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jiminiecrickets · 4 months

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HEAVEN'S SHEATH. KTH / M!READER

summary. a wealthy lord's pacifist son finds friendship and affection in a poor soldier, unremarkable except for the fact that he is the lone survivor of a massacre. fate has different plans for them.

wc. 10k

tags. smut | top!reader, bottom!tae, virgin!reader with a big dick (lol), reader is described as tall/strong, descriptions of blood/injuries/death, sex while injured (reader), riding, multiple orgasms, 2/3rds is only worldbuilding oops im just like that!!

a cloud of dust billows beneath the heavy black hooves of a friesian stallion, sturdy and strong-chested. the well-travelled dirt path swings over rolling green knolls, past flocks of white sheep herded into valleys and heavy brown cows grazing along the hillside. the untouched countryside is marked by clusters of tall green trees along the road and they shade the large river snaking through the vale.

amongst the verdant growth, throned between the river and the hills, lies a large manor built strong with stone and brick. other buildings lay scattered around its feet, and life is most evident here – servants hurry about, ushering goats into their wooden pens and their young ones out of the way of the black horse's brisk high trot. the little children stare with big eyes up at the regal stallion's wavy mane, watching how it falls softly over its long neck with each step. it is a horse that carries great presence and elegance, and its rider is no different.

at the manor's grand front entrance, an older man stands in wait, both hands resting on a cane tipped at both ends with gold. his hair is almost fully grey. his steely eyes track the horse and the dust and pollen dirtying its fine feathering on the lower legs.

"you've been sorely missed, son," he says in an unreadable tone, light enough for politeness but darkened by his heavy gaze. "does wartime make for a better view?"

the rider dismounts, hushing the horse as it snorts and tosses its head, hooves stamping. it yearns for the freedom of the run. he pets its soft mane. his voice is deep and monotone with disinterest. "certainly. it's quieter."

the man's eyes narrow. "you left all the kitchen girls alone, who i know you've a fondness for. you should be at home to protect them, taehyung, not gallivanting off to paint your pictures."

silently, taehyung passes off the reins to the stablehand, and turns to stare up at his father from the bottom of the steps. he tugs off his kid-leather riding gloves and places them in the pocket of his navy blue coat. "what do i know of war and fighting? you were the general, not i. i'd say you are much better suited to protecting these frail women from suffering under the hands of conquerors."

"you are the son of a general," he replies sharply. "the youth must carry on what their fathers forged."

"hate and subjugation, of course," taehyung sighs, shifting his bag of paints in one arm and his canvas in another. "humanity's pinnacle."

"stay your wit, boy. you'll find no friends with it."

he slips past him through the open doors of the manor, his paints clinking in its leather saddlebag. "yes, my lord."

upstairs in a large, sunlit room, he sets it all down with a soft huff. he glances around at the canvases lining the walls, leaning against cupboards and drawers full of paint thinners and varnishes. portraits of one woman dominate most of them – slender, pale, with dark hair, full lips, and a soft curving nose. in some, she sits primly on a chair amongst vases of flowers and goblets of wine, and in others, on chaises in simple dresses with a needle and thread in her hands, glowing with the early summer light blooming behind her.

these are the ones hung up or placed atop chests of drawers. not one touches the ground – that place, on the edge between floor and wall, is reserved for simpler landscapes and still lifes.

"i remember i told you to take down those portraits. do you find joy in antagonising me?"

taehyung turns. his father stands on the threshold, cane by his side. after he returned from the last war with a limp and new scars, he has not worn any other colour but black.

he turns back to his saddlebags, indifferent as he slowly pulls his paints and brushes one at a time from the bag. "no. i find no joy in speaking to you at all."

his father's expression tightens. "i did not make her ill. it was chance and nature. your hatred of me will not bring her back, no matter how intense. it is time to move on, son. lingering on it breeds only worse things."

"'worse things'?" taehyung snaps, gripping a put of paint so tightly his knuckles turn white. "i am not one of your soldiers, so don't speak to me like one. i don't need your pragmatism, your war-bred heartlessness. all she wanted was you. all she asked for was you, and you never came."

he has had this argument many times over since that winter. it festers hot fury in his chest just thinking of it, and it has not burned dimmer with time.

he turns and approaches his father, eye-to-eye. he is not a boy anymore. he surveys him for a moment. "war may have reforged you, made you richer and cleverer, but it burned away all that she loved. you never once held her again, felt her breath on your cheek." taehyung brushes his knuckles over his jaw. he shakes his head and begins to walk down the hall. "don't touch those portraits."

back for only a few minutes and taehyung already cannot stand the solemn weight of the air within these walls. he pushes open the front doors with more force than necessary and wanders through the large, walled estate, stone brick encompassing the major centres of activity.

mindlessly, he travels past the cowherds and shepherds leading in the meat for supper, and the stablemaster tending to his friesian, and the beekeepers. he passes the wall and almost reaches the wheat farm.

hushed whispers float up from the riverbank. he stops in his tracks.

by the water, the girls and women who work with the granary from the farm are crowded around something on the bank. the linens of their dresses are dark with water up to their knees, where they hold it back.

he notices the expressions on the girls' faces – bright with nervousness and fear, but tinged with… curiosity? they whisper amongst themselves behind their hands.

he approaches, ducking under a branch of the oak they shelter beneath. "what is so interesting?"

they startle, several sets of eyes turning towards him. one of the older girls, about his age, drops into a fumbled curtsy. "oh, young master—! we weren't doing nothin' bad, sir, but we was hiding from the sun when we found something the lord sir might need know. we found 'im caught up on the root branches here."

him?

taehyung steps past her. his eyes widen.

a young soldier, skin tinged grey, lies on his back on the riverbank, the water lapping at his calves. his boots have come off somewhere in the water. he wears an unfamiliar uniform: a mixture of thick fabrics to stave off the cold adorned with a strangely-patterned leather jerkin.

it is a poor man's armour, he realises, made of what he can scrounge up and what fits from the garrison's armoury. despite his lack of wealth, taehyung can tell he is a big man – tall, strong in ways only a life of hard work can create. he is fair of face, too, handsomer than many young nobles taehyung has met. perhaps a blacksmith's apprentice, or a baker's boy?

"which… which army is he from, master taehyung? can you tell?"

the question awakens him from his daze. he blinks. "ah – bring him higher on the bank, get his legs out of the water. let me closer."

he crouches by the body, pulling at the heavy cloth draped over the torso. at the neck, where the cloth is bunched and rolled to pack in heat, he finds a small red patch.

taehyung sighs and presses the soaked cloth back into place. "this man is very, very far from home."

the girls glance at each other uncertainly. "what does that mean, master?"

"many years ago, his homeland was seized, and now his people are under southern rule. he was an infantryman. simple cannon fodder." with a soft exhale, he leans over the torso and pulls him onto his side to reach the lashes holding together his water-heavy coat. "perhaps i can bury him someplace high, so that his soul may be reminded of home."

the body jerks and chokes out a lungful of water with a ragged groan.

the girls yelp, stumbling back. taehyung would have had he not already been on his knees. his eyes widen as the soldier's face pinches in pain, eyes still shut. taehyung reaches for the oldest girl, gesturing frantically towards the manor on the horizon. "find my father and tell him what you've found! you've my permission to leave the farm and all of that – he's alive!"

—

it is dark. everything hurts. this is hell – this is punishment, eternal and unforgiving. this is deserved for desertion.

then – light. light rings against bone and flesh.

velvet. mahogany. silk and down.

there is a girl beside you, leaning over you. her linen dress is plain but clean with a white apron over it.

your side explodes with pain. you launch upright with a violent shout, gasping and clutching the hot ache under your ribs. cries of shock throb in your skull.

you blink, hard, eyes adjusting dizzily to the brightness of the room. your torso is wrapped in cloth, which you can feel flat and taut against your skin. your hand comes away clean, and for several unthinking moments, you wonder why. your thoughts are slow and heavy.

"you ought to relax, master," echoes a soft voice beside you. her vowels are round and elongated, the accent so different from your own that you barely recognise it, much less understand it. you stare up unseeingly at her youthful face, framed by dark curls held back by a bonnet. she steps forward, a damp sponge in her hand. that is why your limbs feel cold. "your injuries are quite severe."

"where am i?" you mumble, your tongue thick in your mouth. words are unfamiliar. "who're you?"

she glances up at the other maids, huddling by the door. she sets down the sponge and extends a hand, though you flinch from it. she does not try again. "you are in the northern highlands. hadria. my name is aemma."

"aemma," you murmur. the sounds are soft and round, like a river pebble. like a river, you realise, you are damp and naked, save for a single sheet of folded cloth across your lap. you feel your face grow hot and you clutch it close, folding your legs towards your body for security. "m-may i – where are my clothes?"

aemma gestures for one of the other girls, who quickly scoops up a folded pile of clothes from atop the chest at the base of the lavish bed. the rest of the bedroom is similarly luxurious, with a dark palette that soaks up sunlight to warm its wood. the walls are pale, though framed by polished wooden frames embracing the room.

"here," she replies. "the lord father has gifted you some riding clothes to wear in their stead. they were to be given to the young master when he turned of age, but…" she pauses. she shakes her head and curtsies. "you're to meet the lord father and his son shortly. we were to inform them when you were to wake eventually."

"eventually…" you trail off. "how long have i been here?"

"two days, master."

your head begins to pound. you cradle it, wincing, and reach for the offered clothes. they are clean and soft under your callused fingertips. "ah… i'm no lord, miss."

aemma smiles briefly, folding her hands over her stomach. "the lord father requires it, master."

you have no heart to push. in fact, you would much rather lay down for another two days, though knowing you are under the roof of a lord churns up too much fear to do so. if northern men were anything like southern ones, you would do anything to keep your name clean.

"i'd like to dress," you say softly, glancing briefly at the maids watching you from the corner of the room. "alone, if the lasses would allow it."

with another curtsy, aemma ushers the other girls out of the room and closes the door after them. you do not miss how they sent you curious glances as they left. she now stands where they once were, watching you with badly-disguised intrigue.

you clear your throat and feel your cheeks and neck blaze, folding the cloth around your hips tighter. "i'm sorry. i meant entirely."

perhaps it is your imagination, but you think you spot a tinge of pink wash over her features. she finds sudden interest in the knots and grain of the floor. "the lord father instructed that you were not to be left alone in case you required immediate medical attention. you are evidently still in pain, so i must protest."

"ah." you swallow, and your mouth is dry. "p-perhaps… you could turn around, then?"

she glances up, as if to say something, but eventually nods, bobbing in a small curtsy before turning to face the wall.

as quickly as your aching body will allow, you shuffle off of the bed and dress yourself in finer clothes than you have ever worn before. the cloth is soft and sits finely against your skin like a baby's breath. you are so used to abrasive linens that you almost feel more naked than before.

"you found my boots."

aemma turns around – she almost regrets it, spying the last sliver of skin before white cloth falls over it like the pull of curtains. it is more titillating than seeing the entirety of you bare. "o-oh – yes, one of the servant boys found them downstream."

"ah, thank you. and my uniform, miss," you glance up at her, leaning heavily against the bed poster to slip on your boots, "do you know what happened to it?"

"they're with the hold's tailor. i heard it took quite the beating."

"that could be said," you mumble, straightening up at last. your side twinges with pain, but you attempt a smile. "well, s'pose it's time to meet your lord. i've got to thank my saviours."

it is just turning to twilight, and the hazy golden sun on the horizon feels like little more than a memory. candles light the path past gold-spun tapestries and gleaming windows. aemma leads you to a grand dining room, reminiscent of castles and times long gone. she halts by the entrance, curtsies to you, and hurries away without another word, which you find strange as she had been a pleasant conversationalist when helping you through the halls and down the stairs.

"the soldier awakens at last. how do you feel?"

you glance away from aemma's retreating figure. at the head of the long dining table is an older man with sharp eyes and a natural severity about him. seated beside him is a younger man, around your age, staring into his plate with his hands folded in his lap. you step forward cautiously, and a male servant pulls out a chair on the older man's other side. the lord gestures at it, watching you carefully.

"well, milord; thank you," you answer, taking a seat and quietly thanking the servant who readied it in the first place. he bows but does not otherwise acknowledge you, his gaze on the ground as he slinks back into the shadows of the dining room.

"you were asleep for quite some time. my son doubted you would live." he gestures to the young man across from you, whose romantic dark curls are loose over his forehead. "i am glad you are feeling strong enough to join us for supper. i trust that the girls took care of you?"

"yes, milord," you reply, glancing over the table almost longingly. you swallow the saliva building in your mouth. silver platters are laden heavy with dark ox roasts, honeyed lamb shanks, roasted salmon fillets, sausages and baked potatoes, and braised vegetable stews steaming hot. ruby wine is poured into silver goblets. you have never seen so much food at once in your life.

"the war has yet to touch us. we have plenty to share," the lord informs, his voice almost kind. "how long has it been since you have last eaten, soldier?"

your throat bobs before speaking. "ah… four days, maybe, including my time spent here."

the man's brow arches. "your general did not feed you before battle?"

"no, milord. they ambushed us before our rations were due." you glance at the young man. he has yet to look up, or indeed even move. "we… had issues with our supplies. weevils in the grain, rats in the captains' meat. we turned from two meals a day, to one a day, then one every two." you pause. "i don't think one more meal would have saved us."

the room falls silent, with only the crackling of the fireplace breaking the stillness. green wood pops in the flames.

"well, don't wait for me to begin," says the lord suddenly, shifting comfortably in his seat and reaching for a leg of ox, stabbing it with a knife and lifting it onto his plate. he piles his plate high with potatoes and mash. the action seems to spur on his son, who jolts into motion like a creaking old waterwheel, movements slow and measured. "tell us your name, soldier. i'd like to know the name and story of our guest. now, news comes to us slowly in this isolated place. how fares the war effort?"

glancing down, you realise exactly how many pieces of cutlery there are. knives and forks, spoons and little spoons, all slightly different in shape or size. you pause, hand hovering over the knives, nerves tightening in your chest.

a soft cough. you glance up.

across from you, the son rests his delicate fingers on the outermost knife and fork, using them to carry a richly-glazed steak onto his plate. he chooses a large spoon, fingers lingering on it where it sits on the table, and places it into his bowl of stew.

his gaze lifts to meet yours and just as quickly, a butterfly's flap of wings, he glances away. his cheeks are dusted pink, the rosy colour like gold on his sun-warmed skin.

you copy him. you take a slab of steak from the dish right in front of you. you are starving, but everything about this manor makes you feel small, and you fear taking more than you are offered. you give them your name, for it is the only thing you truly own in these foreign lands.

"the war?" you continue, trying to shake the tremor from your voice. "i wouldn't know, milord. the captains don't tell us much. it's all the same – i've fought in three different battles. this was the third. they give their speeches about king and country, and then we fight. it is noble," you say hastily, "but i am not a warrior. not many of us were. the enemy outnumbered us, outskilled us, and when the poppy fields lay silent, they piled the bodies of all our fallen and made pyres out of us."

"such would explain the scorch marks on your clothes." the lord nods. he leans in, and you fight the urge to lean away. "i shall ask the question we all ask ourselves, if you would not mind. how did you survive such a massacre?"

you glance at the son. he eats quietly, forking small chunks of meat into his mouth. you glance away. "i remember a spear. it was tipped… with a blue and white flag. it waved in the black sky as i looked up at it." you frown. "i'd never seen one like it before."

"the temerian lilies," he replies, almost approvingly. "you must have been some opponent – if the flagbearer loses his flag, it is a great shame to the army. it must be held aloft at all times. he would rather die than lose it to the enemy."

you lift a shoulder. the other aches too much to try. "they pulled it out of me after, then dragged me to a pile of corpses. i… don't remember much, but i remember them squabbling over another soldier's brooch for a while. i only wanted to escape the stench of death." you survey the feast laid out before you. "i s'pose i have."

"then we shall celebrate that," hums the lord, lifting his goblet of wine. "my son was the one who found you floating down the river. he said you were cold as ice and only recognised you from the flag you had sewn into your coat. it is brave to carry your homeland's colours when fighting for their conquerors."

"it was a small creature comfort," you respond as nonchalantly as you can. "they could punish me all they liked, but could never kill me. they needed every man in their ranks."

the lord raises his brows, and something like admiration crosses his features. he glances at his son and that admiration turns into a tiny downturn of the lips. he turns back to you. "not a warrior, you say, yet you stand with the united courage of a battalion. who was your father?"

you notice how his son stills, holding the steak on his tongue behind his lips for a long moment. he closes his eyes and with a deep inhale, resumes eating, as if unaffected.

"just a farmer," you say, diverting your gaze. "dead, long past. my ma raised the rest of us – six boys. i was their second. when the army came knocking, askin' for sons, i went, gave them my name. my older brother knew how to count, how to run the mill. i couldn't let them take him, especially not from the little ones – after da died and ma got sick, he was all they had." you tap the edge of the silver plate with your finger thoughtfully. "i imagined i'd either die or be done after one battle, so i'd be brought home quick regardless. now… it's been four years."

then, the servants bring out a round white cake, slices set down around the table – what a perfect intermission. you have made it rather impossible to return to frivolity with your story, and you gaze down at the cake in front of you. you assume this is their dessert, so quaint and pretty on its little silver plate, but you have little idea of how to go about eating one. something so small must require a similarly-sized utensil. is it the tiny spoon? the tiny knife?

you lift your eyes to the young man across from you. he is already watching, eyes large and dark. he picks up a small three-tined fork from the inner edge, tilting it towards you to show you its appearance, the little notch on the left prong. this time, he doesn't look away, and you have enough time to offer a grateful smile, however brief. he blinks owlishly, almost in surprise, before lowering his gaze again.

it is unfortunate. you would not mind looking at him more. he is undoubtedly beautiful, almost pretty, the sort of face people would immortalise in myths and paintings on temple walls – a kind of elven face, like those that turn goddesses to jealousy and gods to obsession.

you spend the rest of the meal stealing glances at each other when you think the other is not watching. he is far more successful than you.

—

from behind a balcony's closed doors, taehyung gazes up at the crescent moon hanging high in the sky, surrounded by pale stars glittering in the blanket of darkness. he cannot stop thinking about the shy farmer's boy, his accent unfamiliarly pleasant – the vowels are soft and blurred, with each consonant crisp and clear. it makes for a bouncing sort of melody to his voice, one that draws taehyung deeper into his song.

he sighs softly and turns away from the night's landscape, uncrossing his arms and meandering through the empty halls. most of the servants are already tucked away, and his father drowns himself alone in old letters and wine.

in loose trousers and a looser white shirt, the vee of the collared neck laced with string, he finds himself in his library, rich and warm from a hearth already lit. curious. he shuts the open double doors behind him quietly to keep the heat from dissipating into the night.

his silent feet carry him through the aisles, where the shelves brush the ceiling with books and ladders. a walkway surrounds the room, essentially giving it a second level.

silhouetted black against the white glow of the moon beyond the arched window, a familiarly unfamiliar figure stands in silence, gaze turned up towards the heavens beyond the lines of books and old tomes.

standing in this still and quiet room, statue-esque in the way of classics, taehyung cannot help the journey of his gaze wandering up and down the planes of your body, painting to himself the sturdiness of your shoulders, the perfect balance between your booted feet. there is a severity about you he recognises in his own father – he sees it in your arms, tucked behind your back, and the practised way of standing that arches the spine just so to emphasise the broadness of the chest. yet, he knows gentleness when he sees it, and he finds it in the almost childlike awe in your expression, aimed up at his personal collection.

he steps out, the shadows melting from him like the shedding feathers of a raven. "what are you doing in my library?"

you startle, and taehyung almost regrets interrupting you. coward that he is, he would rather watch from afar than bring you out of that handsome serenity.

"f-forgive me, sir," you stammer, twisting your hands together as you incline in an awkward half-bow, half-stumble, evidently having forgotten the extent of your injuries as your expression tightens and your hand brushes over your side. "i didn't know it was yours. the – the doors were open, and i—"

"invited yourself in," he finishes.

"i – yes, sir…"

before you, he stands perfectly still. you could fool yourself into thinking his heart does not beat, for he is pale in the moonlight and beautifully dark-haired, with eyes like midnight lakes and lips like a rose.

you tear your gaze from his, breaking your trance. you begin to move past him. "forgive me, milord. i shan't interrupt you."

his hand darts out, wrapping itself around your wrist. serpentine, it slides up your arm and grips your bicep, forming creases in the cloth.

"you shouldn't move so quickly. you're injured." he turns his gaze on you. "you'd leave so soon?"

"ah…" you flounder, helpless. "if the lord wish it so."

his searching gaze strips your body bare. you feel it prod your soul when his eyes meet yours. his eyes scan your face, and he reaches up with his other hand, brushing it lightly against the slope of your jaw. his skin is warm and tender-soft. your breath hitches.

"the maids missed a spot when shaving," he mutters, pressing his fingers against the patch of half-shorn stubble left on the soft underside of your chin. "a man would do it better."

all at once, he drops his hand and looks away. "i am no lord," he replies, his low, rich voice like waves lapping at the sides of a ship, almost careless. "just his son."

you hesitate, your heartbeat still in your ears. "th-then what should i call you, sir?"

he glances down where bandages hide the hole in your body. "just 'taehyung' will do," he says softly, eyes lifting again. he unravels his arm from yours, turning fully towards you. "you may stay – as long as you are quiet."

he moves away, so graceful he may as well have floated. his fingers glide over the covers like bumps of the spine, and they pluck a small yellow book from the shelf. he opens it, already turning to the first page even before he finds a chair to sit in. he curls up in front of the grand fireplace, the furry hide of a brown bear thrown across the floor in front of it.

for a while, you simply watch him and listen to the crackling of the fire. his slim fingers glide across the pages to turn them, the edge of the page caught gently on the pad of his thumb.

bathed in the yellow and orange hues of the fire, the lord's son is every bit as regal as northerners are said to be – hair like calligraphy ink, cheekbones fine, slim bodies tall and lithe. you could lose yourself in his cold, gentle darkness.

that burbling feeling of being out of place rises to the surface, worse than when you sat before the lord at his table. you and your callused palms, your worn and labour-worked body. you should not be here.

"you know you can choose a book, yes? i don't mind." he glances up. "forgive the mess. i can help. what do you like to read?"

"i'm sorry, sir," you murmur, averting your gaze. "i can't read."

it seems he'd forgotten your roots. he blinks. "oh. my apologies. but if not to read, what interested you about my library?"

"ah," you chuckle, scratching your head. "i've just never seen so many books in one place. travelling merchants would display some, but never like this."

"i see." he surveys you intensely, then glances away and clears his throat. he shifts in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs. at last, he says stiffly, "if you'd like… i can… read to you."

the silence is thick with more than just the fire's heat. it is hard to know taehyung's hot face is not because of the fire, and he is grateful.

"if milord wishes to," you reply quietly, watching him for any twitch of his expression that may give him away.

"of course. i wouldn't offer it if i didn't." he gestures to the chaise beside him. "sit."

you step into the semicircle of light afforded by the fireplace, licked by tendrils of warmth, and ease yourself into the chair with a soft grunt, holding your side. "milord is as kind as he is beautiful."

his eyes flicker down to your lap. "i wish you wouldn't call me that," he says suddenly, a little sharper. "can i not be called my own name in my home?"

your mouth opens and closes. after a moment, you reply softly, "i meant no offence. it just feels… wrong."

slowly, he exhales, closing his eyes and his book. he places a hand over its cover. "all of my life has felt wrong. everything is wrong no matter what i do – who i wish to be, the company i keep, the fears i carry… the love i desire." he pauses, opening his eyes to your earnest expression. he diverts his gaze to the yellow-gold cover of the book. "what more can one last wrong hurt?"

"i'm sorry," you whisper. "perhaps i can start over." you straighten slightly, offering a crooked half-smile. "what do you want to read to me, taehyung?"

he does not disagree that his name sounds strange coming from another's mouth, but he cannot remember the last time it was used by anyone else. he hums and rises to his feet, coming to stand over you in front of the fire; his shadow cast over your body deepens the maturity of your features.

"when you said i was beautiful," he asks, "did you mean it?"

staring up at him, you can do nothing but tilt your head in bewilderment. "yes. you are fair and handsome."

taehyung chooses his next words carefully. "if… i were a girl," he decides, clasping his book over his stomach with straight arms, "would it be a different sort of beauty?"

you frown, shaping an approximation of a girl with taehyung's features in your mind. "maybe. but she would still be beautiful if she was you." you shake your head, dispelling morphing images of regal dark-haired daughters. you hide your warm cheeks behind an apologetic smile. "i'm sorry. i don't know much. i don't usually deal with such thoughts."

but it was enough for taehyung. slowly, as if not to frighten you, he lowers himself, grasping the chaise's rests and draping himself gently over your lap. he watches your face all the while, his heart beating faster at the shock and nervousness that cross your face in a single second.

"is this… is this alright?" he whispers, placing his hand against your chest.

your adam's apple bobs, your hands hovering an inch off of his body as if he is made of glass. gently, you place one on taehyung's knee and the other behind his back, and glance up at him.

"perhaps you can sit closer," you murmur, eyes wide and searching, "so you may not fall."

taehyung smiles, then – the first smile of his you have ever seen. it is sweet, and crinkles the corners of his eyes. it makes your heart swell.

he hides his smile in his chest, his knuckles brushing the corner of his lips. he lifts his eyes, and a sliver of hope twinkles in them. "shall i read to you, then? i will give you a synopsis of each story so you may choose your favourite."

"please," you murmur, settling back in the chair and sliding your hand higher up taehyung's thigh so he may be more comfortable. "do whatever you wish."

"'whatever'?" he hums, and with a flippant little kick, throws off his boots to the ground, where they thump carelessly. he meets your eyes and falls into a nervous smile, tucking his bare feet against your leg and resting his temple against your shoulder. his hair is still slightly damp at the ends from his earlier evening bath. "then you wouldn't mind this, would you?"

"of course not," you whisper, biting back a shy, embarrassed smile. you are too old to be acting like this, especially with the only son of a wealthy lord, but the rush of excitement from seeing such a reticent man blossom and show his petals to you is too much to keep you away. "i am only a farmer's boy, taehyung. anything with someone like you is… a dream."

at the mention of his name, his smile widens slightly and a pinkness warms the apples of his cheeks. he busies himself with opening the book and flipping through its contents to find the correct page. he presses his thumb against the spine between the pages.

"here." he taps the words on the page. "this story is one my mother used to read to me. a princess is trapped in a tower, guarded by a dragon in an ever-changing thorn maze, and a brave, handsome knight rescues her. they are married and live happily ever after."

he looks up at you, searching for a reaction, and you can only give a breathy laugh in return, still dizzy with the idea that someone like taehyung could ever be interested in someone like you. "are you sure you should be telling me these stories? i'm not a princess or a brave knight. i'm plain."

"perhaps. but do you know who else was seen as plain?" he taps your chest. "the dragon, disguised as a statue. and you, strong dragon, will protect the princess," he taps his own chest, "from all the boredom and politics of castle life."

"don't you have other, richer boys chasing you?" you ask, because you know your place. "your own knight? i don't see what i offer that they can't."

he licks his lips, setting aside the small book on a round side table and swinging his legs over your lap to straddle you. reading it is the last thing on his mind. "i do, of course. but it is like you said – they are boys. when their wooden sword chips, they get a new one." he trails his fingers lightly down the centre of your chest, wide and strong, and tentatively cups what is between your legs. he leans in, long-lashed brown eyes flickering down to your lips. "i want more than that."

"i—" your breath hitches as he squeezes gently, learning its shape and heft with deft fingers. "a-are we allowed to…? i am a stranger in strange lands with nothing to my name."

he chuckles, pressing his forehead against yours. his soft hair curtains your eyes. "allowed? no. but when a handsome soldier from far away falls into my lap, what else is a man to do?" he draws his thumb over your jawline, stroking your cheek. he lowers his lips to yours, hot breath sweet with honeyed treats. with the faintest thread of a breath, he whispers, "may i?"

with your heartbeat thudding in your ears, your head inclines, and taehyung wraps his arms around your shoulders and pushes his lips to yours.

his moan is sweet and starved as you kiss back to the best of your ability, your hands falling naturally about his waist. his lips are plump and warm, pillowy, and slicken with saliva as he deepens it, cupping the back of your head and pressing himself higher onto your body. he is desperate and dominating, sitting in your lap and rolling his hips into yours. you can feel his excitement through the cotton of his trousers.

when you part regretfully, gulping down air, he cups your face, his eyes dark yet gentle. he licks his shining lips, parted to pant. "you seem apprehensive. have you ever done this with a man?"

you wipe your lips with your thumb, tongue swiping over them in an almost bewildered motion. your eyes are wide. "a-ah… no. not with… anyone…"

"not even a girl?" he cannot help the surprise that coats his tone.

you shake your head, face aflame. "i never… my older brother had my father's charm. he was the one they all wanted, strong but lean. i was too much of a bull. they had fantasies of princes, and he was closer to it than i."

deeply and tenderly, he kisses you again. "it only means i won't have to fight anyone to call you mine." he brushes his thumb over your lips. "that suits me just fine. i was never the fighting sort."

he sits up on your lap, thighs bracketing yours. his bare feet tuck beneath him under his knees. when his palm grazes the front of your trousers, your breath hitches in your chest, and taehyung gives you a soft, if coy, grin. "i'll be gentle," he promises. he tugs slightly on the laces of the waist. "may i?"

mutely, you nod, your words sinking into the whirling depths of his eyes. his deft fingers undo the laces with ease and he pulls the thick cloth down your waist, tracing the vee of your hips with a pleased breath. he reaches in, lifting his gaze to gauge your expression. your chest rises and falls rapidly, and your knuckles are tensed on the chaise's armrest. the other arm is tucked tightly by your side.

"don't be nervous," he whispers, stroking you gently in your trousers. it twitches in his palm. "place your hands on my waist, darling. good. very good."

hesitantly, your hands graze his hips, sliding up to grip his slender waist. you splay a hand beside his waist, measuring it against him with fascination. he is slim and lovely… like the city nobles' soft-palmed daughters. you had noticed his hands during supper but hadn't the room to mull over them then, though now you do. they are square, masculine, but slender and fine-veined. his nails are clean and cut short, with a thin crescent of white at the ends.

he could not have been more perfect if he tried.

he slides his fist up to the tip of your cock, rubbing his thumb against the slit and the smooth skin. you are mostly soft, but still impressive – the number of taehyung's clandestine trysts have lent him a certain experience when it comes to men.

you have reinforced your place as his favourite.

"i see why they call you a bull," he says slyly, squeezing your shaft as his fist sinks down on it. "they just don't know how to tame you."

your face floods with heat as you stutter meaninglessly. your grip tightens on taehyung's hips and a single slant of a thought marvels at how delicate he feels in your palms.

"be still, my darling," he murmurs, "and be at ease. you are no longer at war. you can close your eyes and hold me without fear. nothing will happen unless we want it to."

his voice, like syrup, melts the frantic whirlwind of thoughts in your head. you cannot help but want to believe him. "you make it sound so simple. i want to believe you."

"why can't it be?" he tilts his head, glancing down and stroking you contentedly. he swipes his thumb over the slit, where a bead of precome bubbles. oil – from a small bottle you only now spot in taehyung's palm – smooths each stroke of your shaft. "the world is so complicated. affection can afford to be simple."

he lets go for a moment to step back, sliding his trousers down his hips and calves and tossing them aside on the chaise. he flicks his dark hair and tucks a lock over his ear as he reassumes his place on your lap, pressing his chest against yours and tugging your cock to throb against the curve of his ass. the silk of his white shirt is cool and light against your hot skin.

his lips ghost over the shell of your ear as his hips roll languidly. he whispers, "do you want this?"

do you want more? the question is unasked, but you hear it anyway.

"i do, yes. please," you reply immediately, your voice rough with desire. your hands trail over his hips and tuck beneath the long hem of his shirt to caress his warm, creamy thighs, a feeling that traps your breath in your throat. you force out a sigh, shaky, and rest your forehead against taehyung's shoulder. he hushes you and cups the back of your head, reaching with his other hand behind himself to ease you inside his warmth.

taehyung's head tips back with a slow exhale, shuddering as you pulse with heat inside of him. he watches you closely, committing to memory the way your brows pinch and your mouth falls open as your grasp tightens, trembling, around his waist.

"do you like that?" he whispers, breathy. he bounces shallowly, grinding his hips into yours. "how do you feel?"

"good," you choke out through a groan. your hand slides down to the dip in his back, trying not to seem too eager as it cups his ass. "oh, fuck…"

"don't hold back for me," he murmurs, hips quickening. he moans in surprise as you buck up into him, thighs meeting his ass. the slap of your balls against his ass is obscene, and he scrambles to cling onto your shoulders for balance.

"wait – wait, wait," he gasps, lashes fluttering as your cock kisses that spot inside of him that burns pleasure through his guts.

you stop immediately, sliding your hand up his side. "i'm sorry! are you alright?"

he huffs a laugh, panting softly, and nods. "you're injured, darling. don't waste the good work we put into putting you back together. sit back – i will take care of you, understand?"

"a-ah…" your face burns with heat. "all right. whatever milord desires."

"very good." he presses down on your hips gently, his hands between his thighs. he lifts himself off of your cock until only the tip rests against his hole, then sinks down on it in one smooth motion. a strangled noise escapes your throat as you scramble to hold onto him. his heat grips your shaft like a vice, gummy walls clamping down around you with each drop of his hips.

he moans when your fingers dig into the sensitive skin of his hips, sweat gathering in the small of his back. the fireplace crackles softly, the air warm and sweet with the smell of sex.

he gathers his shirt in his hands about his ribs, revealing his dusky cock, swollen with need. he takes your hand and curls your fingers around his shaft, his eyes fluttering and lips parting as you tighten it. your callused palms drag deliciously against his veins and he grips your wrist with a soft groan, bouncing on your lap in such a way that he thrusts into the warm tunnel of your fist.

carefully, you stroke his cock, cautious about rubbing raw or tearing his skin. wealthy boys are a different breed – so much softer, easier to hurt. the smell of him, sweet and musky, hangs in the air around him, enveloping you when he draws close – crushed petals, herbs, leaves. it seems foreign, or at least the mixture does, for you cannot quite place your finger on it – then again, what do you know of luxuries like this?

"you are doing well," taehyung praises, gasping as you flick the head of his cock with your thumb. "oh, yes… f-fast learner, hm? oh!"

a jerk of your hips has him jolting forward, his cock spurting a sudden white rope onto your stomach. he purrs, bracing against your chest and slamming his hips down on your cock to slicken him with your pleasure. it works, and he seems unduly proud of himself when your cock throbs and leaks, forming a white ring around the hilt that thickens with each bounce of his ass.

"milord – milord," you gasp, a tiny pathetic noise that does not match your appearance, "please – i'm—"

"let go," he demands, a breathy moan escaping his lips. he closes his eyes and lets out a punched groan as your cock carves into his insides, deeper than any other man had ever touched. his reddened cock throbs, slit pouring precome over his belly and thighs. the pleasure curls around his thoughts, his head spinning from it, and he feels your stomach tense under his palms.

you spill into him with a deep, satisfied growl, head tipping back as he arches against you. your hips roll up against his and the coil tightening in his belly snaps at the sight of you so wrecked from so little. he cries out, ropes of white streaking across your shirt, and his hips stutter and roll, milking your pleasure for his own like a succubus. he presses his ass into your lap, white teeth sinking into his plump lower lip, and his eyes roll as the thick warmth fills him up to the brim.

at last, he slumps against your chest, thighs trembling and tensing as he hums softly into your neck. he buries his nose in the soft, warm skin, and cups your cheek to place a soft kiss on the corner of your jaw.

"mm… good," he purrs, smiling with tender satisfaction. "i – i shall bring you to your… mm… room. it is just down the hall from my own... should you wish to see me, you only need to knock." his breath hitches as he raises his hips slowly, hole twitching around your shaft, and when it pops out, a steady stream of come leaks from him, staining his tanned skin. he sighs, closing his eyes to the slowing of your heartbeat. "but i think i will stay here for a time, if you don't mind. just until i – until i regain feeling and control of my legs."

"is that… is that normal?" you ask, a tiny panting tremor in your voice. "to lose feeling like that?"

taehyung laughs into your neck, eyes crinkling. "sometimes, when i feel overwhelmed. it is no fault of yours – you are just… big. don't worry. i liked it."

he shifts in your lap to get comfortable but pauses as something pokes his thigh. a sly smile spreads across his fine features, his fingers lifting to trace your jaw and tip your gaze to his own. he purrs, "is that for me, love? excited again?"

you gulp, unable to tear your stare from his despite the embarrassment clawing at your throat. "i – i…"

"handsome and energetic. i'm a lucky man." he laughs softly, reaching behind himself and groping your hard cock with a low moan. "i myself have been told i'm rather voracious. perhaps you will be the first to keep up with me."

he lowers himself on your cock, head tipping back as he teases himself with the thick head. his dick twitches.

"what say you to a change of scenery?" he asks coyly, perfectly content with your ragged-breath silence. every word you might have said disintegrates on your tongue when he turns around, arching his back and pinning your cock to your stomach. shining precome smears along the cleft of his ass.

his body, carved out of shadows by the fire, rocks and rolls like a ship in the harbour when all its crew are asleep. with an encouraging smile, he takes your hands and places them on his hips, pressing on them to guide you to control his body. he hums softly as you squeeze his hips and spread his asscheeks, your breath shaky as he angles his messy hole against your leaking tip.

he watches your face with gentle eyes as he sinks down on your cock, his warm, wet hole swallowing up your shaft like he was made for it. you jump slightly when his ass firmly meets your lap, taking you hungrily until the hilt, and if he were a lesser man, your expression alone would have been enough to tip him over the edge. he sears every line of your face, every edge and plane, into the backs of his eyelids. it will make for fine company on lonely nights.

you speak for the first time in a while. "p-please…" you whisper hoarsely, blunt nails digging into his smooth, unmarred skin, leaving crescent moons in your wake. "please, move."

"ah, but you are badly hurt… i must take my time with you. mustn't alert the servants, either, for they'd certainly report to my father what they've seen." taehyung giggles to himself, gnawing on his lower lip in an effort to subdue his grin. he grinds down into your lap in circles, relishing in the pleasured, impatient groans that escape your throat. "he'd toss you out in an instant, and we cannot have that! i haven't yet had my fill of you."

"a-are you always so… playful with your men, taehyung?" you ask, voice slightly strained. you watch your cock vanish into him, over and over again. the sound that is made when he bounces on your lap is obscene and filthy. your heart stirs with desire.

"mmh – no. my past conquests have not been as – as alluring as you," he gasps, wrapping his hand around his throbbing cock, thumb rubbing circles over the ridge of his tip. "mostly, they bore me. you, however – you're more than a cock i can use to please myself, if i may speak so crudely."

"i – ah – th-think i should be grateful, then…?" you reply uncertainly.

"yes. unless, of course, you enjoy that sort of game… but tonight is about simplicity," he breathes, his skin tingling where your rough palms glide over his thighs, soft as cream. "we have only so long until the sun rises and the servants wake. i want to spend that time with you – learning your homeland's ballads and epics, your favourite flower, where i can touch to make you melt…"

he looses an airy laugh as your grip tightens on his waist, his shirt folded up between your fingers to reveal the curve of his spine and ass. you drag him down onto your cock roughly and he keens, eyes rolling back briefly. "ooh, y-you like that, don't you? ah—!"

already he is so sensitive. nowhere else has he felt pleasure like this – where his body is treated as more than a means to an end. he had been completely content with that when he entered this library, agreeable to the idea that you might like him only for what he can give you. but he swears – he swears on the old gods and the new – that the way you press your nose into the curve of his neck, the way you stroke him thin and thick tight and loose – caring, properly, for his own high – means your attraction is more than fleeting.

years of ending up alone in empty beds have made him soft. lonely. desperate. perhaps he is reading into things too deeply, as he always does – poor boy, always a poet. the backs of his eyes sting with hot tears as his tightly-controlled leash snaps, making him cry out, writhe, and shudder, knees and elbows buckling under the weight of his orgasm.

you catch him in your arms before he can slip, pulling him backwards towards your chest. it is warm, your throat shining with sweat, and he can feel the burning fever of your body through your clothes. still, you do not let go, push him away – you cradle him close, your heart thudding through your ribcage and into his own.

one of your hands tugs languidly at his cock, milking his pleasure from him. you watch quietly as it spills over your knuckles, your lips pressed against his sweat-slick shoulder, and help him lift his hips off of your cock.

for the first time in what feels like hours, taehyung takes a deep, full breath of air. he cups your face in a hand and smiles, wide and content.

"i didn't believe you could be more beautiful," you murmur, words slightly clipped at the end from a lack of breath. "i've never been happier to be wrong."

he opens his eyes with a flutter of lashes, pleasantly surprised. "haven't i already let you take me?"

"what do you mean?" you ask with a frown, tilting your head. your thoughts are foggy with warm laziness. the fire's heat does not help. "taehyung?"

the sound of his name almost startles him. he sits up, and a pleasurable ache sparks up his spine. he sucks in a deep breath. "you really… truly think that of me?"

you blink slowly, like a cat, and the fire's flames dance in your eyes. "i am a simple soldier. lies are above a man like me."

"you're more than that," he replies immediately, turning around on your lap to face you properly. "if you were just a soldier, you would have died on that battlefield. forgive me, but you had all the time to die on your way down the river. still, you survived." his voice softens, and he fiddles with your collar, straightening it and folding it down. "i am glad you did. i am glad to have met you."

"ah…" gently, you tug his shirt down, allowing him the return of some of his dignity, though he does not seem to care. "that reminds me – i shouldn't waste much time here. i should report to the general."

"for what?" taehyung scoffs, and it sounds… hurt. he glances away. "am i so repugnant you would rather march thirty miles a day in mud-soaked boots than stay here with me?"

"no!" you protest, sitting up as best you can with the growing ache in your side. you had been too caught up in the moment to remember it, and now your body reminds you jealously. "t'ain't that, taehyung. you are intelligent and kind and if we were in my homeland, i wouldn't hesitate to ask your hand. but surely you have a girl you're supposed to marry?"

"no, not at the moment. despite what he says, my father still grieves my mother. it will be a while yet before he'll allow another woman into the house." he traces shapes into your skin. "i will free you from the servitude of the evil king who bound you, and together, princess and dragon will live freely, with the wind in their hair and the sun on their backs."

at first, you smile at the newfound softness of his voice, but freeze. "free… of servitude?"

taehyung watches you, draping his legs over the other side of the armchair, kicking his feet lazily. his eyes are dark and watchful. "as i know it, the king's oath swears that you are only relieved of your duty when you give your blood for his and fall in battle against his enemies. have you not satisfied these requirements?"

"i may be no scholar, but i'm near certain that to 'fall in battle' means to die in it."

"have you not satisfied these requirements?" he repeats, firmer. "our doctors and priests said you were dead when i brought you to them. they said you may have been alive when i found you, but somewhere between the riverbank and their stone table marked the spot where you died. as they proclaimed this, you coughed again, and nobody could deny me this time when i said you were very clearly alive."

"you are telling me that i died… and returned? like a saint?" you ask sceptically.

"i only tell you what our doctors told me."

for a while, you are silent. determination creases taehyung's brow, and you cannot hold in the disbelieving laugh that erupts from you, though it morphs into a groan of pain in the middle. taehyung sits up and presses his palm to your cheek, his eyes so vivid and certain.

"you have already died, and thus retain no obligations to the crown," he whispers. his gaze scours your face. "you are free. free to stay here. live here…"

with me.

your heart drops into your stomach. you grip his waist, shifting in the velvet chaise. "i'm…"

"agree. agree to it. even if i cannot bear your children, we will sleep in the same bed, take walks in the wheat fields, eat and drink every meal together. you won't fear for your life every day. and as soon as the war ends and they open the trade routes to your home, i shall book passage on a ship and take you there. you may stay, if you wish. i won't deny you."

"then why offer at all?" you ask quietly. "if you think i'll leave you the moment i can, why would you even try?"

"i can hope, can i not? by all accounts our kings have no desire to cease any time soon. perhaps you will learn to love me in time." he smiles, faint, and averts his gaze. "otherwise, i will be glad to help another soul. you will survive the war and return to your family, whole and healthy. out here, away from people, i have little chance to do something so good and noble."

"and if i grow restless? if i want to do something with my hands?"

he tilts his head thoughtfully. "how is your aim?"

"fair, i s'pose. haven't missed when it's important."

"the lord's hunter grows old," he proclaims. "he can teach you what he knows, and if you like, you may take up the title once he can no longer ride and shoot. besides that, there is always work to be done in the fields and granary – perhaps you'll find some comfort in the farms?"

you think about it, long and hard. in essence you would be a prisoner at his beck and call, though if taehyung tells the truth and is as earnest as he appears, perhaps you'll find freedom and enough work to fill your days with…

you give your answer, and taehyung's smile is like the sun.

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brailsthesmolgurl · 2 months

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APPRENTICESHIP

Preview: Set back in the olden days of China, your attendance was much summoned by Master Li Shen, a renowned Medical Physician that is in need of an apprentice. Known for his stoic personality, your temperance was definitely tested. But, could there be an actual explanation behind his stoicity?

Warnings: This is gonna be quite of a long read for you Zayne girlies out there so pls strap in. Fluff, makes your heart giddy in a funny way. A possible new series.

P.S: I am not a doctor, hence most of the 'medication methods' mentioned in here are for the sake of the plot and is not and shall not be implied to real life practice! Futhermore, I am not a historian so I am not the best at depicting traditional China perfectly, all of the basis of my descriptions are taken off of the Chinese dramas I used to binge on. This story was also highly inspired by this amazing artwork and the most recent memory of his! He is always known as Doctor Zayne in modern days, so why not give it an inspirational twist and make him a highly honoured doctor in the older days of Chinese history! Divider is sourced from here!

READ PART 2 HERE!

"We had arrived, Miss y/n." Waking up to the jolting of the chariot and the shoutings of the driver. Her head was ringing, possibly a light comatose from the constant bumpiness of the muddy roads for the past fortnight. Rests were only necessary for food and bathroom breaks but other than that, most of the time was spent encaged within the four walls of her chariot. Occasionally, the books may be entertaining; a romance novel, a literary piece and a biography of the great physician named Li Shen. The man named in the biography shall be her soon-to-be-teacher.

Master Li Shen is in need of an acolyte and y/n was called upon to meet him due to her father's connections. The old man boasted her to be a capable physicist, mildly implying his greed to receive a reputable name for his own bloodline. Although y/n father's opinion was distasteful, but she had decided to go through with it. Anything would grant her a better life than to be at home, waiting to be married off to some man who might be thrice her age and a pervert. Marriage is not the one thought she would want at this moment, let alone a marriage that she holds no control over.

Stepping out of her chaise, covered feet coming in contact with rocky pathways and eyes welcomed the sight of the abundance of verdurous greenery. Everywhere she looked, it was aligned with bamboos and wild grasses and ferns, standing on-guard and surrounding a standalone courtyard house. The courtyard house was mostly white and brown, the body of the walls being white whilst stilts were clearly constructed from lumbars. It sat within the same aesthetic framework as its surroundings.

The driver got off of his seat at the front of the chariot and he retrieved y/n's bags from under the chariot. “The master shall await for you in the house. I will get your bags into your chambers later. It is best to bid your greetings to the master as of now.” She heeded his instructions, walking over towards the grand doors of the standing structure. Pushing upon the heavy doors, it revealed a wall with a carved symbol—a standardised design of houses back in the days. The symbol is intricately carved by hand, taking shape of a leaf cradled by a pair of hands. It is a symbol that could only be bear by the best of physicians, an indicator of intermediate medicinal herb practitioners.

To the left, the hallways extended into a total of three rooms. All of the windows aligned with paper maché as windows and doors made out of varnished bamboo wood. On the right, only a set of sliding doors were found, no paper maché to be found on the windowsills and you assumed that is where the treatment room is allocated at. The courtyard in the middle held a small pool of lotus flowers, blooming elegantly on non-rippling waters. A stone table placed next to the pond, with incense burning on a wooden bark. It explains the lingering of a smoky-jasmine scent in the air.

“Y/n right?” A young man revealed himself from behind one of the sliding doors, adorning a cotton Hanfu. His features are sharp, pinched cheeks a good mixture with his chiselled jawlines. But his body was taut, the clothes he wore hung onto his mannequin-like body structure. “I hope the ride here has not taken too much of a toll of you as I could not afford to care for you the next day.” He was just as what was described in his biography. A man that owns an ego higher than his height, with a handsome face but too cold to touch. “Your chambers are located at the end of this hallway. Be awake at dawn tomorrow.”

Y/n laid in her bed at night, listening to the choirs of nocturnal bugs outside of her window sills, the haunting howls of wolves, the ricocheting chirps of the grasshoppers, the piercing screams of the cicadas. The room she was assigned to was fairly large, with more than enough space to fit a double bed and a dining table in it. The room is not anywhere special, it looked oddly familiar to her own room at home but minus the amount of gilt paintings and ornaments. It also reeked of herbs and incense that leaves a smoky aftertaste through one's nostrils. After a short staring contest with the ceiling, her dreamland beckoned and she willingly submitted to it.

The next day, y/n got jolted awake to screams followed by gibberish that was indistinguishable. Sitting up in a hastened manner, eyes widened and hair messily sat on top of her head. Oh no, the sun is up. She pushed herself off of her bed and scrambled to make herself presentable then proceed to storm off to the treatment room where she was expected to be. Sliding open the bamboo door, and she was welcomed with the sight of a young man wincing in pain, with the master holding a thread in his hands.

"Your habit of waking up to the sun heating up your bottom is unfavourable." Master Li Shen spoke, not sparing her any eye contact as he continued his suturing on the guy's back, and her peripheral vision eyed the man biting down onto a wooden bark to muffle his screams. "Don't just stand there, make yourself useful. Get me the herb in the mortar." And she did as she was told.

A huge gash streaked on the back of the young commoner, now sutured up neatly in measured knots. It seemed like it could have been caused by a blunt force of trauma. "Here." Y/n handed the filled mortar to Master Li and he applied it onto the wounds, the patient of his hissing in response. "How did he obtained this wound?"

"Whiplash, he said it was an accident, but judging by the wet patch at the front of his pants, I assume it's intentional for the whipping, just not expected for this aftermath." Hearing that, her face heated up at the context that she was provided with. Men of lower classes clearly have lesser safety measures when it comes to fulfillment of their kinks. "Serve him a cup of tea that would suit his current conditions. He has sutures and a mild fever from the infection." Then the physician got up, his outfit emitted his elegance, long and flowy, just like his hair; a symbol of virility in this age.

Once Master Li had left the room, y/n scooted over to the tea table, looking at the array of loose tea leaves at her disposal. She took up the small tea pot, and filled it up with the chosen tea leaves before brewing it for the patient. Amidst waiting, she decided to observe the lotus flowers in the courtyard. She slid open the door and there is Master Li, sat at the stone table, with a calligraphy brush in his hand and a scroll laid out in front of him. "Master Li." Y/n mustered up the courage to approach him. "I apologise for my tardiness this morning. I did not mean to be late."

He looked up, hazy green eyes glanced at her. His hand still hovering over the scroll. "Being tardy is not professional, it is not tolerable for me. Do not repeat that mistake, do you understand y/n?" She nodded quickly and sat yourself opposite him, watching him quietly as he started producing strokes of words on the scroll. His handwriting is surprisingly neat, and fulfills the box-like characters for Chinese writing. So he is not only a good physician, but also has good handwriting. When he is done, he set the brush aside and looked up at her again, expressionless. "I will be setting into town tonight to gather some herbs. Would you like to come with?"

"Yes, I would love to. I have not been here before." She smiled at him and the man in front of her sighed contently. Getting up to retrieve his scroll and he walked towards the room the patient is in. "The tea should be brewed by now, you should serve it while its hot. After you're done with this patient, you may rest and I shall see you later during dusk."

Two hours was spent on treating the oncoming patients and Master Li Shen had asked her to tend to them as he had some other matters to care about. The patients ranged from having a mild cold to obtaining wounds from their harsh work. The only weird case of the day was surprisingly the one that she woke up to early in the morning. Throughout the treatment process she got to hear what the patients have to say, particularly this old lady with the surname Hwang. "He is a lovely young man you know? He never charges us a single penny and always prepares chrysanthemum tea for me to bring home. Even on the days I am not sick, I could come over just to have a cup of tea with him and talk."

"I see." Y/n replied with her back turned towards the lady as she was preparing the medicated powders for the lady to bring home to her granddaughter. "Does Master Li Shen talk a lot?"

"He does, but not as much as he does for listening." The old lady chuckled, her sign of age disappearing for a moment whenever she smiles. "I was telling him the other day that my granddaughter is almost at the age of maturity. I figured I could introduce them together. It would be nice to get her to marry a physician, especially one who is so good looking and kind like him."

The load of information caught y/n off guard slightly, not being able to properly process it as she did not know him well enough to be a judge of character just yet. She instead, focused on the task at hand, wrapping up the earthly toned powder in a thin piece of brown paper and wrapped it with some thin bamboo strips and turning to face the woman, placing the packed medicine onto the table and sliding it over to her. "I guess marrying your granddaughter to a physician may not be a bad idea afterall." Slender fingers tapped onto the medicine pack. "Mix this with hot water and drink it twice a day. If she does not show any signs of improvement, you may bring her back next week."

After the dismissal of the old lady, y/n walked her out towards the main entrance. Upon arriving at the main entrance, the heavy wooden doors were pushed open and her hands unconsciously held the lady's shoulders, backing her up so she would not get hit by the doors given her poor vision. "Master Li Shen." Y/n greeted the towering man that slotted into the entrance and his eyes glanced over towards y/n, and towards the old lady.

"Y/n, Madam Hwang." A curt nod was accompanied with his greeting and he turned towards the young acolyte of his again. "You may get ready, I can lead Madam Hwang back from here." He extended an arm forward for the old lady to grasp onto.

Y/n was slightly reluctant of course. He had only came back and now he has to leave the premise again just to walk the old lady home. She did wished for him to take a rest before the outing with him later in the late evening. "But Master Li Shen, you had only came back from your trip to--"

"I will be fine y/n." The end of his lips pulled up slightly, revealing a small smile of solace. For a man whom had always been content with their own loneliness, having someone who cares for such a minute detail made him felt acquainted. "I shall send Madam Hwang home and await for you in the courtyard for our outing in a bit. Come Madam Hwang, let's get you home." His tone, amiable towards the senior as he slowly walked her out of the premises. It was at this moment that got the young maiden wondering if Master Li Shen had always been such a warm fellow and he is the total opposite of what the rumours had suggested of his attitude.

The town was much bigger than what she had expected, streets lined with stalls selling various goods, foods and beverages. Lanterns lit up the street in a warm glow, a stark contrast towards the silverish-blue rays of the bright moon for the night. People of all ages flood the street like ants within a colony, busy yet lively. Y/n walked next to Master Li Shen, cautious in herr steps as she does not wish to bump into anyone and cause any trouble.

A kid was shouting something incoherent, the thick accent of his made the dialect sounded like a foreign language. "Watch out." A palm landed onto her shoulders and she was forcefully tugged aside, her other shoulder bumping into something solid and she winced at the interaction. Looking over, y/n noticed Master Li Shen was the one who has his arm around her, a glare sent towards that mischievous kid who charged right towards you earlier. But when he looks down towards the young maiden again, his glare dissipated. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, Master Li Shen, thank you for watching out for me." You bowed slightly, a common courtesy in the olden days to show one's respect to another. His arm around her shoulder dropped and she could feel the heat prickling on her cheeks. Never once, she was touched by a man other than her father. Although the touch does not mean much, it still lingered on her skin.

"You should walk in front of me," she raised an eyebrow at his suggestion. "So you may be safer in this crowd." Nodding her head, she position yourself in front of him and slowly lead him through the crowd, cheeks still burning whenever his chest would accidentally bump into hers due to the crowd flow. The man behind her however, had no issue following behind her, his vision clear given his height difference from the norm. Or so he thought. "You may turn right on the upcoming junction. That should lead us right to the--- y/n?" Looking down, y/n's figure is nowhere to be seen. "Y/n?"

The crowd was too hectic, she had underestimated the crowd flow as she weaved through individuals, totally forgetting the fact she was supposedly accompanied by a giant. Given her small stature, she managed to get past the crowds easily only to find herself lost in a small alley. The darkness loomed over the alley, swallowing everything within its path to blend it within the shadows. Y/n could make out movement from within the shrouded darkness, but it sent goosebumps down her spine. Something does not feel right.

Suddenly, a bony hand reached out from the dark and she cried out as it grabbed onto her arm. The force then started to reel her in, and she could feel her tears surfacing to her eyes, too stunned to fight back. "Let me go!" She shouted in a desperate attempt to flee, head turning towards the crowd to grab someone's attention with her voice. More hands had started to extend from the dark alley to secure her legs and the ends of her dress, ready to drag her into god-knows-what. "HELP---" Another hand slapped itself over her mouth and she was immediately voided of her attempts to free herself as she got dragged into the darkness.

How long has it been? Her eyelids lifted every once in a while, visions went from black to blurred in a few blinks. She was drifting in and out of a state of unconsciousness and her ears could only take in the sounds of someone breathing hard. Her body was jerked back and forth, feet are certainly not on solid ground. But it felt like she was floating?

When y/n managed to snap her eyes open, she shot up while inhaling a breath so sharp it jabbed her lungs. "Careful, you might hurt yourself." The voice got her snapping her head towards the side, seeing Master Li Shen seated next to her, blowing onto the tea cup in his hand. "Here, have some of it. It shall quench your thirst." He handed her the cup that he had blew onto. Sipping onto it, the warm temperature soothes her body immediately.

"What happened?" Y/n asked, placing the tea cup back onto the table and looked at him. The moonlight gleamed through the wax papers of the window sills, an unnatural soft glow coming into the room and lighting his face up just enough to for her to read his expressions, which holds a blank slate. "You just got a little bit of a concussion. Nothing much to worry about." His voice was hushed, cool-headed as always. "You shouldn't have ran off like that, the town is dangerous. Especially for newcomers like you. You're fresh meat alike to them." He then leaned forward with a piece of cloth in his hand. She was too fixated on trying to regain her memories of the happening that she had totally missed out on him wringing out the cloth.

The way she had withdrew herself out of shock halted his movements from reaching his hand out further. He figured it would be best to get her permission before he proceeds. "You have some cuts on your cheek, I am going to clean it for you." So much for asking for her permission, it's more like he is demanding for her face to be served to his treatments. It does make one wonder if he treats all of his patients like this? Demanding.

To Li Shen however, it was more of an act of service. He could care less if someone was found in the state she was in earlier. Finding y/n in the alleyway, strewn on the muddy floor like a puppet as men stood over her, ready to do whatever they had planned to do. Alleys were never known to hold people of high morality and it got Li Shen irked on what he thought they might do to someone so beautiful like y/n. Yes, Li Shen does think of her as a beauty. Hence, he went out of his way to save her. He did managed to save her in one piece, but part of his guilt still troubled him, wishing that he could have stop them from digging their dirty nails onto her skin and causing those scratches and cuts.

"I can do it myself Master Li--" She was paused when he put the wet cloth over her mouth to shush them. He was so close that she could smell the scents of the market she was in earlier. Smells of the sweet tanghulus and freshly made baos, enveloping his usual jasmine-incense musk.

"Please, call me Li Shen from now on. We are quite close in age, there is no need for so much formality." His wet cloth pressed against the cut on the right side of her cheek and she winced in return, cheeks turning the opposite direction due to the stinging pain. "Stay still, it will only hurt a little." His free hand came up, and two fingers were placed under her chin as he turned her head back to face him. His gaze was steady, not on her wound, but staring right into her soul. Those emerald orbs that held a lot of emotions in them, yet she could never seem to read through them.

The tension grew between the both of them, as the staring contest went on. For a moment, she was encaptivated by him, a man so ethereal and smart and mysterious that it makes one want to fall for him. Maybe he is not the same as what the rumours had always suggested. "Li Shen." Her mouth blurted out his name before her brain could even process the emotions and she immediately looked away to hide her embarassment.

When she broke off the eye contact, it got Li Shen to snap out of his own reverie as well. His heart was thumping against his chest when he looked at her a while ago. It was as if the night had gotten longer. She looked ethereal to him too, the shine of the moonlight highlighting her facial features; her big eyes that had always held sincerity in them, soft and plump lips that makes the best smiles and laughters, her long brunette hair that flowed down to her waist, a heart so big that if given the chance to fit everyone in it, she would. She had never changed from the last time he had last seen her.

Li Shen had never really been associated with any females for any romantic relationships. Even when he was introduced to different potential marriage partners, he had never felt the need to be in a relationship. But with y/n, he just knew that it had always been her. Even from young.

"Yes?" It had never felt so right for him to hear her say his name out loud again. But, did she remembered him? Before her last accident? Right before he had left to the city for his physician test? When he had gotten news of her drowning because she fell into a well by accident and only to be awoken to a fresh start for memory collections. Had he ever once popped up in her pretty little head?

He anticipated for her response, trying so hard to not break the ice and to ask her the question he have had the moment he saw her within the candidate pile to be his assistant. However, his anticipation diffused as soon as she answered. "I...I didn't know why I did that. I apologise." Her apology was frowned upon for the wrong reasons, but Li Shen of course, was discreet about it. "I only remembered I blacked out."

"You don't have to know what happened." Li Shen tilted her head back to its initial position and wasted no time in pressing the cloth against her cheek. She hissed this time, biting her lip to stop herself from turning her cheek again and to disrupt his aid. "But you are safe now and that should matter the most." The statement came off to be more bitter than what he had intended to. It was a long awaited sentence. But with the current context of her not even having a slither of memory of him, it hurts him to say it. "The water was mixed with some herbs, it shall promote healing within a couple of days. You had a few cuts on your legs and arms too but I had helped you to apply some medication onto it while you were unconscious just now. I will see you tomorrow morning."

The physician then got up, his height immediately taking up space within her room. She may not know him, but she could tell that he seemed bothered. His sudden change of tone and body language got her curious. Without much thought, she leaned up slightly and grabbed ahold of the ends of his outfit. He stopped in his tracks and turned to look down at her. "I will not run off again next time, Li Shen. I'm sorry for what happened today. And thank you, for saving me." Accompanied with her smile, it only got Li Shen's heart weighing more than ever. The physician only gave her a nod of acknowledgement and sees himself out of her chambers. If only he had never left her from the start, then perhaps, he could have actually saved her.

OKAY BBYGURLS, this is soooooo long overdued because of a writer's block. Lemme know in the comments if this is worth for a part 2 hmmmm :)))

READ PART 2 HERE!

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #zayne love and deepspace #lnds #fluffy #zayne x reader #zayne sfw #zayne angst #zayne lnds #zayne fluff #l&ds zayne #dr zayne #li shen #love and deepspace zayne #lads zayne

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tadpolesonalgae · 7 months

Text

please… - Part 4

Azriel x reader

a/n: happy to be back here again 🧈

word count: 3,968

-Part 3-

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You watch on with barely concealed distain as your father fumbles before the High Lord, allowing himself too much leeway on the invisible leash, consequently choking when it’s pulled taut. Probably another jab at the High Lord’s mate. His High Lady.

How obnoxious.

Away in an alcove, your mother watches on with equal distaste, enough to have you raising the glass to your mouth to conceal your grin. If only she wasn’t so awful.

As if sensing your lingering gaze, she turns her sharp, kohl-lined eyes in your direction. The smile vanishes in the blink of an eye, sipping slowly as you raise a brow. Her own narrow, flicking to the duo hidden in the shadows a little way from the foot of the dais, darkness coming alive in that corner.

You idly drag your gaze back to your mother’s, taking an intentionally deep sip from your drink. Her brows draw together in cold warning, contempt tightening her features at your indolence, but you break the connection and turn to the corner she’d ordered you to. Holding the Shadowsinger…and the Morrigan.

Softer than a summer’s breeze, quieter than a concealed hunter, you make your way into the darkness, crafting together a smile fitting of your court. “Sister,” you greet, sweeping over her analytically, picking out the thrum of waves that are quietly resonating from her outline, slowly deciphering them, pulling them apart to understand her rhythm. “Spymaster.” You hold still as their attention openly lands on you, taking you in swiftly, checking a mental list no doubt. An instinct installed in them from a young age, but one you have, too.

“How lovely of you to join us,” Mor drawls, lips sharpened into a cutting smile, holding her drink elegantly between two slim fingers, nails dipped in blood-red varnish. You offer her a cool smile in return, “it took me some time to find you. I should have known you’d both be lurking in the shadows somewhere.”

“It’s hard not to in a place like this,” Mor replies, eyes glinting as she gestures to the dimly lit room. Your own smile sharpens to a grin, preparing to drink as you raise the glass to your mouth. “And…Velaris, was it? Is it much better there?”

Her eyes flinch, exterior remaining calm and cool, unruffled except for the tell-tale truth of her gaze. The stuttering pulse of the air around her, fluttering in a way she can convince her heart not to. All for nothing, in the face of your magic. You take a sip of your drink, making a show of enjoying her resentful silence, the anger that’s tucked in the narrowing of her brows.

“It really would be lovely to visit sometimes,” you muse, watching how the air distorts with the gradual irritation of her emotion, still kept under lock and key in her features. Really, without your magic you’d be utterly clueless. “After all,” you continue, “it’s always you coming over to us. It would be rude not to return the favour. We can’t have our High Lord and lady constantly being the ones to put in the effort.”

“And are those your own wishes or whispers you’ve caught in hallways?”

You break your gaze with Morrigan, turning at last to meet the cold, unruffled eyes of the shadowsinger, looking as if he were carved from stone. So fitting to the Hewn City.

“Most of the rooms are warded,” you reply smoothly, “it would take some effort to overhear such a private conversation.” You take another calm sip of your drink. “But maybe I have.”

They aren’t as foolish as to exchange glances with one another, not even a shift in attention, but you know they mark the words carefully.

“Is there a spot you favour, Mor?” You ask, returning your attention to the female you share blood with. Between the two of them, her waves are the most unsteady. The only one who has ties to this place, who has memories that run as deep as the cave systems tunnelled within. “There must be much more choice on the outside. More people about, more places to wander, more fresh air to enjoy,” you muse, watching her from over the rim of your glass. The growing agitation of her waves. “Is the sun still blinding when you emerge from our darkness, Mor?”

Power thunders through the room, the very ground shaking and you whip around along with a few hundred other bodies in time to see a figure knelt on the stone floor before the dais. Your blood turns to ice, skin freezing over with fear at the intensity of the overwhelmingly dark power, how it suffocates the room, leeching the hall of air until every breath feels empty no matter how deeply you inhale.

Subconsciously you take a small step back, legs feeling unsteady though you force yourself to hold fast, to continue hauling air into your lungs no matter how pointless it feels. There are too many figures now crowded before you to see what’s going on, who it is that’s being punished for whatever transgression they committed, but you can hear the barely muffled sobs, the pained whimpers of fear rising from throughout the room. The hall, once smelling of berry wine and roasted meat sprinkled with herbs, is now contaminated with an edge of terror, sharp and tangy, enough to put you off eating for the rest of the night.

Through your peripherals you watch as Morrigan slinks off into the shadow, aiming to be closer to the dais, ready to pounce given the chance. It’s enough to set any sane person on edge.

Something brushes against your shoulder blades, and your spine turns rigid, the softest whisper of shadow pushing you upright again. A moment later it vanishes, hardly there for a second but enough to return the warmth to your blood, the colour to your skin. Your heart still thunders against your ribs, but you find no shame in it—not before the sheer display of power that’s inevitably brought out to remind your court of its place. At his feet.

A flicker of resentment stirs in your chest, brows pulling together over your eyes, jaw wound tight as you fix your gaze upon the raised thrones, high enough to survey the revelry—and to disrupt it at their pleasure.

A cold shadow again brushes your skin, but this time on your upper arm, a swift flick to get your attention and you turn in time to see him shift toward one of the hallways, much darker than usual. An invitation to follow. Though maybe by the way it wraps around your wrist, giving a firm tug, it might be more of an order.

With a last glance at the crowd, enraptured by the show of pain, feeding off another’s downfall and gleeful it’s not their own, you silently follow after him, stepping deeper into the concentrated depth of darkness that seems to constantly surround him.

It would probably serve as more of a threat if you hadn’t been born into shadow like his.

————

“What do you want?” You ask upon locking the door, having chosen a room you know to be warded against eavesdroppers.

“How much are you able to hear through passing conversation?” It’s a question, but one he’s phrased as a quiet demand, leaving little room for argument. You regard him warily, before walking over to the half circle of plush chairs arranged openly around a constantly lit fireplace, rugs on the floor the colour of blood and oranges. “I hear what I hear,” you reply cryptically, setting down into one of the chairs, secretly grateful you no longer have to stand, legs still feeling a little wobbly. The heels are also a little uncomfortable, but it’s a familiar pain, so one you know how to manage.

“Curious about some goings on, Shadowsinger?”

His features remain neutral, shadows thick as they roll from his shoulders, swirling between the great wings that loom at his back, cutting and intimidating figure. Maybe he would be scary if you didn’t know how soft his hands could be. How gentle. Your skin aches for another set of touches, to refresh the memory, to remind yourself of the sensation. To remind yourself people can be kind, even in a world of blood and stone.

“I would have thought you’d be eager to share information,” he says neutrally, alluding to the other exchanges you’ve had. Mutual benefits being reaped in private. “And I would have thought you’d have no need for extra intel,” you reply, keeping your attention on him as the flame from the fire is cast through the open room, light reflecting warmly from the large mirror that’s mounted atop the mantel. Sweet thing.

“I know what you want,” he reminds lowly, “and you know what I want. I’m sure you can see how this would be advantageous to both parties.” The air around him remains still and unbothered, calm and steady as usual. “You’re proposing this be a mutual exchange?” You specify. “Something regular?”

“Regular, but not frequent.”

“How often, then?” You ask, brows narrowing. Things in your court are delicate at best, volatile at worst. Casually overhearing tidbits is no skin off your back, but making the effort to hear things of use…especially information that might be sensitive, intel that if acted on could be traced back to you. He has no obligation to look out for you either, if things went south. No reason to help you out unless it would benefit him.

“I couldn’t say,” he replies idly. “Maybe days apart, maybe years. Whenever I seek details perhaps only you can find.”

“I’d rather not be subject to such a mercurial agreement,” you say dryly. “If you’re seeking particulars, I can work with that, but without a direction is too much.”

��What sort of things do you have in mind for particulars?” He asks, the air faintly simmering around him. “And give away the small advantage that I have? I think not.”

“Very well,” he replies, as if having expected the small resistance, “what do you know about your father’s intentions for Velaris?”

Your brows narrow, running your gaze over him, hands mostly concealed in shadow. “How much are you willing to give for that?”

“How much do you want?” He returns, evading the question. Neither of you break the connection, staring each other down though the focus isn’t malicious. More wary—slightly curious. Unsure of this possible development.

“I’ve had no time to thoroughly look into that specific topic,” you start cautiously, angling your head, “so I’ll settle for the usual amount.”

“How much do you have?”

“Some,” you reply vaguely. Again that slight tension rises, the potential to turn into something terse, but then the two of you remember there’s no underlying violence, and settle back to relatively normal behaviour. Not quite at ease, though.

He nods his head for you to start, but you pause, looking him over once more. Letting him know you aren’t entirely at his disposal. You still hold the power to withhold what he’s after. He gives no sign of impatience, nor irritation, just bland neutrality. So you lean back into the plush warmth of the chair, inclined to pull your legs up to your chest, but that would give the illusion of weakness, of mediocrity. But maybe it would be better for him to think less of you, so you follow through with your original wish, tucking yourself into a deep corner of the cushion.

“Some things I’m able to hear through simply being in the right place at the right time, more on the side of coincidence than anything intended. Snippets of conversation people are too lazy to think to cover, or sometimes just not important enough for secrecy,” you begin, and he leans back into the wall slightly, more so that his shadows are within reasonable distance than for comfort. It’s easier to slip into darkness when you’re near a corner than the middle of a room, after all.

“Other times, there are pieces one can only have the chance to overhear depending on who they are. As his daughter I’m allowed more access than most to various rooms—some I doubt even my sister knows exist, having lacked the agency to seek them out.” Like before, he makes no external shift of his expression, no obvious tell to his emotions, but the air shifts around him, as if disturbed by something. Like how the colours above flames twist and distort as heat ripples up.

“Then, there are the things that require somehow being able to listen through walls, through wards that are spun thicker than wool and tighter than chainlink armour,” you say, catching the hint of interest in the far depths of his hazel eyes, and you wonder if you’re granted access to that piece of him through his own will or whether it’s a side effect of having foraged so deep inside of his mind you reached the bones of his soul. Tattered, but remaining strong. “Those, are the pieces I think you’d be interested in. Correct?”

His mask shifts a little, allowing his brows to dip as he takes on what you’ve said. “You know a way to listen through wards?” He asks, eyes flicking to the perimeters of the room. “I highly doubt anyone else would be able to, Shadowsinger,” you reply. “I highly doubt you’d tell me if they could, were you acting on your parent’s behalf.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing I’m not.”

Another tense silence passes between you, tension rising then fading, simmering away, like a pot taken off the boil.

“You already know I preside over my father’s hoard of antiquities. Ancient things with nasty spells wrapped around them, sometimes even imbued with malice themselves, which is what makes them so dangerous, as I’m sure you’re aware.” The air flickers around him, and you smile faintly. “What did end up happening to that mirror?”

“That’s none of your concern,” he replies shortly.

“I hope you put it to good use.”

His brows narrow at your tone, more clipped than he’s ever heard it. Verging on stern.

“Kier’s trove?” He reminds, still keeping to the shadows. A smile twinkles in your eyes, a little menacing. “There are all sorts of things in there—things that he really should be making more use of,” you answer wryly. The Shadowsinger remains quiet, inviting you to continue, and you settle more comfortably into the armchair. “You’d be surprised how useful some of the items in there are, once you known how to use them properly.”

“The Veritas?” He asks.

“Can repeat moments from memory, but can also record events as they happen, stored away in a secret pocket of time,” you smile, and wariness threads through his bones. “There were some interesting new moments captured within it when your returned that orb, that I doubt you knew could be accessed by me—or anyone, for that matter, if they knew how.”

“What are you talking about?” Azriel mutters lowly, shadows flickering at his back, agitation thickening in the air as the waves around him stutter.

“It’s a rather effective way of peering into someone else’s life,” you muse, “like a spyglass. I’m sure you would love to know how it works. It’s a shame the Veritas is so precious, or it would be a handy thing to leave lying about in your enemies’ rooms—see what they get up to behind closed doors.”

“What did you see?”

“Did I say that I saw?”

“It’s unwise to play games you don’t understand the rules of.”

“And here I thought we were on the same side, now you’re threatening me?”

“We have an agreement. Do not mistake that for sharing a side.”

“But we have a mutual enemy, doesn’t that put us exactly there?”

He pauses, and you watch as the shadows stretch along the walls, much further than they ought to be capable of. “I have no guarantee you aren’t under Kier’s thumb,” he says lowly, “though I suppose a quick look from our High Lord could sort that out.”

“Funny, I didn’t get the impression he would do something like that. Just going off how you all acted in the presence of the mortal queens.”

“So you did look.”

“I was curious,” you reason, smiling faintly.

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“But satisfaction brought it back,” you remind, still smiling, more feline than before. “How do you think I came to know so much about my father’s trove? A comprehensive manual listing every little detail for every little object?”

“You’d have to be insane to meddle with age-old artefacts.”

“Or just bored to tears,” you counter. “So little happens down here, can you blame me?”

“So you decided to go and poke at ancient relics? Some that date back to prerecorded history?”

“And now you get to share in all the knowledge I’ve acquired, isn’t that wonderful. I’d have thought you’d be flying to the moon and back at getting to expand your web of informants.”

He stares at you silently, an unreadable look on his lovely face. “I’m assuming you won’t freely hand over that information, though.” You smile faintly, choosing to remain quiet. “And how much does your father know about the objects in his possession?” Azriel asks carefully.

“About the same as you do, probably.”

“Why have you chosen to keep it from him?” He inquires, hazel eyes more alert than usual. It seems you’ve successfully piqued his interest. “Surely handing over even fractions of everything you supposedly know would put you in his favour.”

“And what benefits would I get from being in his favour?” You return, amusement fading.

Azriel angles his head, the light from the fire warming the smooth planes of his features. “You tell me.”

“I think I’ve told you quite enough,” you reply lowly, “pay up.”

Something glints in his hazel eyes, the edges of his mouth curving ever so slightly, before he’s stepping back into the shadow, swallowing him whole. You bolt up in the chair, spine straightening as you lean over the arm, but he’s already vanished. Gotten out. Left you alone within the heavy stone room that no amount of fire is able to truly warm.

Your mask slips away, brows curving slightly, lips parting in quiet sorrow as a soft breath has your shoulders sloping with despondency.

Scar-roughened hands slip gently beneath your jaw, softly but firmly guiding you to lean back against the chair, tipping your chin slightly to gaze into deep hazel, the firelight refracting through the array of colours. His fingers run along the bone, raising to the spot beneath your pointed ear as he holds you still, keeping enough distance between his touch and your throat for you to ease. You may crave comfort in the form of physical connection, but the feeling of hands around your neck…never again.

“You could have just walked over,” you manage softly, staring up at him, tall enough to lean over the top of the large armchair. “I could have,” he agrees, “but you needed a reminder of your codependency.”

Your brows furrow, but he lightly applies pressure to the soft hollow on the underside of your mouth, and you lean back into the seat, eyes content to close. It’s such a rare gift, you can’t bring yourself to deny yourself of it from any angle. You need to let the touch sink into your skin, to memorise how it feels, how the warmth seeps in and remains for a little without the stinging pain of leather, or the harsh bite of metal.

His fingers trace up the arch of your ear, light as feathers as you raise into the touch, so desperately seeking more. Your breathing settles into a steady rhythm, deepening with surprising swiftness, falling into the heat of his hands as they soothe your senses.

“What are your father’s intentions for Velaris,” he murmurs quietly, sliding the palm of his right hand fully beneath your jaw, letting the heat sink in, marking how your breathing stutters ever so slightly. “He’s only mentioned it a few times,” you mumble, basking in the heaven of his hands. “What has he said?” He prompts, raising his left palm to brush hair back from your cheek, to stroke over the crown of your head, lulling you into spilling more secrets. “He’s said it’ll be a chance to expand his reach,” you mumble, “something about buying up precious commodities and reselling them elsewhere, to slowly decrease trade…I couldn’t hear all of it…”

Azriel’s brow narrows at the revelation, making a mental note to report that back to Rhys. “What else?” He asks, hands both sliding beneath your jaw, cupping it lightly as his thumbs slowly drag over the skin just below your cheek bones, pressing hotly into the hinges, the muscle making your eyelids flutter at the slightly ticklish sensation. “Something about…being able to keep an eye on Mor… Knowing she wouldn’t like sharing her home with them,” you answer wearily, softening beneath fatigue and the soothing touches. “Reminding her she can’t escape.”

“And what about Kier’s trove,” he pushes, shadows pushing into the chair with you, and you shudder lightly, fingers trembling. He can hear the flutter of your pulse, see how your lips have parted to hand over the information for a few more seconds. “He keeps it locked away,” you murmur in answer, “the really precious things, at least.”

“What can they do?”

“I…” You trail off, body losing its tension, muscles relaxing into the encompassing warmth. “I can’t tell you.”

“Yes you can,” he whispers, hand again shifting to stroke against your hair—so softly, so sweetly. Not even the slightest suggestion of pain in his touch. So cruel.

But your eyes slide open, pupils wide and blown out, readjusting swiftly to the dim light of the room. “I think that’s enough for this time,” you manage quietly, tone shaky, “can’t have you bleeding me dry in one go.”

Azriel’s brow narrows, but then he’s pulling away, your skin already feeling cooler without the comfort of his touch and shadows.

“Keep an ear out for Velaris,” he instructs, hands settling over the top of the seat so you have to remain looking upward. Azriel considers mentioning also keeping an eye out for Eris, but he’ll start you off with one task. See how you manage it, before guiding your attention to other areas of your court.

“And what should I do once I acquire more?” You ask, and he notes the certainty in your tone. As if you somehow have a guarantee you’ll be able to discover more. Maybe there really are some dangerous things in Kier’s trove, thankfully left unknown to him. For now.

“I will find you,” he replies shortly, at last stepping back from the seat, shifting to his shadowy corner. “You stay focused on one thing at a time.”

“Any artefacts you want to know more about?” You ask, and he can hear the mirth in your voice without having to see your expression.

“Don’t do anything foolish,” he reminds, leaning against the wall. “This agreement only works if you’re alive.”

“And in this world,” you add, a touch quieter than before. He doesn’t like how lightly you speak about meddling with those objects—can only hope that you of all people will know when you’re about to take a step too far.

He doesn’t reply, simply looking you over one last time before vanishing into the darkness. Leaving you to ponder the new developments.

And how much longer you can take before having to return to the great hall. Feet still aching.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya

please… taglist: @hyemishii @darling006

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x yn #azriel fics #azriel shadowsinger #please…

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wiliowisp · 1 year

Text

Heatwave ❦

Word Count ➻ 2.5k

Pairings ➻ Sebastian Sallow x fem!MC

Warnings ➻ NSFW 18+ ONLY

Tags ➻ third person POV, smut, face-sitting, giving head, penetration, sub!sebastian, aged up characters, married characters

A/N ➻ every day i fight for my place in heaven. this is the first smut ive ever written in my many adult years of life and also possibly the easiest thing ive written. funny that. hopefully u wonderful, sinful lot will enjoy <3

୧ send me prompts! i may write them! ୨

Summary:

A heatwave has descended upon Sebastian and MC's happily married life. The warmth unties the strings of restraint and allows, often hidden, layers to be peeled away...

The heat of the August sun bore through the windows of their home like thick honey, making everything stick. She sat at the table, hands melting into the wood, a cup of water sweating in front of her. England had not known heat like this in years; the Daily Prophet had warned of winds carrying hot air from Africa but she didn’t think that it would swell the atmosphere the way it had.

Over the last few days, she had steadily reduced the layers of clothing that she normally donned. The corset went first; stuffy, abysmal thing. Then the petticoat, three layers under a skirt was simply too much. The chemise got traded out for the more contemporary brassiere, a thin lacy thing that was all but transparent under the sheen of sweat that she’d been drenched in these past few days. Her skirts got shorter and her patience thinner. She wanted to wring herself out like a towel.

Luckily, the only person who had seen her in such a state of impropriety was her husband and school sweetheart, Sebastian Sallow. They had been confined to their remote cottage in the highlands, sweating their souls away as the sun reaped across the country. Sebastian wasn’t bothered by her state of undress, they’d been married for almost five years and together for much longer—he had seen her in much more vulnerable states.

However, she had noticed his growing restlessness of late. They scarcely touched due to the heat; where they would usually be wrapped around each other in bed, they erected a boundary in the centre of it, loathe to touch each other’s skin and boil in the scorching nighttime fever. Now, she had developed a bronze tint to her skin, all the way down to her legs, her face flush with a sunny glow. Sebastian’s eyes had noticed this. He had noticed the layers slowly peel away, and the way the fabric stuck to her flesh, lathed along it like a tongue.

The tension was thick in the air like rope. Sebastian did nothing to pursue her though, either by the heat sapping him of his virility or simply some form of chivalry. The rope tightened.

She had noticed him too of course—that was her husband after all. He was shirtless most days, a tan settling into his chest like varnish on a prized painting. His freckles darkened, set alight like sparks on his skin, the tone he had built from his career as a curse-breaker brought out in the daylight. A god cut in the stone.

When he entered the room, then, clad in a white cotton shirt, she was almost disappointed. He strode over to the sink, pouring himself his own water, and chugging it. His throat bobbed, adam’s apple prominent as the liquid ran down his chin and neck.

“I don’t think I can take another day of this,” he gasped.

“It’s not supposed to last much longer—we can go for another swim in the lake today?” she offered.

Sebastian took his wife in, his eyes dragging across her sweat-slick collarbones and jaw. “Maybe.”

The rope tightened.

He put down his glass and the sound seemed to shake the foundations. His eyes did not leave her. After what seemed like a fraught but quick internal battle, he stepped over to her, hand sliding along her shoulders. His fingers slipped the shoulder off her loose blouse, revealing more of her glowing skin. His breath stuttered. Then, Sebastian leant over, ghosting his lips over her clavicle, tasting salt on the tongue, as he kissed a trail up to her throat.

“You don’t know…how difficult it has been,” he whispered, “to keep my hands off you.”

She tilted her head, offering her neck to him, as his kisses got sloppier, more desperate. He used his hand to force her eyes upon him and she knew that look instantly.

It’s not often Sebastian gets like this. Sex usually had him taking the lead, it was hot, heady and banal—as she liked it. Sometimes, though, Sebastian would get this glazed look in his eyes, when his desperation had mounted to a point he no longer knew what to do with himself. Most times, he was a half-full cup, the empty half allowed him some sense and reason, and he was able to control his desires. When left too long, his cup became full, there was no room for anything else except wild, desperate want.

Right now, that need was etched into his expression. Sebastian’s eyebrows were pinched in a silent plea and his eyes were glassy; once he had started he no longer knew how to contain the water in his cup. The heedless want that pulsed through his senses until all they could perceive was her.

She maintained her composure. There was a delicacy to moments like these.

“Why is that?”

A frantic half-whine escaped his throat. “Because—because you’ve been practically naked in front of me all week and I—Merlin it’s so hot,” he was exasperated and whiny, and words failed him at times like these. Which made it all the more fun.

“What do you want, love?”

Sebastian’s eyes flickered between hers, he swallowed dryly. “So many things.”

His wife rose from her chair, levelling herself against him, bringing their faces closer. It’s not often Sebastian gets like this. But it’s so fun when he does.

She slipped her fingers under his shirt, running them up his flushed skin and around his waist. She pulled him closer, pressing his front to hers. He bit back a moan as the pressure met his hardening cock.

“Use your words, Seb,” she goaded, breath dancing across his cheeks.

He swallowed around nothing again. “I want your mouth on me.”

She surged forward, capturing his lips between hers. He responded immediately, an airy groan leaving his teeth as he gripped her hips and parted his mouth. She slid her tongue along the inseam of his lips, teasing him. Sebastian backed her into the table, arching her back slightly as he devoured her lips. Hunger stalked his every movement, his hips rutting into hers mindlessly as his hand cupped her jaw, tilting her head so he could kiss her more deeply, lose himself more entirely.

She pushed him away. “You wanted my mouth there?” she asked innocently.

He tried to kiss her again, but she dodged. He tried again. She dodged. Sebastian’s head slumped into her shoulder.

“Please,” he whined.

“Please, what?”

“Please put your mouth on my cock,” he begged her, pressing more wet kisses into her collarbone.

His wife grinned, trying to bite back the smile and regain composure. “Maybe,” she mused, “come with me.”

Sebastian was led easily, trailing behind her like a puppy in a way that warmed her abdomen. The heat persisted, whilst the sweat had her baby hairs sticking to her hairline, as well as Sebastian’s chestnut curls going slick around his ears. But a new fever had started to pool low in her gut, one that begged for satiation.

Now in the bedroom, she wasted no time ridding Sebastian of his shirt, peeling it off him as it clung to the perspiration. He kept trying to kiss her as she did so, which she swatted away while he petulantly whined. To shut him up, she ducked and licked a stripe up one of his nipples.

“Aah—!”

Then she licked the moan right out of his mouth. They kissed sloppily once more, Sebastian’s hunger disarming him of any prowess as his hands roved desperately over her clothed figure. When he was like this, Sebastian became putty in her hands. Despite her smaller stature, she manoeuvred them to the bed, separating their lips with a wet sound and pushing him onto his back.

He fixed his gaze on her. Leveraging his raptured attention, she reached under her skirt and slipped out of her underwear, watching as his eyes followed the lacy material when she dropped it to the floor. He was panting.

She climbed atop him, kissing him once more, before levelling her gaze with his. “First, you’re going to use your mouth on me, then maybe we’ll see about you.”

Sebastian readily nodded, swallowing thickly. “Yes, yes please,” he panted.

His wife smiled, something softer, fonder, before her expression settled back into her role. She shuffled up his body, Sebastian’s hands already greedily grabbing the meat of her thighs from under her skirt, dragging her towards his eager mouth.

Before even settling, he began, dragging a long stroke of his tongue across her cunt, a throaty moan leaving him as he tastes the sweetness coming out of her core. Like sugar. Sebastian forcefully urged her to settle more of her weight on him, wanting to feel her pressing against his nose. The last vestiges of sense in him commented how dying like this would probably be the best way to go ever. His wife sat, with a strangled moan, as his mouth sucked around the bundle of nerves that set her alight.

Obscene, wet sounds filled the room as Sebastian ate her like a man starved, coupled with the mingled moans of himself and his wife, her hips rocking back and forth against his tongue. The pool in her abdomen had now grown into a tidal wave that surged, pulsed. It’s crest rearing.

“Oh, fuck Sebastian,” she purred.

Spurred by his wife’s pleasure, Sebastian reached a hand towards his throbbing cock, palming it through his trousers, unable to help himself.

“You’re doing so good,” she rasped, “love, keep going.”

Sebastian rubbed the tip of his tongue against that sweet spot in tandem with the movements of his hand, shameful whines leaving his throat. His wife keened, her lithe body arching, head thrown back, a guttural moan leaving her throat as she came. Sebastian moaned in tandem, running the flat of his tongue across the seam of her cunt, feeling her pulse around him.

She panted—breath leaving her lungs like sap—and rolled off of her husband.

“C’mere,” she breathed.

Sebastian obeyed. She took his mouth into hers, eagerly licking the remains of her pleasure from him, savouring the wet slide of their lips. He was all but inconsolable at this point, wet patch at the front of his trousers, dick still painfully hard in its confines.

“Please,” he mewled, devouring the air of his lover.

She obliged him, taking charge once more, crawling over his supine body to suck bruises into his neck. Sebastian clutched her, a whimpering mess at the victim of his wife’s whims. Slowly, her mouth carved a path down his body, leaving wet kisses over his chest and nipples, before following the trail of hair at his sternum.

She undid the buttons on his trousers, shucking them over his waist and taking his cock in hand. Sebastian breathed heavily, watching her with undivided focus. She opened her mouth, sliding her tongue up the length of him, to his wet tip. Sebastian’s head thumped back onto the bed, a wanton moan escaping his throat. She licked him a few times more, savouring the salty taste of his skin, before swallowing him.

Sebastian’s hands flew to her scalp, gripping her hair, urging her mouth deeper. She began slow, tantalisingly dragging her mouth up and down his length, before bobbing in earnest. Sebastian’s resolve fissured as his hips met her movements, thrusting into the heat of her mouth. Stuttered whimpers left him, punctuating the movement of his hips. His throat was dry from the heat and how his pleasure worked his voice raw but in the wet cavern of his wife’s mouth he found it difficult to care.

His climax reared, any stamina drained from him after the restraint he displayed the past days, now completely abandoned.

“Ah, love—so good—m’ gonna—”

Before he could even utter the words, his wife pulled off his cock with a wet pop. Sebastian’s brows furrowed.

Quickly, she began pulling her sweat-soaked blouse from her body. Sebastian got the idea. He sat up, helping her out of her clothes. They kissed desperately in-between, his wife’s inhibitions being held together by a thread, as she hastily undressed.

Now naked, Sebastian couldn’t help but admire her, his own lust shelved momentarily while he worshipped the divine figure he was somehow married to.

“You’ll have time for that later, love,” she teased, “now sit back against the pillows.”

He situated himself at the head of the bed, cock wet and red against his stomach. His wife climbed atop him, hovering over his length. She took him in hand, lining them up, before sinking down.

They moaned in tandem, his hands gripping her waist like a lifeline while he fought off his climax right there and then.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” she breathed.

Sebastian replied with a broken moan, the tight heat of his lover distracting him from all sensations other than that rapture. Then she started moving.

Slow tentative rolls of her hips that undid Sebastian like a bow. He groaned, latching his mouth to her throat and leaving searing bruises. His wife clutched his head to her, her pace on his cock increasing with each roll. He wanted his hands everywhere. He wanted his mouth everywhere. Having to settle for the bud of her nipple, causing his lover to cry out in pleasure.

He started rutting his hips back into her, chasing the crest of pleasure he’d denied himself for so long. Losing all sense, losing all reason.

“Please—ah—please, I’m so close,” he keened.

His wife only increased her pace, all but bouncing on his length, torturing him divinely. More staccato whimpers left his abused throat, not caring how undignified he sounded. He was so close.

Sebastian sealed their lips, stiffened, and came. His release pulsed out of him, come seeping into his wife’s core as he groaned into her mouth. His dick throbbed, climax milking all his frustration dry, letting it drain him. When their mouths separated, he pulled her onto his chest and panted.

They remained like that for some time, his softening member seated inside her while they regained their breath. She placed a kiss on his chest and carefully pulled him out, before rolling next to him.

Finally able to think, Sebastian took in the sight of his wife, haloed in post-coital bliss. Sweat coated every inch of her skin, making her shine under the daylight. He reached a hand out to stroke across her cheek, his fingers coming away sticky.

“Better?” she asked.

“Better.”

A thunderclap broke their reverie. They turned to the window, finding the scene beyond submerged in a grey cloak. His wife crawled off the bed and stalked to the window, he got up to follow. Sure enough, as they peered through the threshold, a thick cover of rain descended over the highlands, coating everything in a petrichor hush.

“Well, would you look at that,” Sebastian remarked, “I think we broke the heatwave.”

She giggled, a sound like birdsong, and overcome with affection he bent down and kissed her by the open window, the cool air caressing their hot skin.

“I think we did.”

#i want people to know i had the lords prayer typed out at the top of my doc whilst i was writing this #willow writes #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow smut

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msb-lair · 3 months

Text

Clutch #3603 - Paline/Palis

Mated On: 2024-06-05 # of eggs: 4 Hatched On: 2024-06-10

Progeny:

Hatchling 9582 (Paula) - Dusthide Female, Stone Varnish/Peridot Spire/Phthalo Greenskeeper, Uncommon - 15,000 on 2024-06-24

Hatchling 9583 (Buru) - Dusthide Male, Taupe Strike/Leaf Spire/Violet Greenskeeper, Common - 15 gems on 2024-08-12

Hatchling 9584 (Bloom) - Dusthide Female, Stone Strike/Jungle Spire/Seafoam Greenskeeper, Unusual - 50,000 on 2024-06-15

Hatchling 9585 - Dusthide Female, Driftwood Varnish/Radioactive Spire/Ultramarine Greenskeeper, Rare - 15 gems on 2024-07-30

Comments: First clutch for these two since I changed Paline from veil to greenskeeper, and the hatchlings all came out with the new gene - thanks, RNG!

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tteokdoroki · 2 years

Text

𑊡˚+₊🍼✦ — pretty hands + katsuki bakugou.

૮ ͈>◡< ͈ა warnings — fluff, gn!reader, you paint his nails + some bakugou appreciation tbh.

every part of bakugou is pretty— it would take a fool not to notice how gorgeous he is.

with his lopsided grin and hooded ruby eyes, his golden skin that shimmers under golden hour. his rounded cheeks with sunspoted freckles so faint you might think the gods smudged them while creating him, not to mention the shape to his body— as if he was carved from the finest stone, made by those very same gods. your boyfriend is the epitome of perfect, you know that.

but his hands have always been your favourite part of him.

they’re burned, rough to the touch especially on his palms— callous when they cascade over the curve of your hips and the expanse of your skin. but katsuki’s hands are beautiful. warm when you hold them even though he thinks that they’re sweaty, gentle when he tilts your chin up to kiss you or guides you in public to make sure that you don’t get hurt.

katsuki’s hands…so capable of destroying are also able to mend your heart, touch your soul and make you feel alive. his hands work so hard to provide you with a life of comfort— you can’t help but love them and admire them as if they’re a work of art.

so when you bring his hands up to your lips to blow on the nail varnish you’ve done for him— you can’t help but let praise slip from between your lips. “you have pretty hands, kats,” you mumble quietly as you reach for the bottle of black polish you’d been using on him.

“hah? you’re just sayin’ that cause you did my nails all pretty,” the blonde smirks at you, looking up from his phone he’d been scrolling through with his free hand. “can you use the chrome powder on some? i like it when there’s a bit’a silver.” bakugou almost pouts like a puppy when be asks and you giggle while reaching for it— decorating his nails some more.

“not because i’ve done your nails, but because they’re loving—“ you take the phone from his grip and lace your fingers together— your chest bristling at the connection and the warmth of bakugou’s hand against yours. “they’re soft, they protect me and hold me so gently. i love your hands,” pausing, you lean over the mess of scattered nail polish bottles and chrome powders— steady hand between your boyfriend’s crossed legs. “i love you, katsuki bakugou.”

“oi! don’t smudge my nails.” bakugou grunts lowly in disapproval though he tilts his head upwards to close the gap between you both— meeting your anticipating lips halfway. the kiss is slow, thoughtful and loving, a physical manifestation of everything you feel for one another. “would hate to ruin all the hard work y’put into makin’ my hands look even prettier.”

you know that bakugou is teasing, but you can tell by the way he admires the patterns you’ve done on his nails; that he appreciates the compliments.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou fluff #bakugou drabble #bakugou imagine #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo fluff #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #mha fluff #mha x reader #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #✧ ₊˚💭੭ — aali just posted

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fantasy-relax · 3 months

Text

Sweet Alpha Dangerous Omega

Part 11 Part 12

*WOSH* *TACK*

The arrow embedded in the tree; the deer you were aiming at ran away in seconds.

“Wow, dinner is ready, tree bark with earthen sauce” Daniela demonstrated her support eagerly.

“I've lost practice also I'm better at carpentry” You said defensively.

“I had never imagined it, I thought you just had an extreme hatred towards the flora” Daniela used your shoulder as an armrest. “After you hit two trees and one bush, it was a good theory.”

“I'm going to check the traps; you catch the deer” You said practically through clenched teeth.

“Are you bossing me around?” She moved away from you and crossed her arms, looking at you with narrowed eyes.

“Please Daniela” Even though you tried to contain it, the frustration in your voice was obvious.

The redhead looked at you for a few seconds before speaking.

“Cassie is driving you crazy with her order, isn´t?” Daniela said as she rolled her eyes.

You kicked a stone.

“It doesn't matter if I follow her instructions down to the smallest letter, she always rejects the easel.” You grab your hair as you walked from one side to the other. “First she rejected complaining that it was too thick or too thin, too heavy, too light, too much varnish, not enough varnish” You sat on top of a log “Now she doesn't even give me a reason, she just destroys it!” You say desperate.

Daniela, always empathetic laughed softly at your lament.

"Really?"

"Well yesterday..."

°FLASHBACK°

You crouched down to avoid the easel that ended up crashing against the wall, breaking into pieces.

That had been your fifty-two try.

“And you're supposed to be Relia's replacement?” The mockery and disdain were easy to notice in her voice.

You turned to see the easel destroyed on the ground, you didn't know what bothered you more the fact that all the easels you have built have been destroyed without mercy or that you had to apply self-control because both you and your alpha were wagging their tails for the simple fact of that Cassandra was close to you, interacting with you, her scent dancing freely around the workshop.

Remaining calm you grabbed your notebook and a pencil.

“What was the mistake this time?” You thought you had finally had the right balance.

She looked at you calling you idiot with her eyes.

You were able to suppress the purr that wanted to come out of your chest, but not your scent that while it was too light for Betas to perceive it was clear to her.

Her brow furrowed in annoyance.

You didn't say anything with pencil and notebook in hand you kept your gaze on her, you had no intention of dominating her you just wanted to show her that she was monopolizing all your attention.

Her face relaxed slightly, you saw her swallow softly and noticed the slight pleasure in her scent. You bit your lip to keep from smiling, in these few days you had confirmed something you suspected during her past Heat: Cassandra loved being the center of your attention.

“Lady Cassandra?”

She blinked and her gaze filled with anger.

“Do it again and stop wasting my time, I have many projects delayed because of your incompetence” She said practically in your face, now it was you who was swallowing, she was so close, she blinked again and hissed showing her fangs before leaving.

The workshop was silent for a few seconds.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, Relia looked at you sympathetically.

“You'll make it, Thea made me build the same cabinet more than fifty times because it didn't meet her expectations, be patient.”

Your colleagues followed her example, giving you words of support.

“You just need a little more of work”

“You're almost there!”

“Look, this time she not threaten to break it over your head, I call that progress.”

You took a deep breath and then nodded.

"Almost"

°End°

“For what try are you going now?”

"For the number fifty-seven" You made four more in a single day and they were all rejected without giving details about their errors "It doesn't matter if I follow her instructions in detail, she doesn't like it and destroys it in seconds" Covering your face with you speak the truth “And yet I don't want to get it right because this is the closest I've been to her since her Heat.”

You felt a weight on your lap and out of habit you put a hand on Daniela's waist to prevent her from falling.

“Don't be discouraged, Cassandra is just being extra dramatic.” The redhead patted you on the head comforting you.

“The worst thing is that I don't know what exactly she feels or thinks about me” You rested your head on Daniela's shoulder “Her scent tells me one thing and from her mouth comes another” You hugged the Dimitrescu “If I'm going to be her Heat's partner at least I wish we could get along.”

“Is that all you want to be?” The redhead asked without any judgment in her voice as she caressed your back. “Just spend a week with her and nothing more, just have sex and that's it.”

“I already told you that Heat or Ruts are not just about sex Dani” You said rolling your eyes, you hated how all the inhabitants of the castle believed that an alpha only sought sexual pleasure during the Heat, all because of the alphas of the town acted like Pigs towards Beta women and like absolute beasts towards the Omega, you could count on one hand the Alphas who respected their Omegas Mates and did their duty properly.

"You don't answer my question"

You took a deep breath before responding, the pain of Cassandra's rejection still weighing on your chest.

“I thought that no one would ever choose me as a mate, temporary or permanent, I resigned myself to living the rest of my life in misery while trying to make peace with dying alone” Day after day, the same routine, just surviving “ Cassandra was the first Omega who didn't run away instead she challenged me without any fear, she showed her passion when she went into heat, she knew what she wanted it and would do anything to get it." You smiled remembering the brunette's actions. "At that moment both my Alpha and I knew that we could never deny her anything.”

“Cassie is not a traditional omega” Daniela said softly, “She will never be”

“Calling her my Omega will be more than enough” You whispered longingly.

The redhead didn't say more, she caressed your head and let you rest.

-------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------

Daniela caught two deer while you were collecting the rabbits caught by your traps, one of them had absolutely white fur, which had not been mistreated by your trap.

“It would be a good courting gift for the omega.”

“Daniela, can I keep this one?”

“I'm not sure, why do you want it?”

“I want to give it to Cassandra as a courting gift” You blushed as you heard the excited squeal of the redhead who dropped her load to grab your shoulders and shake you to the point of dizziness.

“YES, you have my full permission!”

“T-Thank you.”

After handing the animals to the kitchen staff, you asked Dorotthea for permission to use her tools while they proceeded with the meat preparations.

-----------------------------------------

Outside Cassandra's room you try to gather all your courage to knock on the door, every time you raised your hand the memory of her sneering at you froze you.

“Are you going to stay there all day?” Bela's voice surprised you and before you could respond, she knocked on the door smiling before vanishing into her swarm.

You heard footsteps and with your nerves on edge you proceeded to kneel with the rabbit fur raised in your hands.

The sound of the door being opened made you lower your head, partly to comply with the offering pose and to avoid looking at the brunette's reaction.

“For you Lady Cassandra”

Hope burned in your chest as you felt the fur being removed from your hands, you raised your head just to see how Cassandra threw the fur to the ground.

“Pathetic” With disinterest in her voice she continued “You haven't even been able to complete my order and you dare to come at me with more garbage, out of my sight.”

You moved to grab the fur, not wanting to make her hate you more, but someone was quicker.

"If you don't want it, I'll keep it, after all it's such a nice gift to be wasted." Bela held it carefully in her hands. "There's no problem, right Alpha?"

You closed your eyes to control your emotions, your Alpha did not have that ability whining in your head hurt for failing again to court the Omega.

“Is no problem, Bela.” Your alpha growled, annoyed by your decision, but you had never liked to waste things, and Bela was part of Cassandra's pack. A gift for her wasn't a bad decision.

“White looks good on me, don't you think?”

You stood nodding you didn't have the energy to talk anymore.

The blonde caressed your cheek and you rested your face on it seeking comfort, closing your eyes for a moment

“You are so sweet, dear Alpha.”

*THUMP*

The sound of the door startled you, you moved away from Bela's hand, but she brought you closer, placing your forehead against her.

“Don't be discouraged, if you want to win my sister's heart you have to persevere and survive her contempt.”

Survive, you know how to do that.

----------------------

*CRASH*

There goes your eighty-fourth attempt.

"Again!" Cassandra shouted before leaving.

You silently gathered your tools to start on the new easel.

Days had passed and the only change was that the middle daughter was more agitated and irritated with you. Every time you went hunting with Daniela you made sure to look for the perfect animal to give as a courtship gift, you prepared carefully and then went to Cassandra's room to be brutally rejected.

Daniela and Bela consoled you by accepting your gifts while they praised your ability, your Alpha stopped complaining when you gave them the gifts mean for Cassandra hurt by the Omega's cruel behavior, their sweet words gave you some peace.

Maybe you should carve a wooden figurine? Daniela had told you that Cassandra was a fan of art, something that was obvious from her order, showing your ability to build and create was an important part of courtship, an Alpha had to be able to create a shelter with their hands.

But if you couldn't create a simple easel there was no way she would accept another creation of yours.

What gift could you give her?

You finished your eighty-fifth attempt, but Cassandra did not go to the workshop to check it something that seemed strange to you however, you were distracted when Daniela entered.

“Hey Relia, there was a small accident in the library and one of the shelves broke.”

"Accident?" The carpenter asked with a mocking smile.

“Accident” Daniela crossed her arms, pouting.

"Are you OK?" You asked as you walked over to check her for injuries to which the redhead let out a laugh.

“You worry too much” She said, turning around in place to show that she was in perfect condition despite the dust on her clothes.

Seeing that she was alright, you walked away to start working however Daniela grabbed your hand and pulled you closer to hug you, rubbing her cheek against the right side of your neck. She let you go after a few seconds, smiling in a mischievous way.

“Bye!”

You brushed off the dust she left on you, smiling as you shook your head at the redhead's childish joke.

You were halfway through work when Bela arrived.

“Alpha come here.”

You left your tools and approached the blonde who having you closer grabbed you by your cheeks.

“Bela?”

The oldest laughed softly.

“Your classes are suspended until further notice” She said as she rubbed her hands on your face.

"Something happened?" Did you do something to offend her?

“You're not in trouble with me” She spoke calmly as she let go of your face to massage your shoulders and then rub your arms.

You yawned; Bela's scent was relaxing, more than once you had ended up sleeping in her office because of it.

She approached and rubbed against the left side of your neck and then walked away smiling with the same malice as Daniela.

“Remember to rest” Without further ado she left.

After finishing your work, you would go to sleep early.

----------------------------------------

Cassandra didn't go to the workshop all day; you tried not to think about it too much. Lady Dimitrescu probably asked her for help with some serious matter.

Or she just accepted the fact that you would never be able to complete her assignment.

You shook your head thinking like that would only bring you pain, you had to persevere.

Entering your room, you noticed a smell that was embedded in your mind.

Cassandra's scent.

You gulped as you looked towards your bed, hoping to find the brunette lying on top of it. However, the only thing you could see was the mattress.

Just the mattress. No sheets or pillows.

You looked at the laundry basket to find it just as empty.

You took a deep breath finally noticing the pheromones embedded in the scent.

“Omega is in heat”

Cassandra's heat has begun.

#resident evil village #cassandra dimitrescu #my work #omegaverse

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cboffshore · 2 months

Text

"Bridal Portrait of Uncertain Origin"

Artist unknown, circa the Fall of the Preeminent (estimated)

Oils on bespoke canvas, silk tulle, gilded oak frame

Shortly after the last Yin-Yang Eclipse prior to the Merge, this portrait was discovered in the attic of the Temple of Airjitzu, despite no records of the portrait ever being displayed inside. Indeed, "Bridal Portrait of Uncertain Origin" lacks any solid provenance or provable history. The materials and techniques used only further obscure the truth; perhaps the only thing certain about it is that it exists.

Examination of the structure of the canvas and gilded wooden frame indicate classical techniques from the end of the Era of the Stone Warrior; however, chemical analysis of the paints, varnish, and other materials used to finish the base revealed compounds identical to substances readily available in civilian art supply establishments of pre-Merge urban Ninjago, specifically those available shortly before the portrait's discovery.

Further complicating matters, the image itself is a web of self-contradictions and mismatched details. The subject's pose is highly informal, but the portrait itself - from the level of detail in the oil paint to the larger-than-life scale - is lavish enough to suggest a formal reason for its creation. The subject's attire, too, is highly unusual. Of all known ceremonial attire in the realms, the blues, sharp lapels, and floral motifs rendered here most closely match traditional Djinjagan royal wedding garments (hence the portrait's given title). However, the presence of only two arms, human legs emphasized by a jumpsuit, and the highly unusual structure of the outfit preclude it from being truly Djinjagan in origin and match no other known ceremonial garments from any realm.

Despite all of these bizarre qualities, perhaps the most intriguing part of the portrait is the silk tulle veil flowing out from the painting to drape over the edge of the frame. Independent analyses by multiple art historians found absolutely no point of the connection between the veil and the canvas; the fabric seems to proceed from the image itself, as if the frame is in fact only a window sill separating the viewer from the bride. Furthermore, chemical analysis of the veil revealed trace quantities of organic Latrodectus sotoii venom - a toxin found only on one island in all sixteen realms, which was nowhere close to the portrait's point of origin. Combined with the spiderweb embroidery on the veil, as well as the subject's trio of spider shaped brooches and venom-coated raised hand, the presence of this toxin may be the most reasonable thing about this portrait.

(Now: notes from the artist.)

The process for this one was utterly unlike any other artistic project I've ever done. This all started with me thinking back over a past Skybound analytical piece of mine and thinking how fun it might be to try putting it on an actual person instead of the template croquis I designed it on. (Also: seeing how my texturing methods have evolved!) One Dallon Weekes photo and a Reel about quick contrapposto armature doodling later and I was off to the races.

Initially, this was only supposed to be a souped up edition of the original look - the second image shown just above these notes. Then, while I was trying to figure out how I wanted to display the veil, I wondered: wouldn't it be neat to let it drape out of the frame? Except for I didn't have a frame involved at that point.

At which point I decided, well.... let's make a frame happen. There was already a decidedly haunted portrait energy coming off of this thing (fully intentional, but that's what happens when two of the albums you associate most strongly with your Skybound work are Vices and Virtues and Violent Things), so I thought: let's put it on display. Let's let the veil creep out to meet actual gallery air. Furthermore, why not give it a scary ass, borderline SCP ish existence? I do love an excuse to try and write a museum plaque.

Put another way: If you walked into a gallery and saw an oversized portrait of you on one of the worst days of your life that never happened, except for all the details were wrong (but just right enough to suggest the artist knew what she was doing), would that be fucked up or what?

Some other assorted notes about this:

The design of the gallery space itself was inspired by an image of Crystal Bridges, an art museum in Arkansas that I'm hoping to visit later this year on a trip I'm taking to that area. I've had a family friend hyping it up for years now, and I've looked into it a lot; it's an incredible space. In the fictional lore of this painting, it ends up in a Crossroads art preservation institute of some kind that hangs on to art and artifacts from throughout the realms that crashed together in the Merge. (I couldn't quite squeeze that into the plaque writeup without sounding clunky.) Crystal Bridges, an American art museum with a dizzying range of works, inspired that idea and seemed the most appropriate place to base my fictional gallery on. Here's the image I used as reference, taken from a Google result from their site:

There is, in fact, text on that plaque on the wall. It's too tiny to read, but I promise that's text. Barring a few minor changes, it's the same as in the writeup; I typed it out, screenshotted and removed the background, and laid it out on the plaque. Much easier than trying to draw out teeny individual words.

Something else I couldn't fit into the plaque but tried to imply via the details was that this piece survived whatever collection it was originally in and made it through the Merge inexplicably intact, much like Nya's memories of the deleted timeline still hanging on even after the full reset. Weird as some stuff in this world is, there truly is no escaping it. Better get some nice lighting on it and try to get to the bottom of it. (I do also think it's funny how I bent over backwards trying to help this unnamed plaque author curator character trace every possible origin path when the motive for making this was just... fun. I just did this for fun and then I tried to make it look so grand and terrifying.)

The outfit in the portrait is faithful to the original design, with a few tweaks: the web collar is now gold to stand out against the veil, the veil itself is much longer, there are now two more spiders on the skirt, and there's a birdcage-inspired crinoline under the skirt. That last one was a technical decision, as the lace this time around didn't feel like it could hold itself up. Also, it's a convenient source of more symbolism if you need one.

That's about all the notes I have for right now - if I think of others, I'll be sure to add them. If you have any questions or comments, the inbox is always, always open.

Thank you for stopping by the exhibit.

#art on Tumblr #Ninjago fanart #Ninjago Skybound #Ninjago Delara #Ninjago couture #Lila draws #ordinarily I don't feel bad for people I have blocked but this one I do. rip my mutualship with [REDACTED] you would have had #thoughts on this for sure.#genuinely a banger I'm gonna have to go lie down til December I think #Ninjago Nya #how did I forget that tag that's like the most important one.....#Ninjago #I take that back THAT is the most crucial tag wtf. thanks Raine

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pennybunpirate · 11 days

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How is your day? I've spent part of my evening painting seagull poop, which, to be honest, I hadn't anticipated a month ago 🙃

(I'm loving every minute of it)

Slowly, slowly getting there🐢

Ok I still need to do the water and stone at the bottom as well as finish the details up top and freshen up the tentacles and varnish it....but We're. Getting. There. *Intense grin*

(edit: if you saw me post this on a Tuesday night going all in believing it was Wednesday, after having reminded myself all day that it wasn't, no you didn't🙃)

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notjustjavierpena · 1 year

Text

Three Times You Didn’t Kiss Joel - And One Time You Did - Part II: Wasp

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: A cute summer romance has started! Enjoy chapter two!

Summary: Joel helps you restore your grandparents' house over the summer. You trip on a stepladder.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 no smut but mature thoughts (minors DNI), pining, summer romance, DILF Joel, sexual tension, idiots in love

Word count: 2.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47914783/chapters/120864268

Chapter Two: Wasp

The school’s summer vacation wasn’t around just yet, and so you found yourself spending a few days working on the front of the house alone or with Joel. He came by with Sarah whenever they were free, but Sarah mostly just did her homework whilst he cut the grass, drank lemonade, swept the stone path to your front door, took a look at the water tap at the back of the house, wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his gardening gloves… He was always eager to help you with whatever you had in mind as a project that day, but not scared either to tell you that the weather was great for painting the facade of the house.

So that is what he and you are doing. Sarah is at school still, but you don’t mind a moment with him alone.

You stand on your tippy toes on the stepladder that Joel assembled for you a few weeks ago. Weather wise, you are in a drought that makes coating the house in wood protection perfect because it’s not going to be raining for a few days (Joel’s words). On the side of the ladder, a bucket of the varnish hangs on a hook which you are continuously dipping the paintbrush into.

You have gotten clear instructions on how to use the brush, nearly getting scolded for going up and down in the beginning until Joel had grabbed your wrist to make you go from side to side instead. You had let out a sir, yes, sir, and you had been able to hear him roll his eyes at you with a chuckle.

“Looks good, like I taught ya,” Joel says as he walks up behind you, holding the ladder in place as you paint along the boards. You hum quietly in agreement, a little lost for words as his face is level with your thighs and his hands are level with your calves. He could so easily reach out if he wanted to, but you haven’t felt his hands on you yet despite several opportunities, which has made you hyper aware of how one-sided your crush is.

“I’m not completely hopeless, Miller,” you say as you continue working the brush from side to side. You’re glad that you didn’t wear a dress with the way that the soft summer breeze that rustles the leaves on the trees would have pulled at the skirt, exposing you more to him.

“I’m just making sure that you know how to do this, so you can do it yourself a few years from now,” he replies, tapping his fingers on the warm metal of the ladder. He goes silent for a moment, but you don’t notice him staring at your exposed thighs in your shorts, because you have your back towards him.

“That’s fine, but I won’t have any trouble finding someo—“ you’re just about to dip your brush into the varnish again when you spot a wasp close to your face. Your mouth falls open in a squeak, and you automatically take a step back to get away from the insect, “Joel, I’m allergic to wa— Ah!”

Your movement has made you fall backwards. You feel your ankle twist due to stepping too close to the edge of the step you’re standing on, causing you to lose balance and reach for the stepladder’s side, but you simply swing backwards to your right instead of saving yourself from the fall. You squeeze your eyes shut then tense up as you prepare for the impact of the ground.

It never comes though.

Instead, you’re caught in a pair of strong arms due to Joel’s dangerously fast reflexes. He has you in his arms, bridal style, looking down at you with big eyes as if he cannot wrap his mind around what he has just done. He doesn’t let go of you though, and the wild eyes that he is giving you almost has you courageous enough to kiss him right then and there, just to see if they’d widen even more or find peace. It would have made Sarah laugh, cringe visibly too, but mostly laugh at how cliché it would have been.

You’re pulled from your thoughts again shortly after, because despite how bad you want it to be fireworks, sugar and pointed toes, you can hear the buzzing of the wasp close by. It makes your heartbeat spike even more.

“Wasp! Wasp wasp wasp! Joel!” You slap Joel’s shoulder to make him notice, panicking at the thought of being so close to the stupid animal. Joel frantically grabs you tighter and carries you away from the spot where you had been working and you listen carefully before confirming that the buzzing is gone. Whew. Your EpiPen is inside the house in a kitchen drawer, but you wouldn’t have been able to tell him where it was before it would have been too late and he would have had to call emergency services.

“Perhaps a pretty decent idea to tell me that you’re allergic to wasps before we started working outside in the middle of summer,” he huffs, but his tone isn’t angry, but more concerned as well as flustered, “Must’a been your bright colored top. They like that, don’t they?”

It’s your turn to be flustered, steadfast in holding your gaze at his eyes and not let it drop down to his mouth like it often did. You are too close to him to hide when your eyes start to roam around his handsome features.

“Uh, Joel—“

“What?” Joel furrows his brows.

“Put me down, please?” You are blushing.

“Oh,” Joel splutters, but soon easily bends down a little to place your feet back on the ground.

It isn’t easy for you though. You wince as soon as your right foot hits the grass, making you nearly tumble to the ground, but Joel quickly supports you so it doesn’t happen, and you grab the front of his shirt. Perhaps emergency services aren’t such a bad idea after all.

You frown despite the opportunity to lean your whole frame into Joel’s strong body. He has an arm wrapped around your waist, so you can stand on one leg without tipping over. You take the time to stretch out your leg in front of yourself to look down at your foot and carefully try to rotate your ankle. Pain shoots out from your joint, and you whimper under your breath.

“Don’t let go,” you warn him anxiously. You notice that you have smeared varnish over his t-shirt from gripping it as you had nearly fallen.

“I won’t,” he absentmindedly rubs your side soothingly but it doesn’t make your heart rate drop.

“Oh no, I got varnish on your shirt,” you point out.

Joel gets a line in his forehead when his expression switches to confusion. He blows air out of his nose in a humorless laugh, “That’s your worry? Sweetheart, we should get that foot checked. Head too, maybe.”

The nickname seems so natural. You slap his shoulder again, but then remember that he has your whole body at his mercy; your legs will disappear from underneath you if he moves, so you decide not to protest too much.

“You can take my car,” you say but he already objects.

“Ain’t no way in hell I’m putting you on the front seat of your own tiny car. We can take my truck, and you can lie down on the back seat,” he doesn’t even give you room to argue, just leaves everything as it is in your front yard and crosses the street with you in his arms.

“You’re overreacting,” you want to have the last word, and Joel gives it to you, because he says nothing in return, focused and determined instead.

When you reach his old truck, he puts you on the bed to go fetch his keys. It gives you just a moment to process the way that your skin feels on fire where his hands have been, and you hope that no one at the emergency room wants to test your blood pressure or pulse with him in the room. You already start practicing a polite way of telling him to get out.

When Joel returns a few moments later, he unlocks the truck and turns on the engine before fetching you again. You allow yourself to wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders, trying not to look too interested in the way that one of his hands rests comfortably just underneath where your bra sits against your skin.

“Uhh,” Joel quickly turns on his heel as Sarah clears her throat, having arrived home from her walk from the bus stop to their home. You nearly bump your head into the roof of the car as Joel spins due to him being too startled by his daughter’s sudden presence to notice the space around him.

Sarah has on her school backpack, clutching the straps as she approaches the two of you. She raises a brow, “What is going on here? Should I leave again?”

You hope Joel doesn’t drop you at that.

“Nah, it ain’t like that,” he shoots her insinuations down a little too fast.

“Definitely not,” you add just as quickly to save face, and then reach out for the door handle from your position in Joel’s arms, “I’m just a klutz, think my ankle might be sprained or broken.”

“Oookay, whatever you say,” Sarah says, but doesn’t look very convinced with the way she grimaces as she removes her gaze away from you for a moment. When she regains her composure, trying not to make disgusted teenage eyes at her father, she goes on, “So should I wait up?”

“Probably not, s’not serious enough to be prioritized,” Joel says as he crawls half way into the truck’s backseat to place you down on it. You look up at him with a hitched breath, nod when he asks ‘this okay?’ with his eyes.

He pushes himself back and out of the car again by gripping the roof of the vehicle, turns to Sarah then leaves you with butterflies in your stomach.

“There’s still leftover pizza from yesterday,” you hear him say to her, and she replies with whatever. Knowing enough about her by now, you know that she will probably be cooking her own dinner.

She knocks on the window to wave at you before leaving, “Hope it’s nothing too serious!”

After waiting three hours to see a doctor at the emergency room, you are now the proud owner of a sprained ankle. It’s a conclusion that you could have made yourself, but Joel hadn’t wanted to take you back home and had argued that it was better to be safe than sorry. There had been no point in arguing about it because Joel is as stubborn as a mule, even now that the doctor is confirming your suspicions.

“Plenty of rest, ice packs, pillow under when you sleep,” the doctor tells you as she taps away on her computer to log your condition. She smiles softly at you and urges you not to try to put on your shoe again, “I will let a nurse wrap your foot soon, so just relax for now. Just regular ibuprofen for any pain or discomfort. I’ll make sure the nurse gives you a dose before you leave too.”

“Thanks,” you say as you scoot back onto the examination table, already determined to put your foot up. Joel sits on a chair with his arms crossed over his chest, resting his chin in one hand, and has his legs spread out in front of himself. He looks tired but he did carry you all the way through the hospital.

The doctor turns towards the two of you on her spinning chair, “So it’s no more house work for you the coming week. You’re lucky it wasn’t bad or your boyfriend may ha—“

“Not together,” you and Joel say in unison. You try not to be offended by hearing him say something you’ve just said yourself. At the same time even.

“Well, nevertheless, you’re lucky that it isn’t bad enough to have been four to six weeks of rest,” she says a little sheepishly.

You laugh softly at her comment, nodding in agreement, “Oh yeah. I’m terrible at sitting still.”

You don’t tell her that you feel lucky because four to six weeks without seeing Joel would have been torture. This is good. You don’t have to stop seeing Joel, and knowing his stubbornness, you guess that you’ll be allowed to watch him coat the rest of the house with varnish because the dry weather calls for it.

You guess right, spending lazy days on your porch with cool drinks and a nice view of Joel’s tall frame on the stupid stepladder. He had insisted that you stayed inside, but you’d told him it wasn’t going to happen. That was fine, but only if you had your EpiPen next to you.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel x reader #joel x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #my writing #the last of us fanfiction #dilf!joel

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