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honeyblackberries · 15 hours ago

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The world you left behind

Sylus died but what about the people left to miss him? What of the boy who’ll never know what lies beyond the shadow of his father’s wings?

sylus x reader (reader referred to as mother but no pronouns) 1.8k

cw: angst with a (maybe) happy ending, hurt with (maybe) comfort, mentions of blood and physical injuries, lore inaccurate, unnamed son pov.

basically a 'what if' au where mc/reader has sylus's kid after he dies in their dragon myth times. *sylus's son and the transformation scene was inspired by this art by @/napanewt (whole thread makes me sob) | also on ao3

The first time your son wished for his father happened when he was just a child.

He was born hearing tales of great dragons, of love in bloodshed, of kindred spirits and souls bound together for all eternity. Legends whispered throughout the cities were his bedtime stories, a requiem for the deceased was his lullaby.

Oh how exciting it all was to a young boy. What incredible adventures you’ve had! He wished to know more, desired to always hear of the man who's name stoked the flames of Tarus city.

“When can I meet him?” He’d asked you one night as you lay beside him in bed.

He was seven summers old, practically grown up. He would like to meet his father soon. Sylus was familiar yet completely unknown to him. A fiend that strikes fear into the hearts of the strongest warriors. Yet someone his mother speaks of so fondly, with a voice always gentle.

“I’m sorry love, your father has gone far away,” the words were ones he’d grow used to hearing. Ones he would come to resent.

But not yet.

Your son wondered if he looked the same as Sylus, as he stared at his own reflection in a chalice atop one of the many piles of treasure in your cave. You’d told him that regardless of how much he might look like you now, his silver hair and ruby red eyes come from his father.

“What about the horns?” he asked while pointing to his head. Where yours are and where his own should be. “And the tail, and… wings?”

“I hope you never grow them.” Those words confused him.

“Why?”

“Because they are a curse.”

Back then he didn’t understand what you meant. They would make him stronger, fiercer, more dragon-like. They would make him the same as the man he caught glimpses of in the shadows on the wall. The same as the man he saw in the twinkle of your eyes..

“Well, I hope I do.”

And hope he did, wished and prayed to every shining star. Desperate to be even half the man his father is. He had to be since Sylus was gone.

How else could he protect you from those who wanted to do you harm; fight off all the monsters that curse your existence and hunt you down. Men with wicked intentions and venom on their tongues. How else could he get rid of the sadness that would creep into your gaze when you think he isn’t looking. Stop the heartache that would overcome you sometimes, when you reminisce on the dragon who left you behind.

Your son was stuck with Sylus’s stories and nothing more.

The second time your son wished for his father was when the transformation started. It came suddenly and it tore him apart all at once.

The scream of pain he let out as something began to grow through the bone of his skull, tearing delicate skin. The way his own blood thickly trickled into his eyes from the open wounds. The sickening wet sounds of his body unwillingly shifting in ways it wasn't used to.

That’s how you found him. Curled up in a heap on the floor, body convulsing as if it didn’t know what to do with itself. Crimson staining everything around him.

“Mama—” he sobbed, something he hadn’t called you in years.

His voice sounded broken to his own ears, but he no longer cared about being weak. Not when it hurt so much that he wished death would save him. What a foolish child he had been to dream of this. And what a cruel father Sylus must be to let it happen. How could a father who didn’t even know him curse him so—give him what he so desperately wanted but at such a horrible cost.

He blacked out not long after, cradled in your shaking arms.

You told him later on that the same thing had happened to Sylus when he was still a young dragon and your son wondered if it would have been less scary with him around. If his father would have held him through it like you did, if he would have known what to say to make it hurt less.

He can almost imagine it.

‘Bite down on a cloth so you don’t bite your tongue.’

‘Slow your breathing, don’t panic. The adrenaline will only make it happen faster.’

‘It'll be over soon.’

‘I’m here for you.’

The next few years were hard on your son. Having to learn how to exist within his new body. He always moved wrong. Would trip over his own tail as he walked, cut his mouth with his fangs, tear flesh with his talons.

But all of that paled in comparison to the challenge that was his wings. To the humbling experience of learning to fly.

A part of him yearned for the skies yet he was wet behind the ears with the way his wings would allow him to rise for only a moment, before plummeting to the ground. Always two steps behind spring’s baby birds who could soar past him.

He learned a lot about himself during this time. That he was impatient, easy to anger, easier to lose common sense. It’s good he supposes, looking back on it. The way he was forced to prematurely clip the hubris that was growing within him. Lest he fall just as bad as Icarus.

It was during each failure—in the moment just before the crash—where he would find himself wondering if his father would hold his hands as he taught him how to take flight. Show him how to follow the wind above mountain peaks and along the edge of the horizon. Go with him to the edge of the sea beyond where the datura flowers bloom.

He remembers you asking him once, years later, if he regretted wishing to be like Sylus. If after what had to be done for it to happen, he could still want to be like him.

His answer then is the same as it would be today.

Even if the pain was once unbearable and the struggle seemingly never-ending, it chipped away at his rough edges. Honed him like a blade. He could now fight his own battles; win against those who started ones against you. He could hear the joy in your laugh as he picked you up and flew off towards the dawn. Could see the look of pride on your face.

You were proud of the man he grew to be.

It was worth it to get a step closer to his father.

The last time your son wished for his father was on the day you left him. Dragons live long but not forever and you only had half the soul of one.

It had been lifetimes since he was a boy but he felt more helpless than ever before. He could do nothing for the mother who kissed his bruises and loved him twice as much to make up for the absence of his father.

He could only lay you to rest in the field of flowers you cherished. Could only fix your hair and cover you in the softest fabric as he buried you. Lay by your grave as long as his body would let him. Through tears he cursed the heavens, cursed whatever deemed it fit to take you away. Cursed the father who was never there.

Where was he when you needed him?

…

He wondered for the last time what Sylus was like. Not as a myth or a father, but as a man.

A man beloved enough to have a son with. A man you hoped to see again in the next life.

A man you'd to turn yourself into a monster for.

Your son never came back to visit you. Never came back to the home that held nothing except bittersweet memories. He left for the farthest corners of the world and still sought to go further.

Without the father he never knew and the mother who was his everything, he was truly alone.

Centuries passed but your son never forgot you. Everywhere he went the wind and the wings of birds carried your presence. In the people he met he saw your kindness. But time was a gentle mistress to him. It healed wounds, altered him in ways never expected.

He was different. Changed to fit the new life he was living—one with towers that reached beyond the clouds, new monsters, and so many people. There was a maturity to him now. A quiet patience. Gone was the boy who would dream of dragons.

Actually, he hadn't been him for a long time.

Then it happened one day.

He was out in the city centre—waiting in line for a new cafe—when he saw you. It was only in passing but he knew it was really you. Knew it in that innate way one can recognise their mother.

Feet moved on their own and he was following behind you before he even realised. You were younger, closer to how he remembered you looking when he was a child. And where were you going? Home? Or to meet up with friends, maybe even a lover?

He just wants to watch you for a bit; won't approach you. You were different, you wouldn’t remember him and that’s okay.

You cross the street and stop, seeming to reach your destination.

He watches curiously as you sneak up behind a man with his back facing the two of you. Sees you throw yourself onto him, hugging his neck. The man turns suddenly and lets out a deep laugh, arms wrap around your waist and he leans down to smile at you.

His breath catches when he sees the stranger's face.

This man is someone he'd recognise from the very marrow of his bones. Hair silvery white like the flash of light that would hit his eyes when he used to fly too close to the sun. Eyes like the rubies that littered the floor of the cave he once called home, a perfect twin to his. And his gaze is fixed on you, much like his own. But there’s something there, a depth of love and longing he’s never seen.

“Hey!” a voice calls out to your son.

“Where are you running off too?” his lover chides out of breath, as they run up to him. “You just suddenly disappeared, I thought you were waiting for me.”

“Sorry,” he smiles apologetically. “It’s nothing. I just… I thought I saw someone familiar.”

They talk his ear off and drag him back to the main street, but the warm feeling bubbling in his chest stops him from hearing any of it. What are the chances that his wish would finally come true. He got to see his father. On top of that, he can tell from the way he holds you that the man loves you with depths beyond time.

Across the street Sylus watches the retreating figure of a man. His gaze drawn to him with a pull he can’t quite explain.

“Sy, you know him?” you ask as you tilt your head to see who he’s looking at.

“No,” it’s true, and yet—

“He just seems familiar.”

a/n: this only exists because i was listening to epic and had sons never knowing their fathers on the brain. also tysm for 200 followers! kissing each of you on the forehead *muah*

#love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus angst #dad sylus #sylus x mc #lads x reader #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace angst #lnds #l&ds sylus #sylus qin #qin che #sylus x you #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace x reader #lads oc

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arcielee · 1 year ago

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Lele, my love. I extend my thanks. My cure all was a mixture of looking at these gifs and pictures whilst soaking in Aemond's holy milk. 🙏🏻🥰

My fever finally broke. 💜

I'm still recovering, but to celebrate this, my darling Tumblr kindred spirits, I am asking you to please reblog this with your fictional crush.

I'm guessing it is either the blond hair + trauma combo or the saddest, biggest brown eyes I have ever seen.

Or prove me wrong. 😂

#it sounds revolting...#and it is #but i am better now and ready to leave my 5 star review #Aemond's Holy Milk is the Cure All #lele my love #i love my tumblr kindred spirits

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galamalion · 10 months ago

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𐕣. 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋, 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇

summary. time inevitably approaches all, but an otherworldly suitor has other plans for you.

⤷ contents. yandere!vampire!chrollo lucilfer x fem!reader, yandere themes, imprisonment, unhealthy relationships, blood // wc. 2.0k

⤷ notes. a very happy birthday to @ddarker-dreams! i wanted to write something cute and evil as a thanks for all the chrollo treats she's given out! hope you enjoy! <3

Dusk began to creep in across the horizon, dimly counting down the few hours before night would fall, allowing the silver moon to take its place among the stars. Golden rays began to dim, passing through the extravagant window in the room you’d been staying in, casting a faint glow across furniture and floor alike.

Perhaps ‘staying’ wasn’t the correct word to use, though. It made you sound like a visitor, which you certainly were not. The metal lock on the door, the same shade as the setting sun, sealed you into a plush and comfortable tomb, only allowed to wander beneath illuminating moonlight.

It was the only time he was allowed out too, after all.

You remembered the first time you met that man—Chrollo, as he called himself, though perhaps he had gone by a different name in years past. He called you glorious, a singular rose in a field of boring dandelions, waiting to be plucked and worshiped by a kindred soul. As the daughter of a farmer, his honeyed words made you feel warm inside. Night after night you would meet with him in the woods beside your village, listening to him speak about poetry, books, and the world outside your own quiet one. He made you feel alive—like setting a helpless dove free from a poorly made cage of twigs.

If only he told you the dove was just flying into a golden prison. Maybe you would have run then, told your mother and father about the wicked and beautiful stranger in the woods. But his stories and words wove you into a web too tight to escape, and too alluring to even want to.

You sighed, both out of boredom and out of anguish. Your sleeping habits had changed since you’d been brought to this ancient castle. Now you would wake up just before sunset, giving you time to prepare yourself for Chrollo’s bothersome speeches. Back when you were younger you would have found them poetic—dashing, even. But now, all you wanted was for him to leave you alone. Return you back to your family, your friends, and your village.

The first time you’d ever begged him for that he just smiled, wiping tears off your lashes and running his hand gently through your hair.

“They’re gone,” he had cooed, coaxing your back. “There is nothing for you to return to, my dear.”

His words only brought more tears, and broken sobs along with it. A cacophony of anguished screams and hopeless crying continued night after night, and Chrollo had left you alone for them. He returned on the third night, comforting you through your discordant howling and tears, not saying a single word. Only gently stroking your hair and humming a lullaby ever so softly, bringing your wailing to a whimper as you dozed off to sleep, tears still running down your face.

You should have hated him after those words, hated him until the sun and the moon and every last star in the sky burnt out. Until your bones turned to dust and that dust turned to nothing, as all good things should. But instead, you let him comfort you, as he had done before. You let him hold you and sing to you and your hatred dissipated almost as quickly as it came. Now, the only person you can hate is yourself.

The resounding chime of a bell echoed throughout the castle, finding its way under the door and into your ears, and one look outside confirmed what the bell had just screamed to you. The moon, illustrious and horrid—a grim reminder of your fate, stood proudly amongst its brothers and sisters in the inky sky.

Oh, how you preferred the sun.

A loud knock on the door—one you’d grown to expect—caused you to stretch out of bed and to the middle of the room, throwing the closet open.

Dresses in onyx and sangria were all you had, each only slightly different in design. Some had lace trims, intricately made and without flaws. Others had slits so high you were certain your mother would have chased you out of the village herself. All chosen by Chrollo, of course. You didn’t even know what sangria was before you’d met him, a drink too rich for you to ever experience on your own.

“I’m not decent,” you called out, scanning your limited options. A faint chuckle was barely discernible through the thick wooden door, a sign that Chrollo would wait, though not for long.

You shuffled out of the loose nightgown and tossed it into a basket. With Chrollo breathing down the door you had almost no time to carefully choose your dress of the day—not that it particularly mattered to you. But it was better than letting Chrollo have control over another aspect of your life.

A simple black gown, without lace or an indecent alteration, was your choice. The neckline was plunging—far more than anything you wore—but you had learned to push your own feelings down.

“Modesty only matters when around others,” Chrollo had told you. “But here, it is just you and I. There is nothing to fear, my treasure. I am no beast.”

The fangs that creeped out from his smile warned you otherwise.

With a resigned sigh, you walked over to the door, gently rapping your fist against the thick wood. The door slid open with a loud creak—just like every other antique in the ancient palace. Your gaoler smiled upon seeing you, taking the time to look at your body.

“You resemble an ancient tome of poetry, appreciated only by its author,” Chrollo said, stepping into the room.

“Are you calling me old?”

“I apologize if you took it that way,” he chuckled, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “I merely mean to say that you are a sumptuous artifact, deserving of being remembered by history for all time.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms and ignoring the shiver that never failed to arise when Chrollo was with you. “I prefer a simpler life, thank you.”

“I believe this one suits you far better. If you gave it a chance, I’m sure you’d come to realize the same.”

“I liked my old one.”

“Come now, my dear,” he sighed, moving a cold hand across your shoulder blades. “You always insist on speaking of the past. Why not look towards the future? It has so much to offer you.”

“Have you grown bored of comforting me?” you spat, pulling away from his touch. “Where are your soothing words, your golden gifts? Have you found a new game to play?”

Chrollo frowned, not bothering to reach for you again. Instead his arms rested at his sides, peacefully. Lifelessly.

“I have grown tired,” he emphasized, “of your refusal to move on. I have given you so much, only for it all to be rejected. I thought time would sway your choice, but it appears that I have failed to consider your…stubbornness.”

His expression had changed in the blink of an eye, now sporting his usual disconcerting smile.

“Walk with me,” he commanded, already stepping out of the room.

Your feet moved against your will, gliding across the floor and after Chrollo. It was something you hated, even more than his smug attitude and unneeded grandiose vocabulary. You could always reject him with your words, but in the end he had the power to cut your actions short. An obnoxious monster, as always.

“I have been thinking,” Chrollo began, trailing the dark halls, “about us. And my offer. I believe that I have been…entertaining your behaviors for too long. Time is a fickle thing for beings like you, and I fear you may not have much left.”

“I’m not dying,” you snorted. “Or are you just worried that I might start wrinkling early?”

Chrollo laughed at your words, “I am not afraid of fine wine, my dear. Just that your behavior will soon spiral out of control. If something were to happen, I would hate to have to chase you down. That is all.”

Your walk ended in the garden, bushes towers high above you and Chrollo. It was a place that, despite its beauty, you weren’t too fond of. It was a maze of Chrollo’s making—intentional, knowing him. If something were to enter through the garden, they would never make it to the castle before Chrollo got to them. And more importantly, you would never make it out.

A clearing stood before you, a wooden pavilion with a dozen chairs surrounding a table. Where fancy ladies would meet for fancy tea and gossip about the fancy going-ons in the palace. Like in storybooks you would read as a child.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Chrollo said, approaching the table. Upon it laid a goblet, and, despite the distance separating you, you could make out the sharp gleam of a knife.

“Choices must be made my dear, and I’m afraid that this is one I must make myself. I cannot bear the thought of being without you, and I seek to make our union permanent.”

Chrollo raised a hand in your direction, willing you to stand right before him.

“I could sink my teeth into your throat,” he chuckled. “We would become closer, that way. But you are wearing a 12th century royal Gorteauan gown, and I’d simply hate to ruin it.”

Your blood ran cold as he grabbed the knife, bringing it between you. It was almost as sharp as his fangs, but just as dangerous.

You knew what it was for, undoubtedly. Chrollo had talked about it plenty—about turning you into what he was. About stripping your mortality and bringing you a step closer to eternity. To paradise, to Eden, he claimed. You always pushed against his wishes, though. Insisting you had more life to live, that you were too scared, anything to halt the inevitable. But Chrollo was inevitable, and at the end of the day, his wishes all came true. Never yours.

The knife made purchase with the palm of Chrollo’s hand, causing droplets of crimson blood to spill out from the wound. He brought his hand up to your face, close enough for you to smell the iron from the cut.

“You only need to ingest a little bit. More than a lick, of course. But I’m quite potent,” he smirked.

If you weren’t so terrified, you maybe would have chuckled. Maybe you would have ran.

Chrollo’s smile slowly fell as you continued to do nothing, “Go on. I would hate to force you to do this as well.”

You took a shuddering breath and looked at the pool of blood, “Will…will it hurt?”

“Not a bit,” Chrollo assured you, his smile returning. “It will be painless. You’ll fall asleep afterwards, and your old life will feel like a dream. A rebirth, if you will.”

He continued, “Just think of what you will be now. No longer and Eve, now a Lilith. You will have power, permanence among the living, and me."

“...And it won’t hurt?”

“Not a bit,” he smiled.

You slowly lifted his hand, still freezing cold, closer to your mouth. You let the blood touch your quivering lips, staining them crimson. Perhaps you looked alluring, shaking like a deer with your reddened lips. Especially to a beast like Chrollo. A beast you would soon become.

With one final anguished cry, you drank of his blood. It was as cold as his body, perhaps even colder. It did nothing to freeze your nerves, nor stop the tears that rolled down your cheeks. Those, too, began to feel colder and colder.

Chrollo held you close, running his free hand along your shoulder, whispering sweet comforts in your ear. Already the world seemed to be getting darker as each touch felt more dull.

“Now, now, my dearest angel. Imagine what new heights we can reach,” he chuckled, wiping stray blood from your face.

“We have all of eternity to see them. Together.”

#chrollo lucilfer x reader #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer x reader #yandere chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo #yandere x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh x reader #mdni

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hexhomos · 5 months ago

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random question (please feel free to ignore)... do you have any recommendations for where to learn more about League of Legends lore/worldbuilding? I'm fresh off watching the show, totally unfamiliar with the game and wanting to try my hand at writing fic but am finding myself a bit lost as far as learning more about the setting (specifically Piltover and Zaun). I ask you because I've been reading (and greatly enjoying) some of your fics and they feel really grounded in the setting. thanks so much for your time!

I'll always direct you to the vikjayce codex first (open this on browser so you can see the site tabs/better reading experience) so you can get a hold of their characters pre-arcane.

After that, try the Piltover page and the Zaun page on the league universe website! There are other tabs for champion lores and such. I recommend skimming through every region's summary pitch to get a feel of things and then reading whatever you like.

I recommend these roster champs for a sampler:

The interactive map of Runeterra can give you a good sense of scale/positioning for things and navigating it will lead to more links. It's a pretty cool experience but browser only.

We also have ALTERNATE UNIVERSES with their own lore and different takes on the champs. Arcane implies they remain all canon simultaneously. Star Guardian is a magical girl universe & Odyssey is a space opera universe with their own pages, though there's far more based on skins. Every timeline every possibility etc you have freerange

There's also a 2021 companion book called Realms of Runeterra, I don't think its particularly game changing but it presents things in an organized way and you can.... find it in places where books are uploaded...

lastly, youtube has a lot of 'lore of runeterra' 'league lore summary of X & Y' videos - some of them pretty good! I'm not going to link any because I havent watched them in a while but it can make things easier for you. JUST KEEP IN MIND pretty often these youtubers will get details wrong and you should be double-checking on any assumption they do before internalizing it as hard canon, like read the short story or bio for yourself etc. A lot of people mischaracterized jayce/viktor for a while bc these guys kept conflating arcane with past canon and arcane changes up the world A LOT, the previous timeline is basically destroyed.

On the last point: writing Arcane verse gives you a little more wiggle room because the entire worldbuilding is up on the air, and relies entirely on what is most convenient or narratively sound for the story. Readers are totally willing to see your own take on things.

#meta tag #arcane #jayvik #league of legends #jayce talis #viktor arcane #jayce arcane #jayce lol #viktor lol #viktor league of legends #jayce league of legends #vikjayce #hexposts #star guardian #odyssey #runeterra #lore of runeterra

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sansaorgana · 5 months ago

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— FOREVER BOUND

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Maia!Reader

SUMMARY — You and Mairon were created together by Eru and ever since you remained nearly inseparable. He chose to follow Melkor but you stayed loyal to your gods. Even though he was believed to be slain, you meet your soulmate once again many years later in Númenor where you serve the Valar by helping Tar-Míriel with your counsel.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I started writing this fic like two weeks ago but I got distracted in the meantime with different ideas 🤧 (Y/N) is used here as the Reader's "real" name, therefore I gave her human form in Númenor a name and that is Maneth, which apparently means Departed Spirit. The dynamic between Sauron and the Reader is lowkey inspired by that quote from Wuthering Heights – He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. Also, I was very fixated on making the short prologue of this fic sound like it was taken from The Silmarillion but it was a challenge, especially when English is not my first language, so yeah, I have to admit I used "the chat" a bit to help me in the beginning (and only there) 🙈. It didn't write even a single sentence for me, though, it only helped me with reshaping the phrases to sound more like the way I wanted them to be. I have never used AI to help me write my fics, so I feel a bit weird with it but I think the prologue sounds great now, so I decided to keep it this way. However, I wanted to admit to it here because I would feel bad otherwise. Once more – "the chat" did not write even a single sentence for me. I only needed its help with finding better sounding phrases to express what I have already written all by myself and it was only for the short prologue of the story. I didn't put any warnings but I think that – if you squint – it can have a bit of a twincest vibe...? 😳 At least I thought so while writing some scenes but maybe it's just my messed up mind going into such places 🙈 The fic is quite long but I didn't want to divide this one into two parts.

WORD COUNT — 7,930

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

FOREVER BOUND

Together were they fashioned by the thought of Eru Ilúvatar, Mairon and (Y/N), kindred spirits among the Maiar, and thus were their fates entwined. Mairon was drawn to Aulë the Smith, whose lore of crafting and forging he learned with eager mind, while (Y/N) was taken under the care of Varda Elentári, the Queen of Stars, and to her was revealed the mysteries of light and the heavens.

In those days of ancient bliss, when the first flowers were made to bloom, Mairon would gather their blossoms for (Y/N), and together they would abide for hours in fields unmarred by shadow. Often, he would craft jewels of wondrous beauty, offering them to her in token of his affection. Yet his most treasured gift to her was a ring, fair and unmarred, crafted in the purity of his early days, before his spirit turned to darker counsel.

It is said that (Y/N) wore that ring ever upon her hand, and that when Varda revealed to her the art of setting stars in the firmament, she bestowed the first star of her own making with the name «Mairon», that his light might endure forever.

In the later days, when Mairon fell to the shadow and allied himself with Melkor, he sought ever to draw (Y/N) to his side, weaving words of guile and repentance. Many times did he deceive her, and she, moved by their bond, hoped he might yet be redeemed. Yet she held fast to the Valar, and her faith remained unbroken.

Mairon's descent brought sorrow unending to (Y/N), and often she pleaded with the Valar to grant him mercy. Yet Varda would have her no longer as a disciple, for the brightness of her spirit had dimmed, and her heart clung still to one who had been corrupted. Then Nienna, She Who Weeps, took pity upon (Y/N) and took her into her care, teaching her of endurance and grief. And it was Nienna who spoke in favour of Mairon when Melkor, feigning humility, sought pardon from the Valar, for she understood well the love that bound (Y/N) to him.

Yet no reunion came to pass, for Mairon fled from the wrath of the Valar, and he vanished into the shadows of the world, so that some claimed him slain. The star that bore his name faded from the heavens, and it is told that (Y/N) wept until her tears filled a lake in The Southlands, and thus was the dark and bitter Lake Núrnen brought into being, a testament to her sorrow.

You were sent to Númenor to aid the Queen Regent with your counsel. Míriel suspected that you were no ordinary human being but she knew better than to ask too many questions. Very quickly you were promoted in her council, which was visibly making Ar-Pharazôn uneasy and suspicious of you because you had shown up out of nowhere one day, posing to be a noble Lady from Middle-earth… but who truly knew where you were coming from?

The fate of this beautiful island given to the ancestors of these people was uncertain, though. It was teetering between glory and ruin. You were there to make sure they would choose the right path when the time of difficult decisions would come.

When you heard that one of the captains brought a She-Elf to Númenor that he had found in an open sea, you knew immediately that it was no coincidence. It was surely the very beginning of something new. Something exciting and worrying, too.

The time you had already spent in Númenor was enough for you to fall in love with the island and its people. The Queen Regent was truly your friend and you hoped for nothing else but for this realm’s happiness.

You were standing next to Míriel when Captain Elendil walked two castaways inside the hall. She-Elf you recognised immediately because it was Lady Galadriel. She, however, could not recognise you because of your disguise. At the sight of a dirty, ragged common man walking beside her, you felt an odd shiver going down your spine.

You looked down, nervously, when he looked up to meet your gaze. Your fingers busied themselves with a ring that decorated your finger for long centuries now – it would never leave you, no matter what form you were in.

You could not understand why some random human was making you feel such odd sensations as if the air between you two vibrated and caused disruption inside the room.

“No one kneels in Númenor,” the Queen Regent announced to Lady Galadriel and her new friend when they attempted to do so.

Out of curiosity that you seemed not to be able to stop, you looked up again when the man did the same. Your eyes met and you could barely contain yourself because the soul trapped inside the form you were in was about to explode.

He was no ordinary human being and you wondered if Lady Galadriel knew about it.

Who could it be, though? The Valar would not send any help for you here without warning you beforehand. Even if they would, no other Maia was able to make you feel this extraordinary way.

No other Maia except for one.

The fingers fidgeting with your ring squeezed it tighter at the memory of Mairon. He had been long gone now and all that seemed to be left of him was that ring. Not even his star shone bright in the night sky anymore.

The only part of Mairon that still remained was not that ring, though. It was you – he would forever live inside of you like you had lived inside of him and like part of you had died the day he had been slain.

“Speak, Elf. Name thyself,” Míriel ordered Lady Galadriel and Galadriel’s eyes found yours. She tilted her head but decided not to comment although now you were certain that she could sense what kind of spirit you were.

“Galadriel of the Noldor,” she introduced herself. “Daughter of the Golden House of Finarfin. Commander of the Northern Armies of High King Gil-Galad.”

The man she came with looked at her with furrowed brows before deciding to introduce himself as well.

“Halbrand,” he said. “Of The Southlands,” he added.

“A man and an Elf, together?” You asked as you approached the Queen Regent.

“Circumstances arose that–” The man named Halbrand began but Galadriel did not allow him to finish.

“We are companions by chance. Met on the open sea. Your captain here, delivered us from certain death,” she looked at Elendil. “All we ask is that Númenor continue his mercy and grant us ship’s passage to Middle-earth.”

The crowd gathered inside the hall began to chatter between each other. It was uncommon to see an Elf in Númenor these days and Galadriel was far from humble. Her demands were not making anyone here happy and you could sense that.

The only man whose aura you could not sense was him again – the filthy commoner.

Míriel exchanged a meaningful look with Ar-Pharazôn before her cousin spoke.

“It’s been generations since a ship of Númenor was permitted to make such a journey on an Elf’s behalf,” he told the Elf, harshly.

You wondered how Galadriel would accept the fact that here, in Númenor, she was not an authority to anyone and her presence was barely intimidating. You knew her heart was of a pure kind but it was no mystery amongst the Valar, the Maiar and the Elves that she also needed to be humbled very often but such occasions were quite rare.

“It is because of the Elves that you were given this island,” she reminded but such words only worsened her situation. “Surely you can spare a few planks and a rudder.”

Míriel looked behind to stare at your face, visibly searching for your counsel. You shook your head slightly to let her know that you did not think following Galadriel’s orders was a good idea. It did not escape Ar-Pharazôn’s eye as he shot you a deadly glance. He hated the influence you had over his cousin.

“Our ancestors were not given anything,” the Queen Regent smiled softly at Galadriel as she walked down the stairs to approach the Elf and her human companion. “They paid for this isle with the blood of their kin.”

“What the Elf means–” Halbrand tried to save the situation.

“Then if blood be the price of passage, I will pay it,” Galadriel interrupted him again and you sighed softly. “But one way or another, I will depart.”

One of your tasks in Númenor was to help rebuild the friendship between the humans of this island and the Elves. Lady Galadriel was definitely not helping you.

“I welcome you to try,” Míriel nodded.

“I have no need of your welcome,” Galadriel continued with her rude remarks and Halbrand looked at her with panic in his eyes before looking back at the guards by the doors.

“And you are quickly wearing out yours,” the Queen Regent warned Galadriel. “Guards,” she called for them.

“My friends!” Halbrand exclaimed, getting everyone’s attention and you despised it.

You despised it because your weak human form struggled once more to contain your trembling spirit. You were scared that you would be this island’s doom yourself any given moment if you suddenly erupted as if you were a volcano. Your fingers began to tremble and you lowered your gaze, pretending to be humble.

“It seems to me that our leaving presents some complications,” Halbrand pointed out. “Perhaps it’d be better if we stayed–”

“Stayed?!” Galadriel barked at him.

“Long enough, good Queen, to give you and your advisors adequate time to weigh our request,” he looked up at you.

You were holding your gaze lowered but you knew somehow that he was staring at you. You could feel his eyes piercing you through because the way he was staring was not of an ordinary kind. He was not glancing at your flesh but at your soul. You felt as if you were naked in front of him and as if there was nobody else inside this palace except for you two.

The ring around your finger seemed to get heavier all of the sudden as it reminded you one more about the only creature in this world who had known you so well and who could have made you feel similar.

“A few days, perhaps?” Halbrand looked back at Míriel and you sighed out of relief once you got free from his burning gaze.

The Queen Regent looked back at you once more and you looked up only slightly to nod at her. Ar-Pharazôn rolled his eyes but he did not disagree – at least not openly.

“Three days,” he ordered. “And the Elf is to be restricted to palace grounds.”

“I will not be made a prisoner!” Galadriel protested.

“I would sooner knee-cap a stallion than seek to imprison the mighty Commander of the Northern Armies,” Ar-Pharazôn answered ironically and the crowd laughed at her. “So, you shall be Númenor’s guest.”

You could feel the tension in the room slowly relaxing and you nodded at the Queen Regent before walking out in a hurry, feeling Halbrand’s eyes on you as you were walking out in a haste with your skirts gathered in your fists, rushing to your chambers to collect your chaotic thoughts.

You had a malicious feeling creeping up deep inside of you – no, not even a feeling. An odd, eerie certainty. And as much as you wished for it to not be true, you also wanted it to be and you felt guilty for experiencing such cursed yearning to see and touch him again. Your Mairon.

When you heard from your maid at the end of the day that the human named Halbrand ended up in jail already for starting a fight, you simply could not stop yourself from paying him a visit. You walked inside the prison area of the palace carefully as you moved quietly throughout the hall with your dress flowing behind you gently.

The man was sitting on the floor with his back leaning on the wall. He was smirking as he watched you with no reaction whatsoever. Once more you noticed that you could not sense his aura or predict his mood like you usually could with most creatures, even the noblest of the Elves.

“You are no human,” you stated as you stood right in front of his cell. Halbrand snorted at that and rolled his eyes. “Who are you?” You asked and he only shook his head.

You grabbed the bars and squeezed them tightly as the silence broke due to your ring clashing with the iron. The sound echoed and Halbrand turned his head around rapidly while he squinted his eyes at your ring.

“Are you him?” You asked, nearly desperately. “Are you my Mairon?”

Halbrand stood up finally and even though he seemed to be more serious now, he still had a playful smirk on his lips. He approached you with his arms crossed and you caught yourself staring at his tan, flexed muscles before you looked up to meet his sparkling eyes once more. Nothing but the iron bars between you two and it was you squeezing them tight although he was the imprisoned one.

“You would look like a crazy maniac if I was not,” he whispered, leaning in. He was so close that you could feel his warm breath on your face.

“You were supposed to be dead…” you whispered and closed your eyes, feeling warm tears streaming down your cheeks. You squeezed your fists even tighter around the bars as your whole soul vibrated throughout your human form.

“I am sorry to disappoint you,” Halbrand answered.

“Your star has faded away, I have cried so many tears, have been outcast by Varda because with you, some of my own light faded away, too,” you revealed in a trembling voice before opening your hazy and wet eyes. He was staring at you without playfulness now. “I know it would be better for this world if you stayed dead but I feel joy to be with you again,” you confessed.

His rough fingertips brushed the ring wrapped around your finger as he smiled sadly.

“This ring remains older than most creatures of this realm,” he pointed out.

“I have never taken it off, Mairon,” you assured him. “Nothing in this world is older than the bond between us.”

“That is quite blasphemous,” he smirked and you shook your head as you had no idea what to say to that. He was right – you should not claim such things, you were no god. But yet, whatever was between you and him – it felt so overwhelming, so overlooming.

Your souls were entangled, made of the same stardust. You were the same spirit, the same heart, the same blood; only split in two forms and that was enough pain to be apart in that way. Spending centuries without him at all, thinking he was dead… It was like death itself.

But Mairon was back now and alongside him back was the part of you that had died with him.

“Will you tell them about me, (Y/N)?” He asked, quietly.

“I should, should I not? You are up to no good,” you sniffled your tears back and your eyes met his. You let go of the iron bars and extended your hands to cup his scratched cheeks. When you touched, you felt your whole body trembling, barely able to contain your spirit and your power.

“I am up to the greater good. You know that my path is the right one; it is the only path. My only goal is to heal,” he assured you and leaned in to place a soft kiss upon the palm of your hand as you gasped.

“Up to no good then,” you let out a small chuckle through your tears. You knew him enough already to know what it meant.

You wanted to get rid of the iron bars and to kiss him. His form differed from his previous one but it was never about his flesh – it was always about whatever it contained.

You had never really kissed, though. All those centuries you had spent with each other, you had spent it on yearning and gazing at yourselves, stealing soft pecks upon your cheeks or knuckles, giving each other gifts and talking sweet to one another.

Because you knew that the Maiar had not been created to love – not like this, at least. They had not been created to know the pleasures of the flesh or its desires. They had been created to serve the gods.

Perhaps something had gone wrong during the act of your creation. Perhaps it had not – perhaps it was that part of him living inside of you that craved to be close to him at all times just like the part of you living inside of him craved to be close to you.

“Join me, (Y/N), come with me, be my Queen,” Halbrand whispered and you froze, taking your hands away immediately.

“Not even half an hour I was given to enjoy your return for you are trying to deceive me once more,” you remarked, harshly.

He had been known to tease and tempt you countless of times but your soul remained pure no matter what.

“Melkor is no more. I am my own master now but I will never be whole without you by my side,” Halbrand was the one to wrap his hands around the iron bars now as he moved even closer while you took a step back. “Varda outcasted you? I will make sure no one in Middle-earth worships her no more for you will become their Queen of Light.”

“Revenge is not what I seek,” you shook your head. “Please, Mairon, your words are like daggers. I cannot handle them,” you turned your head around as more and more of your tears streamed down your cheeks.

“Refuse me as much as you like, (Y/N). A part of you lives inside of me and that is my lightness. A part of me lives inside of you and it is the part you consider rotten. Be careful, my dear, for the rot likes to spread,” Halbrand warned you although his voice remained sweet.

“I have never considered anything coming from you to be rotten,” you laid your eyes upon him again.

“Can you not see, my sweet? They keep us apart because together we would become so powerful that we could outcast the gods themselves,” Halbrand continued and his whisper caused a shiver to go down your spine. His words were wrong… So wrong. “Together, we could be anything we wanted. We could be forged into one flesh if we wished, forever bound.”

“If you cared so much about us being together, you would let me lure you back into the light instead of trying to tempt me to join you in darkness, Mairon,” you whispered in Quenya.

“It pains me when you keep insisting that my path is the darkness. Your blind obedience to our creators is much darker to me, my love,” he answered.

Perhaps you would go on like that – and knowing you two, you could do that for ages. But you were interrupted by Lady Galadriel, who looked you up and down with curiosity as she entered the prison.

“The most trusted advisor of the Queen Regent,” she greeted you, “but the least trusted one amongst her subjects. You come from Middle-earth, they say. A noble Lady. But I have never heard of you before,” Galadriel pointed out.

“Must Elves know all about human affairs?” You challenged her and she smiled, softly.

“Human? Yes,” Galadriel answered. “There are spirits, however, that remain out of our grasp. They are no gods but nearly like them. Sent to us by the Valar when we need aid,” she squinted her eyes.

“I shall remain out of your grasp then,” you nodded and she nodded back.

“What is going on?” Halbrand whined, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms again. Putting on an act of a common man in front of Galadriel and even though you knew you should scream into her face that he was the very darkness she had sworn to fight and defeat – you chose to stay silent. Perhaps he would redeem himself, perhaps he would realise that he might be given a second chance if only he decided to choose the right path this time.

Perhaps, before outing him to the outside world, you would try to fix his way of perceiving which path was the right one.

And you knew he had been given too many chances already but your heart would never give up on him. You would forever find excuses for him and try to make it right between you two.

“You…” Galadriel approached the iron bars as she smiled softly at Halbrand. “You do not belong on this island.”

“If there’s one of us that doesn’t belong here, Elf, it’s you,” Halbrand shook his head.

“I’m not so sure of that anymore,” Galadriel’s eyes sparkled as she briefly laid them upon you. “But one thing I am now certain. You are more than you claim,” she took a step further. “I found this in the Hall of Lore,” she handed Halbrand a scroll of paper that made you squint your eyes.

He took it, pretending to be unbothered. And when he opened it, you saw a heraldry drawing, suddenly realising he was wearing a pendant with the same mark. What was the game he was playing…?

“That’s funny. I found this on a dead man,” Halbrand winked at you before he looked at Galadriel with a smirk. “Thought the pattern suited me,” he added and sat down on a bench inside his cell.

Galadriel sighed and she glanced at you, as if she was expecting you to help her. You did not move an inch, however.

“Many ages ago, a man bearing that mark united the scattered tribes of the Southlands under one banner,” she told Halbrand. “The very banner that might unite them again today. Against the evil that now seeks to claim their lands. Your lands, Halbrand,” she emphasised and you sucked on the inside of your cheeks after realising what his clever scheme was. “Your people have no King for you are him,” Galadriel kept insisting.

Your Mairon, the great deceiver, knew very well that eagerly agreeing to all of this would not be as powerful as trying to pretend to be uninterested at first. Therefore, he looked away and chuckled.

“That’s an odd thing to say to a man in a cage,” he pointed out.

“A cage you have landed in because you chafe under the rags of the common,” Galadriel claimed as she looked at you again. “My Lady, you must tell your Queen the truth.”

“No Elf will tell me what I must or I must not do,” you smirked as you shook your head at how arrogant she was. You had to play your role but even as your Maia self, you wanted to humble her. “I doubt one pendant proves this man’s heritage enough.”

“What about his testimony?” Galadriel was not giving up as she looked at Halbrand again. “The armour that ought to rest upon your shoulders weighs upon your soul, Halbrand.”

Long silence occurred, in which you were able to watch the master of deception performing his craft. The way he kept staring at the drawing, his face full of mixed emotions and confusion, guilt. The way he grabbed the pendant with his hands and brushed it gently with his fingertips. Everyone would believe him.

“Be careful, Elf,” he said eventually. “The heir to this mark is heir to more than just nobility,” Halbrand stood up to approach the iron bars. “For it was his ancestor who swore a blood oath to Morgoth,” he reminded her and you were in awe how he used the bits of dark truth about himself to toy with her and test the waters.

And how oblivious she was, how eager to keep following the scenario she had already prepared for this situation to go with in her head.

“I am not the hero you seek,” Halbrand shook his head.

Indeed, he was not.

“For it was my family that lost the war,” he added.

“And it was mine who started it,” Galadriel insisted. “Ours was no chance meeting,” she pointed out and looked at you again. “No fate, nor destiny, nor any other words men use to speak of the forces they lack the conviction to name. Ours was the work of something greater,” she smiled at you and you forced a smile back.

Was she thinking that it was you who caused this meeting? Gods, if she only knew…

“You must see it,” she looked back at Halbrand.

“All I see is an Elf who won’t put down her sword,” he remarked.

“Come with me to Middle-earth,” she leaned in to be closer to him and you felt an odd sting of pain inside of your heart. Was it jealousy that another woman dared to stand so close to your Mairon…? Most likely. “And together we will redeem both our bloodlines.”

“How?” Halbrand asked, looking at her intensely. “You’re stuck on this island and you’re still short an army,” he smirked.

“That is all about to change,” Galadriel smiled and turned around to walk away.

You glanced at the man one last time before hurrying after her.

“Lady Galadriel!” You called out her name once you were outside the prison.

“My Lady,” she turned around to face you and you nearly bumped into her. “I did not expect to encounter an emissary of the Valar in Númenor, I must admit,” she bowed her head slightly. “How should I address you?”

“Here, in Númenor, you must call me Lady Maneth. In Valinor you would know me as (Y/N),” you introduced yourself and Lady Galadriel’s eyes widened slightly.

“(Y/N)...” She breathed out. “You know more than anyone else how important my task is. We must stop the darkness from spreading,” she pleaded.

“No,” you shook your head. “You must stop pushing this man… Halbrand… Into whatever you are trying to push him into,” you scolded her.

“Do the Valar have different plans for him?” Galadriel wondered out loud.

“It is not about him,” you winced, not wanting to discuss Mairon any longer with her. “It is about you, Artanis. You are beginning to become the very darkness you swore once to destroy,” you warned her.

“What do you mean?” Galadriel furrowed her brow as she took a step back.

“It is still cheating when one betrays a cheater. It is still a theft when one steals from a thief. And it is still a murder when one kills a murderer. Because it is not the matter of whether one deserves it or not – it is a matter of the act itself being committed. Too many pure and good souls were lost to us, driven by the desire to do justice,” you lectured her and you could feel her anger and frustration rising, however she would never dare to lash out on an emissary of the gods.

“Pretty words, that is all you can offer, meanwhile people are dying,” she spat out.

“Do you truly care about them, Artanis, or is their suffering your excuse to pick up the sword once more?” You asked but she was walking away angrily already and all you could see was her back, disappearing in the darkness of the corridor ahead of you.

You turned around once more and sighed at the doors leading back to the prison. You decided to leave Halbrand alone for the night but you worried about what would happen next. If he was about to choose the wrong path again, you would have to reveal his true self to everyone and interfere with his scheme.

Hope was all you had as you fidgeted with the ring around your finger.

“The visions are back and worse than ever,” Míriel confessed to you. “I suspect that it all has something to do with the Elf,” she added as she was trying to read your face but you made sure not to reveal anything.

“I knew that people of Númenor despised her kin but I underestimated the delicacy of the situation,” you admitted as you moved closer to the Queen Regent. “This is beyond worrying. The future of Númenor depends on your relationship with others. It is no time to make enemies instead of friends,” you warned.

“It would be an easier task to convince them that the Elves are not our enemies if only Lady Galadriel was not so…” the Queen Regent sighed, looking for the right word.

“Insufferable?” You chuckled and she nodded with a smile. “Elves differ from humans. They are not raised to be humble.”

“You know a lot about their kin,” Míriel pointed out, trying to make you confess who you truly were once more. She would never ask openly but sometimes she was teasing you this way.

“There are quite a few in the lands I come from,” you only answered.

“The lands you come from… Are they not The Southlands?” Míriel raised her eyebrows. “Like that human man?”

You took a deep breath in. If only you had known back then that your backstory would cause problems a few years later… But it was too late to change it because it would be highly suspicious.

“Yes,” you nodded. “But he is a commoner. I was a noble,” you added.

You were interrupted by Captain Elendil leading Lady Galadriel to you. She bowed her head slightly and exchanged a meaningful look with you.

“Lady Galadriel wishes for an audience,” Captain Elendil said and the Queen Regent nodded her head.

You stood still because these days she wanted you by her side always, no matter what. You did not even have to ask if you should leave or not.

“What is it?” Míriel asked when Galadriel stood on the other side of the table, facing you. She laid out two scrolls of paper in front of you – one was the same she had shown to Halbrand on the previous day and the other one was much more worn out and dirty.

“I found this in the Hall of Lore,” Galadriel informed the Queen Regent mysteriously and you allowed Míriel to see the items with her own eyes as you kept standing there with your hands clasped behind your back.

“You vex me, Elf,” Míriel looked up at Galadriel. “I welcome you as a guest and you gallop off to our countryside to steal ancient scrolls whilst your Southlander companion assaults our citizenry.”

“He is understandably quick to temper. His people are dying,” Galadriel explained.

“His people?” The Queen Regent asked, surprised.

“I believe the man you hold in your dungeons is no common brawler, but the lost heir in exile to the throne of The Southlands,” she revealed.

Míriel turned around to look at you and you raised your eyebrows slightly. You were not sure what to say to that. Should you help Mairon or interfere with his schemes? The answer was only easy for your mind but your heart wished to never cause him any trouble.

“Lady Maneth comes from The Southlands. She would know about that,” the Queen Regent informed Galadriel and the Elf looked at you, intensely.

“I cannot be sure,” you only said. “That there was a long gone line of Kings, I have known. That there are still their living descendants, I have not been aware of. That is not impossible, though,” you explained.

“His people are scattered. Leaderless,” Galadriel looked back at Míriel. “But with your backing they might unite behind his banner. And fight.”

How oblivious she was. His banner was nothing she would want to ever see floating in the air. His banner was nothing she would want to ever see people follow.

“What do you mean backing?” Míriel asked, taken aback by Galadriel’s proposal.

“Sauron was once your people’s enemy, as much as mine,” Galadriel reminded her and you moved uncomfortably. “I call on you to finish the task left undone.”

You might have hated this name more than he hated it. It brought you nothing but pain when others would address your Mairon this way – The Abhorred.

“I shall go,” you spoke, interrupting the tension between the two women. Míriel looked at you with a slight panic in her eyes because she did not want to be left alone with Galadriel but you simply could not stand being there anymore, hearing her talk about your Mairon. “I shall question that man, Halbrand. Mayhaps I will find out if he truly is what the Elf claims,” you said and Míriel nodded at you although you could sense she still felt uneasy to be left without your counsel.

You walked past Captain Elendil and went to the prison area of the palace like on the night before. Halbrand was sitting on the bench this time, with his back leaning on the iron bars. At the sound of your footsteps, he did not even flinch nor turned his head around. He did not have to. He knew it was you coming.

“Mairon…” You crouched down in front of his cell and wrapped your fingers around the bars. “Do not follow her, resist her temptation. Stay here with me.”

Halbrand turned around slowly with a playful smile on his lips as he looked down at you. You were not on your knees but it still seemed as if you were begging him.

“Stay here with you? Are you not a grand Lady on this island?” He asked.

“I can be anything I want and so can you,” you reminded him, your whisper was nearly inaudible but you did not need to speak your words out loud at all for him to hear them anyway. “We can live a lifetime here and then change our forms once more, start all over again. Over and over for the whole eternity. Far away from the rest. If I am to ever abandon my life alongside the gods, it will not be for your darkness… But it could be for this. For us.”

Halbrand stood up and the distance between you became even bigger now as he kept looking down at you with a hint of adoration mixed with pure contempt. He had to think you were pathetic and some part of him found it adorable but the other part found it embarrassing.

“It does not have to be Númenor,” you added. “We can go anywhere.”

“Let us go to The Southlands then,” Halbrand smirked. “Be the Queen alongside me.”

“You have made your decision then, I see,” you sighed and leaned in to press your forehead to the iron bars. “Will you ever love me enough to choose me over power?”

Halbrand did not like your choice of words as his eyes darkened. He crouched down as well, slowly, in a nearly threatening way. Now you were on his eye level as he looked intensely at you.

“Will you ever love me enough to choose me over your gods?” He asked.

The sound of footsteps made you stand up quickly and fix your dress. Halbrand also moved up and sat down on the bench. It was all done right in time because the guards walked inside the prison, dragging Lady Galadriel behind them. You watched with widened eyes as she was being thrown inside one of the cells.

“Don’t tell me,” Halbrand chuckled at her. “Tavern brawl?”

“Sedition,” she answered and Halbrand laughed as you gave her a scolding look.

When you joined Míriel again, she seemed to be lost in her own thoughts, staring outside the window. She turned her head around to smile at you gently and then she went back to staring ahead of her.

“And?” She asked.

“He asked for my hand,” you informed her with a playful smirk and the Queen Regent turned her head around once more to look at you with wide eyes.

“The audacity…” She sighed.

“Why?” You asked her with a soft smile.

“For a commoner to propose such a thing to a Lady like you… Even if it was only to jest–”

“It was not to jest, “you interrupted her. “If he is what Galadriel claims, then he would be my King,” you pointed out and an odd feeling filled your whole body when you called Mairon your King. A malicious one but also honey-like warm; sweetly spreading throughout your body.

“You are above human Kings, are you not, Lady Maneth?” Míriel raised an eyebrow at you. It was the very first time she asked such a thing so openly.

“I cannot answer that, my friend,” you smiled at her mysteriously, “but if he chooses to follow the path Lady Galadriel pushes him onto, I might have to follow him.”

“And abandon Númenor?” The Queen Regent asked. “Abandon me?”

“I am sorry,” you sighed. “Following him might be a task much more important than watching over this island,” you revealed to her.

Even though you were not given direct orders from the gods, it was obvious that watching over Mairon was more important because keeping his schemes under control would only profit in the end for everyone, including the people of Númenor. Míriel could not be told all the details, therefore she would never understand and she would feel abandoned by you. It was the price you had to pay.

It was an excuse, of course. Choosing to follow Mairon to Middle-earth to make sure he would not go back to his evil ways and that he would use the position Galadriel was giving him to do good instead… It was nothing but a noble excuse to simply explain the fact you wanted to follow him.

It was different now, though. It was not one of those times when he had begged you to come with him, straight to Morgoth. No, this time there was a string of hope that he would truly redeem himself. And of course he would have a bigger chance to do so with you by his side.

“It seems so important… Everything happening in Middle-earth. More important than I suspected. But if even you are willing to leave my side to go back there, it means there are things happening there that are much bigger than me,” Míriel said. “I must rethink Lady Galadriel’s words now then,” she informed you and walked past you to walk away. “Just like you must rethink Halbrand’s proposal.”

“Yes, I must,” you nodded at her and looked outside the window yourself. The sun was slowly setting and the view was beautiful – you wished it would forever be like this; so peaceful and calm with pink and orange hues.

Like back in the day when you had been sitting in the flower fields with Mairon, staring at the skies, your bodies filled with no malice – only pure yearning for one another.

The orange skies of the evening sky always reminded you of his ginger hair from back then and how you would brush it with your fingers, staring in awe at how the sunlight seemed to sparkle upon it.

You were standing by the guards’ side as you watched them open Halbrand’s cell. They nodded at him and he nodded back. The guards left you with him alone and an awkward silence occurred between you two.

“There, you have it your way,” you finally said, quietly.

“You must have missed me terribly,” he crossed his arms and chuckled but you did not want to laugh.

Your eyes filled with tears immediately at the mention of all those centuries you had spent thinking he was gone forever. You lifted your wet, glistening eyes to lay them on his and he clenched his jaw as he moved slightly while all playfulness left his expression.

“Do you know why I could not be killed?” Halbrand approached you to cup your chin and you shook your head. “Because of the part of me still living inside of you. As long as you are alive, I cannot be slain,” he explained. “However, the part of you that lives within me had to suffer for all those centuries alongside me and there is not a day passing when I do not regret causing you such pain.”

“Oh, Mairon…” You gasped and threw your arms around his neck to pull him closer and hug him.

However, he had something else on his mind. He blinked slowly a few times and cupped your cheeks now with his rough hands as he leaned in to join your lips together.

For the first time in your immortal life, you finally found out how sweet his lips were. And gods, how good they felt… How right. Your souls intertwined at that moment, every missing piece finding its place as if you were forged into one body.

“Before we were created, we had been a piece of stardust in the abyss and we had been one flesh then, of that I am sure,” Mairon whispered after breaking the kiss. “I should have kissed you much earlier, my love, for I have never felt so whole before.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I am glad you are kissing me only now,” you added and he raised an eyebrow at you. “For if you had kissed me like that back in the day, I would have followed you into corruption straight away. I would have worn black armour forged out of iron and I would have become Morgoth’s most zealous Lieutenant by your side – only to feel your lips on mine again,” you confessed.

Just when you finished voicing out your blasphemous feelings, Halbrand’s lips kissed you once more. This time he lowered his hands to intertwine your fingers with his. You felt him smirking when he felt the ring on your finger brushing his skin.

“Let us get married. Straight away,” he breathed out. “You are wearing my ring already. You have worn it for all eternity.”

“It would be only fair if you wore something from me as well. Something to mark you as my own like I am yours,” you pointed out.

“What would it be, my sweet?” Mairon caressed your cheek and you smirked at him a little before you reached out to the back of your neck.

You had prepared your gift for him this very morning when you already knew he would be released. There was a pendant around your neck, hidden under your dress. You took it off now and handed it to him as he slightly moved away at the sight of it.

It was a beautiful pendant surely although you made sure it would not look too feminine, so he would wear it at all times. However, what it contained inside was what truly intimidated him – it was a small portion of your light that you had sacrificed to lock in there. Wearing it could save his soul, of that you were sure. But in his eyes it surely was a form of imprisonment.

“Have you not sacrificed enough of your light for me already?” Mairon asked.

“Never enough. I shall sacrifice as much of it as I can to save you, my love,” you insisted and pushed the necklace into his open hand as you closed it around the pendant.

Mairon forced a smile as he swallowed thickly and opened his hand again to stare at the necklace before slowly putting it around his neck and hiding it under his tunic.

“Thank you,” he whispered in Quenya and you smiled back at him, encouragingly.

It had been ages since you last wore armour. Lately, the Valar had been using you more as a politician than a warrior but you still remembered the wars you had taken part of. Back then you had been on the opposite side of the field from Mairon but now you were by his side, riding your horse next to his as people of Númenor were throwing flowers at you.

You took a deep breath in when it was time for you to jump off of your mare. What you were about to do would be equal to making a final decision about your fate – leaving Númenor meant forsaking the task that had been given to you by the Valar. However, you wanted to believe that they would value your new task even more; the one you had given to yourself. To watch over Mairon and make sure no one would know him as Sauron ever again.

He helped you to get on the ship and when you held his hand tight and he grinned at you, your heart filled with love and warmth. There was, however, a hint of worry because you knew what a skilled deceiver he could be.

To become the King and Queen of The Southlands and to erase the darkness from that long-forsaken land was your shared goal now. Or so he had been promising you. To unite the tribes of that realm and to make sure they had a bright future. And once your mortal forms would become old enough, you would abandon or transform them to start a new life somewhere else. To heal more and more lands, more kins.

You wanted to believe the healing would be done in the right and proper way this time because now he had you by his side.

Your new husband and an old companion smirked at you and squeezed your cheek playfully before turning around to join Captain Elendil to speak to him as the ships sailed out of the harbour. Lady Galadriel stood next to you instead and she glanced at you from the corner of her eye.

“I know it is not my right to ask about the ways of the Valar and the Maiar but why would a spirit like you marry a human and abandon the task originally given to her?” She raised an eyebrow at you.

“The road goes ever winding,” you answered her. “Not even the Valar or the Maiar can see all its paths.”

“Your devotion to this cause makes me believe I was right to fight so eagerly for this to happen,” she said and you smiled to yourself. She was so desperate.

“You are right, Artanis. It is not your right to know about the ways of my kind,” you patted her shoulder and gave her a faint smile as she nodded, staring into the horizon.

You looked there, too, but your mind was absent. You were scared and unsure – some part of you nearly wanted to be as blind as Lady Galadriel because she seemed to be so certain and fearless.

You turned around and realised that he was looking at you already. And at that moment, he looked like the Maia he had been created as – so pure with that wide smile and the sun shining behind him, creating a halo around his form. He looked handsome as ever in Númenorian armour, so different from the one he had been wearing as Morgoth’s Lieutenant.

You gave him a wide smile back, so full of love and devotion. Perhaps his star would begin to shine in the night sky once more.

MASTERLIST

#sauron x reader #halbrand x reader #annatar x reader #lilysfiction

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ogrepoppenangleaksofficial · 1 month ago

Note

Do you guys like fan theory and speculation?

Because I'm wondering if you guys have been deliberately playing into the old connections between WoD and Exalted, and it keeps showing up. Big D specifically has a lot of Solar themes. A bit mad, and specifically mad in being passionate, bombastic, and larger than life. Grand in his ties. Ruled by the virtues of Compassion, Valor, and Conviction. Doesn't make him a Solar, even Big D is too low key for that, but notable given the ties between Solars and Hunters in the old lore. (Also a very, very fun crack theory to play with) All of the hunters, in fact, have a notable visual motif where — In their moment of need — things go their way and they just so happen to be framed by gold light like a very low key aura. Notable since a Solar's power is meant to come to them in their hour of greatest need and a blazing aura of sunlight. It's most frequent with Big D, but Kitten gets it upon finding the stilts, Remold when he takes his shot in Fatigue's name, and Marcus gets it when finding the eye, and Fatigue is outright haloed when coming to Spit's aid. Kitten's character sheet also pulls up a very Exalted sounding note with how "Will this [family bond] be our strength or our ultimate undoing?" pulls up one of Exalted's biggest themes. Boy's story... Do I even have to say anything? Probably, but I might run out of space if I went into detail. Picture Perfect Solar exaltation, on the nose Sidereal mentor, Not sure if Dragonblooded, 40k space marine reference, or both. Muddled maybe Infernal/ Maybe Abyssal exaltation. And I'll leave it at that. The mages of Norfolk Wizard Game are all dressed in thematically appropriate Sidereal colors. Blue, Green, Yellow, Red, and Purple. Too many to list, but the ones who get in fights wear red, (even just a red tie for a man in black) the ones who play into secrets wear green, the one who ushers in the ending via the transition to Awakening wears purple, blue serenity doesn't on the face of it match Samsons deal aside from dealing with Matter and what things are... (but does fit the Technocratic therapist) and the teleporting conspiracy theorist with the RV wears the yellow of Journeys. On which themes, Big D specifically invokes the morning star, Venus, to bring serenity to a vampire as she chooses to meet the sun's light. On the NWG clock I'm definitely off the deep end. Creation wasn't meant to be Pangaea... but if you flipped it upside down and Atlantised the Blessed Isle... I'm still probably reaching. (OTOH, deleting the heart of the Realm and the main empire of the Dragonblooded before whatever apocalypse came about would explain why the Kindred of the East aren't a thing in this take on WoD given the ties between the two splats) It feels like there's more I could dig for given how recently I came across the series, but that will do for now. So, yeah. It looks like there are a lot of Exalted nods and references in Hunter the Parenting, so to put this naked excuse for fan speculation in hopes of delighting the work's creators in the form of a question: What's up with that?

#answers

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viceroywrites · 2 months ago

Text

ruler of my heart

ford pines x gn! reader

Ford was a logical man, not buying easily to concepts of fate and destiny. Yet, here the two of you sat, two kindred souls from the same dimension.

18+ - minors dni.

tags/warnings: takes place when ford is stuck in portal, gn!reader, no use of y/n, slight book of bill spoilers (ciphertology cult), implied past billford, smut, switchy!ford.

notes: i am heavy in my alnst hyperfixation and this song has been on repeat in my ages so i had to do a song fic for it. saw orxa's billford ruler of my heart animation and knew i had to do this for ford.

my first time writing smut for ford and it was a bit of a challenge navigating dirty talk while still keeping him in character for the most part but hope i did it justice!

You can turn away from the light

You can even outburn the sun, my star

You're the perfect subject

With the whole world in your sad eyes

Ford had been running for God knows how long.

The passage of time in this dimension felt nebulous, only able to tell that time was moving forward through the greying of his hair.

There is some dark sense of irony that Ford was able to find in it all.

After all, his twin brother had been on the run for years, chasing a fruitless dream of wealth in order to be accepted back into their family. Somehow, it was as if their roles had been reversed that fateful day when he was pushed into the interdimensional portal.

However, as lasers whiz past his face, barely grazing against his stubble giving him a clean shaven line through the direction it flew, he can’t seem to care about the irony of it all.

He only cares about survival, ducking behind a nearby piece of rubble that gives him enough cover to shoot back. Only able to get a few clean shots in of the beasts that chase him, shooting lasers through their multiple orifices, he curses under his breath, running out of ammo. His six-fingers rifle through the utility bag he had fashioned for himself, digging to reload his ammo.

Ford lets out a groan, grabbing his forearm that ends up being grazed by a laser. Blood trickles down his skin to soak through the fabric of his long black trench coat. Biting through the pain, he continues his search but suddenly freezes when the lasers suddenly stop and the beasts’ cries of agony ring in Ford’s ear.

He glances over his shoulder to see a figure with a set of goggles and a long black scarf obscuring their features, looming over the last of the beasts. Their boot rests on its head, a sword exuding a blue energy pierced through its neck.

Despite the beasts being defeated, Ford still has his guard up, uncertain if the figure before him can be trusted. He stays still, hoping that whoever or whatever is only a few feet away from him had not sensed his presence.

“You can come out from hiding, you know.” The figure says out loud, removing the blue blade from the beast’s flesh and pressing a button on the hilt to sheath it.

Ford’s eyebrows raised in astonishment - it had been quite some time since he had heard the English language that it almost sounded foreign in tongue.

My savior, beautiful soul

I don’t believe, you’re a liar

When our darknesses overlap

(Let me take it all away)

Still cautious, Ford reloads his magnet gun and slowly sits up, his pointer finger on the trigger. He finally stands up, his spine stiff with the gun pointed directly at the individual approaching.

“You can put down the gun, I’m not here to cause any harm. Besides, I'm not sure if I stand a chance against aninterdimensional criminal.” The figure approaches with caution of their own, their hands up and away from their weapon.

Ford lowers his guard briefly to question them, his gun lowering slightly, “How do you know of me?”

“Your face is practically plastered across Dimension O on wanted posters, Stanford Pines. You’re kind of hard to miss.” The figure chuckles though it’s muffled behind the scarf.

Ford pauses before asking, “Well, if you’re asking me to trust you, it’s only fair that I get to see your face.”

In truth, he was insatiably curious if you were actually a human.

You reached up to first unravel the scarf that shrouded the bottom half of your face. Ford saw facial features characteristic of a human - no extra set of lips, noses, random orifices or tentacles. You kept your goggles on, shielding you from the dust and debris that floated past you in this futuristic wasteland. For additional proof, you peeled away the black gloves that covered your hands, wriggling around your five fingers for show.

“I can’t believe it. In all these decades, I have never encountered another human in this dimension.” Ford says in disbelief, almost wanting to reach out and touch you to see if you are real or just an apparition of his fatigue.

“Trust me, I was surprised as well when I saw your face on those wanted posters. We may be the only two.” You chuckle, crossing your arms before your gaze locks onto the wound that is still bleeding. “You’re hurt.”

Ford just now registers the pain, glancing down at it. He winces at the sight, “Oh, I should probably bandage that.” Ford sighs, ripping off a bit of the hem of his trenchcoat. You watch on aghast as he is about to tie the dirty rag over his open wound.

“Wait!” Your hand reaches out to grasp Ford’s wrist. It feels warm to the touch when your fingers wrap around his wrist firmly to stop his movements.

It feels nice. A human’s touch.

“God, you’re going to get it infected. Come, follow me. Let me at least properly dress your wound.” You sigh, tugging on Ford’s six-fingered hand to follow you. Your sudden insistence has Ford’s guard shooting right back up.

The mantra plays in his head like a broken record.

Trust No One.

Ţ̶̤̤͉̍̂͘r̸̭͇̝̘̄̀͐́u̶̜͕͋̇̇̽͊s̸̡̩̱̘͋̏t̸͉͍̥͍̋̚ ̸̣̋̓̆̕N̷̲͈̮̈o̸̟̭̫͒ ̴͈͙͈̒͆Ờ̶̩̦̙̪̒̒̀n̶͕̓ȅ̸̬̳

Ford’s eyes narrowing cautiously at you. This could be a trap, Bill using the ruse of a human to trick him into a false sense of security. He could easily be possessing some poor soul’s body and dragging it through the Nightmare Realm.

Suddenly, Ford tugs at your wrist, twisting your arm into an uncomfortable position behind your back. You let out a frustrated yell “What the hell are you doing?” before Ford uses this vulnerable position to yank off the goggles that covered your eyes and shine a flashlight into them.

“I’m not falling for your tricks again, Bill!” Ford yells before freezing at the sight.

Two wide pupils gazing up at him in shock. No presence of yellow.

“What did you just say?” You ask, frozen in place.

“I-I’m so terribly sorry. I thought…” Apologies tumble out of Ford’s lips.

“Stop apologizing. What did you call me?” You cut him off.

“Bill…”

“Shit, Cipher got to you too, huh.”

There’s a pause.

“You know Bill Cipher?”

Ruler of my heart, ruler of my heart, ruler of my heart

You are forever beautiful

Ruler of my heart, ruler of my heart, ruler of my heart

The whine of a boiling kettle echoes through the small space of what you call home - a hideout on the edge of the town where all the less chaos-fueled residents of the dimension resided. You had shed your jacket, goggles, scarf and gloves, tossing them to the side before gesturing for Ford to make himself at home.

Ford watches you mill about the room, gathering supplies to dress his wound while he sits on the edge of your makeshift bed. His mind was still racing over the fact that another human stood before him with a billion questions on his mind.

How did you end up here?

How long have you been here for?

How have you survived for this long?

Where did you get that fascinating sword that emitted magnetic energy?

How did you know Bill?

On the other side of the room, you had several questions of your own, similar in nature as well as how many crimes the man that sits on your bed has committed to end up on the Dimension O’s Most Wanted. It’s hard for you to believe that he is a wanted criminal, glancing back to see Ford fiddling with his thumbs and looking around the room in pure curiosity.

Pouring the boiling water into a mug with a tea bag before filling up a bowl, you continue to peer over your shoulder, catching Ford’s gaze when it flickers over to you before he quickly looks away in embarrassment.

Bill Cipher.

A name you hadn’t heard in ages.

A name that sent shivers down your spine, that caused you to wake up in a cold sweat almost every night.

Gathering the items in your arms, you walk over to take a seat next to Ford, passing him the mug of tea. He graciously takes it from your grasp, taking a sip. The warm liquid soothes his throat. “Jacket off.” You say, gesturing to the heavy trench coat on his shoulders. Ford follows, shrugging off the heavy material quickly, wearing a black turtleneck underneath, the fabric tattered from the laser. You stare, mulling over if you can properly clean and dress the wound with it on.

“Shirt off too.” You state. Ford sputters in embarrassment, his cheeks bright red, “Is that necessary?” After all he had just met you and here you were, telling him to undress.

Your lips quirk up in slight amusement, “Do you want your wound properly dressed or not?”

Ford mulls it over logically in his head and lets out a huff, “Fine.” He peels the fabric over his head, revealing his skin, slightly scarred from the numerous close encounters he’s had over the years.

You begin to clean the sticky red blood off Ford’s arm that had trickled down, dipping the rag back into the water every so often. Delicately, you dab at the edges of the wound, making sure not to agitate the area too much since the blood had finally congealed.

Ford breaks the silence between you, “I must ask… how long have you been here for?” He figures it would be too forward to ask you right off the bat your relationship with Bill so he starts with something more simplistic. It’s been ages after all since Ford had engaged in any conversation that resembled small talk.

“I’ve honestly lost track of time.” You admit with a shrug to your shoulders, wringing out the cloth before placing it on the edge of the bowl. You grab another piece of cloth, grabbing a bottle of antiseptic and soaking it in it, “It was the 1950s when I was last on Earth.”

Ford nearly spits out his tea mid-sip, looking over at your features incredulously. You looked younger than him, how is that even possible? Even he aged in this dimension, his brown locks turning to grey and the ache in his lower back getting worse and worse as the years passed.

You bite back a laugh at his expression, “I was worried that there was no way I could keep up in this dimension without getting killed if my body got any older. I, uh… started taking youth serums. Turns out the anti-aging properties in this dimension are way more advanced.”

“And it didn’t mess with your biology at all?” Ford said, fascinated by the prospect of the medicine that existed in this dimension.

You shake your head, “Nope, at least not yet. Fingers crossed that there isn’t suddenly a side effect after years of taking it that long.” You chuckle, “This might burn, just a head’s up.”

Ford grits his teeth as you apply the antiseptic, trying to do it as quickly as possible before starting to bandage his arm up. Wrapping it tightly around his arm, you instruct Ford to flex to make sure it was tight enough before taking his trench coat and turtleneck and hanging it up, “I guess we should address the elephant in the room now that you’re bandaged up.”

“More like the triangle in the room…” Ford mutters, pulling a laugh from your throat. Ford smiles at the sound of it, enjoying your company even if it is for this brief moment.

“Care to share first? I’m assuming your history with Bill is more recent,” You hum, pouring out the water into the sink. You listened intently as Ford began to explain his back story with Bill. How he had stumbled upon ancient cave writings speaking of an all-knowing being, how he had begun to work alongside Bill on a portal that he thought would explain your dimensions’ anomalies, that Bill became his muse.

“So you thought you were special?” You finished Ford’s thoughts with an amused smile, steeping the tea bag in your own mug.

Ford’s cheeks flush with embarrassment, crossing his arms defensively, “N-No, Bill told me he was a muse, picked a brilliant mind each century to inspire.”

You could tell by his reaction that there was a more… intimate history between the two, but you didn’t question it, walking over to Ford and taking a seat next to him, “Sounds like something he would say. I am impressed to hear you worked on the portal all by yourself.”

Ford looks down at his mug regretfully. Fiddleford. “I had an old friend helping me out with the portal. He saw what was behind the portal and abandoned the project swiftly. I… ignored his warnings and concerns leading up to it.”

Surprisingly, when Ford looks over at you, there is no sense of judgment or disdain in your eyes. Only a look of understanding and compassion. “Well, Bill is quite the smooth talker.”

“That may be the understatement of the millenia. He made me feel like the most brilliant mind in the universe. I’ve always felt like a freak, and yet he made me feel understood in a way that I thought unfathomable.” Ford chuckles bitterly, running a hand over his graying locks. You note the extra digits on Ford’s hand for the first time since you encountered him.

“I wouldn’t be too hard on yourself for not catching on sooner, manipulation is what Bill does best.” You attempt to comfort Ford, placing a gentle hand atop his hand once it drops back down to his lap, “The fact that you caught onto his scheme is an accomplishment in itself… I’ve known others who weren’t as wise to his tactics.”

Ford stares down at your hand with a sense of awe. He never thought he would meet someone who had a sense of understanding of Bill like he did, “So how did Bill manipulate you? Stroke your ego, fill your head with fantasies of grandeur?”

You can’t help but chuckle bitterly at the examples presented, “Well, he actually didn’t manipulate me specifically. Bill manipulated my whole town.”

Ford’s grip on his mug loosens, causing it to almost crash onto the floor had he not caught in time. His eyes are wide like saucers, staring at you in astonishment, “Did you just say your whole town?”

You close your eyes, the last days of your time on Earth coming into view as you recount the tale.

Hair falling to the floor in clumps, tears streaming down your face as your individuality is stripped from you. Your head being shaved completely, an eye tattooed on your scalp.

Helium being forced down your throat, forcing you to practice the high pitched tone of voice that all followers of the cult of Ciphertology had.

Being subjected to The Hole any time you questioned why your family members were buying this ridiculous rhetoric.

Feeling your own parents' tight grip as they dragged you by the arms, kicking and screaming, towards the triangle shaped portal.

You tell the history of how your small town in the middle of Kansas became easily brainwashed by a cult leader named Silas whom you suspected Bill was possessing. How easily manipulated the townspeople were by his charisma.

Ford listened to your story in horror, terrified at the prospect that Bill had gotten very close to the portal being completed. He could see the pain etched across your features when you recount the graphic details, hearing first hand how Bill’s quest for chaos turned your world upside down.

“He loved pain. He loved seeing us in pain.” You muttered, pulling your knees up to your chest, “Did you know he outlawed healthcare in our town? Just so any time anyone got sick, hurt, injured, he could watch us be in agony.”

“Did he ever take over your body?” Ford asks suddenly, causing you to blink.

You shake your head back and forth, “No, he only possessed Silas as his vessel. My… parents wanted so desperately to have the privilege of being a vessel for him. They…” You swallow the lump in your throat before exhaling through your nose, “offered me up as a test subject for the portal. That’s how I ended up here.”

Ford places a sympathetic hand on your shoulder, “I am sorry they did that to you. I thought I understood the true horrors of what Bill could do but I cannot fathom the pain you have endured.”

You smile sadly up at Ford, appreciating his sentiment and slipping your hand atop of his, “I’ve had several decades to process and put it somewhat behind me. If anything, I harbor more resentment towards my parents, they were obsessed with pleasing him.”

“Unfortunately, I can relate to that.” Ford admitted, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment which pulled a soft laugh from your lips. “Well you came to your senses eventually, so don’t be too hard on yourself.”

You were glad to have stumbled upon him, seeing him from a distance being chased by the creatures. Typically, you tried your best to stay away from the line of fire, only fighting for survival, but after seeing another human face on the wanted poster after all this time, you could not miss the opportunity. It was nice, having someone who shared your hardships, a stark contrast from the people around you all those years ago who worshipped Bill.

“By the way, why did you ask if Bill had possessed me?” You say, looking up at Ford in curiosity as you lean against his shoulder. His spine stiffens at your question, cursing internally over bringing it up in the first place, but his cheeks also redden when you shift closer to his touch, feeling the heat of your body especially with his shirt off.

“Well, I let him enter into my mindscape, thinking he would just be giving me assistance with my research. In reality, that was the worst decision I could have made.” Ford recounts with a grimace, his eyebrows knitted together. Flashbacks of the mocking tape that Cipher had made parading around in his body rising to the surface.

His lips part to begin to share the details, the words flowing out without any filter, “He took over my body, ran amok with it, put me in dangerous situations. Pain to him was amusing like you said, hammering nails into my hand just to see how much my flesh could take, leaving me out in the cold in the middle of winter in Oregon. I was just his personal puppet…” Your eyes flicker down towards Ford’s right hand, seeing the scarred flesh.

You see the pained flash in Ford’s eyes and place a soothing hand over his hand. Ford jumps slightly at your touch, his shoulders shooting up, but they slowly relax as your fingertips splay across the skin. He sucks in air sharply through his lungs, watching you in awe when your fingers intertwine with his. His gaze meets yours, his vulnerability showing through.

May I take the pain away?

May I help you forget even just for this moment?

Your eyes communicate a silent request.

Thе endless walls

A fall with no ground

In a single momеnt (breaking down)

I go blind and deaf

My world collapsing

How did you, a complete stranger, just moments ago have his walls crashing down?

Ford was a logical man, not buying easily to concepts of fate and destiny. Yet, here the two of you sat, two kindred souls from the same dimension.

Yes, please.

Take it all away.

He watches carefully, his cheeks blooming into a bright red, as you pull his hand up towards your face. Your lips brush against the scarred flesh to test the waters, gazing up at Ford. He gulps before slowly nodding. You place Ford’s hand against your cheek, savoring the warm sensation for a brief moment before turning your head, pressing a chaste kiss against his palm. You leave a trail of kisses up each digit, the pads of his fingertips rough against your lips.

Ford was used to hiding away his fingers, being teased and shamed for the extra appendages since he was young. Seeing you treating them with such care, almost worshipping them, has him melting, his insides all gooey and butterflies in his stomach running wild.

The past twenty years he has been so focused on survival that the sudden affection has his head reeling. Your lips, your touch had his nervous system that was constantly in fight or flight finally relaxing.

He had not realized how starved he was for it until now, hearing your voice call out his name and snapping him out of his daze. Your eyes look up at him, releasing his hand before cupping his cheek, thumb running over the stubble that formed on his chin before asking, “May I kiss you?”

Ford nods eagerly and suddenly feels your lips crashing against his. His hands immediately thread through your hair, cradling the back of your head. It feels as if the air is being swallowed from your lungs, Ford’s kisses deepening and growing more and more intense, acting as if you would disappear between his fingertips. You finally pull away to catch your breath, your chest raising up and down and your cheeks flushed.

“Was that too much?” Ford asks breathlessly, his tone sheepish. After all, he was no expert in the romance department, and to say he was inexperienced was the understatement of the decade. You shake your head, “No, it was perfect… just wasn’t expecting you to be so… eager…” Your eyes drift downward, and your cheeks go warm at the sight of the bulge straining through Ford’s pants.

Ford notices your silence and glances downward, quickly trying to cover his crotch, “I’m so sorry, that’s quite inappropriate of me and you’ve been so gracious to invite me into your home and tend my wounds, I’ll see myself out-” Ford begins to stand up before your hand catches his wrist, tugging it gently. He falls backwards, his hands landing against the sheets next to your hips and his faces inches away from yours.

“Stanford… It's okay. We can keep going… if you’re comfortable with that.” You say with a reassuring smile, not pulling away from his close proximity. You can practically feel the heat radiating from his cheeks. “I would like that…but I must admit I am not the most knowledgeable when it comes to intimacy. Also, please call me Ford, Stanford sounds so formal considering the circumstances.” Ford mutters, looking away in embarrassment.

You chuckle at the sight, a stark contrast from the rugged image of Ford you saw just a few days ago on the wanted posters. You wrap your arms around Ford’s neck, pulling him in, “Let me take care of you, okay?”

Ford shudders as you utter those words against his lips, and allows you to take the reins. You ensnare his lips into a passionate kiss, your hands gliding across his shoulders and down his arms, relishing in how warm his bare skin is to touch. He returns the kiss with fervor, shuddering at your touch. It was almost foreign to be treated with such care.

After all, his last relationship, if you could even call it that, with Bill was all about power and control. He was merely a toy for the Euclidean to play around with, his pain being Bill’s pleasure.

And yet, here you were, someone who had also suffered the pain that Bill relished in causing, treating him with such delicacy.

Your hands descend downwards over Ford’s chest sprinkled with gray, wispy chest hairs and abdomen that tenses when your nails graze against the flesh. He can feel his pants growing uncomfortably tight with each moment that passes, his breath hitching at the sensation of your lips littering kisses and sucking softly against his jaw and neck.

Ford’s eyes widen at the sensation of your palm over his growing bulge. Your fingers glide torturously over his length, squeezing him firmly through the fabric. This elicits a deep groan from Ford’s throat as he throws his head back in pleasure. “Please, touch me more… I need more.” Ford ends up groaning out, his voice needy and desperate.

It was quite amusing to have an interdimensional criminal touch-starved and begging beneath you.

You let out a soft chuckle, “Let’s switch positions, it’ll give me easier access.” Ford’s cheeks heat up almost bashfully, slipping off you and settling onto the sheets, his bare back against the wall. He lifts his hips up, letting out a grunt when his aching length springs out, already beginning to leak pre-cum.

Your eyes never leave his half-lidded gaze, crawling between his legs. Your tongue slides out giving a tentative lick on his sensitive head, causing him to hiss through his teeth. His knuckles white as he grips the sheets underneath him. You decide to put him out of his misery, your lips wrapping around the shaft finally.

None of the textbooks on human biology could have prepared Ford for the pleasure that courses through his body, his mind turning to mush as he watches you take inch after inch of his aching shaft into your warm, inviting mouth. The sensation of your lips suctioning tight around his cock combined with your continued worship of his body, your hands gliding across his chest down to his tightened abdomen.

You savor the heavy taste of Ford’s cock in your mouth as it throbs and twitches each time your tongue glides over one of the thick veins. A satisfied hum vibrates around his shaft as you suddenly feel one of his hands carding through your hair, a six-fingered firm hold on the back of your head to encourage you.

You take the moment to relish in the sight before you - Ford’s chest heaving up and down from his quickened breath, his brown eyes staring down at you through his glasses half-lidded, his gray hair slightly tousled from your hands running through the locks earlier. You watch his reactions carefully as your lips glide up and down the length of his cock, taking in every groan and how his brow furrows in concentration, in what you assume as an attempt to not empty a load in your mouth too soon.

“Please, I may come apart if you keep going…” Ford pants out, a whiny edge to his voice.

‘Dear god, did I just whine? Get a hold of yourself, Stanford.’ Ford thinks to himself when you begin to withdraw your lips from his shaft, deciding to show him some mercy.

The moment your lips are freed up, his hands grip tighter in your hair, pulling you in immediately for a searing kiss.

My savior, beautiful lady

Make me your god, I can give you everything

When our darknesses overlap

Let me take it all away

Greedy hands tug on the fabric of your clothing, and in between heated kisses, you peel the layers off. Your clothes join the growing pile on the floor, so there is nothing left between you and Ford’s bare skin. Ford watches in awe, fingers digging into the soft skin of your hips as you guide him towards your hole.

Feeling your tight warmth envelop his shaft has Ford inhaling sharply through his teeth, his head thrown back as he succumbs to the pleasure. Your hands glide to rest on his sturdy chest, letting out a breathy moan. You move your hips tentatively, wanting to set a slower pace for Ford initially.

Unfortunately, Ford finds himself growing a bit impatient, quite greedy to feel more of you. Biting down on his lower lip, he uses the grip he has on your hips and sinks himself deeper inside of you with a purposeful thrust, causing the both of you to moan out.

“Y-You can move faster… I feel quite crass making such a demand but I need to feel more of you, my star.” Ford grunts.

Your cheeks flush at the sudden pet name, but take that as the green light to begin moving faster, your nails digging into Ford’s broad back for leverage while your hips begin to move up and down at a quicker speed. You relish in the sounds you are able to pull from the man beneath you, his groans and grunts growing louder and more desperate each time you glide further down the base of his cock. Leaning forward, your lips pepper kisses from the cleft on his chin up his jawline before nipping at his sensitive earlobe. “You feel amazing, Ford…”

Ford lets out a shaky chuckle, trying to keep his composure as he feels his climax fast approaching, “I believe I should be saying that...”

You shake your head, pulling back to stare down at him. Despite being a man of science, Ford stares up at you like you are his god, his whole universe.

“You’re doing so wonderful, god, I feel so full with you inside of me.” You whisper against his lips, leaving kisses in between each word, “How could someone want to see this face in pain when it looks so stunning in pleasure?”

Words of praise continue to roll off your tongue effortlessly, and each one brings Ford closer and closer to the edge.

“My Star, I can’t hold back any longer…” Ford chokes out.

“You can let go, Ford.”

With your permission, Ford suddenly snaps his hips upward, thrusting in time to your hips dropping down. The lewd sound of skin slapping echoes through the small space as Ford bucks his hip to match your rhythm, and with a final grunt, Ford comes undone inside you, his knuckles white from the vice grip he has on your hips.

Much to your surprise, he continues thrusting even after you have stopped, effectively taking control. His greed wasn’t solely about chasing his own pleasure but also yours, wanting to hear more of your sweet praise. The white-hot knot on your stomach grows tighter and tighter before bursting, coming hard as you cry out his name.

You collapse, your head resting on his shoulder, and the two of you, bodies glistening with sweat, just lay there in silence, relishing in the warmth of each other’s company.

Ford glanced down at the top of your head, and in this moment, he felt the most human he had felt in years. It was as if he was back in his own dimension, not running from the threats of this nightmare realm.

He has so many thoughts and yet he decides at this moment to not voice any of them.

Instead he pulls you in closer, wrapping his arms around you, and he feels his heart racing as you return the embrace, a silent understanding communicated between the two of you.

I’m so tired of running, may I stay here, even just for tonight?

Please stay as long as you want, you’re the closest thing I have to home.

Ruler of my heart, ruler of my heart, ruler of my heart

"Does that say Flirty Gal?" You notice the lower back tattoo, seemingly out of place, as Ford gets dressed.

Ford's face heats up, quickly pulling the fabric of his turtleneck over it, "Bill did that..."

"... I know a guy who could laser that off for you, he lasered off the giant eye I had on the back of my head."

"Yes please."

#gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls smut #gravity falls x reader #stanford pines x reader #ford pines #stanford pines #ford pines x reader #ford pines x you #gravity falls fic #gravity falls #bill cipher #book of bill

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historiaxvanserra · 5 months ago

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In Hades I Am With You | Chapter Two

Pairing: Azriel x Hewn!city reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Reader is the ill-fated daughter of a cruel Lord of Night; plagued with prophetic dreams and cursed with rare, arcane gifts. Azriel is the stoic spymaster; forged from violence, lethal and honed to a fatal sharpness. The pair find themselves bound to one another through their meeting in a pleasure house in Hewn City.

Tags: Forced proximity, strangers to lovers, Night Court lore, Priestess reader, discussions of SA and abuse, discussions of sex work, criticism of misogyny, sexism, and general abuse in all its forms, eventual smut, slight corruption kink, reader is incredibly romantic and horny.

Please let me know what you think. Again this is inspired by From Blood and Ash but next chapter we start to deviate from those vibes.

Death came to me at dusk in the guise of a man; swathed in shadow. Haunting and prophetic. In flashes of seraphic, blue light and age worn bone. A voice shaded in nightshade calls out from the antechamber of the pleasure hall’s private apartments. A male cleaves through the darkness. He cuts an intimidating figure in the pallid sapphire light; stalks through the dark as though he was born from it. A scarred hand reaches through the veil, that glitters like spun spider silk, between my body and his. All thought and sound eddies from my mind.

“You are so much lovelier than I remember.” The low tenor of his voice is a whisper of darkness as his scent shrouds my senses.

Night-blooming wisteria and the depths of the Illyrian wilderness.

He is a thing of dark, lovely beauty, I think as he steps into the light. Beautiful in the way some ancient mercurial God must be. Cut from the same onyx stone of the mountains to the North. Night incarnate. The darkness from which all light is born.

“I’d have sent word, but I was already in the city.” Scarred fingertips ghost the length of my arm.

The glare of Illyrian steel, lethal and vicious, pierces through the blanket of the dark and reality comes flooding back to me with all the force of a raging tempest as the sapphire lights casts his beautiful face in shadow.

I’d know him always. I would know him even in Hades, shrouded in the darkness at the end of the world. By the threads of fate that bind us both to this infernal mountain.

Azriel.

The High Lord’s Spymaster.

Everyone in this infernal city has heard the harrowing stories of this brutal, beautiful male. I am no exception.

At first it was his beauty that commanded me to search for him in every darkened corner of the Moonstone Palace. It was the graceful hollow of his throat, the onyx curls that framed the elegant planes of his face that made a slave of me. The way that he towered over me like the embodiment of the dark-stoned mountains from which he hails. I had visited the Illyrian mountains once as a girl, when the Old High Lord lived. The long shadows of Ramiel had veiled the world in a shroud of black, save for the pallid moonlight that bleached the darkness. There was a temple. Its ruins lay in some long forgotten grove, shaded in wisteria and moon flowers.

But it is his inherent violence that speaks to my innate darkness; it calls to me in a language so old, and long dead, that only fate itself might infer some meaning from the whispers of it, carried forth on a night wind . The terrible darkness that bleeds from him like the veil between the worlds. It is that darkness that feels somehow kindred to me. I saw him once, in the training yards of the Moonstone Palace. He had looked like some avenging angel; sweat-slicked and savage. His body and blade a weapon that he had honed to a fatal sharpness.

He came to me that night in a dream, prophetic and elusive. In flashes of sapphire and star-flecked night. A harbinger of my undoing. It wasn’t until years later that he came to me again, in the Temple of Astarion. The dreams followed me for weeks after. Even in my waking moments I saw him. God of plagues and prophecy. A great chamber beneath the mountain. The dark waters of a salt-lake. The darkness at the end of the world.

“Come here, pretty girl.” Azriel says, a small smile curves around the sulk on his lips.

It occurs to me then that he has no idea who I am. That he has mistaken me for some other Female; some lovely thing who touches him tenderly. These stolen garments could belong to anyone, and without the veil there is nothing that marks me as the Lord Protector’s favorite.

Tonight I can be anyone. Tonight I can be her.

I had never considered myself to be beautiful but standing here now, my figure reflected in his hazel eyes, I see something. The vision of some ancient Goddess. Violent and volatile.

A storm incarnate.

I summon that storm as my gaze sweeps over Azriel again. He’s splayed across the small day bed, dressed in an unbuttoned tunic that bears the contours of his chest so beautifully. The broad expanse of his back is framed by large, membranous wings and his onyx hair is tousled with messy curls that frame the delicate curve of his ears.

If I had any sense at all I’d run back to the Palace and never look back. Unfortunately for me all common sense I might have had abandoned me when his palm skims the curve of my hip over the thick, woolen fabric of my cloak as he beckons me closer.

“You look so very lovely in this light.” he sighs deeply, the broad splay of his hand curling around the cradle of my hips as he draws me into him. When he looks at me, there is only darkness in those golden eyes.

Dark, arresting eyes.

I offer him a gentle smile in lieu of thanks in a meek attempt to assuage his desire.

“Now get on your knees.” He insists, like a priest intoning his mass. There’s a strange sense of threat in his voice that commands me to sink lowly before him. As if my body is little more than a conduit of his intent.

“Look at me.” Something innate compels me to comply. The Shadowsinger takes my chin roughly between his scarred fingertips, brushes a calloused thumb over the plush of my lips.

I shudder.

“So very lovely,” He observes me in the low light. One star-flecked hand reaches out to tangle in the unbound lengths of my hair to expose the column of my throat to his shadows that coil around me like the tendrils of a serpent.

Guilt and shame festers in me; turning my insides to rot.

“I-I…” I try to speak but any confession dissolves on my tongue like a prayer when Azriel’s fingers ghost over the lapels of this open tunic; exposing his sculpted shoulders and the expanse of his broad chest, all contoured muscle that looks as if it were carved from the mountain stone. A fine dusting of hair forms a dark constellation that descends from his navel, down to the carved marble of his Adonis belt and dips beneath the material of his breeches.

My half-lidded gaze dips lower and heat blooms in my chest and flowers along the exposed skin of my chest and cheeks. Even in the dim light, I admire the elegant curve of his calves and thighs and how his leathers caress his sculpted frame.

Heat takes root in my body again. A coiling, feverish heat that pulses in the deepest parts of my being.

The Shadowsinger rises from the chaise. He towers over me like the imposing shadow of the mountain that shrouds the world in its dark veil. My fingers instinctively curl around the dagger at my thigh, through the swathes of heavy fabric that form a dark corona around my body.

I am an acolyte. I have taken my vows and made my oaths in sight of The Mother. I am coveted and revered. For the prophecy that curses my blood. And this…

This is forbidden.

And yet, there, in the sulk of his lips, I relish in a heaven that only exists when he is looking at me. As though I am an altar he could pray to. As though he would forsake every solemn vow he has ever made if I would permit him to put his lips on mine.

And I will.

Amber eyes burn ardent gold against the black as he stalks towards me, wading through the shadows with the grace of some dark-winged God.

“Can I kiss you?” Azriel’s voice is desperate and fervent as he advances towards me. The feverish heat of his breath on my neck feels something akin to absolution.

“Please.” A tremor of anticipation reverberates through my spine and my heart beats thunderously in my chest as it heaves against Azriel. A broad hand pulls me into his bruising grip. The other holds my head as he braces against the wall.

Azriel’s kiss is a devastating thing; a claiming, a devouring, a begging to be believed. I suck in a sharp breath and he deepens the kiss, the sharpness of his teeth grazing the sulk of my bottom lip. Guilt and shame coils in the pit of my stomach, a dreadful tempest that stakes its claim to me. Until I feel the delicate stroke of his tongue against mine. That storm manifests itself as a throbbing ache between my thighs. Tentative fingers curl around the cradle of my hips and Azriel growls into my open mouth.

The vision comes to me veiled in shadow and flashes of age worn bone as it stakes its claim to me again. The shadow of the great mountain looms like some ill-fated omen over the valley and a blue star bleeds into the twilight, casting Ramiel in a halo or sapphire light. The mountain trembles in my wake; the Old Gods whisper my name like a prayer. There is a temple; carved into the stone of the mountain, a great antechamber, shaded in the musk of hemlock and incense as I pass between the sandstone pillars. The antechamber of the sanctum is shrouded in climbing ivy and blooming moon flowers that conceal the frescos on the walls. Through the shroud of shadow, I can make out the apparition of a man, cloaked in death. He wears it as some ancient King might. Proud, beautiful and lethal. His great dark wings spread across the landscape and the faces in the crowds kneel to him in reverence. The onyx stalactites become entangled in the light that bleeds from the surface and I come to a stop at the foot of the altar when that myriad of dancing light falls onto me.

I am pale moonlight light; refracted and broken divinity. The memory of some undying Goddess in the pallid light.

The emerald dias is littered with the remnants of the offerings left to a dying God; wilted jasmine and orchids, silver coins, minted with the faces of an ancient king, amphora’s of faerie wine. I sink to my knees at the foot of the altar and I swear I can feel the whispers of the Gods long dead. I run a fine-boned hand over the collection of offerings laid in revereven, made in earnest. The gleam of thinly drawn steel amongst the dying jasmine beckons me further still, into the heart of the temple. Veiled in the shadows of the mountain; a bloody scythe. The hilt and pommel, like cool marble in my hand as I raise it to the light. The blade itself is coated crimson and rust and the ferrous smell of blood hangs heavy in the air.

Only false idols are worshiped in flowers and wine alone. True divinity requires sacrifice.

Out of the devastating darkness steps a figure; shaded in wretched shadows and a devouring black mass as he approaches the dias. As he steps to the altar all the sconces are afire with bluelight; sapphire and cerulean as his robe falls to reveal him in all his divine glory. The saints whisper my name and his figure, wreathed in shadow and light materializes before me.

God of plagues and prophecy.

He whispers to me. Prophet girl, chosen by the dark, do you hear the Gods whispering those silent stardust words? Cursed daughter of ancient blood, do you regret taking the vow?

Without warning the tenuous connection to the Otherworld is broken. And I am left raging, seething, as the storm breaks against me.

“What was that?” The Shadowsinger accuses sharply, unfurling his great, dark wings as the last of the vision ebbs away from me. The draw of Illyrian steel, lethal and dangerous, rings through the air like the peal of thunder and presses against the hollow of my throat.

“I-I I don’t- I think it was a dream” I ramble. My voice little more than a high arching sound under his dark, arresting gaze. I press a trembling hand to his in an aching plea for him to surrender his blade.

The Shadowsinger is unrelenting and the sting of his blade kisses my neck.

“Please, Azriel.” I beg as silver tears cloud my vision in a milky film.

A resounding pound against the door silences the Shadowsinger.

“Azriel?” The velvety timbre of a male voice comes from behind the door. Azriel stiffens against me, the heat of his breath fans across my throat again, half-lidded golden eyes still burning into my own. His hand passes over his chest as if trying to soothe the violent storm of emotion that rages inside of him.

It seethes when the pale light dances in his eyes. When he looks at me there is only darkness there. Night incarnate.

“I need you back in Velaris.” The male says sternly. It’s a voice I have heard before in a dream or a memory. The scent of moonflowers and citrus drifts on a night wind.

“I’m sort of in the middle of something, Brother,” Azriel responds, his voice low and dangerous, thick with malicious intent. His grip on my hip is still unrelenting and strangely tender.

“Azriel open the God's damned door.” The male pounds on the door again, his gravelly voice full of wrath and dangerous authority.

“I think you should answer him,” I whisper.

“Rhys,” He curses. Azriel curls a deft finger around the loose treses of my hair and inhales a shaky breath, “I swear to the Mother -- you were the one who told me to come to this hellmouth in the first place and now you --.”

“It’s important, Brother,” The Male replies before knocking again. Azriel looses a shuddering breath in response and the longer strands of his hair brushes over my shoulder as he bows his head in frustration “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”

“Pay the whore and be done with it.” I frown.

“Brother,” Azriel warns, his voice like cold death and his thinly veiled violence dances in his golden eyes like a taunt. I can’t help but think of him softly then, as a scarred hand curls around my arm, applying pressure that is both tender and bruising.

“Give me a few moments.” Azriel relents. Azriel’s face darkens considerably and those great, dark wings seem to stand sentinel. A testament to the Shadowsingers rage. A heavy black mass materialises about him, cloaking him in wisps of dark, ancient magic.

Something dark and uncomfortable stirs in my soul then. A foreknowledge that speaks to a coming storm.

“You must leave?” He nods solemnly and untangles himself from me. The absence of him feels something akin to drowning now. Having grown so fond of his comforting weight and the dark magnetism that seems to exude off of him in plumes of shadow.

“My High Lord needs me.” He explains cooly.

I nod in reply, still clutching desperately at his open tunic. For a long moment, neither of us dare to move. Bound in our silence. So we wait. Until he tires of it. Azriel sheaths his blade, it’s blue hilt shimmering sapphire in the pallid light. The dark material of his tunic is discarded on the bed and he procures his leathers from the materialising darkness before me. It’s scaled armour, an austere garment that looks as if it too was born from the shadows which seem to cling to him now.

The male that had touched me tenderly is all but gone then, and from his shadow an Illyrian warrior steps into the light. His blades are honed to a wicked, deadly point, intended for the brutality of warfare, their serrated edges designed to carve through flesh and muscle.

“I-I will come back here, when the fighting is done. Then we will talk - about this dream of yours.”

His voice is flat and lethal, a warning and taunt. I nod once more.

“Will you wait for me, angel?” Azriel’s dark, piercing eyes fall on me again and I feel at home, there, in his thrall, under the blanket of his darkness.

“I will.” My heart flickers violently in my chest.

The shadowsinger turns and I watch forlornly as he walks to the door. I say nothing as he steps into the shadows.

I won’t be here when he returns.

As I, too, turn towards the door I hear the whispers of it again. SOmething dark and ancient calls my name.

Prophet girl, chosen by the dark, do you hear the Gods whispering those silent stardust words? Cursed daughter of ancient blood, do you regret taking the vow?

TAGLIST: @bravo-delta-eccho @tiredsleepyhead @that-one-bibliophole @azzyslittleshadow @lalaluch @laramcflyyyy @teenagellamaangel

#acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel smut #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc

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mrsoharaa · 4 months ago

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· ₊ ִ ͡ ࣪ 𑇛 𝑮𝒊𝒇𝒕 𝑮𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈.

characters: Barou Shoei x Reader

cw: heavily suggestive (but nothing tooo smutty!), christmas-y tenderness, nakey canoodling, Barou being a cute, in love flustered mess...and then a horny menace lmaooo.

a/n; I couldn't stop thinking about this allll day today. he's so cute and goofy. :'33

The soft flickers of the radiating fire cackled through the crisp, comforting air that surrounded the two of you. The muffled sound of the brazen snowstorm and chilly winds bellowing ruthlessly from outside of the endearing, cozy cabin made you feel so intimately close and safe in the arms of the softly placid heaving man laying beneath you, one arm delicately looped over your nude back, tracing with the pad of his index finger up and down the arch of your spine in generous, pliable notions. Laying ever so contently and comfortably upon Barou's vast, heaving bare chest you trace your pointing finger along the indents of his collar bone to the slope of his firm pecks.

With your head nestled ever so gently against his chest, your glossed eyes glance up to study over the gorgeous features of his content face. Smiling ever so gleefully and lovingly to the domesticity of this kindred moment.

A short grumble rumbles through his throat, one eye peers open to meet your gawking.

"What is it woman? why are you starring?" his grovelled voice reverberates against your skin, insinuating gentle goosebumps up along the glistening, tender flesh bare to the cool air. You simply smile wider, snuggling closer into his comforting frame, readjusting yourself to where you hike yourself up closer to his face, arms draped around his neck, fingers carefully entangling through his loosen dark tresses that complimented him oh so well.

"Just admiring 'Rou" you softly speak, tentatively brushing away the wandering strands of hair from his beautiful smug. He simply raises a brow, still intently studying you as he gradually pulls you in closer to his warmth. A flustered huff simmers off his lips as he rolls his eyes. You giggle, feeling a sudden wave of perked excitement and thrill tremor vibrantly through you.

Hastily sitting upwards and clapping your hands together you simply giggle in sheer excitement and lean forward to place a quick kiss to his nose in a quicken manner. Quickly tearing yourself from the enticing, comforting warmth of his body to the vast space of the other side of the cabins living room.

"You're going to catch a damn cold woman! at least put on a damn blanket!" he watches you chirp up and jolt enthusiastically through the wide living space. Bending forward behind the beautifully decorated Christmas tree and hustling through the pine branches and other assortments of mounted gifts.

With curiosity pestering at Barou's chest, he steadily perches himself upwards onto his elbows. Watches you return back with elevated steps and that same giddy, brightening smile still brimming on your elated, glowing face (he tries his absolute hardest not to gawk at your bouncing pretty breasts, attaining himself to be more gentlemen like...no matter how soft and tender and just so...edible they looked, he found the refined restraint he needed to stay focused on that brightening smile glimmering up the dimly lit surroundings). His head tilts when he notices you hiding something behind your back, intrigue pools in his soften irises of ruby, wafting back up at you.

"Oh shush, you love seeing me naked! and I'll be okay with your body heat!" you exclaim with pitched thrill filling your voice, his face flushes, rolling his eyes in fluster as he watches you continue to excitingly bounce back on top of his lap. Still holding something behind your back.

"I honestly can't stand you sometimes woman...what is that behind your back? I thought we weren't doing gifts until tomorrow? even though I specifically said I didn't need or want anything" he grumbles under his breath, wide hands gently kneading at the curves of your hips.

"You love me and you know it! and hush! I wanted to give something to you! and I think you're really going to like this gift!" you blabber in pure elation, stilling your eager body, quickly whipping the rounded gift from behind your back to his studying features.

He blinks at the obvious rounded wrapped gift in your hands being shoved in his face, then back up at you with an unamused expression.

"Come onnnn, it's literally really great! I promise 'Rou!" you giggle delightedly, waving the gift in his face. He sighs heavily, expelling a languid grunt to follow, as he sits up more properly, taking the gift from your hands and unwrapping the gift.

His brows perch slightly, studying over to what seem to be a custom made designed soccer ball. Lips formed into a slouched pout, lidded eyes blinking up at you.

"Just...turn it a bit babe, here" you elicit another soft chuckle, clasping your hands over his that held the ball and twirled it slightly. Exposing a personally signed signature of his favorite Soccer player engraved onto the ball with permanent ink.

Work hard and thrive to be the best, Shoei - Mario Balotelli

Mellow irises of crimson start to dilate more profoundly, carefully, intently gazing over the familiar signature with a focused stare.

"This isn't...how did you—"

"Funny story actually 'Rou, so you remember before we departed from Japan to come here for your championship game? well, turned out I had bumped into him while getting off the plane and booked us our cabin! he was so nice and sweet! I asked him if I could get a signature for you and he was more then happy to — omph!" your voice gets cut off immediately by his, in a rampant, dire manner, you could feel the intense heat and passion filled behind the sudden intrusion of his torrid lips lapping over yours with such fiery affection and fervor.

You could feel the ball between you both squish against your chests, his hot lips sear deep into the plush slump of your own in a fervent devotion and ardor.

You chuckle breathlessly against his devoted, intoxicating lips, exhaling heavily in between overlapping lips and shorten breaks.

Imminent sensation of tender yearning and brewing arousal began to simmer into your body. His wide, needy hands carefully chucks the ball to the side and immediately finds the homely estate of your hips, hastily and easily hovering over you, pinning you ever so passionately against the soften fur of the cabins rug and sprawled out blankets.

The kiss began to feel more intense and inebriating, filling your head with nothing but foggy nothingness and enticement with the greedy, lavishing intent dwelling behind his sudden burst of desire and closeness. Your hands find themselves back into the silky, fallen strands of obsidian, humming in staggered moans and hitched breaths with every intensifying moment of his lulling lips captivating yours entirely.

You feel your hazy head nudge to the right slightly, the burning touch of his glistened, famished lips trailing down from the corners of your lips to the juncture of your jaw, gradually coursing down in a heated frenzy, to the slope of your neck, fueling that warm, tingling sensation that bubbled within your fluttering stomach from earlier to arise more quickly.

Your fingers draw in deeper into his scalp, gingerly guiding his incessant head down to the valley of your titillating skin. Basking in the alluring bliss with each fervent kiss he would embellish into your sensitive flesh.

"I-I'm guessing you like y-your gift 'Rou" you breathlessly chuckle, sucking back a breathy moan between bitten lips as you feel the steep vibrations of his muffled groans reverberate against your delectable skin.

His face inevitably draws back up the slant of your tantalizing neck to the corners of your pulled back, swelled lips. Kisses one last time at the corner of them, brings a hand to the juncture of your jaw to make you look at him steadily. Waits patiently for you to meet his deep gaze, thumb brushing over the pulled back, sweet flesh of your lips. Unbinding them from your teeth.

"You...you are something else woman" he breathes almost heavily, carefully scouring all over your lavishing face with lit pining and heavy yearning. He carefully dips the pad of his thumb into your mouth, taking in every glowing fiber of your radiant face with such urgent want and craving.

"I'm going to fuck every ounce of my dedication in to you in this sweet little body of yours and make you quiver to the simplest touch I give you once I'm finished..." he lulls deeply, leaning down to plant a tender kiss to your forehead down to the plush of your sweltering cheeks. Chuckles heavily when he feels the prominent heat pool into your cute cheeks, adores and relishes in the adorable fluster ingrain into your adoring face. Reels his hot lips to the shell of your right burning ear, gently tugging onto it with his teeth in a taunting manner.

"All you'll be able to think about is my hands, tongue and dick for the next few weeks while we're here baby...going to make you feel oh so good...going to treat you oh so perfect...going to fuck you until you ache all over and beg me for more, princess"

And with Barou being the man of his word, through and through, he surely did stay true to his every pledge he had engagingly whispered into your ears that steamy, passionate sweat inducing night.

#BARROUUU 😩😩❤️❤️❤️#had a dream about this last night and thought I'd write it!#lovedddd the idea! thought it was cute and veryyy intimate and cozy! 🥰🥴💗💦#barou shoei x reader #barou shouei #blue lock

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