#black rose is a glorious rose

[roselyn-writing]

[holybibly]

𝔐𝔶 𝔏𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔈𝔪𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰 | Seonghwa x reader

Pairing: Emperor Seonghwa x Virgin Bride reader Summary: You dreamed that your love would be like a cherry blossom - tender and beautiful, but instead you are going to get married to the Great Emperor of the Park Dynasty - the cruel and depraved "Lunar Dragon" Park Seonghwa.

Genre / Au / Trope : Smut, historical!AU, arranged marriage!AU, s2l, Royal!AU, Rating: 18+ / 21+ / MDNI Word count: 11.6 k

Warnings: Unprotected sex, deflowering, corruption kink, first time, virgin kink, fingering, degrading, pet names, size kink, dirty talk, explicit sexual content, explicit language, oral, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, сreampie, rough sex, rough oral, power play, praise kink, and more.

net: @cultofdionysusnet A|N: Bunnies, as promised, I am going to spoil you with something absolutely glorious and wicked at the same time. Elegant depravity, that's what this is. Although I struggled to make this work, it has turned out to be absolutely amazing. I hope you're going to love Emperor Seonghwa as much as I love him. Have fun, bunnies, tonight is the night of the fall of the stars.

ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 @tiny-apocalypse @captain-joongz @alicedawitchbish @woohwababes @wlv-asteria @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisprincesss @lavishloving @teagietots @spooo00oky @sousydive @hwapou @bunnliix @softwsan @mjyungi @fantasy2wonderland @noirsfantasy @cassies-cookies @renaholicss @luffypants @hyukssunflower @watermelon2319 @peachygiku @bunnyxoxodarling @stolasisyourparent @soranosnowbunny @certifiedmoa @sanglix @slvtiny @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @hecateslittlewitchling @xxawl @pastellbunno @starlletsblog @seonghwasstar @hwanring @vtyb23 @pearltinyy @minjaeum @chasevixx @bomi-ja @onedumbho3 @sanglix @cursedeastern @itza-meee @pinkies-things @atinism @mxnsxngie @nenefix-on @therealcuppicake @annafeebou @sharksandminhos @@lixies-pixieboy @@vampzity @0rangemilk @yellow-foxxing

"Mom, I'm so frightened..." You barely whisper as you sit in front of the luxurious, heavy, gold-framed mirror as servants scurry about you, combing your long, jet-black hair and gathering the smooth, silky tresses into a traditional wedding hairstyle. Massive gold jewelry set with rubies and topaz framed your head and secured your long scarlet veil—the veil of a virgin bride. You stared at your reflection in the mirror with large, wide-open eyes full of anxiety, your hands trembling nervously as you clasped the thin silk of the white robe in your lap. Your whole body was slightly shuddering with a sense of fear and dread that bound your chest like stems of icy roses full of sharp thorns, which wrapped around your delicate, pale bones and prevented you from taking a full breath. It was so natural to be afraid, not only of the fact that in a few hours you would be the wife of a great and powerful man, a man who had power over everything in your world—the greatest emperor of the Park Dynasty, "Lunar Dragon" Seonghwa—but also of your first wedding night. 

"You should be proud of the fact that the Great Emperor has chosen you out of a million other girls, Y/N. His Majesty Emperor Seonghwa wants you and only you, and you must obey his wish without questioning and be the wife he would admire. You have my meaning, Y/N." Your mother said. She looked at the magnificent crimson robe, richly embroidered with gold thread, that the Emperor had chosen for you. The robe was magnificent, a perfect embodiment of His Majesty's exquisite taste and the ancient traditions of the ruling Park dynasty. Only surpassed by the brilliance of the great stars themselves and the hypnotic glow of Emperor Seonghwa's dark feline eyes were the stars and moons embroidered on the seemingly endless tail of your wedding gown. "After all, the empress must be a virgin when she ascends the throne; that is the tradition, and your purity and chastity will give the emperor a strong heir." Your mother's voice was calm and unemotional. It was as if she were talking about the most mundane of things, not your virginity. 

Your mother had explained to you many times how things were going to go down on your wedding night. She hadn't gone into great detail, only saying that you should do your best to please the Emperor. But now you had a good idea of what would happen when you were alone with the Seonghwa, and it couldn't help but frighten you. 

The marriage contract between your family and the ruling Park dynasty was made almost immediately after the birth of the current Emperor Seonghwa. Your family had many daughters, each one more beautiful than the one before. You never thought that you, the youngest of them all, would be the future wife of the Emperor. You had only met Seonghwa once, and then only briefly, remembering only his blowing in the wind silk robes, turquoise, and his long hair, the most beautiful shade of sakura blossom. 

But you have heard many gossipy stories about Seonghwa, and they filled you with fear and kept you awake at night. 

He was a cruel ruler—overbearing, selfish, proud, and arrogant. And Seonghwa was also absolutely insatiable; all the servants in the palace whispered about what a huge sexual appetite the emperor had and that his poor virgin bride would not be able to properly satisfy his hunger and desires. He had a huge harem of girls and handsome, exquisite young men who rotated in and out of His Majesty's chambers with an enviable frequency. Seonghwa never fucked the same concubine more than once. He could point his finger at anyone who interested him, and that person would be in his bed in no time. And tonight you will have to share his bed, and unlike the concubines who spend the night with him and then disappear into the luxurious gardens of the harem to continue their lives, you will have to stay by his side until death do you part, serving and worshipping him as your emperor and husband. And, of course, you will have to provide him with an heir—preferably more than one.

The purpose of your life is the continuation of the dynasty. 

You were intensely jealous of all your sisters, who were free to choose their husbands, who were free to marry for love, now that you would be the bearer of the unbearable burden of the crown. You never asked for it; you never wished for it. Seonghwa was extremely wealthy; he was the most powerful ruler in the world. He enslaved and conquered lands as if it were child's play. Even though the Emperor showered you with jewelry and gave you lavish gifts to marry, you didn't care. He would never love you, and you couldn't imagine a world where you could have love and desire for a man who knew nothing but the flames of war and debauchery. 

"I'm very scared of him, Mum..." You said again as you watched one of the maids place a golden hairpin set with a black onyx into your hair, given to you by one of the Seven Great Generals of Seonghwa, Choi San.

The dark-eyed demon had given it to you personally this morning, and looking at the man's otherworldly beauty, you couldn't help but think of the rumors that the generals were bound to Seonghwa not only by the battlefield and the hot blood that ran down their arms like scarlet rivers, but also by the silk sheets of the emperor's bed. And perhaps the devilish gleam in San's eyes as his plump, soft lips pressed sensuously against your wrist in a sign of respect meant that you would be able to confirm or deny the rumor in no time at all.

Right now, all you wanted was for your mother to make everything better for you, to spare you from the fears and terrible thoughts that swirled around in your head like a swirl of falling sakura petals, the color of which reminded you of Seonghwa's hair. You were a grown girl, hours away from becoming Empress, but there was a small part of you that longed to be safe and comforted by your mother. You wished with all your heart that she would be able to make Emperor Seonghwa change his mind and choose one of your sisters instead of you.

But it was impossible to do that. No one in this world had the right to go against the wishes of the great Emperor 'Lunar Dragon' Park Seonghwa. He chose you without even bothering to explain why, simply pointing his finger at you as you spent time with your sisters in the Imperial Garden during one of your family's visits to the palace. 

"She will be my Empress. She will be mine." Seonghwa said, and you saw the eyes of your mother glisten with tears that had not been shed.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." Your mother whispered to you. "But perhaps the Emperor will be a good husband. If he wants to have strong and healthy heirs, he'll have to treat you well."

Your mother tried so hard to be brave for you, and you were forever grateful to her for that. In your family, it was always believed that a man had to treat his wife well if he wanted her to bear him a large number of children. And your father really did idolize her, judging by the fact that your mother gave birth to nine children. You could only hope that Emperor Park would follow this wisdom, but you really had doubts that Seonghwa would make any effort to honor and follow your family's traditions. He probably didn't care about anything except increasing his power and satisfying his animal sexual desires. 

Seonghwa was a true dragon, not only by blood but by nature. A predatory beast dressed in silk robes and glittering jewels. 

"I will do my best to please him." You murmured, and you immediately heard the soft chuckle of a maid tucking a veil into your hair. You cast an angry glance at the slender girl, and her cheeks flushed in an instant. But you could understand the reason for her laughter. What pleasure could a virgin give an experienced and lecherous emperor, whose luxurious bed was warmed by the most beautiful and seductive girls and boys in the empire? 

It was a bit of a delusion on your part to wish for that. Most likely, Songhwa would see you as just another beautiful thing in his collection, spending the rest of your life bearing children and sitting on a velvet cushion. Once the wedding ceremony was over, you would be nothing more than his next great conquest. 

"Give me your hand, My Lady." Another of the maids spoke to you politely, and you reluctantly held out your cold palm to her. The girl carefully placed a heavy gold bracelet on your wrist, engraved with a dragon with rubies glinting ominously in its eyes; it was more like a shackle, another gift from the General, this time given to you by the magnificent Kim Hongjoong. 

As you knew, Hongjoong was not only one of the seven generals and Seonghwa's confidant, but also his close childhood friend, with whom he grew up and shared everything in his life. Hongjoong was also the one who visited you more often than the other generals. He had a devilish gaze and a sly curve of blood-red lips, and he instilled in you the same animal terror as Seonghwa himself. You thought that everything he touched or said had an ulterior motive, and frankly, you didn't really want to know the true meaning of his actions, but the smile he gave you last night when he handed you the bracelet left you no choice. Sooner or later, you will find out, but by then, it will be too late to try to escape the Golden Emperor's cage. Your life, like your body, will belong to Seonghwa from now on. 

You swallowed hard as the maids began to remove the robe from your shoulders. It exposed your sun-untouched skin. 

"My Lady, it is time..." 

You could hear your mother sobbing softly as the bloody silk flowed down your body. She seemed to be holding back the tears from all of them for your sake. Your heart was beating faster, and your fingers were starting to tremble. You were only a few hours away from your inevitable destiny and several miles of ceremonial procession, at the end of which would be the Great Lunar Dragon, Seonghwa Park.

The anxiety of it all almost made your stomach hurt. 

The wedding ceremony was grand; your golden palanquin was carried solemnly down a street strewn with flowers and silk ribbons to the cheers of the crowd welcoming their new Empress. The flash of his cherry blossom hair and the firm, possessive palm of his hand that took yours before leading you up the great staircase 'to heaven' are all you can remember of Seonghwa. It was all a blur to you—the rich scent of incense and flowers making your head spin and a nervous knot tightening in the pit of your stomach. Your hands were cold in the Emperor's hot palms as you made your marriage vows. Your lips trembled as you swore to be his precious wife and to carry the burden of a great empire on your shoulders as his Empress. Tears welled up in your eyes. 

Songhwa's soft, velvety voice whispered in your ear, "You belong to me.". 

Nothing in the universe could have prepared you for his kiss - fiery, passionate, and hungry, it seemed as if Songhwa wanted to drink your soul through that kiss, to consume you whole, to turn your will and your desires to ashes. You heard the rapturous cheers of the seven generals and other cronies of the ruling Park dynasty. The Emperor's graceful palm encircled your neck from behind and pulled you closer to him. Your knees buckled, and you could barely breathe as Songhwa's long, hot tongue took possession of your mouth, wrapping around your own tongue and sliding across your palate and the inside of your cheeks. His thumb pressed lightly against the pulsing vein in your neck, your pulse racing beneath his soft fingertip as his teeth dug into your plump lower lip, almost biting to the blood. 

You wanted to scream in pain, but there were too many people around—too many angry tongues dripping venom—just waiting to start gossiping about you. So instead, you tried to distract yourself from the pain and focus on something else.

But instead, your eyes were captured by the seductive gaze of the siren belonging to none other than General Jung Wooyoung. His full, sensuous lips parted as if he were enjoying the kiss itself, the sharp tip of his tongue sliding across the soft, red flesh of his lower lip, leaving him glistening and moist. You had the feeling that his dark, almost black eyes were gliding over your body. His gaze was shamelessly undressing you, while his friend, his Emperor, was devouring your mouth with a hungry, passionate kiss. You looked away in shame and embarrassment.

When Seonghwa finally let go of you and allowed you to take a long-awaited deep breath, you felt like you were going to faint. Just a small glimpse of what awaited you on your wedding night sent shivers of fear down your spine. 

"You belong to me. Forever." Seonghwa whispers again, and you have a full understanding of the meaning of his words. Yes, you really do belong to him right now.

When it's time for you to leave the ceremony and prepare for your first wedding night, you almost start to gasp. You catch San's dark, demonic gaze as he leans over to whisper something into General Kim's ear. His words cause Hongjoong's blood-red lips to curl into an evil, almost devilish grin. Even through the many layers of heavy silk, you can feel the flames of his gaze burning through your skin. 

"Your Majesty..." You turn your head to the side, only to find yourself facing the goddess Aphrodite herself, in the form of a man. General Kang Yeosang has always held a special place in your heart. Gentle and elegant like an exotic flower, his speech always soft and soothing, and his deep, velvety voice like the call of a chamois. Seonghwa's hair may have been the color of delicate sakura petals, and his eyes may have been brighter than all the stars in the endless midnight sky, but that was just a facade to hide the lustful and cruel devil that lurked inside. Yeosang, on the other hand, in spite of his wicked beauty, was the very embodiment of an angel. You will have heard the servants of the palace call him the Black Swan of the Empire. 

Yeosan's soft and gentle nature might have reassured you and even given you some semblance of comfort before Seonghwa ravaged your body and took what was now his—your virginity. But the sensual curve of his plump lips and the hungry glint in the dark eyes of the siren, General Jung Wooyoung, who now extended his palm to you in an inviting gesture, sent an icy shiver down your spine. You rarely saw Wooyoung, and when you did, there was always a decent distance or several other people between you, so you had never felt his presence as close as you did now, and you had never been so fascinated by the sharpness of his face or the small mole under his eye, and this feeling frightened you as much as it frightened Seonghwa and Hongjoong. 

"Your Majesty, it's time for you to go." As he turned to you, Wooyoung's voice was sultry and hoarse. It made you feel as if the flames themselves were licking at your body or at the lips of your lover in the heat of a forbidden caress. 

"I...my maids should see me out. General Jung, thank you." You bite your lip nervously and look around, hoping to find your maids and avoid the two generals' eyes on you, but instead you see Seonghwa watching you intently, his head tilted slightly to the side, a few soft pink strands falling onto his gorgeous face. If he could only have a breath, it would be majestic. Seonghwa was indeed the true embodiment of the divine Lunar Dragon.

"His Majesty, the Emperor Seonghwa, has ordered us to escort you to his chambers in person." It was Yeosang's voice this time. Something about the way he said your husband's name aroused you, and not in the most pleasant way.

"I... I'm not quite sure, General Kang." You have an almost pathetic look on your face, an attempt to delay the inevitable, and to be honest, you had no desire to be in the company of any of the seven illustrious generals right now. 

Wooyoung just grinned mischievously at your words, obviously finding you very amusing. As he leaned closer, his lips almost touched your earlobe, and you could smell the scent of sandalwood emanating from his caramel skin. 

"Don't make him wait, dear. Seonghwa is an impatient and passionate lover; the longer you resist him, the harder he will be with you, and we don't want a jewel like you to be injured, do we?" 

"Stop it, Wooyoung; you're scaring her." Yeosang hisses, but does nothing to contradict the words of General Jung. 

You swallow noisily and silently place your cold, clammy palm in Wooyoung's hand, letting him and Yeosang escort you to the Emperor's quarters. The last thing you notice as you leave the Ceremonial Hall, where the noisy festivities of the Imperial Wedding will continue until dawn, is the sensual curve of Seonghwa's luscious, plump lips as he smiles at you and the glimmer of ominous rubies in the eyes of the golden dragon on the very same bracelet you wear on your arm, jingling on Hongjoong's slender wrist as he lazily waves goodbye to you.

"You don't have to worry that hard, Y/N." Wooyoung says as he pulls the heavy silk of your wedding gown off your shoulders, and you might have resented the familiarity with which he addressed you if you hadn't felt the glide of his fingertips over your bare skin. The whole situation was confusing, to say the least. Completely beyond any conscious explanation, two great generals of the Empire are now acting as your personal maids, helping you change your dress, removing your jewelry, and unraveling the intricacies of your wedding hairstyle.

Letting them treat you like a doll, undressing you layer by layer, and exposing more and more of your body to their dark gaze, you didn't know how to react or what to say. Wooyoung's breath was hot on the back of your neck, while Yeosang's cold fingers brushed over your collarbones as he removed the massive gold necklace. They continued their actions until you were left in the thin white dress that was the base of your outfit, and the only jewelry you wore was a black onyx stud given to you by San and, as it turned out, a paired bracelet from Hongjoong. 

"Everything will be alright, Your Majesty." Yeosang gently ran his thumb over your wrist, the feel of your pulse racing under his touch. He liked the fact that he was making you nervous; your reaction brought a smile to his beautiful lips. Wooyoung's arms wrapped around your waist for a second, and his firm, hot chest pressed tightly against your back. You could swear you could feel his heart beating through your skin at that moment; he was so close to you. 

"We will leave you now, my... Empress." It was almost as if he whispered the last word into your skin. "Enjoy your night." His touch was gone as suddenly as it had appeared, and you could feel the cold air of the room now caressing you as General Jung's hot body moved away from you. 

"Try to relax and let Seonghwa take care of you; I promise nothing terrible will happen to you." Yeosang leaned down and planted a chaste kiss on your cheek before following Wooyoung out of the room, leaving you all alone—completely confused, frightened, and not knowing what to expect from Seonghwa if his generals could afford to treat you like this. 

"Lunar Dragon" - the great Emperor Park Seonghwa is standing in front of you. His luxurious long hair, the colour of sakura petals, was still partially gathered on his head by long crystal hairpins. Teardrop-shaped crystals were dangling from them. He had replaced his heavy ceremonial robes with a light mantle of the most beautiful snow-white silk you've ever seen - dragons embroidered in silver and turquoise danced on the fabric like in the clouds. You can see his naked, chiseled torso, his muscular chest rising and falling to the rhythm of his measured breathing. Seonghwa's appearance is completely relaxed, but everything about him is a scream of the majesty and power he has over this world. He notices the way your eyes slide down his body, his lips curling into a satisfied, smug grin. You blush and lower your eyes to the floor.

Your heart is beating at breakneck speed against your ribs, and you have the feeling that Seonghwa can easily hear the sound. Your mother told you that you might feel aroused when you were alone with the Emperor, that you would want to touch his body, taste his lips, feel his hot hands on you, and maybe even feel his mouth on your private parts, but you... you didn't want to. You didn't feel aroused at all. You were afraid of Seonghwa, and after what Wooyoung had said to you in the ceremonial hall today, you were even more afraid of him, and no amount of assurances from Yeosang that everything would be all right could change your mind. You were afraid to even look him in the eye, and you clutched the fabric of your dress nervously in your hands, trying to calm yourself.  

"My Emperor, are you going to hurt me today?" You were so stupid, good Lord, you couldn't think of anything else to say? Apart from the wedding vows, these were the first words you'd ever spoken to him directly, and you couldn't think of anything else to say: "Will you hurt me?" For some strange reason, you expected that after the wedding you would magically feel like a different person, that after saying your vows, your animal fear of Seonghwa would disappear. It didn't happen at all. You continued to feel frightened and ignorant, and completely at the mercy of the Emperor.

You could feel the weight of his heavy, hypnotic gaze on your skin as he silently scanned your body through the thin, transparent dress that you wore. He was looking at you shamelessly and greedily, and it only served to increase your fear. Seonghwa's long fingers cupped your chin and lifted your face. The soft pad of his thumb is pressed against your lower lip. You hesitantly met his gaze, your eyes instantly held hostage by the magnetic, bottomless eyes of the Emperor. Sharp and soft, demonic and angelic, sparkling like eternal stars and impenetrable like the thickest darkness, you had never met anyone with such eyes. His almost black irises flickered like flames, as if they were absorbing the glow of the candlelight. 

"Is that the way you are supposed to address your husband, hmm? Call me by my name." Seonghwa's command to you. The sound of his voice was like liquid silk. Seonghwa grabbed your chin with his graceful hand and tilted your head even higher. You had to strain your neck to hold his gaze with your eyes. 

"M-my Emperor..." Your voice trembles, and in spite of the clear command, you say something completely different from what Seonghwa wants you to say. 

His finger presses harder against your lip, the sharp nail digging into the soft flesh in a painful way, and your mouth opens automatically. 

"I want to hear you say my name, my love. And you need to obey without questioning, darling. You don't want to upset me. Do you?" Seonghwa's tone of voice is still soft and velvety, but you can hear the small hint of a hidden threat in his words. And it is scaring the hell out of you right now. To be honest, you don't want to say his name at all. There's something about it that feels like an irreversible end, like if you say it out loud, you're going to lose any semblance of controlling your life. But there can be no disobedience, especially not now.

"Seonghwa." It's easier than you thought, but for some reason, his name still leaves a bitter taste on the tip of your tongue. 

He turns away from you, instead walking over to the luxurious bed and lowering himself smoothly onto it. The flaps of his robe swing further open, and the wide silk collar slides off his shoulders as he sits down on the soft feather bed. You can't help but admire the Emperor for a moment as strands of pink hair fall across his handsome face. 

His eyes narrowed predatorily for a second. His gorgeous, god-like face takes on a sharp, animal beauty, but it's only for a moment before his expression becomes majestically relaxed again. 

"There you are, good girl." His praise is as condescending as if he were addressing one of the many maids in the palace instead of his Empress. Without taking his eyes off you, Seonghwa pushes his thumb fully into your mouth, pressing it against your tongue's soft, slippery surface. Your eyes widen at the action. "Lick it." He gives the order again, and you weakly run your tongue along the pad of his finger, leaving a thick trail of saliva on it. Then he pulls the finger out of your mouth, takes a step back, and, looking you in the eye, pushes the wet finger into his mouth. His plump lips close in an erotic way around the long appendage as he sucks weakly on it. Heat floods your whole face at this seemingly innocent act, but when Seonghwa does it, it looks so damn lewd and lascivious.

"Strip for me." Seonghwa's voice commands you.

The cold air of his chambers was now licking at your skin, causing your sensitive nipples to tense and swell in response. Embarrassed, you covered yourself with your arms and crossed your legs slightly to hide your pussy from the dark, burning gaze of the Emperor. At that moment, Seonghwa reminded you of a huge, contented cat that had gotten the cream. He leaned back slightly on his hands on the bed, arching his back and tilting his head to the side, making the muscles in his long, thin neck tense. Seductive wasn't a strong enough word to describe the way the Emperor looked right now. Depraved? Vicious? Devilish? Maybe it was all of those things at the same time. 

Your cheeks were burning with embarrassment. His command was clear and precise, and the fear of being completely vulnerable in front of him made your heart beat even faster. Your fingers trembled as you reached for the wide waistband of your dress. It had all happened so very quickly. Your mind had barely had time for a moment's reflection. You knew that it was best to obey him and not question what he wanted. Carefully, you unbuckled the belt, and the dress slid gently down your body before it spilled out in a puddle of silk on the floor at your feet. 

"I-I... do you like it?" You asked him. Your voice was barely above a whisper. God, it was so embarrassing. Would this happen every time you shared a bed with him? You lowered your eyes to the floor, unable to bear to look at his hungry, lustful gaze. 

"Ain't you a pretty little jewel, huh? It was so sweet of you to ask me that. Now take your hands away, so that I can see the whole of your pretty body."

His words caused you to let out a soft squeak, as you were completely shocked. It was humiliating, to say the least. It was one thing to be lying naked under someone else, but it was a lot more vulnerable to find yourself completely naked in the middle of the room. But there was no way you could forbid the Emperor to look at your body the way he wanted to. The words he had spoken earlier were still running through your mind: "You belong to me." So you obeyed him once more, even though everything in your heart was telling you not to. 

"What's a gem? Are you so embarrassed already?" Seonghwa laughed grimly as he looked at your naked body; his eyes lingered on your pussy as he sensually ran the tip of his long tongue over his plump, sensual lips. "Come closer to me, darling." 

God, it seemed like it couldn't get any worse, but obviously the Emperor had thought a lot about how to make you squirm without even touching you. You took a couple of steps forward until you were standing between his legs as they spread apart. 

"Now turn around for me." His voice dropped a couple of octaves, the velvety tone getting darker and more husky. Your face turned even more red, and your lips began to quiver. You slowly turned away from him so that he had a good view of your bottom. You could feel his predatory eyes on the small of your back and his greedy gaze on your crotch. You almost screamed as you felt his hands on your hips, pulling you down with all their might until you were sitting on the bed between his legs. Seonghwa pressed his body against your back, and it reminded you of Wooyoung, but that thought disappeared as quickly as it had appeared when his hands cupped your breasts and his full lips were pressed against your ear. "You're supposed to please me, you know." He said. His hot breath flowed over the soft skin of your ear with each letter of the word he spoke. It sent a shiver down the length of your body. "Remember this." He squeezed your breasts roughly, causing you to give a soft whimper. 

"Yes, Your Majesty…" You breathed out.

Your breasts were terribly sensitive under his rough and skilled hands, and you were so overwhelmed by the sensation that you collapsed completely into his arms. You had no idea how pleasurable it could be; you'd never played with your boobs before. As Seonghwa's long fingers brushed lightly over your swollen nipples, a soft moan of pleasure escaped your open lips. 

"You're so sensitive, my little jewel, and that's what I love about virgins; you're all so sweet and shy, you blush and whimper at the slightest touch. But do you know what it is that I love the most?" Seonghwa asked you as he gently twisted your nipples with his long, thin fingers, making you moan and shake your head in a negative way. "Most of all, I love to see the look on their pretty faces when I stretch their tight little cunts with my big, thick cock. I love the sound of them moaning my name as they cum on my tongue." God, that was just too much. 

The combination of the Emperor's deep, hypnotic voice and how dirty and disgusting his words were almost made you whimper pitifully. His hands continued to play expertly with your heavy, plump tits, massaging and squeezing the flesh as his fingers tweaked and pulled at the hard, sensitive nipples. The tender skin of your breasts reddened under his firm grip. Unconsciously, you rested your head on his shoulder, becoming more and more lost in the sensation of his touch on your body. 

"But you are my shining star; you are special to me, unlike those whores who live only with the thought of being filled with Imperial sperm. They will never be able to stand in your shoes, and none of them will ever be the mother of my heir. None of them will ever be my Empress." One of his hands slid down your belly until his hot palm cupped your pussy in a possessive way. His long middle finger pressed between your labia to feel the moisture that had accumulated there. Your breath caught in your throat as Seonghwa pulled roughly on your nipple, his palm pressing even harder against your cunt. "I'm going to fuck that virgin pussy until your belly swells up with my heir." His lips brushed against your ear again, and he whispered in a sultry voice. "And maybe it won't just be mine, if you know what I mean." 

Seonghwa began to kiss your neck, leaving scorching, open-mouthed kisses on your skin. His lips were plush and moist as they glided over the sensitive veins and nerves, which flowed in bluish, translucent rivers beneath the pallor of your skin. You moaned and unconsciously pressed your pussy harder against his hand as Seonghwa's teeth bit into a particularly sensitive spot on your neck. The Emperor ran the tips of his fingers along the silken folds of your cunt, the moisture clinging to his fingers.

"I-I...oh..." Endless moans echoed through the room as Seonghwa's finger pads pressed against your sensitive clit. The light pressure on the swollen bundle of nerves sent waves of pleasure through your body. 

"Can you feel it, my star? Do you have a sense of how swollen and wet your pussy is?" The Emperor's words caused another moan to escape your lips; your mind was hazy and distant, and Seonghwa's voice was luring you deeper and deeper into the trap of lust and pleasure. "I can feel your desire, my jewel; your little cunt wants to be filled with cock so desperately." He said. Lost in the sounds and sensations of your own body, your hips twitched as his fingers began to circle your clit. Your breathing came and went, each exhale punctuated by a soft moan of pleasure. "Your virgin pussy is throbbing under my touch, my little star. I want to see you sink into ecstasy; I want to see that shy, innocent facade shatter as you cum and wriggle under my touch." Seonghwa removed his hand from your breast, then wrapped his fingers around your chin, turning your head sideways so your lips met his. "Under my tongue." He whispered before you had the taste of his kiss for the second time that night. You were so mesmerized by the feel of the Emperor's soft, luscious lips on yours that you didn't notice him pressing his hips against you.

You were whimpering into his mouth as you felt the hard, hot length of his cock pressing down hard against your arse. Your eyes widened in fear, and your mouth opened to allow Seonghwa's tongue to enter your mouth and wrap around your tongue in a sensual way.

Seonghwa's kiss to you at the wedding ceremony was nothing in comparison to the kiss he was giving you now. The impossible, hot-tight, sinful, shameful, pleasure-filled kiss that made you gasp and whimper against his lips. A low, guttural moan escaped from his lips, becoming almost animalistic in nature as his fingers slid deeper and deeper between your folds. Seonghwa growls and pulls his lips away from yours, swollen and tortured after his caresses them. You moan loudly as his fingers circle around your clit, your juices making it slick and slippery, and that just adding the stimulation. Mindlessly, you buck your hips against his touch, and he lets you do it, enjoying how desperate you are already looking. The Emperor was right. Virgins are always so easy, too pliable, and eager to be touched. And you, his precious little Empress, are no exception. 

His eyes were the trap of vice, the bottomless pit of lust and wickedness, but you couldn't look away from them. They were lustrous and almost black, like the onyx in the jewelled hairpin San had given you. They seemed to penetrate your very soul, making you shiver. A seductive grin played across his devilishly handsome face as his fingers continued to play with your pussy, making it more and more wet and in need of attention. You gasped for breath as you felt your little hole squeeze on nothing, and a thick, gooey drop of slime poured out of you. 

"Ahm-aah...Your Majesty...ahhhh...Seonghwa." You were at a loss for words and had no formula. Pleasure curled up at the core of your being, and you rolled your eyes in delight. 

"Yes, that's right, my star. Does it feel good? Do you like it when my fingers play with your little virgin pussy, when you feel them on your throbbing, swollen clit?" He asked. The silk of his voice was a breath that was a tickle to your ear.

"Your Majesty... It's... It's so embarrassing." 

His eyes flashed with pleasure, and the grip he had on your face was like a vice grip. You felt his hips jerk forward, and he pressed his cock harder against the soft flesh of your ass. His excitement was obvious. Suddenly, his fingers stopped teasing the folds of your cunt. Seonghwa brought them to his mouth instead. His eyes sparkled like jewels, seductive and dangerous, as his long tongue darted out of his mouth to lick the viscous fluid that ran down the long appendages. 

"You're sweet—maybe too sweet for your own good." Seonghwa wraps his arms around your neck and pulls you closer to his beautiful face, so that his lips make contact with yours once more. "And there's something you should know about me, my star: I have a horrible sweet tooth." Instantly, he releases you from his grip and changes position so that you're on your back, spread out on the beautiful sheets, his lithe body hovering over you. His hair is completely disheveled, long strands of pink falling haphazardly across his face, and you can see a faint blush on his cheeks and his luscious lips, swollen from kissing and taking on a darker shade. God, he looks like a true deity, and you can see why they call him the 'Lunar Dragon'; mere mortals can never be so majestic and seductive; they are not given that magnetic pull that draws everyone to this dangerous creature like a moth to a flame. 

Seonghwa slides down your body until his hands are cupped around your thighs, pulling them apart so that your juicy, wet cunt is exposed to his hungry gaze. He runs his fingers gently down your thick, soft thighs, squeezing your flesh together for a moment, the sharp tips of his nails digging painfully into your thighs, and you make a squeal at the rough caress. It was a terrible shame to lie there, completely naked, with your legs spread wide open, while Seonghwa towered over you, still fascinating and powerful, even if he did look a little disheveled. And what was even more humiliating was that you were already so wet for him—your juices were constantly flowing from your hole and dripping between your cheeks onto the silk of the sheets—but you didn't have time to think about that when Seonghwa pressed down on your clit without warning, making you gasp loudly. You almost screamed, your legs twitching in a feeble attempt to squeeze together as he skillfully circled the sensitive bundle of nerves, his fingernail lightly scraping the tender skin. 

"You have such a sweet little cunt, my star," Seonghwa whispered as he pushed your swollen labia apart to expose the soft pink inside. He bent his face over your pussy and let his hot breath flow over the sensitive flesh, causing even more fluid to spill out of your hole. "I will only say this once, my precious. You will be a good girl and take everything I give you. I will eat that sweet virgin cunt for as long as I want. If you dare to refuse, I will fuck you without any stretches at all, and believe me, unlike you, I am going to get a lot of pleasure when my cock rips that tight cunt in half. Do you understand me?"

"I-I, yes, I understand, Your Majesty." 

The first licks from Seonghwa's tongue on your juicy pussy made you arch your back and roll your eyes. The sensation was too overwhelming for your words. As soon as the Emperor had tasted you on his lips, he began to eat you with a hungry ferocity. Seonghwa plunged his tongue into your tight, wet hole, almost biting your tender, quivering folds, his teeth clawing at your swollen, sensitive clit, making you writhe and squirm as his hands gripped your thighs tighter. 

Seonghwa lived for the pussy, and he'd tasted a lot of it over the years, but your sweet virgin cunt tasted the best of all. His little Empress had the most amazing cunt of them all—a pussy that was worthy of an emperor. 

"I can't wait to get my tongue inside you, my star. Do you like it, my Empress? Tell me. Do you like my tongue in your slutty virgin pussy?" 

"Uh, huh... I... I... it feels so good... your Majesty..." You moaned.

Your viscous slime and his own saliva now coated Seonghwa's chin as his mouth pressed greedily against you, licking and lapping up all the juices flowing from you as if they were divine nectar. Your tight hole was twitching under the caress of his tongue, begging for filling. And who was he to refuse to give it to you? 

Seonghwa slid his finger into the throbbing warmth of your vagina, feeling the slight resistance of the muscles as the long appendage stretched your virgin entrance. He did it slowly, but you moaned in spite of himself as his finger filled you. His lips circled around your clit, slowly sucking at the sensitive cluster of nerves, and Seonghwa felt the warm, silky walls of your pussy tighten around his finger. 

"Y-Your Majesty... that's a lot... I" You found it hard to speak; hot excitement was flowing beneath your skin, making you helpless and pliable for him, but a sharp slap on your thigh made you cry out loudly. The mark of his hand bloomed like a rose on the milky surface of your skin. 

You continued to whimper as you responded to the rough and vulgar words the Emperor spoke to you. Not daring to take his eyes off the way your hole was absorbing them, Seonghwa added another finger. Your walls clenched around his fingers, trying to hold them in, even though the burning sensation of stretching made it difficult. To make it easier for Seonghwa to move his fingers in and out of your pussy, you tried to relax as much as possible. A lump of saliva landed on the top of your pussy and spread over your delicate folds. 

"My Name. I need you to moan out my name and nothing else, my star. I want to hear you say it out loud as I destroy you with my fingers and my tongue. Your hungry cunt swallows my fingers so well, my little 

Empress."

"Look at you, my star; you're so wet for me; you literally drip into my mouth. You are not so clean and pure any more, are you? Who would have thought that a beautiful lady would like to have her cunt licked?" The squelching of your wetness and Seonghwa's saliva as he slid two fingers in and out of your tight hole was loud and disgusting.  Seonghwa was mesmerized by the way your pussy clung to his fingers, his tongue circling the edges of your vagina, slipping inside slightly each time his fingers came out of you. 

You arch your back and feel a strange, crushing tension build up in your lower abdomen, and you clench the silk sheets in your fists. It's frightening, but somehow you have a desire for it to consume you completely. 

"Seonghwa, I... Oh God... I, I don't know, this feeling inside me..." Your breathing is ragged, with each word coming out of your mouth with difficulty. The Emperor lifts his hypnotic gaze up to you, his mouth still pressed against your pussy. His eyes are so dark and hypnotic—glimmering black stars in the lacy frame of his eyelashes—and you swear you see a flash of golden glow in them before it fades, leaving only lust and insatiable hunger. 

"My little Empress, you are about to cum for the first time, are you? Jewel, you must wait until I say so." Seonghwa growled as he squeezed the soft flesh of your thigh harder and harder, and you could already see the purple and black bruises that were beginning to form on your skin. "Your slutty cunt won't be able to come until I tell you to." You whimper pitifully at the command of authority in his velvety voice, your pussy clutching onto his two fingers. 

But Seonghwa doesn't seem to have had enough and decides to stretch you even further, trying to push a third finger inside you, causing you to squeal and jerk your hips in an attempt to avoid the stinging sensation inside you, but it has the exact opposite effect. Your abrupt movement forces his fingers deeper into you, hitting a particularly sensitive spot inside, and you gasp at the sharp sensation of delight that rips through you like a bolt of lightning. You are so lost in pleasure that you don't even notice the tip of his third finger as it enters you. 

Seonghwa is sucking on your clit in an almost lazy way, stretching and stimulating you at the same time. 

"S-Songhwa!" You almost start to cry, your eyes filling with tears from the mixture of feelings and emotions. This is too good to pass up, but at the same time, too much for you to bear. "Please, Seonghwa, Your Majesty." 

"Hmm, are you beggin' me already, my star? My little Еmpress, if you can't take my fingers, then you'll never be able to take my cock, and that is literally your only responsibility in life. To lie here in my bed and to fuck me like this. Your husband and your Еmperor. Seonghwa replies, licking the broad stripes between your trembling soft folds and pulling her fingers out of you to suck on your clenching, flowing hole. 

"I'm sorry... I'm t-trying to be a decent wife to you... I'm so sorry." You stutter. 

The Emperor slid three fingers back into your pussy, stroking your velvety walls and pressing the pads of his fingers against your G-spot as he did so. 

"You're so sweet, begging and crying like a pretty little girl, but you're not a girl anymore. You're my wife, my Empress, so be damned obedient to me and take everything I give you without objection." When he had finished speaking, his lips were around your exhausted clit again. 

"Oh, please, Seonghwa! P-please, I need...I want...please let me come...I promise I'll be so good to you." Tears streamed down your face as your whole body began to shake a little, and you lifted your hips to press even harder against Seonghwa. 

Seonghwa seems to have decided to spare you this time, enjoying how desperate and needy you look—all that crying and whining, and he hasn't even fucked you properly. But it's not over yet. 

"If you want it so badly, darling, you can cum." As soon as those words fall from his flushed, swollen lips, it feels as if your whole body is completely attuned to his every command or desire, and you arch up almost immediately, rolling your eyes and experiencing your first real orgasm on Seonghwa's long, slender fingers. Seonghwa lets out a deep, low moan as he watches you writhe in pleasure as he continues to finger-fuck you until you begin to whimper and beg him to stop.

"I'm not done with you yet, my star." Seonghwa whispers in a grim voice as he pushes his fingers into your wet and sensitive pussy. You're almost incoherent at this point, shaking with excitement as he pulls his fingers out of you and crawls up your body to pull you into a hot, dirty kiss. His lips, chin, and cheeks are wet and sticky with your juices, but he doesn't care; he doesn't bother wiping, preferring to fuck your mouth with his tongue. 

As Seonghwa pulled away from your lips and allowed you to take a full breath, the look on his face took on that predatory animal look that you'd seen on him before tonight, and it was crystal clear to you what was going to happen next. Fear and excitement at the prospect of finally losing your virginity mix together in your heart. You weren't sure if the feeling was one of relief or horror, but your body was already on edge with anticipation. You could feel your stomach twist with desire and excitement, and you were absolutely shocked that your body reacted in this way even after an orgasm. 

"And now, my little Empress, I would like to show you what it means to be the wife of the Emperor. His beautiful cock sleeve." Seonghwa gets down from you, but only to take off his silk robe and to pull his trousers down over his long legs until he is completely naked. His hair is now completely loose, long strands the color of sakura petals falling freely over his shoulders and chest. You would want to admire how beautiful his face looks framed by his pink silk hair if your eyes weren't focused on his cock pressed against his flat, embossed belly. Like everything about His Majesty Emperor Seonghwa, his cock was just as magnificent and attractive: the hard, thick length was slippery and glistening with pre-cum flowing from the dark pink head, the vein bulging with tension stood out on its velvety girth, and overall, his cock made you inexplicably want to run your tongue over it and taste its flavor. You swallowed loudly, turning your head to the side, a crimson blush of embarrassment mixing with the lust that now filled your veins with something intoxicating and forbidden and spreading across your rounded cheeks. 

Your mouth opened to say something, but you quickly shut it when you noticed that he had raised his perfect eyebrow in a slightly mocking expression. His movements were slow and elegant as he crawled across the bed towards you like some mythical beast. Long fingers wrapped around your ankle before he pulled you towards him until his body was between your spread legs. He towered over you—magnificent, almost divine—making you feel small and fragile. Strands of his long, sakura-colored hair fell around his slender body. His smooth skin shimmered like liquid gold in the soft, diffused light of the candle.

His graceful hand slid up the curve of your thigh, caressing your soft skin where the marks of his possessive touch had already blossomed, and higher and higher until it reached your full breasts. Seonghwa squeezed your breast before running his fingers around the swollen pink nipple. A pitiful moan escaped your lips as his luxurious, juicy lips connected with another hardened bud and sucked it roughly into his hungry, beautiful mouth. You meowed in response, the new kind of stimulation causing you to arch your back in pleasure and unconsciously push your breasts closer to him. He purred velvetily, flicking his tongue over your tender nipple until it was glistening and wet from his attention. 

Without hesitating, the Emperor lifted his knee between your hips, forcing them to spread further apart, allowing him to slip between them. Your hands rose hesitantly and floated in the air for a second before you found them lying on Seonghwa's strong shoulders. His skin felt warm and soft under your fingers. Your body tensed, and a small cry escaped your parted lips as you felt Sonhwa's teeth bite into your chest, and soon a mark resembling a shining crescent moon formed where his teeth had been. Suddenly, the Emperor grabbed hold of your wrists and lifted your arms above your head, restricting your movements and locking you completely into the cage beneath his body. 

"And now you would like to touch me, my little Empress?" Seonghwa grinned grimly. "First of all, I want to take what is rightfully mine, my star. Beg me for it." He let out a growl. Like a dark, forbidden caress, the low, vibrating sound of his voice went through your body. The heavy, velvety length of his cock pressed against the inner side of your thigh. You wanted to run away, to hide from that bottomless, hypnotic gaze of lust and hunger, but at the same time you wanted more of him, to feel everything you'd never felt before. The thought of how Seonghwa would enjoy you, how he would use you for his own pleasure, and how he would make you his own, subjecting you to his will and his power, made you long for that feeling. You desperately wanted to belong to him.

"Please, my Emperor, Seonghwa, take me. I belong to you." You barely managed to whisper the words, but the Emperor was able to hear them clearly. Embarrassed, you turned away from him, exposing your slender, delicate neck. His hot body merged with yours as his head sank into the curve of your neck. The swollen, wet head of his cock pressed against your trembling pussy. He was still holding your wrists tightly above your head, his sharp nails digging into your skin, but your hips were lifting to meet him as Seonghwa moved forward, weakly, and rubbed the head of his cock against your clit. A low, languid moan escaped from his throat as your soft labia parted a little, allowing his cock to slide into the warmth of your wet cunt. 

"You are so impatient, darling. And that's another thing I like about virgins—once they've tasted pleasure, they stop controlling themselves and start asking for more. Look at you; you're so desperate for me to fuck you, little Empress. Can't you wait for my cock to be inside of you?" He looks so smug, his ego shining brightly in his dark eyes, and a lecherous smile has blossomed on his plump lips. Your natural essence thickly coats his thick cock, allowing it to slide easily through your warm folds, the head of his cock touching your sensitive clit with every move he makes. He is laughing at you, at the way your body is haunting him at every moment. Once again, the Emperor is proving you to be right—you really are hungry for more. You want to feel him all over you.

Seonghwa loves the way you look underneath him—your flushed face, wet from the tears you shed earlier from your orgasm, your skin covered with bruises and his bite marks, and of course, your wet little cunt begging to be filled to the brim with his cum. Maybe that's why he can't hold himself back any longer and slowly begins to push his cock into your oozing hole. You moaned loudly as his cock pushed deeper and deeper into you, and although you had been prepared for it, the way his thick girth stretched your silky walls made you squeeze your eyes shut and feel a slight burning sensation. Seonghwa's cock was too big and thick for you, at least for now, but somehow you didn't doubt that he was going to fuck you until you could easily take his whole length at once. 

When his cock was all the way inside of you and his balls were pressed against your plush arse, he let out a guttural, almost growling, moan as he nuzzled his face into the back of your neck. Your cunt was everything he'd imagined—tight and hot and silky—divine. A small shiver of pleasure went through his body as he felt your walls tighten around his cock. Your answering moan was an unrestrained one, grateful for the hot, thick length of it as it displaced your emptiness, stained your chastity, took away your purity, and filled you instead with an insatiable need. 

He hardly gave you time to adjust to the size of his cock before he began fucking you mercilessly. Obscene sounds filled the air with each of his hard and deep thrusts, mingled with your whimpering and long moans, as well as his enthusiastic purring of satisfaction as he tormented you. His warm breath filled your mouth, forming a subtle contrast to the uncompromising demand of his tongue as it penetrated your mouth and tasted you as you moaned and whimpered. Seonghwa feels that he has become a little bit dependent on you and that he will probably never be able to satisfy this hunger that he now has for you. Your slippery pussy tightened around him impatiently and greedily, hot and wet, squeezing him so hard that Seonghwa let out a low moan of pleasure. 

Seonghwa lets go of your hands and wraps the palm of his hand around your thin neck instead, squeezing it lightly. His grip on your throat makes you gasp, and your moans are hoarse and soft.

"You are all mine." He growls, watching as his cock enters and exits your tight, pink cunt, a thick vein stretching along your silken walls with every movement of his beautiful and skilled hips. Seonghwa can't help but marvel at the way your juices are coating the velvety length of his cock as it plunges deep into you. Your hands dig into the sheets, crumpling the fabric between your fingers as you do so. "Who is your husband? Your Emperor? Tell me, my little star!" Seonghwa demands as she presses her fingers around your neck more tightly. 

"Y-y-you!" You screamed, but the sound of your voice was so distorted that it was barely audible. Your thighs began to ache from Seonghwa's relentless thrusts, but you didn't know if you wanted to ask him to stop when his cock kept hitting the most pleasurable spot inside you, making you feel every cell in your body heat up until it was white. Stars started to dance in front of your eyes, exactly the same—mesmerizingly sparkling stars like the ones in Seonghwa's eyes. "Seonghwa, that's you! You are my husband, my Emperor!"

"That's right, you treat me so well, my little Empress. I am going to fuck you until you are swollen with my heirs and until your little pussy is dripping with my cum day and night. My beautiful star, don't you think that we should give the seven great generals a taste of your divine cunt, as well? Let them saturate you, let them breed you, and let them shower you with caresses and praise. They are magnificent lovers, my star—passionate, tireless, and demonic—and they crave you so much. And here's something else you should know about me, my little Empress: I share everything with them—the battlefield, power, life, bed, and of course, I will share you with them, my beautiful wife." Seonghwa stops what he is doing and looks down at your trembling, delicate body lying underneath him. You can feel how his demonic gaze is burning into you before he grabs hold of your waist and quickly forces you down on all fours, lifting your bottom up into the air. His hand slides along the curves of your inner thighs, running his fingers over the warmth of your cunt and oozing sticky nectar. Two slender, long fingers rub your quivering hole, and you clench involuntarily at the tantalizing sensation of his fingers. 

"Say it once more." He orders you as he presses down on your clit and begins to rub it in rapid circles. You let out a shrill cry, your voice echoing through the luxurious imperial chambers. 

"Seonghwa! I am yours. You are my Emperor. You are my magnificent husband."

The Emperor let out a purr in response to your words, which sound silky and almost sinful. He pressed himself against you once more, thrusting his cock inside of you. Your face was pressed against the pillow before a graceful hand pulled your hair and pressed you against his wet, hard chest. He never stopped his hips from moving. His pace was sure and persistent, his lack of mercy cruel to your tender, sensitive cunt that had never known such sensations before, but still you moaned with pleasure. 

"You are going to cum on my cock, my beautiful star." His teeth graze across your ear before Seonghwa bites down on the lobe of your ear.   All of a sudden, his fingers find your swollen clit and make slow half circles over it, stimulating you even more. Immediately, you feel yourself tightening around his thick cock; your mouth falls open, and your lower lip begins to quiver as you feel that sweet tension at the bottom of your belly. Your orgasm is like a starburst of sensations—the pleasure exploding beneath your skin, stinging you like sharp shards of broken stars—and you almost lose yourself in the sensation. You moan so loudly that you swear the servants outside the door can hear you loud and clear, but whether it's the servants or perhaps one of the seven handsome generals, you have no way of knowing. 

Seonghwa lets go of your hair and grabs your waist instead, digging his nails into your flesh until it bleeds. The squishing sound your pussy makes every time his balls slap against the soft plush of your arse draws a deep animal growl from Seonghwa's throat, the great dragon inside him coming out. The warm, sticky liquid slowly seeps out between your thighs as you shiver and melts into Seonghwa's arms as he holds you upright, your head resting on his shoulder. But it doesn't last long. In a second, you're on your back again, facing the godlike Lunar Emperor. 

He stares down at your emaciated face and at the glistening beads of sweat on your brow. His smug smile was devilish and vicious; he spread your legs again, watching the heat of your tiny, squelching cunt as it greedily swallowed his cock. 

"Oh, your pussy is so beautiful, my star. A perfect little cunt to be filled with the emperor's cum, to be a breeding." Seonghwa's words are nothing more than the sweetest praise wrapped in pure sin. 

Holding your breath, your body feeling boneless and tired, you nod recklessly at his words.  

"You will cum again, my star. You're going to scream out my name so loud that everyone in this palace will know just how good a fuck I give you." He lifted one of your legs and pressed it up against the side of your chest. In this new position, you felt stiff and small under the Emperor's exquisitely elegant body, yet your pussy continued to greedily milk his cock. The vulgar, disgusting words that Seonghwa spoke to you in his deep, velvety voice made your head spin around. It made you feel so soft and sweet. 

Seonghwa fucked you in a deep and rough way. You could still feel the remains of your orgasm boiling in your belly—so sensitive, almost painful. As the head of his cock kissed your cervix, your body tensed, and every muscle in your body tightened like a silk ribbon. Yet, as if it's his only purpose in life, Seonghwa continues to split your heart. You roll your eyes, your lips quiver, and your chest shakes with sobs. You look completely fucked up as you lie there, taking everything the Emperor gives you.

"Who do you belong to, little Empress?"

"I-I, yours, Seonghwa..." You let out a gasp as you felt the tingling sensation of a new orgasm flutter around your pussy. Your soft walls clenched hard, almost restricting Seonghwa's movements, contracting and pulsing around his thick cock. 

"Louder!" He crashes his hips into you, your skin reddening where his thighs made contact with yours.  

"S-Seonghwa, I belong to you, only to you... ah!" 

You feel like you're drowning—falling rapidly and irreversibly into the depths of a bottomless ocean of pure pleasure as Seonghwa's fingers press against your swollen, torn clit. Your orgasm is all-consuming—your vision disappears for a second, your breath is trapped in your chest, and all you can hear is the raging roar of the blood in your veins. You scream—piercingly loud—but the sound barely reaches you. You're shaking, your whole body twisting and writhing from the wild intensity of your orgasm as Seonghwa continues fucking you relentlessly. Seonghwa's skilled fingers move over your clit, matching the rhythm of his hips, making your body shake around him as you go through blissful orgasm. Your juices rush between the two of you, spilling over and down the silk of the sheets. 

"I can't... I can't take it anymore. Please, Seonghwa..." You cried out, the tears running freely down the sides of your face.

Seonghwa leaned forward and captured your lips in an incredible kiss, his hips pressing hard against you as he began to pour his cum as deep as he could, savoring how hard and greedily your pussy milked his cock, your silky walls trembling around him. After a few moments, he slips out of your exhausted pussy, lets go of your leg, and lies down next to you on the bed, his head dropping to your chest as he cuddles closer to you, listening to your heart pounding furiously beneath his cheek. The Emperor intertwines your fingers with his own in the most intimate and tender of gestures. Still in a daze, you lie motionless on the bed and allow him to do whatever he wants to you. 

The Great Lunar Dragon is curled up beside you like a purring, cream-fed cat. He looks completely relaxed and peaceful. Your eyes wander aimlessly around the luxurious chambers, trying to collect your thoughts, but it's only for a moment before your eyes widen—frightened and in disbelief—as you meet the gaze of none other than the great, demonically beautiful General Choi San. Your soft scream attracts the attention of Seonghwa, and his eyes are lazily open to see what it is that has upset you so much. 

"Ah, Sannie, you have frightened my star." Seonghwa reluctantly gets up from you and lightly covers your body with the sheet, but it does little to help the situation, as you can feel the general's sultry gaze burning into your skin. "You should have waited until the morning at the very least; you are too impatient, do you know that?"

"My precious Empress made a sound that was too tempting for me to resist, Hwa. I am nothing more than a male slave of my most beautiful mistress." San purred, got up, and crept towards the bed like a big cat of prey. He moves clean and elegantly, and you can't help but be enchanted by what you're seeing. But the spell is broken as soon as you feel the bed begin to sag under the weight of his body. In an attempt to shrink and hide your body from this breathtakingly handsome man, you pull your legs up. Seonghwa notices this and gently puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him and giving you a light kiss on the cheek. 

"My star, you have no need to be afraid of San; he is as gentle as a kitten. You will have fun playing with him, I assure you." Seonghwa's voice was like melting honey on your skin, and you wished you could relax, but the whole situation was just wild; this is totally not how you expect a first wedding night to go. "But first we need to bathe, and then we can go and play again, my little Empress; the night is still so young." Seonghwa literally sings, letting you go and moving around the bed until she is next to San. You watch in silence as the emperor's plump, sensual lips touch the sharp cheekbone of the general for a moment before he rises from the bed and pulls a silk robe over his naked body. "I trust everything has been prepared." It is clear that the question is not directed at you. 

"Of course it has; Wooyoung and Yeosang have taken care of it." San extends his hand to you. It is the same inviting gesture that General Jung used before leading you to Seonghwa's chambers. "Come with me, my precious Empress. Your servants are waiting to please their mistress." 

[contact-guy]

I was seized with a fervor and could not rest until I illustrated one of my favorite scenes from Sherlock Holmes: the Adventure of the Devil's Foot. While Holmes and Watson take a holiday in the Cornish countryside for Holmes's health, multiple people in the nearby village are found driven mad or dead from horror. Holmes deduces a substance that was burned in their presence is to blame. With a bit of the mysterious powder and a gas lamp in hand, he proposes an experiment to Watson...

content warning for drug use!

I'm not sure if it's supported by the canon but in my mind this is the first time Holmes ever apologies to Watson and he is so overcome with emotion that he immediately makes it weird

Text under the cut:

"It is not for me, my dear Watson, to stand in the way of the official police force. I leave them all the evidence which I found. The poison still remained upon the talc had they the wit to find it. Now, Watson, we will light our lamp; we will, however, take the precaution to open our window to avoid the premature decease of two deserving members of society, and you will seat yourself near that open window in an armchair unless, like a sensible man, you determine to have nothing to do with the affair. Oh, you will see it out, will you? I thought I knew my Watson. This chair I will place opposite yours, so that we may be the same distance from the poison and face to face. The door we will leave ajar. Each is now in a position to watch the other and to bring the experiment to an end should the symptoms seem alarming. Is that all clear? Well, then, I take our powder--or what remains of it--from the envelope, and I lay it above the burning lamp. So! Now, Watson, let us sit down and await developments."

They were not long in coming. I had hardly settled in my chair before I was conscious of a thick, musky odour, subtle and nauseous. At the very first whiff of it my brain and my imagination were beyond all control. A thick, black cloud swirled before my eyes, and my mind told me that in this cloud, unseen as yet, but about to spring out upon my appalled senses, lurked all that was vaguely horrible, all that was monstrous and inconceivably wicked in the universe. Vague shapes swirled and swam amid the dark cloud-bank, each a menace and a warning of something coming, the advent of some unspeakable dweller upon the threshold, whose very shadow would blast my soul. A freezing horror took possession of me. I felt that my hair was rising, that my eyes were protruding, that my mouth was opened, and my tongue like leather. The turmoil within my brain was such that something must surely snap. I tried to scream and was vaguely aware of some hoarse croak which was my own voice, but distant and detached from myself. At the same moment, in some effort of escape, I broke through that cloud of despair and had a glimpse of Holmes's face, white, rigid, and drawn with horror--the very look which I had seen upon the features of the dead. It was that vision which gave me an instant of sanity and of strength. I dashed from my chair, threw my arms round Holmes, and together we lurched through the door, and an instant afterwards had thrown ourselves down upon the grass plot and were lying side by side, conscious only of the glorious sunshine which was bursting its way through the hellish cloud of terror which had girt us in. Slowly it rose from our souls like the mists from a landscape until peace and reason had returned, and we were sitting upon the grass, wiping our clammy foreheads, and looking with apprehension at each other to mark the last traces of that terrific experience which we had undergone.

"Upon my word, Watson!" said Holmes at last with an unsteady voice, "I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable experiment even for one's self, and doubly so for a friend. I am really very sorry."

"You know," I answered with some emotion, for I have never seen so much of Holmes's heart before, "that it is my greatest joy and privilege to help you."

He relapsed at once into the half-humorous, half-cynical vein which was his habitual attitude to those about him. "It would be superfluous to drive us mad, my dear Watson," said he. "A candid observer would certainly declare that we were so already before we embarked upon so wild an experiment. I confess that I never imagined that the effect could be so sudden and so severe." He dashed into the cottage, and, reappearing with the burning lamp held at full arm's length, he threw it among a bank of brambles. "We must give the room a little time to clear. I take it, Watson, that you have no longer a shadow of a doubt as to how these tragedies were produced?"

[utterlyazriel]

let me keep you company

a/n: a wee break from the doom & gloom of wtssf! it's unedited so i want no flack for that thank u <3 enjoy <3 wc: 5.1k whoops synopsis: You're studying in Velaris and a certain Shadowsinger catches your eyes in more than one way. It takes a while to realise the shadow keeping you company means more than you expect.

For the record, you had never met a Shadowsinger before.

You'd never even seen one. Sure, you’d read about them briefly in your studies and almost every Fae in Prythian had heard about them in whispers and rumours.

Rumours that increased more so when a Shadowsinger rose to become a hand for the Highlord, his own personal spy. Then became the spymaster of the entire Night Court for the next Highlord.

But beyond gossip and unfinished chapters within the scripts of your libraries, the knowledge of Shadowsingers is far limited. They’re rare. For all you know, Shadowsinger’s are a ghost— moving as a shadow, disappearing in and out of the darkness of the world.

You had never met a Shadowsinger before—so it makes sense that you hadn't an ounce of a clue what to expect.

Staring at him now, 6 feet something of pure muscle, you're a bit embarrassed at your own surprise.

Because he's probably— no definitely— the most beautiful Fae you've ever laid eyes on. His hair is tousled and dark, his glorious tan skin that's mostly hidden beneath the black of his fighter leathers, and his amber eyes that laid on you for only one long moment. Breathtaking is the only adequate word for him.

All that beauty and he's a Shadowsinger.

And it's not like you thought he wouldn't be like, well, any other Fae. But also... you kinda did? Mother, you should've known Freya was tricking you when she said they were all just shadow-y corporeal forms.

But she's also not entirely wrong there. There are dozens of wispy shadows that hover around him in constant motion, dipping and flying around his shoulders and if you look close enough, you can see how he seems to ripple at the edges. Shadows blur the edge of his very being.

You wonder if he can disappear into them all together, if that was one of the abilities granted with them. Does he control them? He must, you think, if the title is Shadowsinger.

But looking at him now, his beautiful face turned to face the Highlord you should definitely be listening to, they flit about almost absentmindedly, as though they have a mind of their own.

One curls up by his ear and you watch it, fascinated, more and more questions springing up in your mind— what do they feel like on skin? Do they make any noise? Is that what they're doing now? Talking to—

A sharp elbow jabs into your side, making you jump.

Your head whips to the side, an instinctive scowl almost overtaking your face before you plaster it over with a smile, realising your mistake. Your mentor, Sergei, clears his throat and smiles awkwardly ahead at Rhysand. You blink and take another moment to realise you've been asked a question.

"I'm— I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" You try not to sound as mousy as you feel but the question comes out as a squeak anyway. He is the Highlord of the Night Court after all. You suddenly feel very foolish for being so easily distracted.

Thankfully, Rhysand regards you with an easy smile. He's leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and his violet eyes dance with humour as he flicks his gaze over to where you had just been staring.

"That's alright. Azriel is a piece of eye candy, I can't blame you for staring," He all but purrs, a hint of mirth pulling at his lips as he casts another glance at his Spymaster. You're taken aback by the casualness of his words.

Rhysand continues. "I was only saying that for the duration of your stay, you'll be hosted in one of my homes, the House of Wind. You aren't afraid of heights, are you?"

A smidge of fear pinches at your stomach because, honestly, you aren't overly keen on the idea. But you know better than to turn down the generosity of a Highlord.

You take another glance at the wings of his Spymaster and General and pray that it's not too high up.

"Not... much." You answer honestly.

There's a chuckle from the side of the room and your head swings around at the noise. It's not the Shadowsinger, though he looks as though he's politely trying not to smile, his chin ducked. It's the General, just as beautiful as his brother but in that more rugged way.

He flexes his wings out a bit, showing off their mighty wingspan. "We'll rid you of that fear in no time."

You try for a smile but it might be closer to a grimace.

"Fantastic." You say, not managing to put all your enthusiasm into the word like you hoped.

Another sharp jab of Sergei's elbow in your side. The Shadowsinger, Azriel, huffs a quiet laugh, his amber eyes flashing up to steal another look at you. You try your best not to fluster.

It's going to be a long two months.

—

As Sergei's apprentice, you're expected to shadow him through his allowed time within Velaris.

Which means if he goes to the library, you go to the library.

There's just one problem; the library is down in the city and your temporary home is up in the mountain. The quickest way down is with wings.

Rhysand— or just Rhys as he had told you to call him— had relayed the information that you could ask either Cassian or Azriel to escort you if you didn't wish to take the stairs.

Cassian, the General, had been the one to fly you down and back the first couple of times you had asked and you weren't in any particular hurry to relive the experience.

Cassian was nice and he was more than friendly but seemingly incapable of understanding any fear of heights. You weren't sure if that was just the only way to fly— swooping and dropping fast enough to make you shriek— but it certainly seemed to be Cassian's way.

Which leaves you with the option of either asking the Shadowsinger or taking the stairs.

You get down about two hundred steps before you start to regret your decision. But, also, how in the Cauldron were you supposed to ask him to take you? (Never mind that you had asked Cassian quite easily, albeit very nervously.)

Oh, hi Shadowsinger who I can't stop staring at for both your abilities and your handsome face—care to sweep me into your arms and carry me places?

As if, you snort to yourself.

You take the thousand stairs all the way to the bottom and trot towards the enormous library, pretending your thighs aren't aching with overuse or that you're out of breath. Thankfully, the library itself isn't too far from the House of Wind, carved into the same side of the mountain.

As expected, Sergei is less than pleased with your tardiness.

"Sorry," The word rushes out of you in a wheeze, probably too loud for the library, as you scuttle in the entrance. A few priestesses turn their heads to look at you and you cringe, raising your hands in apology. "Sorry, I'm sorry,"

You focus back on your mentor and try to catch your breath, all while you explain. "I took the stairs and it took—" You huff out a breath. "—way longer than I thought."

Sergei's face softens a bit at your explanation, his face taking on a pitiful smile. "Still not enjoying the flying?"

"You are?" You ask in response. The thought of Sergei, your old-Fae mentor, swept up in Cassian's arms as he dips and dives makes you chuckle just a bit.

Sergei shakes his head as if to change the topic of conversation, deciding you've wasted enough time already. He turns, beginning to head further into the library and you follow behind him closely, eager to brush over your early morning fumble. The cavernous structure within the mountain yawns out ahead of you and you get all of two moments to wonder just how deep down it goes, when—

"You did not ask for a ride this morning."

Azriel steps up beside you, seemingly from nowhere, his steps falling in time with yours with ease. You jump, startled, and your footsteps falter for a moment. You're relieved to say that you only make one embarrassing noise in your surprise.

"I— oh, it's— I mean, I just..." You trail off, feeling flustered. "...like to walk."

You chance a glance up at him. He's wearing that same polite expression from yesterday, as though he's trying not to laugh and you get too caught up in the swirlings of his shadows to remember to be properly embarrassed. Both of you walk in tandem behind Sergei, slowly descending into the lower levels of the library.

"If you insist," He says, his voice low. It sends something warm down your spine and you pray he doesn't notice how your body temperature is definitely climbing.

His amber eyes pin you with another look, his lips twitching into a small smile. "However, if Cassian is giving you trouble, I would be happy to provide a smoother ride."

You flounder for a moment. You don't want to get anyone in trouble.

"I— he's not giving me trouble," You stammer.

Azriel smiles a little wider as if he can tell how polite you're trying to be. He slows to a meander and you realise only after you walk past him, it's because Sergei has stopped himself, turning down one of the many aisles.

You skid yourself to a halt and turn back, praying your flaming face isn't as obvious as it feels. You're not entirely sure if Azriel is accompanying you today but you're sure that Sergei would've mentioned it if he was.

You dip your head in a strange, awkward bow motion. Then point to the aisle Sergei disappeared into.

"I'll be... going this way."

Azriel's smile grows, like you've told a joke, and he ducks his head. He peers up at you through his dark lashes and you wonder if anyone's ever told him how damn beautiful he is. Probably. You're probably the last in a long line of people. Mother, his eyes though.

"If you don't wish to make the hike the other way," He murmurs.

He extends one of his hands and you watch the dozen shadows swarm around it, one of them separating from the pack to dive to the ground. It shoots forward and spins around your ankle, almost happily. "Just let the shadow know. I would be happy to assist."

When you look back up, he’s already gone without a sound. You try not to look so surprised— you’ve seen someone winnow before but you’re almost certain that the way Azriel moved about silently was something else altogether.

“Y/n!” Sergei’s voice echoes down the shelves, reminding you that you’re still late. You throw a quick glance around to check but it's fruitless; you can’t see the Shadowsinger anywhere.

You turn and bustle down the aisle quickly, not wanting to keep Sergei any longer. It takes only a second to notice the sole, black shadow that dances along behind you.

Guess you have company.

—

Okay, so, the shadows are definitely their own little guys.

Mainly because you can’t imagine how Azriel would be controlling them when he’s nowhere in sight.

And this one shadow is being awfully helpful.

The first time you drop your quill, knocking it to the ground as you lean over one of the many intricately carved desks, trying to reach another book, you don’t even notice it fall to the ground.

In fact, you have no idea how many times it’s picked up your fallen quill that you’ve undoubtedly knocked over countless times— only that it had given you the fright of your life to have it hover before your face, gripped only by the wispy shadow Azriel left with you.

“Holy shit!” You gasp, your loud voice echoing in the quietness of the library.

Sergei's head whips up, his eyes narrowing at the intruding sound with evident disapproval. You quickly snatch the quill out of mid-air and sink down in your seat. Gods, the echoes in here were doing you no favours.

“Sorry,” You whisper. Your eyes dart down to the shadow that retreated to your side, flickering around your ankle more wildly. “Er, thanks.”

It feels a bit silly to give thanks to something you’re not sure can hear you. But you figure if it can pick up your quill, you're better off using your manners.

Sergei gives you a somewhat bewildered look and you try to appease him with an awkward smile. It works enough for him to continue his work but not without one more lingering glance of worry in your direction. Great. You're talking to shadows and your old-man mentor thinks you're a bit nuts.

The shadow continues its helpful endeavours, following you when you head down different aisles at Sergei's request. It dances across the shelves, dissolving occasionally just to puff back up somewhere else, pulling your attention this way and that. It's playful. Friendly.

You deduce by the end of the day that you know even less about Shadowsinger's than you had thought. The abilities and personality of just one shadow are uncanny; like a silent friend keeping you company. You imagine that Azriel rarely gets lonely with as many as he has. Maybe you'll ask him.

When Sergei and you wind back up the staircases and he dismisses you for the evening, heading into the city for his own further business, you stand at the mouth of the library and ponder if you'll be brave enough to summon the Shadowsinger.

The shadow is still with you, circling your wrist absently. You peer down at it and think of all those stairs. Somewhat nervously, you raise your hand and try to be as casual as possible about talking to a shadow on your hand.

"Hi." You start, trying not to feel foolish. "Um, well, I guess I'm done for the day. Could— could you, if he's not busy that is, uh, let Azriel know? I don't mind waiting if he is."

The shadow zips off barely before you can finish your sentence and your head swings to watch it go, disappearing somewhere to your left.

You can't help but be a little amazed at its speed—it must be an incredible networking system to have a thousand little spies running around for you. No wonder almost all Shadowsingers tend to end up in the same line of work, you think to yourself, still peering in the direction of the shadow when—

"Y/n."

Even though he's said your name soft and quiet, Azriel still manages to take you by surprise. You jump and turn, all in one motion.

"Mother!" Your hand holds over your chest, relief curling in at the sides as your fright ebbs away. "That was fast."

"You called," Azriel responds, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. He gives you an almost shy smile.

It makes you fluster a bit and you gesture to the exit awkwardly and wordlessly, if only so you don't have to come up with a response to his intense and endearing answer.

Together, you wander out from the library and creep towards the edge of Velaris. It's a beautiful city and more than deserving of its title, especially when viewed from the House of Wind. You turn and cast your eyes up the mountainside, your familiar nervous fear pitching up from your stomach.

Then you look at the warrior beside you, tall enough that he's got what feels like more than a head's height on you, with his wings reaching above even his own head. His jaw is sharp and his eyes are already on you as your gaze trails up his face. Fuck. He's really pretty.

Now you're nervous for an entirely different reason.

"We can still take the stairs if you wish," He says, his hand sweeping back to the path you had followed along this morning. His shadows move with his hands, a black vortex that whirls around and around. "I'd be more than happy to keep you company."

Mother, he's not helping you in the slightest, being so perfectly nice to you. You regard the stairs and think back to how many hours it took before your thighs stopped aching—and that was on the way down.

"No, we can- we can try flying again." You say, nodding to yourself as if it'll help quell your fear. It takes another moment to realise that means you'll be bundled up in his strong arms, held against his broad chest and you feel a little shiver run through your body at the thought.

Azriel notices it too, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "You're sure?" He checks.

You nod, not meeting his eyes, trying to keep your nerve. Flying is already something you're not keen on. Flying whilst being swept up in the arms of a Shadowsinger who you think is the most beautiful Fae you've ever seen? You send a silent prayer to the Mother that you don't do something embarrassing, like puking down his front.

"Let me know if you're uncomfortable at any time," He says softly and then he bends his knees slightly, one of his scarred hands resting on your lower back as the other scoops beneath your knees. He lifts you as though you weigh nothing.

It's impossible not to flush as you get nestled against his firm chest, your hands panicking for a moment as you try to think of a normal place to put them. Around his neck? On his chest? Either of them feels far too intimate for a man you've known only a week.

"You don't have to but I would suggest holding on," Azriel comments with a smile, his chest vibrating with the words. You nod, agreeing with him, but don't make a move to do so, only holding your hands out in front of you to indicate you're not sure where to put them.

The shadows adorning his shoulders move on their own, their friendly presence easing your nerves as they slither down to circle around your wrists. There's a gentle tug and you let them move your hands til they're wrapped around Azriel's neck, moving you much closer in the process.

Gods, your faces are close together. Another couple of inches and you could probably press your lips to his perfect ones—a thought that makes you fluster all over again. Was he getting prettier every time you saw him? For not the first time, you thank the Mother that it was Rhys with the daemaeti gift and not Azriel.

"Ready?" He checks, which is sweet. Cassian had just shot up into the sky the first time, without any warning.

You grip your arms around his neck a little tighter and then nod. "Ready," You say, quieter than intended.

You catch just a moment of Azriel's demure smile, your heart swooping at the sight, before you're both launched into the sky with one flap of his wings.

The noise that escapes you is one you're less than proud of, a squawky sound noise of panic that you bury into Azriel's neck. You expect him to laugh like Cassian had, not meanly but playfully, but instead Azriel's arms just tighten around you. As if he was assuring you that he would not let you fall.

By the time you're up at the House of Wind, Azriel making a far more graceful descent than his brother, you're less freaked out and more ready to point some accusatory fingers in the face of the Night Court's General.

That bastard had been fucking with you! The flight with Azriel proved as much, considering how much calmer and smoother it had been. You couldn't help but say as much as you were placed down from Azriel's hold, glad to be back on solid ground.

"I have some words for Cassian, Mother above," You ramble, straightening out your rumpled clothes from the flight. "Did he think I was kidding when I said I was afraid?"

Azriel smiles at your fieriness, his shadows calmer than they were in flight, moving about lazily. His eyes take a fleeting glance at the house behind you before focusing intently back on you.

"Cassian can have a strange sense of humour at times. He means well." He says. Then he grins. "I should like to see you tell him off— not enough people do."

You hmph. "Maybe I will."

You suddenly realise the closeness between you and Azriel, close enough to feel the warmth of his body. His scent of cedar and mist swirls around you, tantalizing and alluring in a way you've never known before. You take a step back to contain yourself.

"I—uh, well, thank you very much." You say, as sweet as you can. "For the ride."

Your eyes catch on one of his dozen shadows and you smile, observing them for a moment. "And the shadow. It was excellent company."

Azriel brightens, an expression of surprise crossing his face before he schools it away. He smiles, brazen and breathtaking. When he speaks, he sounds a little disbelieving. "You like them?"

You nod quickly, noticing how one of his shadows has snuck off again and circulates your ankle speedily. You laugh at the ticklish feeling of it against your skin.

"They're incredible." You breathe, meaning every word. "I imagine you must've ge—"

"Apologies, y/n." A smooth voice cuts in, Rhys stepping up somewhere behind you and stealing both of your attention. He dressed in more casual clothes than you last saw, but not quite Azriel's fighting leathers. "Azriel here is needed for some brief business. Do you mind if I borrow him?"

The way he poses the question, as if Azriel is yours, does something wonky to your heart. You flounder for a moment, stepping back and waving your hand in the direction of the Shadowsinger.

"Of- of course, by all means." You trip over the words and hope you don't sound too eager to escape his company. That couldn't be more untrue.

You turn back to Azriel and fix him with a smile, hoping it's not as nervous as you feel. "I'll... see you around?"

Azriel steals a glance to the side where Rhys awaits before he nods with another reserved smile. Hold on, is that pink on his cheeks?

"Let me know if you need any more help getting to and from the library. I'd be happy to assist."

And then with a quick nod to you, he walks off to join Rhys, his wings tucked in tight, careful to not nudge you. You watch them go, unable to stop yourself from letting your eyes wander down. Damn, all that training did wonders. What was that saying? Hate to watch 'em go, love to watch them leave.

Ahead, Rhys abruptly laughs and peers back over his shoulder, letting you exactly how well you had shielded those thoughts. You flush and scurry into the house as if it'll save you from the embarrassment of what's just happened. You only hope he won't pass the message on to Azriel.

—

It continues like that for the rest of the week.

Azriel carries you down the height of the mountain and leaves you with a promise that if you need anything, you can tell the shadow and he'll come to find you.

The shadow keeps its usual playful company. Beyond retrieving your dropped quills, it helpfully turns the pages of books for you. When you're focused on what you're writing, it nudges back any loose strands of hair. Once it even brings you a flower from Mother knows where. One single Lily of the Valley, left resting on your desk.

It makes you wonder; are all Shadowsinger's shadows like this? You can't help but imagine these niceties are shaped by Azriel's own soft nature.

Today, whilst you study in the vast caverns of the library, you get an unexpected visitor.

As you take your time scanning through the books in one of the vast aisles, you realise the Fae coming down from the other end of the aisle is none other than the Highlady herself.

"Feyre!" You greet warmly. The two of you had met before when she had taken duties in your home court and if it weren't too bold, you'd say you consider yourself good friends. Feyre smiles, glowing like moonlight, as she realises who it is.

"Y/n," She says your name sweetly and her hug is just as such. She pulls away, ready to inquire about your studies when she spots the trailing shadow behind you.

"Making friends, I see," She comments. Her eyebrows raise almost teasingly as if she's made a certain insinuation. You take a moment to notice what she's referencing.

"It's nice," You say, a defensive lilt to your tone. You hold out your hand and the shadow jumps at the opportunity to skitter around it playfully. "It's like a little friend."

Feyre smiles at your words but chuckles a little. "Except Azriel is anything but little."

You pause at her words, glancing down at the shadow and back up at Feyre. "What do you mean? I thought— they're not- I mean, aren't they...?”

You trail off, unsure of how to word the question you're trying to ask. Feyre smiles, her gray eyes glittering with mirth as she realises what you're figuring out.

"They're all his. Azriel's. He controls them." She tilts her head a bit, watching the shadow that drifts about your hand and wrist. "True, they roam a bit on their own but... Not like this."

"Oh," You murmur, thinking back to that first day in the library.

The playful shadow that lead you back and forth, picking up your quill and turning your pages. It was him, all along.

Something immeasurably warm starts to glow in your chest, a thread that loops through your heart and sends the valves into overdrive. Its warmth grows, something molten hot beginning to bleed in your chest— and it feels wonderful. It feels right.

"Oh," You gasp as you figure it out.

Feyre grins, watching you piece together what the rest of the inner circle has clued together from the very first day. She stands to the side and gestures to the entrance of the library with a tilt of her head.

"Go on then," She urges you.

For a moment, you think back to Sergei who sent you hunting for a certain manuscript Cauldron knows how long ago but the thought is washed away in an instant. You can feel it now, the strong tug in your chest. The connection that binds you to another.

You stride past Feyre, giving a quick thanks! and all but run up the spiral staircases, heading for the entrance. The shadow pings along with you and as you near the top, you look down at it and say through huffed breaths, "You better go get him."

He's waiting by the time you get there.

Against the setting sun, for a moment there's only the silhouette of him— a warrior with tall wings, the edges of him rippling like a mirage. He might just be one; an oasis in your life, the answer that you've been searching for for centuries. You can't believe you didn't notice.

Your footsteps echo on the marble as you march right up to him and Azriel watches you closely the whole time, his amber eyes soft but his expression hinting at his nervousness. Gods, he's wonderful. You can't believe he gets to be yours and you get to be his.

"How long have you known?" You ask because it's the first thing on your mind. You're nearly panting from the exhilaration of your sudden exercise, from the dawning future that's blooming right in front of you. He's your mate. Gods, how could you have missed it?

Azriel smiles, that same tentative one that's been driving you crazy all week. His wings give a little shake behind him, a giveaway of his nerves.

"I... suspected from the beginning." He chooses his words carefully, wary of how you might respond.

You can't help your little gasp, feeling even more of a fool. You curse, ducking your head before you glare back up at him, no real heat in your gaze. You have the urge to give him a little shove, just for keeping you in the dark.

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

One of his shadows spins up unexpectedly, dancing across your shoulders and tickling your cheeks gently. You startle in surprise but something sweeter curls up in your chest at the tenderness of its touch.

"Believe me," Azriel says with a quiet chuckle, his amber eyes darting over your face intensely. "I've been trying."

You melt. Eyes locked with his, you move slowly, letting your arms drift up to drape around his neck like they've done every morning and evening since he began flying you around. You realise acutely that Cassian's behaviour, his shoddy flying, had likely been on purpose. You laugh a little, eyes creasing shut in pure euphoria.

Azriel's hands find your waist and you can feel the slight tremble in them.

"In my defense," You murmur, pushing up on your toes. You're close, so close, your lips hovering just an inch from a kiss—his shadows go wild around you both. It makes you grin. "I had never met a Shadowsinger before."

"Yeah?" Azriel breathes shakily. "Disappointed?"

He says it like a joke but you can hear the note of sincerity in his tone. His hidden worry that he isn't all you dreamed of. It's nearly laughable how wrong he is.

This close you can see his long lashes and every shade of brown in his eyes. You wonder if you'll ever get used to how beautiful he is. Part of you hopes you never do.

"Not in the slightest," You say, nearly a whisper.

Then his lips are on yours, pillowy soft skin against yours, and it feels like coming home. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you til you're breathless and the glow in your chest could rival the sun in its warmth.

He kisses you and every atom in your body hums and fizzes and comes to life — and all you can do is hold him tight and kiss him back, just as fiercely.

Breaking the kiss to catch your breath, you pant and grin brazenly at Azriel, at your mate, happier than you've ever been. Faintly, you realise that you won't be heading home when the two months of your study are up after all.

Not when you have a man who looks at you so reverently, who kisses you like there's oxygen hidden in the plush of your lips, who holds you like there's nothing more precious in the world.

Not when you know that home is right here, in front of you.

[gerardlesbian]

i do think there will be something more than just pure black parade nostalgia. the dictator rose to power after the band was "sent to the moat" - implying their absence allowed for the rise to power - and now that same dictator is bringing them back for a celebration of empire. but empire (and fascism, as in line with the aesthetics presented in the video) is dependent on nostalgia, that is, a rose-tinted view of the past which doesn't exist. fighting empire also means fighting against the fake ideals they hold up as tradition and the "glorious past" that never actually was. so my bet is that this tour will be introducing more elements besides just tbp stuff.

[whereserpentswalk]

Reblog to go on a date with your monster. Like to give them a little gift.

Look under the cut to see what meeting your joyfriend is like.

1 you walk into a messy apartment, it looks like this is their first place where they live alone, away from other angels. They're sitting on a Lome mattress, cuddling a stuffed animal and watching TV. Despite everything they're still beautiful, their body youthful, and sexless, and athletic, their four white wings forever stained with blood. They look up at you with rose gold eyes, afraid, apologizing for if they scared you. But to their surprise you don't shy away from them, and somehow they feel safe and pure when you sit down to talk to them.

2 you see them in the shadows, alone in the dark of an empty park, changing shape, first a muscular humanoid in armor, then a wolf dancing through the night, then a combination of both, then finally a modern human in a ragged trenchcoat. Despite all their forms, their eyes are always the same. They come up to you and bow with a smile on their face. You slowly aproch them, for whatever reason their voice seems so familiar. You greet them with your hand as you would an animal, even as they're in human form, as you slowly pet their scars for the first time.

3 within the golden halls of an ornate train station you see them for the first time, through the crowd with inhumanly green eyes. They notice you despite everyone else. And you notice everything off about them, the wrong numbers of teeth, their hands occasionally having more or less then five fingers before returning back to normal. It's wordless but it doesn't need words for you to tell them that they don't need to pretend to be human around you. And for a momment you see them, naked, with branches for antlers, and the wings of a monarch butterfly, a serpent's head where a human’s genitals would be, and teeth made out of broken glass, and then only a rose exists where they once stood, but you know you'll see them again.

4 you see them for the first time in an empty parking lot, a massive creature with black eyes and countless legs, glowing yet dark, as they come twords you they take notes in an unknowable language. They inspect you as the dark matter pitter patters across your face. You expect them to hurt you as they reach out their claw but they only gently pet your head. You can tell that they're suprised, you're more receptive then most humans are. They give you a small peice of food to let you eat right from their claw, and it tastes batter then anything on earth.

5 you meet them in a café on a quiet side street. They don't like being seen by too many people. Their body is beautiful, but so inhuman, tall and slender, with silvery armor covering them from the neak down, their face pale and their eyes long since ripped out and replaced with red mechanical replacements. They're a bit afraid you won't be ok with them when you first meet them, but you start talking, and though they're shy at first they like the sound of your voice. They let you pet their head and they cuddle up to you, and their body is warm like a churning machine as you hug them for the first time, and they feel comforted in your arms.

6 you see them in a dark subway station. They clearly once were human, centuries ago, their body forever young, but pale and skinny, their eyes turned white and their mouth jawless and fanged like a lampry's. Their body is entirely sexless, barely shielded from the cold by a ragged suit. Most people avoid them, but you ask if they're ok and they just look up at you, when you ask if they're hungry they nod. You agree to give them some blood, and it feels like they're giving you little kisses as you offer them your wrist. When they're full you hug their cold body, and for a momment they're made warm.

7 an undead servent slowly brings them over to you in a wheelchair. Though their mansion is beautiful it's trapped in time, and dark even in the daytime. You can see the computer they're trapped in, it must be decades old by now. They look at you with an avatar meant to look like a drawing of themself, or at least how they'd want to look. Something about them makes you want to touch them, but you know you never can. You put your hand to the screen, and you can feel the magic flow through you, and for a momment that's enough.

8 you see them sitting there alone in a bar. A slender androgynous humanoid, they're wearing a black suit but upon closer examination it's part of their body, never to be taken off. You sit next to them, and they smile at you, you talk for a few moments and it's like they know more about the universe then you could ever imagine. They pet your head, and it feels like it'll kill you, but it only makes you feel more alive. They hand you a business card with their number on it, it says they're a servent of hades, they tell you you can contact them again if you like, they'll be around. When you look again they're entirely gone once more.

9 walking through an abandoned mall you see them, a life sized puppet, with stars and moons on its outfit, and a painted mask for a face. Coming closer to them you can see there's red liquid on them, and strange otherworldly bugs and mushrooms on their body. When you try to touch them they float in the air, and move as if they're alive, for a momment you think they'll hurt you but they run away. When you find them again, tracking them down to a dark arcade, you see they're crying. They expect you to hurt them but you reach out to help them instead, nobody's ever tried to help them like that before...

10 you see them ontop of a skyscraper's roof. They youthful human wearing a leather jacket smiling as a massive reptile, with bat like wings, and massive steel fangs, and a tail like a scorpion's flies down to them. You wonder if they'll try to calm it but instead they move together like one being, their eyes the same yellow color. The creature comes twords you, fire in its mouth, and poison in its teeth. You realize the two beings are one in the same, as the wyvern bows its head, ready for you to ride it, with its human body at your side.

11 for a momment they chase you through the night, the hooded masked figure running twords you, blade in hand. But as you cross the street they can't follow, it's as if they've hit a wall. The gods themselves have bound them. While you're in safety you look at them, there's a sadness behind that mask. You wonder, if they can't hurt you here, would there be any reason to hate them, would they choose to spare you if they knew your face, your voice...

12 all you can see is blackness, yet there is no darkness, only this slick metallic liquid around you. The lake bubbles up creating a false body with its fluid, first male, then female, then both, then neither. It beckons you in, and you know it would not let you drown. When you step inside all you can feel, all you can see, is the fluid around you, and you feel as if you're being held.

[delirious-donna]

Awake At The Witching Hour [Part Four]

story summary: Your best friend lets you crash at her place over the spring break since you have nowhere else to go. Little did you know that it isn't actually her place. Instead, it belongs to a tall (grumpy) hot guy who finds you in his apartment–her brother.

chapter summary: You can't sleep and it seems your handsome host can't either. What is there to do in the middle of the night?

pairings: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: NSFW, mutual masturbation (but separate, you’ll get the gist), Nanami being pent up, imaginations running wild (both Nanami and reader), cumshot, reader described as being generous and soft in body

Part Three | Series Masterlist | Part Five

The witching hour. When it is said that the veil between worlds is at its thinnest, and the power of the nefarious is at its strongest.

You weren’t entirely sure what had roused you. No sense of fear gripped your heart so you doubted it was due to some bad dream, though it had taken a moment to remember where you were.

Black velvet darkness impaired your vision at first, drowsiness adding to your inability to pick out the details of the room you were lying in. The air was pleasantly cool against your warm sleep-soaked skin. You pushed back the duvet to feel the faint breeze play across the soft squidge of your abdomen—the oversized t-shirt you wore pushed up to your chest in the disarray of a tumultuous sleep.

The events of the day unfurled in your mind’s eye like a low budget movie. It still didn’t feel real, though you well remembered the blind panic and sense of anger then irritation at being walked in on whilst bathing. No, not walked in, leapt in on. Now that you knew Nanami Kento a little better it was hard to fight the smile that rose to your lips in memory.

He seemed so different at that moment, the booming “booo” not something you would ever expect from the rigid man he had been since then. You wondered if he was a little more relaxed with his friends and loved ones. Did he even have friends?

A suspicion told you that he was the type to keep to himself, or maybe one or two close friends at most. That was relatable, and made him all the more human in your eyes. What might he be like as a boyfriend, you wondered? Attentive and loving or distant and cold? Either was possible, as well as a multitude of other attributes and combinations.

Sighing deeply, you turned onto your side and pulled the covers up to your chin now that your body had cooled from the stream of air that crept in from the ajar window. A glance at your phone told you it was late—an hour you should be asleep at—but you were annoyingly awake.

It seemed the only thing on your mind was that of the man asleep in the room next to yours. A man that didn’t want anything to do with you, a perfect stranger. Yet, you couldn’t help but wonder… couldn’t help but fantantise that he could be interested. If he were to knock on your door right now, his hazel eyes, dark pools speared with lightning, and desire evident on his cheeks you would welcome him.

Did he sleep naked? The thought of all that glorious skin bare beneath covers that matched the ones you were snuggled under sent a throb directly between your legs. You were developing a second heartbeat at an alarming rate and it was all his fault. It was ridiculous how good looking he was, and what made it worse was he didn’t seem to know it. You imagined your fingers running through his neatly parted hair and knew he would look even sexier with it all mussed. The just fucked look.

He was well built and definitely strong. Biceps didn’t bulge against shirt sleeves in the way his did if you weren’t bench pressing a decent amount regularly. That and the small home gym were more than enough to know with certainty that if he meant business, you’d be in a heap of trouble. In the best way. Your mind whispered, and you felt fiery warmth fill your cheeks.

You weren’t honestly sure when your hand had begun to stray.

The peaks of your nipples rubbed against your shirt, thumb and finger tweaking the sensitive buds and rolling them deftly until your thighs pressed together at the crave for friction. It was wrong to be thinking such lewd thoughts of your generous host—unwilling as he might have started out—but you couldn’t stop. Kento’s broad frame filled your mind, the looming shadow dwarving you enough to make you feel diminutive by comparison, and equally as thrilled.

The laboured breathing of his barreled chest hard to resist, the rise and fall evidence of a man close to the limit of his restraint and you badly wanted to reach out and touch him. Wild desire radiating from his every pore like a heady musk that you inhaled greedily, longing to become entirely intoxicated by him. Who would break first in the game of lust and longing? Regardless of the answer, there would be no loser.

This was so wrong. So stupendously wrong, not to mention, futile. A veil of madness shrouded the bed and you couldn’t stop nor did you actually wish to. In the darkest part of the night your deepest desires unfolded in perfect clarity. He ticked so many boxes and left question marks in many more. An enigma that you longed to solve. A riddle that you wanted to crow over the answer when it finally revealed itself.

Nanami Kento…

Your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, eyes widened at the searing heat you encountered. The skin of your pubic mound was warm to the touch, but as you raked through the neatly trimmed hairs and moved closer to the heart of your sex, it increased tenfold. You might have hissed if you weren’t concerned with making any noise that could alert the object of your arousal. Wetness glided over the pads of your fingertips, sticky and abundant. It spread along your plump folds engorged with blood until your tented knees butterflied outwards and you could feel the twitching urge to toy with your clit.

What would he think of this madness? A young woman intent on masturbating to the thought of him. Would he deepen that permanently etched scowl and reprimand you? And why did even the idea of that outcome spark the ends of your nerves with raw electricity?

Speaking of the man in question, he was awake. Blinking into the darkness as if the ceiling held the answer to his current dilemma. That dilemma being the tent in his tight navy boxer briefs.

Without looking, he palmed himself and manoeuvred his cock to lie flush against his thigh. There. Now it didn’t appear like he was pitching a tent that could sleep a family of four. Instead, the heat of his erection seeped into him and roused his mind all the more.

His dreams had been a jumbled black and white mess, an indicator for the state of his mind. Sleep had found him easily, but the wrinkled and twisted covers showed that it had not been a sound slumber.

Kento puffed, grumpy and aching. He couldn’t recall the last time he wrapped his palm around himself to let off some steam. It had always seemed like a poor use of his time. Opting for cold showers to numb his swollen member, focusing on getting in a rigorous albeit begrudged workout in before the commute to work.

He baulked at the realisation he hadn’t cum in nearly six months. The last time he entertained the idea of dating even further back than that. So what was different?

You. You were something different. Smiling before he could school his features into neutrality, he surmised that your presence was fucking with more than just his routine. It was you that he thought of when he adjusted himself, trying and failing not to think of your smaller fingers around his shaft.

“What is wrong with me?”

He recalled the smile you gifted him when you parted ways for the night, how your small hand had once again reached out to lightly touch his bicep in thanks for carrying your small suitcase into the room. His cock twitched in response. Groaning, he smacked the pillow next to him over his face. If he were a dog his tail would be wagging. Not just a dog, more like a mongrel.

Kento swore your scent lingered in his room. The wafts of your perfume were stronger in the bathroom and he tried to ignore the subtle sweetness even as it infused inside his nose. Right now, it seemed to have settled into his sheets and he longed to bury his nose in the high count cotton and inhale deeply. Nothing was dissuading him from lowering the band of his briefs until he stood proudly erect.

Maybe if he satisfied the urge now, the fog that clouded his judgement would clear and all would be right again. That was what he told himself while pulling back the covers to free himself. Precum dribbled from the angry slit of his cockhead, turning the near purple tip glossy and sticky.

His thumb swiped through the mess and his hips rose instinctively. Behind his shuttered eyelids he saw you approach the bed, generous hips swaying clad in the softest satin. In truth, he couldn’t give a fuck for expensive lingerie, but it was aesthetically pleasing and this was his fantasy so why not indulge? He’d be just as happy to greet you in sweats or better yet… his shirt.

Oh fuck.

The tendons in his neck strained, head thrown back whilst he pumped himself lazily at first. Would you be shy in bed? Assertive? Would you drop your jaw to let your tongue run over the seam of his balls whilst using that quick witted mouth of yours on him?

The unknown was almost more tantalising to him than the act itself. It had been so long since the experience of working someone out appealed to him. To learn their nuances and what made them tick. More specifically, your nuances and what made you tick.

With months of denying himself under his belt, it didn’t take long for Kento to feel that familiar tingle begin at the small of his back. His balls drew tight and full, and he flushed a darker red at how easily he was ready to cum. His free hand clenched into a fist, the cotton of the sheets held tightly whilst his toes curled. A guttural groan escaped his throat before he could smother it, quickly biting his lip as spurts of hot cum lashed his quivering stomach. Warm honeyed pleasure dripped in inversion from the bottom of his spine to the base of his skull until his eyes rolled over.

Kento slowed the stroke of his hand, wringing his cock of every last drop until he was close to whimpering from the sensitivity. Panting from the far too quick ejaculation, his eyebrows pinched at the mess he had made. Streaks of milky release pooled near his navel, his hand and softening cock sticky and webbed from the moment of madness. As soon as he was certain his legs would work, he trudged into the bathroom to clean up with guilt weighing heavy in his gut.

A similar sensation burned in the pit of your stomach. Your chest heaved from the release you’d found, but it came at a price and now you were paying it.

You didn’t regret your actions but there was still a guilt associated with them. You were two unattached adults, and you couldn’t deny or sweep aside your attraction to Kento any longer, but he was Karin’s brother. He should be forbidden. You wouldn’t give oxygen to the mean voice in your head that said she deserved it for not telling you about him sooner.

The little pulsing aftershocks of your orgasm were fading, fingers sticky from how you had done your best to fuck yourself before switching to manipulating your sensitive pearl until white sparked in your vision. All the while you thought of how it would look to have his head between your thighs, his mouth on your pussy and your fingers tangled in his hair. Would he eat you sloppily or bite at the tender inside of your thighs? Would he welcome you rutting yourself against his mouth or would he hold your hips steady?

You sat up, legs wobbly when your feet fell to the floor. The bathroom wasn’t far and you needed to clean up and change your underwear. The reflection in the mirror over the sink looked hesitant despite the soft glow your skin exuded. A healthy dose of dopamine and the pump of blood circulating your body brightened you up even though it was the middle of the night, and you looked away with a troubled sigh.

The apartment was silent, your footsteps the only sound as you tiptoed barefoot into the kitchen for a glass of water before heading back to bed. Leaning your forehead against the cabinet, you listened to the rushing water for a moment or two longer than necessary before filling a glass and taking a sip. The sound masked the footsteps that approached, pausing then continuing on.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

A strangled scream caught fast in your throat, muffled by the water now rushing down the wrong way and making you cough and splutter. You whirled on the spot and came face to chest with the man you had spent the last half hour pleasuring yourself to the thought of.

Kento was bare chested—a fact your bulging eyes couldn’t believe—with a faint smattering of ash-coloured hairs decorating between his meaty pectorals and leading down towards his stomach. You didn’t dare follow it any further for fear of knowing whether it went right down to his happy trail, a fact that most definitely would see you moaning aloud.

A pair of pale blue pyjama trousers hid the rest of him and you were grateful for that. He stalled next to the kitchen island, an unreadable expression on his face, and were his ears red? It would be comical if you weren’t burning with mortification. Your heartbeat raced so thunderously that it was amazing he couldn’t hear it from across the room.

“I… couldn’t sleep,” you finally offered once you could breathe again without coughing.

His eyes seemed to search your features, whether for signs of lying or something else, you weren’t completely sure. At last, he nodded and walked closer to grab his own glass and fill it with water.

The silence was oppressive, thick and charged with an energy that bristled down Kento’s spine. “Do you need anything?”

Your head snapped around so fast he was surprised you didn’t give yourself whiplash. If he didn’t know any better he would say that warmth seemed to fill your face. The question was innocent but perhaps… no. He was trying to see things that weren’t there.

“An extra pillow. A thicker duvet.” He elaborated when you didn’t answer.

Having this casual conversation was excruciating enough given what he had just done to the image of you in his mind. It was made worse with the realisation that the reality of you was so much more appealing than his imagination could ever conjure.

The almost comically oversized t-shirt you wore dragged nearly to your knees, with the sleeves reaching well past your elbows. It kept your modesty intact and the mystery of it all made his mouth water. Discovering the curves of your body, which parts dipped and the soft rolls of your body would be hours of fun if he were given the chance, not that he would be. He idly wondered if you would look this good in one of his shirts before dismissing the thought, or trying to.

His cock twitched in his clean briefs and he cleared his throat and turned away, terrified of pitching another tent when one was not wanted nor needed. Kento didn’t need to think about how close you were, how all he had to do was reach out a hand and discover whether you would step away or approach. He couldn’t decide which outcome would be the better one.

“No, I don’t need a pillow or anything like that,” you said finally, though you left the sentence hanging because you did want something, but you couldn’t tell him that. “I’m just adjusting to sleeping in a new place, I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, but don’t hesitate if there is something I can do to help.”

You could stop looking like a damn five course meal.

The thought was in your mind so suddenly you nearly gasped, instead, masking it by taking a long gulp of water and walking towards the hallway. You needed to put some distance between you, to retreat to the relative safety of your room and chastise yourself for being no better than a lustful bunny.

With a faux smile and an appreciative nod, you turned one last time to glance at him. “Thank you, Kento.”

Kento watched you slip out of sight, back along the darkened hallway and listened to the soft snick of your bedroom closing shut. He was throbbing, a hand drifted to his crotch to hide what was growing. That was the first time you had called him by his given name, and he liked it.

What a mess, he thought whilst returning to bed. His eyes never wavered from your door until he was safely behind his own. His guts still twisted in memory of his unsavoury actions, but something more pressing was on his mind as he screwed his eyes shut and prayed for sleep.

I want to hear my name from your lips again…

[cressidagrey]

The Witching Hour - The Samhain Special: Bound by Blood

Summary:

Azriel's witch has some very smutty plans for Samhain.

Warning:

This is literally pure smut people, so NSFW applies. Otherwise: Ritual Magic, Witchcraft, Ritual Sex, Rough but consensual sex, Biting and blood Drinking, a deer is slaughtered, Blood is smeared everywhere...I think that's it? Azriel and Cate are as unhinged as always.

(Spooktastic dividers thanks to the lovely @tsunami-of-tears)

"Gods, you're going to be the death of me," Cate whispered, her voice wrecked.

Azriel couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound warm and amused. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, his own voice hoarse from where he had collapsed on top of Cate. He lifted off her, just so managing to land next to her.

Granted, she wasn’t the only one. He was pretty sure msot of the muscles in his body where still trembling. 

"It was most definitely meant as one," his witch assured him, her eyes closed as she stretched out over her black silk sheets. Her pale skin glinted in the moonlights, her rose tipped breasts heaving with her breaths.

She was so beautiful.

Azriel's gaze dragged over her, tracing over every inch of the beautiful female spread out next to him on the bed, his heart thudding in his chest. They had spent the entire night together, the sounds of their lovemaking still echoing in his ears.

His gaze roved over her bare form, her lovely red hair spread out across the dark sheets, his eyes catching on the marks of his mouth across her pale skin. His gaze darkened as a low growl rumbled from his chest, his hand reaching out to touch her shoulder, his fingers tracing lightly over her skin.

He was insatiable. 

Her eyes opened at his touch, their gazes meeting through the dimly lit room. He could see the exhaustion on her face, her skin flushed, her lips kiss-swollen. She looked beautiful, and her body trembled slightly under his touch.

"I swear, one of these days, you'll kill me with too much pleasure,” Cate mumured.

Her voice was rough, still recovering from all the moans and gasps that he had pulled out of her the entire night. He could see the faint purple-red marks that he had left on her skin, and the primal part of his mind purred at the sight of them. 

He hummed in agreement, unable to help himself, and attaching his lips to the marble column of Cate’s neck. "What a glorious death that would be," he murmured, his mouth gently nipping at the sensitive skin.

She gasped softly at his words, her body arching slightly as she tilted her head back to give him better access to her neck. His lips pressed against her skin, his teeth gently scraping over her pulse, sending shivers down her spine.

"You're insatiable," she accused, though there was no real irritation behind it. Only fond amusement.

"When it comes to you," Azriel agreed, his mouth curving into a smile against her skin. His fingers lightly traced over the marks he had already left, his lips following them. "When it comes to you, I can never seem to get enough," he admitted.

He pressed his mouth against a particularly dark bite mark, his tongue swirling over the abused skin, his fingers moving to gently press into the mark, relishing in the way that she trembled slightly in response. Her body was so sensitive, so open to his touches, and it made his blood run hot. Gods, he wanted her again. And again. And again .

"One would think that you would at least be tired after doing this all night," Cate said, her voice still breathless, her body arching as his mouth continued to work over her skin, his fingers continuing to trace over the sensitive flesh. "But apparently not."

"Never," he promised, his voice hoarse, his mouth moving to another mark on her collarbone. "Not when it comes to you."

His fingers continued their exploration of her body, gently dancing over her skin, tracing over the marks he had made, exploring every inch of her. His mouth continued its torturous path, moving down her collarbone, her chest.

The rain continued to fall, its sound a steady beat in the background of their room, the only other sounds than the soft gasps and moans that continued to fall from Cate's mouth. He could feel her shuddering under his touch, her body arching into his hands, her skin hot to the touch.

To say that the last few weeks had been… difficult…that was an understatement. Cate had biweekly lessons with Elain, who seemed to do much better with her Prophecies…but which had done nothing to endear Cate to most of his oldest friends.

Oh well.

There were a lot of things Azriel was willing to compromise on…but Cate was not one of them.

As long as she was willing to be his…he would protect that ferociously.

She was his, and nothing would get in the way of that. His body continued its path down hers, his fingers tracing over her flesh softly, his lips continuing to work over her skin.

“There is this…one thing that I wanted to talk to you about,” Cate said, nearly hesitantly. She had not been hesitant one day in her life. It made him pause. “You can say no and we’ll never talk about it again.”

That got his attention. Azriel lifted his head from her, his eyebrows raised slightly. “What is it?”

“Samhaim is soon,” Cate said softly. “I was wondering…I was wondering if you wanted to make some magic with me, love.”

He swallowed.

He knew what she was asking. Knew what she was offering.

A Witch’s Ritual Circle was the most private thing she had. And if Cate was offering to share it with him… “What kind of magic?” he asked her softly.

She smiled up at him, her eyes soft. "There is this ritual…" she explained softly. "On the night of Samhain, a couple can pledge themselves to each other in a bond as old as magic itself."

His eyes widened. "A marriage bond?" He questioned, his heart thundering in his chest, his stomach flipping nervously.

"Not necessarily a marriage bond," she explained, lifting her hands to gently run her fingers through his messy hair. "It's...complicated. It's an ancient ritual, older than history, older than the fae themselves. It involves a few...interesting steps," she admitted. "But at the end of it," she continued, her eyes soft, "we will be eternally linked to one another. It is a bond that no one can tear apart."

His heart was pounding in his chest at her words, his eyes wide. The idea of them being linked, truly linked, for eternity...Azriel wanted that. He wanted it more than anything he'd ever wanted in his life. But...

"What are the...interesting steps?" He questioned, his voice quiet, his mind already racing through every possible thing that he would be willing to do for her if it meant they would get that bond.

"The ceremony itself will take all night long," she explained. "There will be…a few fun things to do," Her voice was mischievous.

"Whatever you want," he agreed.

She chuckled at his quick response, her fingers running through his hair again. "You didn't even pause to think about it," she said, amused. "Not even a second thought?"

"Not even one," he promised, his voice rough with the intensity of his agreement. He would do anything to have that bond, that connection with her, that link that would tie them to each other, forever. "I'll do whatever you want," he promised.

***

She was pretty sure that if her mother would still be alive…She would kill Hecate just for even contemplating doing this. Granted, her mother had been dead for nearly a millenia, and Cate was all grown up, Thank you very much…but it was still…A risk.

A risk that she was more than willing to take.

There wasn’t a risk in her world that she wasn't willing to take when it was about Azriel.

The bond she was proposing was an ancient, powerful thing. It was unbreakable, eternal in its intensity.

And it was a risk. A risk that many witches kept to themselves, because it would make them vulnerable…but it was a risk that she was willing to take, regardless of every protest her heart screamed at her.

Because she wanted that bond, that connection, that link that would tie her to him, completely

Gods, she really was a hopeless romantic.

But with Azriel, it was impossible not to be.

With him, she was constantly falling deeper and deeper. Drowning more and more with every single look, every smile, every sound, every taste of him.

With Azriel, there was no other option.

With Azriel, she was giddy and in love, and behaved like a teenage witch.

Even after all these centuries, she still sometimes felt that dizzying rush of giddiness and attraction and infatuation every time she thought of him. It didn’t matter that they had slept together more times than she had ever thought possible, that every touch of their bodies was etched into her mind, that they had known intimately every inch of each other’s bodies, minds and powers.

Nothing could quell that rush of pure excitement and wonder at the very thought of him.

Nothing at all.

She knew she was being a complete idiot. She knew that the way her heart kept skipping at the sight of him was a little ridiculous.

But gods, all she could think of, when he was looking at her like she was the only female in the word, like there was no one else in his mind than her at that very moment, was…

She was in love with him. Completely, utterly, hopelessly in love with him.

So really...binding him towards her for eternity...it was a selfish thing to do. And she couldn't help herself.

Sshe couldn’t bring herself to feel even the slightest bit of guilt.

Azriel was hers, and the thought of tying him to her completely, of having that bond, that connection, that link that would tie them to each other forever... Gods.

She wanted it more than she had wanted anything in her life.

And if it was selfish? If it was a little possessive?

Well. Cate had never claimed to be a noble female.

All she knew was that she wanted this. She wanted him, she wanted that bond, and she was going to do whatever it took to make that happen. To hell with the consequences

And if the rest of the Night Court disapproved? Well, they could deal with it. Cate couldn’t find it in herself to care.

So if she started planning that ritual...well.

She had a time (Samhain, which practically fell on a full moon that year, making it absolutely perfect for a ritual that would bend fate to her will) and a place (an old ritual circle in The Middle...) which meant that planning the actual ritual...well that was easy.

It was a little bit frightening, how all of the pieces were just falling into place.

But at the same time…it felt like Fate was on her side. That every piece in this puzzle was meant to be exactly where it was at that moment.

The entire thing was both terrifyingly scary and absolutely exciting at the same time.

But then again, that was her relationship with Azriel in a nutshell: terrifying and exciting, with a lot of heat and passion thrown into it

So, a few days before Samhain...when she had it all figured out...she presented Azriel with her plans.

“You want me to do what?” he repeated, his eyebrows rising into his hairline.

“Kill a stag," Cate repeated easily. “I need the blood.”

“This is sounding more and more like some weird version of Calaimai in the Spring Court,” Azriel told her drily. "For what do you need the blood?"

"I'll need to cover both of us in runes." Cate explained.

A pause. “Runes that involve deer blood?” he questioned, his voice still dubious, raising an eyebrow at her.

She nodded. "Deer blood, along with a few other...ingredients."

“And you're drawing these…runes…on us?” he clarified.

She nodded again. He studied her for a moment.

"What will these ‘runes’ do, exactly?” he asked quietly.

"Well," she drew out the word..."It's going to help your performance."

His eyebrows rose at her words.

"My performance?" he echoed, a hint of huskiness in his tone. "In what areas, exactly, do I need to...perform...better?" he asked, his voice low, his eyes on her.

His gaze roved over her body, his expression heating

And for a moment, Cate was tempted to give up and ask him to just skip the ritual entirely and jump straight into the fun part, but...

No. She could wait. She could be patient. Just one more day, the she would have this gorgeous male completely to herself forever.

"You don't. Usually," she clarified. "These runs...they'll...they'll keep you erect even after you have spend yourself...multiple times," she answered. "That ritual is gonna take a few...hours."

Azriel's eyes widened at her words, his gaze flickering to hers, the heat in his eyes intensifying. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze darkening. "Hours, you said?" he rasped, his voice rough.

She nodded. "Hours," she confirmed. "With no need for...recuperation, in between."

His eyes widened.

A pause, and then: "Gods," he swore, his voice low. "You do know how to sweet-talk a male, don't you, witch?"

Cate chuckled at his words. "Why, am I tempting you, Shadowsinger?" she teased playfully, her voice sultry. He looked like he was going to pin her down on the nearest flat surface and worship her body right then and there.

He took a few slow, measured breaths, like he was forcing himself to regain control, and Cate could only raise an eyebrow at him, amused.

"You do realize you don't have to exercise this amazing level of self-control and iron will, right?" she said breezily. "I am yours."

He swallowed. Hard.

"You’re mine," he repeated quietly. His eyes glimmered possessively. "And I plan on enjoying that immensely."

****

Gods, the things his witch did to him…

He wanted to tie her up, lay her down on the nearest flat surface, and worship her and her body for hours, until both of them were too sated to do anything but sink into sleep in each other’s arms.

But he knew he had to control himself.

And Azriel didn't care if that meant that he was going to have to kill a fucking stag naked and with his bare hands. 

"And you are sure I need to do it with my bare hands?" he asked her with a sigh that day. 

She shot him a smirk. "Is the big, bad Shadowsinger afraid of getting his hands dirty?" she teased, raising an eyebrow. He shot her a glare, which only seemed to amuse his witch more.

Cate leaned closer to him, her voice lowering to a murmur. " “I can do the hunting too, if you would prefer to be the one being mounted on a stone altar…” He stared at her - her voice sending a visceral stab of lust through him.

"Gods." He murmured. "Are you trying to drive me insane?" he asked her, his voice rasping.

Cate shrugged her shoulders, her smirk sharpening. "Maybe," she said airily.

He stared at her for a moment before closing the distance between them, drawing her flush against him, one arm wrapping around her slender waist.

“Is that what I will do?“ he asked her.

“We’ll enjoy that part, I think,” Cate said with a laugh. "Now...Let me show you where we'll be."

He let her winnow them straight to The Middle, and for once in his life, Azriel was surprised by how welcoming it...seemed.

Probably helped by the warding net that Cate had thrown over a rather broad area.

"You've warded a whole lot of acre here," he noted, his voice quiet.

Cate nodded as she started to pull out a few tools from a bag she had winnowed with them. "It's...safer. We wouldn't want any interruptions."

Azriel's eyes widened at her words. "Interruptions?" he repeated slowly. "How long is this whole...ritual supposed to take exactly, witch?"

Cate gave him a wicked look from hooded eyes. "Longer than you've ever lasted before," she purred, her voice suggestive.

It felt like someone had just punched him.

"Longer, you say,” he repeated, his voice strangled.

"Till Sunrise...well, unless you have somewhere to be," Cate answered. Even if he had, he wouldn’t care. "We'll wait until Sundown to start...Let me show you the ritual space."

She led him over to an old, weathered stone altar, with a few tallow candles already burning around it.

"Right in here," she said, nodding towards the altar. "You will be placed exactly here...like so." She patted the top of the slab, her fingers stroking the stone. "The runes will mostly be drawn on your chest and face...and a few more...intimate areas," she smirked.

Azriel felt his heart rate quicken - and he wasn’t sure if it was due to nerves or excitement. He swallowed as he stared at the stone altar before him, imagining himself laid out on it.

He had agreed to this, and he had no intention of backing out now. Not when she was willing...eager.

He stared at the stone surface, his mind going blank as his imagination tried to provide images of what would happen to him here.

He took a deep, slow breath.

He was going to experience everything she was willing to give him - and he had a feeling he was going to be completely and utterly spent by the time this ritual was over.

Cate drew closer, as if sensing the direction of his mind, her hand coming up to rest against his hip.

"Nervous?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him, as if she knew what was running through his head.

He shot her a crooked smile. "A little," he admitted quietly, even if he was far more excited that he was nervous.

She looked at him with a smirk, her eyes glimmering and a playful expression tugging at her lips. She leaned closer until her body was flush against his, her hand sliding from his hip to caress the line of his jaw.

Her hand was cool as she traced the planes of his face, her touch almost reverent like she was mapping out every single line of him and committing it to memory.

He leant into her touch, like he was completely unable to resist her, drinking her in like a parched man would drink water.

Gods, he was so gone for his witch.

Her gaze darkened as she stared at him, her eyes trailing over his face, as if admiring and memorizing every inch of him.

She stepped closer, her body molding against his, as her hand continued to caress his skin, sending trails of fire wherever she touched. Her lips were only mere inches from his, their breath mingling together

“I love you.” She whispered.

His heart stuttered at her words.

Gods, he had never heard anything more beautiful.

"I love you too," he rasped. She was everything to him, and he'd be damned if he let anything or anyone take her away from him.

“Then go and kill that deer for us, love,” she told him, and he snorted.

“I just want you to know that the fact that I need to do this naked is fucking ridiculous,” he told her as he started to strip out of his clothing. She just smirked at him. 

"Love,” she shot back, her voice sweet, but edged with an undertone of steel “I did not make the rules.”

“I bet these are your rules,” he muttered under his breath, and she laughed at him. 

“Go on,” she told him, her voice still amused. “Prove to me what a big, bad, male warrior you are and go kill a deer - bare hands only - for your witch. Bring me blood to cover both of us in runes so I can bind myself to you for eternity. Then come back here to me and let me worship every inch of you.”

Azriel stared at her, her words sending a visceral, possessive stab of lust through him.

“You're a damn tease, you know that?” he swore, his voice low. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and take her right then and there.

But at the same time, he knew he didn’t have time. He had to go - hunt, kill the deer, and return to her - so that he could experience all that she offered.

He stepped forward, bending down to press his lips against her forehead. “I'll be back soon,” he growled, before stalking toward the forest surrounding them.

*** Cate watched him go, that possessive, feral need and lust welling up in her.

Gods, when he was bound to her for eternity, she was going to wreck him.

She took a deep breath, trying to get herself under control. She had a ritual to prepare for.

The first thing she did was throw more wards over the already existing net. The more protection, the better.

She also lit a few more candles around the stone altar, white wax dripping down onto dark stone. She pulled the athame, her ritual knife, from the pocket of her dress...Then and only then, she stripped out of the dress she wore, bare before her own magic.

The sun was slowly dissappearing behind the horizon

The night was slowly falling over the small clearing, the trees surrounding them casting shadows on the stones of the altar and the grass.

The candles around them cast a gentle glow, as if creating a spotlight for what was going to happen.

The moment the sun disappeared completely...she cast out her magic.

Power flared and crackled through the clearing, invisible to sight but tangibly present.

The air seemed to buzz with magic, the air so thick with energy it was almost tangible - as if it was clinging to every inch of her bare skin, almost like caressing her.

She had always trusted her own magic with her life. It had welcomed and cradled her like a favoured child from the start.

Over the years, her magic had become an almost living part of her, entwined with the very energy that ran through her veins.

Even now, she could feel it...almost purring in the air, like a satisfied companion.

"Bella?" she asked aloud, the jaguar appearing out of thin air, tail swishing through the air, prowling around her ritual circle.

The great cat, so black that even in the candlelight she was almost impossible to see, prowled around Cate like a restless, watchful guardian, her muscles taut and powerful, her green eyes fixed on the surrounding area.

"There you are," she breathed.

The jaguar huffed at Cate, a soft, almost purring sound as she padded closer to the witch, her tail still twitching in the air.

Cate reached out a hand and gently ran her fingers through the silky, smooth fur of her familiar.

Bella shoved her head into Cate’s touch, the act almost like an affectionate cat asking for attention. Cate smiled at her familiar, giving her a few more pets before returning to her ritual preparations.

And at that moment, she felt Azriel. Her magic held steady, even as she watched him stride towards the clearing, the deer slung over broad muscular shoulders.

"Just in time," she told him, a smile stretching over her face.

He stalked towards her, every single step powerful, his eyes on her. His eyes raked down her naked form, taking her in in a way that made her skin break into gooseflesh, lust coiling low in her belly.

He didn't hesitate as he stepped into her personal ritual circle.

It was an intimacy she had never allowed another person. But the moment he stepped over the boundary...it just felt right.

The moment he stepped past the wards...her magic seemed to surge and flare, almost like it was welcoming him. She felt it almost caressing his powerful, naked form, his dark shadows twining with her power, almost like a familiar seeking out its owner.

There was an energy in the air, palpable and electric. It was like the air was vibrating, filling them with a kind of energy that seemed to make the atmosphere heavier, thicker... like the air was full of promise and anticipation.

He brought the deer over to her, the neck broken.

"Just for the record, I could have used a knife," he told her drily.

She gave him a cheeky smile. “Oh come on, love, where’s your sense of drama?” she teased him, her voice low and sweet. “Bringing me the deer you killed with your bare hands is more romantic, isn’t it?”

“You just like the idea of me all feral and wild, don’t you?” he asked, his lips curving into a cocky smirk. “All dirty and naked and covered in blood and your pretty little runes.”

She just raised one eyebrow, lifting her ritual knife.

It was the work of nothing to cut the deer’s throat and catch the blood in a stone bowl.

"Onto the altar with you," Cate said quietly.

He moved forward, laying himself down on the smooth stone of the altar.

Even in this light, he was a vision, all rippling muscles and scars and ink that he had never bothered to hide away.

Cate approached the altar, the bowl of blood clutched in her hands. She placed the bowl on the surface of the altar, her eyes skimming over the planes and valleys of his skin, the smooth, muscular expanse of his stomach, that V at his hips….

"Now is the moment to tell me you don’t want this," she told him quietly. She could still change the ritual now. By the time the first rune would be drawn onto his body…well, that was going to be rather impossible. 

He chuckled, the sound hoarse and deep in the silence that surrounded them.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my whole life,” Azriel promised her fiercely. 

The night air crackled with the energy that filled it, like a silent thunder that promised power and passion and more ecstasy than he had ever known. He watched her, his gaze never leaving her as she settled on top of him and straddled his bare thighs with her own.

"I have waited a millennium for you," she said quietly as she dipped her hands into the warm blood.

He shivered lightly as her hands, covered with blood, dragged across his bare chest, the fluid and heat of the blood spreading over his skin, whispering the spells that would bind him to her. 

“And I’ve waited a lifetime for you,” he murmured back, his voice guttural and deep as he met her gaze with his own.

She drew the second rune, her fingers sliding over his skin, his wings twitching underneath him.

Her touch was precise, but reverent, as she traced the lines and symbols onto his chest and abdomen, her fingers gliding over his skin.

"Cate," he groaned, his voice strangled.

"Hush," she told him, her voice almost a little breathless. She didn't know how she was staying so calm...he was laid out in front of her and it was taking all of her self-control not to just take him then and there, to claim and mark and taste him until he belonged to her completely.

"I am nearly there." She promised him, even as she could see his cock harden. "This works better if you are aroused anyway."

He huffed out a laugh, his voice strained. “Of course it does,” he rasped, his eyes fixed on her as she worked. "I am pretty sure you just want to torture me.”

"I always pay my dues," she promised him, finished another rune at the V of his hips and then swallowed down his prick without any preamble, as one hand finished painting the rune on his thigh.

His reaction was instantaneous. He jerked against her, a noise that was something between a gasp and strangled moan slipping from his lips.

"Cate," he groaned, his voice guttural and raw, "Gods...Cate, I need-"

She didn’t give him time to finish. She wanted him gone, unravelled, ruined. She wanted him under her, undone, marked and claimed in the most intimate way. Every rune she made seared his skin, a claim that would be with him for days yet.

She finished the last rune. Cate could feel it herself...could feel the magic swell up inside her, like a hook anchoring right there in her chest.

It had started.

She could feel it

The air crackled and filled with power, her own magic swelling like a living thing, as the last of the runes settled onto his skin.

He jerked again, a noise of pure desire torn from his throat.

He was taut and strung-out underneath her, like a bow ready to snap. Every muscle was tensed and coiled, like a predator right before it took its prey. His eyes were fixed on her - wild, burning, desperate with need - as his hips jerked up against her.

She lifted her mouth of him, dunking her hand in the bowel of blood again, taking his hand and smearing it all over his own...using his hand to come up to her chest, writing the rune over her own heart.

He watched her, entranced, as she smeared her own chest with the blood, his fingers trailing over her skin, leaving bloody trails wherever they went.

He stared as the rune spread across her chest, marking her just like she had marked him, the sight making something possessive flare to life inside him.

One, two, three...seven...And then it was done.

Seven runes to bind them together for eternity.

Seven runes that made her blood sing and her skin feel like it was burning.

She pulled him up to sit up with her, his chest flush with her own, the blood that covered them both smearing between them.

"First part is done," she told him breathlessly. "Now comes the fun part."

*****

Gods, he wanted her.

He wanted her so badly his brain was almost mush, like his body was on fire, completely overwhelmed.

He’d never felt like this before, like he was so desperate and so wild with need that all he could do was grab her and pin her to the altar, pressing her down into the cold stone.

Cate turned around...presenting her back to him, her back arching...on her hands and knees before him.

He almost growled in the back of his throat. The sight of her like that sent a rush of possessive lust through him, like a savage animal claiming his mate.

Something inside him snapped. 

There was nothing carefuly, nothing but animalistic need in him as he covered his body with her own, as he plunged into her body. 

He couldn’t hold back a guttural, feral noise that escaped his throat.

She was tight and hot around him, her body taking him in like it fit perfectly - like she was made for him. One hand wrapped itself around her throat, squeezing, while the other wrapped around her waist. 

“Mine,” he hissed, his voice almost guttural. “My witch.” His other hand tightened on her hips pulling her back against him, like he was trying to press her into him, his movements almost desperate. “You feel like you were made for me,” he panted in her ear.

She mewled in response, her voice high and desperate, her body clenching around his. “Azriel,” she gasped. “Please-”

Somehow it was the sound of his name on her lips...somehow… he felt Cate's magic deep in his bones, seemingly trembling all around them..and also felt...felt that unfurling of a golden bond deep in his chest, crashing into him with no finesse at all, leaving him gasping as he spilled into her, before he even had the chance to…

The moment the bond snapped into existence, he felt like he was drowning in sensation.

He felt it in every nerve and muscle, in every vein and bone - a thrumming, golden magic that now ran through him like living, liquid metal. He gasped against her skin, shuddering with the overwhelming influx of sensation and power. It was like - like he was now part of her soul, like the magic that now thrummed in him was her very life’s force, her light and energy and passion.

He tightened his grip on her, his nose buried in her hair, his breaths laboured and harsh against her skin. He’d never felt such an overwhelming surge of emotions and sensations before, like he’d suddenly became hyperaware of everything around him, everything and everyone around him. He could feel Cate - her emotions, her sensations, her very magic and soul, could feel her body, clenching down around him, felt every muscle tremor that shot through her…

He had never, in his life, felt closer to anyone before.

It was an overwhelming feeling - the feeling of the bond between them now permanent and powerful, a thrumming, golden connection that tied them together at a deep level that even he couldn’t explain.

He pressed a shaking, desperate kiss to her shoulder, his teeth grazing against her skin. “Cate,” he breathed, his voice strangled.

Her body trembled underneath him, high whines leaving her throat.

"Mate..." she whispered.

He pulled her against him, rolling his hips into her, desperate for more skin-to-skin contact. “My mate,” he answered huskily.

He’d been with someone before - he’d had plenty of partners before - but nobody had ever made him feel like this before, like his very soul had found its missing piece.

He wanted to devour her - to mark her and claim her until she wore his scent and nobody else’s. He wanted to leave an indent of his teeth on her neck and everywhere else, so that the whole world could look at her and know she was his. His and his alone.

He growled, the sound guttural and feral. He wanted the whole world to look at her and know she was taken, was claimed, was owned by a male who wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who would dare to touch her.

He ran his tongue along the slope of her neck, his teeth grazing over her skin, the scent of her driving him almost wild. He was consumed by the need, primal and intense, to claim her in the most basic way possible on every level.

"Azriel.." she whispered. her body was trembling in his grasp, as she moved, pushing back against him, and he understood the unspoken question, moving back, pulling out of her, grounding his teeth at the lost of contact. It wasn't for long though.

Cate pounced at soon as she could, straddling him. She stared at him, green eyes wide and unguarded...so beautiful. "Azriel. Mate ."

He stared back at her, his chest heaving with his harsh breaths. He’d never seen her look so beautiful before - her face flushed, her hair messy and tangled, skin covered in a light sheen of sweat. He’d never seen her look so unguarded, so open and vulnerable.

He ran his hands up her thighs, his own eyes wide and hungry. “Mate,” he agreed, voice hoarse and low.

***

This wasn't supposed to happen.

This hadn't been what she had expected to happen. She had never thought that Azriel would turn out to be her mate. Not because she didn't want him to be...she would have given nearly everything to have this with him but...but because she didn't deserve him.

But now there they were

Together. Bound for eternity. Two halves of a whole, connected in a way that was deeper and stronger and more powerful than any other connection on earth.

He ran his hands over her skin, his eyes never leaving her face, drinking in the sight of her. She could feel the power of their connection thrumming between them, like a living thing that grew stronger with every beat of their hearts.

His eyes were wide and intense, almost like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening, like he was taking in every single part of her and committing her to memory. She had never felt so seen before, like his gaze was a physical thing that ran over her skin, like he was able to look into her very soul.

She couldn't help herself as she sank down onto him, taking him back into her body.

This wasn't how this ritual was supposed to work. Not when she could still feel the magic thruming in the very air, not when she could still feel her very core pulsing.

He groaned in response, his hands gripping her hips almost bruisingly hard. The feel of her around him was almost electric, like every nerve ending was on fire, every cell in his body aware of her - her skin on his, the heat of her body, the sound of her breath, the feel of her pulse.

He rolled his hips into hers, like he was trying to get impossibly closer, like he was trying to push himself inside her and never leave.

She could feel the power of their bond growing with every move they made, like a golden thread that bound them together with every breath, every beat of their hearts. Cate couldn't help but gasp as she felt it grow stronger and stronger, like it was a living thing that grew with every passing moment.

She didn't even know it was possible to feel such a connection with another person. 

He looked into her eyes as she rode him, her body moving with a primal, steady rhythm. He didn't speak, but he didn't need to. She could feel everything he was feeling - desire, love, possessiveness, passion, devotion...everything.

She could feel it in the way he touched her, the way he looked at her, the way he breathed against her skin.

She could feel it in the way his breath hitched as she moved on top of him, in the way his fingers gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, in the way his eyes burned with heat and desire as he looked at her.

Their breaths were coming fast and hard now, almost matched. She could feel the bond growing and growing with every thrust of their hips, every gasp of their breaths. She could feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge - knew Azriel could feel it too.

She came with a cry, her body shuddering with the force of her release, Azriel’s name on her lips as she felt him follow her over the edge, spilling into her with a broken groan.

She wasn't sure what possessed her...wasn't sure what made her lean forward and bury her teeth in the skin between his shoulder and neck...but the moment she bit down and tasted his blood in her mouth…he reciprocrated. And as her blood flooded his mouth he jerked underneath her...and the magic surrounding them turned into a cyclone.

If she had thought the previous sensation of their bond forming was intense, it had nothing on this one.

She could feel it coursing through her body like liquid fire, like the bond that now grew between them was burning a path through her veins. It was like she was a channel for his magic, like every part of her body was humming with the power of it.

She gripped Azriel’s shoulders like a lifeline, her nails digging into his skin and leaving marks. Mine. Mine. Mate.

The bond thrummed between them, a golden thread that bound them together so intrinsically that she didn’t know where she began and Azriel ended.

She felt the bond settle, thrumming between them like a living thing - connecting them body, mind, heart, and soul.

The magic surrounding them heaved. There was no other word for it. heaved and swirled and tightened...and then in one long, warm rush...it pulled together and rushed right inside her. She couldn't help and arch her back, her whole body trembling 

The rush of magic was almost overpowering - a wave of power and sensation coming over her like a tidal wave. She felt like she was drowning in it, like she was being consumed by the sheer force of it.

She could feel it coursing through her veins, filling every single part of her, like she was a conduit for it. She felt like every nerve ending in her body was alive and singing with the power of it, like she was a lightning storm in human skin.

Azriel was holding onto her as the magic swelled, his arms tight around her, his lips pressed to her shoulder. He was trying to ground her through the experience, to help her ride out the wave of magic and sensation that was flooding through her. She could feel his own magic, cool and calming, wrapping around her like a soothing balm, countering the almost overwhelming surge of power that was threatening to swallow her whole.

She could feel their new bond strengthening with every beat of their hearts, the golden thread that tied them together growing stronger and stronger. 

She collapsed onto him, boneless and exhausted. She could feel Azriel’s heart pounding in his chest, his heaving breaths against her skin.

They were mates. Completely, irreversibly mated.

Mates. Soul bonded for the rest of their lives. A male and a female tied together for eternity, through life and death, and beyond.

She didn't know how long they stayed like that, clutching each other like they were each other's lifeline, their bodies still tangled together. But when she finally stirred, her voice was raw and hoarse.

"Azriel..."

“I am not done,” he whispered, rolling to bury her underneath her again. 

No. No, he wasn’t done. 

She wasn’t even sure what had triggered it. Later she would wonder if the taste of her blood had replaced the need of offering her food…or if it had been something else that triggered the mating frenzy. 

Later, she would worry about all of that. 

But right now…right now the only thing she could do was to hang onto him, while he wrecked her. 

Not that anybody would hear even a syllable of protest from her. 

***

“Was this how it was supposed to work?” Azriel asked her hoarsely. The sun had just come up. Leaving them to survey the damage. 

"I have absolutely no clue," Cate admitted weakly. His witch, his mate, was covered in bruises and lovebites where he had gotten his teeth into her. Her hair stood up in every which direction and she had never looked any more beautiful to him than now. 

"We did manage to reduce the forest to rubble though," he told her as he stared into what had once been a forest. Now…now it wasn’t. 

Actually everything looked like a complete and utter mess. White wax dripepd all over the ground…the trees were broken and fallen and upended every which way…they were both absolutely smeared in dried blood…

He didn’t even have a memory of half of what they had done onto that altart during the night. It had all gone…rather hazy after the 5th or 6th time of spending his seed all over her… drily. 

Cate’s head snapped up at his words. She swallowed nervously, and he could feel a flicker of uncertainty run through her. "Did I...did it hurt you?" she asked, her voice trembling.

He shook his head. "Not even a little bit," he told her, his grip tightening around her, reaching out to cup her cheek. "You would never hurt me."

She closed her eyes, resting her head against his chest.

She relaxed against him, laying her head against his chest. 

He could feel the bond that thrummed between them, in the way her very heart seemed to settle into a steady, comfortable rhythm when he was close.

He had never felt this way before, not with anyone. He felt like he was finally home - like he belonged, like he was finally where he was meant to be.

There was a newfound sense of peace that settled over him as he held her close.

He had never known comfort like this before - the easy, effortless way that he felt at home with her in his arms, like nothing else in the world mattered. It was a new and unfamiliar feeling - but one that he could definitely get used to for the rest of his life.

His witch. His mate. His everything. 

[thenationofzaun]

Thoughts on Act 1 of Arcane Season 2

The positives:

- The animation is fucking incredible.

- Jinx and Sevika teaming up watered my crops and cleansed my skin.

- Underwater goodbye with Jinx and Silco. That scene was made specifically for me.

- Jinx's voice actress continues to be excellent.

- Loved the designs of all the Chembarons. The glimpse we got of the gang wars was also interesting. Unfortunately, too tiny a glimpse. Which brings me to...

The negatives:

- Too many plotlines. They stuffed the season with too much shit which is why each individual plot gets a much shorter screentime than it should. Smeech is introduced and killed in the same episode. Chembarons' gang wars, a huge issue which has repercussions on the entire Undercity, gets only one musical montage before moving on. And this is coming from someone who loved that montage, as well as the song. My favourite on the soundtrack so far. But musical montages shouldn't come at the expense of the story and definitely shouldn't replace the story. There are just way too many music video scenes in general that feel like a way to condense a storyline into the sparknotes version because they don't have the screentime to flesh it out. And they would have the screentime if they cut out all the extra stuffing. Look I'm happy for the League fans who are excited for the Black Rose and all that, but what the hell is it doing in a Piltover/Zaun show. And with zero foreshadowing in Season 1 too. It would definitely be easier to swallow if they had at least hinted at it in the first season. They could have kept Ambessa's beef with this magic cult for a Noxus show. The P/Z narrative has enough to deal with, enough characters to handle already.

- The new side characters are uninteresting and generic. Maddie and the two other enforcers (we don't even know their names after three episodes LMAO) are bland. We know nothing about their characters or personalities. Maddie looks like a rookie, and one of the dudes is an alcoholic, yet they get chosen for an elite strikeforce to capture Jinx? Isha is pretty generic too - the token cute kid that needs protecting. I get the role she will play in Jinx's arc. But that's the problem - she should be a character in her own right, not just a vehicle for someone else's character development. A good example is Mylo. He died for Jinx's arc, but when he was alive he was a distinct character with his own personality. We had a sense of his insecurities, his goals, who he was as a person. Name a single personality trait of Isha and Maddie other than "generically nice person". That's right. You can't.

- Whatever the hell is going on with Viktor. He wakes up from his coma and immediately rejects Jayce so quickly that it was funny. Apparently disapproves of Jayce using the Hexcore to save his life, but then immediately goes to use the Hexcore to save random Undercity people. Bruh. I also don't really like the way the fridged woman from last season seems to be his motivation so far. Nor the way he seems to have no agency in his Machine Herald arc. Instead of Viktor himself believing in transhumanism and mechanizing himself, Jayce does it for him. Instead of Viktor having an ideological drive and wanting a "Glorious Evolution", he is driven by guilt over Sky. Meh. Also he's not even mechanized, instead he's weirdly fleshy?? In a magical way?? More like The Magic Herald :(

- Vi. Her whole character is a mess. Insanely rushed arc which I find unacceptable for one of THE main characters and one of the faces of the show. She and Jinx are supposed to be the leads, their relationship the heart of the story, but so far only Jinx is a well-written fleshed out chaacter with a believable arc. I have too much to say about Vi so I'll expand more on this on another post.

- So much nuance and detail is missing. How does Heimerdinger feel about his ex-colleagues being killed? Does he care? Does he feel guilt? Relieved that he wasn't in the chamber when the bombing happened? No clue! Let's have comedy Mission Impossible instead! How does Ekko feel about the Council attack? Does he approve of it? Think Jinx went too far? How does he feel that she even survived their fight to begin with? No clue! Here, have him joking around with a Councilor for a bit (someone whom Ekko logically should despise), then he can talk Science with Jayce and all three get sent to another dimension together. Yay. What does Vi think happened to Ekko? The last time she saw him, he was fighting Jinx to the death to give Vi and Cait time to escape. He could be dead for all she knows and she doesn't give a fuck. Doesn't even think about him nor mention him once. It's like the writers forgot they're childhood friends. What does the entirety of Zaun make of Silco's death? I assume they heard about it from Piltover (who heard about it from Caitlyn), but how do they think it happened? His body is gone and to Zaun it seems he just mysteriously disappeared. Are there conspiracy theories? Conflicting accounts and rumours? So much nuance that would give the world and characters more depth, sacrificed so we can pack in more rushed subplots and music videos.

- Caitlyn "Wifebeater" Kiramman. And Caitvi in general. So far Caitlyn has guilt-tripped Vi, manipulated her into joining the enforcers, insulted her and then physically abused her. After Vi sacrificed everything for Cait, wore a badge she hates for Cait, even let Cait kill her own fucking sister (and only intervened when the random kid got involved). Why should I give a shit about such a one-sided relationship lmao. "B-but Cait's mom is dead so she's sad about it", every other fucking character in this show has dead parents. Half the cast has faced unfathomable amounts of trauma and pain that make Cait's pale in comparison. Nothing justifies her hitting Vi. "B-b-but it's a parallel to when Vi hit Powder", a shit parallel then. Because the circumstances are not even remotely comparable. "God forbid lesbians do anything🤪", give me a break with this corny bullshit. Be serious for a second. I'm not even a Vi fan and I think she deserves better than this mess of a relationship. The power dynamic between them makes it worse. The way Caitlyn is one of the richest people in the city and Vi is broke. The way Caitlyn is highly educated and Vi never went to school and spent her entire teen years locked in a box. Did the writers think about all this when writing their relationship? Keep in mind, Vi met Caitlyn like a week ago. She barely knows this chick. She's been out of prison FOR A WEEK. Where she was physically abused every fucking day. Putting her in a relationship with a cop who hits her would certainly be a choice! Do I have faith this show will handle it with care? Not really, no. They already ignore Vi's prison trauma. Most likely they will make Vi forgive Cait way too easily because "muh mummy muh grief".

[wifelinkmtg]

This was intended to be an essay about chivalry—its history, its uses, its various incarnations—medieval violence, the Romantic reinterpretation, the ideal of chivalry in the American South and its attendant lynch mobs. I would have talked about the chivalric triad: Knight, Innocent, Enemy—the way the Innocent serves as a fulcrum for the Knight to enact violence against the Enemy—the iterations of this triad in any number of places in our society, from the so-called sheepdog mentality trained into our police to the legion of revenge-fantasy Taken clones. I would have talked about the way Kierkegaard in Fear and Trembling incorporates chivalry with the sacrifice of Isaac, the theology of self-justified suffering that comes from that. I would have talked at some length about various portrayals of lesbian chivalry in media—Revolutionary Girl Utena, the Locked Tomb books, Signalis—how they use it, what they say about it, and whether at the end there is anything worth salvaging from this intrinsically violent way of relating to the world, to others, to oneself, to God.

I think a version of that essay might still be worth writing someday, but right now, there's something I need to talk about much more urgently. Right now, there's something I suspect you might desperately need to hear. Today I'm going to talk about Godzilla.

GODZILLA SAVED MY LIFE: A Polemic

Godzilla Minus One (2024) takes place in Japan in the immediate aftermath of the Second World War. Its protagonist, Koichi, is a failed kamikaze pilot who in the opening scenes is repeatedly excoriated for his cowardice and dereliction of duty. When he returns home to a bombed and desolate Tokyo, his bereaved neighbor tells him, if people like you had done their duty, this would not have happened. The film spends the rest of its runtime doggedly refuting this idea. It says, out loud, that the relentless calculus of sacrifice that turns men into things to be spent has no place in this world, that it is needless and cruel. It is not subtle about this point. It is not trying to be.

I saw this movie in its black and white version in theaters in February, on the last day of its run. Its version of Godzilla inspires in me both terror and near-religious awe. It looms over the film, an echo both of the devastation of the war and of Koichi's guilt and shame, its presence inviting—demanding—the final consummation of the mission he abandoned.

I wept in that theater. I gripped my friend's hand and I sobbed. This is unlike me (unless I'm watching Gunbuster), and it took four days for me to work out why this Godzilla movie had affected me so profoundly.

arkansas kamikaze

and she looked, and behold! a beast rose from the sea, and against the beast he breathed glory in a Zero dive. his beatified smile shone from the wreck of the Little Rock Planned Parenthood clinic. and a great wind blew out of heaven, and she woke

and made breakfast, and watched her son wholly absorbed in Bonhoeffer, found her lipstick worn down to the nub for practice stigmata, and saw for a moment the dove descending, the tongue of fire over his head.

The thing about being raised in a right-wing fundamentalist family is that you are from birth being prepared to be a weapon, or a martyr, and there is really no difference between those two things. If my mother had had her way, I would have gone to a tiny far-right college and studied law for the sole and explicit purpose of getting Roe v. Wade overturned. She would, I believe, have settled for me bombing an abortion clinic. Certainly it would have been easier for her to reconcile with that than with what I became instead.

The other thing about being raised in a right-wing fundamentalist family is, some things stick. And it's very hard to notice, as your beliefs and values and identity undergo radical changes, that there is still a whisper in you that believes in the power of the glorious death, of the ultimate virtue of strapping explosives to your chest and walking into the halls of the Enemy. And when you feel helpless, when you watch systems and institutions that ought to prevent atrocities instead encourage them, that whisper grows louder and louder and louder.

Watching Koichi fly his last mission, watching him an instant before impact eject, and live—watching everyone live through the final confrontation because they had all rejected the calculus of sacrifice—allowed me to see also for the very first time this parasitic idea that had grown coiled inside me since infancy, allowed me to see where it had come from, its whole monstrous lineage, and then it allowed me to take hold of it and pull it out.

Twenty days later, Aaron Bushnell set himself on fire outside the Israeli embassy in Washington, DC, in protest of the still-ongoing genocide of the Palestinian people. He was, like me, raised in a right-wing fundamentalist environment. He was, like one of my siblings, a member of the US Armed Forces radicalized by his experiences and his own conscience. People called him a hero and martyr—on this very site, in responses to the excellent Crimethinc piece circulating at the time, I saw people saying they felt like they should follow suit (even though the article in question explicitly and repeatedly warned against it!) As if the loss of a person of conscience and conviction could be anything other than a tragedy, as if anyone in power choosing to support the genocide could regard the death of one of their own soldiers as anything other than what soldiers are for, as if the moral response to a genocide could ever be to add another corpse to the mountain—and still I saw people lionizing him, praising his courage and his sacrifice, all but telling people to follow in his footsteps.

No. Aaron Bushnell was a suicide. He lived his whole life within organizations that taught him that he could purchase more with his death than he could ever accomplish with his life, and while we may praise his conscience, we can only mourn his loss and the grievous error that led him to it.

This is the thing about learning to see this parasite: you begin to see it everywhere. Our history for millennia is awash with human sacrifice: Abraham and Isaac, Jephthah and his nameless daughter, Agamemnon and Iphigenia, the crucifixion of Jesus—and later, litanies, row upon row of dead saints, stories of glorious last stands. The courageous martyred dead: blood and corpses, only and always, to Moloch.

In light of the recent US election, perhaps many of my American readers are feeling shock or horror or despair. I understand, and without blame, with love and gentleness, I tell you that this is because you have not correctly understood the scope of the problem. You imagine a discontinuity between the liberal version of American capitalism and imperialism and the fascist version of the same. No such discontinuity exists. Things will no doubt be different for us here in the US than they would otherwise be, and probably worse, but there is no distinction to be made between the genocide of yesterday and the genocide of tomorrow. The enemy is the same. The work is the same.

Above all else, this is to warn you: when you do this work, when you look for a place you can put your shoulder to the wheel, there will be people who want to spend their lives—or yours—like coin to purchase some great change immediately. Perhaps they mean well, and helplessness and desperation drives them to act without regard for the consequences. Perhaps they do not mean well. Do not follow these people. Perhaps they merely expect you to go to prison, and have no plan for how to support you after that. This is barely different. It is far better for you to languish in useless liberal nonprofits which will accomplish nothing of value than to attempt radical direct action with people with correct politics and no forethought, and end up dead or imprisoned—but these are not the only two options. Aaron Bushnell cannot ever again do anything for anyone. You can.

This is as much as I know for certain. I love you. Don't die.

-------

End Notes

It would not be unreasonable to ask me, in light of what I've said here about martyrdom, what I think of it in other cultural contexts, especially since a similar word is often used to refer to e.g. Palestinian people murdered by Israeli soldiers. The answer is nothing at all. Such people get to use whatever words they want to salvage whatever meaning and comfort they can.

Godzilla Minus One, as effective a movie as it is, was not solely responsible for the scales falling from my eyes. It was an important part of the process, but I doubt it would have sufficed on its own were I not in community with people I trust and talk to about such things. "Godzilla and also my trusted friends saved my life" is, alas, a worse title.

There will be a part two to this. Part one seemed more urgent.

[infernal-scales]

a hot and thirsty starter || @fell-feathers

A GLASS OF LEMONADE, pinched between long, black nails, drops down into the peripheral of the sweating gardener. Standing above him and offering said drink is none other than Warlock’s dearest nanny, her own glass in hand as her black sunhat casts them both in glorious shade from the blistering summer sun.

It’s been a humid, hellish season so far. Satan himself would likely be sweating up an ocean in this heat.

❝ Mrs. Hannigan wasn’t too pleased with you in this morning’s meeting, was she, Brother Francis? ❞ Mulberry lips quirk up into a smirk. ❝ I don’t believe I’ve ever heard her voice turn that shrill before. WELL DONE. ❞

Well done on a job… not so well or done. The poor rose bushes, Mrs. Dowling’s favorites, were practically twigs at this point.

[roselyn-writing]

[lyrakanefanaticwriting]

Brothers and Cliffs

authors note: alright i have a TON of requests (not just here, but also on my main) and yes i am going to get around to doing those, but i had this idea for a fic for a long time and really wanted to write it, so yeah! this fic takes place in either glorious rivals or the grandest game, but just pretend that they don’t know gigis kidnapped yet 😭

——————————————————————————

Lyra knew she was on the brink of getting eliminated. She knew it, and her heart froze in her chest from the acknowledgment of that fact. Gasping for air as she finally stopped running all around the island, she doubled over, placing her hands on her knees.

“Giving up so soon?” A British taunt interjected. Lyra turned her head, and saw Rohan leaning against a dead tree, smirking at her. She knew that he already knew the answer to the riddle, knew that she was the only one left who didn’t yet, and anger bubbled inside of her.

“No.” She spat, standing up as straight as she could before sprinting off, away from him. Her heart ricocheted in her chest, and Lyra tried to slow her breathing so she could think and not cry. She continued to run, before a sudden image made her halt to a stop. She stalked slowly to the tree, not sure if her eyes were fooling her. There, on the tree, she could just barely see a circle where the ridges didn’t co-align with the others. Lyra knew that was possible, but there was something about the perfection of the circle that made her freeze in the first place. Placing her fingernails into the tiny cracks, she grabbed the small circle of the tree the best she could and tugged. The part of the tree came out, leaving an empty hole inside. Lyra immediately crammed her fingers inside the hole, grabbing at it, before feeling paper and pulling it out. With her heart jolting in her chest, Lyra unwrapped the paper, before readings its contents:

“Without me and within me is death assured, with me and within you is life most pure.”

Lyra paused for only a moment. Water. There was no way it was that easy. That was, until a sudden memory of Jameson Hawthorne speaking to all of the contestants washed over her.

“Don’t be so sure,” Jameson said to Rohan in front of all of us, a reply to when Rohan teased Savannah about wanting to scale her walls. “Scaling walls is harder than one might think.”

Scaling walls. Lyra remembered a “wall” that would be harder to scale than one might think, a wall that stood just over a body of water. The cliff.

Without a moments hesitation, Lyra looked up at the sky, realized it couldn’t be more than 5 minutes till sunset, and took off towards the cliff.

Lyra knew she was getting closer to the cliffs by not only the feel of the wind on this side of the island, but also by the amount of contestants and Hawthornes she saw waiting. She saw Brady Daniels. Savannah Grayson. Jameson Hawthorne. Nash Hawthorne. Xander Hawthorne. Avery Grambs. Grayson, however, was no where to be seen.

Lyra’s mind lingered on that fact longer than she had any right to.

Running closer towards the cliff, a voice slowed her down.

“I know you know the answer by now, and I’m just telling you that if you try to scale that cliff in the time you have left, you are going to get hurt in the process.” Nash Hawthornes Texas drawl told her, as he sat up against the ruins, strumming a guitar. He looked up at her. “There has to be a length you aren’t willing to take, and if there is one, it should be this.” Pettiness rose in her chest. She still had time. 2 minutes, at the most, but time. An idea flashed through her, and, huffing out a breath, she tied her hair up with the small black elastic on her wrist.

“You seem pretty sure about that.” She retorted, determination clear on her face. Lyra figured out a way to find the answer she needed. She wasn’t going to scale the cliff. She didn’t need to.

She started to run, going farther away from Nash Hawthorne and closer towards the cliff. She ran. And ran. And when she was sure there was only a minute left on her time, she ran even more, coming closer towards the edge, slowing to a halt once she finally did.

And then she jumped.

GRAYSON:

Grayson walked out of the ruins, making his way towards Jameson, before a figure caught his eye. Lyra. Grayson held a breath as he watched her talk to Nash. He had looked all over the island, trying desperately to find her and try to help her through the riddle and its answer. She had, what, a minute left? There was a good chance that she wouldn’t make it, and Grayson knew what he would do if that were true. Start a trust fund for her brothers. Try and help with Mile’s End. He knew that Lyra would refuse any financial help, but he would try his best. And then what would happen if she left? What would happen to them?

An annoying voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“I think I’m the first to tell you this, Gray, but wistfully looking at the love of your life is supposed to only be a thing that happens in movies.” Grayson turned towards Jameson, raising a brow and snapping out of his daze.

“You’re an idiot.” He stated, despite Avery’s giggle beside Jamie.

“You two need to stop fighting so mu-“ Avery didn’t even get to finish before Jameson’s voice interrupted hers.

“What the hell?” He said, his voice intense. It was so sudden that Grayson froze, turning his gaze to where Jameson’s was. Grayson watched with horror as Lyra ran closer to the edge, before suddenly, with a jump, leaping off. Grayson hesitated. He paused, frozen alongside his brother who was no doubt thinking the same thing that Grayson was, and he knew he would regret it for the rest of his life. Staying frozen while Lyra could be de-

Grayson didn’t let himself finish that thought before breaking into a sprint towards the cliff.

LYRA:

Lyra turned the best she could in air, reading the message carved into the cliff wall only a second before falling into the water. She ran it over in her head, thinking about it as she scrambled to come above the freezing cold water.

“I am a mother and a father, but have never given birth. I am rarely still, but I never wander. What am I?”

Lyra thought it over. Then she thought over what her mother had said once to her when she was 13 and they were walking through a trail. What she said about the “most nurturing parents of the forest.” And then she thought about where she got her original riddle from.

A tree.

She barely had time to feel relieved before a wave hit her aggressively, dragging her under.

GRAYSON:

Grayson finally made it to the shore of the water below the cliff where Lyra should be, searching the water for her. He barely saw her come above the water, before getting sucked back under. Fear threatened to hold him under, but he pushed it, and the memory of Emily doing this exact same thing with him, down. With a shuddering breath, he took off his suit jacket as fast as he could and dove into the water. With his eyes open, he could just barely see her figure under the crashing waves, and then he was swimming towards her, and bringing her body to his. Her eyes opened once he brought her body to his chest and hooked one hand under her knees with his other arm wrapped around her upper back. She looked even more beautiful underwater. Grayson tried his best not to mull on that, but he still nonetheless drank the feel of her body pressed against his chest in like wine. Ignoring the aggressive waves, he swam back up to shore, holding her body in his arms as he saw his brothers, Avery, and the other contestants run over to them.

“What the hell was that?” Jameson demanded, his gaze turned to Lyra. Grayson could tell by his large pupils that he was also seeing a glimpse of what happened to Emily in Lyra. Avery had her hand on Jameson’s arm, but from his past demand, she took his hand in hers, turning his attention away from Lyra and Grayson almost immediately. Grayson placed Lyra down gently, ignoring his shaking hands as he took his suit jacket off the floor, shook off some sand, and draped it over her shoulders. Lyra immediately pulled it closer towards her, shivering. She was about to speak, when Grayson interjected.

“You could have gotten hurt, Lyra. Then what would happen?” He asked, his voice more hoarse than he wanted to admit. Lyra paused, her mouth stuck open, as her brows furrowed. She shut her mouth then, shrugging as she instead turned to Nash.

“I told you that you seemed too sure about the fact that there were lengths I wouldn’t take.” She told Nash simply. Grayson mulled on that, grappling with a calm that he didn’t in any way feel. Jameson paused, before nodding.

“You did what you had to do, reckless or not. Although I do feel that as Game Master I should warn you away from cliffs and danger in general, as we don’t need one of the contestants to kill themself half way through the Grandest Game.” He said, his pupils finally shrinking. Grayson whipped his head towards Jameson, as his mind still grappled with what was going on.

“This isn’t a joke, Jameson. She could have-” Died. Grayson paused, his voice guttural. Lyra turned to him with a raised brow, but Grayson kept his gaze firmly on Jameson. “She could have gotten seriously hurt.”

“I did just say that, didn’t I?” Jameson retorted, with a raised brow. In Grayson’s mind, he could see the image of Emily jumping off the cliff. Then, he saw Jameson’s smirk a mere few days after the incident. He was already making a joke of things.

“Are you serious?” Grayson was going to continue, before Nash cut him off.

“Enough, Grayson.” He warned. Grayson turned to him. “This isn’t about her.” Nash didn’t have to say who the “her” was for Grayson to know what he was getting at. Emily.

“Her?” Rohan and Lyra asked simultaneously. Grayson’s gaze turned to Lyra. He watched how her brows furrowed ever so slightly, before she turned her attention to Avery. Grayson could see her brain working through the events of tonight, trying to connect them to the Hawthorne heiress in some way. She opened her mouth to speak, before Grayson cut in.

“Not Avery.” He interjected. Lyra snapped her mouth shut, and Grayson held her gaze for only a few seconds before turning to his brothers. He planned on lecturing Jameson more on what jokes were and weren’t appropriate to make, before Savannah interrupted.

“Then who?” She asked, her expression calm as she raised a brow. Lyra, Rohan, and Brady all turned to him expectantly, but he wasn’t planning on giving them an actual answer.

“It doesn’t matter.” He stated, his voice meant to shut the topic down. Jameson raised a brow at him.

“Are you sure, Grayson,” He asked slowly. “That it doesn’t matter to you?” A flicker of anger sparked in Grayson’s chest.

“I could say the same for you, Jamie.” He replied, his tone cool and collected despite the anger building inside of him. Jameson rolled his eyes.

“You have to get over it at some point, Grayson. When’s that stick finally gonna come out of your ass?” He said, his voice louder than before.

“I am getting over it. When are you going to get over that nonchalant nothing-matters attitude? When are you going to finally take things seriously?” He retorted, his eyes narrowing at Jameson. Nash and Avery both interjected, telling the two of them to cool down as Xander watched nervously, but Grayson couldn’t believe it. Would he be cracking jokes at Lyra’s funeral? Making light of things while she’s in the hospital, bleeding out from impact? Grayson didn’t know.

“This is who I am. It’s who I’ve always been, Grayson. Don’t act like part of your personality isn’t being a bitch.” Jameson spat right back, stepping closer to Grayson. Grayson’s jaw tightened. He hadn’t argued with his brothers like this in years. But seeing Lyra on the brink of getting hurt made him…. act different. Maybe it was about Emily. Or maybe the idea of losing Lyra was one that he just couldn’t bear. Grayson took a step forward, before Lyra’s hand shot out to hold his arm.

“What the hell are you doing, Grayson? Calm down.” She told him. Grayson turned to meet her eyes, feeling more calm than he had moments ago from the feel of her warm hand over his arm, before a voice brought that anger back.

“Yeah, Grayson,” Jameson taunted, his eyes hard as stone. “Calm down.”

“Don’t taunt him.” Nash warned Jameson quickly, putting a hand on his shoulder. Behind Nash, Grayson could see Savannah and Rohan send each other interested glances. He didn’t like fighting with his brothers, especially in front of other people, but right now, he couldn’t help it.

“Or what?” Grayson retorted, his eyes dragging back to Jameson’s. A flash of anger entered his eyes, and that’s when the retorts just kept coming.

“The fuck do you mean, or what? It’s not like you’re going to do anything. You’ve always been too scared to ruin that perfect reputation you’ve got going on.” Jameson said, his voice intense as he took a step closer.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Grayson replied slowly.

“I do know what I’m talking about. When are you finally going to get over this bullshit?”

“Oh, you always bring it back to that.”

“Like it’s my fucking fault!” Jameson paused, running a hand through his hair. “Grayson. Do you seriously think that I don’t understand what you’re going through?” Jameson’s voice was more quiet now. And Grayson wanted to hear him out. He really did. But suddenly, a rush of emotions overtook him, and Grayson squeezed his eyes shut. It was only for a second, but still, when he opened his eyes, he was met with Jameson’s pitying ones. He didn’t want pity. And he knew, in his heart, that his grandfather would be disappointed in him for even craving the smallest bit of it.

“I think,” Grayson said calmly, stepping back as his face turned neutral in seconds. “That you haven’t figured out how to take anything seriously yet.” Grayson gave Jameson an unbothered stare, and that must have been the straw that broke the camels back, because in seconds, Jameson flipped him onto the ground.

“When will you grow up, Gray?” Jameson spat, staring Grayson dead in the eyes. Grayson returned the look, flipping him onto his back as he grappled for the upper hand.

“That’s rich coming from you.” Grayson retorted furiously. The two were in a fighting match, on the ground as different verbal assaults came flying from the both of them. Nash tried to break them up, but they seemed to be ignoring him, too caught up in their own wrestling match.

“What are you doing, Grayson? Get up.” Grayson recognized that honey rich voice immediately. Lyra. He tried to turn around and look at her, but his brother used the distraction as an opportunity to get the upper hand.

“You’re fucking unbelievable Grayson.” He spat.

“Please, spare me from your disappointment.” Grayson retorted sarcastically.

“Grayson, that’s enough.” A guttural voice that Grayson identified as Avery’s spoke up. Jameson immediately froze, his lips parting.

“It’ll be enough as soon as it’s enough for Jameson.” Grayson replied in a cool manner. Jameson’s gaze ripped back to Grayson’s, a sneer on his face.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“You. First.”

“What the actual fuck are you two doing?” Grayson froze as his head whipped towards where the angry voice came from. Lyra stood with her arms crossed, her face in disbelief as she ripped off Graysons jacket and threw it on him. Grayson peeled the suit jacket off his face, his brother having stopped fighting too, as he stared up at Lyra.

“Well?” She asked him. Grayson paused, uncertain of what to do. She seemed even more furious at that fact, stepping closer to him as a flicker of anger entered her eyes. She pointed her finger in his face.

“Get. Up. You. Asshole.” She enunciated with each point, staring at Grayson furiously as he slowly got up from the ground. As soon as he got up, Lyra stared down her nose at him, despite Grayson being taller than her by a good amount, before shaking her head.

“Maybe the millions of dollars aren’t actually worth it.” She said, sighing. Nash snorted, the first I’d heard from him since he tried breaking me and Jameson up.

“That was… something.” Brady said quietly, his brows furrowed as he glanced between Jameson and Grayson.

“That was stupid.” Lyra corrected, glancing back at Grayson. “I didn’t get hurt.” Grayson knew that. But she could have. And, selfish as it is, Grayson couldn’t help but think that there would be nothing left for him in the case that she did die.

“But you easily could have.” He finally said, expelling a breath. Lyra mulled on that, pressing her lips into a thin line.

“This is all very heartfelt, and I’m so glad that this melancholy Romeo found his somewhat less melancholy Juliet, but I do feel the need to ask,” Rohan interjected, placing a finger on his lips as if in thought as he studied Lyra. “Is she still in the game?”

“Yes.” Grayson said immediately, his tone defensive. Rohan made a face at him.

“You, Grayson Hawthorne, are no longer a Gamemaster. You, are a contestant,” He said, his tone amused as he smirked at Grayson. “Therefore you have no say in this matter.” Grayson was about to rebuke whatever he said, mainly because Rohan was only trying to deny Lyra of her spot in the game, but also because he was eyeing Savannah in a way that Grayson didn’t appreciate, before Nash interrupted.

“Well, because of these two numbskulls,” Nash interjected, glaring at Jameson and Grayson, “She didn’t actually get to say her answer.” Nash turned his attention to Lyra, and gradually, so did everybody else. He gestured at her, and Lyra didn’t hesitate as she spoke.

“A tree.” She said, her eyes lit up with a courageous look so fierce it burned Grayson. Grayson had typically stayed away from risks, from the spark of danger his entire life. But for some reason, while all these traits do apply to Lyra, he just physically can’t find a way to stay away from her. From the spark in her eyes. From the determined set of her chin. From all of it. Avery’s gaze slid to Grayson’s, and, as if she could read his thoughts, she smiled.

“Congratulations, Lyra Catalina Kane,” Avery said, stepping forward to be face-to-face with her, “you will remain a contestant in the game.” A look of relief barely touched Lyra’s features, before they turned neutral. She nodded, before turning and straying back to the cliff. Graysons eyes lingered on her, before slowly sliding to back to Avery, who was currently speaking.

“This night will be a grace period, but by 8:00 in the morning, everyone should be meeting just outside the house.” Avery stated, her expression kind. All the contestants began to walk back to the house, with Grayson’s brothers trailing after them and casting those looks at the way Grayson was watching Lyra, and soon enough, it was just the two of them left near the cliff side.

“You definitely had a normal reaction today.” Lyra finally said, breaking the silence that threatened to swallow Grayson whole.

“I couldn’t have handled it better.” He said, matching her sarcasm as he strode up beside her. Lyra turned to him suddenly, the movements graceful, yet intense, in a way.

“What was going through your head?” She asked him suddenly. Grayson swallowed.

“I..” He trailed off, before clearing his throat and making his features as simple as possible. “I was worried about you.” And he was. He was terribly worried, that the one good thing in his life would suddenly vanish.

“And if something were to happen to me..” She trailed off. Grayson knew she expected him to finish her sentence for her, but when he didn’t, she just looked up at him exasperatedly.

“Tell me you wouldn’t freak out as much as you did today if I were to die. Tell me that it wouldn’t weigh down on you as much as I saw it did in your face.” She said, trying to make her voice as simple as possible. Grayson wanted to lie. To tell her, ‘yes, I would be fine in the case that any of that were to happen’. But he couldn’t. His heart squeezed at the thought of lying to her. A strand of her dark hair blew free from her wet ponytail, and Grayson had to physically fight down the desire to brush it behind her ear.

“I can’t.” He finally said, his voice more hoarse than he intended it to be. She pressed her lips together, her thick brows knitting together as she gazed up at him.

“Why not?” She said softy, giving him a half shrug.

“Why not?” Grayson repeated, his voice tinged with amusement and disbelief. He wanted to explain to her exactly why not, but he held himself back from the urge to.

“Because….” He trailed off again, searching for a response. Once he found one, he immediately spoke up again. “Because you deserve to find out exactly what happened to your father. Your dying wouldn’t exactly make the search easier.” Lyra closed her eyes momentarily, and Grayson knew exactly where her brain was going; to calla lily’s, to gunshots and blood, and to omega. To everything they had found out while in that room for 12 hours.

“So it’s just about my father? Nothing else?” She finally said, opening her eyes. Grayson couldn’t say no. He couldn’t will himself to lie to her. So, all he could manage was the slightest nod. Lyra nodded back, before speaking.

“Well, at least you’ll go to sleep tonight knowing you mastered the art of being a jackass.” Lyra stated, making Grayson snort.

“I learned a lot of things tonight.” He said, more softly now.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Lyra rebutted. Grayson paused for a moment. He thought about the bitter and angry person he had become when his mind lingered on the idea of Lyra getting hurt. And then he thought about how those terrible thoughts began to vanish the second she looked his way.

“Quod amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus.” Grayson said softly. Lyra rolled her eyes.

“I really hope that that’s not another one of you Hawthorne’s Latin lingo.” She said, her lips quirked. Graysons lips lifted by a hair himself, as his heart felt lighter than it had a mere 10 minutes ago.

“Sorry to disappoint you, then.” Grayson stated, raising a brow. Lyra’s smile grew, before she turned her head to the cliff side. Grayson wanted to fill the silence before Lyra noticed that he was watching her.

“When was the last time you’ve slept?” The question was so sudden that it made Lyra’s head turn in confusion. She studied him, as if seeing if he was joking, but after a moments hesitation, she only snorted.

“Uh, I don’t know, what day is it today?” She asked jokingly.

“Monday.” Lyra made a face.

“Oh… that’s bad.” She blew out a breath, causing that same strand of hair from before to fly upwards. Grayson turned his attention more to her, coming closer.

“When was the last time you’ve eaten?” He asked her, raising a brow. Lyra waved a hand, smacking Grayson’s chest in the process. He liked the closeness of her, and barely held himself back from stepping closer and never moving away again.

“I swallowed a good third of the ocean while almost drowning, so I think I’ll be good for the week.” Lyra joked.

“Lyra.” Graysons tone was serious. She met his gaze again, the humour from her face disappearing.

“We all had dinner last night, remember?” Lyra said, sounding sincere. Grayson’s brow raised deepened.

“Yes, I very much remember. You pushed around your food the entire time.” Grayson stated. He was worried. He didn’t exactly know why she wasn’t eating, but still, he knew whatever compelled her to avoid food, it wasn’t good. Lyra gave him a look.

“Look, I’m not eating because of… that.” She finished lamely. “Not like you should be watching me eat anyway. But, since you asked, sometimes I don’t eat because I get…. stressed. Whenever I’m stressed, I completely lose my appetite.”

“And you’ve been stressed because…?” Grayson trailed off, knowing the answer, but still wanting her to say it herself.

“My father.” She finished, her chest heaving. Grayson nodded, before turning to where he and Jameson had been brawling on the floor, picked up his suit jacket, and dug his hand in the pocket. His hand came out holding a protein bar. Grayson noticed that Lyra had been shivering the slightest bit, almost as if she was covering it up, and he draped his suit jacket across her shoulders just like how he did before. Lyra gave him a look, but didn’t object as she pulled it closer towards her. Now that she was looking at him, Grayson held out the protein bar to her.

“Eat this.” He told her, stepping closer to her again and holding it out for her. Lyra raised a brow at him.

“‘Eat this’? Wow, you’re really good at giving orders, asshole.” She deadpanned.

“Please.” Grayson managed. She held his eyes for a few seconds, before huffing out a breath and grabbing the bar.

“We should go back to the house now.” She said, squinting at the protein bar in her hand.

“Agreed.” Grayson said. They walked in silence, with Grayson watching Lyra, before she finally sighed and spoke.

“You’re going to keep watching me until I cave and eat this bar, aren’t you?” She asks him, giving him a dirty look.

“Yup.” Grayson replied simply, holding her gaze despite the look she was giving him. Lyra sighed again, before ripping open the bar and taking a bite.

“Mm. I just love the taste of sand and granola.” Lyra deadpanned once she swallowed her first bite. Grayson couldn’t help but let a smile loose.

“It adds texture.” He teased. Grayson’s eyes caught on something. Nash’s guitar. He must have forgotten it after the entire… situation Grayson was going through with his brother. He walked over to go pick it up, before walking back to Lyra. Her ponytail was becoming more and more loose, until the elastic completely fell out. Lyra huffed, grabbing her hair in realization that it fell out and gave him a look that said “of course”. Graysons lips lifted by a hair as he walked over to her, saw a little black elastic, slipped it onto his wrist, and kept walking. He’d give it back to her once it wasn’t covered in sand. Or… that’s what he told himself, anyway.

“Ugh, how is there sand in this? It had a wrapper.” Lyra complained, almost done eating the protein bar. Grayson turned to meet her eyes, taking her hand that held the bar and pointing with my other to a label on the bar that said “now has more dark chocolate!”

“I thought you’d like it,” He said, dropping Lyra’s hand and noticing how she immediately dropped her arms to her sides. “it has dark chocolate, after all.” Lyra gave him a look.

“I didn’t tell you I liked dark chocolate.” She said.

“No, but I heard you telling Xander about how you like chocolate, and then I figured you’d like dark the best.” Lyra turned her head, eyeing the doors of the mansion as Grayson held one open for her.

“Well, you figured right.” She finally said, walking in. She was about to walk the other way, towards the contestants rooms, before Grayson spoke up.

“Try and sleep tonight.” He said. Lyra turned and gave him a glare, to which Grayson dipped his head. “Please.”

She looked like she was going to say something sarcastic, but just slumped her shoulders and gazed at him with eyes a gorgeous amber shade instead.

“I can’t.” She finally said, her head bowed. Grayson stepped towards her, gently placing two fingers beneath her chin and tilting it upwards.

“Try.” He said softly. She just looked away, as she chewed on her lip. She looked like she was about to rebuke his one word statement, before Grayson spoke again.

“I’ve been having trouble sleeping too,” he admitted, opening up for her so that she could do the same for him. Lyra looked up at him, and her mouth suddenly quirked into a smile that Grayson was beginning to recognize: a crooked smirk that said “I’m going to say something either really funny or really teasing”. Unfortunately for Grayson. she went for the latter.

“Whoever has darker eye bags tomorrow morning has to third wheel with Rohan and Savannah for a whole hour while being forced to listen to their…. colourful conversations.” She said, a cheeky grin on her face. Graysons cheeks immediately heat up as he shook his head at Lyra.

“I have 0 idea what Savannah could possibly see in him.” Grayson stated darkly, his face sour as he thought of the annoying British man who she associates herself with. Lyra just giggled into the palm of his hand, and Grayson, with cheeks that were beginning to tinge red and a very vibrant image of strangling Rohan in his head, did not think that the moment that they just shared was so awful, because the sound of her laugh could never be associated with anything even remotely negative. Grayson couldn’t help but smile himself, and gestured to her room down the hall.

“You might want to get a head start, because I don’t plan on being forced to stay even 10 feet near them.” Grayson deadpanned. Lyra snorted, and winked at him as she walked away.

“Believe me, I don’t need it.” She retorted. Grayson liked her quick tongue. He liked it a lot.

“Oh yeah?” He asked her with a raised brow as she walked away.

“Yeah.” She replied, tossing her hair over her shoulder and continuing to walk to her room, her steps graceful and filled with poise.

Grayson watched her go, momentarily forgetting about the guitar in his hands. Once he remembered, he strode to Nash’s room, knocking twice on the door. Once he heard Nash’s call for Grayson to come in, Grayson opened the door, walking in and placing his guitar propped up on his side table.

“You definitely were acting out today, Gray.” Nash drawled, crossing his arms as he got up from his spot on the bed, and giving him a look.

“That’s one way to put it.” Grayson eventually said, running a hand through his wet-yet-drying-now hair. Nash made a noise at the back of his throat, before sitting back down on the bed, strumming his guitar again.

“So what were you and Lyra up to?” Nash asked. His tone was innocent, but Grayson knew what he was implying. Grayson shrugged.

“Nothing. She lectured me about what happened, and then I walked her back to the house. That’s all.” Grayson said. Nash nodded, turning his gaze to his guitar again. Grayson took this as his cue to leave, and, just as he was about to walk through the door, Nash’s voice made him halt to a stop.

“Right. And where’s your suit jacket, huh, Gray?” Nash drawled. Grayson paused, turning to meet his gaze with a raised brow. Nash’s eyes were twinkling, and he stopped strumming his guitar as he got up, putting it down and strolling over to Grayson. “Lemme guess: she has it?” Grayson paused, as if thinking.

“No,” He lied, “I just must have forgotten it near the cliff side.” Nash gave him a look.

“I’m sure you did. So, if I get up early tomorrow morning and scour the cliff side, including the beach, you’re telling me I’m going to find it just sitting there on the ground?” Nash asked, stepping closer as he crossed his arms.

“Unless it’s blown into the water, then yes.” Grayson again lied. He hated lying to his brothers, but he knew that if he admitted to giving Lyra his jacket, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. “It’s just a coincidence.” Grayson held Nash’s gaze, until Nash raised a shoulder and walked back towards his bed.

“Oh, and Grayson?” He drawled, pausing to turn around once more and give him a look. Then, Nash stepped forward, took Graysons arm, and pushed his sleeve down, revealing a small black elastic. “That a coincidence too?” Grayson jerked his hand away, giving Nash’s teasing grin an ice cold and unbothered stare.

“She dropped it. I’m giving it back to her once it’s not covered in sand.” Grayson said with a raised brow, as he tried to be as calm as possible. Nash gave him another shrug, before walking to his bed and lying down on it, his ankles crossed and his hands behind his head.

“I’m sure you are, Gray. But don’t go lying to yourself that this little…” Nash paused, before continuing. “Preoccupation you have with Lyra is nothing.” Grayson paused. He could give a sharp answer and shut it down. But he couldn’t deny the way that the steady beat of his heart began to thump faster the second Nash spoke her name. He turned and walked out without a word, shutting the door and hearing a “you’re welcome” from Nash as he did. His… preoccupation with Lyra was none of his brother’s business.

It wasn’t anybody’s. Nobody’s except for his and Lyra’s, if she saw in him what Grayson sees in her. He didn’t know how any of this was supposed to work out. After all, he was a Hawthorne, and Hawthornes are known to be unforgivably cruel to those who aren’t family. Lyra’s father was a prime example of that. Yet still, he could see a silhouette of a future in which the past didn’t control them.

Where they could make their own choices.

Grayson told himself, when he finally winded down to go to sleep that night, that all he’d see is pitch black darkness before waking up.

But as soon as amber eyes and a voice meant to soothe even the worst of man kind itself began to flash through his unconscious mind, he knew that he was only lying to himself.

——————————————————————————

if you sent me an ask MONTHS ago and you’re seeing this fic that i made without anybody requesting me to…. no you didn’t 😊😊

[thesunloveschips]

Eye of the Storm - Chapter 15: A Prelude of Power

Summary: In the wake of Rhysand’s ascension as High Lord, the Bone Carver gifts a prophecy. More than five hundred years later, Azriel continues to wait for the one who is finally reborn as his High Lady’s sister. All it takes a dip in the Cauldron for things to start falling into place.

Chapter Summary: Nyra's mind is an island and a figure from the past who resides there, helps.

Word count: 6k (Enjoy!!)

Warnings: Erotic fantasy in the beginning, sexual assault (not rape) at the end.

Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm

****

Mor was in a dimly lit room. A long mirror caught her eye and she saw herself wearing her favourite lingerie. Red and lace. A silhouette was behind her, walking towards her. Mor’s breath hitched when the face of the person was revealed in the reflection. 

“You’re beautiful.” Nyra whispered into her ear and then turned her face. “Isn’t she?” That question was directed at someone else. “Turn around for me.” Mor trembled and did as told. 

Nyra Archeron was a fucking fantasy come true, wearing black panties and a sheer robe. Mor stared at those round breasts and the hard nipples. She whimpered when Nyra took a step backward. And another. 

Mor remembered that playfulness from when Nyra had flirted with her during dinner and now it had changed into something sensual. But what had changed? Was it Nyra’s tone, the way she carried herself, the way she touched and teased?

“Please.” But Mor didn’t even know what she was begging for. 

“Desperate, too.” A voice from her right spoke. Nyra laughed and Mor looked at the one who had just spoken. 

Nesta Archeron lounged on a couch, the curve of her hip being prominent as she lay on her side. She had a glass of wine and the table near her had a bottle and a book. Nesta rose with her trademark grace and walked closer. Her robe was opaque—a deep red if Mor had to guess the colour. But if her next guess was correct, there was nothing beneath it. 

Nesta brought her wind glass to Mor’s mouth and she drank. A few droplets escaped her mouth and trailed down her mouth, down her neck to her left breast. A hand was now around her waist and she was tugged towards Nyra who leaned in and gently licked the wine as much as it was still on her face. 

Mor ached all over. She wanted their hands and lips on her body and she wanted her chance to worship them. 

“What were you begging for, sweet thing?” Nyra’s voice was as light as her touch. 

“Please.” She begged again but still not knowing what she even wanted. 

“Are you already senseless?” Nesta’s mocking voice began. “Even without starting?” She wore a cruel smirk and the red painted on her lips had a sharpening effect. 

Nesta removed that robe and confirmed the truth behind Mor’s suspicions. She was naked and glorious. Nesta’s hand came to her cheek, her thumb caressing it almost lovingly. The hand moved to her nape and ascended to her scalp. It descended and touched the tips of her hair. “Your hair is soft.” 

Nesta’s other hand came and her fingers traced the band of her panties. Her thumb found its way inside and began caressing her hip. Mor was already breathing heavily, hands clenching at her sides. “Do you want us to touch you?” 

“Or do you want to touch us?” Nyra asked. Mor really could not take her eyes away from Nyra’s lips. She wanted to kiss her. 

A knock on her door brought her back to reality. She was in the townhouse, in her room staring absentmindedly at her study table where writing instruments and papers lay scattered. Writing unsent letters to Viviane was a very masochistic way of coping that she’d started nearly fifty years ago. 

Presently, she was supposed to be writing another letter but instead had begun fantasising about the Archeron twins. Another knock on the door gained her irritation. She stood up, marched towards the door, and opened it with unnecessary strength. 

Cassian stood there, a bottle of wine and two glasses in hand. “Need some company?” 

Mor could’ve kissed him but she doubted he’d appreciate that. Especially with his fuming desire for Nesta Archeron that was undoubtedly a mating bond slowly weaving. 

Guilt crawled around her neck like a snake, hissing at her. Condemning her for desiring Nesta. For desiring Nyra. Both females with mating bonds leading to the two people who deserved to be loved the most. And here she was, stashing away her lust for the twins only for more of it to be formed. 

Guilt made Mor allow Cassian into her room. The urge to forget it made her drink. And by the time she had woken up sometime in the middle of the night, Cassian had already left and she had been tucked in. 

Mor wandered around her own room like a ghost. Not understanding how Rhysand could collaborate with Keir and Eris at the same time. The view from the window, Velaris—her home, was now a heartbreaking one. Mor sank to the floor right there and mourned like everything had already ended. 

The next morning, Morrigan had donned her mask. A red lipstick, jewellery, a red dress and she walked like a queen to the nearest bakery and bought a few sweets. Rhys had found her and they talked. She even bought some for the Archeron twins knowing that they had a sweet tooth. She returned to the townhouse just in time to see Azriel have his breakfast as he read a few papers. A few letters were on the dining table. 

Neither of them spoke to each other as Mor opened them and began reading. From the insignia of each court on the envelopes, she knew these were the responses from Day, Dawn, and Winter. Azriel had finished his meal and left wordlessly when Feyre walked in. 

“You look like a team of horses trampled you.” The words were out before Mor even realised. She was supposed to be angry at Feyre. At her High Lady for the performance she had orchestrated with the High Lord last night. 

“Good.” And Feyre snatched her pastry. Mor did not like that but she ignored it and summoned a plate of carved melon.

“What’s that?” Feyre asked. Mor looked at her and did not know who she saw. Was this her friend, Feyre, or the High Lady of the Night Court? How different were these two people?

“The first of the High Lords’ responses.” Mor did not care if she sounded too sweet. Or sarcastic. 

“That pleasant, hmm?” 

“Helion’s came first this morning. Between all the innuendo, I think he said he’d be willing to. . . join us.” 

“That’s good—isn’t it?”

Mor shrugged her shoulders and then briefed her on the contents of the responses. After the talk about the responses, Feyre spoke. “About last night-”

“It’s fine. It’s nothing.” The following conversation was a lie—Mor knew it was. Feyre was new to all this and a lie from Mor would probably help her ease into this. Pretending to be fine, pretending to be tough about her father and Eris—life was always going to demand a facade instead of her true self. 

**** 

The healer, Madja, had visited to check Elain. Nesta did not like her conclusion—to have Elain’s mate sit down with her to help her. Madja had also recommended a physical examination of the three sisters to ascertain their reproductive health since one of them had already started bleeding and they were the only Cauldron-Made fae in existence. 

“Call another healer.” Nesta demanded, not wanting Lucien anywhere near her sisters.

“Not if you’re going to bark them out of the house.” Feyre retorted.

“Call another healer.”

“Would you try it?” Feyre was now looking at Lucien who only looked awkward at the ongoing sisterly spat.

“Don’t you even attempt-”

“Be quiet.” Feyre snapped. Nesta blinked, her surprise evident. Feyre inhaled once, trying to calm herself down. “The mating bond helps. It helped me. It is helping Nyra. It can possibly help Elain.” 

“The bond is not helping Nyra. Azriel is.” Nesta mumbled, remembering her twin who was upstairs with her painful cramps. She looked at Feyre and breathed in to calm herself. 

“You know well it is not the mating bond I have an issue with.” Nesta spared Lucien a withering glance and he had the decency to look ashamed. 

“He will try. And if he doesn’t find anything amiss, we’ll consider bringing another healer.” Feyre had offered a compromise Nesta begrudgingly conceded to.

Feyre, Lucien, and Mor arranged tea while Nesta went to invite her sisters downstairs. She entered the room and saw Nyra sitting on the window sill, reading. Elain was simply staring outside. Nesta closed the door behind her and cleared her throat. “We’re having tea downstairs.” 

And that was all that she could manage. Elain rose, nodded her head, and entered the bathing chamber. 

“Very awkward of you to invite us for tea.” Nyra made a face that clearly demanded an explanation from Nesta. Once she received her explanation, Nyra seemed unimpressed. “I don’t really know if we should trust him. He seems like the type of person who’d kidnap Elain.” 

“Yes, exactly!” Nesta suddenly felt that the idea of Lucien kidnapping Elain was a little far-fetched. “Wait, what?” 

“Well, he sided with Tamlin when the imbecile chose to turn to Hybern for allegedly saving Feyre. Then there’s the family issues since he had to flee Autumn and Spring. We know he’s in Night for her so I mean. . . and he’s only here because of the mating bond, not because he ever knew her before this. So. There’s probably a good chance he could steal her away because clearly, there’s no one else here he’d care about.” 

The only reason why Nesta had been so distrustful of Lucien was that he was complicit in what happened in Hybern. The possibility of what could happen next was not one she’d considered. 

****

Tea time was awkward. Mor had prepared the herbal tea for her and Nyra was for it to cool down. A cushion was on her lap and she was curled at Nesta’s side. 

It started off as a silent tea drinking session. Nyra watched Mor and Feyre who looked too serious. Nesta was stoic but the moment Elain swiftly set down her teacup and rose, she shot to her feet and Nyra’s head that had been tucked against her side fell on the sofa. 

Nyra blinked, her upper body rising from falling to the bare sofa so swiftly. She stood up and by the time she was nearing, Lucien was already apologising. 

“What did you do?” Nesta was no different than a warrior wielding her blade. 

“Nothing.” Lucien said to her and then turned to Elain. “I’m sorry if that unsettled you.” 

“It felt strange.” Elain spoke as she walked towards Nesta. She walked past, halted at a space between her older sisters, and then looked back at him. “Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib.” 

“I’m sorry.” Lucien’s apology had the value of dust in Nesta’s eyes but the lady of silver flames turned around when her sister began speaking. 

“Twin ravens are coming, one white and one black.” Nyra closed her eyes and squeezed Elain’s hand. 

Nesta joined them, masking her frustration and devastation. “What can we get you, Elain?” 

“Sunshine.” And the three sisters left for the garden in the back. Elain sat next to the flowers while her older sisters watched from a distance from the doorway, flanking each side while leaning their shoulders against it. 

“What if she’s not. . . mad?” Nyra began. Nesta looked at her and waited for her to continue. “What if. . . whatever power she got from the Cauldron is showing her something?” 

Nesta looked quite unimpressed. “I have no idea what you read in those horror novels of yours.”

Nyra clicked her tongue. “Think of it like this. You and I can see certain things with our power. Something that our normal vision does not allow us to see.”

“We have. . . forms within us.” Nesta found it difficult to articulate what their power truly was. “Beasts, perhaps. But Elain. . .”

“Have you ever tried looking at Elain with that power?” Nyra asked. 

“No.”

“Then I guess it’s high time we did.” And before Nesta could say anything, Nyra’s eyes glowed like gems. Under the sunlight, her gaze was divine. Nesta wondered how different were the blue of Nyra’s eyes and Azriel’s siphons and if it was a poetic coincidence. “Oh.”

Nesta watched her twin’s eyes dim and the Archeron blue reappeared. “Well, she is bright.” 

“Bright?” Feyre’s voice joined in, her head now on Nyra’s shoulder. The youngest wrapped her hands around Nyra’s waist and pressed her palms against her belly enough to give Nyra some relief.

“Blindingly.” Nyra placed a hand on Feyre’s cheek and began stroking it absentmindedly. Shadows curled around her fingers, effectively taking her hand away from Feyre as the dark strands began playing with her fingers. 

“Blindingly bright.” Nesta mused. “No form?”

“A silhouette of a woman covered with many eyes.” Nyra looked a little disgusted. “Very much like a character from a horror novel.” More shadows gathered near her waist.

“Horror novel?” Cassian spoke. The sisters turned around to see three Illyrians watching them. “Is that what you read? I thought you shared Nesta’s preferences.”

“Do you want me to recommend a few horror novels?” Nyra’s eyes shone with wild mischief and she looked at Azriel who waited for what she would say next. “One of them features a seemingly courageous Illyrian general who once visited a library and-”

“All right. We get it.” Cassian grumbled.

Rhysand tucked a few stray hairs behind Feyre’s ear and stood behind her. 

“How are the cramps, Nyra?” Azriel asked kindly. Nyra turned to him and then looked at Feyre’s hands pressed to her belly, then looked at him and shook her head.

“Horrible as usual. What have you mischievous marauders been up to this morning?” Nyra asked and Cassian looked dramatically offended.

“We brought cake.” Rhys announced. Nyra visibly brightened only to grimace again at another wave of abdominal pain. Feyre pressed rubbed Nyra’s belly in soothing motions. Cassian was standing behind Nesta and Azriel was in between his brothers. And somehow, they could still see outside where Elain sat looking at the clouds and then at the flowers. 

“Continuing our earlier conversation, so she’s not. . . insane?” It pained Nesta to say the word. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Nesta looked a little relieved at Nyra’s words. “She’s an Archeron. We’ve all got that bit of insanity within us.” Nesta’s relief turned into disbelief and she wasted no time in smacking Nyra’s arm, carefully avoiding Feyre. 

“You know what I mean.” Nesta hissed. A laugh from Cassian and she was already glaring at him. The general promptly shut his mouth. 

“Thank you for the supporting evidence.” Nyra gave Nesta a cheeky smile before she turned to look at the skies, her smile vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “I think she sees a lot of things. With all those eyes.” 

“A seer?” Azriel spoke. Nyra turned to him immediately. The shadowsinger saw her eagerly waiting for him to explain. “There have been records of people being able to see what’s happening elsewhere. Sometimes, into the future.”

“What about what she just said?” Rhysand spoke, completely unnerved. “Twin ravens, one black and one white—was it?”

“We’re twins.” Nesta remarked. “But ravens?”

“What if it’s just about a couple of birds?” 

“Should we be alert against birds?” 

“I really don’t like the way she said it.” Feyre’s arms around Nyra’s belly tightened. In return, the older sister brought her fingers to the younger’s cheek. 

“Will a library have any records about seers?” Nyra looked back at Azriel. 

“Maybe. I myself heard about them from the inmates.” Azriel’s reply had piqued Nyra’s curiosity enough that she stood straight, turned to her side and leaned her back against the doorway. Nesta repeated the same action and Cassian suddenly became more alert.

“Inmates?” Nesta asked. 

“There’s a Prison. The Bone Carver is one of the inmates.” Rhysand was the one who spoke and mentally granted his permission to his brothers to answer any questions the sisters may have no matter how confidential the information was. 

“The one who wants the mirror.” Nyra whispered, watching the shadows and moving her fingers to play with them. 

“Dear Amren was an inmate.” And the twins looked at Cassian with wide eyes when he’d revealed that bit of information. Nesta remembered something about that from last night and Nyra remembered something about that from what Nesta had told her. 

“You revoked her sentence?” Nyra asked Rhys. 

“She escaped.” And Cassian repeated the events of the previous night with greater detail and focused on Amren. Nesta had not understood much of it since she was entirely new to the world of fae. Any questions the twins had were immediately clarified by the males. 

“And now you want this Bone Carver out?” Nyra looked between Rhysand and Feyre.

“He’s a death god, if the legends are true. Having him on our side would be a huge bonus.” Feyre replied. 

“But if he has to give something up to exit the Prison, would he remain as powerful as he is inside the Prison?” Nyra questioned. Feyre opened her mouth and then closed it. 

“I don’t know but we need him regardless.” Cassian answered. “Every soldier is valuable. If they can even make a scratch on the enemy, we’d have a valuable asset.”

Nyra hummed and looked at the sky again and then at Elain.

“She seems lost.” And that was as pained as Nesta could ever sound.

“Do you think she’d notice if it rained?” Nyra mused. She raised a hand and waved it once, her fingers moving deftly. And even the sunny skies of Velaris obeyed her and light rain fell. 

“And she doesn’t even notice.” After a few seconds, Nyra commanded the rains to desist with another hand movement.

“Do you now have control over changing the weather?” Azriel asked. Nyra blinked at him, her head tilting to the side and his stupid shadows began announcing how adorable she was. As if he didn’t know that. 

“It’d be embarrassing if only my emotions controlled the weather. I’d like my will to have equal importance.” Nyra replied and then looked at Elain sitting outside, basking under the sunlight she’d said she needed. 

“The Bone Carver wants a mirror which once belonged to the Weaver, who happens to be his twin sister.” Rhys reminded. 

“Sounds vaguely familiar.” Nyra mumbled to herself but Rhys had heard her. 

“How is it familiar?” The High Lord pushed. The glare he got from his mate and his brothers hadn’t deterred him in his pursuit to question the lightning-wielder.

“The Cauldron gave me information. I barely managed to evade it but they’re all in my head, waiting to be sorted and studied.” Nyra let her head fall on Feyre’s shoulder. “I could sort and study something.” 

Rhysand’s eyes glowed but Azriel was the one who spoke, his voice like the morning mist—cool and fresh. “You want to do that?” 

“Yes.” She replied softly. “I need something to distract me from my own head.”

“Please stop whenever it gets uncomfortable.” Azriel wanted to take her in his arms and take her away from everything. Away from war and death gods and give her peace. He wanted her to smile freely, to live freely. But she wanted to do this. And he really couldn’t say anything against her. 

“I will.” She smiled, a little tired. “Feyre?” 

“Hm?” Feyre was currently hugging her sister. 

“Does this mirror have a name?” 

“The Ouroboros.” 

“Catch me if I fall.” And everyone standing there would. Nyra’s eyes glowed and she entered her own mind. And the shadows supported her weight to the extent Feyre could not. They transported Nyra and laid her down on the sofa. 

Her mind was an island surrounded by storms. The island had a house. The house she had been born in. The house that had been lost with their riches. And instead of it being decorated with the familiar furniture, the inside of it had many shelves and many piles of books and things and scrolls and papers on the floor. 

The shelves were marked and Nyra took her time arranging them according to her own sorting system since such a mess was unacceptable. 

Hours must have passed. She’d realised that most of these were information from her past lives and that there was information from seven of them. There were others but the records related to them were not much. One of the seven was a master of magic. Another was a warrior. Another, a scholar. And she perused the Scholar’s books. This person has accumulated the most knowledge. And there it was, the Ouroburous. 

Nyra read the information and then looked around her. She had sorted nearly all books of the magician’s and the warrior’s lives. The scholar’s knowledge would take a good amount of time she did not think she had. And then there was a song. 

A young girl’s voice. 

She saw the silhouette of a girl running from the corner of her eye. Her wings were noticeably familiar. 

Nyra chased the girl and saw that her wings resembled an Illyrian’s wings. The girl looked back and her eyes were closed. She had a very familiar appearance. And then after a turn, she stopped. She turned around fully. And Nyra was shocked at seeing the cruel slash on her neck. Blood still oozed from it but none of it had spilled on the floor. Her wings were brutally slashed and blood flowed. 

She couldn’t have been over sixteen. The girl with closed eyes walked forward, extended a hand with a book. Nyra took it and continued to look at her. “Say hello to them.” 

And the girl vanished like she had winnowed away. Into the night, stars, wind, and shadows. Nyra read the book and that remained the only record of the girl she sorted for now. She exited the house and now looked around for an exit. 

A thread was now on her left hand, on her ring finger. Red, very loose, and wrapped multiple times around that finger but it was there. Nyra wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before but she held the thread with her right hand. 

The thread led to a forest she had not seen before. She was sure the forest had not been there before but this was her only clue for now. Nyra entered the forest and the air of cedar and night chilled mist encompassed her. She breathed in and felt calm. 

Nyra suddenly had the urge to sit down and take  a nap. She continued to walk despite yawning multiple times. And then she stopped at a lake. She spotted a rock and sat on it. Nyra was tired and she closed her eyes to focus on breathing and suddenly, her senses were clouded. 

Nyra woke up, lying on a sofa and with Feyre by her side. She slowly willed her upper body to rise. Someone was immediately behind her with a glass of warm water and another hand on her back, gently helping her sit up straight. From the scarred hand that helped her drink the water, she recognised Azriel. The shadows were swimming around her in a worried frenzy. 

“Breathe.” And if an incredibly beautiful male were to tell you to breathe in an unbelievably deep and seductive voice, any rational female might have a heart attack. And Nyra’s heartbeat increased and she couldn’t even drink the water properly. 

Now, let it be known to the readers that Azriel usually does not assist anyone in drinking water. So when he did this for Nyra, he went blank as his  thumb made contact with her lips. Lips that were wet because she was drinking water from a glass that he was holding for her. Here, Azriel knew he could go mad. He could go feral over this touch but he wouldn’t. He shouldn’t. Even when she sat there with her back towards him. Holy gods, Nyra’s lips were soft. Azriel felt ravenous, like he had to drown in her essence. 

“You were unconscious for seven minutes.” Feyre told her. Nesta’s figure was coming closer and she immediately knelt, a hand on Nyra’s cheek. Elain was behind her. She took one look at the scene and then retired to the bedroom. 

“How are you feeling?” Nesta asked, clearly worried.

“I feel like I’ve woken up from a very long dream. And I’m tired.” 

“And mentally?” Rhysand asked, also kneeling down. 

“I feel. . . clear. Like I’ve enjoyed the first breeze of the world. It’s exhilarating.” And then she looked around. Cassian was eagerly sitting at the edge of his seat, observing her. Feyre was sitting on an ottoman just adjacent to the sofa. Azriel was behind her, supporting her back because he somehow seemed to know that she would lose her strength any second now. Amren and Mor were at a distance.  

“Oh, I have much to tell you.” Nyra began. And then she moved her legs to place them on the ground. Azriel’s hand remained on her back. 

“The Weaver brought a lot of things with her from her own world but the Ouroboros is different because she made it after she came here. By the time she was confined to the Middle, she had lost it. She summoned a huge snake that quite literally fell from the sky, trapped it, and crafted that mirror that would reveal a person’s true self. The mirror’s power is related to the snake itself and not the Weaver.” 

“That is dangerous.” Nesta mused.

“How so?” Feyre asked.

“People are fearful of their own minds and hearts. They never want to acknowledge every single part of them at the same time.” Nesta explained. Silence descended in the room as everyone contemplated the gravity of Nesta’s words.

“I do not recommend you looking into that mirror.” Nesta announced, looking at Feyre.

Before the Cursebreaker could protest, Nyra spoke up. “I second that.” 

“Not you too.” Feyre felt a little betrayed at the lack of support for her decision even when she knew that it stemmed from concern.

“What are you so upset about?” Nyra began reprimanding. “If you can’t handle what you see, you’ll go mad. The steward said it. Morrigan confirmed it.” 

“This is a necessary sacrifice.” Feyre spoke determinedly. 

“Then we’ll face the future without it.” Nesta argued. 

“You’re too emotional about this.” Cassian began. 

“Death is one thing. Madness for eternity is another.” Nesta rose. 

“I am more familiar with death, Nesta Archeron.” And Nesta did not know if he was referring to death or her. He took her hand and squeezed it. Nesta watched him, her expression impassive but his impact on her made her sit once again.

“You’re our High Lady. You’re supposed to sacrifice us.” Morrigan spoke from the doorway. 

“I’m your High Lady which is precisely why I will be putting myself forward first.” She looked at Rhysand, fierce and unwavering. “Our Court before anything.” 

And Rhys honestly did not know if he wanted to smile at his High Lady or kidnap his mate to safety. She was a mirror right now, reminding him of how he’d persevered for forty nine years in Amarantha’s bedroom. 

He let out a wry laugh. “And this is precisely why you’re my mate. My High Lady.” On bended knee, he took her hand and kissed the back of it. They gazed at each other, not as mates or lovers but as rulers of the Night Court. 

Nyra cleared her throat, dispelling the awkwardness that had settled among others. The two of them looked at her. “Did I interrupt your passionate prelude of desire? I do not apologise.” 

Cassian let out a laugh. And behind her, Nyra felt Azriel’s tremors of concealed laughter. A quiet sense of contentment settled in her soul. 

“The three of you have no duty to our Court. You shouldn’t involve yourself any further in this war.” Amren spoke for the first time since this surprise meeting began. 

“You seem to forget.” Nesta began, her voice deathly calm. “We’ve been involved from the very beginning.”

“The first act of war is not always bloodshed and weapons.” Cassian closed his eyes and rested his head on his hands with elbows propped on his thighs. “And the first act of this war was when Hybern kidnapped the sisters of the High Lady of the Night Court.” 

“No.” Everyone turned to Rhysand who was less than pleased to speak further. “The first act of this war was when that bitch threw her party all those years ago.” And Rhys continued. “This might sound so selfish and arrogant of me but-” 

“It’s not.” Nyra interrupted. “Acknowledging what happened is not selfish or arrogant of you. And if you choose to do that, then I choose to support you through it.” Nyra declared. Azriel watched his brother, his High Lord, and nodded at him, agreeing with Nyra. 

Rhysand found the people around him brace themselves to offer what Nyra had. He knew it hurt for them to even think about it and it hurt him too. He’d cried an embarrassing number of times in Feyre’s arms after sex, and sometimes even postponed sex because of it. 

And maybe Nyra would never know what her words meant to him but he would never forget. The High Lord of the Night Court only kneeled for his court and his mate. And kneeling before Nyra was beginning to have the same meaning.

Rhysand took a huge gulp from a glass of whiskey and cleared his throat. “So, we are better prepared for the Ouroboros.” He nodded at Nyra. “Better prepared for the wall.” He nodded at Nesta. “News from our spies.” He looked at the Spymaster. “The armies.” He turned to his General. “Hewn City and Eris.” He spared the Third a glance filled with regret. “Any assassinations of bloody hunts.” The Second raised a glass of blood. “And everything at your disposal if you choose to get the mirror.” He looked at the High Lady.

Rhysand let his body drop on the sofa behind him. “We’re so fucked.”

****

Of course, they were fucked. Despite a possible seer in their midst, none of the supremely powerful fae in the Night Court were prepared for Hybern’s infiltration while Feyre took her older sisters to the library for research. 

Their conversation was turning into the deeply personal and emotional kind when the three Archeron sisters felt a ripple in the air. They stopped speaking and analysed their surroundings. Faelights in the library flickered. Feyre grabbed both of her sisters and made a run for it downwards. 

Darkness bloomed and two males stepped out of it, one with dark hair and the other light haired. And then there was a breath of blue faebane dust. Nyra waved a hand and the wind followed her to divert the dust away but she hadn’t been quick enough. Some of it still managed to reach the females and they felt their power be locked inside their bodies. 

Nyra felt her power roar like a beast in a cage and she knew the moment the beast would free itself, she would do absolutely nothing to restrain it. The males looked at her twin with intent. 

“We’re the king’s Ravens. His far-flying eyes and talons. And we’ve come to take you back.” They addressed Nesta. “And you.” They turned to analyse Nyra. “Your power would be very useful to us.” 

Nyra encouraged the beast within her to slam against the prison so suddenly enclosed in. It was suffocating for her and she was beginning to breathe heavily. She heard Feyre say something and one of them say something back. She only comprehended that she and Nesta were to be taken away. And hell if she allowed someone else to make choices on her behalf when she still had her sound mind. 

Nyra only focused on unleashing her power. She knew she could control its damage as long as she identified who was to be harmed. She’d done it before when she had target practice with it. To harm only what she intended. The priestesses, the books, the furniture—all of it would remain safe. If only she could. . .

A feminine hand grabbed her and pulled her into a run again. Her skirts were a nuisance but Nyra hadn’t really considered the possibility of an abduction in the safest place in the Night Court. Her legs tired easily due to the general lack of exercise. Feyre was saying something. Something about running ahead towards the light. But Nyra had looked back and one of the Ravens appeared in front of her. 

“Run!” And despite Feyre’s pleas, Nesta did not run. Nesta’s gaze was singularly focused on the enemy who had grabbed Nyra’s wrist tightly. The beast within her roared. She could hear another roar—Nyra. 

Nyra did not like being startled or grabbed and she certainly did not like the way this disgusting male dug his nails into her wrist enough to hurt. She struggled against his hold and his grip tightened. 

“Nyra!” Nesta shouted but she couldn’t focus. Nyra could only see this male and his revolting smirk and his dirty gaze.

“You smell delicious.” He had thrown that nauseating remark that brought out the worst of her imaginations. A certain darkness enveloped the area at that moment. Nyra’s power thrummed. Just a bit more. But the queasy feeling of this male and his intentions made her genuinely afraid of something. His face neared her neck and he breathed in. 

“I want to know how good you’ll feel on my cock.” The male’s other hand grabbed her waist and she froze as her breasts were against his chest. Nyra’s mind was completely blank. Her muscles and everything that hinted at her status as alive was failing her. She closed her eyes tightly. “Look at me!” The male grabbed her chin harshly. 

“Nyra!” Her sister’s cries were one thing. And the looming sense of darkness was another. Between the two, she felt disgust and fear and helplessness. 

Focus. A voice sang behind her. Focus! The male’s nails finally made Nyra’s wrist bleed. And the suffocation was decreasing. Focus! The voice yelled at her. The prison around her power had begun shattering. She continued to slam against it, the bleeding on her wrist being the first crack. Lightning erupted from her wrist and struck the male entirely. His grip was no more and Nyra released herself to stand by Feyre’s side. 

Feyre seemed to be muttering something. And Nesta. . . her rage had taken over. And despite her power still being trapped, death ruled the air around them. Nesta placed herself in front of Nyra, her flames beginning to rise. 

Greetings, Conqueror of the Cauldron. The same voice greeted her again. There was something behind her. Something that raised the hairs on her skin. It was different from Azriel’s shadows. Azriel. She wanted his shadows. She needed his shadows. She needed him. Nyra had her arms around herself and she felt the male’s repulsive touch against her 

Nyra felt herself crack. Her wrist burned with the touch of the male who’d threatened to rape her. She needed Azriel. Azriel.

“You filthy bitch!” The other male roared at her as he supported his companion, the one on whom she had released her power. The skin of his face had peeled away to reveal burning flesh. Clothes were charred and torn and he was a phantom now. His voice made her flinch. Azriel. Lightning roared at her wrist from where she had bled but it was too weak. 

Azriel. 

A blinding light pushed them away. Apologies for the delay. The voice behind her solemnly spoke. She didn’t like this. She didn’t want to be surrounded by the unfamiliar darkness of whatever this creature was. She wanted Azriel and his shadows. 

Azriel. Her chest was heavy. Was she forgetting to breathe? Her vision was already blurry. Oh gods, she’d die like this. With the touch of this monstrous male imprinted on her body. Azriel. 

Shadows swarmed around her skirts, ascending faster than ever before. They wiped away her tears and a figure was walking towards her. She took a step forward. And another. And another and stumbled, falling into the arms of the male she trusted the most. 

****

A/N: @moni-cah @julsgrace thank you for your feedback. it means everything and much more!! hope you enjoy this chapter!! ✨✨💜

@feerique always and endlessly, i'm grateful. ✨✨💜

TAGLIST:

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @impossibelle @esposadomd @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @judig92 @bunnyredgirl @sh4nn @a-frog-with-a-laptop @kattzillaa @ronnieglennn @wallacewillow0773638 @forgiveliv @justdreamstars @donttellthecats @cat-or-kitten @jojodojo02 @wandas-dream @evylynny @weasleyreidstyles @stqrgirlies-blog @why4anne @acourtofdreamsandshadows @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe @macimads @footyandformula @noelli-smv @mqlfoyelf @thehighlordishere @slytherintaco @spideytingley @deeshag @footyandformula @nebarious @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @prettylittlewrites @lilah-asteria @5onedirection5 @hanitastic @sevikas-whore @krowiathemythologynerd @myladysapphire @freyagallileaevans @azrielrot @rcarbo1 @i-am-infinite @latinxbipride @moni-cah @fantanbietsson @julsgrace

****

[wingedshadowfan]

⚠️arcane s2 act iii spoilers // criticism ⚠️

i kind of hated the end of arcane. hear me out.

i don't wanna rain on anyone's parade but we can all agree season 2's pacing was super breakneck. not a lot got explained or was given the proper time to develop or be addressed (at least in front of us, the audience, that is - but even then, some things could've been hinted at better) and this goes for both lore, motivations and interpersonal character relationships. (and i can give many examples such as the black rose, maddie's true motivations, caitlyn and vi's fight, jinx rallying up the undercity, viktor and ambessa's plans diverging, etc. but instead, i'll tell you what i think went wrong with what we got to see in the last three eps)

seeing where ep 7 left us made me think "okay ep 8 will start from the same exact spot and we'll see from there" and ofc my expectations were defied but that's not my main problem. i needed to know what happened to ekko, jayce and heimerdinger but even more than that, i wanted to see jinx grieve isha in her own way (by herself and not through being asked or guilt tripped to help someone else's agenda bcuz she clearly had little intrinsic motivation to unite the undercity over a common goal after silco's death) and internalize what she'd meant to isha - and that becoming jinx's catalyst to rally up the undercity. i wanted her to understand why this orphan from the undercity's mines sacrificed herself to save jinx - the symbol of a cause greater than her. i needed her to see what unifying zaun and making tangible institutional change to the undercity would mean in a way sevika never would've been able to show her. it would mean no more powders, no more ishas. not one more. breaking the cycle of violence, poverty, oppression, somewhat like what silco said in ep 9 (which she interpreted as 'you're the problem, so kys' and she attempted to until somehow ekko convinced her to help. how, why and did she even unite the undercity at all or just make her big hot air balloon late-to-the-party entrance with the firelights to a stray kids banger while sevika did all the work down in zaun?).

anyway, ep 8 threw us in for a loop in an alternative universe (and i loved it, don't get me wrong, but considering there were only 2 normal length eps left, it scared me just as much). instrumentally to the plot, we got to see ekko's main ability develop, and we saw jayce's reasons for shooting viktor. the main conflict of the show, the piltover/zaun one, if those 1,5 seasons so far were anything to go by, just got set aside for the time being. over halfway through the season, we've got a new big bad - the possibility of everyone getting possessed by the viktor/hexcore and becoming part of The Glorious Evolution™. it felt like a movie about racism and police brutality added aliens in the last 5 minutes to force oppressed and oppressors to (not all that successfully) work together, massive losses were suffered by everyone, and then the overarching motif wasn't about love or humanity or rebuilding (things that have come up repeatedly in other episodes, including the one ep literally called 'the messege hidden within the pattern'), it was "bad things happen sometimes, but good things happen sometimes too. it is what it is. i guess." like. duh?? as a viewer, this was quite the disappointing ending takeaway from such a masterpiece of a show but more on that in a second.

narratively, we saw a butterfly effect situation in ep 8 that answered the question of 'what could've been?' but even that answer confused me. the undercity was already oppressed and in socioeconomical peril before jayce's hextech - vi's death during that last job (which makes me believe zaun was the same in both universes because why else would they be poor enough to steal from piltover?) prevented it from being invented and thus stopping other things in piltover from happening but how did it lead to progress in the undercity? what happened and what was the key to it all along? why did shimmer not get invented, how did zaun and piltover seemingly unite, why were zaunites all of a sudden seemingly so much materially and culturally richer and better educated in just a few years? (that aside, i love ekko's determination to get back and save his universe's zaun. i loved the alternative jinx and i loved how everyone was wearing vests 10/10)

then, ep 9 felt like a bunch of confusing things happening one after the other to the point it almost overwhelmed me and i was left thinking i didn't understand a single thing from it (except maybe that one scene - that, i understood spiritually). and the first maybe 90% of ep 10 felt like i was just repeatedly getting hit, and again - no time to breathe, no consolation, no resolve, just receiving bad news after bad news, like getting beaten to the ground with stones.

and at the very end, after some of the ends get tied, caitlyn has her speech, which to me, sounds more depressing and hollow than anything else. she talks ambiguously of history and of ups and downs and of a story not yet over, but there's no promise for the future, no motivation to keep going, no bigger picture, no lesson learned. we're not shown much work being done either (and i'll make a separate post examining why it felt that way to me and a separate one abt how i interpreted her conversation w/ vi at the very end). i was left a bit confused, somewhat unsatisfied, and very, very sad.

did anyone else feel that way too? what did i miss, did i misinterpret or misunderstand something? please i'm going insane i had two different friends tell me they had no idea what i was talking about and that the ending was everything they wanted and more

[razorblade180]

Carmine:Dad! Can you explain this? *lifts photo*

It was a picture of her mother when she was sixteen. The scrappy huntress had a messy pixie cut and flashed a scrappy grin as she yanked a Gheist out of a statue with her bare hands. Ruby’s corset was a little tattered as belts hung from it while her legs were covered by black leggings and red spanks under her combat grin. Meanwhile her army style boots were deep in a Beowulf’s skull.

Jaune:That’s your mother hyped up on adrenaline and giving everyone a heart attack.

Carmine:Yeah but like…She looks so hardcore.

Jaune:Because she is. You should see the photos where she had those nose ring studs and ear cuffs. Went sleeveless for awhile too.

Carmine:…*looks left”

The hardcore woman was currently dancing to Maria’s old albums in the kitchen, her high heels tapping on the tile floor will her red and black dress swayed with her hips; much like her long glorious hair that was kept at bay with a rose scrunchie near her lower back. She noticed her daughter’s glance, waved happily like a corgi, then went back to dancing as she baked muffins.

Carmine:What the heck changed?

Jaune:Nothing. She’ll still buy those if she feels like it. It’s just after she roundhouse kicked Salem and saved the world she looked at us and said, “y’know….I guess I’ll learn to walk in heels.” Then her and Weiss became the world’s next obsession.

Carmine:Including you?

Jaune:Oh no. I’m the weirdo that saw a quirky girl make a crater in the courtyard and think “Ay she’s neat.”

Ruby:They say crime doesn’t pay, but it should be studied how much mileage a man got from sneaking into Beacon and befriending a klutz with poor social skills.

Jaune:Trust the process.

Ruby:Amen to that!