#Landscape Flood Lights | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

girlrotterr · 4 months ago

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୨୧⠀⠀˙⠀leave without a trace⠀｡ ⠀꒱

artist!ellie x fashion designer!reader Summary: You attend an art exhibition where you unexpectedly lock eyes with your ex-girlfriend, Ellie Williams, whom you haven't seen in years. a/n: omg?! not me becoming consistent?! heavily inspired by "no one noticed" by the marias!!

The gallery is a cathedral of silence, punctuated only by the soft clicking of heels against the polished hardwood floor and the low murmur of voices echoing from every corner. The walls are a crisp, sterile white, meant to let the art breathe. But tonight, they seem oppressive, closing in on you as the weight of old memories seep through the cracks of time. You’re standing in the midst of it all, surrounded by strangers who admire Ellie’s work like they’re deciphering some abstract language.

But to you, it’s not abstract. It’s painfully familiar.

Your eyes drift over the crowd, catching fragments of conversation—chatter about technique, boldness, meaning—but they wash over you like background noise. Your mind is elsewhere, pinned in the past.

College felt like a lifetime ago.

It was chaotic, with you balancing late nights in the sewing lab, surrounded by mannequins and fabric swatches, while Ellie lived in the art studio, her hands constantly covered in charcoal, paint, or ink. There had been nights when you’d find her sprawled on the floor, sketching out her wildest ideas with frenzied energy, and you’d sit beside her, watching her create worlds you could only dream of.

Back then, you both were consumed by your passions and each other. She’d stay up late to help you finish a garment, sewing alongside you even though she hated it, just so she could be near. And you? You’d sit in on her critiques, quietly fuming when anyone dared to criticize her work, even though she could take it, even though she loved the fight. The memory of her smirk when she’d dismantle an argument from one of her professors—god, it still lingers.

But the fire that had burned so bright between you had also scorched everything in its path.

You remember the late-night arguments, when both of you were too stubborn to apologize, too young to realize that passion wasn’t enough to hold everything together. The breakup wasn’t dramatic—no shouting, no tears. Just a slow unraveling, a quiet drifting apart until one day, it was done. She moved on. You moved on. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The years that followed had been a blur of fashion internships and city lights. You threw yourself into your work, traveling between studios, pouring every ounce of yourself into fabric, stitching your broken pieces into new designs. You hadn’t heard from her since. Not directly, anyway. You’d seen her name float around in the art world, her work gaining traction, and each time, you’d feel a pang of something you couldn’t quite name. Pride? Regret? A mixture of both.

And now, here you are, in her world once again.

Your gaze is drawn to the painting in front of you—a massive, turbulent landscape of violent brushstrokes and bold colors. The reds are fierce, like anger seething just beneath the surface, and the blues are deep, almost suffocating. It’s raw. Emotional. It feels like her. It feels like you. The two of you, tangled in something you couldn’t quite control. You step closer, your breath catching in your throat as you notice the delicate lines etched into the paint—small, subtle marks hidden beneath the chaos. You know those marks. She used to make them with the tip of her palette knife, carving out tiny details that most people wouldn’t notice unless they really looked.

You’re staring so intently at the painting that you almost miss the moment she walks into view.

Ellie.

The air shifts the second she enters your line of sight, like the whole room inhales in unison. Your heart stumbles over itself, beating out of rhythm, as if trying to catch up with the sudden rush of emotions flooding through you. You haven’t seen her in years, but it’s as though no time has passed at all.

She’s changed, but not in ways that feel unfamiliar. Her hair is still short, though it’s more trimed now, less uneven than you remember. She’s wearing that same damn brown jacket, the one she always wore like a second skin, only now it’s more worn, the creases deeper, the edges frayed. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, revealing the tattoo that winds around her forearm— you remember tracing with your fingers in quiet moments. There’s a confidence to her now, a steadiness that wasn’t there before, like she’s found some kind of peace, even if it’s only partial.

But then there’s her eyes. Still that piercing green, sharp enough to cut through glass, or in this case, through the crowd. You watch as she shifts her weight, one foot tapping lightly on the floor, her posture betraying a flicker of unease as she nods absentmindedly to whoever she’s speaking to. Her hands are deep in her pockets, her thumb worrying the edge of the denim, a sign that she’s restless. She used to do that when she didn’t want to be somewhere—when she was lost in thought, in another world entirely.

You know her. You know her so well that it aches.

And then, as if drawn by some invisible string, her gaze lifts, scans the room, and lands on you.

It’s electric. The second your eyes meet, it’s like the ground shifts beneath you. Time folds in on itself, collapsing the years between you into this one fragile moment. You can see the shock in her expression, the way her brows twitch upward, just barely, before her features settle into something more controlled. But there’s no hiding the way her shoulders stiffen, or the slight parting of her lips like she’s forgotten how to breathe for just a second.

You’re both standing still, two statues carved in the midst of a gallery filled with movement, but you may as well be the only people in the room. Her green eyes are locked on yours, and for a moment, you swear you see a flicker of something there—something that mirrors the knot of emotions tightening in your chest.

Recognition. Pain. Something unfinished.

You can feel your pulse in your throat, in your wrists, in the way your fingers tremble as you drop your gaze for just a second. When you look back up, she’s still watching you, her expression unreadable, a mask of calm that you know too well. But underneath it—god, you know there’s so much more. Years of silence. Years of things unsaid.

She doesn't move. And neither do you.

You both just... stand there, holding onto the fragile tension between you like a thread waiting to snap. The air is heavy with what could be—what might’ve been—what still lingers between you like smoke from a fire that never quite burned out.

It’s your sophomore year, late spring. You remember because the air had that soft, electric warmth that made everything feel alive. You were both sitting on the edge of the campus fountain, surrounded by the sound of splashing water, the soft hum of people passing by, and the occasional flutter of birds overhead. Your fashion projects had been spread out between you—loose sketches and fabric samples fluttering in the light breeze—while Ellie’s hands were smeared with charcoal from a half-finished drawing she couldn’t quite get right.

“I don’t get how you do this,” she had muttered, frowning at one of your illustrations. She held it up to the light, squinting as if that would make the delicate lines make more sense. You had laughed, the sound coming out lighter than you’d intended, mostly because of how seriously she was studying your work. Like it was a puzzle she had to solve.

“It’s just fabric,” you’d teased, leaning closer to her to catch a glimpse of her concentrated expression. “You make art out of nothing but feelings—this should be easy for you.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t hide the smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Art out of feelings, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

You watched her for a second longer, your gaze tracing the familiar curve of her jawline, the sharpness of her cheekbones, the way her hair stuck up no matter how much she tried to tame it. There was a smudge of charcoal on her nose that she hadn’t noticed yet. You found yourself leaning in, almost without thinking, using your thumb to wipe it away. The moment your skin touched hers, her body went still—like you’d pressed pause on her every movement.

Her green eyes flicked to yours, and for the first time since you’d met, there was a shift. Something unspoken passed between you, heavy and undeniable, hanging in the air between your breaths. You were close—closer than you usually were. And you could feel the heat radiating off her skin, mixing with the spring warmth, making the space around you feel almost too small.

Ellie cleared her throat, her gaze dropping to your hand still lingering on her face. “You, uh… you didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

The words came out before you could stop them. And then the silence stretched out, pulling taut as the world around you blurred and fell away. The distant laughter of students, the splashing water of the fountain—it all melted into the background until the only thing you could focus on was the way Ellie was looking at you.

It wasn’t a stare. It was deeper. Like she was seeing you for the first time, really seeing you.

You didn’t move. Neither of you did. Time slowed, and in that moment, every boundary you’d carefully drawn between friendship and something more started to dissolve. You could hear your heart beating in your ears, your chest tight with anticipation, with something you hadn’t let yourself name before now.

Ellie’s breath hitched, so soft you barely noticed. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” she murmured, her voice lower than usual.

“Why not?” Your voice trembled, betraying you.

Her eyes flicked back up to meet yours, and there it was—the thing you’d both been avoiding for months. The truth that had been simmering beneath every shared glance, every brush of hands, every late-night conversation when the rest of the world was asleep and it was just you and her, tangled up in each other’s lives without even realizing how deep it went.

“Because…” she hesitated, biting her lip as if searching for the right words. Her gaze softened, like she was caught in a struggle between fear and wanting. “Because I wouldn’t know how to stop.”

The air left your lungs in a rush, and before you could second-guess yourself, before the doubts and the what-ifs could pull you back, you leaned in.

The kiss was soft, tentative at first. Her lips brushed against yours, the faintest touch, as if she wasn’t sure you were real. But then—god—then she kissed you harder, her hand cupping the back of your neck, pulling you in as though you were the answer to every question she hadn’t known how to ask. Her mouth tasted like spearmint gum and the faintest hint of cigarettes, warm and familiar. You melted into her, your hands gripping the edge of the fountain to keep yourself steady as everything around you spun.

In that kiss, there was no hesitation, no distance. Just the two of you, colliding in a moment that felt like it had been building for a lifetime. Her hands slid up your back, anchoring you to her, and you could feel the slight tremble in her fingers. But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Because you were kissing Ellie, and the rest of the world could’ve disappeared, and you wouldn’t have cared.

When you finally pulled back, gasping for air, you kept your forehead pressed against hers. The world had snapped back into focus around you—the chatter of campus life, the rustle of the wind in the trees—but it felt distant, muted, like it wasn’t quite real. Not compared to this.

Ellie’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked at you like you were the only thing she could see. Her breath was still shaky, her lips swollen and flushed. She swallowed, hard, and whispered, “I… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t…”

But you silenced her with a gentle smile, brushing a thumb across her cheek.

“You don’t have to explain.”

Because you both knew what it meant. You both knew that nothing would be the same after this, and you were okay with it. Maybe you were scared. Maybe she was too. But in that moment, wrapped up in the heat of the afternoon sun and the lingering taste of her on your lips, none of that mattered.

All that mattered was her.

The sound of your name pulls you back to the present. It’s bright and full of life, cutting through the thick haze of tension like a ray of sunlight. You turn just in time to see Dina pushing her way through the crowd, a grin spreading across her face as she practically bounces in your direction.

She’s the same as ever—sharp, effortlessly cool, with a wild energy that always made you feel like you were part of something big just by being near her. Her dark hair, tied up in a messy bun, hasn’t changed a bit, though there’s a new edge to her style—bold patterns clashing in a way only she could pull off.

Before you can even get a word out, she’s enveloping you in a tight hug, squeezing you so hard that you let out a laugh, the tension in your chest easing a little. She smells like lavender and cedarwood, familiar and grounding, and for a brief moment, the knot of emotions tangled in your stomach loosens.

“Oh my god, it’s been forever!” Dina practically yells, pulling back just enough to look at you, her eyes sparkling with genuine excitement. “I didn’t even know you were coming tonight! How the hell are you? You look amazing!”

You’re caught off guard by her energy, her enthusiasm wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You smile, shaking your head as you try to gather your thoughts. “I—yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I wasn’t sure I’d even make it, but, you know”

Dina snorts, rolling her eyes playfully. “Yeah, tell me about it. But seriously, I’m so glad you’re here! You—” she gestures at you with both hands, eyes wide as if she’s sizing you up, “—still killing it with the whole fashion thing, right? I saw your last collection! so damn chic! The textures, the layering—ugh, I wanted to steal every piece.”

You laugh, feeling a flush of pride at her words. “Thanks, Dina. I’m still trying to figure out what’s next, but I’m glad you liked it.”

“Liked it? Girl, I loved it.” Dina leans in closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I mean, between you and Ellie, the two of you were always the most talented people on campus. It’s wild seeing both of you making it big.”

The mention of Ellie’s name sends a ripple of tension down your spine, and suddenly, the room feels a little too warm again. You glance over Dina’s shoulder, and sure enough, Ellie is still standing there, watching the two of you.

Dina follows your gaze, and when she spots Ellie, her face lights up even more. “Oh, shit, you haven’t seen her yet, have you?” Dina’s voice drops to a mischievous whisper, her grin widening. “This is gonna be good.”

Before you can protest, before you can even think of what to say or how to brace yourself, Dina’s already calling out, “Ellie! Hey! Get over here!”

Your heart skips a beat, your pulse quickening as Ellie’s eyes flicker to Dina. For a second, she looks like she might hesitate, like the distance between the two of you is a bridge she’s not sure she wants to cross. But then, with a slow exhale, she starts moving, weaving through the crowd with that effortless stride of hers—confident, but never cocky.

And just like that, she’s standing in front of you.

Up close, the years between you seem even sharper. You can see the slight changes in her face— the way her lips quirk at one corner like she’s fighting a smile but doesn’t want to give in. Her green eyes, though, are as piercing as ever, and when they lock onto yours, you feel that same jolt of electricity you did back in college, the same spark that never really went out.

For a moment, no one says anything. The air is silent with unspoken words, with the history that hangs between you like a thread waiting to snap.

Ellie’s lips part, and she starts with something simple. “Hey.”

Dina, completely oblivious to the tension, claps her hands together with a grin. “Okay, this is weird for me. Two of my favorite people, standing here after all these years—this is like, full circle, right?”

You manage a small smile, though your throat feels tight. “Yeah. Full circle.”

Ellie shifts her weight, glancing at Dina with a wry smile before her gaze slides back to you. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” she says, her voice soft, like she’s trying to keep things light.

You shrug, trying to play it off. “Didn’t expect to be here either.”

But the words feel thin, hollow. Because standing this close to her, with the buzz of the gallery around you and the memories swirling like ghosts in the air, it’s impossible to ignore the truth.

This isn’t just a chance encounter. This is something you’ve both been avoiding for too long.

Dina shifts her weight, a perceptive glint in her eye as she surveys the two of you, the tension thick enough to slice through. She opens her mouth as if to say something—maybe to break the silence, to diffuse the moment—but then she pauses, that playful grin still dancing on her lips.

“Okay, you know what?” she says, clapping her hands together once more. “I just remembered I promised Jesse I’d check on him. He’s probably stuck at the snack table, drowning in mini quiches. So, I’ll be right back!”

Before you can even respond, she’s off, weaving through the crowd with that effortless grace of hers, leaving you and Ellie standing there, caught in a moment that feels suspended in time. The sounds of the gallery fade into the background—the murmur of conversations, the soft clinking of glasses—until it’s just the two of you.

The silence stretches.

Ellie shifts her weight again, her fingers fidgeting at her sides. You can see the thoughts racing behind her eyes, a whirlwind of emotions waiting to be unleashed, but the words seem to stick in her throat.

“So, how’s the show been for you?” you finally ask, trying to fill the space, to ease the tightness that’s creeping in. Your voice sounds a bit steadier than you feel.

Ellie’s gaze softens, and for a moment, the corners of her mouth twitch up into a small, genuine smile. “It’s… good. Better than I expected, honestly.” She glances around, taking in the vibrant colors of her artwork, the way the lights catch the brushstrokes, illuminating the stories behind each piece. “It’s kind of surreal to see it all up here.”

You nod, watching her as she talks. There’s a light in her eyes that flickers with passion.

“Your work is incredible, Ellie.”

She meets your gaze again, and there’s a flicker of something deeper in her expression—gratitude with a hint of vulnerability.

“Thanks,” she says, her voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “I’ve been trying to push myself more lately.”

Your heart swells with her words, and the warmth of the moment wraps around you like a comforting embrace. But then, as if sensing the shift in the air, the gallery begins to swell with new energy. The crowd thickens, laughter and chatter rising, and the once-intimate space starts to feel almost claustrophobic.

Ellie’s expression changes slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features. “I should probably go check in with some of the other guests,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “Make sure everything’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course,” you reply, though a part of you aches at the thought of her leaving, of this moment slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.

But before you can say anything else, she steps back, creating a small distance between you. “It was really good to see you,” she says, the words almost swallowed by the hum of the gallery.

You nod, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. “You too, Ellie..”

It was winter. Cold, biting, the kind of chill that seeped into your bones no matter how many layers you wore. You and Ellie were huddled in her tiny apartment just off campus, the one she’d insisted had “charm” but was really just a glorified box with bad heating. The windows fogged with condensation, and outside, snowflakes drifted lazily down onto the already blanketed streets. Inside, the space was warm and dim, lit by a single lamp in the corner and the flickering glow of a candle Ellie had lit for atmosphere.

But there was no warmth between you that night.

Ellie was pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, her hands running through her hair, tugging at it the way she always did when she was frustrated, on the verge of losing control. Her movements were restless, sharp, filled with an energy that seemed like it would combust if she didn’t do something, say something. She wasn’t looking at you—she hadn’t been able to for the past hour. And you, sitting on the edge of her bed, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, could feel the distance between you growing with every step she took.

“I just… I don’t know how to do this anymore,” she muttered, almost to herself, her voice strained, barely holding together. She stopped pacing for a second, pressing her palms to her forehead, her elbows resting on the back of a chair. “I feel like I’m drowning. Every day, it’s like… like I’m waiting for something to go wrong, and I don’t even know what it is, but I can’t breathe.”

Her words hit you like cold water, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t. You’d been feeling it too, the unraveling, the way everything between you had started to fray at the edges. It wasn’t sudden. It had been slow, creeping in like a shadow you couldn’t outrun. Long nights turned into silent mornings. Conversations that used to be easy, light, now felt like stepping through a minefield. Every fight, every misunderstanding, left scars you hadn’t been able to heal.

But hearing her say it out loud… that made it real.

“Ellie…” Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, like you were afraid of shattering the fragile air between you. “We can fix this. We just need to talk. We always work through things, right?”

She shook her head, her back still turned to you. You could see her shoulders rise and fall as she took a deep breath, as if she was trying to hold it all together. When she finally spoke, her voice was lower, more broken. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe we’ve been working through things too much, you know? Like, we keep trying to fix it, but it’s not working.”

You felt your chest tighten, your pulse quickening. The coldness of the room started to creep in, the warmth from the candle and the blankets no longer enough to fight it off. You stood up slowly, your legs shaky, and took a tentative step toward her. “Ellie, please—”

She spun around, and the look in her eyes stopped you in your tracks. They were red, bloodshot, like she hadn’t slept in days. And there was something else there—something raw, something you hadn’t seen before. Desperation, maybe. Or fear.

“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word. “But that’s all I’ve been doing, isn’t it? Every time we fight, every time I say the wrong thing or don’t say enough… it’s like I’m breaking you apart, piece by piece, and I can’t stand it. I can’t stand being the one who keeps doing this to you.”

Your throat tightened, your eyes stinging with the threat of tears. “You’re not—” you started, but she cut you off, shaking her head again.

“Yes, I am!” Her voice cracked, and suddenly, she wasn’t pacing anymore. She was standing still, facing you, her fists clenched at her sides like she was trying to hold herself together through sheer force of will. “You deserve better than this. Better than… than me.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and final. For a moment, the only sound was the soft hiss of the candle flickering in the corner, the distant rumble of a car passing by outside. You could feel the weight of what she was saying sinking into your skin, settling deep in your bones. She was pulling away, tearing out a piece of herself, a piece of you, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

“Don’t do this,” you whispered, stepping closer, your voice trembling. You reached for her hand, desperate to hold onto something, anything, but she flinched, stepping back just out of reach. “Please, Ellie. We can fix this. We can figure it out, we always do.”

But she was already shaking her head again, her eyes glistening with tears she refused to let fall. “No. I can’t… I can’t keep dragging you down with me. You deserve to be happy, and I don’t think I can give that to you anymore.”

Your heart broke then. It shattered, piece by piece, with every word she spoke. You wanted to scream, to tell her she was wrong, that you could make it work, that love was enough. But deep down, you knew. You’d both been unraveling for months, slipping through each other’s fingers like sand. And no matter how tightly you tried to hold on, it wasn’t enough.

Ellie took a shaky breath, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, barely audible. “I love you, but I don’t think I’m good for you anymore. And I can’t… I can’t keep pretending like I am.”

You stood there, frozen, as the words echoed in the small space between you. There was nothing left to say. Nothing that could change what was already happening. So, instead, you just nodded, your throat too tight to speak, your heart too heavy to protest.

She watched you for a moment longer, her eyes softening, filled with something that looked like regret, maybe even guilt. Then, without another word, she turned and walked toward the door, leaving you standing there, the candle flickering weakly in the corner.

The sound of the door closing behind her felt like the final nail in the coffin. The room was suddenly too quiet, too cold, too empty.

And you were alone.

The night air cools your skin, but the warmth of the gallery lingers, wrapping around you like a heavy cloak. You take a few steps down the street, trying to steady your breath, trying to shake off the flood of emotions Ellie’s presence stirred up. But as you reach the edge of the block, something pulls you back—an invisible tether, tightening around your heart. You stop, glancing back toward the gallery, the soft glow of the lights spilling out onto the sidewalk, the hum of conversations still echoing in the air.

You’re not ready to leave. Not yet.

With a deep breath, you turn and step back inside, the warmth of the space enveloping you once more. The crowd has shifted, people moving around the artwork like currents in a river, but you’re not drawn to any of them. Instead, you find yourself wandering, letting your feet carry you through the gallery without any clear direction.

The pieces on the walls are beautiful—Ellie’s unmistakable style shines through in every brushstroke, every burst of color. But there’s something else here, something you can’t quite put your finger on. You continue walking, the noise around you dulling to a low murmur as you lose yourself in the art.

And then, you see it.

Tucked away in a corner of the gallery, slightly off the main flow of the exhibition, is a painting that stops you in your tracks. Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, everything else falls away—the crowd, the noise, even the memory of Ellie standing just a few feet from you moments ago.

The painting is large, dominating the wall with its raw, unfiltered intimacy. The colors are rich, deep tones of reds and golds and shadows that dance across the canvas like firelight. And in the center, almost hidden in the interplay of light and dark, are two figures—tangled together, their bodies intertwined in a way that leaves no room for doubt. The lines are soft, delicate, but there’s a fierceness to the way the brushstrokes capture the curve of a back, the arch of a neck, the way two sets of hands grip each other as if holding on for dear life.

It’s you and Ellie.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you take a step closer, your pulse quickening with every detail that comes into focus. The figures are not exact replicas, not perfect portraits, but there’s no mistaking it—the shape of your body, the curve of Ellie’s form. The familiarity in the way your hands touch, the way your legs are tangled together, skin on skin, lost in the moment of sex.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, a rush of heat flooding your cheeks as the memories flood back. The night in question comes rushing to the surface—one of those endless nights in college, when the world outside had ceased to matter, and all that existed was the space between you and Ellie. The way her breath had felt against your skin, the soft murmur of her voice in your ear, the way she looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense in a world of chaos.

It’s all there, captured in the brushstrokes. The vulnerability, the connection, the way you’d both been completely unguarded with each other in a way that had felt terrifying and exhilarating all at once. The memory is so visceral, it’s like being pulled back in time, your body remembering the touch of her hands, the feel of her lips against yours.

You stand there, rooted to the spot, your eyes tracing every detail of the painting. It’s beautiful, in a way that makes your chest ache, but it’s also unmistakably private. This moment was yours—yours and Ellie’s—and seeing it laid bare here, for everyone to see, feels almost too intimate, like a secret exposed.

Your breath hitches as your mind races. Did Ellie mean for this to be here? Was it a message? Or just a piece of her past she needed to exorcise, to let out into the world in the only way she knew how?

You take another step closer, your eyes fixated on the way the light plays off the figures—your figure—highlighting the delicate curve of your waist, the way Ellie’s arm wraps around you, pulling you closer. It’s so raw, so unapologetic, and the emotions it stirs up are almost too much to bear.

You stand there, your heart hammering in your chest, you hear the soft creak of footsteps behind you. You know, without turning around, who it is. Ellie’s presence fills the space before she even speaks, the air between you charged with an intensity that has been building all night.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. You can feel her eyes on the painting, then on you, her silence heavy with meaning. She’s watching your reaction, waiting—maybe even bracing—for what you’ll say, for how you’ll respond. You want to say something, anything, but the words seem lodged in your throat.

Finally, Ellie breaks the silence. Her voice is soft, almost hesitant, but there’s a vulnerability to it that makes your chest tighten. “It’s… from a long time ago,” she says, the words almost a whisper. “I didn’t think anyone would see it and know..”

You swallow hard, still unable to tear your eyes away from the painting. “It’s us,” you say, the words barely audible, but Ellie hears them. You can feel her nod behind you, even though she doesn’t say anything.

Another beat of silence stretches between you, the weight of the past pressing down on you both. And then Ellie speaks again, her voice lower now, more grounded. “I didn’t know how else to… capture it. It was the only way I could make sense of everything.”

You finally turn to look at her, and the sight of her standing there, just inches away, sends a fresh wave of emotions crashing over you. Her face is softer now, the hard edges you saw earlier had smoothed away. Just her, standing there, vulnerable and exposed in a way that mirrors the painting on the wall.

For the first time all night, the space between you feels real. Heavy with everything that’s gone unsaid for years.

You open your mouth to speak, but the words are still out of reach. Instead, all you can do is look at her, your chest tight with the weight of everything this painting has stirred up. There’s a part of you that wants to step closer, to reach out and touch her like you used to, to see if the connection that once burned so brightly between you still lingers in the spaces where your skin meets hers.

But for now, all you can do is stand there, your heart pounding in your chest, the memory of that night—of her —playing over and over in your mind like a song you thought you’d forgotten.

Somehow, you ended up here—Ellie’s apartment. You’re not sure how it happened. Maybe it was the tension in the gallery, the weight of the memories between you, or maybe it was Ellie’s quiet, almost tentative offer: “Do you want to come over for a bit?”

Now, the door closes softly behind you, and you find yourself standing in the small entryway of her apartment, the familiar scent of her space—wood, paint, and that faint earthy musk of hers—hitting you all at once. It’s like stepping back into a life you’d long since tried to leave behind, except everything feels slightly off now, like a song that’s being played just a little too slow.

The silence stretches between you, awkward and thick, as Ellie moves past you into the living room. Her apartment is small, but cozy. Messy in the way an artist’s space always is, with scattered paintbrushes, canvases propped up against the walls, and sketchbooks overflowing with half-finished ideas. It’s not much different from the space she had in college, except this time, the mess feels more intentional—like it’s been lived in, not just occupied.

You hover near the door, unsure of where to put your hands, unsure of where to put yourself. The air between you is charged, but not in the electric way it had been back in the gallery.

Ellie clears her throat, scratching the back of her neck as she moves around the space, avoiding your gaze.

“Uh, you can sit if you want,” she says, motioning vaguely toward the worn, comfortable-looking couch that’s pushed against the far wall. “I’ll grab some drinks.”

You nod, grateful for something to do, even if it’s just sitting down. The cushions sag beneath you, and you can’t help but remember the nights you’d spent like this before, curled up together on whatever hand-me-down couch she had at the time, talking for hours, or sometimes not talking at all. Just being.

But this isn’t like before.

Ellie disappears into the kitchen, and you take the opportunity to look around. There’s an easel in the corner with a half-finished painting—a cityscape this time, vibrant with color and movement. The table next to it is cluttered with tubes of paint, brushes, and crumpled pieces of paper with rough sketches. It’s Ellie’s world, laid out in front of you, and yet you feel like a stranger in it now.

The awkwardness creeps up your spine, settling in the pit of your stomach as you wait, the quiet stretching on and on. You can hear Ellie moving in the kitchen—bottles clinking, the soft sound of the fridge opening and closing. It should feel normal, familiar. But it doesn’t.

After what feels like too long, Ellie finally returns, two bottles of beer in hand. She hands you one without a word, her fingers brushing yours briefly in the exchange. The touch is electric, sending a jolt through you, but it’s gone as quickly as it came.

Ellie sits on the opposite end of the couch, as far from you as the small space allows. She takes a swig of her beer, her gaze flicking to the window instead of meeting yours, her posture stiff and uncertain. You take a drink, too, trying to focus on the bitter taste of the beer instead of the way the room feels too small, too quiet.

The silence stretches again, awkward and heavy, like neither of you knows how to bridge the gap. The weight of the past hangs between you—unspoken, but impossible to ignore. You’re both dancing around it, unwilling to dive in, yet neither of you knows how to avoid it.

“How long have you been working on the pieces for the show?” you ask, desperate to fill the silence with something, anything.

Ellie shrugs, taking another sip of her beer. “A while. A couple of years, I guess.”

You nod, not really sure what to say.

You can feel her eyes on you—intense and heavy.

“I don’t think I ever forgot how it felt.” she blurts out, her voice low and husky.

You swallow hard, your pulse quickening as the weight of her words hits you. You know exactly what she means. The memory of her hands on your body, the heat of her breath against your skin—it all comes rushing back, sharper now, more immediate.

Ellie leans back against the couch, her legs spreading just slightly as she sets her beer down on the floor with a soft thunk. She’s still watching you, the unspoken desire hanging thick in the air between you. It’s a look you recognize all too well—a look that used to drive you wild, that used to make you ache for her touch in a way that felt almost unbearable.

And now, sitting here in her apartment, that same ache is starting to stir inside you again.

“I know it’s been a long time,” she murmurs, her voice soft, “But I’ve been thinking about you. About us. ”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel your body reacting, your skin prickling with heat as the space between you seems to shrink. You can see the way her chest rises and falls with each slow breath, the tension in her body barely restrained. It’s like she’s holding herself back—just barely—but there’s no mistaking the hunger in her eyes, the way her gaze keeps flicking to your lips, your body, like she’s already imagining what it would feel like to close the distance.

You know you should say something, should acknowledge the fire that’s rapidly spreading between you, but you can’t find the words. All you can do is watch as Ellie shifts closer, her movements slow, her eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m not gonna pretend like I don’t want you,” she says, her voice dropping even lower, almost a growl. There’s no hesitation anymore, no awkwardness, just pure, unfiltered desire. “Because I do. I always have.”

The confession hangs in the air, bold and dangerous, and it takes everything in you not to close the gap between you and her right then and there. Your body is already reacting, your pulse racing, your breath coming faster as the tension between you reaches a fever pitch.

Ellie leans in slightly, her face inches from yours, her lips so close you can feel the heat of her breath against your skin. Her hand moves to your thigh, the touch light but deliberate, her fingers pressing against you in a way that sends a jolt of heat straight through your core. It’s a touch that’s both familiar and new, reigniting the fire that had once burned so brightly between you.

“You remember how good it was, don’t you?” she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear, her voice sending shivers down your spine. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Your breath hitches, and you feel your body responding, your skin buzzing with the memory of her touch, the way she used to know exactly how to drive you wild. The pull between you is too strong now, the desire too overwhelming to ignore. You want her—desperately—and you can see the same hunger reflected in her eyes, the way her hand tightens slightly on your thigh, her grip firm.

“Ellie…” you breathe, your voice a whisper, but she hears it. She always hears you.

She moves even closer, her lips brushing against your neck now, the warmth of her breath sending a rush of heat through your body. “Tell me you want this,” she murmurs, her voice rough with desire. “Tell me you want me.”

Your mind is spinning, your heart racing as you feel the full weight of her body leaning into you, her hand sliding further up your thigh, her touch firm. You can barely think straight, the heat between you unbearable now, every nerve in your body on fire as she presses her lips against your neck, soft but insistent.

“I want you..” you whisper, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. And as soon as they leave your lips, Ellie’s restraint shatters.

In an instant, her lips are on yours, the kiss rough and desperate, all the tension and desire that’s been building between you exploding in a surge of heat. Her hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, pulling you closer as if she can’t get enough of you. The kiss is hungry, wild, like she’s been starving for you for years, and now that she has you again, she’s not going to let go.

Your body reacts instinctively, your hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer as you lose yourself. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, the intensity of her touch, the way she knows exactly how to make you melt beneath her.

Ellie pulls you onto her lap, her hands gripping your hips, and you can feel the hardness of her body beneath you, the strength in her arms as she holds you close, her lips never leaving yours. It’s rough, raw, and so intensely familiar, like falling back into a rhythm you hadn’t realized you’d been missing.

Ellie pulls back just enough to catch her breath, her forehead resting against yours, her breathing ragged, her eyes dark and wild with need. “I need you,” she whimpers.

In a rush, your hands find the hem of ellie’s shirt, pulling it up and over her head. You toss it aside without a second thought, your eyes immediately drawn to her bare torso—her tattoo twisting along her arm, her skin flushed with heat. For a moment, you pause, breathless, as you take her in. She’s gorgeous. Strong and lean, every muscle under her skin defined, her freckles scattered across her chest like stars in the night.

Ellie’s breathing is ragged, her chest rising and falling heavily as she watches you, her lips slightly parted, her eyes burning with want. But she doesn’t say a word. Instead, her hands move to your shirt, tugging it up in one swift motion. You lift your arms, letting her pull it over your head before it, too, is discarded in the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Her gaze drops immediately, her eyes sweeping over your body.

There’s something in the way she looks at you—something intense,that makes your skin burn under her. Ellie’s hands rest on your bare waist now, her fingers brushing over your skin as she takes you in.

“Ellie…” you breathe, the sound a mixture of a plea and a gasp, urging her to continue.

“Fuck…” she mutters, almost to herself as she leans back slightly to get a better view. Her hands slide up your sides, fingers trailing over the curve of your breasts, the sensation sending a shiver through your entire body. She looks at you like you’re something to be worshipped, her eyes dark with want, her touch slow, as if she’s savoring every second, every inch of you.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Ellie whispers, she’s taking her time now, her hands exploring every inch of your skin, her fingers brushing over your collarbone, tracing the line of your ribs, before they move back up, cupping your breasts with a gentleness that contrasts the raw hunger in her eyes.

You reach for her, your hands roaming over her body, feeling the strength of her shoulders, the hard lines of muscle beneath her skin. Your hands move lower, exploring the soft dip of her waist, the way her body feels beneath your touch—strong, every muscle tensing under your fingers as you stroke her skin. You let your fingers trace the outline of her abs, feeling the way her body responds to your touch, the way her breath hitches every time your hands move lower.

Ellie's hands grip your hips with an sudden urgency, your slick catches against her cunt, the soft, wet friction sending pulses along your clit. You feel her body respond—every muscle tightening, every breath hitching in anticipation.

Ellie's hands grip your hips with an urgency, your slick catches against her cunt, the soft, wet friction making you pulsate. You can feel her body respond—every muscle tightening, every breath hitching in anticipation.

“n-need to feel you,” she gasps, her voice wavering on the edge of breaking, raw and desperate. The intensity in her eyes makes your heart race, an unquenchable thirst that mirrors your own.

You begin to grind against her, your slick meeting her puffy clit, the sensation making you gasp as the friction builds.

“Oh god, please..” you whimper, a moan escaping your lips.

It’s intoxicating, the way your bodies move together, the way every roll of your hips sends ripples of pleasure through both your pussies.

“Fuck,” ellie breathes, her voice low and filled with a mix of need and awe, her eyes locked onto yours as you move together, a slow, delicious rhythm that feels like it’s been waiting for this moment for years.

“Come here,” she begs, pulling you closer, her grip tightening as you continue to grind against her. The slick sound echos in the air, mingling with the soft moans that slip from your lips. Each sound you makes pulls ellie deeper, melody that makes her crave more.

Ellie shifts beneath you, her body arching in a way that allows you to scissor closer. You can see the way her chest rises and falls, each breath heavy. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, lost in the sensations, and ellie takes the opportunity to lean down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

The sound of her voice makes your pussy pulsate, your eyes snapping open as they lock onto hers. ��d-don’t stop,” you breathe, your voice trembling with urgency. “I need m-more.”

“God, you’re s-so fucking good,” she whispers, her voice thick with desire, her gaze locked on yours, as if she’s trying to memorize every detail of this moment.

Ellie’s hands slide down your body, exploring every curve, every contour as she pulls you closer, her fingers digging into your skin, leaving marks that will linger long after this night.

“Ellie...” you breathe, the name falling from your mouth like a prayer. “Please, I need to feel you closer,” you whisper, voice all shaky.

Ellie gives in to the rhythm, moving faster, harder, each thrust sending shudders of pleasure racing through both of you. Your moans come out loud and whiny, mingling with Ellie’s desperate gasps.

“Fuck, yes!” You breathe, your body arching into hers, your hands gripping her arms as she pulls you closer. You can feel the tension building between you, the way your body responds together, every roll of your hips bringing you both closer to cumming.

“Don’t stop!” Ellie lets out a soft cry, her body tensing beneath you as the pleasure washes over her. You feel the way her body responds to yours, and it sends you tumbling over the edge, your own pleasure crashing down, pulling you both into ecstasy.

You collapse against her, breathless and trembling, the world around you fading away as you savor the warmth of her body against yours, the softness of her skin, and the way your bodies still pulse.

You turn your head slightly, your eyes catching a glimpse of the half-finished paintings scattered around her apartment, the abstract strokes, the splashes of color that seem almost chaotic, like her thoughts spilled out onto the canvas. You can’t help but wonder if you’ll be another one of those unfinished things—something she can’t quite complete, something left unresolved, a work in progress that she never intended to finish.

There’s a lump forming in your throat, but you push it down.

You won’t wake up to her. Not tomorrow, not ever. Ellie will go back to her life, and you’ll go back to yours, and this night will fade into the past, becoming another memory, another fragment of what you once had together.

With a quiet sigh, you press a gentle kiss to her shoulder.

#ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie fanfic #ellie tlou #ellie x y/n #ellie smut #ellie williams smut #ellie angst #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams au #ellie williams tlou #ellie x you #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x f!reader #ellie williams headcanons #ellie willams x reader

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coffeeshades · 7 months ago

Text

credits to the gif maker!

GUILTY AS SIN...? - PART I

summary: one summer with the man you can't have, but can't stop thinking about.

pairing: cillian murphy x popstar!reader

word count: 5.5k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). mentions of sex. angst. cussing, slight age gap, mentions of alcohol and divorce. no use of y/n, heavily inspired by ts and ttpd. if i missed something please let me know. (also this is a work of fiction, none of it reflects how i feel about the people mentioned in this, most importantly cillian's wife, who im sure is a sweetheart irl. it's fiction, just relax and enjoy it, and if not, move along, friends.)

a/n: hi everyone! this turned out pretty long so i will be splitting it into parts so it's easier. next part will be posted soon. i hope you all have as much fun reading this as i had writing it. enjoy!

part two

The breeze riffled through your hair as you drove, the sun warming your skin through the open windows. The Irish countryside stretching out before you, lush and green, with rolling hills and quaint villages dotting the landscape. The scent of wildflowers and the sound of nothing but the wind in the trees filled your senses.

It was rare, really. The silence, the feeling of complete freedom, and the solitude that enveloped you. A fleeting escape from the chaos of your everyday life.

The ping of your phone interrupted the peaceful moment. You tapped on the pop-up notification after briefly glancing at the directions to your destination. It was a message from Cillian. Well, two, actually. One was asking how far you were, and the other was a Spotify link followed by a question mark. Ever since he started hosting his bbc radio show, he's been sending you potential songs for his playlists to get your opinion. Not that he needs it anyway. But you always appreciate being included in his process.

Your lips curled into a smile as you clicked on the link. The familiar sound of The Blue Nile's "The Downtown Lights" flooded the car, instantly making you feel a wave of nostalgia. It's been ages since you've listened to that song. The synth-pop melody carries you up the pine-dotted path to where his house perches atop a hill, overlooking the crashing waves below. You've been here a couple of times, and yet it never gets less breathtaking. The Victorian architecture contrasting beautifully with the rugged coastline, creating a scene straight out of a painting.

The car glides right past the wrought iron gates, and you cut the engine in front of the stone steps leading up to the grand entrance. You shoot Cillian a quick text letting him know you're here, unbuckle your seat belt, and hop out of the car.

The June sun beats down on your skin instantly, heat radiating off the cobblestones as you open the backdoor to look through your bag for a hair tie. The smell of saltwater mingles with the sound of gulls overhead, sending you into sensory overload. "Gotcha," you mutter to yourself as you finally find the hair tie and pull your hair back into a loose bun.

"You drove here?" you hear him call out from behind you, his voice tinged with surprise. "And you're alone?" you turn around to see Cillian walking towards you, a curious expression on his face.

"I actually had to throw a tantrum to convince them to let me come alone," you reply with a chuckle, feeling a sense of pride at your small victory. "I was like, It's Ireland. What's the worst that could happen?"

Being who you are means being guarded against any potential danger or harm at all times, being driven to almost everywhere, and always having a security team around.

Cillian laughs, a sound that makes your heart flutter and makes you want to hear it again and again. "Well, I'm glad you made it here in one piece, love," he says with a grin. "You're not a very good driver."

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment. You did regret your decision to drive from the airport 10 minutes later when you realized you were on the wrong side of the road. But he didn't need to know that.

"I made it in one piece, didn't I?" you playfully retort, trying to salvage your wounded pride. Cillian chuckles and shakes his head with a twinkle in his eye. You stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. He looks good, you thought. Unbelievably good. Well rested. His jet black hair was perfectly styled, even though you know he didn't put any effort into it—the slightest hint of silver at the temples, his sharp jawline, and those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through you. Though they looked a little tired, as if he had been through a lot since the last time you saw him.

You quickly avert your gaze, feeling a rush of heat on your cheeks.

"It's good to see you," you finally manage to say, trying to sound casual. Cillian's smile softens, and he replies, "It's good to see you too." He opens his arms, inviting you in for a hug. The soft fabric of his t-shirt brushes against your skin as you embrace him, and for a moment, everything feels right in the world.

"Come on, let's get inside," he says, leading you towards the house. Once inside, you make your way to the kitchen. The house was quiet; you wondered if anyone else was home. Cillian's family wasn't by any means loud or boisterous, but the silence felt heavier than usual.

"You hungry, love?" Cillian asks, opening the fridge, pulling out a white ceramic container, and setting it up on the kitchen island. You take a seat on one of the stools while he stands across from you.

"For something sweet?" you smile, seeing the container filled with what seems to be a piece of strawberry sponge cake. His mom must've made it. "Always," you reply. He hands you a spoon and takes one for himself, the two of you sharing the dessert in comfortable silence.

Until he broke it.

"How was Madrid?" he asks softly.

"It was good, great crowd," you reply, taking another bite of the dessert. "But tiring," you add, feeling the exhaustion of the long trip settling in.

"How many nights did you perform?"

"Four."

"Jesus, that's quite a lot, isn't it?"

Your eyes meet his; confusion clear in your expression. "You think that's a lot? Didn't you used to do four or five nights in a row of the same play?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "for months…?

"Yeah, but that was a different kind of exhaustion," he explains, taking another bite. "Performing the way you do in front of a live audience for three hours is a whole different ball game, love."

Love.

There it was again. That godforsaken term of endearment that he seemed to throw around so casually. It made your heart race every time he said it, even though you knew it probably meant nothing to him. But the way he looked at you now, with a hint of admiration in his eyes, made you wonder if maybe—

"Want the last bite?" he offered, taking you out of your thoughts. He pushed the container towards you, a small smile playing on his lips. His gaze was intense, as if silently urging you to take it.

"Oh, hello," a voice exclaimed from behind you, breaking the moment. You drop the spoon on the counter, a little startled. As if you were caught in the act of something forbidden. You turned around to see Yvonne, Cillian's wife. She said your name with a surprised tone, making you feel guilty for some reason. "I didn't know you were here," she continued, her eyes flickering between you and her husband.

You started to rise from your seat, confusion clouding your thoughts. That's weird. Cillian usually lets his wife know when you're visiting, but this time it seems like he didn't. She walked towards you, enveloping you in a hug. "When did you get here?" she said.

"Not long ago," you replied, relieved that she didn't seem upset. "I, uh, wanted to take a break and thought Ireland might be a good place to do that," you added, hoping to diffuse any tension that may have arisen. She nodded understandingly. "And you're staying here?"

"Oh, no, no," you quickly assured her. "I rented a place nearby, so you don't have to worry about me."

"Nonsense," Cillian interjected. "You can stay here. There's plenty of room."

"She's already paid for it, Cillian," Yvonne retorted, giving him a stern look.

Something was definitely off.

This was the last thing you wanted. You've specifically chosen the cottage for two reasons. First, to have space. The whole point of this trip was to finally have peace and write music. You've been stuck for months, not being able to find inspiration in your usual surroundings. Everything felt dull inside you all day—an emptiness that was smothering.

Second, you needed to stay the fuck away from Cillian. Being close to him was dangerous territory, one you didn't want to navigate right now. The plan was to come and visit and occasionally hang out and that's it. The thought of being in such close quarters with him was overwhelming. Staying here meant risking your heart and sanity.

You hesitated, also not wanting to intrude on their space, but Cillian insisted.

"Okay…How about if I stay for a couple of days and then move to the cottage?" you suggested, hoping to compromise. "Sounds perfect to me," he said.

This was going to be a long summer.

For the next few days, you dream too much, don't write enough, and try to find inspiration everywhere. As you settled into the routine of staying at Cillian's, you found yourself enjoying the peaceful surroundings and his company more than you expected. The days seemed to blend together, filled with laughter, deep conversations, and stolen glances that left your heart racing.

But you also felt constantly distracted by his presence, making it difficult to focus on your writing or anything else, for that matter.

All you could think about was him.

The piano room surrounded you with its warm, inviting atmosphere, and you found yourself drawn to it more often than not. The big windows overlooking the garden let in streams of sunlight, casting a warm glow over the bookshelf. You felt the softness of the carpet as you sat on the grand piano bench, running your fingers along the keys absentmindedly.

You started humming a tune that had been stuck in your head for days, the words appearing softly and effortlessly as you played:

Please

I've been on my knees

Change the prophecy

Don't want money

Just someone who wants my company

[Hum, Hum, Hum]

Who do I have to speak to

About if they can redo

The prophecy?

The humming went on whenever you didn't know what to say next, filling in the gaps between the notes on the piano and the lyrics:

A greater woman has faith

[Hum, Hum, Hum]

I'm so afraid I sealed my fate

No sign of soulmates

I'm just a paperweight

[Hum, Hum, Hum]

Spending my last coin so someone will tell me

It'll be ok

[Hum, Hum, Hum]

The melody filled the room until you stopped abruptly, frustrated that the lyrics weren't coming as easily as before. You closed your eyes with a groan, trying to clear your mind. "Fuck," you muttered under your breath, elbows resting on the keys of the piano.

"You good?" Cillian's rough voice broke through your frustration, causing you to look up and offer a weak smile. You don't know how long he's been standing there or how much he heard of your struggles. "Just hitting a wall with this song," you admitted, running a hand through your hair.

"Ah, I see," he nodded sympathetically. He moved towards the records stacked on the shelf and pulled one out, placing it on the turntable. "I don't want to mess with your creative process or anything, but maybe a break with some music will help," he suggested.

Radiohead's "Fake Plastic Trees" began to play, taking over the room with its haunting melody.

"So you play one of the saddest songs ever?" you deadpanned, "Thanks."

He chuckled softly, "You were playing some pretty intense stuff; I figured it would fit right in."

Oh, so he did hear you.

"Ah, I know it's different from my usual stuff," you said quietly, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious about your music. "I might scrap that one. They might not be onboard with the change."

"And why's that?"

Thom Yorke's voice faded into the background as you contemplated his question, unsure of how to respond.

You shrugged, "I listen to sad music, not make it."

"I liked what I heard," he reassured you, "and change is good. It keeps things interesting."

His low voice was soothing, and you found yourself feeling more at ease with the idea of trying something new. Pop has been your comfort zone for so long, it's what stands out of you, but most importantly, it's what sells. At least, that's what's important to the industry. Maybe it was time to push yourself out of it.

"I guess you're right," you replied, a faint smile creeping onto your face.

"As always," he said, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. He stood leaning against the table where the record player sat, arms crossed, looking as if he had too many things to say and not enough words for them.

"Would this be a good time to ask you if everything's okay?" you inquired, noticing the weight of unspoken thoughts in his eyes. "With Yvonne, I mean," you added, nervous to bring up the topic.

That first day, when you arrived at the house, you could sense there was something going on between them. Something bad. The tension in the air was so obvious, but you didn't want to pry. However, as the days went by, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that she hadn't been around or the absence of a certain ring on his finger.

"And here, I thought you were never going to ask," he replied, his words laced with sarcasm.

"I was waiting for you to bring it up," your voice trailed off, unsure of how to proceed. "I-I didn't want to overstep."

He studied you for a moment, or at least, you assumed that was what he was doing. Finally, he averted his gaze and cleared his throat,"We've separated."

A cold feeling settled in your chest as you processed his words. The reality of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks, and suddenly everything made sense. "Cillian," is all you managed to say, the concern evident in your voice.

He still wouldn't look at you. Knowing him, in moments like this, he wouldn't want to be coddled or pitied, so you save your apologies for later.

"What happened?"

He waved his hand dismissively, still avoiding your gaze. "Nothing, really," he said, his tone final. He didn't look upset, but rather resigned to the situation. "It hadn't been working for a long time; we both knew it was coming. I guess we were holding on for the boys more than anything." You could see the sadness in his eyes, despite his attempt to appear nonchalant. The weight of his words hung in the air, leaving you feeling defeated and unsure of what to say next. You don't think there's anything you can say that will make this or him feel better.

And boy, did you wish you could take away his pain with just a few words.

Cillian walked slowly over the piano, stopping in front of it. He streched his arms over the wooden soundboard, gripping the edges tightly as if seeking some sort of solace in the instrument. He finally looked at you.

"Why didn't you say anything, Cill?" you asked softly, "I would've—"

"You would've what?" he interrupted, his voice strained with emotion. "I didn't want to worry you, you have more important things than my marital issues."

You could see the pain in his eyes, and it tore at your heart to see him suffering in silence. "You're my friend. These things are important to me, Cill," you said gently, reaching out to touch his hand in a gesture of comfort. He flinched slightly at your touch, but then relaxed, leaning into your hand.

He didn't say anything, but you knew he appreciated your words. You could tell by the way his shoulders slumped in relief and the way his fingers loosened their grip on the edge of the piano.

One morning, you woke up to the wind gently rustling through the trees outside your windows. The morning light was clear and clean, leaking through the glass and falling against the walls of the room in soft patterns. It felt too early to be awake, too peaceful to disturb the tranquility of the moment.

You roll over to look at the little clock on the bedside table: 6:20 AM. It wasn't worth trying to go back to sleep, so you threw the covers and climbed out of bed, feeling the cool wood floor beneath your feet as you walked to the bathroom.

You splash cold water on your face and brush your teeth, trying to wake yourself up fully. Holding up your hair, you tie it into a ponytail while walking over the bedside table to grab your phone and airpods. You put one in your ear and hit shuffle on one of your morning playlists. You couldn't function without some music. "Keep On Loving You" by Cigarettes After Sex starts playing.

On your way to the kitchen, you walked by Cillian's room and noticed the door was slightly ajar. Who the hell sleeps with their door open? Psychos, probably. Curiosity getting the best of you, you peeked inside to see him sprawled out on his bed, body illuminated by the soft morning light filtering through the curtains—characteristic warm and cool shades revealing every hollow and speck of bare muscle. He slept with every limb stretched out, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. It was a rare sight, quite poetic.

He looked so peaceful, completely unaware of your presence. So you let your mind wander.

You imagined yourself crossing the room, pulling yourself on top of him. You imagined the way his bare body would look beneath you, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his dark hair messy around his face, his skin warm against yours. His hands—rough and soft at the same time—running over your thigh, your breast, your neck. You could almost feel the heat of his touch, the intensity of his gaze as he looked up at you.

But then reality snapped back into focus.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath. This was just a fantasy, a dangerous game to play with someone who was somewhat off-limits. But truth be told, the temptation was becoming harder to resist with each passing moment. It was all you could think about ever since he told you about his troubled marriage.

It took a long time for your heartbeat to slow. You headed to the kitchen to get some coffee, hoping that the caffeine would help clear your mind. As you rummage through the cabinets for a mug, his voice startles you from behind. "Need some help with that?" he asks, making you jump.

For a moment you thought you were still imagining things, but you turn around to see him standing there with a t-shirt on as opposed to five minutes ago. Great, him walking around shirtless in his kitchen, sleepy-eyed, messy hair, and rough morning voice would've been lethal.

"I've got it, thanks," you reply, shaking the mug slightly in your hand. You quickly pour yourself some coffee and try to focus on the task at hand: looking for the sugar.

"Sleep well?" he asks, voice still husky from sleep, his accent more prominent. He's rifling through the cabinet for a mug of his own. You can't help but notice the way his muscles flex under his dark t-shirt as he reaches up. You hum in agreement, trying to hide your blush as you take a sip of your coffee. "You?"

"Grand," he replies, pouring himself a cup of coffee and leaning against the counter. You exchange small talk about the upcoming day, but your mind keeps drifting back to how good he looks in the morning light.

"Any plans for today other than locking yourself in the piano room?" he teases, and you shoot him a playful glare. "Maybe I'll actually venture outside for once," you quip, laughing.

"How does the beach sound like?" he asks, "The boys are coming over, and they're bringing some friends, and I thought a trip would be a nice change of scenery."

"I could use some sun," you admit, feeling a smile tug at your lips.

"Let's make it a beach day then," he suggests, setting his mug on the sink. "We leave at 10, piano woman."

"Ha ha, very funny," you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes. "But I'll hold you to it, annoying man," you reply.

"Annoying man?" he repeats, raising an eyebrow. "I thought I was your favorite person."

"Only on days that end in 'y'."

•••

"Are you done with your sad boy music?"

Cillian bursts out laughing, the sound taking you by surprise. He's been playing Radiohead on repeat for the whole car ride, and you were starting to feel like you were in a melancholy music video. "I like their music as much as the next person, but I think I need a break from the sadness," you say.

"Fine, fine," Cillian concedes, reaching for his phone to change the song. The bleak atmosphere in the car lifts as "Linger" by The Cranberries starts playing, filling the space with a more pleasant vibe. Cillian glances at you, he's wearing dark shades that hide his eyes, but you can still see his stoic expression softening as he catches you smiling at the change in music.

"Better?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Instead of answering, you start silently singing along to the lyrics, gesticulating dramatically for added effect. Cillian smiles at your antics, his own lips twitching in amusement as he watches you. The boys were so caught up in their conversation with their friends in the backseat that you were pretty sure they weren't even paying attention to the music or your impromptu performance. With a small smile on your face, you face out the window and enjoy the rest of the car ride in content silence.

When you arrive at your destination, all of you unbuckle your seat belts once Cillian puts the Bronco in park. You all pile out of the car, stretching your legs and taking in the sights around you. You close your eyes for a second and take a breath. The sea air—you loved that smell.

•••

A few hours later, after countless swims and some snacks, you find yourself lying on a beach towel, book in hand, feeling the warmth of the temperature on your skin. You're reading a book you picked up at an airport several months ago by Elin Hilderbrand, or the queen of beach reads, as many call her. You were completely engrossed in the story until you felt Cillian settling down next to you.

His hair was damp from the water, and his skin was slightly glistening. Gosh, he looked absolutely stunning. "Mind if I join you?" he asks.

"Not at all," you reply, closing the book and sitting up. "Having fun?"

"Lots," he says with a smile, reaching over to grab his sunglasses. The two of you sit in comfortable silence. The laughter and chatter of his sons and friends coming from the water redirects your attention back to the beach scene before you. You look back at Cillian, his eyes fixed on his sons.

"They love you, you know," you say softly, watching the genuine joy on his face as he watches his children.

"I don't know if I'm doing it right," he says, eyes still fixed on the boys. "I worry I might've fucked them up by letting my relationship with their mother fall apart."

He continues, "Sometimes I feel they resent me for it."

"Why do you feel that way?"

"I don't know, they just seem distant sometimes. Like they're holding back."

"Hey, that's normal for kids to have mixed feelings about their parents' separation. I was so happy when mine got divorced because it meant no more fighting, but it was also tough to adjust to the changes. It's very conflicting stuff," you say, huffing a small laugh. "Also, they're teenagers now, right? That's a tough age to navigate even without the added stress of divorce."

Cillian nods in agreement, exhaling out a yeah.

You squint against the sunlight beaming behind his head before continuing.

"You're a great dad, you always have been. Just show up and be there for them when they need you, even if they don't always seem to appreciate it. They'll remember it in the long run," you offer, remembering how much your own father's presence meant to you after your parents' divorce. "And I'm not a parent, but what parent feels like they're doing everything right all the time, anyway?"

Cillian turns to look at you. He studies your face for a moment before offering a small smile. "I guess you're right," he says sincerely.

"Fork found in kitchen," you retort, breaking the tension with a bit of humor.

He chuckles, "That's clever."

"Well," you continue, "I've been accused of many things over the years, but being unoriginal isn't one of them."

He laughs. Just like he did back in the car: a genuine, carefree laugh that makes you feel a little lighter.

"Want to go for one last swim, piano woman?"

You roll your eyes. "Will you stop calling me that?"

"Not likely," Cillian replies with a grin. "It's too fitting."

You stand up and stretch. You're wearing a one-piece teal-ish swimsuit that you swear you only chose based on comfort and not because it makes your ass and breasts look fantastic. Cillian's eyes linger on you for a moment before he looks away, and you swear you can see a hint of a blush on his cheeks. He doesn't move.

"Are you coming or…?"

"Right, one last swim," he finally says, standing up and following you towards the water.

Maybe that one last swim wasn't a great idea after all.

And why is that?

Because not even five minutes into the water, you thought it would be a good idea to jump from a high rock, and now you're sitting in the car with your knee scrapped, throbbing in pain, and regretting your impulsive decision.

•••

"You're so fuckin' stubborn."

You try to move into a more comfortable position while ignoring the pain shooting up your leg by pressing a hand against one side of the door to keep yourself steady. "And you're so clearly overreacting."

Cillian pushes his bedroom door open. He's also clearly pissed. The ride back to the house was deathly silent. Well, not silent. His sad boy music made a return, and this time with Broken Social Scene. You couldn't ask him to change the music without starting another argument. Even the kids were quiet, beyond asking several times if you were okay, which you assured them you were. Obviously a lie.

As Cillian walks around the room, you reach for your midi white beachy dress and look down at your knee in horror. It's no longer just a bruise, but a gash that is slowly oozing blood. Not as much as before, but still. It looks nasty underneath the shirt Cillian used from his car as a makeshift bandage.

He grabs the first aid kit from a shelf and turns around to face you.

"Take off your dress."

"Pardon me?"

"Take off your dress so I can properly clean and bandage the wound," Cillian repeats, his expression serious. You look down at the blood-stained fabric as if you needed any more confirmation. "Off, C'mon."

You stiffen at his demand, your body going completely rigid at his bossy tone. You watch him stride into his bathroom. He pushes aside some stuff on the counter and tosses the kit onto the counter.

Okay, yeah. He has good reason to be upset. You had no business jumping from that rock.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he'd said before, right when he went to get you. And now you can see the anger still simmering beneath the surface.

You can hear him shuffle in the bathroom while you remove your dress. You still have your swimsuit on underneath, but you feel exposed without the extra layer. Maybe the pain is catching up to you or the fact that you have upset him or that he's waiting for you in the bathroom to take care of you but tears sting your eyes as you try to process the situation. You take a moment to collect yourself. You cannot go in there like this, he cannot see you this vulnerable. At least, not now.

He's braced against the counter, head hung low, when you push open the bathroom door. You nearly back out to give him some space or time to compose himself, but his eyes meet yours and his expression straightens. He clears his throat and then freezes. "I—you're wearing your swimsuit."

"I am. Were you expecting me to change into something else?"

"No," he grumbles, "I mean, nevermind."

He turns back and starts grabbing sterile gauze, his movements slightly jerky. He gestures for you to sit on the counter. "Up."

"I'm not sure I can do that given my—" Before you're done speaking, he scoops you up and sets you on the counter. Your hands are locked around his neck, and his are firmly gripping your waist. They fit perfectly there, like they're made to hold you close.

He reaches behind him, both your faces close together now, and grabs your wrists, pulling them away from his neck and onto your thighs. He puts a hand on your uninjured leg, his touch gentle yet firm. "This is going to hurt." You stare at his impossible blue eyes and think to yourself: yes, this is going to hurt.

"Oh, shit shit," you gasp, gripping his forearm. "Holy fuuuck."

"I've got you, breathe," he commands, and you allow yourself to focus on his voice, letting it ground you. The antiseptic burns both your nostrils and knee as he continues to clean the wound, the pain shooting through your leg causing you to clench your teeth.

"I'm sorry," you breathe out.

There's nothing but silence in response.

"I told you multiple times not to go up there," he finally says, his voice tinged with frustration. "And yet."

"I know," you whisper, feeling guilty.

"Don't do that again," he commands, his accent thickening with emotion. "You could've hurt yourself even more."

"I know," you repeat, not sure how else to respond.

His head is bowed in concentration as he finishes cleaning the wound, his hands steady despite the anger in his voice. You can see his dark eyelashes fluttering slightly as he works. He applies a little more pressure to the bandage than he should've, and you let out a soft moan. This doesn't go unnoticed by him.

The air in the room seems to shift. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see something soften in his gaze before he looks away.

"You're not supposed to like that."

Your cheeks heat up immediately.

He's gotten closer to you, your hands somehow made their way to fist his navy blue linen shirt. His body is between your legs, the delicate material of his pants brushing your skin. His breath is warm against your cheek as he leans in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't say I mind it either." Your heart races at his proximity, unsure of what to do next.

His hands slide up your thighs, gently caressing your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He's going to kiss you, and you can't help but wonder if it's the right decision to let him.

But now is not the time to be rational about it.

"I'm not gonna stop you," you say quietly, "I wouldn't know how."

His eyes darken, pupils dilating with desire. He doesn't move.

It's like you're both aware of the line you're about to cross, so neither of you moves.

You keep your eyes firmly on his face. His lips inch closer to yours, and you feel the heat of his breath on your skin. Your body is angled towards his, hand gripping the edge of the counter. Your slightly damp hair, now cold, making you shiver.

He's impossibly hard against you, the material of his pants is thin, and you're aware of every inch of him pressing against your throbbing core.

"And I wouldn’t know how to stop kissing you," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. He shifts slightly, causing his erection to press even more firmly against you, both letting out a soft moan. His mouth hovers just inches from yours, just kiss me, you thought.

There's a knock on the bedroom door, which is, by the way, open.

"Dad?" You both freeze.

The bathroom door is slightly ajar, offering a sliver of privacy but not enough to shield you from any potential interruptions.

"Yes?" Cillian calls out, trying to sound casual despite the intense moment that was just interrupted. "We're ordering takeout, do you want anything?"

"No, buddy, we're good, thanks," Cillian replies, his voice strained as he tries to keep his composure. You hear the steps retreating down the hallway.

Cillian steps back, and the absence of his body against yours is jarring. It clearly would've been a mistake to take this further, but a mistake that would've felt so fucking good.

"We shouldn't do this."

He clears his throat. "Yeah."

He moves towards the door, his movements tense and purposeful. "I'm gonna—" he says, motioning the door.

"Yeah," you quickly reply, "I got it."

You watch him leave, the air heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires.

a/n: thank you for reading! please share your thoughts with me, let me know if you guys enjoyed it :)

part two

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy angst #cillian murphy fluff #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy fic

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ye4gerz · 2 months ago

Text

blood moon — ldh

‧˚⭒ pairing: lee donghyuck x afab!reader. 18+MDNI ‧˚⭒ genre: thriller!au, horror!themes, smut. ‧˚⭒ word count: 9.2k ‧˚⭒ warnings: mentions of death, blood, magic, sharp objects, dark entities, clowns, smut. ‧˚⭒ starring: haechan, jihyo, ningning, chenle, jeno, jaemin, jisung, mark. ‧˚⭒ summary: in the middle of nowhere where shadows lie beneath the surface, you're led back to a place that unravels your past. in this cursed place, time is of the essence, only to meet donghyuck, the one capable of setting you free.

The small, dimly lit room feels suffocating, the walls pressing in on you with an almost deliberate weight. You draw your knees up to your chest, sitting on the edge of the creaky bed, your head lightly resting against the cold glass of the window. Tonight was supposed to be perfect, yet an invisible unease clings to you, wrapping itself around your thoughts.

You were back at your family’s old cabin, surrounded by friends who had come to this remote countryside to celebrate the annual festival. This land, once the backdrop of your childhood, was now a nostalgic glimpse into a life you hadn’t revisited in years. Sharing this piece of your past with the people closest to you had felt like a good idea. Yet, something about being here again unsettled you in ways you couldn’t explain.

Earlier in the day, the town had been alive with energy. Crowds of locals and visitors had flooded the streets, some dressed up to honor the town’s peculiar traditions. There were games, horse rides, and even the timeless festival classic: bobbing for apples—though you’d never been a fan. Watching your friends laugh and immerse themselves in the festivities had been enough to keep a smile on your face. But beneath the surface, an inexplicable weight lingered, heavy and persistent.

The cabin creaked softly in the night breeze, the faint smell of aged wood and pine wafting through the air. Outside, the dense woods stood like silent sentinels, their gnarled branches clawing at the smoky sky. The moon hung low, its hue casting an eerie glow over the landscape. Somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of music drifted through the trees—a melody so soft it felt more like a memory than reality.

A soft knock at your door broke the silence, making you flinch.

“You doing okay?” Jihyo asked, leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed.

Her presence immediately comforted you. Something about the way she stood reminded you of your mother, a bittersweet memory you hadn’t expected to surface tonight.

“I’m okay, Jihyo,” you replied softly, your gaze distant. “Just… taking it all in.”

She gave you a gentle smile and stepped into the room. The matching flannel pajamas she wore, along with the rest of your group, brought a sense of warmth to the chilly evening. A cool breeze slipped through the cracked window, brushing against your skin like a ghost of the past.

“We had so much fun today,” she said, sitting beside you on the bed, the old frame groaning under her weight. “Ningning won’t stop talking about the horseback dude who asked for her number.” She rolled her eyes playfully, letting out a small laugh.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head. “Sounds like Ningning.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, your eyes drawn to the window. The night sky stretched endlessly, the moon casting a faint, eerie glow over the land.

“Take a look at that,” Jihyo said suddenly, her voice filled with awe. “It’s a blood moon.”

Your gaze shifted upward, and there it was—a smoky red orb suspended in the heavens. Its haunting beauty mesmerized you. For a moment, you thought the light seemed to pulse, almost beckoning, though you dismissed it as a trick of your mind.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jihyo smiled and pulled you into a gentle hug. “I know how much this place means to you,” she began softly, her words carrying a rare tenderness. “And I know how hard this time of year must be, especially being back here. I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to lose both parents, but I want you to know I care about you. We all do. And if it helps, we can make this a yearly thing—just us, with good food and drinks, hanging out in the countryside. How does that sound?”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You nodded instead, swallowing the lump in your throat. “That sounds really nice. Thank you, Ji. I appreciate it.”

She hugged you one last time before standing and heading for the door. “Goodnight,” she said, smiling back at you as she closed the door behind her.

Exhaustion crept over you like a heavy blanket as the house settled into stillness. You slipped under the covers, the warmth lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

A soft whisper cuts through the silence.

“Come…”

Your eyes fluttered open, disoriented. The room was bathed in shadow, the faint glow of the moon casting eerie streaks of red across the walls. You sat up, straining to hear, and rubbing your eyes. The whisper came again, louder this time.

“Come find us…”

It was faint but unmistakable, the voice achingly familiar. Your heart skipped a beat as chills raced down your spine. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, every nerve in your body on high alert.

The red light outside pulsed faintly, casting the woods in an otherworldly glow. The whispers seemed to wrap around you, tugging at your very soul. You glanced toward your now opened door, the adjoining guest room, where your friends were fast asleep. Their soft snores and murmurs reassured you they were blissfully unaware of the eerie disturbance.

Your feet moved almost of their own accord as you slipped on a pair of shoes and grabbed a sweater. The wooden floor creaked under your weight as you tiptoed out of the room, careful not to wake anyone. The cabin door groaned softly as you eased it open, the cool night air biting at your skin.

The whispers grew louder, clearer, as if guiding you.

“Come find us… we’re waiting.”

With one last glance at the cabin, you stepped into the woods, the pulsing red light ahead of you like a beacon.

You didn’t look back.

The whispers grew louder, drowning out the crunch of leaves beneath your hurried steps. The pulsating red light loomed closer with every breath, an unnatural urgency filling the air and compelling you forward.

“Sweetheart…” The familiar voice reached your ears, tender yet chilling, like a memory resurrected from the depths of your mind.

“M-Mom?” Your voice cracked, trembling as you stumbled forward, breaking into a run.

This couldn’t be real. It was impossible. Your mind grappled for an explanation. Was this a dream—a vivid, warped projection of your subconscious? Maybe you were caught in a lucid nightmare, wandering through some uncharted corner of your own mind. Yet, the cold air stung your skin, and the steady thudding of your heart told you otherwise.

Finally, you stopped, your breath catching as you stared, wide-eyed, at the scene unfurling before you.

A carnival.

Towering red-and-white-striped tents stretched high into the night sky, glowing unnaturally under the moon’s light. Flashing bulbs blinked erratically, casting shadows that danced with unsettling energy. The air was thick with the syrupy scent of popcorn and candied apples, mingling with the faint metallic tang of something unrecognizable. Strangers in capes and masks strolled arm in arm, their laughter melodic and strangely distorted.

Something about the place was deeply, fundamentally wrong.

“What… is this?” you murmured, your voice breaking as you took in the chaos. You stood frozen, painfully aware of how your pajama-clad form stood out against the surreal revelry of the carnival-goers. Their gazes lingered too long, curious and invasive, making your skin crawl.

“WELCOME IN, FOLKS!” boomed a voice from above. You jumped, startled, and turned to see a figure perched impossibly high on stilts, towering over the crowd. His face was a riot of bright, garish paint, his grin stretched unnaturally wide across his face.

“I, Chenle, your gracious host, welcome you to the annual Blood Moon Celebration! Grab your tickets and make your way to the freak show!” His voice rose and fell theatrically, delighting the crowd with every exaggerated gesture.

The air buzzed with cheers and applause as he gestured grandly toward a smaller, dimly lit tent behind him. Then, as if drawn by some unseen force, his gaze locked on you. His grin faltered for the briefest moment, a flicker of something—recognition?—flashing in his sharp eyes.

He tilted his head, studying you with unnerving intensity, before his grin reappeared, wider and more calculated than before.

Balancing with ease, he descended his stilts, each movement precise and deliberate as he made his way toward you. His painted face loomed closer, his sharp eyes scrutinizing every detail of your appearance.

“You…” His voice was quieter now, almost a whisper, laced with something unreadable. “I’ve never seen you here before, Miss. Do you have your ticket?”

The weight of his gaze was suffocating, like a spotlight trained on you. You swallowed hard, your voice faltering. “N-No. I’m visiting my hometown with my friends. I don’t remember there ever being a carnival… especially not during this time.”

His sharp eyes raked over you once more, his painted grin frozen in place. For a moment, you thought he might dismiss you—or worse, see right through you; but then, like a switch had been flipped, his grin stretched impossibly wider, his painted cheeks crinkling unnaturally.

“Well, well,” he said, voice bubbling with false cheer, “I’m sure the ringmaster will make an exception for you and your friends. Speaking of which…” His gaze darted past you, his grin unwavering. “Where are the rest of the bunch?” His voice dipped lower, feigning casual curiosity while his eyes scanned the shadows behind you.

A chill ran down your spine as you realized you hadn’t even thought about your friends. “I… I’m here alone,” you admitted, unsure if that was the right answer. Every instinct screamed at you to turn back, but his painted face held you in place, a sinister magnetism radiating from him.

For a moment, Chenle’s body stilled, his movements unnaturally controlled. Then, his eyes widened with exaggerated excitement, and he gasped loudly, clasping his hands together in delight. “Even better!” he exclaimed, voice rising with manic glee. “Come on in and enjoy the show!”

With a grand sweep of his arm, he gestured toward the main tent, the light inside pulsating like a beating heart.

You hesitate before stepping forward, Chenle’s lingering gaze burning into the back of your head. A chill creeps down your spine, but you shake it off, convincing yourself this must all be a dream—nothing more than a figment of your imagination.

As you step into the tent, the world transforms into a chaotic burst of color and sound. Confetti rains down from above, swirling through the air like a storm of celebration. A thick rope stretches across the audience, separating them from the performers. Jesters glide effortlessly on unicycles, their painted faces lit by flickering stage lights. Clowns honk their oversized noses, their wide, artificial grins aimed directly at you as you pass.

Your eyes dart nervously around the space, searching for an escape or a distraction. The only open seat is at the very front of the stage, directly under the spotlight. Swallowing hard, you make your way toward it, each step weighted with unease. As you sit, you sense every pair of eyes in the room shifting toward you, an unspoken curiosity in their stares.

Beside you, a cloaked figure sits unnaturally still, his face hidden beneath a stark white mask. Slowly, almost too slowly, he turns his head to look at you. Without saying a word, he raises a hand and waves.

Your stomach twists, but you manage to lift your hand in return, offering a weak, trembling wave. A strange weight settles over you—a pull, almost magnetic, keeping you rooted to your seat. Every instinct screams at you to leave, to run back to your friends and the safety of the cabin, but your body refuses to move. It’s as though the air itself has wrapped around you, binding you in place.

“You must be new,” the masked figure says suddenly, his voice muffled but friendly.

Before you can respond, he lifts the mask, revealing a strikingly handsome face. His dark eyes are sharp yet cheery, his smile so charming it feels out of place in the eerie setting. The sight of him loosens some of the tension in your chest—he looks normal. Safe.

“I’m Jeno,” he says, extending a hand.

You hesitate before shaking it, introducing yourself. You study his features closely. There’s something oddly familiar about him, but you can’t place it. “You look… familiar.”

He chuckles softly, his laugh low and pleasant. “I think I’d remember a pretty face like yours.”

Your cheeks flush as you quickly glance away. The compliment feels genuine, but it catches you off guard, especially in such a surreal environment. “So, what is this place?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jeno leans back in his seat, a casual confidence in his posture. “It’s a late-night tradition that started a few years back,” he explains.

The timeline aligns with when you left for university, but unease creeps back into your chest. The way he speaks about the carnival feels rehearsed, as though he’s said these words to countless others before.

“The circus only comes around for special occasions,” Jeno continues, his voice steady but laced with something you can’t quite name. “This year’s theme is the blood moon. Guess they wanted to add a little extra mystery to the usual town festivities. This is my third year here. It’s funky, but fun.”

As he speaks, something clicks in the back of your mind. You’ve seen him before—or someone who looks like him. The memory is hazy, but it sharpens with every passing second. It was in a news article years ago, about a man who had gone missing from the area. The resemblance is uncanny.

Your throat tightens as you glance at him again, searching for any sign that he recognizes you, too. Jeno’s expression remains calm, unreadable. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, you tell yourself. Maybe the lights and the atmosphere are playing tricks on your mind.

“The show’s about to start,” Jeno says suddenly, breaking the silence. His lips curl into a sly smirk as he adjusts his mask back into place. “You don’t want to miss this.”

His words send a shiver through you. There’s something unsettling about the way he says it—playful, yet cryptic. Before you can respond, the stage lights dim, and the crowd erupts into cheers.

The curtains rise, revealing a kaleidoscope of performers in elaborate costumes. A dancer twirls at the center, her movements hypnotic under the spotlight. The air fills with a haunting melody, each note wrapping around you like a spell.

Jeno leans slightly closer, his mask glinting in the dim light. “You’ll want to pay attention to this part,” he whispers, his tone carrying an edge of excitement.

Your hands grip the edge of your seat as the performance unfolds, a sense of foreboding settling deep in your chest. Whatever this is, it’s far from ordinary.

The performance was truthfully very entertaining. You were engrossed by all the acts—the dances, the daring stunts, and even the silly little fights between the clowns. It wasn’t until the end of the performance that the spotlight shined on a few new faces standing at the center of the stage.

There were two men; the one on the right with striking white hair wore a tag that read “JAEMIN”, but it was the man in the center who immediately caught your eye.

He stood with an aura of confidence, his movements deliberate and captivating. The light reflected off his beautifully tan skin, and his black, slicked hair glistened under the stage lights. His dark eyes carried a heavy intensity, as though they could pierce right through you. He was dressed in all black, his fitted attire complemented by gloves and a cane, which seemed purely for dramatic flair. His name tag simply read, “HAECHAN.”

"As for the grand finale!" Haechan’s unique, rich voice echoed through the tent, pulling everyone into his gravity.

That voice. It sent a chill down your spine. Despite being front row, you found yourself leaning forward, desperate for a closer look. You cursed yourself for how intoxicating you found him, annoyed by your own curiosity and attraction.

Two assistants wheeled out a young man strapped to a table, his torso encased in a box, his face carried a nervous smile, betraying his unease.

“My lovely assistant here—” Haechan gestured toward Jaemin, whose smirk was both charming and sinister. “Will perform our infamous sword box trick on the ever-so-gracious volunteer, Jisung.”

The crowd cheered wildly as Jaemin stepped forward, dramatically unsheathing a long, gleaming sword. He spun it in his hands with practiced precision, earning gasps and applause.

You, however, felt an unease prick at the back of your mind. Something about this didn’t feel like an ordinary performance.

Jaemin’s grin widened as he lined the sword up with the box. Haechan raised his arms dramatically, rallying the audience with his booming voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, I assure you, this is an illusion of the highest skill. Prepare yourselves for the impossible!”

Jaemin plunged the sword into the box with terrifying speed.

At first, you expected silence. For Jisung to feign a scream, for the illusion to go off without a hitch, but the sound that filled the tent wasn’t pretend.

Jisung’s screams were gut-wrenching, his body convulsing as blood spilled over the edges of the box.

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, but you couldn’t move. The scene felt wrong—too real, too visceral.

You ran toward the stage, desperate to stop the performance. “Stop! He’s hurt! This isn’t a trick!”

The audience’s laughter turned into a low murmur, but Haechan’s gaze snapped to you like a predator locking onto prey. His lips curled into a grin, dark and calculating, his piercing eyes gleaming under the crimson light.

“You…” he murmured, almost inaudibly.

Jaemin, unfazed by the chaos, twirled another sword in his hand with eerie precision. “Time for the finale!” he announced, his voice dripping with showmanship.

“No!” you screamed, trying to climb over the rope line to reach the stage, but a pair of clowns grabbed your arms, pulling you back into the crowd.

Jaemin plunged the final sword into the box. Jisung’s screams echoed through the tent, chilling you to your core. Blood pooled from the base of the box, the metallic scent thick in the air.

Your heart pounded as tears pricked your eyes. “He’s dying!” you shouted, thrashing against the clowns holding you. “Somebody stop this!”

But the crowd roared with laughter and applause, cheering louder than ever as if nothing was wrong.

The lights flickered once, twice, and then everything went dark. Gasps rippled through the audience, and you froze in the suffocating darkness, your breath caught in your throat.

A single spotlight blazed back on, illuminating the stage.

Jisung was standing. His body was whole, unharmed, not a single trace of blood in sight. He stood beside Haechan and Jaemin, both of whom bowed deeply to the roaring crowd. Confetti rained down as if nothing had happened.

Your stomach churned. Your eyes darted between the three men on stage, your mind screaming at you that this wasn’t just a trick. You had seen the blood, heard the screams. It was real.

You shoved your way through the sea of clapping hands, panic and confusion clouding your thoughts. You needed to get out, to breathe, to make sense of this.

As you stumbled through the tent flap and into the night air, you collided with something—or rather, someone.

“Whoa there,” a smooth voice said. Strong hands steadied you, keeping you upright.

You looked up, your breath catching as you met Haechan’s intense gaze. His face was just as captivating up close, his dark eyes glittering with something unreadable.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked, his tone dripping with amusement. “The show’s only just begun.”

You took a step back, your body trembling. “What… What was that? That wasn’t a trick. I saw—”

“Blood?” he interrupted, his grin widening. “You must be mistaken. Our performers are highly skilled. It’s all an illusion.”

“No,” you said firmly, your voice shaking. “I know what I saw. That man—he was screaming—”

“Perhaps your imagination got the better of you,” he said, his tone smooth and condescending.

The way he stared at you, like a cat toying with a mouse, sent a wave of unease through you. You shook your head, taking another step back. “I need to leave.”

Haechan tilted his head, his grin never faltering. “Go ahead, but you’ll be back.”

His words clung to you like a curse as you turned and bolted, the sound of his low chuckle echoing behind you. You ran as far as your legs could carry you, not daring to look back. Dream or not, everything about this place felt wrong. Your chest heaved as you made it past the stand where Chenle once stood, and without a second thought, you made a beeline straight toward the exit.

Only to find yourself… entering again?

“W-What… No, no, no,” you stammered, panic settling deep in your bones. You turned and tried again, running faster, more desperately, but every time you crossed the threshold, you were spat back to the same spot.

It was like a cruel loop, trapping you in its surreal embrace.

“Stuck?” a smooth voice startled you.

You whipped around to find Haechan standing a few steps away, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. His gaze was dark and amused as he watched you, your chest rising and falling with frantic breaths.

“Let me out,” you demanded through gritted teeth, the fire in your voice masking the growing unease in your chest.

“Perhaps it’s best if you follow me,” he said, extending his arm toward you in an oddly polite gesture. “That’s if you truly wish to leave.”

You eyed him warily, your heart racing. There was something disarming about his charm, but every instinct screamed at you not to trust him. Still, what choice did you have? You nodded slowly, stepping toward him but ignoring his offered arm.

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug, his grin unwavering. He turned and began walking, and you hesitated for a moment before falling into step beside him.

The two of you weaved through the bustling carnival crowd. Strangely, people seemed to part like the sea as Haechan walked by. Some stopped to bow at him, their faces expressionless, while others whispered in hushed tones or pulled their companions out of his path.

You couldn’t ignore the growing question in your mind. Who is this man?

The further you walked, the quieter the carnival became. The music and laughter faded into an eerie stillness as Haechan led you away from the chaos and toward a secluded area far from the lights and festivities. Finally, you stopped in front of a large, ornate tent, its fabric shimmering under the crimson light of the blood moon.

“This is my home,” Haechan said, gesturing for you to step inside. “It’s quieter here. We can talk.”

You hesitated at the entrance, your gaze darting between him and the ominous structure. “What are you going to do?”

“Talk,” he repeated, his tone calm yet laced with impatience. “Unless you’d rather keep running in circles.”

Swallowing your fear, you stepped inside. The interior was surprisingly luxurious, adorned with plush velvet seating, velvet bedding, golden trinkets, and flickering candles that cast long shadows across the walls. It felt strangely intimate, though the air carried an unshakable sense of foreboding.

Haechan walked past you, settling into a chair and gesturing for you to sit across from him. Reluctantly, you obeyed.

“So,” you began, your voice shaky, “what is this place? Why can’t I leave?”

Haechan leaned back, resting his chin on his hand as he studied you. “You’re stuck here,” he said simply. “Just like the rest of us.”

His nonchalance sent a chill down your spine. “Stuck? What do you mean?”

“This carnival isn’t what it seems,” he said, his tone growing somber. “Everyone you’ve seen tonight—the performers, the guests, even me—aren’t alive in the way you understand. We’re spirits, cursed to live in an endless cycle.”

Your heart sank as his words sank in. “Why? Why are you cursed?”

Haechan’s smirk faltered for the first time, replaced by a distant, pained expression. “Because of me,” he admitted. “Years ago, I made a mistake. I was desperate to save someone I loved, my best friend Mark. He… died too young, too tragically. I couldn’t accept it.”

Your breath caught. “What did you do?”

“I summoned something,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “A dark entity, one that promised to bring Mark back in exchange for a price. I thought it would be something simple. I was wrong.”

His jaw tightened, and his hands curled into fists. “The price was this carnival. My soul, and the lost souls of those who entered, would belong to the entity. We would perform endlessly, night after night, to entertain it. As long as Mark remains alive, this cycle continues.”

Your stomach churned. “If Mark is alive after all these years, can’t you stop? Can’t you break the cycle?”

Haechan shook his head. “Mark probably doesn’t remember me, his soul is forever immortal, and I can’t leave. The demon made sure of that. I’m trapped here, forever watching over this hellish spectacle.”

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of his confession suffocating. You stared at him, trying to process everything. The charming, confident man you had seen earlier now looked vulnerable, haunted by centuries of regret.

“But why me?” you asked. “Why am I stuck here?”

“I don’t know,” Haechan admitted, his gaze locking with yours. “But the fact that you’re here, that you can see through the glamour, means you’re different— and that terrifies me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. You couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward him, the way his pain resonated with you. Yet, the thought of being trapped here forever sent shivers down your spine.

Haechan’s voice softened. “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this, but if you want to survive here, or at least find a way out before sunrise, you’ll need to trust me.”

His words left you conflicted. Trust him? The man who admitted to summoning a dark entity and cursing countless lives? Yet, as his dark eyes searched yours, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was your only ally in this twisted nightmare.

Haechan sat across from you in the quiet solace of his tent, the air heavy with the weight of the truth he’d just revealed. His expression softened as he leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly together.

“This tent has been glamoured,” he explained. “No spirit, entity, or curse can touch us here. It’s the only place where you’re safe.”

You glanced around the dimly lit space, noticing the intricate symbols etched into the canvas walls. A faint hum seemed to vibrate through the air, a quiet magic you couldn’t quite grasp. Though his words were meant to reassure you, they only deepened your confusion.

“You’re telling me this whole carnival, everyone here… they’re lost spirits?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He nodded solemnly. “Every single one. Bound here to perform endlessly. Now, you’re a part of it, only you’re alive.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. You were desperate to find an answer, to find a way out, but as your thoughts spiraled, flashes of your past came unbidden; your mother’s gentle voice as she read you bedtime stories, the warm glow of your father’s laugh as he told you tales of old, and the cryptic conversations you’d had with them before they passed.

“Sweetheart, you have a light in you,” your mother had once said, her hand brushing against your cheek. “One day, that light will guide you somewhere important.”

“But why me?” you whispered to yourself, the memory blurring into the present.

Haechan’s voice broke through your reverie. “You’re holding something back. What is it?”

You hesitated, unwilling to share the lingering suspicion that your parents had somehow lured you here. Instead, you shook your head. “Nothing… I just—this doesn’t make sense.”

Haechan frowned but didn’t press further. “There’s one place that might help you understand,” he said after a pause. “The Mirror Maze.”

“The Mirror Maze?” you repeated, the name alone sending a chill down your spine.

He nodded, his tone more serious now. “It’s where no performer dares to go. The maze reveals the deepest fears and memories of anyone who steps inside. It’s dangerous, unpredictable. Even I can’t enter, it’s the one place my spirit doesn’t have power.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “So, you think it might help me?”

“I’m not completely sure,” he admitted. “But if there’s a clue about why you’re here—or how to break the curse—it might be there, and as someone whose still alive, you’re the only one who can find out.”

You felt a lump form in your throat but nodded, “Take me there.”

The entrance to the Mirror Maze loomed before you, a twisted archway draped in dark velvet, the words “Face Thyself” etched ominously above it. Haechan stopped at the threshold, his expression grim.

“This is as far as I can go,” he said quietly, his eyes locking onto yours. “Be careful. The maze doesn’t lie, and it doesn’t show mercy.”

You swallowed hard, stepping through the archway. Instantly, the air grew cold, the dim light of the carnival fading behind you. The mirrors stretched endlessly in every direction, reflecting distorted versions of yourself—some familiar, some eerily foreign.

“Hello?” you called out, your voice echoing.

The reflections shimmered, and suddenly, the maze came to life.

One mirror glowed brighter than the rest, drawing your attention. In its reflection, you saw Haechan, but not as you knew him. His black suit was replaced with simple, worn clothes. His laughter rang out as he was with a younger man, under a summer sun.

“Donghyuck, don’t go!” His voice echoed through the maze, his fragile frame chasing after him.

“Mark…?” you gasped, recognizing the younger version of the name Haechan had mentioned.

The scene shifted, they’re older now. Mark was lying in a clearing, blood staining his clothes. Haechan kneeled beside him, his hands shaking as he tried to stop the bleeding. Tears streaked down his face as he begged, “Don’t leave me. Please, I’ll do anything.”

The air grew colder as the mirror rippled, revealing Haechan standing alone in the same clearing. His expression was hollow as he held a weathered book, its pages inked with symbols that seemed to crawl across the surface. His voice was shaky, desperate.

“I’ll give anything,” he whispered into the void. “Bring him back.”

A dark figure emerged from the shadows, its form obscured by smoke and tendrils of darkness. Though its face was hidden, the presence was suffocating. The entity’s voice slithered through the air, low and haunting.

“Anything, you say?” it hissed. “Love, devotion, life—pour it all into this wish, and you shall have what you desire.”

Haechan didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Take it all. Just bring Mark back.”

The scene shifted again, and you watched as the entity consumed Haechan’s love, twisting it into a curse. The same love that fueled his wish now tethered him to the carnival, an eternal performer trapped in a cycle to entertain the entity.

The mirror rippled once more, and your reflection appeared. Only, it wasn’t just you. Your parents stood beside you, their faces hollow and eyes void of life.

“You let us go,” your mother’s voice accused. “You couldn’t save us.”

“Stop!” you cried, reaching for the reflection, but the glass was cold and unyielding.

“Your light is fading,” your father added, his voice cruel and distant. “Now, you’ll be trapped here forever.”

The reflection twisted, and suddenly, you were staring at yourself—alone, aged, and hollow-eyed, forever wandering the carnival grounds.

“No!” you screamed, stumbling backward. The surrounding mirrors cracked with a deafening noise, sending you into a panic.

You bolted through the maze, desperate to escape. At last, you stumbled out of the exit, gasping for air as you collapsed onto the grass.

“Breathe,” Haechan’s voice said urgently as he crouched beside you, his hands steadying you. His palm rubbed circles on your back, and the sensation sent a jolt through you—a feeling almost electric. Your skin buzzed where he touched you, and a strange familiarity bloomed in your chest.

He felt it too. His hand froze for a split second before he continued, brushing it off as you did. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Your chest heaved as you clung to him, the images still flashing in your mind. “I saw you. I saw your past—Donghyuck.”

Haechan froze, his grip on you tightening. “How do you know that name?”

“It was in the maze,” you whispered. “That’s your real name, isn’t it?”

He nodded slowly, his eyes dark and unreadable. “It is.”

“What happened?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He hesitated, but then his shoulders sagged, and he looked at you with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before. “I made a mistake—a terrible one. And now we’re all paying the price for it.”

Your breaths had finally steadied, but the weight of what you'd just seen pressed heavily on your chest. The air around him seemed heavier now, his usual confidence dimmed by the vulnerability in his expression. His hand lingered on your back, as though grounding both himself and you.

"Donghyuck," you began softly, "how did Mark really die? And why did you have that book?"

His body stiffened, and for a moment, you thought he might brush off the question. Then his hand fell away, and he exhaled deeply, running a hand through his dark hair.

"I guess you deserve to know," he muttered, his voice thick with regret. "Mark... he wasn't just my best friend. He was like a brother to me. We did everything together-built dreams, made plans, fought over stupid things, but one day, everything changed.”

You stayed silent, giving him space to continue. He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes fixed on a spot on the ground, as if he couldn't bear to meet your gaze.

"I found this book," he said finally. "It was old, leather-bound, and covered in strange symbols. It looked like something out of a bad horror movie. I thought it was a joke-a prop someone left behind in a dusty attic, but the more I read, the more... real it felt. The spells in it, they worked.”

"Spells?" you echoed, your heart pounding.

He nodded. "At first, it was little things. Moving objects, changing the weather, making small things happen that shouldn't have been possible. I didn't think about the consequences—was too caught up in the power. I thought I could do anything. Be anything."

He paused, his jaw tightening. "Then... one day, Mark and I got into a fight. It was over something so stupid I can't even remember it now—but I was angry-so angry.

I let the power go to my head. I used the energy l'd built up from practicing the spells.

I wanted to scare him, to make him stop yelling. I didn't realize how strong l'd gotten.

He swallowed hard, his voice breaking. "The energy hit him full force. It wasn't just a scare—it... It killed him. Right there in front of me.”

Your breath hitched. "Oh my god..."

Haechan's hands trembled as he continued.

"I was devastated. I didn't mean to-he was my best friend. I'd do anything to take it back. That's when the book showed me something else; a way to bring him back."

He glanced at you, his dark eyes filled with shame. "I didn't care about the cost. I summoned... something. An entity. It promised to bring Mark back, but l'd have to trade my soul and spend eternity entertaining it."

"And Mark?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"He was brought back... somewhere," Haechan said, his voice hollow. " I haven’t seen him since. It's like he exists in the world, but I can't reach him. I've been stuck here ever since, performing for the entity that cursed me. Reminding me of my past and reminding me I can never get my best friend back.”

You look at Donghyuck, his eyes reflecting the faint glow of the carnival’s lights, and feel a knot tighten in your chest. The pieces are starting to come together, though they’re jagged and painful to hold. “My parents,” you say hesitantly, your voice low but steady. “They died so suddenly. It never made sense. Now… Now I think their souls are tied here, just like the others. Maybe that’s why I was lured here. Maybe it wasn’t just this place calling to me—it was them.”

Donghyuck’s expression falters, the angry glint in his eyes replaced by something more somber. He doesn’t speak right away, and you press on, needing him to confirm what your heart already knows. “You knew them, didn’t you?”

He shakes his head, his gaze steady but solemn. “No,” he says firmly. “I didn’t know your parents, but if their souls really are tethered to this place like we think they are, then we need to break the curse now. We can’t waste any more time.”

The air feels heavy, almost suffocating, as the truth settles over you. All this time, the whispers had felt familiar, like the voices of the people you’d lost. Now you understand why—they weren’t just figments of the curse. They were real. “So, if I help you break the curse…” You look at him, your voice tightening with emotion. “I can free them too?”

He meets your gaze, the vulnerability in his eyes raw and unguarded. “If we do this right, yes. You can free them. The others too. All of us.”

The thought of freeing not just your parents, but every soul trapped in this wretched carnival, stirs something fierce inside you. “Then I’ll help you,” you say, the words firm and sure. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Donghyuck’s eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks like you’ve spoken a foreign language. “You’d really want to help me?” he asks, his voice tinged with disbelief and something else—hope.

“Yes,” you say, stepping closer. “We don’t have much time. This place resets at dawn, right? We need to get to your tent and find that spell book.”

He nods, snapping out of his shock. “Follow me,” he says, leading you through the twisting paths of the carnival. The whispers grow louder as you walk, almost guiding your steps. Despite the danger ahead, you feel a strange sense of clarity. This is where you’re meant to be, and for the first time, you believe you have the power to change how this story ends.

The weight of the spell book feels heavy in your hands, its leather cover pulsating faintly with an eerie warmth, as if alive. You stare at it, your mind racing with the realization that has gripped you. The darkness that spurs out of it. The book itself—this cursed, vile object—has been the entity all along. It’s not just a tool; it’s the root of everything. The curse. The carnival. The cycle. The deaths. It’s a trap.

Donghyuck stands frozen, his dark eyes widen with fear, realizing your intentions. “Stop— you can’t destroy it,” he says, his voice trembling. “If you do that, there’s no way out. No way to help me. No way to help Mark. No way for us to ever—” His voice cracks, and for the first time, you hear true desperation in his tone. “Please.”

You step closer, gripping the book tighter. “Donghyuck, I know this is hard. But this—this thing—it’s been keeping all of us trapped. You, Mark, my parents, everyone. If we don’t destroy it, the cycle will just keep going.”

His hands shake as he runs them through his hair, pacing frantically. “You don’t understand,” he mutters. “Without it, I’ll lose everything. I won’t even get to know what’s next. What if this—this emptiness—is all that’s waiting for me? What if I can’t see you or Mark again?” His voice softens, breaking under the weight of his words. “I’m scared.”

You reach out, your hand brushing his arm, and the familiar electric spark flickers between you. “Donghyuck,” you say, your voice steady. “I don’t know what’s waiting for you, either, but isn’t that better than this? Better than being stuck in a place that’s killing you over and over again? You have to give it some faith. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

His gaze meets yours, the walls he’s built around himself crumbling as tears well in his eyes. Slowly, he nods, swallowing hard. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. Do it.”

You take a deep breath and open the book. The pages are stiff, almost glued together by some unseen force. You try pulling at one, but it doesn’t budge, no matter how hard you tug. A frustrated sob escapes you as you glance back at Donghyuck, his expression torn between fear and hope.

Closing your eyes, you think about your parents—the love they had for you, their unwavering belief in doing what was right. You think about Mark and the unyielding bond he shared with Donghyuck, the lengths Donghyuck went to for him. Love, in all its forms, floods your chest, and with it comes strength. When you pull again, the page tears free with an audible crack, bursting into flames before disintegrating into dust.

One by one, you tear the pages. Each piece of paper ignites, dissolving into nothingness. The room grows heavier with every rip, the air charged with an otherworldly energy. Donghyuck watches, his breath hitching, his body tense. When the last page burns away, the book’s cover collapses into ash in your hands, leaving only silence behind.

“What have you done?” Donghyuck whispers, his voice shaking. “What if it didn’t work?”

Before you can respond, a soft glow fills the tent. You turn to see a figure stepping through the curtain, translucent but unmistakably familiar. “Mark…” Donghyuck breathes, his voice cracking as tears spill down his cheeks.

The two of them stare at each other for a moment that feels eternal, before Donghyuck stumbles forward, wrapping Mark in an embrace that somehow feels real despite the faint shimmer of his form. “I’m so sorry,” Donghyuck sobs. “For everything. I was selfish. I—I ruined everything.”

Mark smiles gently, his own voice thick with emotion. “You did what you thought you had to, Hyuck. I was never angry. I just wanted you to be okay.” He pulls back slightly, his hand resting against Donghyuck’s shoulder. “You saved me, you gave your life for me.”

The glow around Mark intensifies as his spirit begins to fade. Donghyuck chokes on a sob, whispering a tearful goodbye as Mark disappears into the light.

Then, more figures appear. Your parents. Their familiar faces send a fresh wave of tears streaming down your cheeks. They smile warmly, pride shining in their eyes. “You’ve done it,” your mother says, her voice soft but steady. “We’re so proud of you.”

“We can finally rest now,” your father adds, his hand reaching out as if to brush your cheek. “We love you. Thank you, sweetheart.”

You try to speak, but all that comes out is a choked sob. They give you one last look, filled with love and peace, before their forms dissolve, leaving you standing in the silence of Donghyuck’s tent.

Donghyuck steps forward, his arms wrapping around you in a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers, his voice raw. “For everything.”

For a moment, the spark between you flickers, faint but unmistakable. You feel his warmth, his touch, and for a fleeting second, you wonder how it’s possible. As the weight of the moment settles, you let it go, clinging to the sense of hope that remains. Together, you’ve broken the cycle—and for the first time, the future feels like your own.

“Will I ever get to see you again?” you ask, your voice trembling as you look up at him, your eyes pleading for an answer you’re not sure whether you’re ready to hear.

Donghyuck’s breath hitches, and for a moment, he just stares at you, his golden eyes shining with a mix of longing and sorrow. Slowly, he steps closer, his hands trembling as they come up to cradle your face. His touch is warm, grounding, and for the first time, it doesn’t spark—it burns, searing this moment into your soul.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “But I wish I could stay here with you. For just a little longer.”

Before you can respond, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that feels like both a goodbye and a desperate plea to hold onto the moment. His hands tighten slightly, as though he’s afraid you’ll slip away, and you can feel the raw emotion pouring from him—fear, gratitude, and a deep, unspoken connection that neither of you can fully explain.

The world seems to fall away around you, the weight of the carnival, the curse, and the souls you’ve freed fading into the background. All that matters is him—the warmth of his lips, the way his fingers gently press against your skin, and the silent promise you feel between you.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath shallow and uneven. “Thank you,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “For saving me. For saving all of us.”

Your hands rest over his, still cupping your face, and you close your eyes, letting the moment linger even though you know it can’t last forever. “We’ll find a way,” you murmur. “I don’t know how, but we’ll find a way.”

His lips curve into the faintest, bittersweet smile. “If anyone could, it’s you.”

You smile up at him, unable to resist the pull any longer. Giving in to your temptations, you grab him by the collar and tug him down into another kiss, this one more fervent, more consuming. His lips crash against yours with a desperation that matches your own, as though you're both trying to cling to the moment, to each other, for as long as the universe will allow.

Everything had worked out—Mark was free, your parents had moved on—yet he was still here. Still with you. You both knew this borrowed time wasn't guaranteed, but that only made it more precious. You kissed through gasping breaths, every exhale mingling with his as the burning connection between you grew hotter, fiercer.

It was now or never.

The kiss deepens suddenly, urgency overtaking the both of you. He presses you back, guiding you until you stumble against the velvet bed in the center of the room. His hands trail along your body, tentative at first but quickly growing bolder as you pull him closer, refusing to let even a sliver of space come between you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, your touch setting every nerve alight as that fire you've felt since the beginning roars to life.

The world outside the tent fades entirely. All you can feel is him-his lips, his hands, the way his heart ironically pounds against yours. That burning sensation builds, but it isn't just desire-it's something deeper, something ancient. This feeling, this moment, is what you were meant for. It's as though your very soul recognizes his, as though you've been tethered together through time and fate and whatever lies beyond.

This is where you belong. This is who you belong with, and you're both finally allowing yourselves to embrace it.

Your body sinks into the mattress as he hovers over you, his eyes roaming over you with an intensity that makes it feel like he can see straight through your clothes. The weight of his gaze causes heat to rise in your cheeks, and you turn your head slightly, unable to meet his eyes. He notices instantly.

"Hey, it's okay," he murmurs softly, his voice low and reassuring. "You're safe with me. I'll take good care of you tonight, the way you did for me."

His words, gentle but filled with conviction, send a shiver down your spine. His voice alone stirs something deep inside you, and the heat pooling between your legs grows unbearable. You press your thighs together instinctively, seeking any kind of relief.

"Dong...hyuck..." you whimper, his name falling from your lips like a plea.

The sound draws a heavy grunt from his throat, primal and raw. Hearing his real name come from you like that seems to undo something in him, fogging his mind completely. He leans closer, his hands moving to the edges of your clothes. Slowly, almost reverently at first, he begins to slide them off, tossing each piece aside with little care for where they land. His focus is entirely on you, the fire between you growing with every passing second.

You join him, a soft moan escaping your lips at the sight of his unbuttoned dress shirt slipping off to reveal his golden-toned torso.

The way the red moon light dances across his skin makes your breath hitch. Without hesitation, he yanks the shirt off completely, quickly discarding his pants as well, leaving the both of you in nothing but your undergarments.

He notices the dazed look in your eyes and takes advantage of the moment, gently lifting one of your legs. The movement exposes the damp patch at your clothed core, and his breath hitches audibly. A low moan escapes his throat as he lowers his head closer, his lips just brushing against the fabric.

"So desperate for me, aren't you?" he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Fuck, you're so beautiful." His breath fans over the dampened spot, which only grows darker with every passing second, his words and closeness pushing you further into blissful surrender.

He starts kissing over it, his lips applying pressure exactly to where your clit is, causing you to squirm around.

“Please… I want more,” you beg desperately, looking down at the sight of him teasing you.

Locking eye contact together, he rips off the last piece of your clothing, he starts licking up every bit of your juices that started leaking out of you. Your hand immediately reaches for his hair like a reflex, and you push his head closer to you, not wanting a split second of separation.

Donghyuck moans against your cunt, bringing his fingers to your entrance, and plunging them inside of you while his mouth starts playing with your clit.

He releases his mouth, a popping sound echoing throughout the tent when he does so. His fingers still working on your insides—he refuses to take his eyes off your face as it scrunches in pleasure.

“My own personal heaven,” he whispers to himself.

He feels your insides squeezing around his fingers, reaching your climax.

“Hold it for me baby, I want you to cum around my cock,” he whines, that alone nearly causing you to finish.

He slides his fingers out of you, and your eyes start to water—missing the feeling of him so close to you. You didn’t realize your tears were starting to trickle down your face until he kissed them away, adjusting your hair out of your face as he positioned you up.

“It’s okay baby, shhh, it’s all going to be okay,” he holds you gently, flipping you over so this time you were arching right into his tip, your head pressing against the pillow now damp from your previous tears.

“I know you want this as badly as I do, isn’t that right, babe?” He snickers, teasing the both of you as he continues to only insert his tip in and out of you.

An almost animalistic groan escapes your lips as you cry out, “I can’t take it… Please, Donghyuck, I’m begging you!”

“Begging me to do what?” he teases, his voice low and challenging as he tests your resolve.

“Fuck me—Please Hyuck just please—Fuck!” You scream as he plunges his full length into you.

His grip tightens on your ass as he yanks you closer, pounding into you harder by the second.

“Acting like such an angel, but look at you. You like it rough, don’t you? Drooling everywhere all because of me,” he grunts through each thrust.

He grabs your hand and guides you to your clit, making you rub it in circles while he continues to go deeper.

“Donghyuck… I’m going to…” your voice shakes.

“Do it. Cum all over me baby, I’m so close,” he demands.

In a blink of an eye, you’re now squeezing all over his length, chasing your high. Your eyes completely roll back as you continue to scream his name, your voice echoing.

Soon after, he follows you, releasing himself inside you with a deep groan, his movements slowing but never stopping, even as the two of you grow sensitive. It's as if he can't bear to let even a single part of himself go to waste.

Finally, he collapses beside you, both of you turning to face the pointed ceiling of the tent. Your breaths are ragged, your chests rising and falling in unison, but slowly, they begin to even out.

Suddenly, you feel his arms wrap tightly around you, his breath warm against your ear. "That was perfect," he murmurs, his voice husky and satisfied.

You let out a soft chuckle, a hum of contentment escaping your lips. "Yeah, it was." For a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to bask in the warmth of his embrace, but the growing light filtering into the tent pulls you back to reality. The sun is rising, its golden rays piercing through the fabric, and with it comes a sinking realization: this might be the last time you see him.

You turn to him, your heart clenching with fear and sadness. He notices instantly, his eyes meeting yours, reading the emotions written plainly across your face.

Without a word, he places a tender kiss against your forehead, his lips lingering there as though trying to reassure you.

When he pulls back, his voice is clear, steady, and almost too calm. "Don't worry, love. It's just the two of us now. Just us, forever."

Your breath catches in your throat, and your eyes widen. You push yourself up, staring at him with growing dread. "What do you mean, forever?" you ask, your voice trembling as you swallow hard.

An eerie yet soft grin spreads across his face, a look that chills you to your core. “I made one last wish before you tore the book," he says, his tone light but filled with something darker beneath the surface.

The color drains from your face as his words sink in, dread washing over you in waves.

"What... what did you wish for?" you whisper, though part of you already knows.

"I didn't need the power, the magic, or even my friendships to set me free," he continues, his gaze never leaving yours. "I needed you. Now that I have you, I'm never letting you go."

The sun streams through the tent, lighting up his features in a way that should be comforting, but instead fills you with icy terror. His eyes glint with yearning, his arms tightening around you as though he's afraid you'll disappear. You lie there frozen, realization dawning like the sunrise breaking across his face.

You'd set everyone else free, but in doing so, you'd unwittingly trapped yourself.

He was the real entity all along—and now, you belonged to him. Your soul tied to his, forever.

317 notes · View notes

loveesiren · 1 month ago

Text

𝖥𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 (𝖯𝗍. 3)

Thanos x american!reader | Forever Masterlist

a/n: I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this series! There will be one more main part after this but don't worry, I'm not done with these two ;)

synopsis: Y/n and her friends were finally free from the games, but even worse things awaited her on the outside.

warnings: angst, quick smut, language, strained maternal relationship, death/funeral, Thanos being the best ever, brief reference to outer banks (tv show)

wc: 5.8k+

The gentle sound of crashing waves pulled you from the depths of your slumber. At first, it was just a muffled background noise, blending with the faint cries of seagulls overhead. But as consciousness crept in, the brightness of the sun pierced through your eyelids, forcing you to raise your hand to shield your face. You squinted against the light, blinking rapidly to adjust.

The sharp, salty breeze of the ocean filled your lungs as you sat up too quickly, dizziness washing over you like a tidal wave. A sudden jolt of pain radiated through your shoulder, and you whimpered, instinctively clutching it. The events of the night prior came flooding back with the force of a storm. The chaos, the fear, and the searing pain as Nam-gyu’s fork tore into your flesh. You hesitated before peeling back your sleeve to inspect the damage—four neat rows of stitches marked your shoulder, angry and red.

Your gaze drifted downward to your thigh, where another wound had been treated with six stitches. The sight of them was jarring, the pain tethering you to the reality of your ordeal. Shaking, you pressed your palms to your temples, trying to make sense of where you were and how you’d gotten here. The last thing you remembered was the relief of pressing the X button, your vote finally freeing you from the hellish games. And now, you were lying on a beach, wearing the same tight black dress you’d had on the day you dialed the number from the strange little card.

It didn’t feel real.

You pushed yourself to your feet, your legs unsteady beneath you. The sand was warm and soft beneath your toes. The rhythmic sound of waves was almost calming, but a nagging sense of unease twisted in your gut. You scanned the beach, your heart hammering when you spotted a figure sprawled out a few yards away. Without thinking, you ran toward them.

As you got closer, the figure looked more familiar. “Se-mi!” you cried, your voice breaking as you dropped to your knees beside her. “Se-mi, wake up!” You shook her gently, your hands trembling as you tried to rouse her.

Her eyelids fluttered open, her brow furrowing as she struggled to process her surroundings. “Y/n?” she murmured groggily. “Where… where are we?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, swallowing hard. “I just woke up too.”

Before either of you could say more, a familiar voice called out. “Y/n! Se-mi!”

You turned to see Min-su sprinting toward you, his face lighting up with relief. You helped Se-mi to her feet, and the three of you embraced tightly, clinging to one another as if afraid the moment might slip away.

The warmth of the sand beneath your feet and the salty tang in the air felt surreal, but the undeniable reality was that you were out. You were alive. You curled your toes into the sand, needing to feel it, to remind yourself it wasn’t just a cruel trick. As you looked around, the landscape struck a chord deep within you. This beach was familiar. You weren’t far from home—your apartment was just thirty minutes away by car.

But as relief began to wash over you, a new worry took hold. “Where’s Thanos?” you asked, pulling back from the hug. Your eyes darted across the beach, searching desperately. He had to be here. The rest of you had been dropped off together, so where was he?

“T?” you called, your voice tinged with panic. “Thanos!”

Se-mi and Min-su joined in, shouting his name as they combed the shoreline, but there was no sign of him. A lump formed in your throat as you dropped to the sand, hugging your knees to your chest. Your breath came in shallow gasps as you tried to keep yourself from spiraling.

“He’ll show up,” Se-mi said softly, sitting beside you. Her hand rested on your arm, a small but grounding gesture. “We’ll find him. I promise.”

The sun began to sink lower on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Your heart sank with it, your thoughts consumed by what might have happened to Thanos. The last time you’d seen him, he was alive—unharmed. So why wasn’t he here?

Tears streamed silently down your face as you stared at the waves. In the quiet of your mind, you could almost hear his voice, deep and reassuring. “Y/n?” The memory of his voice only made the ache worse. You wiped at your cheeks, the faint whisper of his name escaping your lips.

“Y/N!” A voice rang out, louder this time, cutting through the stillness.

Your head snapped up, your ears straining. “You guys heard that, right?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” Se-mi and Min-su said simultaneously, their eyes wide.

“Thanos?” you called, your heart pounding. “T, I’m here!”

Your gaze darted to the treeline as rustling caught your attention. Then, through the golden glow of the setting sun, he appeared. His purple hair was unmistakable, his yellow T-shirt and jeans stained with dirt but familiar. It was what he was wearing in the video the guards showed of him.

Your breath hitched, and before you knew it, you were running across the sand toward him. Tears blurred your vision, but it didn’t matter. The moment you reached him, he swept you into his arms, holding you as if he’d never let go.

“Are you okay?!” he asked, his voice thick with emotion as his hands roamed over your body, checking for injuries. When his fingers brushed against the stitches on your shoulder, he froze. “You’re stitched up,” he said, his voice cracking. The pain in his eyes was unbearable.

You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I’m okay, T. I promise. I’m here. With you.”

He exhaled shakily, his grip on your shoulders tightening as though he feared you might vanish. “You’re here,” he repeated, as if saying it would make it feel real.

“I’m here, baby,” you reassured him, leaning in to press your lips to his. The kiss was slow, deep, filled with every unspoken word and every ounce of love you couldn’t put into sentences.

From a distance, Se-mi and Min-su watched, their smiles soft as they took in the scene. Their relief mirrored yours—after everything, you were finally together, safe, and alive.

The four of you trudged down the dimly lit street, the weight of exhaustion pulling at your limbs. The world was quiet around you, the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a dog the only sounds breaking the silence. Despite the ache in your body, you felt Thanos’ hand clutching yours tightly, grounding you. His thumb brushed over your knuckles in a slow, deliberate rhythm, as if he were silently reassuring himself that you were still there, still real.

“My apartment is like… 15 miles from here,” you said, your voice tinged with fatigue. The thought of walking that distance after everything you’d been through felt impossible.

“Shit,” Se-mi groaned, dragging her feet as if the mere mention of the distance had sapped the last bit of her energy.

“Uh, guys?” Min-su’s voice broke through from behind you, halting your steps. You turned to see him standing frozen under the flickering glow of a streetlight, his face lit eerily by the glow of a phone screen in his hand.

“What is it?” you asked, your brows furrowing.

“Do you guys… also have a phone in your pocket?” he asked, holding his up as proof. His tone was a mix of confusion and disbelief.

You quickly reached into your pocket and, sure enough, your fingers closed around the cool metal. You pulled it out, staring at it as if it might bite you. You couldn’t believe you hadn’t noticed it before. The screen came to life with a single press, and the number flashing across it made your breath hitch.

1,754,148,000 won.

You blinked, then looked at Thanos, whose eyes were as wide as yours. The two of you exchanged a look that spoke volumes—disbelief, elation, and a hint of nervousness.

“Guys…” Se-mi’s voice trembled, a smile breaking across her face. “We’re… we’re fucking rich!”

The weight of her words hit all at once. Relief, joy, and adrenaline coursed through your veins, breaking the dam of tension that had been building since you entered the games.

“Full Kook!” you screamed suddenly, throwing your arms up in celebration.

Everyone looked at you, bewildered. “What?” Se-mi asked.

“It’s… it’s from an American show. Sorry,” you said, laughing breathlessly, your cheeks flushing at the random outburst.

“No, I like it! Full Kook!” Se-mi shouted, throwing her arms around you in a tight hug.

“Full fucking Kook, baby!” Thanos yelled, his voice loud and triumphant as he grabbed you and spun you around. You laughed uncontrollably as he jumped up and down, holding you close. Min-su joined in, his tired face breaking into a grin as he pumped his fists in the air.

The four of you danced in the empty street like you didn’t have a care in the world, the horrors of the past days momentarily forgotten. You screamed, cheered, and laughed until your throats hurt and your sides ached. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel joy, pure and unfiltered.

But as the laughter died down, you glanced back at your phone, the number still glowing on the screen. It felt surreal, like a dream you’d wake up from any second. But then your eyes caught something else—notifications you hadn’t noticed before. Messages.

Your thumb hovered over the notification icon, dread creeping into the edges of your mind. You tapped on it, and as the words filled the screen, your breath hitched.

“Y/n… it’s about your dad.”

Your hands trembled as you scrolled through the messages, your heart pounding louder with every word.

“He’s gone.”

Your vision blurred, and the phone slipped from your grasp, landing in the dirt at your feet. The sound pulled everyone’s attention.

“Y/n?” Se-mi’s voice was tentative, worried. “What’s wrong?”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening as you forced the words out. “My dad’s dead…”

The past few days had been a haze of silence, grief, and exhaustion. The only sound breaking through had been your voice—strained and raw—as you screamed into the phone at your mother. She insisted on coming to Korea for the funeral and you couldn’t bear the thought of it. The words didn’t feel real as they left your lips, and yet they hung in the air like a weight too heavy to carry.

Your apartment, small and unassuming, had become a refuge for Thanos, Se-mi, and Min-su. Se-mi and Min-su had nowhere else to go, and truthfully, you didn’t want them to leave. Their presence kept you tethered, kept the crushing loneliness of your father’s death at bay. And Thanos just wanted to be with you, wherever that may be.

You stared blankly at the floor as Se-mi and Min-su moved quietly in the kitchen, the soft clatter of pots and pans echoing in the background. Then, without a word, Thanos took your hand and led you to the bathroom. He didn’t ask if you wanted to talk, didn’t push you to explain the storm raging in your chest. He just guided you, his fingers warm and steady around yours.

The sound of water filled the small space as he turned on the shower. Steam billowed around you, wrapping the room in a comforting cocoon. You stepped under the spray, letting the warmth cascade over your skin. Moments later, Thanos joined you, his presence grounding and unintrusive. His arms found their way around your waist, pulling you close as the water ran over both of you.

He didn’t say anything. There were no words to fix what had been broken, and he knew that. Instead, his hands moved slowly, reverently, as he worked soap over your skin. His touch was gentle but firm, a silent promise to share the weight of your pain. You closed your eyes as he massaged the soap into your skin, his fingers trailing down your arms and across your back with care.

When his hands moved to your hair, working shampoo into your scalp with deliberate precision, you felt a lump rise in your throat. His tenderness was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the chaos you’d endured. The silence between you was heavy but comforting, a space for grief to breathe.

“He would have loved you,” you murmured finally, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

Thanos paused, his fingers stilling in your hair. “Really?” he asked softly.

You nodded, opening your eyes to meet him. “Yes. You’re rough around the edges, but you’re kind at heart. You take care of me every single day.”

A shadow crossed his face as memories of the games flashed through his mind. The sight of you hurt, bleeding, crying—it haunted him. He was careful as he ran the soap over the stitches on your shoulder, his jaw tight with regret. “I should have done better…” he whispered, his voice breaking.

“Shut up, T,” you said, your tone firm but not unkind. You turned to face him fully, water cascading between you as you placed a hand on his chest. “Nam-gyu had it out for me since the beginning. None of it was your fault. I didn’t even know he was my cousin, Thanos. I’ve never even met him. I just… I need to talk to my grandmother. I need to understand.”

“She’ll be at the funeral, yeah?” he asked gently.

You bit your lip, nodding as a fresh wave of sadness washed over you. “Yeah,” you whispered, the weight of the day ahead pressing down on you.

“C’mere,” Thanos said softly, pulling you back into his arms. He placed slow, wet kisses along your shoulders and the crown of your head, his lips lingering as if he could kiss the pain away.

“I love you,” you murmured, the words spilling out before you could think to stop them. “I’ve only known you for a month, but…I fucking love you…”

His movements stilled for a moment, and then he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. His eyes were soft, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before. “I fucking love you too, Y/n,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You make me want to live again.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in the world—filled you with a sudden, overwhelming need to be closer. Closer than you’d ever been before.

Without thinking, you turned and jumped into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and kissing him deeply. His hands instinctively found their way to your thighs, holding you steady as he kissed you back with a passion that made your head spin. He pressed you against the cool tile wall, his lips trailing down your neck as his breath hitched against your skin.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his voice low and rough. “Today?” he asked, seeking your permission.

You nodded, your voice trembling with need. “I need you… please.”

His groan was deep, primal, as he positioned himself. His hand slipped between you, the feel of his fingers brushing against your wet folds sending shivers up your spine. He teased you for a moment, his tip gliding through your slickness, before pressing into you slowly.

Your head fell back against the wall, your eyes rolling shut as he filled you. The stretch was exquisite, the heat of him inside you overwhelming in the best way. “Fuck, T…” you moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Thanos buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ragged as he began to move. “You feel so good, baby,” he groaned, his voice thick with pleasure. His thrusts were slow at first, deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every second. But as your hips met his and your moans grew louder, his restraint began to crumble.

“Shiiiit…” He panted as he released inside you and you lost yourself in the orgasmic vibrations, reaching your own release.

“Fuck…” You panted as he pulled out of you. You clung to him for support, your legs weak.

“I got you baby.” He chuckled, holding you tightly and cleaning you up. He helped you out of the shower, wrapping a towel around you. “You feel so fucking good..” He mumbled into your ear. Feeling his breath on your skin almost sent you into a second orgasm.

You didn’t expect your first time sleeping with your boyfriend would take place on the day of your fathers funeral. But you needed him more than ever, he was the only thing that could relieve your pain. It was a brief moment of euphoria in the otherwise depressing day ahead.

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, you tried to steady your face. Se-mi had already set the table and you sat down, ready to eat after the morning you had.

You all sat silently as you ate.

“So, was I right?” Se-mi broke the silence, staring at you with a cheeky grin. “Is he a good lay?”

Thanos and Min-su choked on their food at the comment.

You looked at her with wide eyes. “Thin walls.” She mouthed, gesturing to the bathroom.

You grinned back at her, laughing at the boys. “Amazing.” You said firmly, running your hand up Thanos’ leg in the process, watching him squirm under your touch.

You and Se-mi giggled.

The walk to your father’s funeral felt like an eternity, each step heavier than the last. Thanos, Se-mi, and Min-su trailed behind you, their silent support a lifeline in this moment of unbearable grief. As you approached the grand stone steps of your grandparents’ home, a wave of surrealism washed over you. It felt wrong to be here for something so depressing. Your grandparents house had always been a peaceful refuge for you and your brother.

Thanos stayed close, his presence solid and unwavering, like a quiet bodyguard. You reached the doorway and hesitated, taking in the familiar scent of incense and polished wood mixed with the faint aroma of flowers—lilies, his favorite. The sight of your father’s casket in the center of the living room hit you like a freight train.

Your legs moved of their own accord, carrying you toward him as if drawn by an invisible force. Thanos stayed a few steps back, giving you space but never letting you out of his sight. When you finally reached the casket, the air felt heavier, the room spinning ever so slightly.

“Shit, Dad…” you whispered, your voice cracking as the sight of him stole the breath from your lungs. His face was peaceful, but the stillness felt so wrong. You clenched your fists, hot tears spilling down your cheeks. “You couldn’t have waited a little longer to fucking die on me?!” The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered. Your body trembled as sobs overtook you. “I got the money, Dad. I got the fucking money for your treatment!” Your voice broke into a wail. “I did it, I-I made it happen. What the fuck, Dad? What the fuck?!” You can’t believe you put yourself through hell for next to nothing. The money didn’t matter at this point.

Behind you, Thanos’ fists tightened at his sides as he fought back his own tears. He wanted nothing more than to comfort you, but he stayed rooted in the corner, knowing this moment wasn’t his to interrupt. He made a silent promise to himself then and there: no matter what, he would never leave your side. Not in grief, not in pain. Not ever.

“Y/n,” a soft voice called, pulling you from your spiral. Your grandmother’s familiar presence grounded you as she placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. Her face was lined with sorrow, but her eyes carried a quiet strength that had always been a cornerstone in your life.

“Why did he leave me?” you sobbed, collapsing into her arms. Her embrace was warm and familiar, a small solace in the face of overwhelming loss.

“It was out of our control,” she whispered, stroking your hair like she had when you were a child. “He held on as long as he could, my sweet girl.”

You stayed in her arms for a while, letting the tears flow freely, unburdening yourself in a way only she could allow. She was the only family you had left. Eventually, the wake blurred into the burial, the weight of finality sinking deeper into your chest with each passing moment. By the time you returned to your grandparents’ house for dinner, exhaustion clung to you like a second skin.

As people gathered, your grandmother approached you with a glance toward Thanos, Se-mi, and Min-su. “Sorry, Y/n,” she said in Korean, her tone polite but firm. “This is for family only.”

You stiffened, your jaw tightening. “They’re family,” you replied, your voice resolute.

Her eyes flicked to them again, her expression skeptical. Thanos’s purple hair, tattoos, and piercings stood out starkly against the more conservative appearance of the guests. She leaned closer to you, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I don’t know these people.”

“They’re my best friends,” you explained, choosing your words carefully. “They helped me raise the money.” You paused, glancing back at Thanos, who was watching the exchange from a respectful distance. His eyes met yours, steady and reassuring. “And Thanos…” You held out your hand to him, and he stepped forward, taking it without hesitation. “Thanos is my boyfriend.”

The admission felt like a declaration, and for a moment, the air between you and your grandmother was thick with unspoken tension.

Thanos bowed deeply, his voice calm but warm. “Hello,” he said in Korean, his accent perfect and endearing.

“Thanos?” She questioned.

“Choi Su-Bong, ma’am.” He said, and you smiled, knowing he hated using his real name.

Your grandmother’s lips pressed into a thin line, but then, to your relief, she let out a small laugh. “You Americans are always into the weird ones,” she teased you, her eyes softening slightly. “Okay, come on! Come eat.”

Relief flooded you as you led Thanos and your friends to the table. The warmth of the room, the scent of freshly prepared food, and the sound of familiar voices created a bittersweet sense of normalcy. Your grandmother’s initial skepticism faded as she peppered Thanos with questions. He answered each one with a mix of humility and charm that seemed to chip away at her defenses.

“He’s really working it,” Se-mi whispered to you, leaning close with a grin.

“Whatever it takes,” you whispered back, giggling softly. “Why are Korean grandmothers so hard to please?”

Se-mi smirked, shrugging in agreement. “It’s in their DNA.”

The laughter was short-lived. A sudden creak from the front door caught your attention, silencing the room. It was nearly 10 p.m., far too late for unexpected visitors. You exchanged a wary glance with your grandmother before standing to investigate.

When you reached the foyer, you froze, your stomach dropping. “Mom?” you said, your voice filled with disbelief.

She stood there, her disheveled appearance a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere of the evening. The scent of alcohol clung to her like a second skin, and her eyes were glassy, her movements unsteady. You took a step back, the emotions swirling inside you—anger, hurt, and pity—all threatening to overwhelm you.

“Y/n,” she slurred, a crooked smile spreading across her face. “You’re so… grown up.”

The room behind you fell silent, and you felt the weight of everyone’s eyes. You swallowed hard, bracing yourself for what would come next.

“You never dressed this nice in the States,” your mother said, her tone sharp, almost mocking. Her words were slurred, each one dripping with the faint venom of passive aggression she had perfected over the years. The scent of alcohol clung to her like a second skin, her disheveled appearance stark against the somber formality of the evening.

Behind you, Thanos stood rigid, his jaw clenched as he observed the interaction. He had listened to you speak about your mother before—about the pain, the betrayal, the wounds she had inflicted on your life. And now, seeing her here, uninvited and unwelcome, made the knot in his stomach tighten. You had already endured so much, and it tore at him to see yet another burden thrown your way.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice trembling, the words caught between anger and disbelief. You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “Why are you—” Your voice broke as you inhaled again, the weight of her presence pressing down on you. “Why are you in South Korea?”

“Well, I heard your father died,” she mocked, as if you hadn’t talked to her about it a few days prior, her words stilted as she tried to sound composed. But the alcohol on her breath betrayed her, wafting between you like a bitter reminder of all the times she’d fallen short. “I wanted to pay my respects.”

The audacity of her words hit you like a punch to the gut. Pay her respects? You began to hyperventilate, your breaths coming in shallow bursts as anger and heartbreak collided within you. This woman—this bitch—who had destroyed everything good in your life, dared to show up now, pretending to grieve?

Memories flooded your mind, one after the other, unrelenting in their cruelty. She was the reason you had to save every penny to escape to Korea, desperate to put an ocean between you and her chaos. She was the one who cheated on your father, breaking his heart over and over again with her affairs. She was the one who gave your brother the drugs that killed him, his overdose a tragedy she had enabled. She was the one who guilt-tripped you into staying with her, forcing you to endure her lies and manipulations. And now, here she was, drunk, disrespecting a moment meant to honor your father—a man she had betrayed so completely.

“Who’s your little boyfriend, Smiles?” she slurred, a twisted grin spreading across her face as she glanced at Thanos. “He’s cute!”

Your stomach churned at the nickname, bile rising in your throat. Smiles. The name she had always used to manipulate you, to force you to play the role of the obedient, happy daughter whenever the police or social services came knocking. You were to smile and lie, to pretend she was a loving mother while she tore your life apart behind closed doors.

Your teeth ground together as you stepped closer, your voice low and shaking with fury. “Mom, leave.”

Her expression twisted, a mockery of hurt. “Can I not say goodbye to my ex-husband?” she said, her words dripping with insincerity.

Your grandmother, who had been watching silently until now, suddenly erupted in angry Korean, her voice rising in defense of her late son. The pain in her words was clear, her grief spilling out as she shouted about everything your mother had done to him. You could barely process it, your attention still locked on the woman standing in front of you.

You stepped closer, now inches from her face, your voice cold and firm. “If you don’t turn around and leave, I will throw you out myself.”

“Aww, Y/n,” she said, her voice mocking as she reached up to caress your cheek. Her touch was so familiar, so hauntingly warm, that for a split second you hesitated. You almost leaned into it, craving the comfort you had begged for as a child. But then reality crashed back over you, and you remembered who she was—the lies, the betrayal, the destruction she had left in her wake.

The hesitation evaporated, replaced by fury. You grabbed her by the hair, her yelp of surprise drowned out by the pounding of your heart. Without a second thought, you turned her around and shoved her toward the door. She stumbled, cursing, but you didn’t stop. You pushed her out into the night and slammed the door shut, locking it with trembling hands.

For a moment, there was silence. And then her fists pounded on the door, her voice shrill and venomous. “Nam-gyu should have fucking killed you!” she screamed. “You were a fucking mistake!”

Her words sliced through you like a blade, and you froze. Your breath caught in your throat, your fingers still gripping the lock. Behind you, Thanos rushed forward, his hands resting gently on your shoulders to steady you.

“She knew Nam-gyu,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. The realization hit you like a crashing wave, each piece of the puzzle suddenly falling into place.

Your grandmother’s words hung heavy in the air, each revelation landing like a hammer blow. She spoke slowly, her voice thick with guilt and regret as she explained everything. How there had been another son before your father—her firstborn, a boy she and your grandfather had loved deeply but who had shown only violence in return. They had tried everything—therapy, doctors, medications—but nothing worked. He had been dangerous, unpredictable, and ultimately, they had no choice but to let him go. They brought him to an orphanage, where they hoped he might find a family better equipped to handle him.

That’s where they found your father. Quiet, kind, and gentle even as a child, he had something about him that pulled them in. They adopted him, and for years, he had been their peace, their redemption.

But then Nam-gyu came back into your family’s orbit. Your mother had found him, sought him out with her own twisted motives. She’d told him about you, the inheritance, and made him a proposition: if he killed you, they could split the money.

All your mother had wanted was the money. The inheritance you didn’t even care about. The inheritance that no longer existed after the crushing debt your grandparents endured. But money makes people crazy.

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as the walls around you seemed to close in. The weight of everything—the betrayal, the manipulation, the trauma—was too much. It felt like you were suffocating, the air in the room too thick to breathe. You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, and bolted out the front door.

“Y/n!” Thanos’s voice followed you, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Your legs carried you as fast as they could, your heart pounding in time with your frantic steps.

Your grandmother’s voice trembled as she spoke to him. “Su-Bong, please. Find her. Bring her home safe. She’s lost everything.”

He nodded firmly, already rushing after you. “Y/n!” he called, his voice echoing into the night.

You ran until your lungs burned, until your legs felt like they would give out beneath you. Finally, in the middle of a deserted street, you stopped, letting out a scream you felt like you’d been holding in for years.

“FUCK!” you sobbed, doubling over as the emotions crashed over you. “Fuck you, God! Why did you take everything from me?!” Tears streamed down your face as your voice broke, the rawness of your grief spilling into the still night.

Before you could fall to your knees, you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around you, pulling you into a warm embrace. The scent of Thanos—comforting and familiar—enveloped you, grounding you even as you sobbed against his chest.

“T…” you choked out, your fingers clutching at his shirt. “Why is this happening? Why is all this happening to me?”

Thanos’s grip on you tightened, his chin resting atop your head as his own tears fell silently. He had no answers, no words that could fix what you were feeling. Every day, he promised himself he’d protect you, that he’d make you happy, and every day he felt like he was failing. All he could do was hold you, his arms a shield against the rest of the world, his warmth a quiet promise that he wasn’t going anywhere.

As your cries slowly subsided, the first rays of dawn began to paint the sky in soft hues of pink and purple. You leaned back against him, your head resting on his chest as you stared at the horizon. The silence between you wasn’t empty—it was full of unspoken love, of shared pain, of comfort found in each other.

His fingers combed gently through your hair, an act that always seemed to soothe both of you. “You need to rest, baby,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple.

You nodded, exhaustion tugging at your every limb. “Okay… I have a room at my Halmeoni’s. I don’t want to go all the way back to the apartment.”

“Got it,” he said softly, standing and crouching in front of you. “Hop on.”

You didn’t argue, climbing onto his back and wrapping your arms gently around his neck. He carried you the whole way, his steady steps and the feel of his heartbeat beneath your hands lulling you into a sense of peace.

When you arrived, your grandmother rushed to you, her face wet with tears as she cupped your cheeks and kissed your forehead. She muttered a stream of words in Korean you couldn’t quite understand, but the emotion was clear—she was relieved you were home.

“Take her to bed,” she told Thanos, handing him an armful of blankets. “Down the hall to the left.”

He bowed politely before guiding you down the hall. The room was small and cozy, its walls covered in posters of Britney Spears, Bring Me The Horizon, and Nirvana. The remnants of your childhood—knick-knacks, photo frames, and books—scattered across the desk and shelves gave the space a sense of nostalgia.

Thanos laid you gently on the bed, wrapping you in the blankets as if you were the most precious thing in the world. Your hand reached out instinctively, finding his, and you clung to him even as your eyelids grew heavy.

He sat on the edge of the bed, watching you as you drifted into sleep. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips parted slightly as you relaxed—it was a sight he could watch forever. He glanced around the room, taking in every detail. The posters, the trinkets, the little fragments of who you were. He smiled softly, feeling like he was learning parts of you he hadn’t known before.

He leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. His thumb traced lightly over your cheekbone, his eyes full of adoration. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Absolutely fucking perfect.”

Sliding under the blankets beside you, he rested a hand on your hip—his favorite place to hold you—and pressed a kiss to your forehead. As the first light of morning illuminated the room, he made a silent vow to you, to himself: he would do everything in his power to keep you safe, to help you heal, to love you in all the ways you deserved.

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daycourtofficial · 8 months ago

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I got cursed like Eve got bitten - part IV

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader | WC: 2.5k | Warnings: none

Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried

Previous part | Next part | Masterlist

You took the High Lady’s arm, accepting her offer to show you about the palace. You had heard about her through harsh tones and loose lips - human, cursebreaker, the High Lord’s whore. The males of your village already did not like Rhysand, but when the news reached your village that he had made a human ‘High Lady’, they were less than receptive to both her new position and her personally.

You didn’t dare repeat the disgusting things you had overheard them saying they would do to her if they got the chance. Instead, you matched her steps as you walked the hallways, her lilac scent swirling around you.

Their home was gorgeous - large hallways spacious enough for winged fae, the walls lined with various paintings, each one depicting various moments in the night sky. You stopped before one of them, eyes moving over the brushstrokes used to depict the night sky on Starfall. It was a landscape painting - the stars falling in hues of green and blue and purple, streaking across the land. The painting was massive - the canvas was the same height as you, but the size was needed to show such detail. It showed the mountains in the background, the lights reflecting off their snow capped peaks.

The focal point of the painting was the stars showering down the town, what you assumed was Velaris. The stars sprinkled down on the clustered buildings, lighting the city below.

The whole painting was stunning, but your eyes lingered on the left side of the painting, a river flowing beside the streets of the city. The water captured the starlight just perfectly, and something about it called for your attention.

“I just finished this a few weeks ago. It was last year’s Starfall. We usually host a grand ball, but this year we flooded the streets with people. We had businesses open their doors and the people of Velaris would come and go as they pleased.”

Feyre’s voice was soft as she recalled the memory, a smile on her face at how well the event had gone, her blue-gray eyes alight.

“I’m sure it was lovely.”

You had spent that same Starfall also gazing at the stars, however your mind had been preoccupied with questions you would never receive answers to rather than flitting in and out of shops. You had stayed home, your small home above the tavern just large enough for one, gazing through the window at the cacophony of colors. Something about Starfall always made your head throb, the holiday eliciting something from you that was unidentifiable. It was this overwhelming sense of sadness and longing, mixed with what felt like hundreds of emotions.

It was too much, the annual holiday seeing yourself locked away in your home as the rest of the village flew through the stars, the males carrying their wives and children through the sky. Illyrian culture viewed the falling stars as lost souls - cursed to wander the skies in search of where they truly belonged. Perhaps your own soul left the confines of your body for one night, searching for a place it would never find.

It was silent, and you looked to Feyre to find an expectant look on her face as she tucked her golden brown hair behind a pointed ear.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

She smiled softly before asking, “what did you do for Starfall?”

Your bed was the first thing that came to mind. How every year it was nearly impossible to leave your bed the morning of. How it felt like a great trek across the mountains to use the restroom or to get a mug of water. How, despite the difficulties, every year you dragged yourself across your apartment, peeking out through the curtains to get a glimpse of the sky.

“I spent it at home.” You watched as her mouth began to move, about to ask the question you hated more than anything. You coughed. “Alone. I spent it at home, alone.”

She nodded solemnly and you turned back to the painting, letting your thoughts get lost in the blending of the night sky or how she made the lights touch everything else in the painting in some way.

All of this was so new - you still couldn’t quite wrap your head around being in Velaris, a city no one knew about until a few years prior. You had had several dreams of a quaint town on the river, but you always chalked it up to something you had read in a book once. Perhaps you had merely dreamt of a sanctuary like this.

Your eyes traced the buildings of Velaris, looking vaguely familiar. Your dreams lead you nowhere - you would wake with only vague descriptions and occasional flashes of images.

A city hidden for millenia. It all felt surreal to be here, in the High Lord’s estate, the High Lady giving you a personal tour.

You weren’t even that sure of the High Lord’s reasoning for letting you come.

You had accepted their offer with little consideration. Perhaps it was foolish. But tensions were high between you and the males of your village - you were unwanted, and the males were tolerating you less and less.

Besides, entrusting the High Lord to leave you alone after knowing something so sacred about you seemed unfathomable. He didn’t strike you as someone who accepted the word ‘no’ easily.

“Naturally, we’d like to keep you safe while you’re here. If you want to visit Velaris, please just let one of us know so we can show you around first. It’s a beautiful city, but we would hate for you to get lost.”

You mulled over her words, not even having thought about being able to see the city, you turned to her, watching her hands move as she spoke.

“This house is close to the city, it’d be quite easy to walk. We can show you the best places the city has to offer.” She looped her arm back into your elbow, steering you from the painting. “Besides, I’m hoping you can settle a debate we have - we’re all split on the best place in Velaris to get pastries from. Rhys is convinced…”

Her words trailed off as something flashed in your mind, a brief image of eating at a cafe with Azriel, his face lit up in laughter. He had bitten into a powdered treat, the powdered sugar coating the front of his black shirt, leaving it speckled. His shadows swirled around him as if they too were laughing. The image came and went so quickly, you assumed Feyre’s words did a great job at visualizing the town and her friends.

But the rest of the tour left you distracted, constantly trying to bring that image back to the front of your mind.

Your first lesson with Feyre was the next day. She had told you to stop by her study whenever you felt ready, having shown you where it was on her tour before showing you to your chambers, the room you were going to stay in down a hallway of other closed doors. You wondered how they filled the space in such a large house - empty rooms just waiting for inhabitants.

You were fairly certain the room they put you in was larger than your entire apartment. The bed was spacious - large enough for at least two Illyrains to sleep in. You had packed a bag before you left, telling the High Lord that you lived above the tavern and to wait a few moments while you packed. The bag now sat on your bed, having left it behind for Feyre’s tour.

You pulled your clothes from the bag to hang them, noticing they were very different to what everyone else wore - so far Rhys, Azriel, and Feyre had only been wearing shades of black, but your wardrobe was almost entirely made of hues of blue.

When all of your clothes had been put away, you looked toward the window, the dark night sky inviting you to curl into bed, but you knew sleep wouldn’t come to you. You felt too awake. You opened your door, peaking your head out to look down the hallways. Finding it empty, you padded down the halls, trying to retrace your steps to the library Feyre had shown you.

After trying a few wrong doors, you found the library, slipping in and shutting the door behind you. Without Feyre here, you allowed yourself ample time to search the stacks. Your hands pulled books from the shelves non stop,until you eventually found you had a stack that reached your chin.

You left the library, pattering back to your room, more certain how to get back to it now that you knew where the library was. You turned down the hallway to your door, seeing Azriel at the other end of the hallway. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, the small shadows whirling around him.

He looked tired, as if the weight of the world laid on his shoulders. Dark bags beneath his eyes did little to deter how beautiful he was, even in the limited light. The shadows on his shoulders danced around his head and you watched as his eyes lifted to yours, looking straight at you.

His gaze was impossible to put into words, but you imagine it’s similar to how sailors from the continent felt when they saw the shores of Prythian for the first time after having spent months at sea.

Impossible. Beautiful. Resolution.

You kept his gaze as you neared your door and he stopped at the door across the hall from yours.

“This is where I’m staying.”

He nodded at your words, slipping into the room without reply, the lock clicking into place before you slipped into your own room. You placed the books on the bedside table before walking over to your wardrobe and changing into a nightgown. You didn’t feel like bathing tonight, opting instead to pull whatever laid at the top of the stack of books, curl up into the bed, and read until you fell asleep.

After you had bathed the next morning, you came back into your room to find a tray of breakfast foods. A variety of scones and jams decorated the platter, as well as some sausage and some porridge. You smelled each of the jars of jam, trying to figure out what fruit they consisted of. One of them was a dark purple, its color called to you as you slathered it onto a scone, the flavor bursting in your mouth. It was sweet and bitter with notes of honey, and before you realized it, you had eaten several scones slathered in it.

You moved down the halls, everything brighter in the daytime, searching for Feyre’s office. You knocked softly on the dark wood, and the door opened before you, Feyre’s smiling face greeting you. “Good morning!”

You nodded your head in greeting, peering about the room. It felt incredibly homey in this room - you could smell the incense burning from down the hall, but the room inside shocked you. Gone were the dark blacks and blues lining the halls - her study was covered in light blues and silvers.

You gazed about the room as you followed her in, sitting in the chair she pointed you to.

You had skipped the pleasantries, the scones you had eaten still on your mind. “What were those jams?”

“Which one did you try?”

“It was almost black, kind of bitter.”

You looked up, the ceiling of the room showing the phases of the moon in beautiful detail. You could make out individual craters of the moon as it moved through its cycle.

“That was the moonberry jam.”

You tilted your head, looking back at her, “a moonberry?”

Feyre grinned, sitting on the ledge of her desk, “I’m assuming moonberries don’t grow on your side of Illyria? They’re a fickle fruit - according to Rhys they only grow in some parts of Illyria. My sister has finally gotten them to grow for her and is over the moon about it.”

You nodded, trying to recollect what you knew about her sister. She had two, you thought. The rumors swirled of two sisters that were dumped into the Cauldron, blessed with new life. Several of the fae of your village spit vitriol about them - seething jealousy that now even humans had been chosen over Illyrians for such blessings.

You often hid your hair over your ears for good reason.

“I mostly wanted to spend today talking about your powers.”

You quirked a brow, the sight not going unnoticed by her. “I mean, I want to know where you stand. Do you have any control over them?”

“Not really. It’s mostly random.” You weren’t sure how to discuss your powers - they had been a well-guarded secret for centuries. You really weren’t sure how to talk about them to others, much less talk about how they worked.

She nodded, jotting down notes onto some parchment. “By random, is there any pattern? Perhaps something big emotionally?”

You thought to the most recent time your powers had flared - a few weeks ago one of the tavern’s patrons had pushed you, causing you to spill wine all over yourself and him. His response calling you a “simple barmaid” did little to control your powers, and he sat down after his eyes went wide, feeling the anger coming from you.

As you thought, her voice perked up. “Remember, we know next to nothing about empaths. There is very little written or known about the powers.”

You breathed through your nose, trying to stay calm. There were some things that always made them swell, but you never had much connection to them. They surged during Starfall or if you spent too long looking at rivers. Those felt too personal, too much a part of you to tell her. So you told her some of the more innocuous ones.

“At night, sometimes my powers flair when I’m falling asleep.”

She jotted that down, the pen scraping the paper making a crisp sound. “When do you usually fall asleep?”

“Right around midnight each night.”

“Does anything draw your attention whenever you’re falling asleep that sets it off?”

You thought about how it felt to lay in your bed, sleep not coming easily. You would relax your gaze, allowing your mind to make shapes from within the shadows, your window open letting the night air in.

“I like to make shapes out of the shadows. Try to see things in them that aren’t there. I do it with clouds during the day, as well.”

Your mind lingered on how most nights you tried harder and harder to form the shape of a man from the shadows, never successfully.

“Do the shadows or clouds bother you?”

Feyre’s voice brings you back to her office, the bright light from the windows illuminating the room. “No. No, they don’t.”

Author’s note: how are we feeling 👀 what do we think’s going to happen 👀👀

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers

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Thanks for reading ❣️

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar writing #i got cursed like eve got bitten #azriel x y/n

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trancylovecraft · 3 months ago

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚ WANDERILLUSTREOUS!: Chapter One!

(YANDERE GENSHIN VARIOUS x READER)

[F/N] [L/N], A twenty-two year old college student goes about her mundane life. Most people would describe her as content, And maybe [F/N] would've described it as such too- Her life. Over and over again, Day after day, The cycle never stops. That is, However, Until she suddenly drops into Genshin Impact out of nowhere. In any other case, [F/N] might have been glad to be there. In a fantasy land where she had only ever visited in her dreams, With a feeling she couldn't describe flooding her entire being. However, [F/N] couldn't be further from excited.. She had never played Genshin in her life. [F/N] threw her head into her hands, Holding back the urge to scream. “I’m absolutely screwed, Aren’t I?”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚AO3 LINK *ೃ༄

GENDER: Femme LIST OF YANDERE'S: https://pastebin.com/ErsuA2cz SONG: RISK, RISK, RISK! - Jhariah NOTE: N/A

PROLOGUE *ੈ✩‧₊˚ MASTERLIST *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ NEXT PART *

To say that [F/N] had never played Genshin Impact in her life, Was a bit of an exaggeration.

She had played Genshin. However it was a good couple of years ago, And even then it had only been up until she had arrived in Mondstadt.

It was a rather boring night, [F/N] could recall. She had only downloaded the game after seeing it all over her social media, Flickering through her TikTok with thinned lips as she saw edit after edit, Listened to audio after audio, Read reference after reference of which she couldn’t understand.

Her thumb was hesitant as it tapped the download button on the app store.

It really didn’t seem like something she’d be interested in..

But when even her friends began to start raving about it..

After waiting the nail-biting time it took to download on her phone, She finally got to play, Her phone held landscape in both hands as she gripped it tight. Blue light lit up her face, Eyes burning at the sudden glare within her dark room.

She had ran around after the cutscenes ended, When she had chosen the sister and her brother was subsequently taken away. [F/N] went around, Hit a few of the enemies, Did a few of the character cutscenes, Picked up a few apples..

In all honestly, [F/N] couldn’t understand the appeal.

The characters she had so far met, A girl with reddish clothing and an effeminate boy coddling a dragon, Both weren’t really that promising. The girl especially. [F/N]’s eyes rolled after the fifth dialogue box flew by.

[F/N] had then uninstalled the app with a display of disappointment on her face.

It really wasn’t for her after all.

“Jesus-! Does there really need to be so much twigs..?! Man- My feet are gonna be bleeding at this rate.”

“Jesus? What’s a Jesus?”

“Uuh- No- It’s uhm..”

Which really sucked, Considering her current predicament.

“Woah..! Look at that!”

[F/N] pushed herself up, Finally trudging uphill to now stand perched atop the peak of the entire valley. The sky, A bold blue with white clouds stricken across such a wondrous canvas- [F/N] could only marvel, Feeling her breath be taken by the wind as she looked out over the sea of her surroundings.

Mountains and valleys, With the named city faded off in the distance- Towering windmills cutting the sky open like blades as the bird continued to soar around them. [F/N] could only watch as their wings beat against the wind, Wild and free.

Her eyes trailed down, Centring on what was now before her.

A crescent shaped valley, Careened off by the surrounding headlands. [F/N] felt her heart pound in her chest as she gazed across the trickling ring of water in the middle, Surrounding a small island like a moat.

And a carved stone pillar, Holding a beautifully chiselled statue atop it.

[F/N] let go of her breath, Her eyes ablaze.

Mondstadt. She was in Mondstadt. The first location within Genshin Impact, At least she knew that. By the cool winds that danced across the grasslands she was traversing through, Carrying the revitalising scent of saccharine rosebuds and rejuvenating sweet flowers-

The wide horizon with far away mountains- Snow-capped peaks fading into the ocean blue of the sky as the gulls above continued to soar-

Yeah, This place was way too good for real life.

She was in Mondstadt, No doubt.

“That’s a statue of the seven..!” Paimon gasped as she looked out across the valley, Excitedly pointing down towards the statue below them. “There are a few of these statues scattered across the land to show The Seven's protection over the world.”

“The seven?”

“Yeah..! The seven! Though.. Paimon guesses that you haven’t heard of them.. They’re the gods that rule over Teyvat!”

A neuron clicked in her head.

Oh yeah, The Archons, [F/N]’s heard of them.

Mostly from thirst traps.

“No, No. I think I’ve got an idea about who they are.” [F/N] nodded her head as she looked out across the valley, Sweeping the dirt and dust and hair out of her eyes as she took in the cool air.

Paimon nodded happily, Turning back towards the statue.

“Mondstadt is ruled by the Anemo God, Barbatos! You think he has any idea about how you ended up here?” She asked in thought as she began to float away, Beckoning [F/N] to follow her down towards the statue.

[F/N] shook her head, Beginning to trail along with an uneasy look.

“I don’t know-” She exasperated, Yelping as she almost trips over a stray rock. “Look- All I want to do is just- I don’t know.. Find a place to gather my thoughts, And get a good meal. I don’t know if this ‘Barbatos’ guy knows what happened to me, But I’ll figure it out once I get my stomach full and my head to stop pounding.. Ah, Jeez..”

“Paimon agrees! Spinning around and around in a whirlpool really builds up an appetite..!”

And fishing a fairy out of one too. [F/N] could almost feel her stomach doing kickflips.

[F/N] groaned as she trudged along. According to what fleeting memory she had of the beginning of this game, The traveller- The sister- She had made her way to the little island in the middle of the statue- Pressed her palm against the cracked stone and suddenly she was able to control the element of Anemo.

Was [F/N] capable of doing the same? Was she meant to do the same?

She had taken the traveller's place after all.

Eventually, [F/N] managed to stumble along, Following the fairy to the miniature shore of the ring pool with only a few more scrapes added to the bottom of her feet. She winced. As soon as she got the chance, [F/N] was getting a pair of shoes, Supposing that was another thing to add to the list.

Snapped out of her thoughts, [F/N] shot Paimon the dirtiest look when she said she had to swim.

[F/N] shuddered.

Tossing her bag to the side, [F/N] took in a deep breath.

Anything to progress the plot, She supposed.

“Ugh, Dangit.. There goes any semblance of warmth I have.”

[F/N] whimpered, Absolutely drenched in spring water. Dripping from her hair, Her clothes and the tip of her nose all cold soaked in dew. Making her look like a wet cat as she stood in the centre of the small island, [F/N] tried not to shake as she felt the water crawl down her back.

Turning away, She tried to refocus.

[F/N] took a deep breath in, Shuddering as droplets continued to trickle down her body, Her legs. With a sharp exhale she reached out her hand towards the cracked stone pillar, Her fingers twitching.

Her palm pressed flat against the stone, Just like the traveller did in canon, Cold and coarse against her touch.

The wind continued to blow through the valley, The floral scent still invading her senses. For a moment, Nothing had happened. [F/N] almost expected it not to work, Did she want it to work?

“What the-”

The statue began to glow, The sphere held up like the moon in the statue’s hands began to radiate light like the sun.

[F/N] stumbled back, Eyes widening in shock as she felt the wind begin to pick up around her. Roaring and waving- A speck of light picking up from the sphere, Swirling and swaying in the wind-

Heading right towards [F/N].

“Ack-!” [F/N] yelped out as she felt the wisp crash into her chest with the toll of a wind chime. She backed up, Almost tripping over the stray rocks as a sudden spark spread across her body like wildfire.

Her headache began to cool, The ache in her feet began to dull.

A strange tranquillity (?) washing over her.

“Ooh! Did you just feel the elements of the world?” Paimon gasped as she almost zoomed towards her, Eyes batting as she looked over [F/N]’s figure.

“I-I guess so..?” She replied hesitantly, Her hands patting down her body, Almost frantic, As if looking for some kind of injury. Though thankfully to her relief, She found no cuts or gashes or whatever else Her body was uninjured-

Quite the opposite, [F/N]’s eyes widened when she realised the cuts on her feet were no longer present.

“Huh.. It healed me..?” She whispered, Her eyes shining, Amazed.

“Seems all you had to do was just touch the statue and you got the power of Anemo!” Paimon marvelled, Blinking in wonder as she turned to look at her.

“I.. I did?” [F/N] blinked as she felt a sudden power wash over her- Cool and sublime just like the saccharine winds that danced throughout the little island she stood on. How strange. She felt a shiver trail down her spine as the wind crept up her back.

She got the power of Anemo? But she didn’t feel any different..

“Searching for the Anemo Archon should be our long-term goal! Finding out why you came into Teyvat is your goal right? Or is Paimon getting that messed up..?” Paimon asked, A hand on her chin in thought.

[F/N] blinked.

Her goal?

[F/N] hadn’t thought about a goal.

“Yeah. You’re right..” She spoke slowly, Controlled. Her head nodding. [F/N] supposed that she needed to set some kind long-term goal set in mind. “I need to find out how I got here. Yeah. I need to figure out how I got into this world- You’re right.”

Paimon smiled.

“Of course I am, Paimon’s always right!” The fairy hmphed, Arms folding as an expression of pride across her face. “Perhaps, because you got power from the God of Anemo, you can find some clues in Mondstadt! And as your guide, Paimon will be glad to take you!”

[F/N] took a deep breath in, Took in the flowers- The pollen. The air so much clearer than in the suburbia she was use to kicking about in. She shuddered. [F/N] still felt like a fish out of water, Like a sheep out of her pen- Like a person who was never meant to be here-

But she needed to stay calm. She needed to stay focused.

Turning to Paimon, [F/N] gave her a curt nod and a short agreement left her lips. A grateful look in her eyes, Thankful for at least some kind of guide in this place- This foreign planet. Even if her guide was a little uncanny- With her big eyes and the way she seemed to float mid-air- [F/N] was glad she had at least some form of guidance here.

Paimon grinned, Beckoning her forward.

“Come on then, Let’s head to Mondstadt!”

⭒❅✸✪✸❅⭒

“Agh-! The hell is that!?”

[F/N]’s bag dropped to the ground.

Her voice was drowned out by a roar unlike any other, A bellow shaking the earth-

Shaking the trees as the mass careened over the horizon. It’s roar like an avalanche- Crashing, Enveloping everything-

Tallgrass whipped back from the gales, Pushed by the sheer force of the gale. Flowers trembled. Bugs began to scatter. Worms became unearthed as the ground shook with such vitriol.

[F/N] could only watch in horror.

A dark shadow flew over her. She stood frozen in a down-turned field, Waist-deep in tallgrass that tickled at the dampness on her skin. Her eyes were just as agape as her mouth was, Gasping, Trembling, Head pointed straight up.

It was a dragon.

A massive- Impossibly sized dragon.

And it was flying right over her.

Talons shining under the heat of the sun, A white underbelly, Horns pointed behind it’s head like a crown. Beady eyes paying her no mind as they wildly searched for a suitable spot.

The wings, Feathered and ruffled- Gliding across the sky making birds wildly soar away from the bigger fish- Feathers like diamond and crystals scattered across it like a butterfly’s- Tufts flying off as it crashed down upon the forest.

[F/N] tried not to fall from the quake, Rippling out across the land.

“Holy-!” [F/N] cried out as the earthquake finally subsided, Only proving to make her stumble back a few steps. Goosebumps travelled across her skin as she let go of the leather strap of her bag, Slipping out of her grasp.

“Wow! What is that!?”

Paimon's voice cried out from beside her, Shrill and squeaky as it always was. A dragon, Of course it was, [F/N] had no idea how she had forgotten about this part of the game- A dragon whose mere claw was the size of her- Gliding and crashing into the forest with a roar.

[F/N] knew that she wouldn’t forget it now.

She took a step forward, Then another- Her eyes trained in the direction that it had fallen in. Paimon floated forward too, Stars fading in her wake as she

“It's landed in the heart of the forest. Come on, We should go check it out..!”

“What..!? Are you insane?!”

There was absolutely no way Paimon had just said that.

[F/N] looked at Paimon, Wide-eyed and absolutely baffled. Check it out? What. The massive, Several-story tall dragon that had crashed into the forest and seemed absolutely livid out of it’s mind?

“Yeah- No.” [F/N] shook her head rapidly, Laughing almost sheepishly as a bead of sweat ran down her brow. “Look- Paimon- I don’t know about you but I don’t have any weapons- Or- Or any actual abilities I know how to use yet- But you know what I do have?“

“What?”

“A will to live.”

“Aha..” Paimon giggled awkwardly. Scratching behind her head sheepishly, Almost flushed as the redness of her face began to flare up in embarrassment.

[F/N] sighed, Pinching her brow.

How did it go in game again?

The traveller had made her way into the heart of the forest after the dragon crashed into it, Fighting low-level enemies with her newfound power and gaining XP quickly rendered useless by the resources she found.

She had hidden behind a tree, Eavesdropping in as the dragon began to communicate with that effeminate boy- Venti, Was it? [F/N] knew of him at least, If only by name. He had been trying to soothe the dragon from what she could recall, However thanks to the traveller- Her presence had disturbed them and therefore made an issue in the plot.

So all [F/N] had to do was just.. Not get involved.

All she had to do was just pretend she saw nothing and go on about her merry way.

[F/N] sighed, Turning towards Paimon.

“Come on, Let’s just get to Mondstadt- I don’t think this is something we should be getting involved.. In..” [F/N] blinked, Her voice slowly trailing off, Quieter and quieter as her eyes began to focus on something.

“Eh? Traveller? What’s with that face?” Paimon tilted her head, Blinking as she observed the rather befuddled expression crossing her new-companions face. [F/N], In turn, Only narrowed her eyes further, Looking directly behind Paimon.

Raising a shaky finger, She pointed.

“H-Huh..? What is that?”

[F/N] double-takes, Her eyes batting as they observed a hunched over figure sat crouched a good few feet away from her.

It was curled over, A thick mass of matted fur around it’s hidden neck. [F/N] could almost puke at the sudden smell it gave off. Body the colour of coal, Spine jutting out on it’s back- [F/N] almost wanted to look away-

“Oh- It’s a hilichurl..!” Paimon gasped.

“A hilichurl..?!” [F/N] squeaked.

Well, That explained what it was- A low level enemy in the game. [F/N] was almost prepared to slowly turn around and quietly make her get away. She didn’t have any weapons to fight it, Not that she had much experience anyways.

But she didn’t move an inch. Not when her vision trailed to it’s hands- Fingers thick with chipped nails the colour of dirt and grime as it fiddled around with something unsee-

[F/N]’s eyes widened.

“H-Hey-! Wait- That’s my bag! Stop touching that, It’s mine!”

Her bag, The one she had dropped in shock after that dragon had flew right over her head, The one she had grabbed onto for dear life when she had first fallen into Genshin- It was being raided by what looked to be a decrepit little beast- Hands deep with in the compartments, The zipper ripped right open.

[F/N]’s eyes widened. Her phone, Her food, Her notebook-!

The hilichurl’s head jerked around, Eyes glaring at [F/N] from behind the shoddily painted mask it wore. [F/N] shuddered. The fur around their neck fluffed up, The hilichurl angrily garbled out a war cry.

Or maybe it was more akin to a ‘catch-me-if-you-can!’

Because it was only a moment later until it began sprinting off in the opposite direction- Bag clutched tightly in its arms, Swiftly sprinting away on it’s hobbled feet while letting out garbled laughter.

“Oh no you don’t-! Come back here!” [F/N] yelled out as she began to take off after it. It didn’t matter whether she had a weapon or not, Or shoes, Only wincing a bit as the pebbles hit against her skin. There was no way she was going to let some small little man run off with her stuff-!

Paimon gasped as she watched [F/N] sprint after the creature, Her voice reaching a peak as she called after them.

“H-Hey! Wait for Paimon..!”

⭒❅✸✪✸❅⭒

“Finally! Got you..!

The hilichurl cried out in a panic as it scurried away. Bag falling to the floor as it ran off into the cover of the trees, Scattering, Sprinting away from [F/N]- Who was just about ready to lunge at it.

“Yeah-! You better run..!” [F/N] heaved as she collapsed onto the grassy, Teeth gritting as she tried to calm down the fire in her chest. Damn it. [F/N] really needed to start doing cardio..

[F/N] gasped.

Her bag.

[F/N]’s hands snatched the leather strap of her fallen bag, Lugging it towards her. What damage could that thing have done to it? Most importantly-

What it could have done to the things inside of it.

[F/N] searched through her bag, Her hands moving feverishly as she counted her belongings. Her dead phone. Her energy drinks. Her notebook? Thank God, Her notebook. Thank God it was all there.

As for the outside?

The Hello-Kitty Charm? Intact. The silver zipper running up the leather? A little muddy but nothing that couldn’t be fixed. [F/N] sighed, Almost feeling her body deflating from the sheer relief she felt in that moment as she grasped onto her poor bag tighter.

“Oh my gosh.. I feel like my heart could explode..” She breathed out as she clutched her bag to her chest, Lungs burning in her chest from how fast she had to run. [F/N] breathed out. She hadn’t any idea how long it had been since she’d had to run that fast.

[F/N] blinked.

“Paimon..?”

[F/N] raised her head from where it had been resting atop her bag, Confused upon the lack of response. Huh. It seemed the fairy had gone missing.

Or more accurately, [F/N] had left her behind.

“Damnit..” She sighed as she sat there amongst the weeds and the dirt, Having lost her only guide to this entire place- To this video game. [F/N] just sat there breathing in and out, Her chest constricting, Her pyjamas still a mess both damp in saltwater and sweat.

Dang it. [F/N] was a mess.

She breathed out.

Wait..

“Where am I..?” [F/N] blinked, Her head jerking right to left. Eyes as wide as dinner plates as she observed her surroundings.

A forest.

[F/N] sat within a small clearing in a forest, Collapsed to the side of an old trail no doubt made by years of travellers coming through here. It was cool here. The wind quieter than usual yet the floral aroma still lingered in the air.

Tree’s shrouded her, Surrounding the vicinity in all directions. [F/N] bit her lip, Trying to figure out where she had came from. The leaves acted as a canopy, Only letting darting lines of light through to hit the forest floor, Yet not enough to show her where she was going.

[F/N] blinked.

Well, She was lost.

[F/N] cursed herself under her breath. How could she have been so stupid? Running after that thing? Leaving her only guide behind? How could she be so clueless as to not even notice her surroundings.

Pinching her brows, A sigh left her lips.

[F/N] winced as she pushed herself to her feet, Stumbling like a new-born foal as she tried to gather her balance. Great, She was in the middle of an unknown forest without her fairy guide to tell her where exactly to go.

It was a stupid idea to run off like that.

But she couldn’t have just let her bag fall into another’s hands!

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, She began to follow the old path. If [F/N] couldn’t figure out where Paimon was or which way she had to go- Then she’d just follow the path, Right? Sticking to the trail was just common sense, Taught ever since she was little and old enough to go hiking through the woods in her big yellow raincoat.

A smile crossed over her face for only a second, Faint but meaningful. As [F/N] continued to follow down the old path.

Though this trail wasn't as wonderful and adventurous as they felt when she was small.

It didn’t have that same feeling.

That feeling..

“...Don't be afraid.”

What?

[F/N] paused just as her foot was about to press down on the dirt. A young- Feminine sounding voice echoed out from somewhere ahead of her- Around the bend, Further nestled from within.

It was soft like the wind that drifted throughout the trees. It was calm and soothing, Trying to calm down something- Someone. [F/N] raised an eyebrow. It was a rather beautiful voice, One that would sound rather beautiful if it were to sing.

Broken out of her thoughts, She could hear something else too.

[F/N] felt her body move for her. One foot after another. Slowly. Walking towards the sound of the voice and the low- rumbling sound that revved like the engine on a car. It was low, Quiet, Yet it felt intense and threatening all the same.

[F/N] didn’t know why she was heading towards it, Her eyes wide- Searching as she approached the stalk bark of a nearby tree. The rumbling grew louder, And as it did, [F/N] peered around it-

Oh.

You gotta be kidding..!

“ ..It's alright now, I'm back. ” The boy spoke softly as he stood there, Sage green cloak flowing behind him as his hand outstretched to the dragon- Almost touching the snout, But not quite.

The dragon was there, Body hulking over the small frame of the boy yet it stayed back- Either out of hesitation or trepidation- Perched upon a rockside as it almost tried to read the boy’s mind. Steam blew out of it’s nose. A rumbling reverberating from inside of it’s chest like an engine about to take off.

It was a scene [F/N] never thought she’d remember so clearly. Watching as the boy tried to take a few steps closer to the beast, An expression that could only be described as concern struck across his features.

It was him- Venti.

[F/N]’s heart thundered in her chest as she gripped onto the trunk of the tree tighter. Her lips parted, A display of shock and terror upon her face. It was one thing to witness this on a busted up iPhone, It was another to watch this play out before her very eyes.

A cold sweat drew over her.

[F/N] needed to leave. Now.

A quiet yet frantic step back. Her eyes eternally locked on the scene in front of her- Like the dragon would turn to her and lunge any second. Jaw snapping, Teeth clanking, Swallowing her whole in a single bite.

She wasn’t meant to be here-

[F/N] took a step back, Barefoot pressing down against a feeble twig-

SNAP!

[F/N]’s eyes widened.

The dragon let out a roar.

It shook the forest. Leaves flying off their branches, Squirrels squeaking and beginning to scatter away from the scene. [F/N] yelled out, Almost toppling over from the sheer force of the dragon’s roar-

“Who's there!?” Venti called out in alarm, Eyes darting between the dragon and [F/N]’s general direction.

The dragon grew restless, Wings batting, Creating gusts of wind that could cause planes to crash out of the sky. Tornadoes to form. It’s beady eyes began to dart wildly in every direction until they landed on Venti, The one trying to soothe it-

With a snarl, It lunged.

In a sudden disappearance- A flash of blue and green he vanished into the wind- Just like that. The dragons jaws snapping down into thin air. A low growl erupting from it’s throat as it realised this- The dragons eyes now latching onto [F/N].

She managed a look up.

And it was coming straight for her.

She gasped, Stumbling back, Afoot caught on an ankle.

THUMP!

“Agh!” [F/N] cried out as she hit the floor. Hard. Her head crashing against the hard surface of a nearby group of rocks. Her body winded and and sore as the beating of the wind hitting against the dampness of her clothes, The dirt across her skin.

The dragon avoided her entirely, Wings beating as it flew over her in a frenzied rage- Taking off into the sky, Wind parting as it carried the beast along. Higher and higher. Raising until it was nothing but a splotch within the clouds.

Gone, Along with the wind it carried.

[F/N] exhaled.

As she laid down against the dirt, The grass tickling her skin- She couldn’t help but feel reminiscent. [F/N] thought it was a little silly considering everything that had just happened- Especially since it was for a time that had happened such a short while back.

She was back exactly where she had started only an hour or two ago. Lying upon the grass, In the dirt and the mud. Bugs scurried around her form like the chalk outline a detective would grimace at, Creating a picturesque outline upon the ground, Her eyes hazy.

Dang. She was tired.

[F/N] hadn’t gotten any sleep, Not a single bit of shut eye- Even before she had came here. If she was any less sleep deprived she would have regretted her time spent during the early morning hours. For what? Just another chapter to read through on her phone?

[F/N] breathed out.

It was strange, Per se. Despite the usual lack of tiredness there was something else- A sort of sensation that felt like water beginning to pour over her skin, Seeping in, Flooding throughout her system. It was also reminiscent of her first few moments here, Something that made [F/N]’s breath hitch in her throat-

It was that feeling.

[F/N] shut her eyes.

What was it called again?

“Hey..! Are you okay..?!”

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targtowerxstark · 20 days ago

Note

Hello dear, since your request are open, can you write about dragon dreamer reader as cregan wife? Thankyouu and have a nice day🙃🙃🙃🥰

I love this idea!!!. I’m working through requests now !!and please flood my inbox i love everyone’s ideas 🫶🏼

The Dreamer of Winterfell

Cregan Stark X Dragon dreamer wife

The wind howled across the vast, snow-covered lands of Winterfell, a relentless force that swept through the stone halls, rattling the windows and echoing through the chambers. Inside the great keep, a fire burned brightly in the hearth of the great hall, casting warm flickers of light across the carved wooden tables and the banners of House Stark.

Cregan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, sat in his high seat, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the stone floor. His mind was far from the revelry of the feast that had begun earlier in the evening. He had other matters to attend to, matters far more pressing than the politics of the North. His thoughts were with his wife, the Lady y/n Targaryen, the dragon-blooded princess from the distant lands of the south.

Y/n, his beloved, had been restless these past few nights. She would wake him in the early hours, eyes wide and searching, speaking of dragon dreams that none could understand but her. Cregan had always been a man of reason, of solid ground beneath his feet, but he knew his wife was no ordinary woman. The blood of dragons ran through her veins, and with it, strange gifts—gifts that often brought her torment.

Tonight, as the wind whispered against the stone walls, y/n stood before the great window in their chamber, her slender form silhouetted against the pale moonlight. She was gazing out over the snow-draped landscape, her face pale and drawn with worry.

“y/n,” Cregan’s deep voice broke through the silence, causing her to turn. He had removed his cloak and gloves, his heavy fur-lined tunic still warm from the fire, but the coldness in his heart remained. “What is it? Another vision?”

She turned fully to face him, her violet eyes darker than usual, as if she had been drawn into some shadowy world from which she could not escape. “It was… different this time, my love,” she said softly, her voice a mix of sorrow and confusion. “The dragon called to me again, but this time… it did not speak in flames, Cregan. It was in whispers—dark, cold whispers.”

Cregan’s brow furrowed. He had long since learned that y/n’s dreams were no mere trappings of the mind. “Tell me, my lady,” he said, stepping closer to her, his large hands gently resting on her shoulders. “What did you hear?”

She closed her eyes, as though trying to recapture the vision. “The whispers spoke of a great shadow,” she murmured. “A darkness that would come from the farthest reaches of the North, from lands no man knows. It will bring the cold and death, Cregan. It will erase everything.”

His grip tightened slightly, though he remained calm. “You know that the dragons of old spoke in riddles. These whispers may be no more than a warning, but the true meaning may remain hidden.”

Y/n shook her head, her silver-blonde hair shimmering in the light of the hearth. “This time, I do not think it is just a warning. It feels like a truth, one that will soon come to pass. I saw it—so clearly. A frozen Lord, as white as snow, with eyes like blue sapphires. It sleeps beneath the ice and rises in the North, and the lands freeze in its wake. There is nothing left but frost and death.”

Cregan’s heart sank at her words. As much as wanted to believe these were just bad dreams, the very idea of a frozen lord, sleeping beneath the ice, bringing death to the lands he held so dear was a thought he could not bear. “You speak of something similar to white walkers my love, A threat of such power would be a terror to all the realm,” he said, his voice low and troubled. “But how can we stop it?”

Y/n turned away from him, walking slowly toward the window once more. She placed a hand on the cool glass, her breath fogging up the pane as she stared out into the vast, snow-filled night. “I do not know,” she said quietly. “The vision was so clear, so vivid, but there is nothing more. No answer. Only the certainty that it is coming.”

Cregan stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the world pressing on him. He had long known that the Targaryens carried both fire and blood, but it seemed that the gift his wife bore would soon bring them both to a crossroads.

"Y/n," he said, moving closer to her, his voice firm but filled with compassion. "We will face this together. Whatever this darkness is, whatever this cold might bring, we will stand as one. The North is strong, and so are we. The gods may have gifted you with these visions, but it is our will that will shape the future."

She turned to him, her eyes softening. "You have always been my strength, my love," she whispered, reaching out to take his hand in hers. "But I fear that even the might of Winterfell may not be enough to face what is coming."

Cregan's grip on her hand tightened. "Then we will seek out the answers,y/n. We will not sit idle and wait for this terror to claim us.“

Y/n closed her eyes, her forehead resting gently against his chest. “And what of the dream? The whispers of the cold and death? Should we ignore them?”

Cregan stroked her hair gently. “No,” he said firmly. “We will not ignore them. But we must prepare—seek counsel, gather strength. We will go to our allies, to those who know of the white walkers and the old prophecies. The North may be our home, but there are forces beyond the Wall and beyond the Reach that we must understand.”

Y/n pulled away slightly, her eyes meeting his. “You believe we can stop it?”

Cregan pulled her closed and whispered in her ear.

“We can only try my love”

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saturnicos · 3 months ago

Text

. . ⟩ 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗒

› paring: ororon x gn!reader

› cw/tw: just holding hands

› notes: just something silly i wanted to write but it got sm long and bad in the end D: + no proofread

Sunny days were predominant in Natlan even in the densest parts of the forests, mostly representing a subtropical climate in the region. Despite the heat that scorched the entire region during the day, the early evenings were cool with the light cold breezes that passed through, making it a good time for calmer outdoor activities.

Underneath a large and firm tree, you and Ororon rested against it while talking peacefully; the topics ranged from how his garden was going to how his activities in the tribe were going. Despite being frequent moments — since visiting Ororon every evening became something intrinsic to his routine — they all seemed new in the same way, regardless of what.

Ororon felt the same way despite his fears about the condition of his own soul; he would often apologize for any minor misfortune you had during the day in the tribe or in the moments of talking with him, and then all those times you would reassure him that he didn't need to apologize for things that can happen sometimes.

You enjoy his company, so you wouldn't mind even if these misfortunes could be coming from him.

— ...and then granny fell asleep on the table, still holding the glass of drink tightly! I couldn't get out of her grip. — releasing a sigh with false frustration that was soon followed by a laugh, you finished telling a story that had happened to the matriarch in a casual moment to the young bat beside you, who laughed without hesitation.

— Yes, that's just like her... That sounded rude, in fact it seems like something she would casually do. — he replied in return, scratching one of his eyes and adjusting his posture against the large tree, having a weak and low laugh that was still audible. You just smiled.

A moment of silence filled the air; not unpleasant or uncomfortable, but rather a comforting silence that seemed to fill a void. Looking at the sky, you noticed a curious pattern that was formed not far away: stars so close and aligned that they formed the shape of a bat, and right next to it there was a cluster that seemed to form your own symbol.

— Look! — you pointed towards the constellations, looking with fascination at their formation so well positioned on the horizon; both shone beautifully in the sky, now seeming to outshine the other stars around them.

Ororon soon moved slightly to your side, looking clearly in the direction you were pointing and letting a happy smile form in an instant. — Hey, what a great coincidence! I remember that granny knew some legends about constellations.

— One of the things they taught me was about their movement and how rare it is! If you are lucky enough to see two constellations very close to each other, it means that the respective people will also forever be very... — you chattered while remembering one of the myths that were common in your family and often used in astrological superstition overall, remembering how it was recited. However, as you got closer to the end, you assimilated the mythology behind the constellation and how it paralleled the moment between you and Ororon, leaving your voice suddenly broken and low. — ... close.

Feeling reality finally fall on your shoulders, your eyes widened slightly in surprise and a wave of nervousness flooded your mind, unconsciously bringing the feeling of your face heating up and fixing your gaze on Ororon. You wanted to deflect, you really did.

Ororon didn't look that different. Under the reflected light of the moon, his face seemed to take on a reddish hue as his gaze periodically shifted to different spots in the landscape, but he still seemed to have a calm countenance adorning his face.

— W-well, it's just an old and traditional myth, the movement of the stars has nothing to do with it. — you quickly tried to cut the subject short, moving away just a little when you felt the closeness between you two. You normally didn't feel this nervous, but the topic seemed to be enough at this moment.

Ororon, on the other hand, despite his slight blush, seemed calmer than you as he rested his arm on top of his bent knee, seeming to search for something in the back of his mind to say while still contemplating the sky.

— I... I hope so, it would be something cool. — with hesitation, these few words came out of Ororon's mouth as if they were trapped, tied by a knot, and finally managed to free themselves. You could see the young bat's gaze falter for a moment before he lowered his hood over his head, muttering something that sounded like "sorry."

You let out a low, nervous laugh despite the awkwardness that hovered in the room, hesitantly rubbing a hand on Ororon's back as a way of showing comfort even though you still felt nervous.

— No, it's okay! I... I think I would too. It would be cool. — you said almost in a whisper to nothing, being too nervous and embarrassed to give yourself the luxury of saying them with confidence, contenting yourself with just repeating what Ororon had said.

In turn, Ororon found the courage to turn his face just a little to the side despite keeping his hood pulled, meeting his nervous gaze that tried — emphasis on tried — to convey some kind of calm and tranquility.

Even with shame and hesitation being feelings heavily present in the environment, almost as if it were something physical suffocating you, Ororon allowed himself to lift his head in one act, gently holding your hand, which was previously rubbing his back, and intertwining your fingers with his, as if he was trying to convey the same feeling of comfort that you felt.

You didn't say anything, but you were sure that words weren't necessary at that moment, contenting yourself with squeeze his hand and relaxing against the tree again next to him, humming a subtle song while you could see a smile present on Ororon's face.

#i love him sm i can't #unfair that he doesn't get much attention #ororon #ororon x reader #genshin Impact #genshin Impact x reader

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galaxy-stardust · 2 days ago

Text

Simon Ghost Riley x you

He teaches you the language of his work - Part 2

The early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You were still sprawled on the bed, tangled in sheets, when Simon’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. He reached over, grabbed it, and sighed as he read the message.

“Duty calls?” you asked, voice husky with sleep.

“Not yet,” Simon said. “Soap being a nuisance. Wants to know if I’ve taught you enough to lead a mission.”

You snorted. “Tell him I’m ready to take his spot.”

Simon chuckled, his body vibrating slightly against yours. “Careful. He’d put you through boot camp just to prove a point.”

You sat up slowly, feeling the ache from the night’s lessons. Simon’s gaze followed you, dark and appreciative. He reached for his shirt, but you stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“I’m not done learning,” you teased. “What’s next on the curriculum?”

Simon leaned back, eyes narrowing playfully. “You sure? My courses are intense.”

“I think I can handle it.”

He shifted suddenly, pinning you back against the pillows with a low growl. “You handled last night just fine.”

Your heart raced as he captured your lips in a deep, claiming kiss. But before things could escalate, his phone buzzed again—louder, more insistent.

“Soap,” Simon muttered darkly, grabbing the phone. This time, his eyes narrowed as he read the message. “Team meeting in an hour.”

“Perfect timing,” you groaned, flopping back against the pillows.

Simon gave you a crooked smile. “Don’t think this is over. We’ll finish the lesson later.”

An hour later, you sat cross-legged on the sofa, sipping coffee while Simon and the team connected over a video call. Soap, Gaz, and Price filled the screen, each wearing expressions ranging from amused to exasperated.

“Morning, love,” Soap greeted, waggling his eyebrows. “Simon been teachin’ you more ‘bout comms?”

You raised a brow. “Let’s just say I’m a quick study.”

Soap burst out laughing. “Aye, she’s got more guts than you, Ghost.”

“Careful, MacTavish,” Simon warned, though his tone held no heat.

Price cleared his throat, clearly trying to keep things on track. “Enough fooling around. We’ve got updates on the next mission.”

You leaned back as the conversation turned serious. Despite the banter, there was a deep camaraderie among them—a bond forged through battles and shared secrets.

But Simon’s gaze kept drifting to you, his expression softening in a way it never did with anyone else.

When the call finally ended, Simon stood, stretching before making his way over to you. “What’s the plan for today?”

“Breakfast first. Then maybe some more lessons.” You grinned wickedly. “Think you can keep up?”

Simon’s eyes darkened, his voice dropping to that familiar rasp. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Lesson two was about to begin.

~~~~~~

The crisp winter air wrapped around you both as you wandered through the snow-draped landscape, leaving behind a trail of footprints. Simon walked with an easy, quiet confidence beside you, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

After a few minutes of silence, you nudged him with your elbow. “So… you taught me a few phrases last night. But I want more. What’s next?”

Simon’s eyes flicked to you, a glimmer of amusement there. “You’re really keen on this, huh?”

You nodded eagerly. “Come on. Hit me with something.”

He stopped walking, turning toward you with a smirk. “Alright. Let’s see if you remember what ‘RTB’ means.”

“Return to base.” You crossed your arms, grinning. “Easy.”

“Breach and clear?”

“Entering and securing the area.”

Simon hummed, clearly impressed. “Good girl.”

The praise sent warmth flooding through you. You didn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because Simon stepped closer. “Here’s one you’ll hear a lot: ‘Copy that.’”

“Copy that?” You tilted your head. “So it’s… acknowledgment, right? Like saying, ‘Got it’?”

“Exactly.” Simon’s eyes narrowed in mock seriousness. “Let’s practice. Say I give you an order. What’s your response?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Copy that.”

“Good. Now let’s make it more interesting.” Simon took a step back, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Alright, soldier. Your next mission—build me a snow fort. Make it tall, sturdy, and ready for battle.”

You gave him a mock salute. “Copy that.”

With renewed determination, you crouched down and began gathering snow. Simon leaned against a tree, watching with that infuriating smirk that always sent your heart racing.

As you worked, Simon’s deep voice broke the quiet. “One more phrase for you. ‘Hold your position.’”

“Means don’t move,” you answered without looking up.

“Exactly. And it also means…” He suddenly lunged, grabbing a handful of snow. “Stay right there while I do this.”

You barely had time to react before the snowball hit you square in the shoulder.

“Simon!” you shrieked, wiping snow from your coat.

He chuckled, another snowball already in his hand. “What’s the matter? Didn’t hear the order?”

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that.”

With a quick scoop of snow, you launched your own attack. The next few minutes were pure chaos—snow flying, laughter ringing through the trees. You managed to land a hit on Simon’s chest, but he retaliated by tackling you gently into a snowbank.

Pinned beneath him, your laughter faded as the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you. His weight pressed into you—not crushing, but grounding. His eyes, dark and intense, searched yours.

“You’re learning fast,” he murmured.

“Yeah?” you whispered.

Simon leaned in, his lips brushing yours. “Roger that.”

The kiss was slow and deep, snowflakes melting against your skin.

“Think we can call that a successful mission?” you asked breathlessly.

Simon grinned. “I’d say it’s just the beginning.”

#cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader

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axeeglitter · 3 months ago

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Nordic Heritage

Brandon shoved open the door to the darkened classroom, cursing under his breath. He had barely survived his history lecture earlier that day, zoning out through yet another monologue about Vikings and Norse mythology. Now, he was back after hours to grab his gym bag, which he'd left under his desk after falling asleep on another one of his boring teacher’s lessons. The only reason Brandon was attending this class was because he didn’t want to lose his financial support and be excluded from the football team.

The air was cool and still, but the room felt different somehow, heavier. Brandon ignored it, walking to his seat. “There you are!” he said while grabbing his gym bag. As he was walking out of the classroom, Brandon heard a voice calling behind him. "Fuck off Nerd' " He answered without looking who it was. But not hearing any answers, he paused, turned back but gasped and shrugged his shoulders when he realized there was no one. Instead, sitting in the middle of his professor’s desk a book was sitting, a massive tome, bound in cracked leather with a cover etched in swirling Nordic patterns.

An idea popped in Brandon’s mind and a smiled appeared on his manly face. “Try to do your annoying lesson without your stupid book fucker!” He said as he started to walk back to the desk to take the book. Curiosity got the better of him. He moved closer, leaning over to get a better look. The pages were thick and yellowed, and intricate black ink drawings filled its open spread. On the left page, a detailed illustration of a Viking warrior towered, wearing fur-lined armor and clutching a massive axe. On the right page, an empty space waited, framed by ornate borders.

At the bottom of the right page, jagged runic text glowed faintly. "Arroganse er menneskehetens undergang. Bare respekt kan fri ham fra det."

Brandon snorted. “What kind of medieval crap is this?” He ran a hand through his luscious brown hair, then reached to close the book before grabbing it. But as he did so, his fingers touched the empty page on the right.

The moment his fingers brushed the surface, a jolt of energy shot through his body like lightning. The runes flared to life, their golden light pouring across the room and materializing in sparkling dancing light swirling around him. He tried to yank his hand back, but it was too late. A force gripped him, holding him in place as the book’s light wrapped around him like vines, searing and unrelenting.

“No! What the fu… AAAAAAHHHHHHHH” His words dissolved into a cry of pain as the transformation began.

Brandon’s body convulsed, every muscle tensing as a deep, primal heat flooded him from within. His bones cracked and shifted, elongating and broadening with each sickening pop. His spine straightened, his posture shifting, proud and unyielding. His legs stretched taller, his shoulders widening as his frame filled out.

His skin darkened, losing its pale hue as a rich, sun-kissed tan spread across his body. It thickened, taking on a rugged, weathered texture, as though he'd spent years under the harsh Nordic sun. Thin scars began to etch themselves across his arms and chest, each one feeling like a memory branded into his skin.

Brandon’s chest swelled, his pecs pushing outward, followed by the rise of thick, powerful muscles on his arms and shoulders. His biceps ballooned with veins snaking across them, and his hands transformed, growing larger and rougher. His fingers became calloused, as if shaped by years of wielding weapons.

He gasped as his legs transformed, his thighs becoming trunks of solid muscle. His calves hardened, and his feet grew, ripping through his sneakers as his arches widened and toes thickened. The soles of his feet toughened, calloused and strong, like they had walked unyielding landscapes barefoot for years. His cut dick spasmed in his torn apart pants and he felt it growing longer and thicker against his hairy thighs. It felt like it was almost reaching his knee. Then he felt a pinching sensation around his cockhead as unknown to him his foreskin started to grew back and encompassed his ultra-sensitive cockhead, trapping him in a swirl of sensitive sensation and permanent leaking as his balls grew to huge proportions too.

Then came the hair. A tingling sensation swept across his chest and stomach as a thick mat of golden dirty blonde hair sprouted, curling and spreading downward. Under his arms, coarse hair erupted, filling his armpits with dense tufts that exuded a heavy, musky scent. His face flushed as the smell filled the air around him, raw, masculine, and overpowering.

He let out a strangled grunt as his jaw cracked and widened. His once clean-shaven face grew rough with stubble, which thickened rapidly into a full, bushy beard. Strands of golden blonde hair streaked with gold braided themselves in places, adorned with small, ornate beads. His nose straightened and sharpened, while his cheekbones became more pronounced, giving him a chiseled, feral look.

Brandon’s short, tousled hair unraveled into flowing locks, cascading to his shoulders in wild waves. Some sections braided themselves, practical yet intimidating. His icy blue eyes glinted with an otherworldly light, as if imbued with ancient wisdom and ferocity.

A low growl escaped his throat as his voice deepened, becoming gravelly and rich. When he tried to speak, the words came out in Old Norse, harsh and guttural phrases he didn’t understand but somehow knew.

His clothes dissolved into ash, replaced by fur-lined leather armor that clung to his broad chest and shoulders. His trousers reformed into woolen leggings tucked into sturdy boots reinforced with iron studs. A thick belt, adorned with runes, cinched at his waist. On his back, a round wooden shield appeared, its surface painted with intricate Nordic patterns.

In his hands, his gym bag started to shine and compacted on itself before turning into an axe, heavy and perfectly balanced, its edge gleaming with cold menace. The weapon felt natural, as if it had always belonged to him.

Brandon tried to scream, to resist the transformation, but the book’s power was unyielding. The golden light pulled at him again, and his newly created boots scraped against the floor as he was dragged closer to the desk.

“No! Stop!” he roared, his deep, guttural voice echoing. But the light enveloped him entirely, pulling him downward.

He felt his body flattening, his very essence being absorbed into the page. The pain was overwhelming as he was compressed, his muscular form twisting and stretching until he couldn’t move anymore. His vision blurred, and when it cleared, he found himself standing in a forge in the middle of an ancient looking village. He tilted his head and could see the icy blue sky above him and the crops circling the village. As he got up, he saw a serie of glitching golden glyphs briefly appearing in the sky and realized a faint frontier between the sky and the ground looking like a line of ink. Brandon looked at his hands and saw that there were different from before, more manly, ruggier, but most importantly, they looked like there were drawn. His eyes opened in fear as he started to understand where he was. He got transformed and sucked inside the book! His calloused fingers brushed the dirty ground and he gasped realizing it felt like touching paper. Brandon tried to ask for help to the people walking in the streets in front of him but every word that escaped his mouth were in a tongue he didn’t know but still was able to talk. But no matter what he tried to say, the words were twisted to say something totally different. “Where am I? What happened to me? Get me out of here!” he tried to scream one more time. But instead, his deep voice said to the men in front of him “Olaf min venn, hvordan var jakten i morges?” before starting to laugh with the men and walking back to his forge to start working on his axe. Brandon screamed internally not being able to control his body anymore as he was now stuck inside the book and forced to live the life of a respectful Viking.

In the classroom, the glyphs on the book were still shining in golden hue and after a moment, they stopped as the last sparks of golden light evaporated. The book snapped shut with a soft thud, the room falling silent once more.

The next morning, professor Engel strolled into the classroom, coffee in hand and copies in the other. He sat at his desk and reached for the book, flipping it open to prepare for his lecture.

As he reached for the Viking chapter, his eyes widened when he saw the double illustration page. A Viking warrior stood there, tall and imposing, his axe gleaming and his icy blue eyes burning with life.

“How curious,” Dr. Engel murmured, running his fingers over the drawing “I don’t remember having seen you before” he continued brushing his fingers on the right page illustration like he wanted to make sure it was real. In the village, Brandon was still working on his axe when he felt finger touching his sensitive skin. It felt like his whole body was getting jerked off and out of nowhere he felt cum erupting from his cock and soaking his leather pants as he didn’t even flinch and kept working on his weapon. “Hello professor” said Amalia with a cheerful tone in her voice. “Hello Amalia!” answered the professor as he tilted his head to salute her, leaving the book alone on the corner of his desk as he realized more and more students were coming in. He never noticed the faint movement in the Viking’s eyes, nor did he hear the muffled, desperate roar that echoed from deep within the page begging for someone to help him.

______________________________________________________________ Hey guys! Here is the story I wrote for @masterwolftfs for our exchanged. Hope you'll enjoy it. If a story exchange is something you would like, send me a message! Also, always feel free to send me messages and inbox if you have transformation ideas and would like to talk about it. See you!

#male transformation #my writing #mental change #male tf #reality change #tf #gay #personality change #dumber tf #dumbification #viking #time transformation #viking tf

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anatay004 · 10 months ago

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ꜰɪɴɴɪᴄᴋ ᴏᴅᴀɪʀ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴅ (part six)

ꜰɪᴠᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ 70ᴛʜ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴇɴᴛᴏʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴅʀᴀɢɢᴇᴅ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴇɴᴀ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ — ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ-ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ᴄᴏᴜᴘʟᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ʙʏ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ɴᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴘʀᴇꜱɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ꜱɴᴏᴡ.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ : ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴀɴɪᴛʏ

"DON'T BE SCARED," Dean's voice slid into your thoughts; breaking into your reverie as you visibly flinched. Instinctively, you looked up to meet his gaze, allowing his hand to squeeze your arm comfortably. "The fabric is light, not thermal," Your stylist revealed, referring to the wetsuit you were wearing, trying to dissipate the tension in the air. "So, I'm guessing tropic."

You swallowed hard, trying to take in his words. You were in the Launch Room in the arena, waiting for the countdown to begin as Dean finished braiding your hair down your back.

"And tropic means water," Dean acknowledged, offering you an encouraging smile as you slowly nodded. "You're good in water."

He was right — you were good in water, that's how you'd managed to win your first games. You remember it all too well; an earthquake breaking the dam, the flood in the arena, and you swimming for your life. You swallowed hard at the memory, trying to ignore the pain that tormented your chest. After all, you supposed Dean was right; having an arena close to home could be a great advantage to you and Finnick.

You exhaled sharply.

"Sixty seconds to launch."

You swept Dean a glance. He was looking back at you with a familiar warmth in his eyes — one you'd seen before, and you couldn't help, but reach for him. "Are you still beating on me?" You whispered in his embrace, and his arms immediately tightened around your frame.

"Always." He answered, a little strained.

And with that, he stepped back — wiped the tears in his eyes, and watched as the glass cylinder slid down around you. You watched him blow a kiss at you before you felt the plate underneath you moving upwards. The plan was simple in your head as you leaned against the glass: get to Finnick, get some weapons, and run the hell away from the blood bath.

Simple, simple, simple.

You eventually forced yourself to straighten up when the glass started to retreat, but you found yourself frozen in place when the arena stumbled into your line of vision. For a moment, you faltered as you took in the sight of water in every direction you turned. Only one clear thought formed in your brain as you took in the landscape: Snow was beating on you too.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!" The voice of Claudius Templesmith, the Hunger Games announcer, suddenly broke into your reverie. And, instinctively, you searched for Finnick around, but panic quickly flitted across your features when you couldn't find him.

"He's on the other side of the Cornucopia," Peeta's voice slid into your thoughts, and your shoulders slumped in evident relief when you heard his words. "Don't lose focus."

Belatedly, you realized Peeta was standing on the plate next to yours. And he was watching you with concerned eyes, trying to quench down the panic that threatened to break you in front of the cameras, but you didn't notice. You were far too preoccupied with staying alive.

Eventually, you dived into the water.

Hence to your ability to swim, you were quick to reach the spoke of land that balanced your plate and Peeta's. But, to your surprise, you didn't run towards the Cornucopia right away like the others; instead, you found yourself looking back for Peeta. He was struggling to reach the land, so, you impulsively offered him a hand and pulled him out of the water.

"Allies?" Peeta asked, trying to catch his breath as he climbed onto the land.

You didn't answer, but your silence was quite telling, and it took everything in you to ignore the smile that curved Peeta's lips, before sprinting towards the Cornucopia. Within a few minutes, you eventually reached it and immediately grabbed the closest weapon at hand — a trident. A satisfied smile twitched your lips as you balanced the weapon in your hand, but the moment was fleeting, before you knew it; Peeta was already back in the water fighting a tribute.

"Peeta!" You shouted and made to run in his direction when a steady hand dropped on your shoulder. Instinctively, you made to throw the trident, but another hand on your wrist stopped your movements altogether. "Oh." You breathed out, in sudden relief, when you realized it was just Finnick. "Are you okay?"

"Stay with Katniss, I'll get Peeta," Finnick commanded, dismissing your question, his voice powerful enough to make you obey him. In that moment, as Finnick dived effortlessly back into the water to help Peeta; you realized he'd made his alliances too. Katniss was close by, watching the scene with a horrified expression on her face. At the sight of her distress, you couldn't help but wonder if this was all an act like everyone else said. Or, if Mags was actually right, and there was something real about it?

You couldn't quite piece together an answer yet.

When the canon finally fired, your heart skipped for a moment, but relief quickly washed over you when you caught sight of Peeta's moving figure and Finnick pulling him back onto land.

The other tribute had died.

"You okay?" You eventually turned to ask Katniss, when Peeta was finally out of danger and you were both waiting for him and Finnick to come back. Katniss threw you a skeptical look, one that underlined you were not friends. "The baby, I mean."

Realization quickly dawned on her face, as if she'd suddenly remembered she was supposed to be pregnant. "Yeah, we're fine."

You nodded.

"Are you alright?" Peeta was quick to ask you, when he rushed back to the group, with Finnick strolling right behind him. The concerned tone in his voice caught you off guard, but you decided not to show it as Katniss watched you.

Carefully.

"Are you?" You asked instead, scrutinizing him for a moment; just to make sure he wasn't terribly hurt. To your surprise, he wasn't. "I barely even left you." You mumbled as you recalled he was running right behind you before he was even thrown back into the water.

"Don't." Peeta scoffed, a little faintly.

And you blinked in surprise.

"Hey," Peeta suddenly turned to Katniss, as if he'd suddenly remembered the cameras. "Are you okay?" He asked, before pressing a kiss to her cheek. You watched their interaction with curious eyes, unable to hide the perplexed expression on your face as you studied the scene.

"Yeah," Katniss replied, offering him a faint smile before turning to look at you. The weight of her gaze made your muscles tense; for a moment, you could've sworn she was throwing daggers at you. "We're okay."

The atmosphere suddenly grew thicker.

"We need to head to the jungle." Finnick suddenly spoke, breaking the tension, before sliding his free arm unexpectedly behind your waist. "We need water and a place to rest before night falls."

You nodded and made to move forward, but Finnick kept you in place; making sure Peeta walked past you first. "What?" Finnick asked innocently when you raised an eyebrow in silent question. "He can take the lead."

You opened your mouth to reply something along the lines of, " We should probably separate" but he muffled your words with his mouth— silencing you with a kiss.

"Come on," Finnick whispered against your lips, beckoning you to follow behind the group. You hesitated and lingered there for a moment before he lifted your chin to look at him. "Trust me."

You pressed your lips together and — for a split second, you thought back to the conversation with Haymitch you'd overheard from the previous night. Perhaps, this is what it was about, you thought, about this alliance with them. So, with that in mind, your grip tightened around the trident in your hand and you turned to follow Peeta and Katniss.

With Finnick right behind you.

Peeta took the lead, cutting through the patches of vegetation with his long knife as you walked through the jungle. Now and then, Katniss turned back to look at you and Finnick; as if she was almost expecting for you to attack them at any moment. You supposed you couldn't blame her for that.

You, yourself, didn't trust her either.

"God, it's hot," Peeta hissed, stopping suddenly on his track to catch his breath after a few miles. The jungle was hot and humid; you could feel your hair damp and plastered over your forehead from the sweat. Simultaneously, your lips were chapped and dry from the lack of hydration. "We need to find fresh water."

"You don't say." Finnick deadpanned, to which Peeta threw him a glare in response.

"What if we move to the other side?" You suggested, cleaning some of the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. "Maybe there's a spring or something."

"There isn't." Katniss limited herself to answer.

"How do you know — " You started, but the words quickly froze on the tip of your tongue when the cannon started to go off again; indicating more deaths.

"I guess we're not holding hands anymore," Finnick quipped, stifling a chuckle as he counted the number of times the cannon fired.

You counted three.

"You think that's funny?" Katniss hissed, throwing your husband a heated glare.

"Every time that cannon goes off, it's music to my ears," Finnick replied, matter-of-factly, before he added. "I don't care about any of them."

"Good to hear," Katniss scoffed, reaching her arm back to pull an arrow from her quiver. Instinctively, you aimed the end of your trident at her, but Finnick was quick to lower your weapon.

"You want to face the Career Pack alone?" Finnick questioned her, rather indifferent to her threat. His reaction took you aback; for some reason, he seemed certain she was not going to shoot him. "What would Haymitch say?"

You, on the other hand, were not.

"Haymitch isn't here."

You tilted the trident towards her direction again, but Peeta was the one to break the interaction this time. "Come on, let's keep moving." He said, beckoning Katniss to move along. And, from the corner of your eyes, you could've almost sworn he threw you an apologetic smile.

You watched them walk ahead of you for a few seconds without a word. She's going to kill us, you thought to yourself, as you watched the girl on fire with cautious eyes. And if she doesn't, she's certainly going to try to — at one point or another.

You nibbled your bottom lip pensively. Would this be a good time to separate? You wondered again, trying to think of a coherent plan. To turn the other way and let them face the Career Pack on their own? It's what Snow would want. But what about Peeta?

You paused, the question caught you off guard; as if you'd suddenly realized what you'd asked yourself subconsciously.

What about him?

"Put the trident down, baby," Finnick's words slid into your thoughts, and you blinked; belatedly realizing that you were still holding the trident up defensively. "They're harmless."

"You sound a little too sure about that," You questioned him, tilting your head suspiciously. "As if she didn't just threaten to shoot you."

"Just — " Finnick paused as if he were choosing his next words carefully. " — just trust me, love."

Your eyebrows knitted together. "I'm trying to."

Finnick's lips twitched, clearly dismissing the seriousness of the conversation. "You're gorgeous when you're mad."

"I'm not mad," You clarified, but the annoyance in your voice betrayed your words. "But if it has to come down to choosing, I'm choosing you."

Finnick looked at you for a moment, eyes softly lit with vulnerability. "I know."

You opened your mouth to say something else, but the sound of Katniss screaming quickly cut you off. In a split second, you watched as Peeta flung back from a force field he'd just hit, bringing you and Finnick down along with him.

"Peeta!" You screamed, rushing over to his motionless body, where Katniss was trying to shake him awake — with no luck.

"He's not breathing!" She yelled, almost frightened. "His heart's not beating!"

At the sight of this, you suddenly remembered something Mags had taught you a few years ago — when your dad had almost drowned once, and you didn't know how to bring him back. Instinctively, you pushed Katniss aside, ignoring the way she immediately reached for an arrow.

Finnick yelled something at you, something along the lines that he would do it, but there wasn't time. So, you pinched Peeta's nose and pressed your mouth over his to blow air into his lungs. You did this for a few minutes until a cough eventually slipped out his mouth and you leaned back to look at him in relief.

"Shit." You breathed out, subconsciously resting a hand over his chest as you watched his eyelids part. For a few seconds, he lay there on the ground, simply looking up at you as he slowly regained back his consciousness.

"Careful," He eventually mumbled, wrapping his fingers around your wrist harmlessly. "There's a force field up ahead."

A small laugh escaped your lips. "Thanks, I almost didn't notice."

Peeta smiled, despite the evident pain he was in, and you were just about to help him get back to his feet when Katniss slightly shoved you aside. You didn't mind, you supposed she was in the right too. But you could've sworn Peeta's grip tightened around you — for a split second as if he almost didn't want to let go.

You decided to dismiss it, thinking nothing of it as you made your way back to Finnick and Katniss pulled Peeta into an embrace.

One that made you look away — for some reason.

"I thought you wanted to separate." Finnick confronted you sometime later when you were both leaning against a tree, trying to catch some sleep before sunrise. Your head rested on his shoulder sluggishly as you watched Katniss take the first watch from a comfortable distance.

"What?" You returned, unable to hide the confusion in your voice as you looked up.

"You saved Peeta." Finnick suddenly pointed out, but his tone was hard to label. Was he angry? Unhappy? Nonchalant? You couldn't tell.

"You said they were harmless." You answered, throwing his words back at him. But he didn't answer, instead, he looked down to scrutinize your features carefully — as if he almost wanted to decipher something, but couldn't. "What?"

"You saved him twice."

Your eyebrows knitted together. "I didn't — "

" — During the blood bath, when he was pulled into the water, you were willing to jump back in to save him," Finnick interjected, and you supposed he wasn't entirely wrong. You did go back for Peeta, but only because you considered him a friend. Someone who would, strangely, do the same thing for you. Or, that's the first thing that came to your mind anyway.

"Where are you going with this?" You eventually asked, trying to read the emotions that flitted across Finnick's face, but — like always, there was nothing you could place a finger on.

"It's — just an observation." He simply said.

But you didn't like the tone of his voice, it made your skin pepper with goosebumps. If you didn't know any better, you were almost certain his tone was accusing. But of what exactly? You didn't know, he didn't elaborate any further.

"Mhm," You hummed, trying to move the conversation elsewhere. "I'm starting to get the impression you just want me to yourself."

Finnick stifled a chuckle, grasping onto the fact that you wanted to change the subject. "You? My gorgeous wife? I don't think so, no."

Your heart skipped at the word "wife". The truth was, you were still not used to it. And the word alone was enough to have your heart hammering against your chest. "Dork," You quipped, snapping your eyes to the side, but Finnick didn't miss the pink hues that tinged your skin.

"You're pretty when you blush." He teased, dissipating the tension in the air, as he curved the side of your face with the palm of his hand to make you turn to look at him again.

"I'm not blushing.” You argued, but it was a futile attempt when you felt the heat rolling up your cheeks. Naturally, Finnick pulled your face closer to his; until you could feel his breath pressing against your skin and there was barely a gap between you. Instinctively, your eyes dropped to his lips and he took the opportunity to brush them against yours.

"Sure you're not," Finnick whispered into your mouth before he allowed his tongue to sweep past your lips in a passionate kiss. As if he was almost needy; as if he almost needed to prove something. Whether it was to the cameras or himself, you weren't exactly sure, but you kissed him back — with equal fervor.

Until the sound of the arrival of a silver parachute broke you apart. For a moment, neither of you reached for it; allowing the item to land before you peacefully. After a few seconds, Katniss walked over to your spot and, subconsciously, your eyes traveled past her frame in search of Peeta.

"He's sleeping," Katniss informed you, just as Peeta's body stumbled into your line of vision. He was a few feet away, curled on the ground — sleeping almost peacefully. You nodded, trying to ignore the fact that she'd just read your subconscious thoughts.

"Whose is it?" Katniss eventually asked, eyeing the parachute on the ground with curiosity.

Finnick shrugged, pushing himself back to his feet. "I have no idea."

"Open it." You encouraged her, ignoring the way she narrowed her eyes at you. "Or not."

Katniss sighed audibly, but she eventually took your advice and opened the parachute. Curiously, you peeked over to catch a glimpse of a metal object inside alongside a note. "It's a spile!" She informed you, to which you only blinked — dumbfounded. "It's to access water."

Relief washed over your features when Katniss took the metal object and hammered it into the green bark of a tree. For a few seconds, nothing happened as you stood there watching; until a stream of water eventually ran out. After Katniss, you rushed to hold your mouth under the tap, allowing the water to wet your parched tongue.

And, it wasn't until Katniss was waking up Peeta and Finnick's back were facing you when you finally decided to search for the note that was attached to the parachute. But a chill soon kissed down your spine when you took the parchment paper in your hands and read through the letters:

Remember why you're here for.

— S.

Finnick was sleeping next to you, his arm was wrapped around your waist and his face was buried in the crook of your neck. The jungle was quiet — too quiet to your liking, but you supposed you could appreciate the silence as you warred with the thoughts inside your head.

To say the note scared you was an understatement. You were terrified. Because Snow was watching each and every one of your moves; listening to every one of your words. Unsure of how everyone else would react, you fisted the note in your hand before anyone else could read it. And when anyone asked about it, you simply answered it was from Haymitch.

But, now that you were lying down and thinking about it — one thing was clear; Snow wasn’t content with your choice of alliances.

He didn’t approve of them.

How could he? If you and Finnick were both reaped for a purpose and one only: to kill the Mockingjay. To annihilate any chances of her winning, to win over her sponsors, and to make the fight seem fair. And, so far, Snow had done his part of the deal; he’d placed you and Finnick under the limelight, made you both the Capitol’s favorites and even incarcerated you inside an arena close to home.

With tridents, especially made for you.

So, now, it was time for you to do your part too.

You swept Katniss a look, then Peeta. They were both sleeping on the other side of the ground; just a few feet away from you.

One wrong move and everything could go wrong very quickly. For you — for Finnick, and the thought alone forced a sickening feeling to retaliate in the pit of your stomach. Because you didn’t want to kill Peeta or Katniss, as much as she managed to get under your skin.

But if it had to come down to that, would you do it? Was Katniss right in mistrusting you after all? Would you really kill her and Peeta?

You exhaled pensively as your eyes searched for Peeta again — almost subconsciously. The mere sight of his chest rising and falling with each breath he took made your heart skip. Would you be able to kill him? His soft features, the strands of blonde in his hair, and his kind heart.

No, you thought quietly, not Peeta.

And then, as the thoughts quietened inside your head, something in the distance caught your attention. For a moment, you watched as a wave of fog slid into the jungle. Instinctively, the hairs of your arms rose and you pushed up on one of your elbows to examine the scene a little closer.

Simultaneously, Katniss stirred awake and quietly turned her attention to the mysterious curtain of fog too. In a matter of seconds, you watched as she reached to touch it with the tips of her fingers — and a scream quickly erupted.

“Run!” She yelled in pain.

Finnick snapped awake instantly, pushing your body behind him; ready to encounter an enemy, but to his surprise, Katniss clarified. “It’s the fog! It’s poisonous! We have to run, Peeta!”

Katniss helped Peeta climb back to his feet as Finnick beckoned you to run. For a few minutes, everyone sprinted, but the curtain of gas was expanding in every direction you turned. And it didn’t help that Peeta was tripping over everything on the ground either — he was weak, you could tell, perhaps it was the aftereffects of hitting the force field. So, without thinking, you gripped his arms securely and pulled him forward.

“Come on!” You encouraged, but your eyebrows jumped when he pulled his arm back. You opened your mouth to berate him — tell him there wasn’t time for this, when he intertwined his fingers with yours instead. Amidst the circumstances, you didn’t have time to coherent a reaction or a reason to let go.

Droplets soon sprung free of the vapor and landed on your bodies. You hissed in pain, it burned your skin searingly — like a chemical. After a few minutes, Peeta eventually fell to the ground and, despite your and Katniss’ efforts to pull back to his feet, his legs gave up.

“I’ll have to carry him.” Finnick eventually sighed, when there was a good distance between the fog and your group, and Katniss nodded.

For about a mile, you watched as Finnick carried Peeta on his back until he eventually collapsed on the ground too. You rushed to him, but the pain that seared your skin was equally as defeating, and, along with Katniss, you hit the ground almost instantly. But Finnick mumbled something under his breath, something along the lines of “go to the water” when you belatedly realized you were just a few feet away from the water that surrounded the Cornucopia.

After a few tries, however, you eventually faltered and turned to face the curtain of fog. But the chemical didn’t suffocate you as you’d expected. Unlike, it grew thicker and condensed as it suddenly pressed against a force field.

After a few minutes, it eventually went away.

“It’s gone,” Katniss murmured, but her voice was strangled and barely audible. “The fog.”

Your body was still twitching when you heard a wail slip out of Katniss’ mouth from somewhere close. Then you heard Peeta’s and then you heard Finnick’s. You tried to part your eyes when you eventually felt someone slide his hands under your armpits, but you couldn’t even do that. Naturally, you hissed in pain, but the action was abruptly interrupted by another pair of hands on you.

“I’ll do it.”

“I already got her.”

“Peeta.” The voice, you later recognized as Finnick’s, was dangerously low — as if he was suddenly speaking through his teeth.

Giving out a warning.

The only thing you could remember after that was your skin being torched. As Finnick pulled you into the water, a heart-wrenching scream ripped out your lips; as if you had suddenly been thrown into an open flame.

“I know, baby,” Finnick cooed, pressing a gentle kiss on the top of your head. “I know…”

After a bit, the blisters in your skin slunk back into your flesh and disappeared along with the pain. “Motherfuckers,” You cursed, falling back against your husband’s chest in evident exhaustion. “I’ve never run that much before.”

Finnick laughed, incredulous at your sense of humor. “You and me both.”

You didn’t say much after that, instead, you allowed yourself to indulge in the fleeting moment of peace in Finnick’s arms. But the moment didn’t last for long when you began to wonder if maybe— just maybe, this was a warning from President Snow.

And you needed to do your part of the deal soon.

Author’s Note

I’m back after a horrible writersblock! It took me so long to write this, I’m sorry, besties, but don’t worry, I have the rest of the chapters planned already. Anyways, I would really appreciate you guys could interact with the story! Lately, I don’t have that much motivation and reading you guys thoughts and comments on my inbox helps so much!

With that being said, I left some Peeta content for those of you who are #teamPeeta. Enjoy!

@serrendiipty @avoxrising@queerqueenlynn

@darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts@stayc-a-I-m

@chaoticcoffeequeen @wonderland2425

@leilani788 @nexxus13 @whatsupb18

@maxinehufflepuffprincess @meri-soni-meri-

tamanna @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake

@syd649 @flavorofsalt @wisewidowweasley-

blog@meikoo@mozz-are-lla

@nomorespahgetti

@aestheticOcherryblossom

#fanfic #finnick odair #finnick x y/n #peeta mellark x reader #jacaerys x reader #finnick odair drabble #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair x reader #finnick x you #hunger games finnick #the hunger games #finnick x reader x peeta #peeta mellark #peeta x reader

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sareeen · 11 months ago

Text

The charm of snow

Based on this request. :)

Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader

Summary: Azriel surprises his wife at home and fulfils a childhood dream of her.

Warnings: fluff, mention of abuse, sweet, playful husband Azriel

Masterlist

A/N: Hope you like it! This is part 2 of Unknown Touches for a Lady, but it can be a standalone. (Here –> Part 1)

English is not my first language, sorry for any mistake! :)

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Azriel was attentive.

Y/N only really realised this when the clock struck quarter past three and the man suddenly stepped through the door with a slight, sweet smile on his face.

Y/N was lying on the sofa, almost swallowed up by one of the soft blankets, looking at her husband with a sleepy, surprised expression.

She quickly straightened and ran a hand through her hair, but winced as she caught her finger in one of the tangled strands.

She hadn't expected him, Azriel was busy with the Court's affairs, so Y/N had mostly only met him in the late hours, when thousands of stars shone in the sky. They had been married for three weeks and were still getting used to each other's closeness.

They hadn't slept together since their wedding night.

There had been a few coy kisses, a gentle peck on the cheek and a brief double-sided hug. Every night Y/N waited for Azriel to knock on the door of her bedroom, but all she heard were footsteps pausing for a second and then moving quickly on outside her door.

It was as if each time he restrained himself from knocking.

But now he stood there, his wings and muscular shoulders almost filling the doorframe. There seemed to be a restrained glint in his eyes as he spoke.

“It's snowing.”

Y/N's eyes widened and a surprised sound escaped her, then she rushed to the huge window overlooking the street and pulled the curtains.

Huge flakes of snow fell from the sky, the light wind carried them in a thousand directions, turning the landscape white.

Happy, screaming children rushed out of one of the buildings holding something in their hands – some with scarves, others with carrots.

“Shall we go outside?” asked Azriel quietly behind her. “We could go for a walk.”

Y/N's eyes watered and she sniffled, barely audible.

Ever since she was a little girl, she'd longed to see a snowfall - to feel the sensation of snow on her skin.

Two weeks ago, after a dinner, the subject came up between her and Azriel about what she would like to see of the outside world and the first thing she said was snowfall.

Her husband remembered and came straight home to get her. He's going to go with her and make her dream come true.

Warmth flooded her chest, her heart just fluttering with gratitude and happiness as she turned and nodded.

“Yes” her throat tightened with emotion as she said the words. “I really want to go outside.”

She almost flew to the rack, grabbed her coat and awkwardly wrapped her thick, fluffy scarf around her neck. She tucked her feet into the boots, but she was so scrambled that she would have fallen if Azriel hadn't caught her right arm and held her.

“Here we go, I'm ready!” she looked up at the spymaster, who grinned as Y/N blushed.

She was being too silly, she realized.

“Not yet” he shook his head serenely.

Y/N watched with furrowed brows as Azriel pulled a knitted cap from behind his back and pushed it on her head. It was so warm that within moments Y/N could feel herself beginning to sweat underneath and her hair sticking to her forehead.

“Now, you are ready”

Azriel opened the door for her and put his hand on her back to lead her out into the street.

An icy, shivering wind hit their faces and Y/N took a deep breath, letting the feeling wash over her. Her cheeks were almost tingling from the cold, but the wide grin still sat on her face.

Another first time.

She tilted her head up and closed her eyes. The tiny snowflakes found their way and caressed her cheek, and within moments melted away to leave her skin wet.

She reached out and looked at her palms, gazing at the six-pointed, star like snowflakes. They were beautiful, like tiny transparent crystals.

The touch of them left an icy, tingling sensation in her fingers, but it was all the more wonderful.

“Do you like it?” Azriel whispered in her ear as he placed a snow ball in her hand.

Y/N just stared at the ball.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Y/N asked, puzzled, and Azriel grunted.

“Throw it away” he suggested in a mischievous tone. “Maybe at him.”

Y/N looked in the direction where the shadowsinger was pointing and was stunned.

“I'm not going to throw a child!” she blurted out immediately and elbowed Azriel in the side, who laughed and dodged the hit.

The snow crunched under Y/N's boots as she took a few steps forward and in a sudden burst of excitement spun around and aimed at Azriel. Targeting the combat-skin covered chest, she pulled her arm back and swung. The snowball flew towards Azriel at high speed and then it was on target.

It hit her husband squarely in the face.

The shadowsinger was knocked backwards by the blow, while Y/N clapped a hand over her mouth in fright and turned pale.

“Cauldron” she hurried over to him and quickly brushed the snow off his handsome face, which was slightly flushed.

“I am so, so sorry, Azriel. Please don't be angry with me! I swear I was aiming for your chest.”

She felt fear flooding every inch of her body and anxiety clenched her stomach. Azriel may have been nice, but no man would tolerate being humiliated like that by his wife in the middle of the street.

When the spymaster raised his hand, Y/N hunched her shoulder and tensed in preparation for the punch, then closed her eyes.

But the pain and the sharp snap of his palm failed to register, so she gingerly peeked out from under her lashes and looked at her husband.

Azriel watched her with a frown, pity shining in his eyes. But at the same time, something ancient and destructive rage lingered in him, and Y/N winced again.

“Did you think I was going to hit you?” inquired Azriel, his voice almost lost in the howling wind.

Y/N could only manage a small nod and tried to swallow the lump in her throat that made her feel like she was choking.

“I –“ Y/N cleared her throat and blew out a shaky breath. “I would understand.”

She hung her head, eyed the tiny embroidered designs on her black boots and waited for Azriel's reaction. But he just stood there motionless, which almost drove Y/N crazy.

“Can you please say something?” she blurted out nervously.

Azriel suddenly cupped her face in both hands and forced Y/N to look up at him. Her husband's face looked as if it had been carved from stone, his beautiful features now looking sharper in the wintry landscape.

“Y/N” his thumb ran over her skin in a soft, caressing motion. Gently, so gently that Y/N's breath caught in her lungs. “Look into my eyes.”

The golden-brown gaze almost burned Y/N's face and she found it hard not to turn her head.

“I'll never hit you” Azriel declared with firm determination and promise radiated from every inch of his body. “I swear it. I will cut off my hand before I lay a hand on you. Understand?”

“Yes” Y/N whispered.

“I don't want you to be afraid of me. You are my wife and so I want you to feel safe and comfortable with me.”

Azriel pulled his knife from the sheath hanging at his side and placed it in Y/N's hand, then shook her grip. The cool, murderous steel gave her chills.

“But if anyone hurts you, kill them with this,” he murmured quietly. “And those who have laid a hand on you in the past years, I will be the one to deal with.”

Y/N couldn't even speak as Azriel leaned in and kissed her.

The kiss tasted of anger, sorrow, and promise, and it pulled her off her feet and clung to Azriel's shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, his hand holding her tightly by the waist, almost devouring her.

Azriel's lips were warm on hers, his tongue begging for entrance. Y/N opened her lips and their tongues intertwined, following each other's dance sweetly.

They broke away from each other, both gasping for breath and Y/N was almost certain she was going to faint. A hotness flooded her guts and Azriel took her hand and raised it to his lips.

“Let's go, darling.”

They walked hand in hand past the rows of shops and Y/N was still dazed from the kiss and the events that had just taken place.

“Where are we going?” she asked when they had been walking for a few minutes and she could gather her thoughts.

The city was beautiful, with wreaths and red bows decorating the streets everywhere. Snow was falling heavily from the sky, making the roofs of the houses look like they had been sprinkled with icing sugar.

Azriel didn't answer, but went into one of the shops and pulled her along behind him.

The little bell above their heads rang, the heat inside hit Y/N and she inhaled the scent of cinnamon. It was a tiny, cluttered room and she tried to make out what all the wooden stuff was, leaving almost no room for a mug.

The shadowsinger picked up one of them, a very large one with a string hanging from one half, and approached the vendor to pay.

Afterwards he turned to her with a smile of such delight that she was unable not to smile back.

“Come.”

He led her to a back door and outside they found themselves at the top of a hill.

Y/N looked down at the long, snow covered ground and looked expectantly at her husband, who had set the wooden thing down and was patting the top.

“Sit on it,” Azriel commanded kindly, and Y/N immediately sat down. She had no idea what this was going to turn into.

“So we're looking at the scenery?” she asked him, but she looked around cheerfully. “I like it.”

Azriel gave a hearty laugh and sat down behind her. Her back was against his muscular, warm chest, which made her feel relaxed and she was about to nestle into his embrace when Azriel began to squirm.

He pulled his wing up so it didn't touch the snowy ground and handed Y/N the rope that connected to the front of the structure.

“Hold on!”

With that, he swung his legs into momentum and kicked away, and they started down the drop.

The breakneck speed and the snow in her face made Y/N scream, but Azriel just laughed behind her and wrapped his huge body around her. The trees blurred in her vision and her ears whistled because of the wind, but somehow she began to enjoy the rush.

There was something liberating about hurtling to the bottom of the hill, leaving all her troubles behind for a moment and just enjoying it.

“Pull the rope!” shouted Azriel, his voice deep and wonderful in her ear.

Y/N leaned back slightly, straight into her husband and tightened the rope, causing them to slow down.

Eventually the contraption they were sitting on stopped as they got down to the field and just sat there quietly for a few moments while Azriel stood up.

I've been married to a child, Y/N thought to herself in amazement, but there was a bubbling joy inside her.

The shadows surrounding Azriel crept fiercely around his ears and his eyes brightened.

“I heard that” he smiled wryly. “That's not what I remember you thinking on our wedding night.”

Y/N playfully, but laughing, nudged Azriel's leg, who began to pull her up the hill.

“What do you call this thing?” Y/N asked, laying her feet on the two long wooden planks.

“Sledge” Azriel replied and repositioned the sledge just as before. “We're sledding, Y/N”

He pulled back a little and grabbed the back of the sled. The scarred hands, tanned face and golden brown eyes evoked feelings in Y/N that she couldn't even express.

Maybe she could.

She would have loved to throw herself on him and do all the things she had done on their wedding night.

“Be careful and pull the rope like before” Azriel suggested and Y/N panicked.

“What?”

However, Azriel started to run and gave a big push, releasing the sledge, and Y/N started to race back down into the deep.

She screamed as if Azriel had sent her to her death - though that wasn't far from the truth.

She yanked on the rope, but lost her balance and fell sideways in front of the field, off the sled and rolled for a few moments, then, face down in the snow, came to a stop.

She heard the flapping of wings and Azriel's desperate voice, but her shoulder was already shaken.

He rolled her towards him and laughter burst out of her. She kept tearing and clutching her stomach, then managed to speak.

“Oh, I was so scared!” she wiped her face. “But let's do it again!”

Azriel sighed in relief, but smiled sweetly and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Don't scare me like that anymore.”

They sledged until dark and Y/N's lips were almost frozen in a grin by the time they got home.

She had never been so happy in her life.

She wanted to cling to Azriel and never let go. Her heart began to beat faster when he escorted her to her room in their flat and pressed a long, honey sweet kiss to her lips.

“Azriel?” she toyed with the strands of sultry, slightly curling hair that frizzled at the top of his neck.

“Yes?” The spymaster murmured and ran his hand soothingly up and down Y/N's back.

“Thank you.”

The shadowsinger looked down at her and Y/N's legs trembled at the golden brown gaze.

“Me too” he replied, then stepped back and walked towards his own room.

Y/N sank her teeth into her bottom lip and hesitated.

“Azriel?”

“Yes?” he turned to her immediately.

It was as if the shadows had already whispered Y/N's question to him and he was just waiting for her to ask it.

Y/N looked over him, took in his muscular frame, his charming face, and felt a warmth flood over her.

“Would you like to sleep with me?”

“To sleep?” Azriel's lips twitched in amusement.

“We don't have to sleep.”

Y/N giggled as he moved towards her, gasping for air as he almost pushed her into the room with his imposing body.

The door closed behind them with a loud slam.

#acotar #acomaf #a court of thrones and roses #azriel x reader #acowar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x you

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