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daycourtofficial · 1 day ago

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An Autumn Courting

Pairing: Eris x winter court!reader | WC: 12.5k | warnings: sexual tones, mentions of hunting

Summary: coming into his role as High Lord of the Autumn Court, the first thing Eris does is make a proposal of marriage to you, something you’re going to make him work for.

A/N: this has been in my drafts since October 2023, I’m so glad to let this be out in the world. Happy @sjmxreaderweek !! This is way too long but enjoy anyway

Eris Vanserra had three soft spots.

First: his mother - a female who spent her life trying to make his better. The first and perhaps only person to show him pure, unconditional love. Someone who did not balk at the terrible things he had to do and endure to survive. One of his most complicated and long lasting relationships where nothing truly made sense.

Second: Lucien. He had a soft spot for all of his brothers when they were born. Being raised by Beron sucked the life from most of them. He watched as they slowly became apathetic at best, cruel at worst. All except Lucien.

Lucien, his baby brother, who remained a good, loyal male, despite everything Beron tried to do to him. Lucien, who looked at him with wide eyes and a big heart. Lucien - his first contact leading up to his father’s death, the only person he wanted there.

Third: his hounds.

Eris adored his hounds. He spent thousands of hours training them, breeding them, and preparing for the next litter. Their kennels were a refuge for him, a place no one in the family ever ventured out to. Only a handful of servants ever got close and they merely mucked out the stalls and changed feed for the dogs. They were the first things to ever truly be his.

Eris had three soft spots. Now it was four.

Your continued presence, skirting on the outside of his periphery for years meant more to him than you could ever possibly know. The only fae willing to talk back to him but keep a twinkle in their eye.

He spent years trying to figure out why your eyes plagued his dreams, how the wind would blow past carrying your laugh. He could never quite pinpoint an exact reason.

Staying away from you during court events was the best course of action for everyone. He knew if he got too close to you, Beron would notice and insist on exploiting this weakness of Eris’s by either a) trying to arrange a marriage between the two of you, putting you under Beron’s control and driving Eris further under Beron’s thumb, or b) keep you far away from Eris.

He knew which one was worse.

You had known Eris for centuries, a tenuous friendship due to his lack of trust and your uncertainty as to where you stood with him. Something inside of you always felt there was more to him than the mask he wore to the public, but you could never truly be certain if it was just naivety and hopefulness.

Years of seeing each other at inter-court events, culminated in the two of you finding each other, having occasional moments that left you wanting to see more of him. You could never linger together for too long, lest Beron catch on to how his eldest son’s eyes bore into yours for a second longer than appropriate. Every meeting, dance, or word shared between you two always left you flustered, every moment shared was dissected at length afterward.

One night, while under the mountain, Eris took a risk and found you in your chambers. He had to know that you were okay - as okay as one could be in such an environment. He was used to this environment- he knew how to play the game, how to endure the atrocities in front of him. But you didn’t.

Eris had pushed his way into your chambers, quickly shutting the door behind himself. The intrusion had left you so flustered, you ran to him, prepared to chastise him.

Instead he grabbed your shoulders, quickly spinning you before he rested your back against the door, ensuring no one could burst in without his knowledge. He caged you in with his arms on either side of you, his amber eyes roaming your face, inspecting for injuries.

“I don’t have much time. But if this ever ends, it will not be long until I put the pieces into place to better my position.”

You understood the meaning behind his words, ones too worried to utter the real truth out loud.

He was going to kill Beron. Or someone was.

You knew he was concerned about ears in this place, so he didn’t speak freely.

“I cannot promise you much, but if you wait, I will do things properly. But I would not hold it against you if you cannot wait.”

He hung his head, his long, red hair falling into his face before taking a deep breath and slipping out the door before you could say anything.

So, you waited.

You had survived the atrocities that happened under that cauldron-forsaken mountain and helped your brother Kallias rebuild the Winter court.

Then the war with Hybern happened. You continued your work trying to provide security and sanctuary to your citizens, but it was hard and draining.

The years carried on, until one day Kallias was called off quite quickly by mail, leaving you and Vivian quite confused but not for long. News of the death of Beron Vanserra traveled quite quickly through all of Prythian.

Kallias had returned for mere minutes before a letter arrived in front of you, a second one appearing in front of Kallias a moment later.

The envelope was sealed with the Autumn Court insignia, one that you’ve admired for many years now: a fox curling around a fire. It felt homey.

It was the Court’s official crest - and the Vanserra family’s familial crest resembled it. You broke the seal, reading the letter.

Fawn,

It is my hope that this letter finds you in good spirits and good health. I am writing this as a formal declaration of my intentions.

With your agreement, it is my intention to court and wed you, making you the Lady of the Autumn Court. It would be my honor to serve my court as your husband with you at my side.

This decision lies solely with you. I have, however, written a similar letter to your high lord, Kallias, so he will not feel blindsided should you accept.

Take your time over this decision. I will be busy in the coming weeks, adjusting to life as High Lord, however I will make whatever time is necessary for you shall you wish it.

Yours,

Eris Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court

You smiled at the title in his signature, sure that this was the first time he got to write it out.

Your eyes glanced up to find Viviane and Kallias’s peaking glances at you as they read the letter Eris had sent them.

“It would appear as though you’ve caught the eye of Prythian’s newest High Lord.”

It was no question that you would attend his coronation. Autumn was a direct border to Winter and Kallias had been waiting decades for Beron to die to potentially work with one of his sons on building better relations. He had always hoped it would be Lucien, the easiest and most diplomatic Vanserra. The two had a working relationship and he would be a lovely neighboring ruler.

During the whole affair, Eris’s eyes hardly strayed from yours. They followed you, not straying to any of the hundreds of fae gathered, not to the other court nobility that had arrived.

Just you.

His eyes had followed you as you lingered after the ceremony, finding Lucien just as the letter had instructed. You kept his gaze as you spoke to the youngest Vanserra, giving him the answer to Eris’s letter. You nodded just enough for the new High Lord to see, and his posture immediately relaxed. You stood taller knowing on a day all about him, he clearly had only been thinking of you.

You had written back to Eris after the coronation quite quickly, much more quickly than a proper lady should, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Excitement coursed through your body, almost impossible to sit still.

Corresponding with Eris was more fun than you had anticipated. It took a few letters, but he began opening up more and more, telling you stories about his day or some memory long forgotten. Most letters include some story about Lucien, but they felt much more relaxed than the version of him you knew at court events. He even stopped signing them with his full name, shortening it to just ‘Eris’ eventually.

You had made the mistake of mentioning to Kallias about Eris’s intentions. Your brother had been upset at first to find out his sister had caught the eye of a Vanserra - he had never trusted the family, always on guard in their presence. But when he heard the words ‘courting’ and ‘traditional’, you swore his eyes danced with amusement as he plotted something.

Official courting was very similar across Prythian, with minor details changed for each court. For members of nobility and highly esteemed families of the Winter Court, it was usual custom for the betrothed pair to visit each other’s villages. Time spent partaking in the customs of each village was essential - life in Winter could often feel very insular. Villages less than a day’s travel from each other could be quite different, even language differences occurring. Holidays across the court looked similar to outsiders, but traditions held a wide range of activities.

Kallias would allow you to do as you wished as long as you weren’t tricked or coerced into anything. However, your brother would make Eris regret his exact words of a ‘traditional courting’.

Eris had agreed to the terms, but sent many letters about his brother in forewarning and to not take him seriously. Having met the youngest Vanserra on several occasions, you were well prepared for what he might do.

An agreement was formed - Eris was to spend two weeks in Winter before you would spend two weeks in Autumn. At that point, you would provide some form of answer. You had some idea of what you would say - you wouldn’t be wasting everyone’s time otherwise. But it would be foolish and rash to wed without spending any time alone with the male.

Eris was set to arrive in a week’s time, coming to your home, coming to Winter. It felt surreal, not quite allowing yourself to believe it until the male was standing before you. A week was nothing for a High Lord - Kallias’s visits to other courts usually required several months of notice. But seven days still felt too long after seeing him at the coronation. You did anything to make yourself busy - planning activities for the two of you, reassuring your brother once again that this was what you wanted, trying to showcase Winter in the best light.

Still, every night when you laid in bed, everytime you closed your eyes, you were brought back to the coronation, how his eyes followed you across the room. A room full of the most powerful and important people in Prythian, and his gaze never left yours.

You hardly slept the night before he was set to arrive, waking with the sun as if it would bring Eris here more quickly. The morning went by at a snail’s pace, the palace unhurried for the day. You had bathed, dried your hair, paced around, tidied your room. You did anything you could think to keep busy, to keep your mind off the clock.

Eventually enough time passed for you to make it to breakfast, sitting across from Kallias and Vivianne’s amused glances. They chatted idly, amused smiles directed at you that you pretended to ignore. You only pushed the food around on your plate, watching the sun through the window, trying to will it to move faster.

“Something wrong?” Kallias’s question made its way through the fog, the only words he had spoken you had been able to make sense of.

“Sure, sure.” You waved him off with your fork, eyes moving to the entryway to the dining room every so often. He laughed, amused at how little you were listening to them, but you had tuned him out once more. Doubt crept in as each second passed, your anxieties certain something would keep the two of you apart. Had he changed his mind? Was it all in the chase for a hunter like him?

As if your doubts had conjured him, he was striding through the entrance hall, his red hair practically melting the walls as he went past. Over the years, you had seen Eris in a variety of wardrobe: deep reds ranging to bright green, a variety of embroidery threads on every piece. He made every color his own, gravitating towards richer, earthier shades. The dark blue jacket that hung from his shoulders made the color seem so new and exotic, despite being a significant portion of your own wardrobe. The depth of color popped beneath his pale skin somehow, unjustly proving there truly was no color he couldn’t make his own.

The piece looked like anything you would find in Winter, but somehow like nothing you had ever seen before.

He had looked so sure of himself at the coronation, steadfast in a way a High Lord needed to be. In the few weeks since, he had somehow grown even more into himself, standing tall and sharp. His hair was much shorter now than it was under the mountain, the weight of that place chopped off with the fiery locks.

Eris stopped before you, smiling as he took you in, a bit of shock mixed in with the delight. Too caught up in your wandering eyes, you completely forget to even pretend to courtesy until it’s too late and you fumble a short bow. His face lit up with amusement, and you hoped he'd ignore it. Your prayers seemed to be answered until he leaned in and asked, “see something you like?”

The question sent chills down your back, your spine straightening. Your mouth became too dry to respond, and even if you could, you couldn’t think of anything to say. This thing with Eris, however mutual it may be, had alway been fleeting - small conversations, loose promises. No matter how your heart pulled to him, you still knew so little about him.

Kallias cleared his throat from behind you, his focus completely on Eris. The males only nodded to each other, not even attempting small talk. Kallias had been on edge ever since the first letter arrived - you heard him pacing at night, sure that the Autumn male was planning something. But those concerns hardly made it to your ears, your brother staying tight lipped about his reservations.

You didn’t think there was any validity to Kallias’s concerns for even a moment, especially not as he stood before you, a glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes.

“I didn’t think you would allow this. I expected to be thrown out of Winter.” His voice was soft, the usual sneer or jestful tone gone, leaving room for something more vulnerable.

“Do you take me for a liar, High Lord? Not a good look for a new bride.” The quip sent him slightly off balance, surprise or pleasure at the change in your attitude.

“My apologies.” He bowed low at the waist causing you to go completely still. As High Lord, he didn’t have to bow to anyone. The other High Lords were his equals, but they didn’t deserve this level of respect.

“I’m just kind enough to forgive you, Eris.” He straightened at the sound of his name, the slight smirk enough to let you know how much he enjoyed it.

You spent the afternoon showing him the palace and the grounds, noting the amusement on his face at the ice gardens. You showed him the deep blues of the palace, listening as he compared them to his own home, the Forest House.

“I have arranged for some private dining for us. Kallias wanted some grand banquet in your honor, but I shot that down.”

“Wanted to get me alone?”

“Oh, we won’t be alone.” He waited for you to go on, still keeping stride next to you. “There are eyes everywhere in Winter. Why do you think we don’t have a chaperone?”

Eris turned in a circle, moving around the landscape, searching for anybody. There wasn’t another living thing for miles in the vast wintery expanse.

“Can you keep a secret?” He nodded, leaning his face closer to yours. You did the same, leaning up on your toes to meet him. You lowered your voice, soft as the snow fall. “It’s the animals.”

“The animals?” A mixture of shock and delight came across his face, a hint of disbelief as well. You nodded, not elaborating further. As far as you could tell, the animals in Winter were vastly different from the animals of other courts. They were larger, better at hiding, and were connected to Kallias somehow. You had tried for years to get him to explain it - why arctic foxes lingered at the palace doors, hares burrowed beneath every window. He always stayed tight-lipped about it, but he always knew things he shouldn’t. He was always the first to know your business, even if you never told him.

“I don’t really get it, but they like my brother.”

Eris followed as you led him to the west side of the palace. Light snow fell, crunching beneath your feet as you made your way down the path to the stables. You finally reached the surprise the servants had set up - a massive sleigh fronted by a team of large reindeer, stocked with blankets and food.

“What is this?”

“Our chariot.”

Eris looked over the sled, the reindeer all standing at attention, dark fur accented with lush garlands.

“Couldn’t we just winnow?”

“Yes, but where’s the fun in that?”

He huffed, his breath visible in the air. He followed you into the sleigh, his body pressing close to yours. You let out a low whistle, the reindeer taking off quickly. Eris fell back into the seat, unprepared for the quick takeoff. Your hand covered your mouth, trying to hide the laugh that escaped, but you knew he heard it from the way he looked over at you.

His magic made a warm bubble around the two of you, blocking out the wind as the reindeer picked up a good pace. The sleigh glided across the snow, making fresh tracks as it moved. Eris looked around, trying to find any hint as to where the two of you were heading off to.

“What are we waiting for?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

He studied you then, really focusing on you. You did the same, studying how much he contrasted the wintry landscape passing behind. His blue coat helped him blend in somewhat, but he stood out too much from the ice and snow to ever be able to fully hide.

“Have you ever been to Winter?” Your voice was louder, trying to be heard over the wind. You’ve seen him in Winter three or four times, the Vanserras never lingering long, only here to discuss things related to the border. Your father despised having them around, always tense in the days leading up to their arrival. But you wanted to hear it from him, wanted to know what your home was like to an outsider.

“Officially or unofficially?”

“Both.”

He leaned back on the seat, stretching out his long legs in the sleigh, his body still touching yours but not encroaching on your space.

“Officially, a handful of times. Unofficially, a few dozen times. I’ve snooped around the border a time or two.”

“To see the sights? Or do something a bit more?”

He gave a sharp look, some debate happening behind his eyes on how much to tell.

“I’d be lying if I said the land on the border between our courts was anything less than spectacular.”

You had never been so far north as the seasonal courts, but the lands connecting Summer, Winter, and Autumn were quite the sight. A blend of all three courts, a beautiful lake laid in the middle of the tricourt border. The wind blew falling leaves and soft snow across the water, but somehow the air was the perfect temperature to go swimming. It was a beautiful spot, popular with travelers.

“My excursions were less than savory.” His face was grim now, hard set with bad memories. Your breath hitched at how quickly the conversation had turned. It’s not too surprising to know Eris has snuck across the border - you have snuck off into Summer a time or two, emboldened by youth and recklessness.

But a few years ago, someone had done something so heinous the memory still made you gag.

“Have you ever harmed one of Winter’s citizens?” It still wasn’t known who killed those children, their deaths still a heavy tragedy for your court. Their wailing parents could be heard across the court. Your brother had long suspected the High Lord of the Night Court of it, but he had no leads.

“No. Mostly a neutral meeting site for discussions.” He seemed less than forthcoming, not wanting to linger too long, but willing to answer any questions you had. You only had one last question, needing it answered before letting this subject die.

“Did you have any involvement with the children?” You didn’t have to specify, you knew he’d know what you were referring to.

“No. I would never.” Relief washed over you. He seemed open in a way you’ve never seen before. You wanted to see more of it, let him tell you who he is in his own words.

The sled started slowing down at your whistle, halting in the middle of a barren field. The dark sky stretched on for miles, filled with galaxies of stars too numerous to count and too small to quantify. You unfolded the blanket, draping it across both of your laps, before opening the picnic basket. You passed him a small mug, filling it with hot chocolate from an enchanted kettle.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.” You tried for a more hopeful tone, the lilt in your voice asking to move on from the tragedy. He thought it over seriously for a few moments, watching the steam from his mug dissipate before settling on something.

“I have twelve hounds, all named after ingredients in pumpkin pie or apple varieties.”

“You have hounds?” He nodded, allowing you to continue. “I’ve only seen hounds from afar around here. In Winter, they work either with hunting or guardians. I’ve heard in Day it’s popular to keep them as pets. Are yours more pet or worker?”

“Anyone else, I’d say they’re workers. But in the interest of honesty, they are more pet.”

The mug of hot chocolate in your hands was the only thing keeping you from squealing in delight.

“Do you spoil them?”

“No.” You eyed him skeptically, not accepting his answer. “Okay, fine. I spoil them. But I make them work for it.”

“That’s so sweet. I’m sure they all love you.”

He didn’t respond, but you were sure it was the truth. You couldn’t imagine any being not falling in love with him, especially after spending years with him.

You slowly leaned into him, trying to soak up all his warmth. He turned, his face only inches from yours. His nose was a hair away from bumping into yours. Amber eyes flicked down to your lips and back up, but he stayed where he was.

You pushed back from him, catching the glimpse of color from behind his head, telling him to look up.

The sky above you, previously pitch black, slowly allowed streaks of green and light blue to ribbon across its landscape. The sky was a living painting, bright hues stretching across the blank canvas. The movements seemed random, smooth strokes looking for a place to rest. Every stroke looked intentional, every color carefully picked to complement the ones around it.

The hundreds of times you had seen it before didn’t matter - each time was brand new, never looking the same as the last. Eris was quiet beside you, the silence stretching up to the sky in appreciation of its beauty.

For a long time, neither of you say anything, but Eris’s hand slowly moved closer - first resting next to yours, each finger slowly and gently making contact, until he was holding your hand in his, gazing at this new beauty to bask in.

You smiled to the sky, thankful for whatever reason it was here. It would be the first thing the two of you would share, your shared focus on the same thing. The whole ride home would be devoted to talking about it, sharing feelings and observations, but now the two of you stared, necks craning at something that had stretched across Winter for as long as fae had existed.

On Eris’s second day in Winter, the weather was just right for an activity you were determined to see Eris try before accepting any proposals. You bundled yourself up, donning several layers beneath a coat before you bounced down the hallway. His room was several doors down from yours at Kallias’s input no doubt, but it gave you an extra moment to smooth out any wrinkles in your coat.

Deep blue skies filled the windows you passed, the day outside exceedingly bright. It was springtime in Winter, one of the warmer days that brought fae outdoors in droves, but your intended destination would be quite cold.

Your knock on his door was quick, three taps before his face greeted you.

“You’re quite chipper this morning,” he greeted.

You beamed, excitement for the day coursing through you. “It’s a beautiful day, of course I’m chipper.”

You looked down from his eyes to find his chest bare, no shirt to cover the pale skin littered with freckles. A set of two moles beneath his left clavicle caught your eye, before your gaze stuck on the red hair beneath his navel, leading into his trousers.

“I can meet you for breakfast downstairs if you wish to eat.”

Your eyes snapped back to his, a hint of arrogance lacing his words at having caught your ogling. He spared you from any other jabs at your expense, at least.

“No need, we’ll be getting breakfast out in town.”

A surprised look crossed his face before he quickly changed it for one of intrigue.

“Spare a moment so I can change.”

He came out exactly a moment later, not letting you wait too long. He stepped out in brown trousers, brown riding boots, a loose white shirt, and a beautifully decadent emerald green vest with gold detailing. He looked so autumnal, almost like a crisp apple you were dying to bite into.

Your lips puckered. “You’re going to need more clothes.”

“Oh? You seemed quite happy with the lack of layers I was wearing earlier.”

You scoffed, trying to cover the heat that was spreading up your face. “I am a lady, High Lord. Of course I am happy to see a lack of layers in my attractive guests.”

He laughed through his nose, an almost pleased snort at your unabashed comment.

“Any hints as to the day’s plans?”

“None until you get dressed.” He grumbled something as he turned back, leaving the door open before rifling through his trunks again.

“You do know I can warm myself quite easily with my magic.” He found a larger coat, probably the thickest one he owned, but it looked thin in comparison to the large, feather coats of Winter’s citizens. You followed him, standing in his doorway as he spoke to you.

“That’s cheating, though. Besides, your magic could be a hazard.” He stopped buttoning his jacket, fingers pausing mid movement.

“I thought I wasn’t getting any hints until I was better dressed.”

“You are better dressed.”

“I would never leave with my buttons undone. I’m not an animal.”

You stepped aside, walking down the hallway and away from him. His door shut softly behind him and he quickly caught up to you, matching your stride through the palace. No matter how much he asked, you didn’t let up, leading him out of the palace and onto the cool paths that navigated around the property.

You thought he would give up - it would only be a ten minute walk, after all. But he was unwavering, determined to get the answer from you, so much so he wasn’t paying attention to the upcoming view.

“We’re going ice skating!” You declared proudly, pointing ahead at the frozen lake coming into view. Figures glided across the frozen surface, laughing loud enough to be heard from far away.

“Why are we going ice skating, my ice princess?”

The nickname caught you off guard, the title not sounding as stilted as it usually did. You tried to keep your composure, a difficult task as your tongue suddenly became very thick in your mouth. “It’s tradition.”

“Is it now? Or do you just want to admire me gliding across the ice in those tight uniforms your skaters wear?”

A sigh escaped you, careful not to let him hear your laugh.

“It’s tradition in Winter for betrothed couples to skate together.”

“We’re a betrothed couple now?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. You still hadn’t technically given him an answer nor did you plan to until the end of the trip. Everything was going so well, you had to ensure you liked being in his company before agreeing.

“We’re something.”

“I suppose ‘something’ is the most serious relationship I’ve ever been in.”

“Haven’t you been engaged to the Morrigan?”

“I was a child. I had met her all of a handful of times before it ended.”

“So us ice skating is the most serious romantic endeavor you’ve ever been involved with?”

“It would appear so.”

“If I may be so bold, that is quite sad.” A pair of ice skates appeared in your hands, the size determined by some servants who snuck into his chambers last night and measured his shoes. You held them out to him before gesturing for him to sit on a nearby bench to put them on.

“What’s sad is going to be seeing me out on the ice and that will be the end of my most serious romantic endeavor.”

You reached out, gently pinching his cheek between your thumb and forefinger.

“I wouldn’t end things with how pitiful you look on the ice. I find pathetic males endearing on occasion.”

“I will note to never allow you near Lucien again.”

Your own skates appeared in your hand as you sat next to Eris. The two of you laced boots in tandem, listening as a few kids played a game of hockey on one end of the lake.

“You’ll probably be a little wobbly getting out there,” you warned, standing up to help him. You held your hands out, which he gladly took, helping him find his balance on the mat.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Oh, just wait.”

You helped him waddle to the entrance, his body instinctively reaching for the short walls that had been erected around the lake. Eris moved onto the ice, attempting to keep the blades beneath his feet connected to the ice. It was much slippier than he anticipated, his feet moving at an odd angle before he quickly moved back to grip the wall once more. His eyes met yours, your face barely able to contain your grin. Your eyes shone with delight, your tone laced with wicked amusement as you held out your hands.

“Forgive me, High Lord. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a skating prodigy.”

His jaw tightened at the jab, annoyance simmering beneath his skin. Everyone else on the ice made it look easy, skating past the High Lord in pairs. One male even did a jump right in front of him.

If there was one thing that would never change about Eris, it was that he was a sore loser if he wasn’t automatically good at something.

A skater passed by, ice shavings hitting Eris in the chest. It was enough to get him to remove himself from the wall, to move out toward your outstretched hands. He looked like a newborn foal, standing for the first time on fresh legs. You suppressed a giggle, reaching out for him.

He made it halfway between you and the wall when one of the kids from the other side of the lake hit the hockey puck too hard, the black circle skidding fast directly at Eris’s feet. It hit the blade of his left skate, sending him falling forward.

A loud, boisterous laugh fell from your lips. Your head tilted back, the sun nearly blinding you, but you couldn’t contain the joy you felt in this moment.

A beautiful male fell into your arms, looking more like a fresh fawn than the high lord he was.

He clutched at you, his feet giving out beneath him as he tried to find his balance. The blades slashed the ice, cutting and churning up slush until eventually he slowed down, his feet able to stay in place long enough for him to straighten up.

Eris still clung to you, but his face came close to your ear, whispering so only you could hear.

“I look ridiculous.”

“Yes, you do.”

“And you’re enjoying it.”

“Very much so.” A meteor couldn’t wipe the smug look off your face at his struggles. You pried his hands from your shoulders, holding them tight in your hands as you slowly started skating backwards. The shock on his face had you biting back another laugh, but you held him tight, gliding backwards without a concern in the world.

He slowly began figuring out how to move his feet, making short glides. Each sweep of his legs brought more confidence, but his hands still remained tight in yours.

Eris didn’t have many courtly duties to take up his time while in Winter. He had spent most of the last week preparing for this, but he only had to put up with daily updates and light correspondence taking no less than an hour a day.

You took him everywhere you thought of: nearby villages, sightseeing, trying restaurants. He was more receptive to Winter cuisine than you had anticipated, but it shouldn’t be too shocking that there was some overlap between your courtly palettes.

Today the snow came down in massive heaps, a sheet of white covering the windows, making it impossible to see past a few feet.

“Please don’t tell me we’re going out to do something like see how much snow we can catch.”

You smiled, turning from the window to find Eris looking down at you. You stood, practically bouncing the balls of your feet at the plan for today.

“I’d never do that to you and your delicate constitution.” A huff escaped his lips at your taunt, but no retort came back.

“We’re going to bake and assemble a gingerbread house.”

It was too early for yule, the ingredients necessary for the traditional dishes out of season. But you craved to showcase Winter in all its splendor.

“A gingerbread house? To live in?”

“Not for us to live in. For the gingerbread fae to live in.”

He only stared blankly, the concept clearly a new one to the High Lord.

“Do you not celebrate Yule in Autumn?”

“We burn bushes and the like, but we don’t make gingerbread.” He said it with a grimace, like the cookie was offensive.

“Well, you can help me build it and decorate it.”

A few hours later, when the cookies were taken from the oven, the two of you took a break, venturing around the palace grounds, talking about everything and nothing. At some point you were sure the cookies had cooled enough to work with, but there had been a break in the snow and you weren’t quite ready to return yet. Instead you had detoured into the nearby village, taking Eris to get hot chocolate.

“I promise, I’ve tried so much hot chocolate over the years, but this is the best.”

“Very convenient that they live so close by.” You smiled over the mug, taking your first sip, the sweet rich flavor one you couldn’t get enough of.

“I may have persuaded him to move his shop here.”

Eris held his drink, waiting for it to cool more.

“Here I thought I was the scandalous one of us.”

“It all worked out! He met his wife here and they’ve been very happy for a long time. And they have me to thank for it.” Pride was etched into every inch of your smile, to see happy citizens and watch things work out for them was a joy.

“Winter’s own little matchmaker.”

After enough time (and Eris admitting it was the best hot chocolate Prythian had to offer), the two of you had wandered back to the palace, taking your sheets of cookies into the dining room. Servants had already arranged all your decorating needs neatly onto the table: icing, gumdrops, sugar. Anything sweet your heart could desire was on the table.

“The world’s supply of sugar was dropped off in our absence.”

It didn’t take long before he was sucked into the work, determined to make a grand gingerbread house fit for a High Lord. You watched as he carefully iced one of the walls, applying windows and doors to it. His lines were perfect, a steely look of determination on his face.

This was what this trip was about. Seeing Eris for who he was at all times: relaxed, enthralled, annoyed. After a moment of watching him, you turned back to your own house, hoping a distraction would quell the butterflies roaring in your stomach. You picked up one of the tiny ginger males, picking out the perfect red icing to make his hair with.

Before long, Eris’s two weeks in Winter were coming to an end. It felt surreal to watch him winnow away, feeling juvenile over the longing you felt in his absence.

Eris would head to Autumn a day before you, so the two of you hadn’t lingered long on saying goodbye. It had taken longer than expected for him to depart, as if the both of you were unwilling to give the other up for any amount of time. The pull you had felt toward him all these years, the seemingly insurmountable obstacles keeping the two of you apart, and yet a whole day felt impossible.

Life had continued on in your whirlwind romance, but it felt different now. Two weeks away and it felt like being in someone else’s clothes, stepping into someone else’s life.

The silence felt louder, your room colder. The halls you grew up in, the room you’d known your entire life - they felt so empty now, so lifeless without a redhead blazing fires.

The next day Kallias winnowed the two of you to Autumn, somewhere about a mile from the perimeter of the Forest House. He spent the twenty minute walk probing you nonstop about if you were truly happy to do this.

“It would mean living here year round.” His arms spread out, sweeping across the landscape. It was so different from your home in the Winter Court, trees full of leaves that are about to shed, woodland creatures skittering all around, watching the two of you.

The air was always so still in Winter, but here it ebbed and flowed, carrying the scent of bonfires and apples wherever it went.

“I don’t think that would be so bad.” You failed to mention how excited you’d be to live with a certain male, not wanting to endure Kallias’s teasing or gagging noises from him.

Your brother escorted you through the woods, your arm tucked into his as you passed through the wards placed around the Forest House. The large, dark estate was tucked away in the woods, trees as tall as the sky surrounding it. The sun was hitting it just right, letting it shine in all its glory, as if even the weather was happy with the change in Autumn.

A servant had found the two of you - some guard, you assumed from the weapon at his side. He bowed quickly before the two of you, quickly turning on his heel for you to follow. You didn’t have to follow long, Eris already waiting in the front hallway for the two of you.

It was hard to decide what to look at - the male or the gorgeous interior of the home. You were set to be here for two weeks, plenty of time to ogle the decor and architecture, so you opted to keep your eyes on Eris. He looked different in Autumn, more at ease, but also brighter somehow, as if every room and background bent toward him, trying to complement his skin.

He kept his eyes on you the same way, likely figuring out how much you contrasted against the earthly shades of the court. You didn’t care, certain he would spin it in a more favorable light than you would. He eventually took his eyes off of you, turning towards your brother, reaching out a hand. Their hands met, slight steam coming off from their touch before your brother chuckled. It wasn’t until you peeled your eyes from Eris to find one of his brothers, Lucien, standing behind him

“Eris,” Kallias’s voice took on a more stern tone, one that had a groan coming from the back of your throat. Kallias’s blue eyes met yours, a silent conversation taking place while he was still shaking Eris’s hand. After a minute of glaring back and forth, he turned back toward Eris, patting his hand before retracting it.

“Eris.” It said all that Kallias wanted to. The threat hidden in the one word, the tight grip he had on Eris’s hand. Eris only nodded, a tight lipped smile at either Kallias’s rigid position or the tight grip he had on him. Kallias examined him for a moment before letting go, his arm moving to wrap you into a hug.

“Last chance,” he said quietly into your ear. You softly shook your head no as you leaned into his touch, the cool air enveloping you in such a familiar way. He patted your back before letting go.

“I’ll see you in two weeks then.” This time he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, accenting every word in a ‘I’m the High Lord’ way. You chuckled softly as he turned, nodding at both Vanserras before walking out of the house.

The three of you stood in silence for only a moment, no one quite sure how to continue on after Kallias’s departure. Lucien’s eyes gleamed with excitement, a smile full of mischief and trouble sent your way.

“Would you like to walk around the estate?”

It was an interesting sight to behold - two fae, each over several centuries old, strolling about Autumn with a much younger and louder chaperone following behind them.

“I have to say you do seem quite different since the last I saw of you in Autumn, High Lord.”

Lucien’s steps followed the two of you, his whistling an overt measure to ensure you both remembered his presence. When you had asked for traditional courtship, you hadn’t had Lucien in mind.

“Autumn is seeing a great change.”

“You may speak freely, if you wish. I understand double speak is common around here, but I am unfamiliar with it and find it tedious.”

“Autumn is doing quite well now that the blight that was my father has been taken care of.”

Lucien’s whistling stopped, an almost choking noise coming from his mouth. Eris shot a spark from his finger at his brother. Even though he couldn’t see it, he heard Lucien patting the fire out of his breeches and smiled. Your eyes caught Eris’s, unable to stop the enjoyment at seeing him so happy.

“How crass, High Lord. To speak of your departed father in such a way.”

Eris’s eyes nearly bulged from his head, an excuse sitting on the tip of his tongue until he caught a glint of amusement in your eye. He clicked his tongue, looking straight ahead toward the path.

“You sound like Lucien, my least favorite brother.”

A cough came from behind, but Eris didn’t turn to look at his brother before replying. “Chaperones are merely to ensure our innocence and chastity, not to butt into conversation.”

“Yes, we are quite innocent and chaste up here. No deflowering has occurred on your watch,” you added.

“I do love a good deflowering, but watching it happen to my brother is not what I wish to see.”

Steam practically shot out of Eris’s ears at Lucien’s quip, but your giggles broke him from his anger.

“A virgin High Lord. How noble of you, your grace. And you picked me to deflower you? I’m so honored.”

The High Lord of Autumn had half a mind to forego the frivolity of tradition. Two weeks of his brother following him around was sure to end in murder. He knew you were quite a fan of them, some romanticized notion of courting traditions in your mind he couldn’t quite bear to see squashed.

Your first night there had been enough for him to put up with meddling brothers for a lifetime. He had shown you around the Forest House per your request. He listened intently during the tour as you compared the Forest House to the Snowflake Palace, comparing your current home to what was hopefully set to be a future one. You were now comparing balconies, ones you had shown him on his tour, balconies carved in part from ice in the upper levels of the palace.

“I’m sure you could remodel here with your flames a bit.”

A chuckle made you smile, happy to amuse him over such silly imaginings.

“I don’t think they’d be structurally sound to stand on.”

“Hmm, that’s a shame. A flaming throne room would really make the place shine.”

The two of you moved through the house, wandering through centuries of history. Stories flowed from Eris’s mouth - items that were millennium old, passed down through the Vanserra line carefully. Things the high lord has grown so accustomed to seeing every day he had forgotten to enjoy the intricate details of them.

At some point on the tour, Lucien had stepped away, having to attend to some matter on his own.

“I could show you where your chambers would be if you moved here.”

You stopped, grabbing Eris by the elbow to get his attention. You held his arm as you spoke, the fabric of his jacket soft in your hand.

“Eris, if I am to wed, I would rather spend my nights with my husband. It’s no fun sleeping alone.”

He swallowed harshly, needing a moment before he responded. “Noted.”

“Would that be a problem?”

“Not at all.”

“Then can you show me your chambers?” Eris swore under his breath, the direct question straining his pants.

“Lucien steps away for an hour and you’re already trying to deflower me.”

“Maybe the chaperone was for me, Eris.”

Eris was still staying in his old chambers, wanting Beron’s old chambers completely renovated before he moved into them. His room was somewhere in the west wing, the windows facing a large field that had massive stables at the end of the horizon. You walked to the window, ignoring inspecting the rest of the furniture in favor of the lush green pasture.

“Horses?”

“Hounds,” he corrected, his voice dripping with pride. It jogged your memory - the brief conversation you had earlier about his pack of hounds.

“Do they sleep in the bed with you?”

The silence stretched on for a moment before he asked, “how important is the answer to that?”

You shrugged your shoulders, squinting your eyes as you looked at the field, trying to make out any dog-like shapes. “I’m often incredibly cold during the night and a warm, furry friend would be nice.”

“It’d be a shame then to not tell you that they all end up here during the night.”

You whipped your head to him, incredulity coating your words. “How many are there?”

“A dozen or so.”

A laugh escaped from you. Eris Vanserra, a male supposedly cut from Beron’s cloth who had half of Prythian annoyed at him and the other infuriated with him, had a pack of hounds to keep him company at night?

“This is delightful.” Only a few hours into the trip and you had already learned so much about Eris.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” You leaned against the wall, turning your body toward him. It didn’t go unnoticed when he stepped slightly closer, following to not let any more distance linger between you two. “The other courts think you’re the Mother’s curse upon faekind. If only they knew you liked snuggling.”

“Even cursed ones have hobbies when they’re not ransacking villages or plaguing the common fae.”

The day was supposed to end with a dinner in your honor, celebrating relations between Winter and Autumn, and a way for you to meet more people in the Forest House. Instead you had asked if you could share dinner in his chambers, citing the travels of the day making you weary.

An excuse Eris saw through, but elected not to say anything. He’d be damned to give up this much alone time with you, certain Lucien would make himself known at any moment.

The two of you ate and drank in Eris’s sitting room, not having ventured into his bedchambers. This trip was about you and he’d follow your lead, no matter how straining it became.

“We’ve been on our own for several hours now. Do you think our chaperone’s gone?”

“With any luck he’s fallen into an uncapped well or perhaps gotten lost at sea.”

“I don’t think we’re that lucky, Eris.”

He leaned back in his seat, the wood creaking as he stretched out his long legs.

“It’s night time. He’s likely off writing a letter, waxing poetry about how much he’s missing his mate.”

“You’re not concerned about any interruptions, then?”

“At this point Lucien should be old enough to know better. What he sees is on him.”

The words had barely left his mouth before you glanced down at his trousers, noting the clear outline of his bulge. You looked back up to find his searing gaze on you, amber eyes full of molten want, the air around the two of you hot enough to have sweat prickling at your neck. You patted his shoulder, trying to soothe the rejection before it came.

“Still, he only has the one eye. Wouldn’t want to completely blind him.” You wanted to - your legs practically shook with need. Something held you back from allowing him in fully, to take in every aspect of this potential relationship.

Eris had escorted you back to your room, unperturbed by the earlier rejection. He only waited as you stood across from him, not quite ready to open your door and bid him goodnight. The longer you stood here, his body heat practically inviting you closer, the more likely you were to cave into your carnal wants.

His own restraint did little to quell the ache between your legs. In fact, it made it worse. He was being respectful, never pushing or upset at the space you needed.

“I should go to bed.”

A half attempt at moving, to get your brain in gear, to retire for the evening, but as long as his eyes were on you, it was hard to pull away from his orbit.

If Eris had it his way, this whole visit would have been structured so differently. Every meal just the two of you, spending only a few hours apart for some necessary meetings he had.

But you had asked for traditional courting.

So he put up with more chaperoned walks through the garden, meals spent with others, hardly getting a moment alone with you for weeks until you slipped into his sitting room each night, recounting the time spent apart. You saw more of Lucien than you did him, his brother neglecting almost all of his duties in favor of entertaining at all hours of the day.

Eris was on the brink of wringing Lucien’s neck. Watching his eyes pop from his head would amuse him, wondering if the mechanical one would pop out too or if it would stay in its socket forever.

Most of Autumn’s rituals around love and commitment were saved for the day of the wedding or the ceremony itself. Fire night was a big event, but that was six months out and Eris couldn’t wait that long. He had been racking his brain for ages, trying to figure out something to showcase Autumn.

The proposal weighed heavy on your mind over the days you spent with him. While you were having a great time, Kallias never made you feel like you had to marry for political advantage. He actually seemed to prefer you to marry outside of it. Your brother desperately wanted you to marry any of the athletes of Winter, preferably from his favored teams.

You were having a great time being courted - finally being allowed to soak in Eris’s company was a delight. But you couldn’t quite say yes.

Eris had told you it would be an early morning and to dress in layers and to wear pants, but it was all he’d give you. You took his advice, layering well for the Autumn chill, lacing up your boots when a knock came at the door. Eris stood on the other side of the door, a tweed jacket unbuttoned, showing off a matching vest beneath it. Dark pants clung to his thighs, disappearing into the knee high boots hugging his calves. He said nothing, letting his gaze trail up the pants that hugged your thighs, a devilish smirk on his face that almost had you pulling him into your chambers.

“Ready?” He asked, extending an elbow toward you. You accepted it, letting him lead you on whatever adventure he wanted to show you.

“I thought I would show you one of my traditions.” You stayed silent, waiting for him to tell you more, but he didn’t say more, only looking forward as he walked. He guided the two of you through the house, up to some side hallway that led to the pasture behind the house. Barks came from the door at the end, either excitement or aggression you couldn’t say.

“And what is this tradition?”

“Whenever my mother would successfully give birth, I would take my hounds out and catch dinner.” He paused, one of his hands resting on the doorknob before he turned to face you.

“Would this bother you?” He fully faced you, close enough that you could almost touch him. You reached out, your hand brushing his, letting his warmth wake you up. Standing in the hallway with him felt like standing in the sun after a long, cold day, his gaze enough to warm your bones.

You shook your head, hunting for game a familiar one in Winter.

“I’ve never hunted with animals before.” The only movement was an eyebrow before his fingers held your hand. “Kallias is really into trapping.” Furs and meat were the two necessities to make it in Winter, most court citizens avid hunters.

He nodded, surprise evident on his face, but he said nothing. He squeezed your hand gently, looking deep into your eyes, fondness clear in his gaze. He looked on the verge of saying something, but only turned the knob, letting the early morning haze in, not quite clearing the lovesick haze that had settled in your stomach.

All the barking stopped immediately once Eris opened the door, the sound of dozens of paws hitting the ground thunderous in your ears. They quickly mobbed the pair of you, standing politely, tails wagging furiously. Several colors of fur tried to make their way to you, a dozen noses desperately trying to reach you. You giggled, reaching a hand out to pet one of them. You’d get to nuzzle one of their heads before another hound pushed it out of the way, trying to get your affection.

Eris gave a short, high-pitched whistle, sending the party into a frozen state, each one on high alert as they waited for his next order. It was almost terrifying how well they listened to his command, moving in tandem as if from one mind.

They all focused on him, a few with tilted heads. He let out a series of whistles, the meaning lost to you, but they understood. They moved as a group, their movements wispy and light, practically floating on air as they moved through the pasture, keeping a pace you couldn’t even dream of reaching.

“How do we find them?” Eris began trudging off after them, following the line in the morning dew they had made. From the front of the house, when you had arrived only a few days ago, you couldn’t have guessed at this large field hidden among the trees, this quiet sanctuary beyond a house containing Prythian’s greatest secrets.

“We follow as best we can. They’ll let us know when they find something.” A large crossbow was hung across his shoulder, not quite sure how you had missed it beforehand. It covered the muscles of his back, showing off his broad shoulders.

“What sort of expectations are there for the Lady of Autumn?” You had briefly met the previous one on this trip, Eris’s mother graciously inviting you for afternoon tea. You spoke for an hour with her, charmed by her while also being moderately terrified of her.

A woman married to Beron for centuries certainly had some skeletons in her own closet. You hadn’t thought to ask about her duties as Lady of the court, but rather mostly about Eris.

“There are a few, first and foremost being at court events.” Something you had expected - it would be silly to have a title and never be seen by the public. “My mother has her own passions and hobbies that take up her time, I don’t expect anyone,” he sent you a pointed look, “to do exactly as she does. Be present, be someone Autumn recognizes. Represent Autumn and see dignitaries from other courts. Other than that, it’s how much or how little sway she wishes to have.”

“Would I have to wear all green and red?” He laughed, the sound disturbing some roosting birds nearby, their wings taking flight.

“You may wear whatever color you like.”

“How often is Lucien around?”

“Not very. He comes usually for a day at a time, if that. He’s only here so frequently because he jumped at the chance to be a thorn in my side.”

Barks came from up ahead, the whole pack in an uproar, clearly catching the scent of something.

Eris grabbed your hand, the two of you running to catch whatever it was they found. You felt giddy at it all - his hand around yours, running through the trees. You felt so much younger and freer as the wind blew through your hair.

Could this be life with Eris?

The dogs had been unsuccessful. Eris did not want to admit it, but you were certain it had to do with how many questions you asked him, the chatter enough to scare off any nearby game, no matter the lead the dogs had on you.

The two of you spent the entire day outside, trying to find anything worthwhile, only calling it a day as the sun began to set. You had trudged back to the Forest House, unsure what you wanted more: a good meal or a long hot shower. Stepping inside, the house smelled divine - rich, fragrant foods that had your mouth watering.

The cooks must have heard your dilemma and answered for you. The two of you sat and ate, not much to say, too exhausted and gross to have anything of note to vocalize.

The silence gave you plenty of time to think. Eris had shown you a part of himself today, showing one of his favorite pastimes, it was only fair you did the same.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” It was the first thing you had said since coming inside, waiting until Eris was walking you to your chambers to ask it. The question clearly caught him off guard, his head lightly shaking in surprise.

“Of course.”

A rhythmic ceremony of sorts played out as the two of you prepared for bed. Taking turns bathing and changing into bed attire, nestling into bed, it all felt so comfortable and relaxing. The room smelled like him, coated in a smoky scent so thick it nearly made you dizzy.

As you lifted the covers laying next to Eris, two of the hounds jumped onto the bed, curling at his feet. You laughed, patting the bed next to you for one of them to come closer, but it only invited one of the ones on the floor to jump up.

Her brown fur was soft as it landed next to you, your hand petting her automatically. You curled around her body, an almost crescent moon shape to both of you. You felt the bed shift before Eris had done the same to you: contorting his body around yours, pulling your back flush to his chest.

The room smelled of Eris, but it also smelled like his hounds in the best way. The one in your arms, Cinnamon, nestled in for the night, and the contentment at being cocooned between their two bodies quickly lulled you to sleep.

A few hounds had made their way into the bed through the night, rotating as if in shifts to ensure they all got a turn. One or two were posted at each entrance, guarding both the bathroom and the door to his sitting room. One sat beneath a window, stationed there most of the night, her eyes on you whenever you woke up in the night.

Eris woke not long after you did, his arms circling tighter around you as he breathed you in.

“Does she sleep at all?” You asked, breaking the stillness of the morning. Eris only groaned, burying his face into your hair. His fingers dug into your hips, the millimeter of space between the two of you too offensive. He grumbled something incomprehensible into your hair, the words unintelligible.

“What was that?”

“Who?” You nodded toward the dog beneath the window, her gaze already on the two of you. She had a dark auburn coat, her long hair perfect to disappear amongst fallen leaves.

“That’s Lady. Not a cuddler.”

“Not even with you?”

“She cuddles in her own way. Sits near me and I have to stay very still.”

The image was incredibly endearing - the High Lord of Autumn letting his dog come to him in her own way, accommodating her as best he could. It had your heart practically bursting in your chest. You didn’t ask anymore questions, letting the room grow quiet with laziness.

Nobody moved for a long while, even the hounds staying still as they sprawled across the floor. Eventually a stomach growled - yours or Eris’s, you couldn’t tell. One of the hounds, Clove, you think, came over and nudged his back, her long snout attempting to get him out of bed.

It took longer than the dog had wanted, reluctance in every movement from both of you, but eventually the two of you left the warmth of the bed and took a walk in the woods, dozens of paws following you around.

Your remaining days in the court went by in a blur of red hair, warm skin, and explorations of the house and the forest surrounding it. You spent your nights tucked in Eris’s arms, the sweet domesticity of sharing a bed enough for both of you.

Each day brought a new confidence, that this was where you were meant to be, but every day something would hold you back, some new question keeping you from saying yes.

Before long, your shared two weeks in Autumn were up, your last night spent in Eris’s chambers, tangled in his arms and legs. He had held you tight all night, not wanting to let you go even as he slept.

A few hours before you were set to leave, luck had been on your side. One of the servants had let slip that Lucien had set off early that morning, some business in the Night Court requiring his immediate attention.

The sun was rising through the trees, chasing away the darkness of the night, bringing with it new life. The sun, for all its glory, hadn’t warmed up the ground yet, unable to fight the cool morning air yet. The cold in Autumn was different from Winter. It was familiar, a few details exchanged. The cold in Winter was dry and bone deep. The Autumn chill clung to you, stuck like a second skin.

Eris walked beside you, a few of his hounds trotting around the pair of you. The rest of them were out in the woods, chasing each other, investigating every scent trail they could find. The ones left behind were a guard of sort, likely expected to raise an alarm should anything happen.

The air was heavy with humidity and uncertainty, neither of you ready for what the afternoon would bring. Once you left, he’d have a busy day, ironing out the details of all the things he had pushed aside the past few weeks.

You weren’t sure when you would be back, if you would be back. Your mind was telling you stay guarded, to not give in. But you remembered Lady’s bright eyes, how she watched Eris everywhere he went, how he made time out of his day to spend a few moments alone with her, letting her come to him.

But now he walked beside you, silent and sure, unwavering as he walked over roots and bramble, a dog weaving between his long legs on occasion.

You bent over, crouching low to the ground and picking up a fallen stick. The leaves on it were still vibrant, some perfect color between orange and red. You held it up to the light before holding it close to Eris’s head, comparing it to his long, bright locks.

“They’re the same color as your hair.”

He moved one of his hands through the air, vaguely gesturing all around. The movement caught someone’s attention, a ball of red fur sitting in anticipation for the stick to be thrown their way.

“Most of them look like my hair.”

“Well that’s not fun.”

“I’m the High Lord of Autumn. It’s not far-fetched to think my lands resemble me.”

You only hummed, marching onwards, more determined with each step. After a moment of pretending to ignore the dog, you threw the stick off to the left when you figured they would least suspect it. The two of you continued in silence, the crunching of your boots crackling through the woods as four legs darted after the stick.

After a moment, you stepped off the path, looking for what had caught your eye. Quickly plucking the flower from its stalk, you hurry back to the bewildered male you left behind. You presented the flower to him before holding it next to his face, pointed so you could see the flower. The bright orange flower flared to life next to him, the perfect companion to the hundreds of freckles dancing across his cheeks.

The flower practically glowed next to him, its petals slightly bending in his direction. You’re not sure which came first: the magic or the life of the land.

“It matches your eyes.”

“My eyes are not orange.” You pulled the flower back, rolling your eyes as you did so.

“Not the petals, the eye of the flower. The center.” You pointed to make it clearer for him, the deep amber middle a perfect match for his eyes. He watched you carefully before looking down at the flower, the orange reflecting in his eyes.

He smiled, his mouth curved in a gorgeous upward tilt. He looked made of the woods, the forest around him bending to be seen by him or to catch a fraction of his warmth.

The crinkles in the corners of his eyes were enough proof you would go to great lengths to see them more permanently.

“So, to whom do I owe the pleasure of your undivided company all morning? I haven’t seen Lucien running about today.”

Eris only looked ahead, picking up a fallen stick and tossing it as far as he could, two of the hounds circling you chasing off after it.

“It seems he found a new toy to play with.”

“Must be some toy to pull him away from any opportunity to bother you.”

“I’m quite skilled at bargaining when there’s something I desire.”

“It wasn’t just luck that sent Lucien off this morning, was it?”

He merely shrugged, his hands clasped behind his back, the air of nonchalance he was attempting not quite landing right.

“I’m sure my brother’s told you I’m a selfish creature.”

A coy smile made its way across your face.

“Perhaps.”

“He’s not wrong.” The look he gave you felt all consuming. Amber eyes peering through every defense, every blockade of yours. He looked down at you, more resembling his hounds on the hunt for their toys than a male. The look pierced through every defense you had, nearly crumbling at the sight of it.

You had one last meal planned with Eris, one last time to speak over everything. He didn’t ask - staying silent, waiting for you to come to him.

There was one last question you couldn’t bring yourself to ask yet. It was the one thing keeping you from saying yes. Your last inhibition. It could all end depending upon his response.

“Eris, how are you different from your father?” He had only touched on the subject of Beron your first day here. It had been in an unfavorable manner, but you couldn’t tie yourself to someone without knowing the full truth.

“I haven’t burnt anyone alive so far.”

Your fork fell to your plate, so surprised at Eris’s words all of your senses stopped working. You knew Beron was a cruel man, but the extent of the harm he was producing in his court was unknown.

“That’s diabolical.”

Eris put his fork down softly, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“Forgive me, it’s a question I am asked over and over again, even by myself. It’s a bit frustrating.”

His hand reached across the table, holding yours softly. His eyes were molten amber as they looked at you, honesty pouring out of them.

“I fear becoming like my father. I fear it’s inevitable. That is why I wish to keep people around me who will keep me in check. Lucien does a decent job, but he’s an emissary. He’s not always around. My mother wishes to spend her time between Day and Autumn.

“I need a life partner. Someone that will keep me from my worst tendencies. Someone that will keep me from becoming him. Someone that I like spending time with.”

“And I’m all of those things?” Your voice was soft, a murmur amidst the candlelight.

“And more.”

“Well, for the sake of honesty, maybe you should continue on with that list.”

His smile made your heart beat wildly, erratic beats you couldn’t calm no matter how hard you tried. The incandescent glow of the candlelight made him so striking it almost hurt to look at his beauty.

“You have always seen me. And I made a promise to you all those years ago. I know you aren’t seeing anyone else, and I’m a lovestruck fool who can’t help but hope that that is because of me. That you return my feelings toward you.”

You leaned in, desperate to close the space between you.

“And what are your feelings toward me?”

“Ones of yearning and love.”

Your breath caught in your throat, his eyes pleading with you to return his affections.

“Eris Vanserra, the secret romantic.”

“Only for you.”

You reached a hand out, caressing his cheek. You watched him swallow hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with movement. Your gaze kept flickering between his eyes and his lips, debating where to pay attention to.

All along, every decision was yours. You took the lead while he waited, letting you guide whatever this was. He did it with Lady, taking his time, putting her comfort over his wants.

“You were right. I was waiting for you.” You closed the gap between your faces, bringing your lips to his. He tasted sweet and warm, a bit of spice to it. His lips captured yours, melding perfectly to the shape of them. It felt perfect as his hand slid down to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You almost fell out of the chair, breaking the kiss to squeal, but he caught you, pulling you into his lap. His lips reconnected with yours, more fervent this time. He had gotten a taste, and now he was desperate for more. His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you flush to his body.

It felt right. This was the last thing you needed to say yes.

You pulled back from his lips just enough to speak.

“There’s one last thing I need to know before I can make up my mind.”

“Anything.” Looking into his eyes, you felt the truth to that one word. He would give you anything you wanted, all you had to do was ask.

“I’d never marry someone without spending the night with them.” Your low voice was dripping with innuendo. The smell of his arousal coated the air as you leaned in to kiss him once more. His hands moved down to your ass, gripping you tight against him. Too caught up in the moment, neither of you heard the door open, ana mused Lucien trying to look displeased.

“Well, well, well, High Lord. And you mocked me for needing a chaperone. I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re-“

Eris quickly pushed the door close with his magic, forcing Lucien from the room without leaving your lips.

He held you close to him, savoring the moment. His mouth curled into a smug expression, an arrogant look in his eye before he said, “I’m sure I was worth the wait.”

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#acotar fanfiction #acotar writing #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra x y/n #eris vanserra x you #eris x y/n #eris x reader #eris x you #eris fanfic #eris fic

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thirteenheavens · 1 day ago

Note

can you write about Seungcheol when you are at your parents house and he can't control himself

Can’t wait till we’re home?||Scoups

Word count: 1625

Notes: Back to write to calm down after revision exams are so hard

You and Seungcheol arrive at your parents' house, hand in hand. The familiar surroundings bring back memories of childhood - the perfectly manicured lawn, the white picket fence, and the scent of freshly cut grass.

As you walk up the driveway, Seungcheol notices how nervous you seem. "Hey, everything's going to be fine," he whispers, squeezing your hand reassuringly. "Your parents love me." You nod, trying to push down your anxiety. The moment you step through the front door, your mother rushes over to greet you with a warm hug. "Y-N! And Seungcheol, it's so good to see you both!"

Dinner is a pleasant affair, filled with light conversation and delicious food. But as the meal progresses, Seungcheol's touchy behavior becomes more apparent. Every chance he gets, he places his hand on your thigh or brushes against your arm. His eyes never leave yours, and there's an unmistakable spark of desire in them.

Your father catches Seungcheol's lingering touches and his eyes narrow slightly. "Seungcheol, I see you're... quite affectionate with my daughter," he says, his tone neutral but with an edge of caution. Seungcheol tenses at the comment, his hand freezing on your thigh. He glances at your father, then at you, before responding with a polite smile. "I care about Y-N very much, sir. She means everything to me."

Your mother watches the exchange with interest, while you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. The atmosphere grows slightly awkward as everyone waits to see how your father will respond. Your father studies Seungcheol for a moment, then lets out a deep sigh. "Well, I suppose that's all that matters," he says finally, his expression softening. "Just... be good to her, okay?"

Seungcheol nods eagerly, his grip on your thigh tightening ever so slightly. "Of course, sir. I'll always take care of her." After dinner, your mother suggests showing Seungcheol around the house. She leads you both upstairs to your childhood bedroom, filled with nostalgic memories and old toys.

As soon as you're alone in the room, Seungcheol pulls you close to him, his hands roaming over your body. "Your parents' house is nice," he whispers huskily, his lips trailing along your neck. "But I think I like it better in here." You look around your childhood room, memories flooding back. Your old bookshelves, stuffed animals, and pink wallpaper bring a nostalgic smile to your face.

"This was my safe space," you tell Seungcheol, running your fingers along the edge of your desk. "I spent so much time in here daydreaming." Seungcheol walks around the room, taking in every detail. But he can't seem to keep his hands off you for long. His eyes darken with desire as he presses you against the door, his body flush against yours.

"I can imagine you here," he murmurs, his lips hovering just above yours. "All innocent and sweet, dreaming about your future."

"And now look at you," Seungcheol continues, his voice low and husky. "All grown up and making my dreams come true." He captures your lips in a passionate kiss, his hands exploring your body with a newfound urgency. The room suddenly feels smaller, more intimate, as he pushes you further against the door.

"Seungcheol, we can't do this here," you whisper between kisses, even as your body responds to his touch. "My parents are just downstairs..." But he only smiles mischievously, nibbling on your earlobe. "That makes it more exciting, don't you think?" he teases, his fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt.

"I don't know if I can be quiet," you manage to say, your voice trembling with arousal. "And my parents will definitely hear us. Seungcheol's eyes flash with excitement at your concern. "Then we'll just have to make sure you can stay quiet," he purrs, sliding his hand up to cup your breast through your bra. "Can you be a good girl and keep quiet for me?" You bite your lip to suppress a moan as Seungcheol continues to tease you, his fingers skillfully playing with your nipple. The thought of getting caught makes your heart race even faster.

"I don't know if I can," you whisper again, your legs trembling with desire. "You know how sensitive I am..." Seungcheol smirks, clearly enjoying your struggle. "Then I'll just have to find ways to keep you quiet," he says, dropping to his knees in front of you. "Like this."

He begins trailing kisses up your thighs, his hands sliding your skirt up higher and higher. The risk of getting caught only adds to the intense pleasure building inside you. As Seungcheol kisses up your stomach, you can feel his hot breath against your skin. Your hands instinctively go to his hair, threading through the dark strands as he moves higher.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against your skin, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "I could spend hours worshiping your body." He reaches the edge of your bra, his fingers deftly undoing the clasp. Your breasts spill out, already peaked with anticipation.

"No one else gets to see you like this," Seungcheol growls possessively, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking gently. "You're mine." Seungcheol's eyes scan the room, looking for a suitable surface to bend you over. His gaze lands on your old desk, the perfect height and width for his needs.

"Come here," he commands, pulling you towards the desk. He sweeps your childhood trinkets aside, making space for your bodies. Your heart races as he positions you against the desk, his hands running down your back to grip your hips. "I've always wanted to do this in a childhood bedroom," he confesses, his voice thick with desire. "Are you ready to be bent over your old desk, baby girl?" You nod, your breath coming in short gasps as Seungcheol presses your chest down onto the desk. The cool surface sends a shiver through your body, making you even more sensitive to his touch.

"Good girl," he murmurs, sliding your skirt up and your panties down. "Now be quiet while I take you." You feel him line himself up behind you, the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance. The position makes you feel exposed and vulnerable, but also incredibly turned on.

"Please, Seungcheol," you whimper, desperate for him to fill you. "I need you inside me." Seungcheol grins at your needy whimper, taking his time to tease you further. He runs the head of his cock through your wet folds, coating himself in your arousal.

"You're so wet for me already," he groans, continuing to swipe against your clit. "I could tease you like this forever." You bite down on your arm to muffle your moans, your body trembling with need. The threat of getting caught only adds to the intensity of the moment, making you even more desperate for release.

"Please, Seungcheol, I can't take it anymore," you beg, trying to push back against him. "I need to feel you inside me."

"Shhh, baby," Seungcheol whispers, finally pressing himself against your entrance. "You have to stay quiet. We don't want your parents to come up here and catch us." He slowly pushes into you, stretching you open with his thick length. The feeling of being filled makes your eyes roll back in pleasure, and you have to bite down harder on your arm to keep from crying out. Seungcheol sets a steady rhythm, his hips thrusting into you with deep, deliberate strokes. One hand grips your hip while the other reaches around to cover your mouth.

"You're so tight," he pants, his breath hot against your ear. "I love how you feel around me. Keep being a good girl and I'll make you come so hard." Seungcheol's thrusts grow faster and harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin barely audible over your heavy breathing. The desk creaks beneath you with each movement, but neither of you cares.

"God, you feel amazing," he groans, his hand tightening over your mouth as he drives into you deeper. "I'm not going to last long with how tight you're squeezing me." You can feel your orgasm building rapidly, your inner walls clenching around his cock. The combination of the thrill of being caught and the overwhelming pleasure is almost too much to bear.

"Come for me," Seungcheol commands, his voice low and demanding. "I want to feel you come all over my cock." Your body convulses around Seungcheol's cock as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave. The pleasure courses through your veins, leaving you shaking and breathless. Seungcheol groans as he feels you tighten around him, his own release approaching fast. He buries himself deep inside you, pumping his hot cum into your trembling body.

"Fuck," he whispers, holding you against him as he rides out his orgasm. "That was incredible." He kisses your shoulder gently before slowly pulling out of you. You stay bent over the desk, trying to catch your breath and steady your legs that feel like jelly.

"We should probably clean up before we head back downstairs," Seungcheol suggests, helping you stand up. "But I think your parents might have some questions about how flushed you look right now."

"I'm sure they'll notice," you reply with a shaky laugh, still feeling the aftershocks of your intense orgasm. "And my hair is probably a mess." You start fixing your clothes and smoothing down your hair, trying to make yourself presentable again. The evidence of what just happened between you and Seungcheol is clear, but you both know there's nothing you can do about it now.

"Maybe we should have waited until we got home," Seungcheol teases, helping you adjust your skirt. "But where's the fun in that?"

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cup1drul3z · 2 days ago

Text

★ — Thats MY girl | CH 4

6.3ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ | ᴄᴇᴏ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ 𝙭 ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

CW : Age gap if you squint, PLUS SIZED READER, power kink, cheating, modern au, new york, assistant reader, readers a little awkward but we love her anyway, sugar mommy, SMUT, fingering, cunninglings, strap, bondage, lingerie, angst, pregnancy

A/N : boobies

The waiting room is quiet—too quiet.

Sevika’s been pacing for over an hour, boots echoing softly against the linoleum. She hasn’t touched the vending machine coffee Mel brought her. She hasn’t sat down.

Jinx is slouched in one of the plastic chairs, earbuds in, 2 braids draped across her shoulders. Mel stands near the check-in desk, arms folded, eyes flicking toward Sevika every few minutes like she’s a ticking bomb.

The nurse said you’re stable now. Fever under control. Fluids in your system. Still asleep.

Still not ready for visitors.

But alive.

Then the doors open.

And he walks in.

Your boyfriend.

Hair slightly messy, hoodie unzipped like this is just another errand. He blinks around the waiting room like he’s mildly inconvenienced. He’s not even out of breath.

“Hey,” he says casually. “What room is she in?”

Sevika stops pacing.

Turns.

And stares.

Jinx pulls out one earbud.

Mel goes still.

Sevika walks toward him, slow, controlled. Each step deliberate.

“She’s not ready for visitors,” she says flatly. “And if you know what’s good for you, by the time she is, you’ll be gone.”

He blinks, then scoffs. “Who the hell are you—her bodyguard?”

She smiles. It’s not friendly.

“She didn’t ask for you. I did.”

He sneers. “Oh. I get it now. You’re that dyke she’s been acting weird about.”

Time stops.

Jinx’s eyes widen. “Ohhh, shit.”

Before Mel can even react, Sevika’s fist has already grabbed the front of his hoodie, slamming him into the wall with a thud that makes the receptionist scream.

His feet scramble to find the ground as she leans in, her voice a low growl:

“Say that again.”

Security’s already rushing in from the hallway, but no one moves fast enough.

“If you ever go near her again,” Sevika growls, teeth bared, “you’ll need more than a hospital.”

Mel’s hand lands hard on her shoulder. “Sevika. Stop.”

She doesn’t let go immediately.

Security shouts again.

“Sevika, let him go.”

Finally, her hand unclenches, and he drops like a sack of trash, coughing, red-faced.

Security’s already grabbing him, dragging him back toward the front.

“She’s crazy!” he shouts, looking back at Mel. “You people are nuts!”

“No,” Mel snaps, voice sharp and cold. “We’re just done with you.”

He’s gone.

The room is still again.

Sevika’s breathing heavy.

Mel looks at her—then gestures toward the hallway. “Take a walk. Now.”

Sevika doesn’t argue.

She just shoves open the exit door and steps into the night air, fists still clenched, chest still heaving.

But you’re safe.

And that’s all that matters.

The waiting room has quieted again, but the tension still lingers like smoke. Jinx is sprawled across two chairs now, her hoodie bunched up under her head as a makeshift pillow, tapping her fingers against her stomach to some beat only she hears.

Mel stands nearby, arms crossed, gazing at the door Sevika stormed through like she’s trying to decide whether to follow or give her ten more minutes of air.

After a long beat, Mel breaks the silence.

“Speaking of breakups,” she says casually, her voice a bit lower, “how’s Violet?”

Jinx snorts without lifting her head. “What, you miss her giving you grief at board meetings?”

Mel’s mouth quirks. “Just haven’t seen her around.”

“She’s laying low,” Jinx mutters. “Still salty about the last girl.”

Mel hums, a little curious. “Still hung up?”

“Maybe,” Jinx shrugs, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Or maybe just bored. She keeps saying she’s done with relationships but then flirts with everything that breathes.”

Mel’s eyebrow arches. “Sounds like someone I know.”

Jinx grins but doesn’t deny it.

“She’ll meet someone,” Mel says. “Eventually.”

Jinx chuckles under her breath. “God help whoever that is.”

The waiting room has calmed, the fluorescent lights buzzing softly above. Mel sips a stale coffee. Jinx flips through a wrinkled magazine she doesn’t care about, her foot bouncing impatiently.

The elevator dings.

They both look up.

A woman walks out—tall, composed, coat still buttoned, dark blue hair pulled into a ponytail. She scans the room quickly, then zeroes in on them.

She approaches.

“Excuse me,” she says, her accent clipped and precise. “I'm looking for someone—Y/N. I heard she was admitted.”

Mel’s eyes narrow instantly.

Jinx leans forward slowly, eyebrows rising. “And you are?”

“Caitlyn,” she replies. “I’m—” she hesitates, just long enough for the tension to spike “—a friend.”

Mel folds her arms. “Funny. Never seen you around.”

“She doesnt talk about me at work?” Caitlyn says in a worried voice. “Whatever- we were friends in highschool and college and now i guess”

That gives them pause.

Caitlyn adds, “do you want to see my yearbook?”

Jinx’s face lights up at the thought of seeing the baby version of you, already looking at mel for her to say yes

Mel smirks despite herself. “No- thats quite alright”

Before Jinx can quiz her further, the door to the patient hallway opens and a doctor steps out, clipboard in hand.

“She’s awake,” he says. “Still groggy, but stable. You can see her—just one or two at a time for now.”

All eyes shift.

No Sevika.

Caitlyn glances toward the door, then back at them. “I can go first. If that’s alright.”

Mel exchanges a look with Jinx.

Jinx shrugs. “Its fine”

Mel nods once. “Go. We’ll wait.”

Caitlyn offers a soft, grateful smile, then heads toward the hallway. Her pace quickens just a little.

Mel watches her disappear around the corner.

“Think she’s legit?” Jinx asks.

Mel sips her coffee. “I hope so or we just let a stranger into our bosses girlfriend- fling– whatever she is, Into her hospital room.”

The room is quiet, dimmed by the automatic lights and softened by the drawn blinds. The monitor beside your bed beeps steadily. Somewhere nearby, an IV drips into your arm with a soft, rhythmic tick.

You stir slowly, head heavy, mouth dry.

Your eyelids flutter open.

The world is blurry, swimming in warm whites and muted greens. You blink a few times, then squint toward the shape sitting beside you.

Caitlyn.

Her dark blue hair rests over her shoulder, and she’s dressed in a long coat and slacks, posture stiff from sitting for too long in a plastic chair. Her phone is cradled in her lap, untouched. Her eyes are fixed on you.

The second you make a sound, she’s already leaning forward.

“Hey,” she says gently, voice low and calm. “You’re okay.”

Your throat is dry when you try to speak. “Cait…?”

“I’m here.”

You swallow hard, brows furrowing. “Weren’t you—weren’t you with your aunt?”

Caitlyn’s brow softens. “Yes.”

You blink a few more times, trying to piece everything together. Your voice comes out small. “You didn’t have to come all the way here…”

“I did,” Caitlyn says, brushing a piece of hair from your forehead. “And I would again.”

“But it was important. Family. I didn’t mean to drag you away from—”

“Stop.” Her voice is firm but still kind.

She sits back a little, eyes searching your face.

“You don’t drag people. You’re not a burden. You were sick, and no one else picked up. I wasn’t going to let you be alone.”

You blink up at her, chest tight in a way that has nothing to do with the fever.

Caitlyn exhales, her tone softening again. “I’m not going anywhere. Alright?”

You nod slowly.

Then, after a pause: “I missed you.”

Her smile is small, but it’s real. “You’re not allowed to make me cry in a hospital room, okay?”

You close your eyes for a moment, breath shaky.

The beeping of the monitor continues steadily beside you.

For the first time since waking, you feel safe.

Sevika stood outside the hospital, the cold biting through her sleeves, but she didn’t flinch.

The cigarette between her fingers burned low, the smoke curling past her lips before vanishing into the early morning haze. Her jaw was locked, her shoulders stiff, her thoughts spinning in circles she couldn't punch her way out of.

You had been unconscious.

When she found you, your body had been limp, overheated, your breath shallow like it hurt just to keep going. She could still feel the weight of you in her arms, the way your head had fallen against her shoulder, the way your fingers had twitched like they were trying to hold on to something—even in your sleep.

And where the hell had he been?

Not a call. Not a single fucking text.

Just a stupid napkin note left on your nightstand like you were some afterthought.

Gone to hang with Miles.

That wasn’t a partner. That wasn’t someone who cared. That was someone who didn’t deserve to know your name.

Sevika gritted her teeth, the cigarette trembling slightly between her fingers.

You hadn’t asked for her. You hadn’t begged her to come.

You’d just… called.

Soft. Scared.

And she’d come.

Not because it was her job.

Not because she had to.

But because the thought of you being alone—sick, struggling to breathe on a bathroom floor while the person who claimed to love you did nothing—lit something inside her she didn’t know how to extinguish.

She tossed the cigarette, watching it scatter sparks across the concrete before dying in the wind.

Mel had told her to cool off, and she had tried. But all she could think about was how small you’d looked in that hospital bed. How weak your voice had sounded when you whispered her name on the phone.

And how much she wanted to be the one you called every time—not just when no one else picked up.

She didn’t know what that meant yet.

But she knew one thing for sure:

If he showed up again, if he tried to spin some excuse, to crawl back into your life with cheap apologies and selfish hands—

She wouldn’t let him near you.

Not again.

Not ever.

The doors to the ER wing hiss open, and Sevika steps back inside.

She’s less tense now—at least on the surface—but her eyes still hold that sharp edge, the kind that says don’t test me. She barely makes it three steps into the waiting area before her gaze lands on someone unfamiliar.

Tall. Neat. Dark blue hair. Very out of place.

Her eyes narrow.

“Who the hell are you?”

The words come out low and clipped, more bark than question, and her glare instantly darts over to Mel and Jinx like why the fuck is there a stranger here?

Jinx raises her hands like, don’t look at me.

Mel just sighs.

The woman—Caitlyn—doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink.

She offers a small, tired smile instead. “She really doesn’t talk about me, huh?”

The tension shifts slightly. Not gone. But thinner.

Sevika stares at her, silent.

Caitlyn steps forward, calm and cool like she’s done this a hundred times. “I’m Caitlyn. A friend.”

There’s something steady in her voice. Grounded.

Mel adds under her breath, “She passed the test. Let her live.”

Sevika still doesn’t look convinced.

But before she can say anything else, Caitlyn tilts her head, just a little, and says:

“She’s awake. And she’s asking for you.”

That hits.

Whatever comeback Sevika had dies instantly on her tongue. Her jaw works once—then stops.

“thanks” she avoids caitlyns gaze.

Caitlyn gestures toward the hallway. “No problem–”

Sevika doesn’t waste time. She brushes past caitlyn before she could get her sentance out

Mel watches her go, then glances sideways at Caitlyn.

“You’re definitely gonna be fun to have around.”

The hospital room is quiet.

Dim morning light spills through the blinds, casting soft stripes across the white sheets and the slow rhythm of the heart monitor. The beep is steady, calming, a reminder that you’re still here. Still breathing.

And then you hear the door click open.

You look up.

It’s her.

Sevika stands in the doorway, shoulders tense, eyes flicking immediately to you—but she doesn’t move further just yet. Her hand hovers on the edge of the doorframe, like she’s not sure she has the right to be there.

Her voice comes low. Rough. “You’re awake.”

You nod, throat dry but steady. “Yeah.”

She steps in slowly, letting the door shut behind her with a soft click. There’s no cigarette between her fingers now, but the scent of smoke still clings faintly to her coat.

For once, she doesn’t try to fill the silence.

She just watches you.

The way you sit propped up against the pillows, your cheeks still flushed from the fever, your hair a mess, your eyes heavy—but alert.

“You scared the shit out of me,” she mutters finally, voice quiet but sharp with honesty.

You blink at her. “You came.”

“Of course I did.” Her eyes flicker to the IV in your arm, the monitor, the oxygen clip on your finger. “You sounded like hell.”

You offer a weak smile. “Felt worse.”

Sevika exhales and finally sits down in the chair beside your bed. She leans forward, elbows on her knees, fingers laced together tightly.

There’s a beat of silence between you.

Then you ask, “Did you hit him?”

Her brow lifts just a little. “Define ‘hit.’”

You try to laugh, but it comes out like a cough.

“I didn’t kill him,” she adds with a smirk. “Mel wouldn’t let me.”

You close your eyes for a moment. When you open them, she’s still watching you—closely. Carefully.

You reach out, just a little, fingers twitching near the edge of the bed.

And without hesitation, she leans forward and takes your hand.

Her thumb brushes across your knuckles.

No words.

Just warmth.

And presence.

She’s here.

And this time, you don’t have to ask.

Your fingers stay curled around hers, but your brows knit together as you glance at the door behind her, then back at her.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?”

Sevika scoffs, but it’s quiet. “You’re in a hospital bed, barely able to sit up, and you’re worried about my schedule?”

You give a tired shrug. “I know it’s been a rough week. That investor leak… the press stuff…”

She leans back slightly in the chair, still holding your hand. “You think I’d rather be sitting in a boardroom full of men who wear the same three ties every day and talk in buzzwords?”

You raise an eyebrow at her.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to lie and say this is better—but it’s not a hard choice.”

There’s a pause before she adds, “Mel’s got it handled for now. Jinx is… probably scaring interns. And I’d rather be here.”

That part comes out a little softer.

You blink at her, guilt flickering across your face. “I didn’t mean to make you drop everything.”

“You didn’t make me do anything,” she cuts in firmly. “I made a choice. You needed someone. I was there.”

You nod slowly, eyes falling to your lap. “Still. Thank you.”

Her grip on your hand tightens, just a little.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she mutters. “You still owe me a real meal and an explanation for why your idiot boyfriend thought a napkin note counted as caregiving.”

You manage a small smile, and for a moment, the monitor beside you is the only sound in the room again.

Steady. Comforting.

And for the first time in what feels like days, so is she.

The apartment is quiet when you walk in.

Too quiet.

The door clicks shut behind you, and it echoes in a way it never used to. You set your keys down, the clatter unnaturally loud in the silence, and for a moment, you just… stand there.

The air feels different.

You glance around—and it hits you all at once.

Half the apartment is empty.

The gaming chair’s gone. His speakers. The ugly blanket he always left on the couch no matter how many times you folded it. His shoes aren’t by the door. His toothbrush is gone.

And on the dining table, in the spot where he used to leave unopened mail and fast food receipts, there’s a letter.

Folded once.

Your name on the front.

You already know what it is.

But you open it anyway.

His handwriting is rushed, like even this was an inconvenience.

“Hey,

I’ve been thinking, and I just don’t think this is working anymore.

You’ve changed. You’ve been distant, and honestly, it’s been like walking on eggshells. I’m not the kind of guy who does drama, and that’s what it’s been feeling like lately—like a lot of drama.

Maybe you need someone else. Someone who understands… whatever it is you’re figuring out about yourself. I tried, but I’m not into girls who don’t know what they want.

No hard feelings.

Take care of yourself.”

You stare at it for a long time.

You don’t cry.

You just fold it in half and set it back down, very gently, like you’re afraid it’ll shatter if you touch it too hard.

You walk through the apartment.

The absence is loud.

Half-empty drawers. Blank spaces on the shelves. A missing dent on the couch where he used to sit. You press your palm against it anyway, feeling for something that isn’t there.

And for the first time in your life—

There’s no one else here.

No background noise. No footsteps. No second toothbrush or shared fridge shelves.

Just you.

Alone.

Really, truly alone.

You sit down on the couch and pull the blanket around your shoulders, the silence swallowing you whole.

And you breathe.

Because it hurts.

But maybe, somehow, this is what being free feels like, too.

Later that night, the apartment is still dark.

You didn’t turn the lights on when the sun set. You just let the shadows stretch across the walls like old memories you were too tired to fight. The only light in the room now comes from the fireplace, crackling softly, flames licking at the logs like they’re hungry for something more.

You sit on the floor, knees pulled up to your chest, a blanket around your shoulders.

Beside you is a cardboard box.

Everything that was his—or worse, everything that was yours because of him—is inside.

The cheap little gifts he got you after fights. The polaroids where you were always smiling and he was never looking at the camera. The concert wristband he made a big deal about but spent the whole night texting someone else. The note from the first time he said I love you, scribbled on the back of a receipt like it was an afterthought.

You hold it between your fingers.

Then feed it to the fire.

It catches quickly.

You don’t look away.

One by one, you drop them in—slow, deliberate. A candle he bought you that never smelled right. A beanie he left on your side of the bed. The Valentine’s card he signed without even writing a message. A photo of you two at that party, arms around each other, your smile too big, his eyes already somewhere else.

And finally—the letter.

The last thing he gave you.

You unfold it again. Read the part about “drama,” the jab about your “sexuality,” the cowardice bleeding through every word.

You don’t fold it back.

You crumple it.

And you burn it.

The flames crackle louder now, swallowing everything you gave too much meaning to. The heat brushes against your face, but you don't flinch.

You just watch it all go.

And for the first time since waking up in that hospital bed…

You feel lighter.

Not fixed.

Not healed.

But less full of him.

And more full of you.

You don’t remember when the tears started.

Maybe it was the letter. Maybe the beanie. Maybe that stupid polaroid where your smile looked like hope and his looked like he didn’t even know who you were.

But now they’re here, and they won’t stop.

Hot, steady trails down your cheeks.

Your nose is running, your breath hitching in short little gasps as the fire dies down, leaving behind glowing embers and the scent of scorched memories.

You pull your knees to your chest on the floor, oversized T-shirt hanging off one shoulder, your underwear barely covered by the hem. You’re a mess. A soft, broken, silent mess.

And then—

Knock knock.

You blink, startled.

Wipe your face fast, scrambling to your feet. You hadn’t ordered much—just takeout, something greasy to pretend it could fill the hollow in your chest.

You swing open the door without looking.

“Yeah, just—”

But it’s not the delivery guy.

It’s her.

Sevika.

Her jacket is still on, one hand tucked into her coat pocket, the other raised like she was about to knock again. Her expression shifts the second she sees you—eyes moving from your swollen, tear-reddened face, to your oversized shirt, to the faint orange glow of the fire behind you.

And her voice lowers instantly, all that usual steel wrapped in something softer.

“…Hey.”

You freeze.

You don’t say anything. You just stare at her, bare legs trembling, hands gripping the doorknob like it’s the only thing holding you upright.

“I… I thought you were my food,” you whisper, voice wrecked and cracked.

Sevika blinks, like that wasn’t what she expected to hear.

Then her gaze flicks past you—to the fireplace. The box. The ashes.

Something shifts in her face.

“You been crying long?” she asks gently, stepping forward without waiting for permission.

You nod once, biting your lip, trying to hold in the next wave of tears—but your chest trembles anyway.

She doesn’t say anything else.

She just reaches out.

And pulls you into her arms.

You melt into her, hands bunching the fabric of her coat, your forehead pressing into her collarbone, your tears soaking into the wool.

She doesn’t let go.

She just holds you there, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other curling around your waist like she’s trying to keep you from falling apart completely.

And for once, you let her.

You’re both on the couch now.

The fire’s died down to soft embers, the living room bathed in that late-night orange glow. You’re curled up on one end, still in your oversized T-shirt, legs tucked under you. Sevika sits on the other end—relaxed, legs slightly apart, one arm draped over the back of the couch like she belongs there. Like she’s always belonged there.

She watches you for a long moment.

Then finally says, “I’m giving you the month off. Paid.”

You look at her slowly, like you misheard.

“What?”

“You just got out of the hospital,” she says, tone even. “You’re recovering from a sinus infection, you’ve barely eaten in two days, and now…” Her eyes flick toward the fireplace. “This.”

You stare at her. “You’re suspending me?”

“No,” she says calmly. “I’m giving you time.”

“Like I’m a child who needs a fucking nap?”

“You need rest.”

“I need to work!”

Your voice cracks as you sit up straighter, arms flailing in frustration. “I need to feel like I’m doing something. Like I matter. Like I’m not just sitting here crying over a breakup like a pathetic cliché.”

Sevika doesn’t even blink.

“I don’t want to be coddled,” you snap.

“I’m not coddling you.”

You stand up, pacing in front of the couch, your hands in your hair. “Yes, you are! You’re doing the thing—you’re treating me like I’m delicate. Like I’ll break if I send one goddamn email.”

“You almost died,” she says quietly.

You stop.

She’s still sitting there, legs spread, eyes fixed on you—not unkind, not smug, just… there. Unshaken.

“Do you want me to apologize for caring?” she asks.

Your jaw tightens. “I want you to stop acting like I’m made of glass.”

“I know you’re not.”

“Then stop trying to wrap me in bubble wrap and tell me it’s for my own good.”

Another beat of silence.

You feel your voice catching, your chest trembling again, and you hate it—hate how vulnerable you still are.

And still, she doesn’t move.

She just looks at you, steady and patient, like she knows you need to shout until your throat goes raw.

Like she’ll be right there when you run out of words.

You stand there in the silence you created, chest heaving, tears drying on your cheeks. The fire’s nothing but a quiet glow behind you, and still, she hasn’t moved.

Sevika just watches you.

Calm.

Unflinching.

Infuriating.

And maybe… safe.

Your lip trembles. You hate how hot your skin feels. You hate how the tears burned your eyes and how your voice cracked and how she’s the one sitting there like she’s waiting for the storm to pass.

You blink hard.

“Why are you even here?”

It doesn’t come out angry this time.

It comes out small.

And Sevika finally speaks without restraint—no more CEO tone, no boss voice, just her.

“Because I care.”

You scoff under your breath, turning away, but she adds quickly, “And not just because you work for me. Or because you were sick. Or because some guy didn’t know what he had.”

You pause.

She stands slowly from the couch. You don’t turn, but you feel her move behind you—close, not touching.

“I’m here,” she says, voice low, “because I wanted to be.”

You close your eyes.

Her presence is too much and not enough all at once.

When her hand finally touches your arm, it’s gentle. You flinch—but not away.

She steps closer.

“I’m not trying to coddle you,” she murmurs near your ear. “I’m trying to keep you from falling apart.”

Your breath hitches.

“I’m already falling apart.”

You turn then, finally facing her, and her hands are on your waist before you can think. Strong, steady, grounding.

“You’re allowed to,” she says softly. “Just not alone.”

Your eyes meet hers.

She’s so close. You can see the faint tiredness beneath her eyes. The warmth behind the usual edge of her gaze. You can smell the smoke and leather on her coat. You wonder if she’s always looked at you like this and you were just too scared to notice.

Your hands lift to rest on her chest. Her shirt is soft under your fingers, but her heart is beating hard beneath it.

“Sevika…”

She leans in slowly—giving you every second to stop her.

You don’t.

Your lips meet hers with a tension that’s been waiting to snap, and the moment they touch, your whole body exhales. She kisses you like she’s been holding back for weeks—hands gripping tighter, mouth hungry but measured, like she doesn’t want to take too much too fast.

You pull her closer.

You need her closer.

And when her mouth trails from your lips to your jaw, your breath catches.

Her lips are warm against yours, but not hurried.

You’re the one who deepens the kiss—hands sliding up to curl into the collar of her shirt, tugging her closer like you’re afraid she’ll vanish if you let go. Sevika doesn’t resist. She moves with you, slow and certain, like she knows exactly what you need even if you haven’t said a word.

Her mouth opens just slightly under yours, and your tongue brushes hers—soft at first, then more demanding. Your breath is shaky, hers steady. She’s grounding you without saying a thing.

Her hands roam your waist, then up, fingertips pressing through the thin fabric of your oversized T-shirt. Her palms are warm and sure, smoothing over your sides like she’s memorizing the curve of you.

“You sure?” she murmurs, lips brushing the corner of your mouth.

You nod without hesitation. “Yes.”

She kisses you again, slower this time. Not because she’s hesitant—but because she wants to savor this. You.

You break the kiss with a breathy whimper as she lifts your shirt just a little, hands sliding beneath to touch bare skin.

You twitch under her touch—so soft but so certain—and your whole body leans into her.

She leads you backward with a hand low on your hip, guiding you toward the couch like you’re something precious. Like this is something worth taking her time with.

You don’t let go of her even as you sink into the cushions, legs parting slightly to make room for her between them. She kneels between your thighs, eyes sweeping over you, hands still on your waist beneath your shirt.

"You’re beautiful," she says, like it’s a fact.

Not sweet.

Not romantic.

Just true.

Your throat tightens—but you let her keep looking.

She leans down again, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then lower—lips brushing the heat of your neck.

Her teeth graze your skin gently. You gasp.

Her hands slide higher.

“I’m gonna take this off,” she says softly, fingers curling around the hem of your shirt.

You lift your arms.

She pulls it over your head, slow, deliberate.

And you’re bare before her now—chest rising and falling, nerves buzzing under your skin.

Sevika doesn’t stare.

She worships.

Her mouth trails down your collarbone, one hand cradling your side as she kisses a path between your breasts, never rushing. You can feel her breath, her lips, her restraint.

Your thighs squeeze around her waist.

“Sevika…”

Her name comes out as a whisper.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs, voice low against your skin. “All night if you want.”

Sevika’s hands are firm on your thighs, thumbs brushing the soft skin near the edge of your underwear as she kisses her way down your torso.

Every kiss is slower than the last.

Like she’s dragging the moment out just to see how long it takes you to tremble.

And you do—your breath catches every time her mouth dips lower, hovering above places she hasn’t touched yet. She lingers at your hipbone, teeth grazing the curve of it before she presses an open-mouthed kiss there.

You let out a shaky sigh.

Her hands slide further up your thighs, parting them with ease, the heat between them making you gasp. Your legs fall open for her instinctively.

She looks up at you from between them, half-shadowed in firelight, eyes dark but calm.

“You want me to stop,” she says, voice rough, “say it now.”

You shake your head fast. “Don’t.”

That’s all she needs.

Her fingers hook the waistband of your underwear and pull them down slow—watching the way your body shifts beneath her, how your breath stutters when you feel the air against your wet skin.

She kisses the inside of your thigh first—right next to where you need her, and it makes you ache.

Her mouth is warm, patient, everywhere but there.

You whimper. “Please…”

She smirks against your skin. “Needy tonight.”

“Sevika—”

And then her mouth is on you.

All at once.

Her tongue moves slow, precise, like she’s savoring every sound you make. Your hips twitch and she tightens her grip on your thighs, holding you still like she owns this.

Like she owns you.

Your head tips back against the couch, hand flying to her shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt as your breath comes out in short, broken moans.

She hums against you, and the vibration makes you whimper again.

You feel her—every flick of her tongue, every low breath, every pause just before the pressure returns. She doesn't just go through the motions. She reads you. Responds to you. And when your hips roll forward, when your legs tense around her shoulders, she presses in deeper.

You’re so close it hurts.

“Let go,” she murmurs between strokes, voice low and hot and certain.

“I’ve got you.”

Your legs are shaking.

You don’t even realize how tightly you’re gripping her shoulder until she shifts slightly, and your fingers follow like you can’t let go.

Her mouth hasn’t left you—not even for a second. Not since you begged her not to stop.

Her tongue circles you in slow, devastating strokes, pausing only to suck gently, then harder, just to hear the way your breath catches. The way your thighs tighten around her.

“Sevika—” you gasp, voice trembling.

She hums again—deep and low and intentional—and the sound sends a full-body shiver down your spine.

She knows exactly what she’s doing.

You’re close. So close you can’t think. Your hips are rolling against her mouth now, helplessly, needily, chasing it.

Her grip on your thighs tightens just slightly, holding you down.

“I said I’ve got you,” she murmurs, lips brushing against your skin between strokes. “So come on.”

And you do.

Your body tenses—back arching, mouth falling open in a gasp that turns into her name, drawn-out and ruined. The heat rips through you all at once, a wave crashing against everything that’s been building: the heartbreak, the fever, the loneliness, the want.

She stays with you through it.

Tongue slow now, gentle. Helping you ride it out. Helping you land.

You’re panting, trembling beneath her.

You didn’t even realize your eyes were wet again until she kisses the inside of your thigh and glances up, voice low:

“Still with me?”

You nod.

Barely.

She sits up between your legs, hand running along your calf as she watches your chest rise and fall. Her face glistens, her lips flushed, and there’s something unreadable in her eyes—like she’s trying not to let you see how much this meant to her, too.

You reach for her—still breathless—and she leans in without hesitation.

This kiss is slower.

Softer.

You taste yourself on her lips, and it only makes you shiver again.

Her fingers brush your cheek as she kisses you, and you realize she hasn’t even taken off her shirt yet.

It’s early.

Too early.

The kind of pale, blue-tinged morning where the world still feels half-asleep. The apartment is quiet, save for the soft hum of the heater and the faint rustle of sheets when you shift under them.

You’re still warm from her.

Your legs tangled in hers.

Your head resting against her bare shoulder.

And then—

Her phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Twice.

Three times.

A groggy groan vibrates in her chest as she rolls onto her back, reaching for it.

You don’t open your eyes.

But you feel her arm slip from around you, the warmth at your side dipping slightly as she sits up, muttering a quiet, “Shit.”

Her voice is low and tired, but steady. “Yeah?”

Pause.

“…Are you serious? That wasn’t due until next week.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

You can tell by the tone in her voice that it’s bad.

The kind of bad that means meetings. Damage control. Probably yelling.

She sighs deeply.

You shift slightly, eyes still closed, voice soft and scratchy: “Do you have to go?”

Sevika turns toward you, brushing your hair from your face. “Yeah,” she says. “Office fire. Not literal. Just... the usual.”

You crack one eye open.

“Take me with you.”

A faint smile pulls at her lips. “Nice try. You’re not even wearing pants.”

You let your eyes close again, voice even sleepier now. “Exactly.”

She chuckles under her breath, then leans down to press a kiss to your temple—slow, lingering.

“You sleep.”

“Mhm.”

“I’ll check in later.”

You barely nod, already half-drifting again, the smell of her still on your skin, the blanket pulled tight around you like a shield.

You hear her moving around—dressing, grabbing her keys, muttering something about her tie under her breath.

Then the door clicks shut behind her.

And you’re alone.

But not like before.

This time, the silence doesn’t feel so empty.

It just feels like... waiting.

The warmth of the sheets is still wrapped around you.

Sevika’s scent lingers in the pillowcase—faint cologne, smoke, and something grounding you didn’t realize you were holding onto until it was gone.

You were just starting to drift back to sleep.

And then it hits.

Sudden.

Sharp.

Your stomach twists violently, flipping like you’ve just been yanked out of a dream mid-fall. Nausea punches through your gut without warning. A cold sweat prickles at the back of your neck.

You sit up fast—too fast.

The world tilts.

Your head throbs.

You clutch at your middle instinctively, heart racing as the pit in your stomach deepens. It’s not just the kind of nausea that passes. It’s something.

You breathe through your mouth, forcing yourself not to gag, your throat dry, your skin clammy.

The fire from last night is long gone, but your body feels fevered—off balance. Heavy.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed and sit there, hunched forward, elbows on your knees, trying to figure out why.

You haven’t eaten.

You haven’t cried again.

You haven’t moved.

And yet—

Something feels wrong.

Deep down.

Not just sick.

Unsettled.

You barely make it to the bathroom in time.

Your knees hit tile, cold and unforgiving, as you lurch over the toilet.

Everything comes up in waves—violent, gut-deep. Acidic. Like your body’s trying to rid itself of something it doesn’t understand.

When it’s over, you slump against the cool porcelain, breath shallow, hand gripping the edge of the tub like it might stop the world from spinning.

Your forehead rests on your arm.

The nausea still lingers, clawing at the edges of your stomach, not quite done with you.

But something else creeps in.

That cold pit again.

Sharp.

Knowing.

No.

No, it’s probably just stress. The infection. The fever. The fact you barely ate anything in days. It has to be.

But your hand moves on its own.

You reach up, fingers trembling, and open the cabinet above the sink.

Back behind the bandages and half-used bottle of acetaminophen is a slim, dusty box you forgot you even kept.

An emergency pregnancy test.

You’d thrown it in there ages ago. One of those “just in case” things, back when you were with him. You’d laughed it off back then. Never opened it.

Now your fingers close around it like it might burn you.

Your reflection stares back at you in the mirror.

Eyes red.

Lips pale.

Breath held.

You sit down slowly on the edge of the tub.

And open the box.

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#arcane #arcane sevika #sevika #lesbian #sevika x reader #wlw #wuh luh wuh #sissormetimbers

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elllisaaa · 2 days ago

Text

seventeen as love songs - hhu vers.

-> pairing : seventeen hhu x fem!reader

-> words count : 2.3k words

-> genre : fluff, hurt/comfort

-> warnings : none

-> sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !

-> author's note : it's been such a long time since i last updated this serie but i'm getting back to it ! hope you'll like it !

-> masterlist | svt masterlist | 1k event masterlist

hhu vers. | vu vers. | pu vers.

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

-> Babydoll by Ari Abdul

"darling, i’m falling, fucked up over you."

→ When Seungcheol loved, he loved passionately, with no in betweens, no doubts, no guessing game. His first love was music, then his second was dance, his third was being on stage, and his fourth was you. It didn’t strike him immediately, because he was busy, and love - true love - wasn’t what he thought he needed in his life at that time. But the more time he spent with you, the more he found himself unable to pull away from your magnetic attraction. He was like a butterfly inevitably drawn to a blinding light.

“- Man, you should really tell her.”

But Seungcheol stayed deaf to Mingyu’s advice. He knew he loved you, he knew it from the bottom of his heart and soul, but he wasn’t sure he had enough space in his life for you, and he firmly believed that you were better off without him. He tried to convince himself that he was okay with simply staring at you from afar. What a lie.

“- Why are you looking at me like that ?”

Your smile was bright, and it made Seungcheol’s heart beat faster. He knew he should stay away from you, but it was hard to not fall deeper for you every time you laughed, every time you talked, everytime you looked at him.

“- Nothing. You’re just really pretty.”

The blush on your cheeks as you shook your head and refused his compliments threw all his efforts to keep his feelings under control out of the window. And before he could think about it, he was blurting out the words he held in for so long.

“- I think I’m in love with you.”

"call me babydoll, come break down these walls, don’t leave me alone."

→ From that moment on, Seungcheol was attached by the hips to you. He couldn’t spend a day without talking about you, mentioning you, texting you. And sometimes, he cursed himself for the way he thought he wouldn't be able to handle this relationship when you were the best thing to ever happen to him.

“- What are you going to do tomorrow, baby ?”

You didn’t even lift your head from where it was resting on his chest, simply nuzzling closer to him to seek more of his warmth. This was maybe your favourite thing about sleeping with Seungcheol - he was always warm when you were always cold.

“- I have an appointment at the nail salon, and then I think I’m just gonna relax at home. It’s been so long since I had a day off.”

Seungcheol hummed as he slowly caressed your hair. These moments before you both went to sleep were his favourites, when you talked about both your days in a murmur, basking in each other's presence and just feeling the love in the most intimate way.

“- I’ll leave you my card before going to work then, you need to spoil yourself a little more often.

- You know you don’t have to pay for everything I want, Cheol.”

He looked down at you with a soft smile that definitely made your heart beat a whole lot faster. And he kissed your forehead tenderly, like he always did when he wanted you to stop arguing and just let him take care of you for once. You always did so much for him, and sometimes, he felt like he couldn’t give you as much. So paying for you felt like a solution to remind you that he was there, that he loved you, that he would never leave.

“- I know. But I want to. You deserve to have whatever you want. I do it because I love you, so let me.”

And you always let him, because it felt good to be taken care of sometimes.

JEON WONWOO

-> Lover by Taylor Swift

"have i known you 20 seconds or 20 years ?"

→ Being open about his feelings and easily interacting with people had never been Wonwoo’s strength. It wasn’t easy for him to talk with people he didn’t know, to be a social butterfly like some of his friends. He felt awkward when he did so, like it wasn’t his place. But sometimes, such conversations were unavoidable, especially when he ran into someone and spilled their coffee to the floor first thing in the morning.

“- I’m so sorry, I didn’t look where I was going and I didn’t see you.

- No, no, I should’ve been more careful too ! Are you okay ? Did it burn you ?”

As you both raised your eyes from the floor where your coffee was splattered, and your gazes met, it was like time stopped. Wonwoo couldn’t help but think that this was a typical cliché, a ridiculous one at that, but he also couldn’t help the way his heart started to beat faster as he discovered your pretty face, and pretty eyes, and pretty hair, and pretty smile. He was smitten from the first minute and he had to mentally slap himself to remember that you had asked him a question.

“- Oh ! No, it didn’t hurt me, I’m okay. Are you ?”

You nodded with a delay, starstruck by how handsome the man in front of you was, trying to regain your ability to talk without embarrassing yourself even more.

“- I am…

- Do you… Do you have enough time for another coffee ? To apologize.”

Of course, you said yes, even if that made you late for work, because Wonwoo made it all worth it. And it was like you had known each other forever, as if you were meant to meet right at this moment, and soon enough, your abandoned coffee on the ground was long forgotten.

"can i go where you go ? can we always be this close forever and ever ?"

→ It didn’t take long for Wonwoo to make things official with you. Maybe some people would say that it was too soon, too quick. But for you and him, it was perfect, and it was all that matters. Others opinions and critics weren’t what mattered, Wonwoo couldn’t even hear them when he was on his little cloud of happiness with you.

“- Are you free tonight ? We wanted to do a game night.

- No, sorry, I’m with Y/N.”

These were now his typical conversations with the other members. He loved them, they were his family, but now, you had become his home, the one he wanted to go back to every day, the one he longed to be back to every night.

“- I’m here, darling.”

As soon as Wonwoo closed the door of your shared apartment behind him, you were in front of him with a smile, standing on your tippy toes to be able to kiss his lips tenderly.

“- Welcome home Nonu.”

This simple greeting was enough to make his heart melt away, and he engulfed you in a hug without thinking. You giggled against his chest as you wrapped your arms around his waist, not questioning his sudden urge to have you close, and rather basking in it instead.

“- Yeah, I’m home.”

KIM MINGYU

-> Televised by Hunny

"oh, she’s so bright, i can’t believe my eyes."

→ Mingyu was a joyful person. He liked to laugh, to love, to live. He was doing everything to a 100%. And love was not a game to him - it was serious, it was important. Because Mingyu loved unconditionally, but he was careful to whom he gave this privilege. But the first time he saw you, it was like every logical thought had been thrown out of his mind immediately. There was something in you, in what you showed off to the world that shined like a star and that he was unable to resist.

“- I thought you would have talked to me already by now.”

The honey-like tone of your voice straddled him, and he turned around to be able to look at you. You had that smile you had been wearing all night long, and your eyes were glimmering with something that made Mingyu’s heart skip a bit.

“- I… Was I that obvious ?”

And now, the sound of your laughter echoed in the bar, overpowering the loud music and the chatting. It was like he had tunnel vision for you.

“- A little bit, but I don’t really mind it.”

Mingyu smiled at you, not knowing if the warmth spreading through his body came from the alcohol he had drank or from the way you were looking at him. Either way, he liked it.

“- Wanna dance ?”

He didn’t hesitate to take your extended hand, and he let you drag him with you. He let you do everything you wanted because he would have followed you to the end of the world.

"i’m in paradise, show me heartbreak a thousand times, i don’t care to be or be caught without sweet misery by my side."

→ Hiding your relationship from his band members wasn’t easy, but you wanted to respect Mingyu’s wish. He knew he would get teased, he knew he would never hear the end of it, and mostly, he was scared. Scared that you wouldn’t get along with his second family, scared that to make things too real.

“- Can I come over after work ?”

Mingyu stayed silent for a few seconds, and you understood immediately, a sigh escaping you without realizing it.

“- Your friends are there, right ?

- Yes, I’m sorry baby.

- It’s okay…”

But was it really ? You knew Mingyu wasn’t ashamed of you, he had no problem taking you out on dates, or being seen with you, except by his friends. And you understood, you really did, but you couldn’t help but feel a little left out. Hidden like a dirty secret. You thought Mingyu had hung up, the silence so loud you could practically hear it, but then his voice rang through the speakers of your phone again.

“- Guys, my girlfriend will come over after work later.”

You could hear the screams and diverse questions about you on the other line, but it was only background noise compared to his “I love you”, to the promise he just made to you.

CHWE HANSOL

-> Movement by Hozier

"when you move, i can never define all that you are to me, so move me baby."

→ Everyone felt like your relationship with Hansol was a bit strange : he was leaning more on staying home, staying behind in social situations and he was a rather calm guy, whereas you were… Well, yourself. You were energetic, always needed to do something and you loved to go out. But strangely enough, it worked out. And it worked out very well.

“- You’re going out tonight, Y/N ?”

You looked back at Mingyu, sprawled out on your couch beside your boyfriend, the both of them trying to win their Mario Kart race.

“- Yeah, we’re celebrating Mina’s promotion.”

You didn’t think much of his commentary, just kissing your boyfriend, greeting his friend, grabbing your purse and heading out. But Han sol could sense that Mingyu had something to say.

“- What is it ?

- I… Don’t you want to go out with her ?

- No, I prefer to stay home.

- But Y/N goes out a lot, right ? Isn’t it annoying ?”

Hansol didn’t even pause the game, still focused on the race, as he shrugged and easily won against a very unfocused Mingyu.

“- No, it isn’t. I know she always comes back to me anyway. And I do go out with her sometimes, she makes it fun.”

It seemed strange to Mingyu, but to Hansol, it was the perfect way to live, especially when he woke up in the middle of the night to you, still dressed and with your makeup on, cuddled up to him and softly snoring.

"so move me baby, like you’ve nothing left to lose and nothing to prove."

→ You had never been one to want the spotlight all the time or to love to brag about your achievements. But you were proud of yourself for what you had done and how hard you worked for it, and you were happy with where you were right now.

“- And so Y/N, what do you do ?”

The question came with some kind of judgement in the eyes of the woman in front of you. Even if you loved going out, you were not too fond of these company events. But Hansol wanted you to tag along, wanted to show you off, and seeing his smile when you got dressed all classy was definitely all worth it. Though, you would have preferred to skip this part.

“- I’m a biologist actually, I’m working on some research on auto-immune diseases.

- That’s impressive. You’re not at all in the industry, thus ?

- No ! Me and Hansol met in quite a strange way actually.”

You were about to reckon to her how you and your boyfriend met despite her evident distaste for you when you felt the arm of the said boyfriend wrap around your waist and a kiss being placed against your temple.

“- Hello Hina, I see you’ve met my girlfriend.”

The way he insisted on the last word almost made you laugh, but mostly, you let yourself melt in his hold because you knew you could always count on him to have your back. Always.

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my work.

svt taglist (fill in this to be added) :

@lil-kpopstan @hann1bee @bewoyewo @foxinnie8 @jaderabbit-98 @lala-----------lala @codeinebelle @miyx-amour @seomisaho @sashaaahh @straytiny127 @ltfirecracker @jaja-salute

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sparrows4bats · 23 hours ago

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Wayne Farm AU Part 1

**If you want to read how this started, it's under the Wayne Farm AU tag because there's been great additions to my original idea!**

Bruce never intended for Damian to own a farm. Some part of him was hoping that if he could keep the animals contained to the Manor, he could control how many pets his youngest son acquired.

Batcow changed that, she changed everything.

At first it was fine, she stayed in the cave. Then Jonathan Kent came along and educated Damian on proper cow ownership. So Bruce built her a barn on the grounds. Far enough away from Alfred's prized roses as not to cause an incident.

And it worked! Until Bat Calf arrived. (Bruce still doesn't know how she got pregnant! He checked the cameras, and there's nothing!) But the barn could handle two cows. And a turkey.

When Goliath arrives, it starts to get cramped but workable.

Until Batcow delivers the twins Supercow and Wondercow. (Bruce pouted for days at the names. AND HE STILL DOESN'T KNOW HOW SHE GOT PREGNANT!!) Suddenly, the barn can't contain all of Damians zoo and Alfred nixxed the expansion.

The farm wasn't his idea, in fact he didn't even know about it until Talia showed up one day with a tiger cub.

"No way!"

"But Father!"

"Beloved-"

"I'm not having a big cat in the Manor!"

Mother and Son pout but stop arguing and Bruce thought he had won.

What a fool he was.

A week later, Talia takes Damian to the farm for the first time. Bruce joins them after he notices that his son is missing.

What he doesn't expect is a fully furnished and expertly built animal sanctuary. Complete with a League Style training ground and house.

The farm is on the very outskirts of Gotham and has no neighbours for miles. He has no idea how Talia put it all together so quickly.

There's even a batcave and enough material for Damian to build his own tech and Batmobile.

Bruce's migraine gets worse when he sees the stable filled with horses that were apparently Damians in the League. (Bruce never gave much thought about what Damian gave up when he came to Gotham before and he already feels his resolve crumbling.)

Talia went so far to move the Cows and Jerry the Turkey already.

Damian is escatic and actually cries a little when his mother mentions having to visit more to ensure the farm is well taken care of.

So, in the end, Damian keeps the farm. His siblings love it there even if they all laugh at him.

And it's fine, Damian is happy, the animals are happy and nothing too crazy happens.

Jon Kent stays at the farm more than his own house now, but Bruce has his hands full with his own kids, and Clark has been really annoying lately.

There's a dragon named wiggles now, but so far, the adoption of pets seems to have stopped.

That is until The Unicorn Incident and John Constantine becomes his lifelong enemy.

**Will Be Continued Soon**

#wayne farm au #damian wayne #jondami #batfamily #batman #batfam #supersons #bruce wayne #dc comics #jon kent #talia al ghul #batcow #goliath

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theloverfiles · 2 days ago

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Full of me. Made for me

Part3 of birthday boy

The light woke you before anything else did. Not bright. Not harsh. Just soft morning sun, warm and golden, sliding across the bedsheets like it had been waiting for permission to touch you. You barely opened your eyes. Your limbs felt heavy, deliciously sore, the inside of your thighs sticky and raw in the aftermath of the night before. Your body pulsed gently beneath the surface,fucked-out and aching in ways that felt like they meant something.

And when you shifted—

You felt it.

The weight.

The fullness.

The heat.

Luigi was still inside you.

His body was pressed against your back, one arm curved under your head, the other sprawled across your stomach like he was holding something precious. You could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest, the scratch of his stubble against your shoulder, the soft hum of his breath against the shell of your ear.

And you could feel his cock. Soft, thick, warm, still seated deep inside your cunt, resting there like he never wanted to leave.

And God… you didn’t want him to.

You didn’t even move. Just let yourself sink into it, into him, as the dull ache between your legs pulsed like a heartbeat. You could feel the mess between your thighs, the slow, sticky drip of his cum from the night before leaking out around where he still filled you. And then he moved. Not much. Just the slow curl of his fingers across your belly, the soft twitch of his cock inside you.

Then his voice, low, gravel-thick, still laced with sleep.

“Don’t move.”

You smiled into the pillow, breath catching.

“Lu…”

“You’ll spill me, baby,” he mumbled against your neck, voice warm and groggy. “I spent all night filling you. I want it to stay.”

His hips shifted, barely, just enough for the head of his cock to nudge your walls. Your body clenched around him instinctively, like it couldn’t bear to let him go.

He groaned, voice thickening.

“Still so warm around me. So fucking good.”

You whimpered, arching your back just slightly. That was all it took. He hardened inside you. Slow. Thick. Deep.

“Shit—don’t do that,” he whispered, dragging his hand up your side. “Not unless you want me to fuck you again.”

“Maybe I do,” you whispered.

He smiled against your shoulder.

“Of course you do. My greedy girl.”

His cock swelled even more, pressing deep, twitching like it knew exactly where it belonged. And still, he didn’t thrust. He just stayed there.

Inside you. Heavy and warm.

“Can feel my cum dripping outta you, bella.”

His voice was lower now, more awake. Hungrier. “Made such a mess of you last night. And you let me. So fucking good for me.”

You could feel it sliding out, thick and wet down your thighs, soaking the sheets beneath you. He reached between your legs, fingers dragging slowly over your folds.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Still leaking. You feel that, baby?”

You nodded, gasping when his fingers pushed some of it back in.

“Gotta keep you full,” he whispered, still rubbing soft circles over your clit. “Need it to take. You want that, don’t you? Want me to fuck a baby into you?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “Lu, yes… I want it.”

That broke him. He started to thrust. Not rough. Not fast. Just deep. Controlled. Worshipful. “I’ll do it. I’ll give you everything. You want my baby, I’ll make sure you get it. I’ll fill you every night if I have to.”

You moaned, your hands gripping his as he pressed into your stomach, slow strokes that felt like promises. You could feel your body fluttering around him again, sensitive, needy, soaking wet from how full you were.

“You think it’ll be a girl?” you asked quietly, voice barely holding together. He kissed your neck, still rocking into you.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “And if it is… I wanna name her Luna.”

You blinked. “Luna?”

“Mm.”

Another thrust.

“She’ll shine in the dark. Just like her mama.”

Your breath hitched.

And he smiled.

“You’re gonna look so fucking beautiful pregnant.”

He nuzzled your shoulder. “Round and glowing and dripping with me every night.”

You moaned, legs trembling.

“Shhh,” he whispered, brushing your stomach with soft fingers. “We’ll stay like this a little longer. Keep me inside. Keep me safe.”

And so you did. You stayed there. Pressed against him. His cum still inside you. His cock still hard. And your future starting to grow.

You’d known for three days. Three days of waking up dizzy.

Three days of pulling on your shirt only to pause when your chest ached.

Three days of looking in the mirror and wondering, “Is it happening already?”

You didn’t tell him. Not right away. Not until you knew. Not until the second line appeared and the air left your lungs and the world tilted into something entirely new.

And now… here you were. Sitting on the bathroom floor. Still holding the test in both hands like it might disappear. You hadn’t cried. Not yet. But then you heard him. Keys in the door. Shoes on the floorboards. That soft voice of his from down the hall.

“Babe? You home?”

You didn’t move. You couldn’t. Your fingers gripped the edge of the counter. You knew you should’ve told him differently. Over dinner. In bed. Wrapped around him the way you always were.

But it was now.

The bathroom door creaked open.

And the second he saw your face....

He froze.

“Baby…”

His voice dropped. You didn’t have to say anything. You just turned the test slightly in your hand, holding it out with trembling fingers.

His eyes scanned it.

Then your face.

Then your stomach.

And then he dropped.

No hesitation. No fear.

Just knees on the tile. Hands on your thighs. His breath stuttering in his throat like his heart had stopped and started again in the same beat.

“You’re pregnant?”

It wasn’t a question. It was awe. You nodded. That was all it took. His eyes filled red at the edges, jaw clenching like he was trying not to break apart in front of you. His hands, those warm, gentle, so fucking sure hands, slid up under your shirt and rested flat against your stomach.

“I knew it,” he whispered. “I fucking knew it.”

You were crying now, soft, quiet tears rolling down your cheeks.

He leaned in.

Pressed his lips right above your navel.

One kiss. Two. Then three.

Like a prayer.

“Thank you,” he said against your skin. “Thank you for giving me this. Thank you for letting me put a baby in you.”

You laughed through your tears, burying your hands in his curls.

“You’re gonna be such a good dad, Lu.”

He looked up at you, eyes glassy, lips parted—and you saw it hit him. All of it. The weight. The beauty. The way you were already carrying something, the two of you made.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he said, voice thick and cracked. “Both of you. I’ll do everything. Anything. I’ll never let you lift a finger again.”

“Lu—”

“No, baby, listen to me.”

He sat back on his heels, palms pressed flat to your thighs, eyes on your belly like it already held the sun.

“You’re mine. You’re carrying my child. You’re the mother of my fucking baby. There is nothing in this world more important than you.”

And then, like he couldn’t take it, he leaned in again, pushed your legs apart, and pressed his mouth to the inside of your thigh.

Then lower.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered. “Let me show you how much I love you for this.”

His hands gripped your hips. His breath was hot between your legs. And you let him. You let him worship you, the way a man does when he realizes he’s just been given everything he’s ever wanted.

@luigisbambinaaa @luigis-wetdream @multi-culti-girl @mangionesdaisy @snoopy184 @daydreamingwithluigi @iinfinitelimits

#luigi mangione #luigi mangione smut #luigi mangione x reader #writings

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narxcisse · 18 hours ago

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— Eternal Sugar smut HCs

CW: explicit sexual content, mdni, afab reader, aphrodisiacs, edging/orgasm denial, overstimulation, voyeurism, oral sex, possible emotional manipulation(?, the sugar clouds thing is based on the cloud that is in her theme decor in the game. (Let me know if I forgot anything)

English isn't my native language.

Eternal Sugar doesn’t rush—everything she does is slow, syrupy, and indulgent. She’ll have you sprawled across soft sugar clouds in the Garden of Delights, limbs tangled, while she toys with you without lifting much more than a finger. Her power lies in making you crave movement while she stays draped over you like a purring cat.

Her idea of intimacy includes heavy use of plush silks, sugary scents, and feather-light kisses. Her favorite pastime? Pinning you down with her thighs and slowly grinding against you while whispering honeyed affirmations—until you're practically vibrating under her touch, overstimulated by softness and affection.

Sex with her often feels like a ritual. She treats your body like a temple, lavishing every part of you with gentle affection—kisses to your inner thighs, featherlight touches, soft praises. But she expects the same in return. She’ll guide your hand or mouth to her folds and murmur, “You want to make me feel good too, don’t you?” with just enough sweetness to be commanding.

While she loves lying back and letting you worship her, she often turns the tables without warning. One moment, she’s moaning lazily under your tongue—then she pulls you up with a sugar-coated giggle and presses you down beneath her, pinning you with her thighs while still half-lounging like she’s doing you a favor. Her dominance is always velvet-gloved.

She adores your clit—treats it like a sacred sweet, murmuring soft praises while her fingers and tongue work in maddening circles. Whether it’s lazy flicks or slow, focused licks meant to tease you for hours, she knows just how to keep you hovering on the edge. She’s obsessed with the way your body reacts to even the most subtle touch.

She doesn’t just use her fingers and mouth—she uses her voice like a spell. “Don’t you feel better when you just lie back and let me take care of you?” she’ll murmur, convincing you with slow strokes and gentle moans that you want this serenity, this indulgence… until you forget what resistance felt like.

She’ll finger you for what feels like hours, but never in a rushed or greedy way. Her fingers are slender and maddeningly slow, often curling just enough to make your legs twitch—then she pulls back and smiles as if to say, “Isn’t anticipation sweeter than release?” She takes delight in making you melt while she does almost nothing.

To her, your climax is something to be earned—and if she thinks you’re too eager, she’ll stop right as you start to fall apart. Not cruelly—but with a sweet hum and a kiss to your inner thigh like she’s sorry (but not really). She believes bliss should come slowly, and if she makes you cum once, she’ll make you feel like you came three times.

She’s insatiably curious about how your arousal changes over time. She’ll dip her fingers into you just to taste them off her tongue, eyes fluttering shut like she’s sampling fine nectar. Expect her to murmur things like, “Mmm… still so sweet. But there’s a hint of want—tart and aching. You poor thing…”

She never raises her voice, never forces you—but her calm, syrupy authority makes it impossible to disobey. She’ll softly command, “Spread your legs for me, petal,” while trailing her fingers lazily down your stomach, and you’ll obey like it’s instinct. Her control is tranquil, not aggressive—but complete.

When Eternal Sugar is too lazy to even get up, she prefers to have you on her lap while teasing you relentlessly with lazy, looping touches, one hand between your legs while the other strokes your thigh or gently cups your breast—until your head’s foggy and all you can do is cling to her voice.

She gives you "treats" from the Garden of Delights that melt on your tongue and fill your body with warmth and arousal. They taste like honeyed berries or floral sugar—and you never notice the change until your skin is flushed, your breath shallow, and everything starts to feel so good. She'll smile serenely and say, “It’s just happiness taking root, darling.”

She loves how aphrodisiacs soften your edges. You get pliant, needy, and sensitive to every touch. She’ll trace her fingers between your thighs lazily, whispering “Look at you… so easily undone…” while refusing to let you come until you beg her sweetly enough.

Eternal Sugar is a voyeur at heart. She’ll tell you to pleasure yourself while she lounges across from you, her chin in her hand, eyes half-lidded. She’ll coo encouragement or gently critique, drawing it out until you’re begging her to help. “You missed a spot… Here, let me show you how to treat yourself properly.”

She’ll go down on you with a sort of indulgent reverence, like she’s sipping from a divine chalice. Her tongue is slow, precise, and focused squarely on the clit. She hums softly while she tastes you, using just her mouth until you’re trembling. She prefers when you’re squirming under her, unable to form words.

Aftercare is quiet, warm, and druglike. She’ll drape herself over you or pull you into her wings, humming lightly while stroking your back or thighs. Sometimes she plays with your overstimulated body even then—just soft, teasing grazes of her fingers while whispering, “One more won’t hurt, dear…” knowing full well it’ll make you whimper.

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coralaze · 14 hours ago

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—ARCANE WOMAN HCS, YOU GRINDING ON THEIR ABS

Vi—

Vi lives for physical tension. One moment you’re straddling her lap after a sparring match, catching your breath—and the next you’re shifting just a little too slowly, grinding down against her abs, pretending it's unintentional.

She smirks immediately, that low rasp in her voice making your stomach flip. “That feel good, sweetheart?" Her hands settle on your hips like second nature.

Her abs tense under you, and you feel every movement as she flexes slightly, just to tease. She's letting you have control—until she doesn’t.

Vi’s not shy. If you keep going, she’ll grip your thighs tighter and lean in, her breath against your neck “If you want something, say it.”

Jinx—

With Jinx, it’s a game. Everything’s play. You might start grinding on her abs during one of her manic energy bursts, and she just laughs—until she realizes you’re serious.

Her whole body goes still, her eyes widening a little before she grins that wicked grin. “Oh? Getting bold now, huh?” She’s impressed.

Her core is deceptively strong from all the climbing and chaos she does—your slow grind makes her breath hitch, and that’s all the encouragement you need.

She giggles through her blush, arms behind her head. “Keep going… let’s see how long I can stay still.”

Caitlyn—

Caitlyn is not used to being teased physically like this, so the moment you straddle her—pretending it’s innocent—and start moving against her toned stomach? She's shook.

Her cheeks flare pink almost immediately, but she doesn’t stop you. Her hands hover at your hips like she doesn’t know if she should push you back or pull you closer.

“You’re being very… bold today, darling.” she says, voice a bit shaky but eyes locked to yours, trying to maintain composure.

Once she regains control, though? She lets her hands drop to your thighs, steadying you. “Is this what you needed?” Her voice lowers—cool and breathy.

Ambessa—

Grinding against Ambessa Medarda is like pressing into a statue of war—pure, unrelenting power. Her body doesn’t move unless she lets it.

You shift in her lap, slow and deliberate, feeling every hard ridge of her core, her arm casually thrown across the back of the couch like she’s entirely unaffected… but her eyes burn.

“Keep going,” she says coolly, voice like smoke. “Let’s see how much you can handle before you beg me to touch you.”

She watches you with a hawk’s intensity—savoring the way your breath stutters and your thighs tighten. She won't move. She doesn't need to move—she owns the room, and soon, she’ll own you too.

Sevika—

You’re sitting on her lap, straddling her, just messing around… until you shift your hips a little too slow. You feel it immediately—how solid and unyielding her core is beneath you. Her metal arm rests lazily on the back of the chair, and her living hand curls around your thigh.

“The hell do you think you’re doin’, princess?” Her tone is low, rough—half warning, half interested. She doesn’t stop you, though. Not ehen close.

You grind a little harder—slow and deliberate—and you feel her abs tighten under you. She’s letting it happen, testing you, eyes locked on yours like a predator watching its prey. A smirk starts curling on her lips.

"You think you’re in control?” she rasps, letting her thumb trace the inside of your thigh. “Keep goin’. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

The grind becomes a power play—you trying to push her, and her just taking it, unmoved and unshaken until she finally growls and grabs your hips, slamming you down harder. “Alright, sweetheart,” she murmurs against your ear, “you asked for it."

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legalandnotease · 2 days ago

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Lol, thanks @buckydeservesthebest

@sammywilson logic here is ridiculous. "oh its totally fine to work with Ross because he said he was wrong about the Accords so he's completely trustworthy now!"

Ross also said the Avengers would have some freedom to act under the Accords too. He lied. Its what he does. He was lying to Sam as well: Ross history makes it clear that he does not share power.

Ross actions throughout the movie prove he's not trustworthy in any way. Then, on top locking people up who he knows to be innocent Sam even finds evidence Ross rigged the election. or rather Sterns did to get Ross into power- but Ross agreed to it.

That's years of electoral interference which is utterly illegal. Instead of reporting it immediately and getting Ross out, Sam ignores it, focusing more of his attention on getting Isaiah out of prison.

Look I get it. Isaiah is important to you- but you've just discovered an mad scientist with a speciality in mind control has been puppeteering Ross for *years*. This is matter of national interest. Get your bloody priorities right Sam.

14 months later "anything could have happened". Who is funding them, fam? Who owns the tower, fam?

Yeah, yeah. Tony Stark owned the Tower before Val, but we all know he didn't run the Avengers. Come on. This is reaching. He funded their operations for a while, but he wasn't in charge.

Isn't it weird that you can tell the difference between paying for stuff and *running everything* in Tony's case but not in Thunderbolts.

We won't even go into the source of Tony's money- actually we wil. All his money was inherited from his father. Who made it from manufacturing weapons. Its literally blood money.

So you're fine with Sam using Tony's money gained from selling arms used to commit literal genocides... but not Bucky using government money. Gotcha.

Why did Yelena say "they don't tell us anything" heavily implying they are taking orders and being told where to go.

None of this proves Val is in charge. The US government doesn't consist entirely of Val. There's fucking thousands of people in the government.

This could refer to literally *anyone*. "They" could easily be that Congresman Gary guy Bucky was shown working with or even Mel Gold.

Literally all Yelena means their unnamed contacts aren't keeping them in the loop.

If they were doing their own thing, a) they wouldn't make a direct call to the govt

As above: I literally just said Val isn't the entire government. Are they directly calling *her*? No, they're calling their contacts whoever they are.

b) they would know what they were doing without waiting around for instructions after 14 months.

Again, lack of communication doesn't prove Val is running everything. This is all just desperate reaching. You still have literally *zero* evidence.

They were bastardized, especially with the articles and the photoshoots, meaning VAL is making them do that shit, meaning VAL is running the shots. Because no way in hell would Bucky Barnes and Yelena sign up to pose for fucking photos for the NYT or the New Yorker. C'mon.

This is the best one of all. "Bucky wouldn't pose for photos! This proves Val is making them do it!" Bucky is a Congressman. How in the name of fuck do you think people get elected to Congress? By magic incantanations? They go on the public campaign trial. They appear in the press and on televised interviews.

To get into Congress Bucky would have got used to public attention. He gets surrounded by journalists to answer questions in literally his first scene in the movie. Where do you think they published those questions? Use some critical thinking.

He wouldn't have any problem being in the news. He'd been in it for years. And Yelana is now a celebrity. Celebrities pose for photos. Yelena even said she wanted a "public facing" role earlier in the movie.

Not run by anyone, certainly not a team that spits on EVERYTHING his bffs Steve and Nat have worked tirelessly for.

And what was that? Is this the recently formulated Sam fan headcanon that the Avengers were never run by the government?

Kid, your lies are so transparent its not even funny. In Avengers 1, Nick Fury who literally *works for a government organization* forms the Avengers. SHIELD were a government organization. SHIELD operatives were government workers.

For the first 2 years of their existence the Avengers operated under SHIELD and had government funding, until Steve had to bring them down in Captain America: The Winter Soldier because they were infiltrated by HYDRA.

You also seem to be unaware that Natasha was on Team Tony until right at the end of Civil War. As is the Pro-Accords side who were actively co-operating with Ross. She signed the Accords, ffs. So what was that she stood for again? The only reason she became a fugitive was because T'Challa told Ross she helped Steve and Bucky escape during the airport fight. Not because she was opposed to government control.

Did you actually watch Civil War? or Avengers- because you don't seem to have done. You seem to just be relying on the secondhand version promoted by your friends.

Natasha would, however have been totally thrilled at her beloved sister becoming an Avenger. She'd have been proud of her. She was proud of her in the movies we already have.

And you seriously expect us to think Steve, who literally gave up his shield and his title of Captain America to save Bucky, would have been opposed to him being an Avenger? Certainly not as opposed as Sam fans are.

Bucky was written abborrantly in this film, and it's not because he has agency... I would've loved it if they took back the press conference, formed their own group at the end, and did everything their own way.

Yeah right kid. You gave yourself away when you started ranting about Walker who we never mentioned in any capacity and nobody I know remotely care about. You people are LIVID that Bucky DARED to step out of Sam's shadow and work with people who weren't him.

You consistently act like he needs Sam's permission to so much as breathe, let alone choose who he wants to work with. And God help him if its somebody Sam doesn't like or doesn't approve of.

(But its fine for Sam to work with the man who directly tried to kill Bucky not once but twice.. and notice neither Bucky nor his fans scream about that for days).

There wasn't time at the end of the 2 hour movie to show what happened after the press junket: they already had to cut a lot of material because it was too long.

The only thing we can be sure of is Sam fans would be screeching no matter what Bucky did because he's not Sam's accessory/pet anymore. And you cannot stand that.

t's because he forgot the entire reason he put together a team.

He put together a team to stop forces of evil hurting the innocent. First Val, then Sentry, then The Void. When he realized Bob wasn't a bad guy though he accepted him and helped him. Then they decided to keep on doing it.

Also, Bucky has always had a penchant for adopting losers since he first rescued the skinny little Steve Rogers from an alleyway. Ditching the Thunderbolts would have been far more ooc then sticking with them as a big brother/protector figure.

Becoming a Congresman shows Bucky was willing to work with people he hated and do something he hated if necessary to combat evil. You think he kiled schmoozing with the kind of people who used to order him to be tortured? At times, you have to operate within a flawed system, and if necessary, use that system to your advantage.

That's why he may have *repeat may have* allowed Val to bankroll things for a time- because his team needed the protection that an official role afforded them because like Steve found out, you can't do a lot of superhero work as a criminal or fugitive. At the same time, he's best positioned to ensure his team aren't made to do anything they disagree with or don't want to.

So I am gonna wade in on the controversy surrounding the Thunderbolts PC scene.

A lot of people are angry about Bucky and Sam's apparent fallout over the use of The Avengers name- and inevitiably the blame falls on Bucky.

Honestly? I think the real issue is that some fans think Bucky and Sam's relationship is still the same as it was The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, when Sam was basically Bucky's only friend and Bucky was dependent on him.

4-5 years have passed in universe since then, and Bucky now has other friends, connections and his own team. Which means he can't just go around making decisions without consulting them (he's not Tony Stark after all). He has to take account of what his teammates actually want: its not just about Sam anymore.

Its kind of interesting in a way: fans have said that Bucky needs to have his own life and make his own choices and yet the moment he does something which Sam disapproves of, he's lambasted for it.

Which is why I think the real issue isn't that Bucky and Sam have apparently had a falling out: its that Bucky has stepped out of Sam's shadow and is doing his own thing. He's not just Same's sidekick anymore. He's making his own choices, forming his own team, in the public eye as his own man.

Its not just Sam though: we've been so used to Bucky being the supporting role and playing second fiddle to someone else for so long that now he's acting independently its jarring, even shocking.

Bucky doesn't have to have Sam (or anyone else's) approval or permission anymore. Nobody has exclusive rights to tell Bucky what he can do, who he can associate with and who he can work for. That makes people mad.

And don't even get me started about the people loudly complaining about Bucky/The Thunderbolts "working for Val" because that's not what's happening even in the movie.

The Post-Credit scene is set 14 months after the movie: anything could have happened in that time. Val might not even still be alive at that point. Even if she is, it seems the Thunderbolts are only using her for money but she definately doesn't control them (they have the knowledge to bring her down after all).

If your issue is government control then you clearly have a short memory. In Brave New World Ross was asking Sam to form his own Avengers team. Meaning they would have been subject to the government and Ross: who was as bad as if not worse than Val.

Nobody raised objection to that. So, apparently, Sam creating an Avengers team at the behest of a politician and subject to the government isn't a problem.

But Bucky leading a team which pay lip service to the government but are really autonomous and under nobody's control except their own is obectionable.

Yeah that's called a double standard.

#sam wilson #natasha romanoff #anti sam stans #avengers 1 #the avengers #marvel cinematic universe #thunderbolts*#bucky barnes #the new avengers #nick fury #captain america #captain america civil war #thunderbolts #valentina allegra de fontaine

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drenched-in-sunlight · 18 hours ago

Note

❝The Rune of Death goes by two names; the other is Destined Death.The forbidden shadow, plucked from the Golden Order upon its creation…❞ ❝Miquella the Kind spoke of the beginning. The seduction. And the betrayal. An affair from which Gold arose. And so too was Shadow born.❞ You said in your post that GEQ asked Marika to be her Consort to unite Life and Death when Marika was merely an Empyrean,but it says here that Death only became separated from the Elden Ring upon GO creation. Before it the Death and Life Rune were already together inside of the Elden Ring. GO was also created when Marika became a Goddess.

How do i explain this... to me, Order of Gold exists before Marika, she merely becomes its new God (from very line you quote: Gold arose, not born)

The Order of Gold (which is Primordial Life) has always been there, so is Order of Death & the Moon & Rot & Blood etc… they are broad concepts that are represented by different individuals throughout different ages

it’s the Order the Hornsent wants to inherit (notice how all of their curses are leveled at the Erdtree and Marika personally, not the Golden Order, and how the Minor Erdtree description put forth the concept of Gold without Order)

it’s likely what Placidusax’s Order is as well

(+1 parallel to Godwyn becoming Prince of Death when his mother is Primordial Gold of Life, GEQ is the same with her parents)

Different concepts battle for control of the world (different Two Fingers / Three Fingers)

-> but within those concepts there are also groups battling or replacing each other to represent them:

Hornsent vs Marika vs Ancient Dragon for Primordial Gold / Life

Ancient Death (Helphen) vs Destined Death (GEQ) vs Life in Death (Godwyn)

Black Moon (Nox) vs Full Moon (Rennala) vs Dark Moon (Ranni)

Malenia Rot vs Romina Rot / Messmer Abyssal Serpent vs Rykard Serpent of Blasphemy

Another point is that even within the game mechanic, Death and Life are represented as two separate factions with Death being an actual status effect and Life is what keeping it at bay: Vitality governs resistance to the effects of Death. (in the E3 trailer, the Elden Ring is said to command the Stars and gives Life its full brilliance).

So i view Death as its own equal faction, and not something that only popped up because of Marika. What she did is outright rejecting its existence in her new Age, whereas i imagine under Placidusax's and possibly the Hornsent's envisioned Order, Life & Death will co-exist as a cycle under a same guidance.

Tbh, the thing about love and Consort is mostly shipper talk (that was also based on my interpretation of the lore, but it already diverges far into I-made-this-up-for-yuri). If you want a non-ship version, they are rivals for Godhood & everything else could still happen exactly as any of my other points.

But again, all these are just my personal interpretation.

#btw not just about this anon but i've also got this from comments under my other art as well #im lowkey tired that even my shipping theories now gets scrutinized under canon-compliant lenses. but i get why it happens #since i started writing serious lore theories post-DLC & have to defend them too but grrrrrrrrrrrrrr #i wish i could signal this part is shipper theorizing and this part is formal lore dissect #ask #reply #anon

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plotbunnysyndrome · 1 day ago

Text

More Than Honour

Chapter 34: In the Wake of Almost

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Introduction: The sun had barely risen before the cracks began to show. A confession was spoken to stone, a truth buried for years finally unearthed. Upstairs, chaos brewed over croissants and jam as a love letter unraveled not hearts — but egos. And in the quiet that followed, one question echoed louder than the music yet to play: what do you do when the thing you feared the most turns out to be nothing… but still ruins everything?

The morning sun cut low across the grounds, soft and gold, gilding the dew-laced grass in silence. Aubrey Hall was behind Anthony, its stone silhouette softened by distance, the murmured sounds of siblings and laughter drifting faintly across the grounds. Preparations for the Hearts and Flowers Ball had already begun to hum through the halls—footsteps rushing, ribbons unfurling, nerves fraying.

But not here.

Here, under the ancient oak where the earth stayed undisturbed, where the world still remembered him—Anthony stood alone before his father’s gravestone.

He hadn’t come here in years.

He hadn’t brought flowers.

He hadn’t come to mourn.

He had come to confess.

He had come because last night nearly ruined him.

Not because of what happened in the library—but because of what didn’t.

Because even with you standing inches away, demanding answers, holding his gaze like you could see through every wall he’d built... he still hadn’t said the one thing that mattered.

Not that he loved you.

Not that it was always you.

But that he was terrified.

“Anthony.”

The voice was soft. Familiar.

He turned slightly.

Violet stood a few paces behind, her expression unreadable, though her presence, as always, was inevitable. She had a knack for appearing when he least wanted her to and most needed her.

“I wondered if I’d find you here,” she said gently.

Anthony looked back at the gravestone. “You always do.”

She stood beside him in silence for a moment, her eyes flicking to the sky, then to her son’s face.

“You’ve barely spoken all morning,” she said, not unkindly.

Anthony’s lips tightened. “There’s been little worth saying.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“You didn’t bring flowers,” Violet observed softly.

“I didn’t come to mourn,” he said, voice low. “I came to ask forgiveness.”

Violet looked at him carefully.

“For what?” she asked.

Anthony exhaled, gaze fixed on the stone.

“For already letting her go.”

Violet’s throat moved, but she said nothing.

“I watched her the other night,” he said, voice raw. “On the terrace. She was laughing again by the end of it all. I realized I had never given her that. Not truly. Not freely. And he—Blackbourne—he does. With ease. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t doubt.”

Violet’s eyes softened. “And you think that makes him better for her?”

Anthony turned to face her fully, jaw clenched, expression tight.

“No,” he whispered. “I think it makes him safer.”

Violet tilted her head.

Anthony ran a hand through his hair, pacing a step. “I watched you after Father dies,” he said, quieter now. “You disappeared. You smiled. You hosted teas. You taught Eloise to curtsy and Gregory to read and kept everything running. But you were gone.”

Violet closed her eyes.

“I lost him too,” Anthony said. “But I lost you at the same time. And no one ever talked about that. Not once.”

Violet’s voice was barely audible. “I did not mean to disappear.”

“I know,” Anthony said. “But you did. And I told myself that if I could just keep control—of the estate, of the title, of myself—I’d never be the reason someone else had to survive that kind of love.”

HIs voice cracked slightly, and he forced it steady.

“I never let myself love her because I knew if I did—truly did—I’d never survive it if something happened. And worse…she wouldn’t survive it either.”

He turned away, breath shaking.

“I couldn’t be the cause of that kind of ruin.”

Violet stepped closer, placing a hand gently on his arm.

“And do you truly believe,” she asked softly, “that love ruined me?”

Anthony didn’t answer.

Violet continued, “Yes, I grieved. Yes, I shattered. But Anthony—I was not broken by love. I was broken by loss. There is a difference.”

He looked down, the ground suddenly the only thing he could bear to face.

“If I hadn’t loved him,” Violet said, “there would have been nothing to mourn. No beauty. No warmth. No legacy.”

She turned toward the stone, her gaze tender. “Do you think I regret loving him? Even knowing what it cost me?” Anthony swallowed hard.

“Do you think she would regret it?” Violet asked, turning back to him.

His jaw clenched. “If something happened—if I left her behind—she would carry that pain forever.”

“And if you walk away,” Violet said gently, “she may carry a different pain. One that lingers just as long. One you placed there yourself.”

Anthony closed his eyes.

“She looks happy with him,” he said finally. “Freer. Lighter. I don’t want to be the reason that changes. I don’t want her to become like you…after.”

Violet’s voice was firm, loving.

“Then don’t become like me…before.”

That landed like thunder.

“You still have a chance,” she whispered. “Don’t let it slip away just to protect her from something that hasn’t happened. If she loves you—even still—she is not asking you for guarantees. She is asking you to try.”

Silence stretched between them.

“She thinks I sent her a love letter,” he continued, voice low. “She asked me about it. Brought it to me like a blade and demanded the truth. And for one terrifying moment… she believed I wrote it. That I could feel those things. Say those things.”

He ran a hand down his face. “And then I didn’t correct her quickly enough.”

“You didn’t lie either,” Violet said.

“No,” he agreed. “But I wanted to.”

He looked up at her then, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t seen since he was a boy.

“What if I can’t be what she needs?” he asked.

Violet reached up and touched his face gently.

“Then she will be glad you tried.”

She stepped back, gave his hand a soft squeeze, and began to walk away.

“Anthony.”

He looked up.

“She is still yours…until the moment you decide she isn’t.”

Then she was gone.

And Anthony was left standing in the morning light, alone with his father’s name, his mother’s truth—and the weight of a future he was still too afraid to claim.

Meanwhile, at the breakfast table…

The morning sun spilled through the tall windows of Aubrey Hall’s dining room, casting warm golden light over a table already half-emptied of scones and scandal.

Hyacinth was buttering her toast like it owed her money. Eloise was absently reading the back of the jam jar. Daphne was pouring herself a second cup of tea, while Simon appeared to be nursing a subtle headache—likely the lingering effects of last night’s truth-fueled drinkathon. Edwina and Kate sat quietly near the middle, discussing the upcoming Hearts and Flowers Ball in hushed tones. Lucien was stirring his coffee lazily, looking entirely too smug for someone who had barely slept. And you were trying very hard to focus on your breakfast and not on the fact that Anthony still hadn’t shown up.

Then Gregory, with all the casual chaos of a thunderclap, tilted his head and said:

“Did anyone find a letter yesterday? We seemed to have lost one.”

You froze.

“…What do you mean we lost one?” you asked, the words sharper than you meant, a little too fast, your fork still halfway to your mouth.

Simon blinked. Daphne’s cup paused midair. Lucien, across the table, raised a brow in slow curiosity.

Gregory, oblivious, shrugged. “Benedict and I wrote a love letter.”

“A very dramatic one. It was an artistic experiment,” Benedict said proudly.

“We were bored and figured we’d mess with Eloise,” Gregory clarified.

“I’m sorry—what? I was meant to receive a fake love confession?” Eloise deadpanned.

“You were supposed to read it aloud!” Benedict added, reaching for the jam. “Dramatic. Anonymous. Dripping with poetic torment. It was going to be hilarious.”

“I didn’t get any letter,” Eloise said flatly.

“Well, the footman swore he slipped it under your door,” Gregory argued.

Gregory frowned. “Then where did it go?”

“Oh dear,” Hyacinth chimed in sweetly, “has your prank collapsed under the weight of its own idiocy?”

Gregory ignored her. “It’s gone. Vanished.”

“Maybe Newton ate it,” Eloise offered.

“Newton has better taste,” Kate murmured, sipping her tea.

Hyacinth narrowed her eyes. “Well then. Where did it go? It couldn’t have disappeared into thin air.”

There was a flicker of movement across from you—Lucien lowering his cup slowly, eyes narrowing just slightly. He was still smiling, still relaxed, but there was something new behind his gaze now. Sharp. Curious.

“I don’t suppose you wrote it under your name?” he asked dryly, glancing between Gregory and Benedict. “Because I’ll be honest, it’s terribly misleading. Someone might take it seriously.”

Benedict looked far too pleased with himself. “That was the point.”

Lucien chuckled—but his gaze didn’t leave you for a second. You were staring hard at your plate, suddenly too warm, too aware.

Simon and Daphne were both silent. Entirely too silent. Their expressions said everything.

Simon: Oh no.

Daphne: Of course it was a prank. Of course.

You: A fucking joke. I spiraled for twelve hours over a prank letter from GREGORY?!

Kate, ever practical, offered, “Perhaps it was delivered to the wrong room?”

Edwina nodded politely. “Or one of the maids might have picked it up, thinking it was for someone else.”

Lucien leaned forward a fraction, resting his elbows on the table, chin in hand.

“You alright, Angel?” he asked you lightly. “You’ve gone very quiet.”

Your smile was brittle. “Just… marveling at how much chaos a single letter can cause.”

Hyacinth let out a delighted gasp. “Wait—you got the letter?!”

You, Simon, and Daphne, in perfect synchronization: “No.”

Lucien kept watching you. A beat passed.

Then he reached for the marmalade.

He didn’t know what had happened, but the curve of your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes this morning. And Lucien Blackbourne was not a man who missed things like that.

Gregory shrugged and reached for another croissant. “Well, if it turns up, let us know. It was quite a masterpiece, if I may say so.”

“I swear, if you rhymed ‘passion’ with ‘ashen’ again—” Eloise began.

“—She never even got to read it!” Gregory protested.

Benedict laughed. “A true tragedy. Our finest work… lost to history.”

It wasn’t lost though.

It had detonated a series of emotional implosions last night that almost destroyed two people.

And it was supposed to be a joke.

You met Simon’s gaze. He raised his brows.

Daphne looked ready to strangle both her younger brothers.

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

The letter hadn’t been from Anthony.

It hadn’t been from Lucien.

It hadn’t been from anyone.

Just Gregory. And Benedict. Bored and ridiculous. And somehow, they’d set fire to an entire week’s worth of emotional turmoil without even knowing.

You would absolutely kill them.

Later.

With something dull.

A while later…

Breakfast had ended in chaos. Emotional devastation, delivered courtesy of Benedict and Gregory’s creative idiocy, still lingered in the air like the scent of too-strong tea.

Now, the house shifted.

The hum of conversation gave way to purpose. Servants hurried through the halls with garlands of fresh flowers draped over their arms. Candles were trimmed and lit, flickering to life one by one in the chandelier above the ballroom. Long tables were extended beneath gleaming windows. A quartet rehearsed in the music room, tentative notes rising and falling as sunlight spilled through the lace-curtained glass.

Aubrey Hall was being transformed.

And its inhabitants were scattering accordingly.

Colin and Hyacinth had vanished—presumably to snoop through the drawing rooms and spy on the earliest arriving guests. Eloise was seen dragging Gregory by the collar toward the stables, likely under the guise of threatening him into silence before he caused any more emotional carnage. Benedict retreated with a sketchbook and a very smug expression.

You, however, quietly slipped away.

No fanfare. No dramatic exits. Just the soft excuse of “a short rest before the festivities.”

No one questioned it.

But rest was the last thing on your mind.

Your room was cool and dim. A breeze stirred the curtains. But your pulse had not slowed since the letter reveal.

It still sat on your desk—creased now, handled too many times. You stared at it from across the room, as if the paper itself might explain how it had unravelled so much in so little time. You didn’t know what disturbed you more: that it had been a prank, or that you had let it mean something.

Lucien had made you laugh that night. He had walked you to your door, and he had kissed your hand with honest affection. You didn’t regret that.

But you regretted what came after.

What happened in the library.

What almost happened in the library.

And now… you weren’t sure what you wanted anymore.

A knock at your door pulled you back into the moment.

“Angel?” Lucien’s voice was soft. “Just checking in.”

“I’m alright,” you called back after a beat. Too fast. Too bright.

A pause.

“Alright,” he said eventually. And then, “I’ll see you tonight.”

You closed your eyes after the sound of his footsteps faded. You weren’t sure if you were grateful or disappointed that he didn’t push.

Downstairs, the doors opened.

Anthony stepped through the threshold of the house just as the first carriage turned onto the drive.

His jaw was tight, the lines of his face carved deep from a morning spent breaking open truths beneath the oak tree that still held his father’s name. His cravat was barely re-tied. His boots tracked in a faint dust from the field.

He barely noticed.

Because he saw the carriages.

The guests.

The impending performance.

And the one woman he hadn’t been able to forget.

He straightened his jacket.

A servant passed him with a vase of roses.

Another carried a silver tray of wine glasses.

He barely moved.

And just like that, the estate was no longer just a home — it was a stage.

The curtains were drawn.

The players had arrived.

And by tonight, every mask would be tested.

Taglist: @bollzinurmouth @drewstarkeysrightarm @thorins-queen-of-erebor @yearninglustfully @khaleesibeach @ifilwtmfc

#imagines #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fluff #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x y/n

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chrisfavdrink · 2 days ago

Text

NDA House — Part 1

warnings: manipulation. abusive power. invasion of privacy. blackmail.

summary: After her secret relationship with Matt is exposed, Star finds herself caught in the controlling grip of Laura, the triplets’ powerful manager. With Matt and his brothers silenced under strict NDAs, Star receives an unexpected envelope demanding her own silence—and her move across the country. Torn between freedom and the boy she’s falling for, she must decide whether to sign away her life to protect theirs.

based on true events… @munchingmini @sturniolofruitloop @dollysturniolo @coolasice01 @butterbean-01 @doe-boy

————————————————————————

Star stared down at the black and white document in front of her. 156 pages. The short copy, to be exact. The long copy was strictly digital—too detailed to be printed. It was bound like a novel, but it wasn’t fiction. It was her future.

Her vision blurred as she tried to process the legal jargon locking her into Laura’s control. She knew the basics of an NDA, sure—but nothing about this seemed basic. And the hollow, haunting smile stretched across Laura’s face from the other side of the table confirmed it: this went far deeper.

The weeks after Laura found out she’d been played were hell. Not dramatic, not metaphorical—just hell. She hovered over all three triplets like a storm cloud, paranoid and unrelenting. Dove had been hidden away in a hotel room under 24/7 surveillance. Laura had snapped.

“I’m sorry, guys,” Matt muttered to his brothers, guilt weighing heavy in his voice.

“No. Don’t even think that,” Nick cut in fast, shaking his head.

“It could’ve just as easily been me and Dove,” Chris added quietly, like even saying her name was dangerous. He wasn’t wrong.

“I just wish I could talk to her.” Matt stared at the ceiling from his bed. None of them had access to their phones. A harsh punishment, maybe—but for Laura, it was a regular Tuesday. She treated them like kids who broke the rules. And Matt? He was grounded with no way to reach the one person he needed to explain everything to.

He’d thought of breaking the NDA just to call her. Just to say he was sorry. That he understood. That if she hadn’t signed yet, she shouldn’t. He’d rather lose her to freedom than keep her under a lie. If she signed, the girl he fell for wouldn’t be the same. And that was something he could never forgive himself for.

“Once Laura cools off, we’ll get our stuff back. I’m sure she’ll love hearing from you then,” Nick offered, patting his brother’s shoulder.

Chris followed him out, leaving Matt alone in the silence.

Meanwhile, Star was unraveling in her own way. She wasn’t the type to fall fast—but Matt had shattered every rule she thought she had. She kept telling herself he was just busy, or tired, or caught up in something she wasn’t allowed to know about. The excuses started as comfort, but now they drove her insane.

Her routine was the same: work constantly, write when she could, and curl up with her cat when she needed quiet. But it wasn’t the same without Matt. For five months, he’d been the filler in her gaps—the late-night calls, the good morning texts. He didn’t need to say anything. Just being there was enough.

Now he was gone. And the silence was louder than ever.

“Have you heard from him?” she asked, clinging to the smallest hope. Nate—her best friend, Matt’s friend too—might have something.

“I haven’t. But Dove told me Laura’s got them all locked down. She hasn’t even seen Chris.” Nate’s voice was calm, but she could tell he was holding something back. His NDA was strict, but he didn’t fear Laura the way the others did. He never had.

“So what does that mean?” Star stared down at her phone.

“Means they’ve got no way to talk to anyone. Laura must really be freaking out over you two.” Nate laughed a little, but it didn’t help this time. Usually, it would.

They walked the trail in silence. Nate felt guilty—he’d introduced them. But despite the chaos, he knew he’d been right. Watching Star unravel without Matt only proved how real it had been.

“I’m sorry. I kinda put you guys in this mess,” he said gently.

“Don’t be. It’ll work out.” She chewed at her nail, something she hadn’t done in years. “It has to.”

Back at the car, he hugged her.

“You gonna be okay?”

“I’ll try. It’d be easier if I could talk to him.” Just one call. One breath of silence to sleep peacefully again.

Later, she returned to her apartment, typed in the code, and stepped inside. Her place was a mess, but it was hers. She tossed her bag on the couch and turned the corner to her room—and stopped cold.

An envelope sat on her bed.

Her name written in flowing script across the front: Starling. No last name. Just her full first name—somehow making it feel more threatening.

Her hands shook as she opened it. Inside were several documents. The first was short: her presence was required at a certain address on certain dates. The location was across the country. She laughed dryly—no way she could afford that.

Then she reached back into the envelope and pulled out two plane tickets. One for her. One for Nate.

She sat down, stunned. Then read the rest.

————————————————————————

Hello Starling,

Before we can go any further, we need you to discuss and sign the NDA I’ve already prepared. It’s standard, straightforward, and honestly something that should’ve been handled sooner—but here we are.

Inside this envelope is all the information you will need to discuss it. I’d like to move forward knowing we’re handling this situation promptly and delicately; we take confidentiality very seriously. We have arranged for your flight alongside Nathan Doe and your one-week stay in the NDA House, and all extra expenses are budgeted.

Expecting this to be handled immediately and adequately.

– Laura

————————————————————————

Star sighed. She felt sick. Matt had known this was coming. He had tried to protect her—and she’d pushed him anyway. She didn’t understand then how serious it was. How deep Laura’s reach really went. Someone had gotten into her apartment just to leave a threat on her bed.

Now here she was. Sitting in front of Laura. Staring down at the contract. The devil across the table smiled.

“You don’t have to sign, honey,” Laura said sweetly.

Star licked her lips, still trying to make sense of the overwhelming legalese. “It says I have to move?” Star knew she didn’t have much tying her to the East Coast, but moving away from the little she did have was still a scary thought. She thought of Nathan and her best friend, Vic.

“Yes. You’d be moving into the NDA House.”

“And my job?” She thought of Mini Pizza Palace. Her coworkers. Her tiny life.

“We already have your official resignation typed up, If you sign, of course.”

Star scanned the next few pages. “It says here—”

Laura sighed. “I know this is a lot. But let me paint you a picture, Starling.” Her tone changed. Icy. “The Sturniolo triplets are one of my biggest clients. I manage everything—including their personal lives. Matthew breached his contract. We can sue him and his brothers for everything they’ve built… or you can sign. Show us you care about protecting what they’ve worked for.”

Star’s mouth opened in shock.

“And if I don’t?”

Laura leaned back, smile sharp. “Then you say goodbye to all of them. Forever.”

Star looked down at the pen.

“I have a cat,” she said quietly, setting it down. “What happens to her if I move?”

Laura’s expression faltered, surprised. “Just one?”

“Mhm.”

“We can make arrangements for that.”

Star nodded slowly. Hands trembling, she flipped to the last page. Her name hovered above the signature line. Her future—her freedom—balanced on the tip of a pen.

She thought of Matt. Of her home. Her friends. The boys. Nick. Chris. The chance at something real.

Then she pressed the pen to the page.

And she signed.

For Matthew.

————————————————————————

since people think it’s okay to log into my account and change up MY words on MY story… here is NDA House — Part 1 AGAIN…

-Roni

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imsojules · 2 days ago

Text

After the tide turns – Part 1

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

tw: Outbreak violence so, blood, death, swearing, military control, inspired by the last of us, established relationship, english is not my first language!

a/n: Here we go!! 🚨

Comments always make my day! 🖤

word count: 2.8k

The apartment is quiet.

The clock on the microwave blinks 1:42 AM in ghostly blue digits. It’s the only light in the room besides the soft flicker of the streetlamp filtering through the blinds. The apartment smells faintly like the candle you lit earlier, cheap vanilla, burnt halfway down and the leftover takeout JJ promised to throw away when he got back.

Somewhere outside, waves slap against the docks. A fan spins in the ceiling above you, clicking on every third turn like a broken clock. The TV’s gone dark, stuck on the menu screen of some half-watched show. You’re curled up sideways on the couch, one arm underneath your cheek, the other still loosely holding your phone.

It’s late. JJ should’ve been home hours ago. Always running into something dumb that turns into a story later. Something feels off all week, ever since the weird news starts leaking in from the mainland—food recalls, strange medical emergencies, radio silence from certain cities. Rumors on social media about tainted crops. You haven’t paid much attention, honestly.

But you must doze off waiting, because when your eyes snap open again, it’s not to JJ’s voice or the sound of the door.

Your phone comes to life with a faint buzz. A name flashes across the screen, it’s your mom.

You swipe to answer, breath catching.

“Mom? Hello?”

But there’s only static.

You press the phone harder to your ear, like that’ll force a connection through the storm of crackles.

“Mom, I can’t hear you—”

A faint breath. Maybe a syllable. Then nothing. The line drops. The screen reads Call Failed. You stare at it like maybe the phone will change its mind.

It doesn’t. You try calling back, but the screen blinks No Service. One bar flickers and vanishes.

You reach for the remote with a shaking hand. The screen comes alive with a quiet click, casting pale light across the room. You flip through the channels until one freezes— news. Not some talking head in New York or DC. This is close. Too close.

The anchorwoman sits stiffly at her desk, hair slightly out of place, makeup cracked under sweat. Her hands grip the table just out of frame, knuckles white. The studio behind her is dimmer than usual, and there's a buzzing hum in the background, like something’s malfunctioning. Her voice wavers, but she keeps reading.

“...the number of confirmed deaths has surpassed two hundred tonight. The Governor has declared a state of emergency across Dare, Hyde, and surrounding counties…”

She glances to the side—someone off-camera is clearly waving her along—but her voice catches in her throat.

The screen jolts, flickers once, then cuts to a shaky phone video. Someone’s filming from the sidewalk, and everything’s chaos. Emergency lights blur across the frame. A building burns behind the man speaking, his face sweaty, frantic, splashed with ash.

“They didn’t warn us,” he shouts into the lens. “There were hundreds. I swear to God hundreds of bodies just lying there. Like trash. Lined up on the sidewalks. Some of them were still moving. They just left them there.”

It cuts back to the anchor. She’s visibly shaken now, no longer trying to hide it. She swallows hard, eyes flicking to the teleprompter, voice barely above a whisper.

“North Carolina is the next state placed under federal martial law. All residents are required to report to their designated quarantine zones...”

She stops mid sentence. A crash echoes from offscreen. Something metallic falling. Then shouting.

Her head jerks toward the sound.

The studio lights flicker violently. The broadcast stutters, audio warping, and the screen cuts to black.

No more voices. Just dead air.

Your heart slams against your ribs. You start to move fast.

You throw on the hoodie JJ left on the counter, rip open the drawer for your charger, then yank open another and grab the biggest kitchen knife you own. You don’t stop to think, just stuff it into your backpack beside a water bottle and a flashlight.

The doorknob feels ice cold in your hand as you twist it.

—

Outside, the island feels wrong.

The air is too still, too heavy, no wind through the trees. Not a single cicada hums.

Only silence.

Then far off a siren wails, long and piercing. Another joins it. Somewhere to the east, a car alarm hiccups into life, screeching until it cuts off like it was silenced. A few blocks down, tires screech. You hear something crash. Then a scream. Sharp, raw, human. The kind that cuts through bone.

The streetlights flicker above your head, stuttering like a dying heartbeat.

You step out slowly, kitchen knife clenched in your fist, your pulse thudding in your ears.

A shadow breaks across the end of the street.

“HEY!”

You spin, heart in your throat.

JJ barrels toward you at a dead sprint. Sweat beads down his temple, his blond curls stuck to his forehead, his chest heaving like he hasn’t stopped running in blocks. His T-shirt is ripped, shoulder bloodied, and there’s a bat strapped to his back.

"You're okay?" you ask loudly.

“Shit, Y/N,” he breathes, skidding to a stop in front of you. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“My mom called,” you say, breath catching. “They said they’re locking everything down—“

“I know. I know,” he says, already grabbing your arm, scanning the street behind you like something might crawl out of it. “They’re saying it’s a pandemic, but it’s way worse than that.”

“Worse how?”

“I don’t know. People are... sick. And violent. I saw one of the yacht guys bit someone at the marina. Didn’t stop.”

You stare at him.

“Bit them?”

“Yeah,” he says, low. “Didn’t stop until someone cracked his skull open.”

You try to process it, but it doesn’t stick. It doesn’t feel real.

“John B’s got a truck running—don’t ask. We’re getting off this island before they shut it down.”

You’re still frozen, knife in hand, mind racing to catch up. You feel sick.

JJ sees it in your face, the fear, the stall. He steps in close, cups your face in both hands like it’s the only thing that matters. “Hey. Look at me.”

His voice remains steady, but there's a fire beneath it, a sharp edge.

“We need to move. Now.” He laces his fingers with yours and pulls you forward. “It’s down by the marina,” JJ says under his breath, eyes cutting side to side. “John B said he ditched it behind the bait shack.”

The two of you move fast and low, ducking between hedges and shadows. The island feels like it’s holding its breath. You pass a front yard where someone’s porch light is still on, swinging gently in the breeze. The door’s wide open. Inside, it’s too quiet.

You keep going.

You’re half a block from the marina when you hear it. A wet, gurgling moan.

JJ freezes. Holds a hand out to stop you.

“Shhh...”

You strain to listen. Then you see it, stumbling into the middle of the road.

It used to be someone’s dad. He’s wearing cargo shorts, a fishing shirt, and one sandal. His face is slack, twitching. Mouth twitching like he’s trying to form words but only guttural clicks spill out. His neck is twisted too far to one side.

“What the hell...” you whisper.

“No fucking way” JJ mutters.

The man jerks his head at the sound. And then he runs.

Not stumbles… runs. Straight at you.

JJ reacts first.

“Back!”

He shoves you behind him and rips the bat off his back. The monster slams into him full force, and they crash onto the pavement. JJ rolls with him, shoving the handle of the bat between them as the man snaps his teeth inches from JJ’s face.

You don’t think. Instinct takes the wheel.

You surge forward, knife gripped so tight it carves into your palm. The blade sinks into the infected man's side, deep and fast but he doesn’t even blink. No scream. No hesitation. Just a low, sickening grunt as he whips around toward you, jaw unhinged.

“The head!” JJ yells, voice cracked with urgency.

Your hands shake as you yank the blade free. You aim higher.

You shove the knife straight into his throat and feel it grind against something solid. He gurgles, still moving. You rip it out and slam it forward again, this time just under his chin, until the resistance gives and he drops like a sack of wet meat.

It’s over.

But the silence afterward is louder than the fight.

Your chest heaves. Your arms are trembling, coated in blood, some of it yours, most of it not. The knife clatters to the pavement, slick and red.

JJ pushes himself up from the ground, sweat pouring off him, chest rising and falling like he just ran a marathon. His shirt’s soaked, splattered with dark streaks.

“You okay?” he asks, voice raw, eyes locked on yours.

“Are you?”

JJ drags in a breath, shoulders tight, jaw clenched like he’s holding back everything at once.

“Yeah,” he says, but his voice cracks around it. “I’m fine. Fucking hell...”

He grabs your hand, not waiting for you to find your balance. He hooks his arm behind your head and buries your face into his neck, the sound he makes is like a half-groan, half-sigh, torn from something deeper than relief.

“Don’t stop now.” he mutters.

And you run again, blood on your hands, shadows at your heels. JJ doesn’t let go of your hand as you cut through backyards and over fences, dodging overturned trash bins and shattered glass.

You spot the truck before you see them. The engine growls low as it idles by the curb, headlights off. A shape leans out the passenger side window and waves both arms.

“There!” JJ yells, tugging you forward.

You sprint the last block, lungs on fire, your shoes slamming the pavement with each step. Pope jumps out and yanks the door open before you even reach them.

“Where the hell have you been?” he shouts. “We heard screaming, I thought you were dead!”

“We almost were,” JJ snaps, climbing in behind you. “One of those things came at us.”

John B leans forward over the steering wheel, face grim under the red dashboard lights. “We’re out of time. They’re shutting everything down. Bridge is already crawling with military trucks.”

You slam the door just as the engine revs.

The tires screech. John B jerks the wheel, pulling away from the curb so hard you feel your body lurch sideways. He doesn’t slow down. The street blurs past—yards, fences, blown-out porch lights. You see fires in the distance, smoke bleeding into the sky.

“Is it true?” Pope asks from the front seat. “That it’s everywhere?”

“Yeah,” JJ says. “It’s not just the island. They’ve got martial law orders all over. We have to make it off before they barricade everything.”

John B kept the truck low and fast, weaving between abandoned cars, fences, and bodies. Real ones. Not just the infected.

“Where’s that quarantine zone?” Pope finally asked, breaking the silence. His voice cracked. “The emergency one they’re setting up. It’s even real?”

JJ answered before John B could.

“It’s real. I heard guys at the marina talking about it. FEMA and FEDRA are setting up temporary holding zones like processing centers before they move people to the inland.”

“Where?” you asked.

JJ glanced at you, eyes dark in the dim light. “Mainland. By the old ferry terminal.”

You sat back, feeling the hum of the tires beneath you. Processing centers. Like livestock.

When you arrive at the bridge, it’s loomed ahead lined with military vehicles, barricades, men with rifles and stiff jaws.

John B slowed as he pulled onto the shoulder behind a row of silent, idle cars. A single checkpoint light flickered weakly in the dark, casting shadows against chain-link fences. A soldier stepped out. He raised one hand.

“Stop the vehicle! Keep your hands visible!”

John B’s fingers tightened around the wheel. “Everybody, don’t move.”

Another soldier moved along the side of the truck, rifle aimed low but ready.

“What’s your status?” the man barked.

JJ muttered under his breath, “What the hell does that even mean?”

Pope answered fast, “We’re healthy. No bites. We’re just trying to get out.”

The soldier’s light cut across JJ’s face. “ID?”

“We’re local,” John B said, and that clearly wasn’t the right answer. The soldier turned his head, muttering something into a radio clipped to his vest.

JJ shifted. You reached across and grabbed his wrist under the bat.

“Don’t,” you whispered.

“Step out of the vehicle. One at a time. Hands up.”

You all moved, slowly, carefully. JJ was the last to exit. The four of you stood in the orange glow of floodlights as the soldier swept a scanner over each of your arms. A cold beep followed each one.

“Looks clear” the man muttered.

But he didn’t lower his weapon. A second soldier approached with a clipboard. “Group of four, unregistered. No assigned housing, no prior QZ status. They go into temporary hold.”

“Where?” Pope asked.

The man didn’t answer. He just motioned toward a fenced-off zone across the bridge. You could see other groups there huddled, cold, some with children, others coughing into their sleeves. Canvas tents stood crooked under floodlights. Men in hazmat suits moved like ghosts between them.

JJ stared, jaw clenched. “You said this was just a checkpoint.”

“This is the checkpoint,” the soldier replied. “That’s where you wait.”

He shoved open the gate.

—

The temporary quarantine zone smells like sweat, bleach, and dirt. It’s sterile, metallic. Like biting a battery.

Canvas walls flap weakly in the wind, barely held by aluminum rods hammered into cracked pavement. The floodlights above burn too bright, bleaching everything in cold white. The kind of light that makes shadows too sharp and the air too thin.

A steady line of people winds toward a folding table where two soldiers stand beside a man in scrubs holding a clipboard. The stench of antiseptic clings to everything. You feel exposed. Like the light’s stripping you down, inch by inch, peeling the skin off everyone. Every breath feels too loud. Too desperate.

The line crawls forward. The murmurs around you are like a low hum, a desperate need to be anywhere but here. Sniffling kids, a father hissing at his son to sit still, a woman rocking back and forth, whispering prayers to no one. Someone coughs behind you, a wet, raw sound that causes everyone to stiffen, but no one dares to turn around.

You don’t remember when your legs started shaking. It’s like your body knew before your brain did.

This place isn’t for keeping people safe. It’s for sorting them. And you’re not sure what category you belong to.

The hum of the floodlights burrows into your skull. It’s not just a sound anymore, it’s a thought like a high-pitched idea that echoes through your teeth.

Obey. Obey. Obey.

The line shifts again, and Pope is gone. No time for goodbyes, just a sharp glance, a silent command “stay sane” but it’s hard to imagine that’s even possible. Then John B follows.

And then it’s just you and JJ. The silence between you two feels heavier, thicker. Like the air’s curdled around you, pressing down.

JJ’s breathing is too fast. You feel it before you hear it—the twitch of his hand at his side, the nervous tapping of his foot against the cracked pavement, like a countdown to something he dreads but can't stop. He glances around like he wants to bolt, but doesn’t know where to run or how to start. He looks at you, his mouth a tight line, and you feel the weight of the moment hanging in the air while he fidgets, his hand jerking toward his pocket before he stops himself.

The soldiers close in. The one who steps toward you is nothing but cold eyes and rubber gloves, moving with a precision that feels practiced. The soldier who points to you might as well be death itself.

Her voice is soft. Too soft. “You. Next.”

JJ’s hand shoots out before you even realize it, gripping your arm like he’s already losing you. His voice raw and desperate. “Just a second—”

They move toward him, and it’s like the world shifts. His grip tightens around your arm, but it’s not enough to keep you grounded. His face is strained, his eyes wild with something you can’t name, but the words die in his throat before he can say anything more.

And then they drag him away.

You don’t have time to say anything. There’s no chance to reach for him, to stop them. They take him, just like that, like it’s nothing more than routine and all that’s left is the cold light and the echo of his name still hanging in the air.

You feel like you can't move. The soldier’s eyes are cold, uninterested. She’s already moving you forward.

You can still feel JJ’s grip. Like a phantom pulse in your skin.

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