverges, envisioning those deliberate touches on your skin with the same care and intensity. You swallow dryly as you try to remember why you’re here - to show him some spots, to be his friend, not to fuck him.

As you start the car, the engine humming to life, you catch what seems like a subtle jump in the corner of your eyes from Orm. However, you dismiss it, attributing it to a trick of the mind or perhaps a momentary startle that often accompanies the sudden sounds of a car coming to life.

“Do you mind fastening your seatbelt?” you ask, your concern for safety evident in the request. Sure, he’s muscular and fit but in case of an accident that won’t help him much sadly.

Orm nods in acknowledgement, and his eyes meet yours as you secure your seatbelt before mirroring the motion.

He is rather strange.

_____

The drive unfolds in a quiet contentment, accompanied by the soft murmur of the radio playing music at a low volume. Orm, for the most part, gazes out of the window, seemingly lost in thought or captivated by the passing scenery. As the sunlight plays on his face, casting gentle shadows, you find yourself fascinated by the play of light, accentuating his features.

At some point you start humming, caught in the melody of a song and even sing quietly along. After a few beats you notice that Orm’s gaze is fixed on you now, an intensive look in his blue eyes as he studies you with a depth that makes you feel vulnerable.

As you become aware of it, a blush creeps across your cheeks. To your surprise, Orm responds with one of those sweet smiles before breaking eye contact and redirecting his attention to the scenery outside the window again.

“We’re here,” you announce to Orm, bringing the car to a stop. The engine’s hum fades as you turn it off, and you both step out.

You brought him to a medium-high cliff site.

The cliff, standing just a few feet above the ocean, is characterised by weathered stones, carved over time by the relentless touch of the water. It’s not a typical beach setting, but the raw beauty of the scene never fails to captivate you.

Below, the waves crash with a rhythmic symphony, their energy echoing against the stone walls in a natural percussion. Each surge sends sprays of seawater into the air, catching the sunlight like a cascade of liquid diamonds before dissipating into the sea breeze.

The sun, hanging high in the sky, bathes the entire scene in a warm, golden glow. It casts its warm embrace upon the waves, creating a dazzling display as the light interplays with the water that reflects the brilliance of the sun. The golden rays catch in the frothy crests of the wave.

A small path, worn by time and exploration, winds its way down the cliffside side presumably leading to a beach down below.

In the stillness of this remote haven, away from the clamour of the city and the watchful eyes of the world, the air carries a purity that is both invigorating and calming. As you close your eyes and inhale deeply, the crisp, clean air fills your lungs, creating a sense of tranquillity that is uniquely serene.

As you stand there a realization dawns upon you - you’ve never brought someone here before. Yet, as you stand there with Orm, the decision to share this sacred place with him feels instinctive, as if his presence harmonizes with the essence of the surroundings.

Deep within your consciousness, a recognition stirs, an understanding that his eyes mirror the tranquil beauty of this place. There’s an unspoken connection between him and the sea, a sentiment that resonates with the rugged cliffs, crashing waves, and untamed nature surrounding you both. It’s as if his very presence is an extension of the landscape - a kindred spirit to the ocean.

“Beautiful,” Orm’s quiet voice interrupts your reverie, prompting you to turn around and face him, finding that his gaze is fixed on you, not on the breathtaking scenery that surrounds you.

“Yeah, I come here to think - I just feel like I can breathe here,” you share, offering a glimpse into the personal significance this place holds for you. 

As you speak, you notice that Orm’s eyes remain glued to your form, not wandering to the sea. His intense gaze seems to linger on you as if captivated by something beyond the natural beauty of the landscape. You feel your heartbeat in your whole body and electricity coursing through your skin.

Orm steps closer his intense blue eyes never leaving yours. With a gentle touch, he lifts a wayward lock of hair that has fallen in front of your face and tucks it behind your ear.

The gesture is tender, a subtle connection that transcends words. The proximity and the soft touch create a moment suspended in time, the crashing waves and the untouched beauty of the surroundings fading into the background. 

Your breath catches in your throat, momentarily you forget to breathe as you feel his warm skin on your face.

You can’t help but notice the vibrant glow in Orm’s eyes. The sunlight catches in the deep blue hues, and they seem to come alive with a vivid intensity. His gaze, vibrant and open, mirrors the brilliance of the sun that bathes the surroundings.

At that moment, his eyes are a reflection of the untamed beauty of the sea, filled with depths and mysteries that seem to echo the vastness of the ocean. 

Orm’s proximity brings with it an enveloping scent that fills the air around you. It’s a fragrance that captures the essence of the sea, a symphony of the breeze, sea salt, and the unmistakable aroma of the beach. 

As you breathe in, the familiar notes of the sea transport you to the shoreline, the rhythmic sounds of the waves echoing in your mind. 

It is as if he’s water itself.

In the silence, with Orm’s hand gently cradling the side of your face, you notice the subtle movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. In a moment of courage, you decide to close the distance.

With a small, bold step on your toes, you reach for his lips, closing the gap between you and Orm. The kiss is a gentle meeting, a fusion of shared connection and unspoken emotions. The crashing waves and the sea breeze seem to hold their breath as if nature itself is pausing to witness this intimate exchange beneath the warm glow of the sun.

Orm’s response is immediate and enveloping. Instead of pulling back, he wraps his strong arms around you, pulling you even closer against his frame. The kiss deepens a mutual exchange that goes beyond words. The embrace is strong and intimate as if the crashing waves below have found their echo in the connection between you and Orm.

Time seems to slow, and the kiss becomes a shared moment suspended in the tapestry of the cliffside sanctuary. The scent of the sea, the warmth of the sunlight, and the touch of his lips create a harmonious symphony, blending with the timeless rhythm of the waves below. 

You feel Orm’s stubble against your skin. The subtle scratch of his facial hair becomes a grounding force, connecting you to the present moment, reminding you that this is happening.

It is as if your entire being comes alive.

Every touch, every nuance of the kiss, is a vibrant testament to the living, breathing connection between you and Orm. 

Breathless, you break the kiss, and as you look at Orm, he appears positively ravishing. The sea breeze plays with his tousled hair, and the sunlight casts a golden glow upon his features.

His eyes reflect a sense of wonder as if the shared moment was something extraordinary and beyond expectation. And then, with a captivating smile, he pulls back slightly, tracing his tongue over his bottom lip, savouring the taste of the kiss.

“That was unexpected,” Orm says, his intense gaze unwavering as he keeps his eyes firmly on you.

“Unwelcome?” you question,  searching for reassurance.

“No, I didn’t say that. It was most welcome,” he assures you with a warm smile, his eyes reflecting a genuine appreciation for the shared moment.

“It’s different from what I thought or expected,” Orm mumbles quietly, his expression turning thoughtful, the words almost lost in the hushed tone.

“What?” you ask, a hint of confusion in your voice, urging him to repeat himself since you didn’t quite catch what he was saying.

“Oh, nothing,” Orm dismisses with a subtle smile, as if choosing to keep certain thoughts close to himself and not to elaborate further. 

You lose your train of thought as soon as Orm reaches for your hand, giving it a subtle, reassuring squeeze, telling you without words that you shouldn’t worry about it.

Orm gently releases your hand, his attention drawn to the scenic surroundings. Taking a few steps forward, he moves closer to the edge of the cliff, where he peers down at the undulating water below. 

In the soft glow of the sunlight, his features come alive, it paints him with warmth, casting a radiant glow that enhances every detail. The light highlights the slight tousle of his hair as the wind delicately weaves through it.

Orm turns to you again, his eyes reflecting a deep appreciation for the surroundings. “I can understand why you come to this place,” he says, his voice carrying a sincere tone. “It really is something special.“

You nod in agreement and offer a warm smile. “Are you hungry?” you ask because the rumble in your own stomach suggests it’s time for a meal. Orm seems to ponder for a moment, considering the idea, and then he agrees with a subtle nod.

Curiosity piqued, you ask, “What do you feel like eating?”

His response is straightforward. “I’d like a burger with fries and a Guinness.”

A grin spreads across your face as you reply, “I know a spot that serves good burgers. I’m not too sure about the Guinness though - but I’m sure you’ll find something.”

Orm nods in satisfaction and you suggest getting back to the car.

“Lead the way, oh guide of tours,” Orm says, his choice of words eliciting a snort from you at the quirky phrasing.

As you both settle into the car, you take the driver’s seat and start the engine. 

Without many words, Orm carefully places a hand on your thigh. 

Initially, it’s just the featherlight touch of his fingertips, but when he senses your ease, he gently lays his hand down, spreading his fingers to cover as much space as possible.

The warmth of his touch seeps through the fabric of your jeans, a searing heat that radiates from your leg, enveloping your entire body. Turning your head towards him, you find his gaze fixed on you and in response, you offer a warm smile.

[bearwithegg]

Fight Like a Girl || B.Blackwood || Part 3

Oh man this part nearly fucking killed any mental capacity i had over the last week (you should see the other guy) probably final part goobers

PART 1 HERE || PART 2 HERE ||

Kieran!Benjicot x f!Reader

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Blood, Injury, Gore, graphic descriptions of injuries

SPECIAL THANK YOU TO @spider-stark @venomnyx @karlachs-soldier for putting up with my insane ramblings while i took 500000 points of psychic damage trying to write this part difhlrdh

Tags: @nixtape-foryou @roseheart5

***

A swing from behind is all it took to bring you down. Amongst the bleating chaos it was hard to keep one's mind in focus, you were at no fault for that. A yell rips from your throat, but not due to the pain - that came much later - merely from surprise. Body and mind barely register the gash as you plummet into the mud stamped ground, another fallen to join the field of death littered with decimated bodies at the hands of the Green’s Army.

The swordsman, clad in the treacherous sigil of the false King goads you, a reminder of why you even waged this futile plight in the first place. Despite being prone and the bog beneath you seeping into the wound on your back, you do not let up because how could you not go out without a fight.

Distant shouts confirm this, you were on your own, no one was nearby to help you now. Garrus. You think. Where was he? He was only here a moment ago. But you couldn’t think straight. How long had this senseless battle gone on for? Mere moments like the striking of lightning or hours, like a storm brewing? Thank the Gods there were no Dragons to meet, only their cowardly foot soldiers, yet you look into the sky one last moment. No Dragons — only gloomy overcast.

Chest heaving as the pain slowly begins to spread from the wound outward, sharp and hot like the sun had touched you itself.

It would be easier to keep your eyes closed, accept death like one would a beloved and it was difficult to remain awake. Especially hearing the distant call of your brother's voice, you cannot will yourself to go; not yet.

A shaky war cry wrenches from a deep place of emotion, the swordsman while above you to prepare his final blow did not expect such a wordless decree. You will not win. A swift and firm stomp into the knee, buckling it the wrong way knocks him off course with a yelp of surprise. Certain you heard his bones snap or was it the remnants of battle in the distance? Regardless, you rise up and with a dagger unyielding in a firm grip and swipe left, across the neck exposed above his leathers.

Blood soaks you, like a torrential downpour from one of his compromised arteries. His body falls like a tree in the woods, indiscriminate of what it falls on because his body topples right onto yours. The gurgling sounds of him choking on his own blood and clawing at you distract from his limp weight and pressure of being buried beneath bodies.

It’ll haunt you for life, you think, the dying breaths of a man you killed echoing like a deranged symphony.

The pain came in waves, some more intense than others as you lay beneath a corpse, unable to move it off your body. The way your shoulder screams at the slightest movement, there is no room for doubt that the cut is deep, perhaps it was even to the bone.

You stopped calling for help, only until your voice shriveled up. It must have been hours, certainly, the distant sounds of metal clashing had long since ceased, and the only shouting was a mixture of victory and loss. Or was that your brother's voice? Beckoning from beyond the veil? Were you dead? Did mother await you in the whims of the afterlife also?

“Gods be good.” A voice aghast, pulls you from a delirious haze. “Another one!”

It was difficult to open your eyes, despite the dreary grey skies it burned to look up, the boy kneeling over you was smiling with relief, a reassuring hand on your face.

Another voice, further along the field you assumed, drew nearer.

“Send word for more men lad, the wounded will need to be taken back and treated.” That deep punctuating voice, familiar and warm.

“Help me with him first - he's stuck,” the boy grabs the corpse's arm and starts to drag it, the movement only serving to push you deeper into a blanket of mud, sinking you further into the ground and causing you to grit and whine.

“Mordin, leave the boy with me — go.” The command was firm and sharp. Scattering footsteps sloshing in mud indicated his swift departure. Silence followed. Thinking you must have imagined the brief exchange had it not been for a sudden weightlessness. The body that obstructed your movements and inhibited breathing now was moved off you, and you took your first full breath in what felt like hours.

If you simply had not heard him before seeing him, you'd have hardly recognised Benji. Covered head to toe in blood, a stark impression of his notorious namesake witnessed in person. And while this was further proof of how dangerous he was capable of being — his eyes were somber looking down at you.

“Benji,” you wheezed gratefully, with all the strength you could muster to reach out to him, you could barely move an inch.

His eyes widen, recognition flashing across his face and he drops to his knees beside you. It was a safe assumption that he didn't realize it was you under all the gore and viscera. “You were supposed to be in the back lines, what the hells are you doing all the way out here?” He reprimands, eyes flitting over you to inspect your wounds.

“Ambush,” you pant softly, “from the west.” breathing was beginning to get increasingly difficult through the pain. It was deep. His face contorts halfway into panic and guilt, you barely get out an airy laugh, “at least I held onto my sword this time.”

Following his gaze down by your side, your fingers gripped the hilt of the sword with such vigor, it felt like your hand cramped into the position.

His head drops and a bittersweet laugh falls from his lips, “you jest in a time like this? Foolish girl.” Though he did not say the words, the twinkle in his eyes was enough to know that regardless of the outcome he was proud of you.

“It hurts,” you manage to whisper through shaky lips, the silence that followed was louder than the wind that swept across the battlefield. His eyes never leave yours, they search for something, for what, you aren’t sure of but he hardens his resolve and looks up briefly, bottom lip tightly trapped between his teeth.

With a gentle tug, he pulls the dagger from your fingers, they too felt rigid and locked into their grip. Repeating the same motion for your sword and looping them both into his belt. You watch him with care because if you aren’t distracted then the pain will rear its ugly head, which is something you wished to avoid. He unbuckles one of his bracers, yanking hard at the straps before holding it close to you, “bite down on this, I must move you to the others.”

You suck in a breath, eyes partially wide at the thought of being found out due to a measly back wound. Adrenaline or panic, it wasn’t certain but you found enough strength to hold onto his wrist with a vice-like grip, voice shaky through uneven breaths, “find Garrus, he can stitch me up.” With that, your hand relaxes and slips from his wrist, falling slack against your chest.

“Where else would I take you? You dolt,” he smiles, lightheartedly and shakes his brace at you again, a silent push to do as he says.

You relent without further question, trust these days was as valuable as it was rare but you trust Benji — for better or worse. He had kept your secret, trained you personally and now was saving your life. The list of debt you owe the man increased tenfold by the week it seemed. Getting upright was half the battle, though try as he might to conceal his troubled expression upon seeing the wound on your back, he did a poor job of it. It must have been bad.

The pain had soared to such a high intensity, you could hardly remember the journey from battlefield to the safety of your tent… no this wasn’t your tent. Consciousness fleeting as the trees move and the scenery changes; was that the river you could smell? Or was it the lingering scent of death that wafted through the air? Familiar colours of House Blackwood embroidered the interior of the canvas in your surroundings — were you in Benji’s tent?

It held a surprising amount of warmth than you expected, a welcoming embrace disguised as an affirmation that mortal peril was not as close when you were guided by the hands of allies. You awoke on your stomach, needling and sharp pain coursing through the already tender skin of the ugly laceration parted onto you.

“Be still, Little Clover… Just a few more,” Garrus murmurs, his fingers featherlight against the skin of your back. The pressure you felt, merely the piercing of needle and cord, stitching your broken body back together. While painful, the journey ahead for recovery was no doubt going to be longer and harder. Recalling the books and their bountiful knowledge you used to read in the safety of Stylguard, first person accounts of severe wounds rarely acknowledge that pain is often a good sign. You hadn’t lost feeling in either shoulders nor arms, though this was not something you celebrated until much later on in recovery.

“Put me out of my misery,” you grit, a groan expelling from your throat, eyes clamped shut and slightly watering.

His amused chuckles blend together with another, someone else was in the tent – you need not ask yourself who either, “I fear it would make me a dishonourable man to execute another while they are unarmed.” Miscreant, you think, yet smile at Benji’s jab until inevitably wincing as the cord threads through marred flesh. There is a beat of silence but an air of mirth, “you may yet still fight like shit but your aversion to pain is admirable as well as your ferocity. I cannot say the same for the others with less severe injuries.”

You forget yourself, the company around you, because it was easy when Benji was near and scoff lightly, “pain is no stranger for me. None of these men have felt the pain of having a monthly blood, and they would cower at the pain it brings.” Another pause, the amusement in the air ripped from the drop of your words – taboo to speak freely about such delicate and ‘disgusting’ things especially in the presence of men, you clear your throat, “apologies.” But you weren’t sorry and felt as though you shouldn’t have to be. You had heard far worse from the mouths of men during dinner.

Garrus had thankfully finished not soon after, urging you to rest before departing to retrieve food for the three of you. Though your hands and the rest of you reeked of mud and rust from the dried blood, you needed to be clean of today even if the internal wounds will never heal, you could still wash away the stench of a dead man. Rising slowly, you are nearly startled back onto the bed by Benji rushing to aid you.

“I thought you left,” You reprimand, brows scrunched in response to the discomfort and pain. The undershirt you wore back to front for modesty sake, threatened to slip down your shoulders and expose more than what decency desired. The lone tie that kept the fabric together enough to stop it from completely falling threatened to undo every movement you made.

“I thought you were told to rest,” he counters, lips pressed into a frown, eyes looking away. “This is also my tent,” his indignance would have prompted laughter if the situation was different. You weren’t a complete imbecile, understanding that coming to his tent was the best chance at keeping your secret.

You give him a withering look, “and how does one rest covered in entrails and dirt?” Easy for him to enforce Garrus’ words, he had already cleaned the dirt and blood off his face and hands. He pulls a face, conceding at your words and makes no further comment, though flushed in his cheeks. “Thank you,” in your eyes a glint of amusement twinkles, “no need to sulk Benji — it’s merely a bath, not another battle.”

His jaw sets while his hands rest on his hips, eyes narrowed slightly at your jeer, “that is not the point nor the principle — do you intend walking all the way to your tent to wash yourself then?” Now his finger is out, wagging alongside his words as if he was admonishing a child for a minor wrongdoing.

“And you care about principles, now?” Your brow quirks, you have half a mind to mirror his stance if it weren’t for the fact you had been quite literally sewn together not even ten minutes prior. So you don’t. But the thought was enough to elicit a smirk. “If it will cease your pedantic worrying, I will bathe here,” your eye twitches with the jolt of pain shooting up your arm from the lazy gesture across the tent.

His cheeks begin to redden, as do yours at such an improper suggestion, “What is a man without honour and principle?” He huffs slightly.

“Your flair for the dramatic is ill suited for a man of such vicious notoriety.” You hardly suppress a smile, tongue poking into your cheek. Silence follows, either he is grossly offended by your words or has recognised that you are just jesting. Nevertheless, you slowly cross the tent, each step an agonizing shock through the back and shoulders.

You feel his gaze follow you before sighing, a soft chortle slipping in at the end of his exhale, “if you were as well-skilled with a sword as you are with that sharp tongue of yours, I’d fear for our enemy.”

Slowly turning at his words you regard him with a deadpan expression only muddied with a knowing look of your eyes, “stop being bitter and get me some hot water to put in the tub.”

Benji has often looked at you with curiosity, amusement, pride and a varying array of affection but he has never once looked at you with the dumbfounded expression laden on his face like he has just now. Even in times like this, you often forget that situation aside, the two of you were highborn and at this instance you weren’t speaking to a Lord with a matter of reverence but rather speaking to him like a servant.

”Apologies,” you clear your throat, “Lord Blackwood stop being bitter and get me some hot water to put in the tub, please.”

You could almost hear him thinking, the dead air in the tent was more than palpable but the thickness of something else continued to weigh heavy, as it so often did when the two of you were alone.

“You tempt the Gods with that inane behaviour and crass mouth, you are in good tiding with fate for me to not take that tongue of yours,” an empty threat really, he’s told you that before but even if that hadn’t been the case it was clear he wasn’t being serious. Even his jab is futile the second he concedes and goes to the hearth without any more complaints.

“Tongue or not, I would still find a way to torment you all the same.” You laugh and then promptly wince, he thankfully had not seen.

The quiet moments filled with lighthearted ribs back and forth seemed to be a sliver of the heavens placed inbetween unyielding moments of hardship, pain and suffering. A light one might see at the end of a cavernous abyss. Small moments, often menial, were filled with such delight that it reminded you that this is what life was. Yet these intermissions sprinkled throughout a world wrought with its own dark and poisonous acts of undeniable misery also served to remind you of what you were robbed of. A nice life. A happy life.

“Clover.”

An uncharacteristically gentle prod beckons you from thoughts of what could’ve been in a different lifetime. You blink, grounding yourself in reality — Benji, he stands before you, head tilted to the side as it often did, part of the many idiosyncrasies that made him, him. A hand hovering in your space, as if he was conflicted about reaching all the way out or perhaps it was to steady you.

“I am well,” you reassure, offering a smile and slowly make your way to the tub. Though, you supposed it was less a tub and more a misshapen barrel but it served the same purpose. “I assure you I will fare better once I rid myself of this filth.” You grip the sides of the tub, disgusted by your own reflection sullied with blood, dirt and sweat.

The water was not nearly warm enough but you cared more for cleanliness than comfort in this instance. The eyes that looked back up through the rippling water were not the same as the ones that looked in the mirror at Stylguard while hacking at once lengthy locks. That seemed so distant, the memory already thinly covered in a milky haze.

A sigh slips through parted lips, now came the difficult part.

Undressing — that is. Notoriously difficult to do with impaired range of motion in both shoulders. Which is how you ended up in this current situation.

Through burning cheeks, feeling as if you were suffocating from how thick the air seemed to get — if it weren’t for waning patience you’d have an amused smile at the farce the two of you found yourself in. Headstrong and ever the eminent gentleman (despite your often teasing sleights), Benji stared forward, unyielding and pointed to juxtapose the position of his body. The only body part of his remotely positioned toward you was the arm he outstretched behind him, which can’t have been very comfortable and added to the absurdity of the situation.

His fingers quite skillfully disrobing you without the advantage of sight at least meant that the two of you would be rid of such embarrassment sooner rather than later. Though it was ever the difficult feat, you could only raise both arms so high before the tender flesh pulled against the cord that kept you together.

“Oh for goodness sake,” you sigh frustratedly, feeling his hand suddenly stop, fingers barely hovering over exposed skin. The irritation was running deep, seeping through your skin now like an unchecked itch begging to be scratched but it was all over your body, “you would not feel the need to engage in such foolish hoop jumping if I was one of your men, just turn around and do it properly.”

“I would never compromise a Lady’s honour, even by looking,” his answer was immediate.

You’d have strangled him if you were capable of doing so. On the contrary there was part of you, old you, who buckled at the knees at such a sweet admission from a handsome man.

“At this current juncture, this Lady is asking you to,” you huff exasperatedly, patience wearing thin the longer it takes to do such a menial task; not even when you were a babe did it take this long to fret over mere bathing. In an instant the atmosphere has shifted almost entirely, the lighthearted mood sucked out into a vacuum and in its place something else.

The two of you were running circles around each other, a common occurrence that had first reared its head mere days ago. Two fronts whirling like the crucial hours before a violent tempest ravages the skies during a storm, unwilling to acknowledge what brewed in the centre of it all.

He clears his throat, you hear the rustling of his leathers as he shifts his weight from leg to leg, “you have put me in an impossible position by asking this of me – are you certain?”

“I have trust in no one else,” you affirm, quietly.

“Very well,” his footsteps are slow, careful – as though he ought not to startle you. Fearsome as Benji was, he could never frighten you. There was an innate warmth to his presence, so comforting and homely that it was hard to believe that he was capable of such ruthless and vicious acts of violence.

His hands were equally gentle, sliding the undershirt off each shoulder with such delicate handling, it made you feel like an heirloom almost. Almost. The rough fabric grazes over the fresh wound, pulling you back into the whims of reality, a sharp hiss pushed through gritted teeth.

“Apologies,” he murmurs, breath faintly fanning the back of your neck and in tandem sending a jolt down your spine. Not pain. Hackles raised though not engaging your fight or flight, nor spurring on fear. The feeling that had been simmering as a third party in the background of each encounter of late, an unspoken presence sifted between two finally uncovers itself – desire.

Gods, was it not the time for this, you think.

You unlace the trousers as loose as possible, making it easier for him to slip them past your hips. Part of the fabric felt solid, dried mud turned clay with a mixture of blood made it quite the task to peel off your legs.

Behind, you feel him move away, the warmth that radiated from him gone in an instant. The clinking of his belt buckle made your ears prick, but instead of querying, you remained silent, fearful that your voice would not be so steady – you step into the tub. Gooseflesh instantly rippled across your skin from the fact the water was far from warm, though it mattered naught as the dirt and blood slowly disseminated throughout the water.

With both legs in you start to visibly relax, no longer feeling as though you wished to chisel your skin off. By the time Benji has returned by the tub side, your body is submerged. The sleeves of his undershirt are rolled up, no longer wearing his belts or swords, answering the silent question you had mere moments prior.

When you finally look at his face, his eyes are already on yours, golden flecks sprinkled throughout. As if he couldn’t be any more impossibly handsome. His gaze is unmoving, even as he slowly reaches into the water and pulls your arm up by your wrist, thumb and forefinger coiled around it firmly. But not painfully.

“I can wash my own hands,” you find your voice as he begins to knead softly into your hand with the soaked cloth. Blood no longer coating your hands, dirt rubbed from the space between your fingers.

“I do not doubt it,” the outer corners of his lips twitch upward, suggesting a smile. When he was not intently looking at your face, his eyes drifted upward or past you but never down. And despite the frustration it caused in the lead up to this, you were grateful to a certain degree but also incredibly heartwarmed by him keeping his word.

Despite the cold water lapping at your collar bones and encasing your body, every meticulous adjustment of his grip on you or every tentative touch made you heat up. A permanent flush warming your cheeks as he quietly scrubs your forearm, upper arm and carefully washes your shoulders.

Slowly but surely, with every pass of the cloth accompanied by a steady and tender hand, you felt cleaner not just visibly but also internally. The blood that once stained skin, stood as a mark from the gods, a forever blight that threatened your soul for damnation, now had been washed away.

“Does it get easier?” You whisper, staring off into the tent.

He stops, the cloth remaining pressed into the crook of your neck as he exhales in thought. You barely shift, turning almost imperceptibly as your eyes meet his and there’s a flicker of concern? Surprise? Undoubtedly in response to the haunted look all over your face, “killing people,” you clarify before returning to stare back into nothing.

There was a brief stillness in the air, disrupted only by him clearing his throat. As gentle as a breeze, his fingers caress and cup your chin, seemingly holding your head in place as he begins to softly scrub at the dried muck on your face, “no.” His voice was deep yet soft, unwavering as if he’s thought of this question before. “It never gets easier, you simply learn to live with it.”

Live with it.

A macabre way to look at it, you think, but it seems to be a healthier way to deal with such a gruesome act, even if it was honourable to die in battle. You wonder if the Usurper and his family of parasites felt this moral conundrum when they murdered your brother.

You are doubtful.

“How does one live with such blood on their hands?” You ask, perhaps he was the best suited to answer such question, many slain under his own hand but even of your own observation Benji hardly fit the parameters of a well-adjusted Lord in Westeros. No one called ‘Bloody Ben’ could ever be well-adjusted, but it was hard to discern if years of bloodshed fractured him or if it had been there since birth.

Your head is turned, ever so slightly by his guiding forefinger and thumb still perched under your chin, his eyes bore into you but shows no ire or annoyance, “I honour the fallen. At night before I fall asleep, each name is passed to the Gods and if their name dies with them then faces suffice.” He cleans a particularly stubborn patch of dried blood on your forehead.

It was surprisingly pious of him — Blackwoods never quite took to the Faith of the Seven, much like northerners they remained loyal to the old gods yet Benji had never expressed piety like this.

“Even the slain Brackens?” The guileless smile on your face was an attempt to move on from the grim conversation you accidentally started.

The cloth hovers over your upper lip as he drops his head ever so slightly and chuckles, “even Brackens need honour in death. Gods know they lack it in life.” He presses the cloth onto the dried blood over your lip.

Once he’s rubbed it away, as if moving of its own free will, your hand comes up to grip his wrist, albeit weakly. Gaze sticking to your own, exhaling through parted lips as you attempt to get the words unlodged from your throat.

“I must thank you,” You breathe out. For what, you weren’t sure but it was the only way to express gratitude for the endless list of things he has done for you. You would have to thank him for a lifetime alone for what he had done.

The hand beneath your jaw shifts, his thumb runs across your lower lip to your jaw, just the mere action feels like dragging the tip of a hot needle across your skin in the best way possible, “that is not necessary,” he murmurs.

Possessed or merely a complete lapse in sanity, you will never know, but his soft gaze compelled you — no, bewitched you to lean forward and press your lips to his. Searing hot, your body ignited with a warmth that was unfounded until now, as though the barely lukewarm bath was filled with steamy water.

It was short, chaste and quite unexpected for both parties.

You pull away, aware of how hot your cheeks felt, your grip on his wrist loosens. Actions finally sinking in both your own mind and his. Like silt that had been kicked up in the shallow divots of a creek, finally settling into clarity.

Cheeks beet red and an unreadable expression apparent, the hand caressing your face had dropped.

Perhaps you miscalculated. The hammering of your heart was so loud there was no way in hells he couldn’t hear it. It was as booming as rolling thunder in your ears.

The two of you stare at one another, a silent conversation, a silent question hanging in the air between the two of you. Your mouth opens first, the beginning syllables of an apology croaking out before they are abruptly cut off by his own lips. This had been less of a shock than the first, it felt more needy and messy.

His hands came up to hold your head, thumbs grazing softly over your cheeks. He held you firmly as if you were going to disappear in a puff of smoke and you felt as though you might do just that from how light you felt. His tender caress accelerated the beating of your heart and jumbled any important thought crossing your mind, the only thoughts barraging your mind were of him, his hands, his lips, his voice; Him.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, if you had any strength you would have pulled him toward you with a fierce urgency. It’s almost painful that you can’t. The air around you two is static, tempestuous and intense all at once, like two stormfronts finally converging before an explosive storm.

“I’m afraid I could only part with —“

The two of you rip apart at a speed that sends Benji careening backward, toppling onto the ground and you sloshing a large wave of water over the tubs edge. Oops.

“— the…duck stew…” Garrus’ words slowly die in his throat as he stands dumbfounded by the entrance of the tent, two measly plates of stew held in each hand and still steaming. Eyes looking to Benji and then back over to you several times, mouth open and eyebrows raised.

The pause seemed to have gone for a century. And neither you nor Benji would be the first to break it.

“I forgot the bread,” Garrus finally says, putting the plates down on the nearest surface and turning back out of the tent without another word or look.

You shyly looked over at Benji who remained firmly planted on the ground, his cheeks looked as red and hot as yours felt. The thundering of your heart steadily continued partly from the after effects of the kiss and being caught red-handed by the man who was essentially a father to you.

Benji is the first to break, a deep laugh shakes through him before audibly falling past his lips, this in turn makes you suppress a laugh by biting on your lip. Though, ultimately you are unsuccessful and join his symphony of laughs with your own. Not even the pain that pulsed from each laugh was enough to stop you.

The two of you may have plenty to answer for later, but perhaps that wasn’t so bad in the grand scheme of things. A more gruesome fate awaited outside the safety of this moment — of the camp — it would be unwise to not take pleasure in the small mundane moments.

For once it was a kind reminder that maybe, after the conflict ceases, there is room for you to enjoy the life you wished for.

[mapis-putellas]

Taken

Chapter: 1

Words: 3077

Warnings: kidnapping, dark Natasha, diapers and a brief mention of throwing up. Let know if I need to add anymore!

Summary: Deep deep down, Natasha knew this was wrong. Taking someone against their own free will was borderline psychotic, let alone very much illegal. But she couldn't help it. After months upon months of watching your every move, she'd become convinced that you were only person perfect enough to become her daughter. She would do whatever it takes to have you, no matter the consequence.

Natasha stares into the fire. It crackles and glows with a radiant gold flame, the smell of burning wood filling her senses. In her hand was a glass of her favourite red wine, the rich liquid velvety on her tongue.

The outside was piercing in contrast to the heat before her. The empty skies were a dull white, and freshly fallen snow was covering all the eye could see. Everything was quiet, muffled, the atmosphere holding a sense of serenity the summer months did not have. It was peaceful and calming, a cherished few moments Natasha allows herself to have in the evenings after a hot bath full of bubbles and her favourite music.

The dancing flames of the fire could be seen in Natasha's eyes as she finishes her wine, setting the class down onto the coffee table with a soft, barely audible thump. She sits back against the couch and tightens the grey, fluffy blanket around her shoulders, eyes drifting to the clock in the corner of the room.

11:35

It was nearly time.

*

The busy street was quietened by a large blanket of snow, a carpet of cotton batting falling everywhere you looked. As you walk your usual journey to work, it crunches loudly beneath your feet. Your fingers and toes feel numb and are beginning to ache, and you could see the misty fog escaping your lips with each exhale. The trees were rocking back and forth, creaking and groaning just like the sound of an old rocking chair.

One positive about rising this early in the morning was being able to hear the birds on the street. They fill your ears with soft chirps, and you find it almost impossible not to smile at the sound.

Behind you, you hear the sound of a vehicle approaching. Your senses were almost immediately on red alert. The road you were on was almost always deserted. It was narrow and only one way, and you knew there was no reason for anyone to be coming this way this early, especially in a car when the snow plow hadn't even been through.

Your breathing accelerates, and you feel yourself begin to sweat despite the freezing temperature. You try your best not to outwardly react and continue on your way, but the car behind you slows the closer it gets, and you feel yourself become almost paralysed with fear.

You close your eyes for a second and practically force a deep breath into your lungs. You then speed up your pace, knowing that even if the person in the car means no harm, it was better to be safe than sorry.

When you hear the car door open and shut, the fear becomes a tangible, living force that creeps over you like some hungry beast, and it immobilises you, raising the fine hairs on the back of your neck. Your legs pick up on their own accord, but it was no use.

Someone grabs you, and the scream of pure terror that escapes your lips was muffled by a large, cold hand. You flail your body; you kick, you scratch, but your attacker was stronger, larger, and it was evident you stood no chance.

The hand was soon replaced by a cloth, and your senses almost immediately become a blur. Your eyes become heavy, your body becomes a deadweight, and despite the last ditch effort to escape, everything fades into nothing.

*

When you come to, your disoriented brain takes a few moments to catch up with the events that had just concurred.

You notice you were no longer outside. You were on a bed, and the mattress beneath you was soft and comfortable. The jeans and coat you had on were no longer, replaced by a pair of pyjamas much like a toddler would wear.

Your eyes flicker almost subconsciously around the room. The only light came from a slit between the curtains at the window, the feeble brightness barely enough for you to make out anything.

You did, however, note that the room was of medium size, adorned with white furniture. You couldn't make out any sort of decorations, but the door held a single lock with a touch screen pad.

You stare at it for a moment, and something in your brain seems to click bringing your subconscious to the realisation of what had happened. You'd been kidnapped, someone had taken you.

An immediate feeling of dread creeps up from the pit of your stomach, and your pulse beats in your ears blocking out all other sound.

You could feel your fight or flight responses kick in, increasing your heart rate and flooding you with added adrenaline. You try to sit up, but something was pinning your wrists down. It tugs at your skin uncomfortably, and when you look up, you see that you'd been handcuffed, each metal circle attached to the wooden headboard of the bed.

At the sight, your fear only grows more. You try to scream, but when you open your mouth, you come to find that even words had deserted you. It leaves you to release a choked sob, and you feel hot wet fluid begin to dribble down your legs, a bastion of warm comfort in a moment of primal terror.

The door opposite beeps in warning before it opens, and you feel your stomach grip in protest as a women comes into view. She was tall, and her pose screamed power. Her broad shoulders were held high, but her eyes, a soft green in colour, were gentle, and full of warmth.

The stark difference would have confused you if it wasn't for the sense of overwhelming dread.

"Hi little one. I'm glad to see you're finally awake," The woman speaks in greeting as she locks the door behind her, "I was beginning to grow a little worried." She adds as she flickers on the small night light that was plugged in near the bed before easing herself down next to you.

It bathes the room in a soft glow finally allowing you to finally take in your surroundings.

You couldn't help but tremble in complete and utter terror as your eyes burn with the familiar sensation of tears.

"It's okay," the woman soothes in a soft coo as she reaches for something to your left. "I know you must be scared, and I'm sorry about that." Her hand returns into view holding a tissue, and you flinch almost violently as the woman makes gentle work of drying your cheeks.

She doesn't outwardly react to it, but her features soften and her touch gentles further. You still shift uncomfortably, and it prompts the woman's eyes to flicker down towards the lower half of your body.

When they take in the large wet spot beneath you, your skin prickles with the fear of the unknown. But the woman simply shakes her head, a playful, yet gentle glint in her eyes.

"We'll fix that," was all she says as she disposes of the soiled tissue, grabbing a small bottle of hand sanitizer from seemingly nowhere and squeezing a small amount out onto her hands, "my names Natasha, but you may only call me mama. I'm going to be looking after you from now on."

You simply stare, trying to mask your emotions and pretend like you weren't mere seconds away from emptying your stomach in complete disgust.

"And you're Y/n, right?" Natasha continues, staring at you with a look that tells you she was expecting an answer.

You manage a mere nod, not wanting to upset the woman by defying her. Right now, you had no idea what Natasha was capable of, and you didn't want to provoke her in any kind of way by disobeying.

Natasha smiles in satisfaction as she rises from the bed and heads over to the white dresser placed in the corner of the room, "You were out for a while, so I suspect you must be pretty hungry. I have dinner made, and you may have it once we have you nice and clean." When she turns, you see she was holding a familiar rectangle of padded cotton.

Your cheeks burn, but you soon come to the daunting realisation that the woman must have already seen you naked due to the unfamiliar pair of pyjamas you were currently adorned in.

The bile in your throat worsens when you realise that Natasha could have done absolutely anything to you, and you feel yourself begin to gag in both fear and absolute dread.

Your vision becomes blurry, and as you try your best to keep your last meal down, you distinctly feel one of your hands become free if it's confines. Your body was then turned sideways just in time for you to vomit up absolutely everything in your stomach.

"There there, I've got you. You're okay." A muffled voice fills your ears as a hand gently grazes up and down your back, and having those hands on you only furthers your disgust and you find yourself puking once again.

You want to tell Natasha to get the hell off of you. That how dare she touch you after what she'd done, but there were no more words left in you. You could barely find it in within you to remain conscious, and you deem that more important right now. You had to stay awake. You had to try and protect yourself.

"Are you done?" The voice questions, and you nod ever so slightly. You feel a soft hand grasp your own and raise it once again to rest above your head, the cold cuffs once again circling your wrist.

Through your blurry vision, you see Natasha leave the room, and you allow yourself a moment to close your eyes and get yourself together.

When the women returns, you note she was wearing different clothes. You internally smile in victory when you realise you must have puked on her.

Serves her right.

"Okay, let's get you changed." Natasha sits herself down at the end of the bed, and it was only then do you notice that your feet were tied up too.

"I'm going to untie your feet, but if you even so think about kicking me or harming my furniture, I'm going to leave you in your wet clothes for the rest of the night, do you understand?" Natasha's hand rests on the rope tied securely around your ankle, and though the eyes staring at you were still the same soft ones as before, this time, they held a look of warning.

A warning you did not want to test. Not right now when you were still in such a vulnerable position where this woman could so absolutely anything to you and you'd be powerless to stop it.

And so you nod, despite everything in you telling you to fight with all you could.

Your heart races as Natasha unties your feet, legs subconsciously moving of their own accord and rising to a bent position where your thighs were pressed against your stomach.

The woman allows this, and when her hands reach for the waistband of your pyjama pants, your fight or flight instincts break.

You begin to flail your body as much as you could, the woman's prior warnings dissipating into the back of your mind. You had to get out. You couldn't let Natasha do this to you.

Despite your attempts, the woman gets your pants off anyway.

"No!" You finally find your voice, and it comes out hoarse, trembling with fear, "no! Let me go. Let me go!" You cry out as your stomach heaves with sobs.

"Hush now," the woman lightly scolds as she successfully manages to slide the diaper beneath your squirming figure, "There is no need for you to get so upset. I am not hurting you, so I suggest you calm down before I keep my promise and put you right back into your wet pants."

You still at the threat, but you continue to sob. Tears flow down your cheeks, blurring your vision and soaking your hair. Gut-wrenching sobs that tear through your chest fill the otherwise quiet room, and you want nothing more than for all of this to just stop.

You want to go home. You want to be curled up on the couch with your mom watching your favourite movie.

Not here. Not here where you're being emotionally tormented with all the things you no longer have; where you no longer have your independence and would be subjected to the unknown.

"There, all done." You hear, and you once again feel your legs being secured into their former positions. The sheet beneath you was pulled off next, replaced by a dry one with quick and efficient ease despite your presence on the mattress.

Natasha then shifts up the bed slightly, her weight tipping the mattress as her hand comes up to cup your cheek and wipe away the tears.

You flinch, but allow it to happen. The woman obviously knows what she wants, and it was becoming evident nothing you did would stop her.

"No more tears now," another soft coo as a gentle thumb continues to trail over your skin, "you're okay little one. Deep breaths."

You shake your head, "I want...I want to...go home. Please...let me...go home!" You cry as you extraneously squirm to get out of your confines.

Through your blurred vision, you see Natasha shake her head, and your body was wracked with another onslaught of sobs, complete hopelessness converted into tears that pour down your face at lightning speed.

"I know that must be upsetting for you to hear, but you'll get used to it. I'm going to get your dinner. I expect you to be fully calm by time I get back." Natasha once again wipes off your cheeks, the material of the tissue rough against your skin.

You try your best to comply with the woman's wishes, your throat tightening in dismay when you force back the sob that so desperately wants to escape.

Natasha smiles as she gives your leg a soft pat before rising to her feet, "Good girl."

You say nothing, but Natasha doesn't seem to mind. She disappears from the room and returns a short while later carrying a tray that held a glass full of water and a bowl of what appears to be soup.

"You haven't earned the right to feed yourself just yet, so I'm going to do it for you." The woman explains as she sets the tray down onto the nightstand, picking up the bowl along with a plastic spoon.

Soon, said spoon was being held to your mouth, the plastic warm against your lips. 

You stare at the woman for only a short moment before reluctantly allowing your lips to part, and Natasha smiles as she places the spoon into your mouth. It was soup, but due to your blocked nose, you couldn't tell which kind it was.

You don't particularly care however, because you weren't in the slightest bit hungry after throwing your guts up just a few moments ago.

"Good girl. Is that yummy?" Natasha coos as she refills the spoon and once again holds it to your lips.

It wasn't, but you nod anyway as you open your mouth and allow yourself to be fed. You were scared if you told the woman any different, you'd be punished and tied up for longer. If you couldn't get away from Natasha, you at least wanted out of these stupid cuffs.

Natasha smiles happily, "I'm glad. Mama worked hard and there's lots more if you're still hungry."

Your stomach churns in disgust at the woman calling herself that, but you nod along, fear constricting you from acting upon your thoughts.

Soon, the bowl was empty, and you watch as Natasha sets it down and picks up the glass of water. You go rigid when Natasha places her hand on the back of your neck to elevate your head, hating the feeling of her touching you.

"Drink." Natasha prompts, and you quickly down over half of the water in the glass.

The woman sets the glass back next to the bowl and reaches for the blanket that was folded and placed over the footboard of the bed, "It's late. Time for bed." She shakes it out and lays it over your body.

"There's a baby monitor placed on the shelf up there, and it can see and hear you. If you need anything, I want you to call for me. I can't help you if I don't know anything is wrong." She brushes the hair saturated with tears out of your face before tucking it behind your ear.

You force yourself to nod.

Natasha smiles and gives your cheek one last gentle touch before rising to her feet, picking up the tray before heading towards the door, "Goodnight little one." She calls softly before leaving the room.

You don't reply.

*

Sleep does not come easy.

Fear prickles at the base of your spine each time you feels yourself beginning to drift off, a terrible sense of anxiety creeping over you at every little sound you hear.

The light thud of footsteps, the branches of the trees outside hitting the glass windows. Even the sounds of the house settling were unnerving, and no matter what you did, the subconscious of dreamland just didn't want to come.

A part of you wonders if anyone had realised you were missing. You keep to yourself mostly. Didn't have many friends or acquaintances. The only person you did have was your mom, and it had been nearly six months since the effort had been made for a visit. You decide that no, no one would have noticed, and because of your tendency to stay locked up in your apartment for weeks on end, no one would for a while leaving you to Natasha's mercy.

A part of you wants to call out for her. You want to beg her to be un-cuffed so you could at least try and get comfortable. But fear prevents you from doing so. It prevents you from even opening her mouth, so all you could do was lay here until morning comes.

A brand new day would greet you, and your nightmare would continue.

**

Your thoughts would be appreciated! ♥️

[thatacotargirl]

The Daughter of Day (1)

My third and final active fanfiction is here! This is The Daughter of Day, a series exploring a new Court and a triad, because why not!

I hope you enjoy this introductory chapter - and keep your eyes peeled for the next instalment 🌟

This story is set after A Court of Silver Flames.

My inbox remains open for oneshot/imagine requests.

A Reader x Feysand Fanfiction

🎶 "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine - you make me happy, when skies are grey - you'll never know, dear, how much I love you - please don't take, my sunshine, away" 🎶

Helion held his newborn daughter, bundled in his arms in a yellow blanket, as he swayed gently around the nursery. He had had no intentions of becoming a father anytime soon, but when the baby's mother arrived at his doorsteps, he had fallen in love on the spot - those chubby cheeks and shining round eyes that peered out at him had captured his heart and soul.

Now, he couldn't imagine life without her.

Placing his daughter into her bassinet, watching her sweet eyes grow heavy and blinking, he set her floating celestial mobile to turn and tucked her in. Stroking her cheek as he watched her slowly fall asleep, he vowed to love and protect her for always. She would want for nothing in this life, he would make sure of that.

25 years later - Reader POV

"Y/n, are you ready?"

You can hear your father calling out to you, interrupting your reading. Grumbling, you grab your bookmark and note the page, before setting it down on the coffee table. The middle of a chapter. The worst place to stop reading.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming".

As you exit the sitting room and join your father's side, you see the look he gives you in response to your attitude. His eyebrow still raised, he stays silent as he opens the front door and gestures for you to leave the palace. You walk ahead of him and towards Xalan, your pegasus. Your father had gifted you Xalan on your 10th birthday and the pair of you were thick as thieves; much to his horror. You had Xalan wrapped around your little finger and often got yourselves into all sorts of trouble that Helion would have to rescue you both from. One time, you'd ended up in Thesan's bedroom in the middle of the night - and nearly gave the High Lord a heart attack before Helion was able to arrive and scoop you away, profusely apologising. He still apologises every time he sees Thesan for the embarrassment.

You mount Xalan and wait for your father to join with Meallan. Once you are both comfortable, he gestures for you both to take flight.

"This is a diplomatic meeting, y/n, so you have to be on your best behaviour. You are the heir to the Day Court, which means you represent the Court and me".

You don't reply. There's no need to, really. You will sit demurely and smile, speak when spoken to, and daydream otherwise of what life could offer you if you could just break free.

You had everything you could possibly want at the Day Court, your father made sure of that. But it didn't quench the desire in you to explore and see new horizons. 25 years in the confines of Day, only being able to satisfy your curiosity of Prythian by reading historical literature, was really taking its toll. You didn't mean to start acting out, but the boredom was driving you insane.

As you begin your descent into Velaris, the Night Court's City of Starlight, you can't help but notice the colours. The Sidra, the river running through the city, looked like it contained iridescent starlight. Flowers bloomed in deep blues and purples in people's front gardens. The mountain ranges in the distance seem to sparkle even in the daytime. You can hear people bustling about the streets, happy chatting and laughter fill the air.

Landing with a gentle thud before a riverfront house, you carefully guide Xalan to a stop and follow your father to a grassy sideline where the pair can graze happily. Once both pegasus' are settled, you watch your father round to the door and knock heavily.

"Helion, welcome!" comes a booming voice as the door swings wide open.

"A pleasure as always, Rhysand".

You see your father embrace the High Lord of Night as you stand behind, awkwardly. As Rhysand pulls away, he looks behind Helion to see you standing there. Helion notices Rhysand's wide eyes and turns to introduce you.

"Rhysand, this is my daughter, y/n. I thought it was time she learn the ways of the business, since she will one day take over from me after all", he laughs, guiding me to stand in front of him. Rhysand kindly takes my hand in his, shaking it gently.

"Welcome to Velaris, y/n". He smiles at you with kind eyes, which you return, before shyly pulling your hand away and tucking it behind your back.

"Helion, I had no idea you had a daughter?"

"Yes, well, I tried to keep her out of the spotlight to let her have a normal childhood; but she was getting restless in Day".

So he had noticed.

"Do come in, both of you".

Rhysand opened the door wider and moved, allowing you both passage into his home. You noticed the paintings that adorned the hallway, stopping at one in particular. It was one of your father, in the midst of the war 45 years ago, wielding his Spell-Cleaving powers with Hybern's army visibly falling in the distance. You had read about your father's role in the war, but only through reading the history books in his library. He never spoke of it, no matter how often you asked.

"Remarkable, isn't it? Feyre, my mate, painted this from a memory of your father during the war. He was a force to be reckoned with, took down nearly half the army on his own".

You turned to Rhysand with a gasp.

"Really?"

He looked at you, his face shrouded with confusion.

"He was formidable, y/n. Really, Prythian wouldn't be standing if it wasn't for him".

You turn back to gaze at the portrait, lost in thought. If your father had powers strong enough to single-handedly take down half an army, what could yours do with the right training? Helion was reluctant to let you do more than basic healing spells, worried that you would accidentally hurt yourself with your powers if left to your own devices. You could feel the power in you, strumming through your fingertips, begging to be wielded.

"Y/n?".

You turn and see your father standing in the doorway, silently beckoning for you to join him in the office. You sigh, thoughts of powers ebbing away, as you join him to discuss peace-making treaties with the mortal lands.

After you had been introduced to the rest of the Night Court, and they had gotten over the shock of Helion's 25-year-old daughter making a sudden appearance, the meeting carried on as normal. You mind wandered often, to the streets outside of the house, to the painting of your father and the power you could feel exuding from it, and you could feel yourself getting restless.

When the meeting was finally finished and you and your father had began the flight home, you couldn't help but wonder what your life would be like if you left the nest of the Day Court. And, as you watched Xalan in flight, his wings outspread through the sky - you realised it was time to spread your own.

"Father".

"Yes, sunshine?"

"I'd like to take a trip".

"Where would you like to go, my love? We could visit the continent, if you'd like?".

"A trip on my own, dad".

You can feel your father's gaze piercing you, but you refused to look up and meet his eyes.

"On your own?"

"I'm suffocating, dad. I need to live a little. Please. Just for a few weeks, just some distance from Day, so I can learn and explore and have fun like any other 25-year-old".

"But you're not any other 25-year-old, you're heir to the Day Court. You are a target".

"Then let me go somewhere where I'm not a target, where I can be protected. Please, dad".

You can feel your eyes pricking with tears, and not from the blowing wind. Your head is still bowed, but you know your father can sense them, can sense your heartache. He remains silent for a few minutes.

"I can, perhaps, ask Rhysand if he would grant you permission to stay in Velaris for a short while".

"Please, dad. Anything".

You meet his gaze and can see the pain in his face. His heart torn between keep you safe, but keeping his promise to you to want for nothing. And, it was becoming more obvious to him now, that what you wanted was to leave.

"Ok. I hear you. I will send a request to Rhysand when we are home".

[morganas-pendragons]

from the depths | celebrimbor

this is the first fic of the list of those I've written for Celebrimbor so far. I wasn't initially going to write this, and then @pentaghasm said: ''please write this I need to know more''

So here it is! :D this will give you MASSIVE hints as to who the true identity is of this reader... and who you know that she's related to!

afab!reader

enjoy!

prompt: you remember falling. an endless sea of grey that ended with the blues of a river that you fall beneath the surface of. you're injured. you don't know who you are.. or how to swim... but the soldiers who guard Eregion's perimeter do.

They come to their Lord with a single question.

tag: @celebrimbormylove - @pentaghasm

***

You remember falling. The sky is endless, stretching into a vastness you cannot even begin to comprehend as you plummet toward the ocean. You did not have a choice.

You have a prophecy to keep from being fulfilled.

There are whispers of images that flash behind your eyes as you close them in surrender to your fate. You are certain you are going to die. If colliding with the ocean or drowning in it is how you will go, then you are going to try to remember what little remains inside your mind.

Where did it all go?

Gentle, kind eyes. Silver light and whispered words of Sindarin and Quenya. The very trees bowing to his will. The dirt trembling beneath his fingers. The sound of his voice, warm and encouraging, as you master your healing craft with your three other siblings nearby. They wanted nothing to do with you.

He always did.

You believe that you've collided with the surface of an ocean when the waters swell up to overwhelm you, dragging you beneath the surface and forcing you down into its depths. That is certainly how it feels. You cannot discern much. Only the darkness.

Everything is shrouded in grey.

Eregion's soldiers are more caught off guard by the sudden impact in their river then you are colliding with it.

"Get the boats!"

"Where did she come from?!"

Six of them dressed in gold armor row out to where you've landed, and one of them - their Captain, by the looks of it - navigates pulling you out from where you have sunk and surging upward again to lay your prone form within the boat. There is little on your person that can help them to identify you: You are only wearing a long grey robe and a bronze circlet with what appears to be holly leaves engraved into the metal that envelops your head.

The younger ellon, a new recruit by the look of him, shakily removes the circlet from your head before parting your hair to reveal your head wound. Where did that even come from?

"She's injured, sir. We need to address this with Lord Celebrimbor. This... arrival is most unusual."

Captain Malendol pursed his lips and peered down at you. They had all seen you fall from the Heavens. You looked like an Elf, but there was no way to tell if you were friend or foe, much less who you actually were.

He nodded.

"When we make land, inform Lord Celebrimbor. We will let him decide what to do with her."

***

Celebrimbor paced the length of the healer's chambers as he watched them work on you from the corner of his eye. When Captain Malendol had sent word that an injured woman had fallen from the skies and into Eregion's river, he hadn't quite believed him. Not until he'd seen you in the boat and the circlet bestowed upon your head before the healers had removed it.

A rare metal upon a nameless woman. One who had a head injury even his best healers were confused by, and that unnerved him.

Celebrimbor paused as his gaze settled upon you again. Why was your circlet the same colors as Eregion's holly leaves, the deep greens and golds he so often wore?

"Leave us." He commanded. "I will tend to our friend until they awake."

The healers bowed deeply before leaving the room. Celebrimbor approached the cot where you lay and pressed his fingers against the side of the cot as he looked at you.

You were beautiful.

"I do not know who you are or why you are here," He whispered. "But you will be alright, in the end. You will remain safe here. I promise."

Celebrimbor is many things: A kind, honest Elf who has endured centuries of scrutiny as a descendant of the House of Fëanor, atoning for the sins of his ancestors by vowing to be better than them and their Oath.

He wanted to do right by the people they'd wronged. Eregion was a haven for creators and craftsman alike, built by Celebrimbor and those who abided within as a place to embrace and expand your passions. A place where its inhabitants could live and be safe.

Ignoring his better judgment, Celebrimbor came closer to your prone form and paused.

The moment Celebrimbor laid his hand upon your shoulder, you shot awake faster than he expected and defensively crossed your arms over and around your head as if anticipating an attack. He removed his hand immediately and settled it back at his side as he moved into your line of sight.

"Forgive me. I did not mean to scare you." Celebrimbor began, frowning as you lowered your arms to meet his eyes. "My name is Celebrimbor. You are in Eregion. Can you tell me what happened? Who are you?"

***

The first thing you notice about him is his eyes. They're so kind. They're those eyes that draw your attention because they're so different from anyone else in this existence, and you lower your arms to be able to see his face more clearly.

He's Elvish. He's Elvish, with soft blonde, loose curls framed back against the shape of his face that fall gently against his forehead. He's beautiful.

"N-" You frown. "Name?"

That doesn't make sense. You don't recall a name. You don't recall... anything but those few flashes you'd seen when you fell. Grey eyes. Grey robes. Soft laughter. Silver light. Whispered words of Quenya and Sindarin, a tongue you should not know, but you do. You know it as if it is the very breath in your lungs.

"The birth name given to you," He explained. "Mine is Telperinquar in the Quenya tongue. In Sindarin, it is Celebrimbor."

A kind name for a kind man. He seemed to have a soft heart.

You focused on the question you wanted to ask as you slowly spoke, "Why me?" and frowned deeper as he smiled at you. You wanted to feel uncomfortable under the intensity of his touch. He's a stranger. You don't even know him.

"I saw someone in trouble. Someone injured, wearing a circlet of holly leaves, and I wanted to help." He explained. "You looked like someone who needed help."

Falling. I'm falling. Falling to the water, I do not know how to swim-

"They pulled me from the water. I-" You swallowed the knot in your throat and shivered. Lifting your hand, you cupped the side of your aching head and allowed your eyes to slip closed. "It was dark. I could not move. It hurt."

Celebrimbor opened his mouth to reply but found himself transfixed by the glowing silver light emitting from your palm. You did not seem shocked by it, much less fearful, as he watched the wound against your temple slowly close and disappear after the bandage had fallen off.

The Elven Smith softened as he clasped his hands against his stomach. He had not taken his eyes off of you once. So attentive.

"Does it hurt now?" He asked quietly.

When you open your eyes, his breath catches. Celebrimbor has lived centuries by now. Many Elves of Sindar and Noldor origin alike have lived within the city walls. What he'd never seen, however, was one with eyes like yours.

Silver. Pure silver, just as if pure starlight was embodied within your gaze.

"No," Your voice was earnest as you looked at him again, scooting closer to the edge of the cot and kicking your legs off the side. "Safe. With you."

You didn't understand why his cheeks darkened at that, but Celebrimbor smiled anyway.

"You can consider that a promise. We will work on the name later. Are you feeling well enough to take a walk with me?"

You took his hand and slowly removed yourself from the table. Celebrimbor watched intently as you looked around the room in search of what he assumed were meager belongings you'd had in your possession when they'd found you.

Gentle fingers wound around your circlet and moved across the room to lay it against your brow. Celebrimbor pressed his lips together as he stared at the jewel in the center. It was the same color as your eyes.

"Clothes," You said. Words were hard. Hearing him talk made words come easier. "Better clothes. Can't wear that robe. Too wet."

Bright laughter echoed in the healing chambers as Celebrimbor sent for one of his servants just outside of the door. She returned a moment later with a fresh set of deep green robes and boots.

He waited until you emerged from the room to extend his arm to you. You nervously looked at his household staff venturing the halls and wrapped your arm through his own, clinging to his side as Celebrimbor began to lead you out and into Eregion.

"Come enjoy my city, nin tinu," Celebrimbor remarked as he gestured with an idle hand to the citizens in the square and the statue of Fëanor. "Let me tell you the history of our great city."

[radiophd]

grey skies fallen -- cracks in time

[strawberriesoup]

you are my sunshine٠࣪⭑

── .✦ awakened by a nightmare, you seek Jisung for comfort.

word count: .7k

genre: angst/fluff, jisung x female reader, established relationship, comfort

warnings: nightmares, jisung is a green flag, lots of comfort and fluff

taglist: @jisunggy @holly-here

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Wake up. Wake up.

A cold sweat trickles down your back as you jolt upright in bed, breath coming in gasps. What time is it? You rub your chilled arms, striving both to draw some warmth back into them and to persuade your unwilling mind to blip back into reality as the ghost of the nightmare threatens to breach the delicate wall at the back of your mind.

Your eyes, unfocused and groggy due to being prematurely yanked from your slumber, search the room for your clock. 3:30. What a ripe time to be up.

You’re safe. It wasn’t real. You’re okay. But no matter how hard you try to convince yourself, the roaring blood in your ears and the bitter taste of adrenaline in your jaw beg to differ.

Uncomfortable and sweaty, you untangle yourself from the snare of blankets and sheets and head to the kitchen. Maybe a cup of hot cocoa will bring you back to a good headspace.

Nightmares are a common reoccurrence for you. Of course, that doesn’t make it any easier when they do happen though. Every night, you settle down in fear of the horrors you might face. The horrors that only feel more real each time.

Rubbing the crust from your eyes, you squint as you emerge into the bright kitchen. You could have sworn you turned the lights off before going to bed. Maybe Jisung is up. You hope he is. It would be really great to hear his voice right now.

Mission hot cocoa abandoned, you peek into the darkened living room, expecting to see Jisung scrolling on his phone or scribbling down lyrics on some spare paper.

To your delight, you find Jisung sat on the couch, lamp on, illuminating his form in the darkness of the room. By the gentle sound of his snores paired with his awkward position on the couch, you can tell he’s fallen asleep. He looks so peaceful like this, eyes shut and lips slightly parted. a pillow is fit snugly in his lap, and his socked feet are tucked up on the couch.

Waking him up feels like a crime. He finds solace in sleeping, letting dreams sweep him up and take him far away from the stress and worries of life.

Well, You’re willing to be a felon.

Kneeling on the couch next to him, you rub his shoulder gently, slowly coaxing him to consciousness. With a sudden intake of breath, he awakes, blinking groggily at you.

“Mmf… g’morning…” His words slur together as he squints at you, managing a small smile.

“It’s not morning yet, Ji,” You brush the hair from his face, “Can I sleep here with you?”

You don’t mention anything about the nightmare, chickening out at the last second. It feels silly to disturb him just because you had a bad dream.

Instead of answering, he wraps his arm around you and pulls you to his chest. Snuggling into him, you let out a wavering, pent in sigh. You’re safe.

“You’re shaking.” Jisung rubs his hand up and down your arm, gazing down at you with brows furrowed in concern.

“I- yeah. I can’t really sleep.”

“Nightmare?”

You nod, turning to bury your face in the warm folds of his hoodie. Cradled in his lap like this, it feels as if nothing can hurt you.

Jisung smoothes his hand rhythmically over your back, soothing you. He doesn’t say anything else, just holds you tight and steady until the trembles leave your body.

Eventually, his hand stills. He probably fell back asleep. You wish you could do the same, but your mind is running this way and that, trying to keep the dark memories at bay. Jisung’s presence helps exponentially, but your body is still unwilling to succumb to the grips of sleep.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

Jisung’s soft voice penetrates the silence, quiet and husky from sleep.

You make me happy, when skies are grey

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you

It’s embarrassing to admit, but this song always put you right to sleep as a kid, and the same is true now. Your breathing steadies out underneath the blanket of his mellow voice, your mind finally drifting into the realms of unconsciousness.

Please don’t take my sunshine away

[fluffy-dixon]

You are my sunshine

Judith’s restlessness had become a shared concern. Rick’s grief weighed heavily on everyone, and taking turns caring for Judith was the least we could do to support him. But tonight, despite our best efforts, nothing seemed to soothe her. Multiple bottles, Beth’s sweet songs, and even Maggie’s toys from a recent run with Daryl—all fell short. Even Carol, usually adept at calming anyone, couldn’t ease Judith’s fussiness.

As you balanced Judith on your hip, trying to calm her while dishing up stew, Daryl noticed your struggle. His heart went out to you. With a delicate smile, he rose from his seat at the end of the table and crossed the room. Judith’s eyes widened as she caught sight of him, and she reached out eagerly, tiny hands grasping for him. His smile grew wider at her excitement.

“Here,” Daryl murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Lemme take her so you can’eat.” He cradled Judith in his arms, tucking her gently inside his beloved poncho. Her little head popped out of the V-neck, and he walked away, bouncing her up and down as he headed toward the cell blocks. Her grizzly cries gradually faded into the distance, leaving you with a mix of relief and gratitude.

-*-

As the meal concluded and the dishes were washed, you excused yourself, slipping away toward the cell blocks. The darkness outside unsettled you, though you hesitated to admit it. The route back was a labyrinth of corners and turns, shadows playing tricks on your senses. Your hand instinctively rested on the handle of your knife—a silent reassurance in this uncertain world. Normally, the sounds of wind, creaking buildings, and hushed conversations accompanied your journey. But tonight, a different melody filled the air—a lullaby you’d recognize anywhere.

Daryl.

His voice grew louder as you approached the cell. You lightened your steps, mindful not to disturb Judith if she had already fallen asleep. The moonlight streaming through the top windows guided you. Turning the corner, you almost tiptoed, peeking around the edge.

Daryl stood with his back to you, his silhouette illuminated by a single candle on your bedside table. “You are my sunshine,” he sang softly, swaying from side to side, hips gently rocking. Judith, cocooned in his poncho, emitted a contented gurgle, her eyes heavy with sleep. “My only sunshine,” he continued, the words a soothing balm. “You make me happy when skies are grey.”

He must have sensed your presence, for he paused. From the first turn toward the cell blocks, you had crept closer, stopping just behind him. Peering over his shoulder, you saw Judith’s glistening eyes, her struggle to stay awake. “You’ll never know, Jude,” you whispered, your heart swelling. Her tiny fingers twitched as she surrendered to slumber. “How much we love you.” Tears welled in your eyes, a lump forming in your throat. “Please don’t take our sunshine away.”

A single tear rolled down the surface of your cheek as Daryl turned toward you, cradling Judith with the ease. Her tiny head nestled in the crook of his elbow, she slept soundly. His eyes met yours, and a proud smile stretched across his face. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of saying something momentous, but then he hesitated.

Still swaying gently, his gaze shifted back to Judith. And then, in a voice filled with quiet determination, he uttered the words that melted your heart: “M’ready. I wanna be a dad.”

---------

Edited: 08.03.2024

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[sugerplumig]

Please don’t take my sunshine away🍎 Lucifer x daughter reader (angst)

First post! I’m excited (A/N this is prob gonna suck but ima try my best!)

Tw: cringe, blood, death, screaming?

~You are my sunshine. ~My only sunshine

I could hear my fathers lullaby lull me to sleep as he rocked me around the room.

~You make me happy..

I could feel him as he kissed my forehead

I could feel him.

I could feel his Love.

~When skies are grey

If only i’d clung onto this moment a little longer.

I could’ve seen the look he gave me as I dozed off.

~ You’ll never know dear, how much I love you.

A look of sadness. Maybe Regret? I’m not sure.

-Please don’t take my sunshine away.

“I love you dad.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”______________________________________________________________

A scream of terror was made that would make anyone freeze. As both Charlie and Lucifer looked up at the sky, they were almost frozen from where they were standing. There eyes full of fright.

My face and body was bloodied from Adams hands and he punched again and again. After Alastor disappeared to who the fck knows where, it was up to me to fight Adam off. And I did, I did dad I tried my best I promise! But I lost and I.. I feel numb.

I looked up to see Dad and Charlie on the other side of me, Adam holding me by the throat with an angelic blade.

“Adam drop her. She did nothing to you, it’s me you want right?”

Dad spoke harshly to the man.

”How about no. Because you know what after you took BOTH MY WIVES away from me it’s only fair I took your DAUGHTERS AWAY FROM YOU TOO!”

The man laughed a little to happily then looked at me. My eyes widened as I saw the blade about to make it to my chest.

“NOO-“AGHHHHHH!!!”

My screams of pain covered the scream of my father and sister trying to stop Adam. Even the fallen heavenly king could only watch and his daughter was being beaten and stabbed.

(after adams dies by nifty. I’m tired.)

“Y/NN!!”

Dad screamed as he scrambled over to me and tried to stop the bleeding from my chest. Charlie and Vaggie were there too and I could see Charlie crying into her girlfriends shoulder

“D-dad.. c-can you do me a.. favor.? I slowly asked, blood gurgling in my throat.

“OH COURSE.. A-umm.. A-Anything love.. tell me..”

His eyes watering looking down at me..

“Co..could you sing me our lullaby? I want to hear it one last time”

He smile sadly and nodded.. holding my head like he once t

did before and started to sing.

~You are my sunshine

~My only sunshine

I could faintly hear him start singing the song as my eyes got blurry

~You Make me happy

I could feel him as he kissed my bloody hair, pushing it out of my face

I could feel him

I could feel his Love.

~When skies are grey

If only I had stayed just for a moment more,

I would’ve seen Angel, Husk, Nifty Vaggie and Charlie all sniffing and crying

~You’ll never know dear how much I love you I saw a look in dads eyes before I fell forever asleep.

One of saddness. Maybe Regret?

I suppose we’ll never know

~Please don’t take my.. sunshine away..

“I love you Y/N…”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner”