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selarina · 1 year ago

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Behind Closed Masks

→ Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

Summary: Amidst a looming threat to Yuuji’s life, you're all holed up at Shoko's house for safety. It's the practical choice for him, to be surrounded by Jujutsu Society's strongest. Alternatives are in the works, but for now, as you’re all holed up in Shoko's place, events begin to unfurl with Gojo Satoru in the centre of it all.

Content Warnings: friends with benefits, fluff, angst, unrequited feelings, canon divergence because getou is here and mentally well, mention of smoking, mention of violence, mention of harassment, exhibitionism-ish, oral sex (f!receiving) MINORS DNI

Word Count: 3.8k words

Author's Note: Ngl I kinda hate this but enjoy :) Might be kinda ooc

Read on AO3

Satoru Gojo, the receiver of one too many love letters, the rejector of one too many confessions was obviously coined to be every girl’s boy, and inadvertently, as the lady's man.

But truth be laid bare, Satoru never truly had the time, not for women or men. He only truly had time for his intimate circle of friends who luckily had managed to penetrate through all of the layers of façade.

But it's off season, he’s on a low stakes mission and there’s not many curses to kill and he's bored. He’s been bored for a while now and since Yujji had been buzzing at his ear like a mosquito, he decides that maybe he should undertake the mantle he had been anointed with for years.

So, he downloads tinder, albeit his reluctance. Because surely, there were more dignified avenues into hookup culture? But who was he to argue with Suguru, a man who actually lives up to the reputation expectation — hailed as everyone's resident fuckboy.

It's not surprising by any means at all, but there's swell of pride that blooms in him with each illuminating "It's a Match!" notification on his screen. He's not expecting to do much from here, at least — not today. He only downloaded this app to appease Yujji after all.

However, at your entrance into the living room, with your barrage of bags upon bags, he finds himself hastily pocketing his phone — a bit too swiftly than he should have.

He notices Suguru's discerning eyes staring at him, at his move, but Satoru, ever the consummate performer, simply offers him a genial smile and redirects his gaze back at you — this very angry version of you.

You're staring at the lot of them — dead in their faces, almost like you're planning to squint your way through to a create a hole in their faces.

"What's with the frown? It doesn't suit you, pretty." He rose from his seat, a beat behind the swift advances of Suguru and Yujji, both of whom had promptly positioned themselves at your side.

Yuuji relieved you of your bags as he took half the weight off, while Suguru merely extended his help in the form of a box of raspberry juice.

"What's with the frown?!" Yuuji asks.

You stop, taking a long sip of the juice, before you start talking again, "I told you guys to come with me. You didn't want to. The least you could do was pick me up when you agreed to. But no! I was out there, in the middle of no where, trying to get a fucking Uber. And then the Uber driver started hitting on me. And he was so creepy about it too. This is why I hate ubering by the w—"

"Is he still outside?" Satoru's voice cuts through, abruptly altering into a tone of sobriety.

"I don't know. But I want to punch something, maybe we should practice today, Suguru."

You looked up to see him, wanting to see if he agreed with you. But Suguru had disappeared. You turned around, searching the room with your eyes, but there was no sign of him. He wasn't there anymore. The room remained still with only four of you giving it company.

Then, a distant sound, the rumble of an argument spewing its way from outside, reached your ears inside the living room. The four of you are quick to move, swivelling your way through to the point of discord.

Yet, upon arrival, you only catch the diminishing silhouette of the Uber vehicle taking its departure from Shoko's compound. And then, your eyes catch Suguru, arms akimbo, as he looked down at the concrete, uttering an expletive.

"Aww, now I feel better already," you quipped, making your way to hug an annoyed-looking Suguru.

He melted, as one naturally does at the touch of another. Albeit, it may be through reluctance, but his hands don't show it as they come up to gently pull you closer into his chest. He knows you need this more than he does.

"Sorry for not picking you up," he murmurs.

Drawing back slightly, you said, "Well, you going up to fight him makes up for it, I guess."

"Wow," Shoko interjected with an incredulous laugh. "You want us to resort to violence?"

"Well, obviously not. But you would if I asked you, right?" you contended with a smile, fixing your gaze on Suguru.

"Absolutely not," Shoko voice comes out swift and emphatic, a declaration that's seconded by Suguru's shrug of indifference.

Satoru, however, interposed with a grin, speaks up, "I would fight anyone for you."

You look at him, your eyes assessing him from hair to shoes. "Really?" you said, your tone clearly coloured by amusement.

At that, Satoru's eyes squint in annoyance, "I would, and in case you've forgotten, I am the strongest one here?"

"I mean, sure when we were teenagers. That's different, you're kinda wimpy looking now."

You don't actually believe that, you'd be a fool to believe that. Truth be told, he's likely the first person you would instinctively turn towards if you found yourself in any trouble. You're just teasing because you find his attempts at acting annoyed and angry all too endearing, and it's nice — the way he's fighting to fight for you.

Satoru feigns a dramatic sigh, hand pressed against his heart. "Wow," he remarks. "Here I was, prepared to face dragons in your honour, and all I get is this indignation."

"Alright, both of you drama queens can continue you the play for us," Shoko's hands come up to push the two of you inside the house. "As we make dinner," she continues. "I'm fucking starving."

—

Dinner unfolded in its familiar routine. Suguru's standing behind the counter, his hands moving with a practiced grace as his swished through the vegetables. You make your way from sitting on one counter to the other, munching on cut vegetables and cheese alike.

Satoru flitted between scenes, briefly checking on the TV and Yuuji in the living room and then joining you and Suguru in the kitchen. Shoko, on the other hand, was for a smoke as she often is — you wonder if that's just her way of taking the time she needs away from the group.

And as the night deepens, you all sit down to eat together beneath the glow of Shoko's yellow lights — you savour each bit as you try to extend the night, not wanting it to end yet. But eventually, the plates were clear, and all of you share the task of washing and cleaning up into the night.

When it came time to rest, sleeping arrangements fell into its usual place. Satoru found his place on the couch, while Suguru occupied the other one. Yuuji chose the floor, favouring it over the couch or the bed. And Shoko's retired to the comforts of her own familiar bed. She deserved as much for tolerating the lot of you, she said.

You, on the other hand, spoiled as you often are, you sleep in the guest room, all alone.

But on a night like this you know you're not going to be alone, not when all the warning signs were laid out — the incessant touches on your waist as he moved, the soft smile, the stares — it was all a bit too apparent than usual.

So, when you hear the door creak open gently you're not surprised, and when Satoru patters in with softly laid footsteps you're not surprised. "Hey," his voice whispered its way to you.

In response to his whispered greeting, you softly murmur, "Hey."

Satoru settled onto the bed beside you, making himself comfortable as he placed his phone on the table beside the bed.

A knowing smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you reach out to him, draping your arms gently around his neck. With a deliberate and unhurried motion, you shift your position, sitting up and moving to straddle him, your legs finding their place on either side of his hips.

"Are you okay?" He asks, his thumb coming up to graze the edge of your lip. His tone was neutral, but his eyes they peer into your eyes, so intently, it almost makes you feel bare.

Your fingers play at the short hair that remains at the nape of his neck, a feather-light touch eliciting a faint shiver from him, but he maintains his gaze at you.

"I'm okay?" you respond, a hint of confusion in your voice.

"The Uber guy—"

Recognition dawns upon you, and you chuckle softly "Ah, that. Yeah," you pause, considering your response after. "That's normal. I mean, it's not but yeah, I'm okay don't worry. Used to this really."

His gaze softens, "I can find him right now, teach him a lesson if you want," his thumb continuing its absentminded caress along your lip.

You give him a small, appreciative smile, your fingers continuing their gentle dance on his nape. "No need for all that, stupid," you reply, "It's really fine. I didn't think twice about it." You let out a chuckle. "Well, maybe twice but not more than that."

"How long are you staying for?" Satoru's question shifts the mood.

"I'm leaving in two weeks, around the same time as now," you finally share.

His gaze flickers, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. "You?" you inquire, but you don't truly want to know, you'd rather you just all stay here for a month, or two.

He hesitates for a moment, his fingers tracing patterns on your waist. "Not sure yet," he admits. "Could be around a month. Haven't finalised the details."

"That's good to hear," you murmur softly. "I mean, you've been up to a lot lately. Must be nice to be back home."

"Yeah, I miss food," he frowns.

A few beats pass, as you sit there in silence.

"Wish you could stay longer," he says, his voice coming out a bit too vulnerable than you're usually used to because it's jarring, it's starting to sound like a confession you know you'll never get.

"Yeah?" you ask, swallowing. "Why?"

He stares and you stare back, there's a moment, for a silly little moment during the fragile second suspended between you two, you think he's going to say something real. But then, with a shift, his hands reposition their grip around your legs that are wrapped around his hips, and he pulls, guiding you to fall back onto the softness of your pillow.

Your heart pounds, the abrupt change of position leaving you two separated before on top of you, as he moves his face to your neck.

"To do this,” he speaks, and his words are ticklish against the side of your neck. His knee quickly moves to lodge itself between your legs, hovering but not fully pushing.

"Satoru—"

He continues to map his way down to your neck as his hand slid along your thigh. Your legs come to wrap around his waist, as it usually does and his hips pressing firmly into yours to pin you into the bed.

Your fingers come up to his hair, tugging on his roots as he continued his ministrations around around your neck, as he continued leaving a hickey. “Aw! I’ve missed you too—” Your breathy confession ends up in a gasp, as he bites particularly too hard.

"Sorry," he says but he doesn't really look sorry.

You know he's not sorry because he moves almost immediately to yank his shirt from over his head.

"Maybe we shouldn't," you voice as he lays his palms on your knees, smirking in satisfaction at the way you were already spreading your legs for him to settle in between, even as your words professed otherwise.

"Why not?" He asks, as he bends down to tug on your shorts as you help me by shimming your way out.

"Well, Yuuji and Suguru are literally a door away and well, we're at Iwa's place—"

Pushing the hem of your t-shirt up to your stomach, he brought his head between your legs. “Is it because you like him, you—“

“What?” He pauses, and you couldn’t help but sound a little annoyed, because this is odd. In all your times together, he never brought this up. In all your many years of friendship, he never brought this up. "What?" your tone softening as you repeat.

A palpable beat of silence lingers between you two.

Satoru lets out a sigh, the tension in his voice giving way to weariness. "I don't know, I was just wondering."

"About what, exactly?" you inquire.

"I don't know," he responds, a touch of frustration tinging his tone. "Do you like him? Suguru?"

"Like Suguru...?" you spoke, baffled. "Of course, I don't. You'd be the first to know if I did."

"Why's that?" His question hangs in the air.

A soft, incredulous chuckle escapes your lips. "Well, you're kind of my best friend, aren't you?"

He doesn't speak up, merely nodding before you push his head down between you thighs. He complies, his mouth moving to suck bruises on the inner part of your thigh as he hooks his fingers around the side of your underwear.

He pushes your underwear down your legs and you help him by kicking it off. His hands then movie to push down your thighs to the bed, leaving you bare in a way that leaves you abashed.

He runs his tongue across his lower lip, Satoru didn’t start slow and he was nowhere near as gentle as he usually is, but you figure the aspect of your friends right outside your door might have spurred him on to go quicker.

He didn't leave a little kiss as he usually did, nor were there any tentative licks, he just straight up latched his mouth against your cunt, spreading your legs apart until you were as exposed as you could be so his tongue could reach deep inside you.

“Fuck—” Your hand immediately went back to his head, curling your fingers around his soft locks. You aren't sure if you were pushing him closer, or pushing him away.

You moaned softly, still concious of your precarious state in a friend's house as a guest. You bucked against him as his tongue flicked over you.

“Oh, God—” His slick muscle pressed flat against your folds, drawing designs across your sensitive skin. He went up and down, up and down, again and again, and again — he only momentarily stopped to pay attention to your clit, sucking until your thighs began to slowly tremble.

“Satoru, Satoru, fuck wait—” Your breathing hitches.

Satoru had always been good with his hands but that was nothing compared to what his mouth and tongue could do. He was so good at this that you could barely form any other reactions and you were getting progressively scared as you started to get louder and less in control of yourself.

His gaze, hooded and fixed on your face, holds a glimmer of need as he spoke, "What's wrong?"

"They'll hear us," you murmur softly, a hint of caution in your voice.

"It's fine," he responded, with a smile, as he dove back in.

"What— No, it's not okay," you protested.

But he didn't relent, he continued on and on and on until your legs began to tremble. He savoured your taste and you felt the vibration of his muffled voice reverberates directly against your skin. “You’re gonna come for me, baby?"

And at the sound of that, you do.

"Fuck— You're so annoying sometimes," you exclaim, sitting up from where you had been lounging against your pillow, your breath slightly uneven.

Seated now, you deliver a playful slap to his shoulder. "Ow— Is that any way to treat the man who just gave you an orgasm?" he quipped as he rubbed his shoulders to soothe your assault.

Your initial impulse is to give him a mock scowl, maybe even playfully shove him down to show him what you would do to a man who just made you come. But then, his phone buzzes.

Your eyes instinctively dart to the side, and just as swiftly, Satoru moves to turn off the glowing screen. However, his speed isn't enough to prevent you from catching a glimpse of the display, not enough to discern the specifics, but enough to stir, well... something.

"You're on Tinder?" The question slips from your lips before you can catch it.

"Uh—" Satoru's expression shifts, a mix of embarrassment and guilt colouring his features. "Yeah, Yuuji kinda forced me to do it."

"Forced you into it?" Your curiosity deepens, your voice coming out incredulous.

"Yeah," he says, plainly.

"How does someone force you into downloading and signing up for a whole app?"

He wants to explain, but really he's not sure what he can or should say, so he merely asks what lingers in his mind. "What's the big deal?"

"Nothing," you concede. It's true, it's nothing. Plus, you've been part of the club after all. You know how this goes.

You repeat the mantra in your mind—it's all just nothing. Meaningless and not real. But despite your efforts to convince yourself, a twinge of unease stirs within you. Sensing the potential weight of those unspoken thoughts, you quickly shift your focus, grabbing your underwear as a way to distract yourself from the festering emotions that boil right below the surface.

"What? Wow — No head?" he muses.

"I'm just too tired today," you reply, the weariness in your voice matching the fatigue that weighs you down - as though your words have spoken your exhaustion into fruition.

As the night stretches on, you lie in the dimness of the guest room, ensnared in a ceaseless loop of replaying the day's events. It's as though you're stuck with a malfunctioning record that refuses to stop. So, you shift and you shift in your bed, and you're suddenly overcome by an uncomfortable heat.

Truth be told, your heart ached not just from the events of this day, but from years and years of unspoken words.

Your closeness to Satoru, a social man who's cautious about who he allows into his life, can be traced back to a confession you made.

Dumb and in love, back when you were 17, you mustered the courage to reveal your feelings for him. Naturally, he turned you down. You were expecting it, of course and were hoping that wish away the feeling you had for him. There's a strange solace in embracing the stages of heartbreak - your friends telling you stories about how a "Fuck him, I'm sad" phase quickly turns into a "Fuck him, I'm hot" phase.

But alas, fate had other plans. A friendship sprouted instead.

You presented yourself as having moved beyond your emotions, and at times, it felt real. But then he would do small and ostensibly insignificant acts, as one does for a friend – brushing a speck of grass from your hair, surprising you with your favourite beverage, reminding you to carry an umbrella – and they just made fall deeper into the well.

That wretched well.

After a while, of jostling in bed, you couldn't stand the heat and the suffocating weight of all these thoughts. Quietly, you slipped out of the bed, carefully making your way out of the room. The living room was dimly lit, but you could still see where Satoru lay sprawled awkwardly, half on the couch, half on the floor. While Yujji and Suguru slumbered soundly, the former clutching a throw pillow.

The soft glow of a lamp casting your shadow across the room as you opened the balcony door and settled onto the swing outside.

A floorboard's creak drew your attention, your gaze turning to the living room. And that's when saw Shoko standing there, her figure outlined by the soft light. He seemed surprised to find you awake, her expression a mix of concern and contemplation.

"Couldn't sleep either?" she asked, as she made her way next to you, shutting the balcony door. Her voice carrying a hint of weariness. Perhaps, he was asleep.

You shook your head, not trusting your voice to respond. There was a heaviness in your chest that you couldn't put into words.

She settled beside you in silence, letting moments pass before he spoke. A sigh escaped her, "I'm sorry for not picking you up earlier. It might not seem like a big deal, but I should have showed."

You looked at her, her profile illuminated by the soft light from the moon. "It's really not a big deal." Your hand found its way to her arm, a gesture of reassurance.

You think about how kind Shoko really is as a person. It's not often you find someone like her. I mean, sure Satoru is nice to you but he can often be petty, arrogant and hurtful, even if he may not want to be these things, Shoko, on the other hand, was deliberate with her words, at least around you. It makes you feel loved in a way you have always needed.

Your mind drifted to a specific memory – the last prom. You were clad in a soft shade of purple, and you felt hopeful. Despite going with Shoko, the presence of Satoru, now a friend, lent a certain optimism. Yet, she had snapped at you, in hushed tone though as she did not want his date hearing him, she wanted you to give him and his date space.

It wasn't his fault really, you were lingering in their space after all but you made your way through, seeming as normal as you could, taking some punch in a cup, finding your seat almost working in auto-pilot mode, and after awhile you felt her come sit beside you. Shoko.

She sat beside you in silence for a bit and then she spoke, standing up and offering her hand up for you to take.

"May I have this dance?" she asked.

"I'm tired, Shoko," you responded, dejectedly.

"Come on," she implored, meeting your eyes. "Let me have the honor of sharing your very last prom dance."

With a sigh, you accepted her hand, rising from your seat. Turning away from the amorous couple, you focused on Shoko as she led you into a waltz.

In that moment, you thought you couldn't have asked for a better date.

Soon, you noticed Shoko gradually dozing off beside you. It didn't take long, and with a gentle nudge, you roused her from her slumber.

"You should get some rest," you suggested, your voice a soothing caress.

"Alright," she agreed, a plain weariness in her tone. Rising, she paused before leaving. You think maybe today's the day she would finally ask you about it.

"You know," she began. "You can always talk to me, right?"

A nod was your response.

She leaned in to press a kiss on your forehead. With that, she turned and made her way to her room.

A sense of lightness enveloped you, the fatigue gradually returning to your bones. Retracing your steps to the guest room, you knew sleep would find you.

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evereverest2 · 4 months ago

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Little Monster Q&A + author fun facts !!

hello new followers and fans of Little Monster. first of all, i just have to thank everyone for the crazy support ive been getting as of late. thank you everyone. every like, comment, and reblog just pushes me to keep writing, even when it feels like every word i write is garbage.

so i decided to make this little special! idk if anyone will be super interested, so ill put all the stuff under the cut, but i also wanted to add this little drawing i did of terzomega as like extra content. if you arent interested, thanks anyway and enjoy the art!

—

to everyone who stayed, i have no idea why you’re interested, but thanks lmfao. this shit will be long.

Questions

Is your most recent oneshot about the mirror related at all to Little Monster? (from @ofthemorningstars)

i'm glad you noticed that !! in The Mirror, i very purposefully left two hints at the end of the fic to indicate its connection to Little Monster, which was the taco ring reference and Terzo's use of "mostriciatto". to me, mostriciatto will always be the Little Monster version of terzomega. no matter when i finish that fic or if i write more fics after, i will never again use mostriciatto unless im purposefully writing these versions of terzomega. i havent seen anyone else use it (i hope they dont), so i like to imagine this can be forever my impact on terzomega fics lmao. anyway, the purpose of me leaving those references isnt necessarily to say, "this is a future scene of little monster" bc it isnt exactly that (while i have plans that line up with this oneshot, i cannot anticipate that everything will fit perfectly by the time we get there in the canon). the purpose of doing that was to show u cuties that yes, terzo and omega will eventually have a better relationship, and i will be extending this timeline into papa terzo era. just a fun little teaser for my more observant fans.

also, fun fact about how i came up with that pet name. i was writing the first part of Little Monster (that part is now titled Spilled Wine as featured on my Ao3) and i knew i wanted to give terzo an affinity for using pet names, but i didn't know quite which ones to use. i didn't want to be boring, so i googled some. i have no idea where, but i found mostriciatto, meaning, of course, "little monster." i had yet to even really start writing it, but i knew i wanted it to be DARK with a very unhinged omega, so i thought, perfect. ill talk a bit more about the writing of part one later on

2. How many parts do you currently anticipate writing? Do you have a set ending point, or will this perhaps be an ongoing project for the foreseeable future? (from @ofthemorningstars)

i have 12 major plot points (including the first five parts i have written) that loosely translate into parts. this could mean 12 parts, or it could be more depending on what i write. i kinda plan on expanding this to 18 (6 parts per “era” or “act” [you’ll see what i mean]) though i dont quite have a set ending yet, so really its up in the air. i am, however, planning on having a definitive ending, ergo not an endless project. from there there may be some oneshots in this universe, but they will have an ending.

3. In the first part of little monster you put a disclaimer with something along the lines of "if you're expecting comfort I'm sorry to disappoint". The angst is MWAH but do you like plan on giving Terzo like any sort of comfort or happiness?? (from anon)

before i begin rambling, here's your answer: there will be hope and good times as mentioned above, and you might have even picked up on that in part 5. i may have wrote a fucked up versions of terzomega but whats a good story without character growth?? i havent determined the direction of the ending, but rest assured, if it all burns down, they will hold each other close (for the minute it takes).

but also.... funny story about that disclaimer....

soo i wanted to write ghost fanfic to impress my friend who is a VERY avid member of this community. however, i failed to realize they DO NOT like angst without love and care and fluff, so after i showed it to them, buddy did not like it. i took that as a sign that maybe this shit was a little TOO dark.

but my god, i could not stop thinking about it, as the caption said, and i dont always feel that away about what i write. i had recently started to post semi often to tumblr, and i just thought. well, theres gotta be someone else as fucked up as me, and i posted that shit. that disclaimer was a result of taking my friends reaction seriously and realizing that i needed to make it VERY clear that this fic is NOT for everyone. there was a different og caption that was longer and more grave, but i cut it down for aesthetics bc little monster has already seen more success than i ever anticipated.

4. What is your favorite ghost album, and what song introduced you to ghost? (from anon) & Favorite ghost song (or songs) (from @ask-enso-ghoul)

my favorite album is Infestissumam!!! the vibes of the album are so fucking immaculate, even if terzo is my favorite papa.

of course, of course, the first song i ever heard from ghost was Mary on a Cross. it blew up when it did and i loved it. the second song that really made me start getting into ghsot was square hammer, which will secretly also be my favorite ghost song but ive heard it so many times i have to give it now to the future is a foreign land. some of my other fave songs are jigolo, respite, body and blood, faith, twenties, and year zero (there’s just so many)

i want to take a second to say my least favorite album though, which is opus eponymous, or as i call it, pope pussy. it’s ok. it’s just ok. mk. i’m not a fan of that sound. the best song on there is genesis. I FUCKING SAID IT—

5. how do you get into the zone of writing smut-? I’m trying to get into it but it sounds cheesy when I do, so do you do something specific? (from anon)

im gonna level with you. i have been writing for almost a decade, since i was 12, and the first thing i started writing was smut. sex has always been a HUGE creative force for my writing and art in general. as stupid as it sounds, writing smut to me is more than just that. its my art. its my greatest and most inspirational subject. i love being creative with it, bending it to the niches and intricacies of the duo im writing, just playing with it as a medium of expression, of storytelling, of how DEEP it can be.

that being said, one of the easiest ways to get into the zone of smut specifically is being horny ! you imagine your pairing doing some illicit bedroom activity and you pick them up liek dolls and smush their faces together ! let it be fun, and let it be yours. dont write it to please the kinks of your audience, write it to your own taste and enjoyment.

as far as it being cheesy, yeah, it will feel that way. the most important thing is to be confident with your language and don’t shy away from calling a dick a dick, a pussy a pussy, an ass an ass. it feels stupid, but it will read worse if you make up artsy names for them every other line. don’t be afraid to be descriptive either, because that’s what the people want to see, trust me.

apologies if that was unhelpful, ive just been writing smut so long i can hardly tell you how i do it. im jsut super passionate about it and it fuels me creatively….. can u tell lol

6. Favorite work you’ve ever done? (from anon)

so.... ive written many things and that depends. its definitely not anything ive posted on here.

i think my favorite "serious" work is a short story i wrote for a creative writing class, called Abel and Sally. it was an modern inversion of the bible story of abraham and sarah, with a really dark ending (i love to shit on catholicism)

the other work that comes to mind is the first story i wrote about my oc anson, called Anson's Prison. that is something i would potentially post on here, its pretty short but its a good one. its oc content, tho, so i doubt many ppl would be interested lel.

8. will you draw more drawing for your stories in the future? (from anon)

well. heres my thing with art.

ive been drawing as long as ive been writing. but im not an artist; i never learned ANYTHING beyond like drawing itself, i.e. i dont know how to shade, pick colors, do bgs, etc. (can u tell??? do u see that art up there???? can YOU TELL??) thus, i have a sort of love hate relationship with drawing, and i usually dont like my own stuff. i didnt pick up drawing as easy as i did writing and its not nearly as intuitive to me.

that being said, it is sometimes fun when the drawings turn out just right and i get super passionate about something i draw and i can create the image in my head. so if the mood strikes me, i probably will draw more terzomega stuff in the future.

but why do i need to?? feeds you all SO WELL with little monster stuff you dont need my shitty art lmfao

9. MILK OR CEREAL FIRST? (from anon)

cereal. bc the moment the milk hits that cereal u are on a speedy ass countdown to devour that shit before it gets soggy, and brother, u better eat quick.

Things I wanted to share

Little Monster was supposed to be a one shot

so, Little Monster started as one thing and turned to something else entirely. originally, i wrote the beginning of the first chapter (where they are flirting in the church) in about april of this year. in this version, they were supposed to already be in love, though hiding it, and terzo was not drunk at all, just teasing. i eventually scrapped it because i wasnt very passionate about it and got p bored. then, in july, i had the itch to write something dark, but none of my projects at the time had characters i could really write that with. i came back to that scrapped fic and i thought, damn, i could really fuck these guys up, and i did.

little monster immediately became more successful than i thought it would be, and that was only about 10 notes and a comment in. i was happy to leave it at that, but then, i just started writing part two on a whim. if you look at the og post in the comments, i mention that im writing a "follow up". thats bc even when writing part two, this was not going to be a series !! but then, as i kept writing, part two became so long i had to split it in half, meaning there were suddenly 3. by the time i posted part three, though, i was shocked at the sheer amount of attention i was getting. at the same time, part three ended in such a way that i knew this story needed to keep going, to give these two a resolution. now, little monster will be a full fledged story thanks to all the support ive received :3

2. im an english major

yeah, you got me, im a college student majoring in english creative writing. is it obvious? my penultimate goal is to one day be a published author. it’s crazy surreal to me how much people express to me how they enjoy my writing~~ i hope i can one day make my dream come true 🥰 the unfortunate part about this is i go back to college next week and im uncertain how that will affect my writing schedule :p i’ll stick to weekly uploads for little monster tho dw !!

3. this is the first time i’ve written fanfic in several years

when i first started writing it was frerard and peterick fanfics on wattpad in middle school (huge shoutout to the ones that know lmfao). i stopped writing those before hs and haven’t written fanfic since. i think it’s very funny that i have come full circle back to writing band fanfic, altho ghost ofc is way more intricate with its canon

4. I LOVE YOU GUYS

i know i’ve said it a dozen times already on this post, but god it’s crazy. it’s nuts !! i’ve already made a handful of super sweet mutuals who i appreciate with all my heart, and even if you’re just a lurker, I STILL APPRECIATE YOU. EVERY SINGLE NOTE MAKES ME SO HAPPY. EVERY COMMENT AND RB HAS ME BURSTING WITH JOY.

it is entirely thanks to you all that i write terzomega and ive become so passionate about it. if it weren’t for your support, i would probably still be writing my silly little stories that no one but me could possibly understand, rotting away and wondering if anyone would even like my writing. terzo and omega are such a unique pairing compared to what ive written before, and writing them is a really cool feeling. i truly love it, and i hope i can continue to feed this side of the fandom for a long time.

from the bottom of my heart and with all my writing soul, thank you. i want to keep writing for u guys, and i want to satiate ur dirty terzomega fantasies >:) this is such a sweet and inclusive fandom and im glad i’ve been welcomed in so quickly. i hope i can continue to grow my talent here :3

ok that’s it bye teehee

#terzomega #my art #ghost bc #ghost art #everest the thinker #worship the eversnake

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thefreakandthehair · 1 year ago

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@eddiemonth prompt, oct 19th: Scifi/tech | Electric Eye - Judas Priest | Bewildered a/n: eddie pov, eddie & dustin friendship, dustin & steve friendship, and an excuse for me to weasel one of my favorite steve headcanons into something. un-betaed because I'm challenging myself to write these in under an hour. read on ao3 + masterpost | tumblr masterlist

After his release from the hospital and the unfortunate news that his trailer had been destroyed, Eddie goes from functionally homeless to having multiple spaces that feel like home.

He’s been all but adopted by Claudia at this point, an offer extended immediately after hearing the version of the story everyone’s agreed upon— that the ground split open and Eddie nearly ate it pushing Dustin out of the way. It’s not quite the truth, but the theme is the same and anyone who’s willing to sacrifice themself for her son is welcome any time.

Especially when he’s been called upon to help with Dustin’s science fair project. It’s out of Eddie’s league a bit, the actual science part, but he and his mechanical brain prove helpful. Kinda nice, actually, to use those hotwiring skills for good.

Of course, it also helps that the government set him and Wayne up in a modest two bedroom house down the road, and that Eddie can practically smell Claudia's cooking when the windows are open. Like Garfield, he’s drawn to the Henderson house with the scent of a fresh lasagna.

Bellies full and completed project sitting confidently on the kitchen table for tomorrow, they’re watching Star Wars movies in Dustin’s living room, one after another, and he feels just a touch like a traitor. Star Trek will always have his heart and Wayne can never know.

“How’d you get into Star Wars anyways?” Eddie asks, sprawled across Dustin’s couch.

“Can you believe Steve actually got me into them?” Dustin replies, curled up on the recliner.

There’s an infinite number of ways a child might be introduced to the Star Wars franchise— a parent, a trailer before another movie, a carrier pigeon dropping a flier at their fucking feet— and they’re all more believable than Steve Harrington introducing Dustin Henderson to the sci-fi epic.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie turns with wide eyes and a crooked grin to face Dustin. “What?”

“I know, right? It was uh, okay this is a little embarrassing.” Dustin cuts himself off, justifying some secret Eddie somehow hasn’t been told yet.

He knows about the Mind Flayer and the Russians, and all the other Dungeons and Dragons lore that’d lived beneath his feet for years. What could possibly be left to make Dustin cringe like that?

“Oh, do tell.” Eddie raises an eyebrow and gestures with an arm towards the expanse of space between them. “Floor is yours, young Bard. Spin the tale.”

Dustin rolls his eyes and throws popcorn at him. He tries to catch it in his mouth but he’s never been that coordinated.

“It’s not really a tale. A few years ago, there was this school dance, the Snow Ball. I got all amped up, Steve helped with my hair, and then the night was a total fucking dud. Nancy danced with me which was like, super awesome of her, but I felt like shit after anyways.”

Eddie listens with rapt attention, pissed off that Dustin had such a relatable middle school experience and intrigued at this new sliver of Steve lore. Not that he cares. Obviously. Why would he? The idea of Steve helping Dustin get ready for the Snow Ball doesn’t conjure up words like adorable at all.

He nods him on.

“And uh, I called Steve the next day. He came over and we had pizza and he brought some of his favorite movies he thought I’d like. Star Wars had spaceships so obviously, easy choice. And here we are now with Return of the Jedi.”

Okay, yep, that’s gonna be hard to tamp down the next time he sees Steve. Stomping his ill-advised crush into the ground beneath his Rebooks has been hard enough but now? Motherfucker.

It’s also not lost on him that Dustin chose these movies today. Eddie feels like he’s stepping into some tradition that doesn’t belong to him, but he can’t squash the kid’s enthusiasm with his own insecurity.

Instead, Eddie goes for the low hanging fruit.

“Wow. Gotta tell you man, that’s maybe weirder than finding out about the monsters and shit. Steve’s favorite movie is Return of the Jedi?”

Dustin snorts and laughs, toothless and free. Happiness isn’t new for Dustin, not anymore, but it’s still nice to see after all they’ve been through.

“Well, that’s one of them. He always calls it ‘the ones with the teddy bears’, so people assume he means Return of the Jedi. But I know the truth. That dork loves Caravan of Courage.”

Eddie flips through his mental catalog of sci-fi movies and lands on a VHS cover: a couple of humans, a few Ewoks, and something that looks like a machine gun. If he remembers correctly, it has something of a cult following but wasn’t touted as a high point in the series.

… And it’s Steve’s favorite. The one with the teddy bears.

“Wait… what?!”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie month #eddie month prompts #dustin henderson #steve harrington #steddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myblurbs

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fanhackers · 6 months ago

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Affirmation/Transformation: Fandom Created - a chance to see your fanworks on display in a museum

Mark Heresy, American, b. 1965. Will to Power (detail), 1992, Ink on paper, 28 x 22 in, 2000.11.5, Gift of Peter Norton, Collection of the Haggerty Museum of Art, Marquette University

Affirmation/Transformation: Fandom Created, an exhibition of fine art pieces and the fanworks inspired by them, will run from August 23rd through December 22nd, 2024, at Marquette University’s Haggerty Museum of Art, as well as online. This exhibition considers “creation” as the line between casual enjoyment and fandom. Fans are not passive; fans create. Fans from any and all fandoms are challenged to create fanworks inspired by both their fandom and one of 14 fine art pieces from the Haggerty’s permanent collection. Visitors to the museum and to the online version of the exhibition will be able to see submitted fanworks displayed digitally alongside the fine art pieces hung in the gallery, and will be asked to consider whether the fan creations are affirmational or transformational—that is, do they affirm the fan object as it is, or transform it into something new? Affirmation/Transformation: Fandom Created also happens to be the keystone of my dissertation project.

My research focuses on the kinds of things that fans create, the ways in which fans and academics consider those creations, and the various ways fans are compensated for the work they complete. “The kinds of things that fans create” includes not only tangible creations—like fanfiction, fan art, cosplay, and collections—but also immaterial creations—like rules, rivalries, relationships, political movements, identities, histories, emotional responses, theories, community, meanings, alternative readings, and play. I am hoping fans will submit a plethora of different forms of tangible fanworks; I have already received art, fiction, original music, nail art, cross-stitch, cosplay, and more. Intangible fanworks are more difficult to gather and display; however, once Affirmation/Transformation opens in the fall, I will be conducting ethnographic research with fans regarding their experience with both tangible and intangible fan creations. Through my research, I hope to further break down what I see as an unnatural barrier between affirmational and transformational fandom, and expand on the ways in which all fanworks both affirm and transform their fan objects. Additionally, I will be investigating the various ways fans are compensated for their fannish labor.

In business, the idea of non-monetary compensation is commonly discussed. Things like benefits, time off, employee assistance programs, discounts, and other employer-provided perks are discussed as a part of an employee’s “total compensation package.” Yet, in most fan studies texts, fan labor is referred to as totally unpaid. At best, fanworks are discussed within the context of a gift economy: fans make fanworks as gifts, and are gifted more fanworks in return. I don’t disagree with this assessment of fan compensation—I personally consider each fanwork submitted to Affirmation/Transformation: Fandom Created to be a gift towards the completion of my dissertation—but it does not seem to go far enough. The “compensation” fans receive extends far beyond the (albeit massive) “gift” of the vast archives of fanfiction and fan art housed on sites like AO3 and Tumblr. Compensation can be social, emotional, communal, psychological, developmental, and beyond. If access to an EAP is considered part of the compensation package offered by a corporation, then should not access to a network of individuals within a fandom—all in possession of their own knowledge and expertise—be considered as similar compensation? Fans provide mutual aid for those in their community in ways often above and beyond what a business might do for an employee facing a period of struggle. Perhaps I am just a “cultural dupe,” but I feel I’ve gotten just as much or more from my fandom as compared to what I’ve put in, and I struggle to be fully convinced that my labor is being exploited for the mass media’s hegemony.

Through my scholarship, I hope to contribute to ongoing fan studies research through the further analysis of these alternate forms of compensation, as well as through the cataloging and archiving of fanworks as valid, artistic texts worthy of academic consideration. Not only will the fanworks submitted Affirmation/Transformation: Fandom Created be displayed as a part of the exhibition, but they will also be archived with my dissertation in Marquette University’s institutional repository, preserving them for at least as long as the University exists and making them available for further academic study. Fan submissions for Affirmation/Transformation: Fandom Created are being accepted now, and will continue to be accepted through the close of the exhibition (December 22, 2024). In order to be on display in the gallery on opening night (August 23, 2024), fanworks must be submitted by August 1st. All types of fanworks are welcome, as long as they are submitted digitally. Sound will be available to be played in the gallery (fanworks will be displayed on tablets with headphones attached). For more information, visit https://epublications.marquette.edu/fandom/Affirmationtransformation/, or email Kate Rose at [email protected]

#author: kate rose #kate rose #fanhackers #call for submissions #gift economy #fan labour #transformative fandom

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lucagray813 · 1 month ago

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Shadow - Chapter 3

Title: Alive & Living

Rating: T

Word Count: ~10,000

Characters: Wukong, Macaque

Relationships: Macaque/Wukong

Summary: Wukong just wants to help but he's slowly coming to realise it's not that straightforward. Macaque is just doing his best (and effortlessly wooing Wukong while he's at it).

Additional Tags: Developing Relationship, Acquired Disability, Slice of Life, DBK is called Niú, PIF is called Gōngzhǔ

CW: Brief mentions of: self-harm, disfiguring scars, alcohol

Link to AO3 Version

Chapter Navigation: First | Prev | Next

----

Wukong was almost impressed at the lengths Macaque was going to to not pick up the artefact on the table in front of him. He'd managed to distract Wukong more than once with idle chatter and very embarrassingly had even got him with a "What's that over there?" before legging it.

He'd had to physically drag him back to the vault and now he stood beside him, arms crossed as he watched Macaque just stare at the artefact as if it was going to lunge for him at any moment. Which it wasn't going to - he'd even demonstrated what it did before trying to hand it to Macaque before this whole song and dance had kicked off.

The artefact was simply a small cylindrical chunk of metal that extended into a staff at the wielder's discretion. He'd deliberately chosen it because it didn't rely on the user's magic or do anything to the wielder and if Macaque would just pick it up he would see there was nothing to worry about.

He was perhaps being a little insensitive to Macaque's fear but they'd been at this for nearly an hour and his patience was running thin. He was sure Macaque's attempts to escape this exercise had only given him more time to get worked up about it.

He sighed in exasperation, "Macaque, you're overthinking this. It's like ripping off a plaster - don't think, just do it!"

Macaque snapped at him, "Because that's always worked out so well for you!" He continued to grumble under his breath some unflattering words about hypocrisy and general insults directed at him.

Wukong tried to find his patience. He understood this was easier said than done. The Lady Bone Demon had instilled a fear of magical artefacts so powerful it persisted even after her demise. Macaque had attempted to use a number of them to escape his debt to her and so much as touching one caused the magic she had weaved into his to cause him excruciating pain.

But she was gone and so was her magic, the only thing stopping Macaque was himself and Wukong maybe wouldn't be pushing so hard if there weren't so many artefacts here that he could use to help him with his muted senses but he had to get over this fear first.

He placed a hand on Macaque's shoulder, "C'mon, you can do this. I know you can do this. Here."

He moved his hand to pick up Macaque's, intent on guiding it to the artefact but he was met with trembling resistance once his hand hovered above it. He was however physically much stronger than Macaque but he only managed to force his hand down half an inch before it landed on a small dome of shadows.

"Wha...? Macaque!"

Macaque pulled his hand back and cradled it to his chest, "Look, there's no need for me to do this. I can just go for the rest of eternity without using another artefact that I didn't create - no big deal."

Wukong threw his hands up, "Yes, big deal! Even if we didn't have a small mountain of artefacts you might find helpful right now you still might need to use one in the future." He started to pace, "Just picture it - it's the end of the world and me and MK are pinned down by the big bad but you're able to slink away to the artefact needed to stop them! But instead of saving the day you're stood there paralyzed with fear!"

He turned to face Macaque sternly, "Are you seriously going to let the world end? Are you going to let me and MK bite it?" He pointed to the artefact on the table, "You can save us - you just have to reach out and grab it."

Macaque did not reach out and grab the artefact, instead he buried his face in his hands, "Wukong, shut up. This isn't helping."

He could tell Macaque was just as frustrated with all this as he was - probably even more so as he got the joint delight of being frustrated with himself and Wukong - but he was just winding himself up the longer this went on.

All of a sudden Wukong was hit with a brainwave and an absolutely genius idea came to him. He walked away from Macaque until he found another innocuous artefact a short distance away - this one an orb that he knew just repeated back anything you said to it. Without giving it any more thought he turned and with a, "Hey! Think fast!" he threw it straight at Macaque.

In hindsight, he perhaps threw it a little too hard but he needed to throw it fast enough that Macaque couldn't stop him. Unfortunately, all Macaque had time to do was raise his head just to be struck straight between the eyes.

He had the good grace to wince at the audible sound of it cracking against his skull before it knocked him and the chair backwards and on to the floor. For a moment it felt like everything had gone still and then Macaque let out a truly terrifying growl as he jumped back to his feet. His face was a picture of fury, his tail lashing angrily behind him, the artefact he had thrown had magically appeared in his hand and he was winding it back clearly planning to get Wukong as good as he'd got him, spitting vitriol all the while.

He waved his hands wildly, "Wait! Wait, Macaque! Look! Look! You're doing it! You're holding the artefact!"

Macaque paused in confusion, before his head whipped around as if to look at what had hit him. He immediately dropped it and backed away and Wukong wailed as he made his way forward to pick it up, "No! You had it! You held it and everything was ok! Here, try it!"

He stood in front of Macaque and held out the artefact in the palm of his hand. Macaque swallowed thickly but with only a slightly shaking hand he slowly placed it on top of the orb. Wukong's elated grin was wiped off his face before it could even form by Macaque's fist cracking him straight across the jaw.

He reared back and brought a hand to his throbbing mouth, "Ow! What the hell!?"

"That's for throwing this stupid thing at my head!" He shook said artefact and Wukong belatedly realised he had let go of it once he'd been hit.

Indignantly he responded, "As if you even felt it!"

"Oh trust me, I felt you throw a rock a hundred miles per hour straight at my head! I can still feel it, you bastard! Surprised the damn thing didn't shatter on impact."

Ah. Well, y'know, maybe the punch in the face really wasn't that uncalled for because now he was looking at it - it did look like he'd actually done some proper damage. Hmm, they should probably get that looked at once they were done here.

"Alright, so now we're even! But the important thing is my plan worked! You just had to stop thinking so much! And look, now you're holding it no problem! You're welcome!"

Macaque, as ever, did not join in on his enthusiasm, "It's not even on, Wukong. It probably doesn't even work after being used to cause blunt force trauma."

Wukong bounded over to him, "Well then let's try it then! It just repeats back things it hears - nice and easy!"

He saw the reluctance on Macaque's face but he was determined not to give him any time to freak out. He gently placed a hand over the artefact and took Macaque's other hand in his, "We'll do it together. On three?"

Macaque looked very wary but he closed his eyes and nodded and as Wukong counted them in Macaque's grip on his hand became bruising but it was completely worth it to see the orb glow faintly in their hands and Macaque only had time to let out a shaky sigh of relief before Wukong had grabbed him and started swinging them in circles, "You did it! You did it!" He laughed joyously, "I knew you could!"

When he finally stopped spinning them he just couldn't resist the urge to place a firm kiss against Macaque's cheek, and then another, and he just couldn't stop until Macaque finally pushed him away with a laugh, "Calm down, jeez. It wasn't that big a deal!"

"It totally was! You conquered your fear!"

Macaque huffed, "I faced my fear. I didn't conquer it."

"Same difference! You sourpuss! C'mon, you should be proud of yourself!" He could already tell whatever Macaque was going to say next was going to be an attempt to downplay what he'd done so he shook him, "Nope! I don't want to hear it! I'll just be proud enough for both of us!"

Despite being huffy about it Wukong was certain Macaque was loving all this praise and while Wukong hadn't forgotten that they needed to look at Macaque's head, he didn't want to let the momentum slow. So he let go in order to grab the original artefact and pushed into Macaque's hands, "Do it again!"

In the blink of an eye there was a staff in Macaque's hands and Wukong cheered as he went and grabbed some more items to which Macaque dutifully activated. It was only when he brought over an artefact that should improve his sight that Macaque faltered, "Er, maybe that's enough for one day? I really should go stick an ice pack or something on this." He pointed at his forehead for emphasis.

He pulled out the puppy dog eyes, "Please? Just this last one and then we can be done for the day - promise!"

Macaque very reluctantly took the enchanted glasses from him and Wukong couldn't help but hold his breath as he waited for them to put them on. As soon as they were, he asked excitedly, "Do they work? Can you see me?"

He nodded but Wukong's elation was cut short by Macaque taking them off, "Wait! What are you doing? Do they hurt or something? Don't worry, we've got loads more to try if they do!"

Macaque didn't look reassured as he looked down and away, his response was quiet, "Can we be done for today?"

Very thrown by the sudden change in mood, he acquiesced, "Uh, yeah, sure. Are you ok?"

His nod did nothing to comfort him, especially when he turned his back to him, "Yeah. I... I need a minute. I'll get you back at the house for dinner?"

Wukong reached out to him, "Macaque...?"

"It's fine. I'm fine. Just need a minute." He looked over his shoulder, "Please."

He dropped his hand and brought it to hold his arm, "Yeah, okay. I'll see you at dinner?"

He nodded once more before sinking into the shadows.

---

Wukong berated himself as he prepared dinner. He couldn't have just left it. No, he just had to keep pushing! Fuck. Everything had been going so well and now Macaque was upset and he didn't even know why.

If his hands weren't busy they were anxiously tapping as he waited for Macaque to reappear. He kept looking over his shoulder hoping to see him come in. It was as he was serving up that he heard the sound of Macaque clearing his throat behind him.

He swung around quickly, but anything he might have said caught in his throat as he took in Macaque, standing there a little awkwardly wearing those same glasses from earlier. He could only stand there stunned as Macaque coughed, "Er, dinner looks good?"

Wukong felt his eyes get a little wet, "You can see it?"

"Uh, yeah. Tofu and noodles, right?"

Something wasn't right. This should be a happy moment but Macaque looked tense and was trying to pretend he wasn't, "Macaque...?"

Instead of answering, he walked up to him, eyes trained on his face. He stopped in front of him and brought a hand up to tentatively rest on his cheek, his voice wavered slightly, "You're face is as dumb as I remember it."

Wukong let out a surprised laugh and brought a hand up to cover Macaque's, leaning his forehead to rest against his, "You're the actual worst, you know that?"

He felt Macaque's nod, "Yeah, I know." He leaned back, "C'mon, let's go have dinner. Let's rewatch that movie from yesterday so I can actually see these special effects you were raving on about."

Throughout dinner, Wukong let himself pretend that everything had worked out. So what if he thought this would be a much more momentous occasion? Maybe Macaque just didn't want to make a big deal about it. And so what if Macaque didn't put any of his sauce on his dinner? That was okay, he did that every once in a while, the same thing every day could make you sick of it after all.

But once there was no food to distract them he watched Macaque from the side of his eye.

He was tense. Like, really tense - his tail was wrapped tightly around his own waist, his arms wrapped around his knees with claws digging into his thighs and he seemed to tremble minutely occasionally. The most damning piece of evidence though was the way he kept closing his eyes tightly for minutes at a time before forcing himself to open them and watch the TV.

Wukong felt his heart sink, "Macaque...?"

They were both startled by the sharp, "What!" that followed. Macaque immediately tried to backtrack, "I- I didn't mean that. Sorry. I... Just was really caught up watching the show. Sorry."

"Macaque... Take the glasses off."

He just hunched in on himself and resolutely stared at the TV, "It's fine."

Wukong was aggrieved, "Why do we always have to do this? Why can't you just talk to me? What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on. It's fine."

Wukong grabbed the remote and pointedly turned off the TV, "You either take them off by choice or I'll take them off myself. What's it going to be?"

He was prepared to use force if need be and he more or less assumed he would have to but he was pleasantly surprised, and slightly wary, when Macaque willingly took them off his face. He played with them in his hands and Wukong waited him out.

He was absolutely not prepared for the quiet sniffle before Macaque brought up a hand to wipe at his eyes, he moved closer intending to lay a hand on him to try and comfort him but he flinched before his hand got anywhere near him. Concerned he quietly questioned, "Macaque...?"

There was a terrible shameful look on his face as he responded, "It's too much."

He didn't need to ask for clarification but he paused before he answered and considered Macaque - the tension in his body, the stress in his tone earlier, the need to block out what was happening, it was all actually much more familiar than he had realised.

He scooted back to the other side of the couch to give him space, "Do you remember way back when I found that cursed bell artefact? And we couldn't get it off me and we couldn't get it to stop ringing?"

Macaque looked a little unsure, "Er, maybe?"

Wukong nodded, "Well, I remember it and not just because it was super annoying but because you were totally losing your shit over it. I can't remember why you didn't just portal away but I had to try and physically stop you from ripping your ears off."

In hindsight it was actually super stressful, seeing Macaque so distressed and not knowing how to help, but at the time he really couldn't understand why Macaque was being so dramatic about it, even got annoyed that he was having to try and calm him down when he was the one with the curse.

But that wasn't the only time Macaque's hearing seemed to cause him trouble and the result was usually the same - one very overstimulated Macaque who couldn't stand to be around anyone until he felt better. It happened a lot less frequently as time went on, generally only happening when he was really tired or low on magic but he remembered always being really put out whenever it did happen because anything he did to try and help only seemed to make it worse.

He liked to think he would do a better job at helping with something like that now. His younger self liked to strong arm solutions, rarely accepting that backing off was the correct course of action. Obviously, he should have just removed any triggers, let Macaque be and made sure everyone else did the same. Maybe checking in occasionally and making sure he had everything he needed. He could definitely do that now.

"Is it like that?"

Macaque sighed tiredly before leaning forward to deposit the glasses on the table, when he sat back he had a defeated look on his face, "It's a close enough comparison."

"Why did you wear them for so long then? Did you think if you just grinned and bore it you would magically stop feeling bad?"

Macaque wouldn't look at him, "No..."

"Then why do it? Why put yourself through this?"

Macaque just held himself tightly and said nothing and Wukong wondered if being able to see after so long had just been worth the discomfort. He could possibly see the world clearly for the first time in god knows how long and he just hadn't wanted to give that up. Sure he used regular glasses on occasion to read for short bursts but Wukong was willing to bet they couldn't compare to what an enchanted pair could do.

So he conceded, "Sorry. I know it must be hard not having your senses work properly. I just... There's got to be a better way, right? We can work on it together - try another artefact or modify one?"

For whatever reason, his words just seemed to make Macaque feel even worse but he nodded regardless and Wukong felt at a total loss. Maybe this conversation would go better tomorrow once Macaque had had a chance to recover from being overstimulated. He desperately wanted to hold him and reassure him but he knew that wouldn't help.

Still he tried to put as much sincerity into his voice as possible as he promised, "We'll figure this out. Together."

----

Predictably, they slept in their own beds that night and Wukong felt in no way sad or pathetic as he tossed and turned without Macaque beside him. It's not like they slept together every night but it was definitely more often than not and he slept better when he was here with him.

After a few hours of restless sleep he eventually got up and decided he would start looking into the solution for Macaque's problem. He made his way to the library and started brainstorming and jotting down ideas.

Obviously, there were more artefacts to try. It was possible that one just hadn't agreed with Macaque but Wukong had a feeling this was going to be a problem regardless of the artefact - after all even normal, non-enchanted glasses could make Macaque feel nauseous after a little while.

He wondered if the solution might be in the seals they had put together to limit the range of Macaque's hearing. Being able to tweak his senses to be more or less sensitive as required might be an option. Maybe having twenty-twenty vision all the time was a bit too intense but surely any improvement on what he could currently see was better than nothing?

So modifying the enchantments was one option but he also pondered if redoing the enchantments using Macaque's magic would help things as well. It would definitely take a while to figure it out but Macaque's magic had always been a bit funny when interacting with another's - maybe that was a factor in this.

He had started playing around with the enchanted glasses and trying to figure out how they worked when Macaque made his appearance and despite how exhausted he seemed he had a grim determination on his face.

But before he could voice any concerns, Macaque had asked him to fetch the other artefacts he had found so he could try them on and he couldn't help but hesitate, "I could go get them... But honestly you're looking a little rough there. Maybe we should wait a bit before trying the next one? There's no rush, right?"

He was sure if he was in Macaque's position he would've torn the vault apart to find the answer to his affliction so he could understand being keen to crack on but this could honestly take a while and it was probably going to take a bit of a toll on Macaque while they figured it out. Short attempts followed by long breaks to recover sounded sensible. He supposed it really wasn't his call to make but he really didn't want to see him suffer needlessly.

If nothing else he'd possibly be without his sleeping companion for even longer, if he was stressed out from trying artefacts, and while it was hardly the end of the world the thought of it made him want to sulk.

With a lot less of a fight than he would have expected Macaque relented, sitting heavily in the chair beside him and instead asking him what he was working on. That led to some good back and forth discussing ways forward and Wukong found he was actually kind of excited to work on a project like this with Macaque.

Not just because of the end goal, although obviously that was a huge motivator, but it was nice to have a challenge like this, to have something that really put his brain to work and between the two of them they would leave no stone unturned.

As the weeks went on however it became clear that Macaque did not share his enthusiasm and he just seemed to get more and more miserable the more they worked on it. He was clearly trying not to seem as unhappy as he was but Wukong knew him well enough to see this whole thing was really getting to him.

He supposed he couldn't blame him - it could be frustrating, tedious work with no pay off and attempts often left Macaque feeling terrible and overstimulated. But, of course, Macaque was resisting all attempts to properly discuss how all this was affecting him.

So slowly but surely Wukong had tried to disengage them from the project a little. It wasn't outright abandoned but it eventually became a once a week sort of effort, with Wukong messing around with things privately when he had some time alone, and it was telling how little Macaque fought him on his not so subtle suggestions they take longer breaks.

His mood massively improved as well and Wukong had his suspicions that Macaque wasn't nearly as bothered by his muted senses as he had assumed. He guessed it didn't really seem to be detrimental to Macaque's day to day and any specific issues he came up against he either found a work around for or he could just ask Wukong for help with it.

But then why had he been so determined to see this through?

He wasn't given too much time to dwell on it because in an effort to distract Macaque from the fact he was deliberately slowing down progress of their joint project he had started suggesting they have days out and date nights.

Macaque had been, perhaps justifiable, a little skeptical of the idea at first and to be fair their respective ideas of what qualified as fun could differ greatly but seeing as he was trying to distract Macaque he tried to suggest things he thought he would like and encouraged him to tell him what he would like to do.

Wukong had played it safe so far. His first suggestion had been to check out the jungle that MK had visited a couple weeks back to help out with a strange curse that had taken over a large chunk of it. MK had saved the day, obviously, but he hadn't been able to find a way to undo all the damage which apparently included some mutated animals and plants - which Wukong thought might be cool to check out.

Once they had gotten there, he had doubted the wisdom of this plan. They were more or less here to sightsee but that was pretty difficult to do when you couldn't actually see. He had decided he would just have to be Macaque's eyes! And so, he had described everything he came across in as much detail as he could.

With his ears and his shadows however Macaque was way better at pinpointing odd shaped or sounding flora and fauna that Wukong would have missed and they soon settled into working together to discover everything they could.

He found that he didn't really need to describe every little thing. If he just pointed out things he thought were interesting then that seemed enough for Macaque. He could after all figure out the shape of something from the shadows and he could see some of their colourings. Wukong could just add a little detail like pointing out that mutant lemur that had a funky multi coloured star shape on its forehead and that would be enough to spark a conversation about whether that was purely a result of the mutation or not.

Wukong in no way underestimated Macaque but he could admit to himself he had worried about how enjoyable he could find things without most of his senses. This trip had done a lot to reassure him that while Macaque might be missing out in some regards, he was still able to participate and enjoy himself. All their focus on finding ways to help him had sort of made him lose sight of that.

It had been a successful trip - they'd taken in the sights, bickering had been kept to a reasonable amount, and they'd challenged each other to races, fights and scavenger hunts. It had been fun! And they both near enough collapsed straight into bed together once they got back.

And so it continued - there were loads of places that they wanted to experience or that they already had and wanted to share with the other. It was like going on a zero stakes mini adventure! But beyond discovering the world Wukong really wanted to do things he knew Macaque would enjoy and to that end they were going to see a show.

He had dithered over whether to keep it a surprise or not. Going to see a show was like proper date night material, right? He could have made a whole thing about it. But as he sat on his tablet scrolling through the sheer number of options he felt increasingly unconfident he could pick what Macaque would like the most.

So he decided just to ask, "You want to go see a show this week?"

Macaque paused whatever he was listening to on the other side of the couch and responded, "What kind of show?"

"I have no idea. I've been going through what's on in the city but there's too many options!"

Macaque shrugged, "Just pick one. We can always leave if it's shit."

Yeah right, if he picked a bad show he was never going to hear the end of it, "Just help me decide. Here listen, these are the most popular ones at the moment."

They went back and forth for a while deciding what to go see. Neither of them were concerned with the when or how - Macaque could easily sneak them in. Although, maybe they should check the place out before hand to find the best seats? Ah, they'd figure it out later.

And they did - one handy invisibility spell combined and a slightly modified nimbus so it had a backrest and they were sitting dead centre above the audience with the best seat in the house. They'd settled on an upbeat musical number to Wukong's surprise.

He had tried to offer the much more serious looking period piece but Macaque had just scoffed at him, "If I wanted to sit and listen to you complain for two hours I would just put on Monkey King Reimagined again."

To Macaque's regret, Wukong hadn't been able to resist ranting about how much he hated that movie. He'd gone on for so long that eventually he'd just portaled away and Wukong never even got round to defending his ability to watch classical theatre.

Ah, well. They could go another time - it's not like there was anything stopping them watching as many shows as they pleased. Admittedly, given the choice he would rather watch something that wasn't too depressing or thought provoking.

It was just as the show was about to start that he realised what they were missing, "Ah! Macaque! We need snacks!"

"You mean, you want snacks."

"No! We need them! Snacks are an integral part of watching a show!"

Macaque just rolled his eyes, "You're thinking of movies. Snacks and theatre aren't the done thing. Just make yourself some with your fur."

He whined as he shook Macaque's arm, "You know that's not the same! They have the taste and texture but they don't actually fill you up! C'mon, just open a shadow portal for me!"

Macaque was clearly gearing up to argue with him but as the lights dimmed he just sighed and opened a portal large enough for Wukong to stick a hand through and drag through a couple bags of peach chips, he whisper shouted, "Wait, I need-"

He was cut off by the bottle of juice that was thrust into his face as Macaque shushed him, "Shut up and don't say anything else until the intermission."

A tough ask for sure - Wukong was the kind of guy that liked to do a running commentary as he watched anything and to be fair Macaque was pretty tolerant of it most of the time but he supposed it wouldn't kill him to keep his mouth shut for an hour.

He wasn't quite a hundred percent successful - unable to resist the urge to quietly gush about something on stage. It was the all out kind of spectacle that Wukong loved - bright colours, energetic movements, some well placed jokes and quips.

He would glance over occasionally to Macaque to see him smiling or laughing but oddly at some point he had closed his eyes and Wukong wondered if they should have looked to see if there was an audio description service the theatre offered but he supposed it didn't matter when Macaque was clearly enjoying himself.

But during the break as he described the costume changes to Macaque he thought maybe he should suggest they go grab a pair of glasses they'd been working on so he could actually see them. Back in the day, Macaque had loved every element of theatre - including the outfits, makeup, background sets, props - all of it and it sort of bummed him out that he was missing out on a lot of the finer details.

Especially when he couldn't seem to adequately describe something but something told him not to say anything. All of this, was at least in part, to get away from the stress of trying to restore his senses. They were having a good time, he didn't need to get hung up on how Macaque could be having an even better time.

It had been a good night out and they happily discussed it all once they got back - arguing over the best part and comparing their favourite songs - but there was a strange feeling bubbling up in Wukong's chest and as the conversation naturally lulled, he couldn't stop himself from asking, "You think you'll ever get into doing shows like that again?"

Macaque hummed, "Never say never but I think my theatre days are behind me for the most part."

He tried not to keep his tone light, "Really? Because I heard someone had been putting on shows at the youth centre."

Macaque laughed, "Well, I did say for the most part but a little shadow play for a crowd of kids is hardly what I'd call a show. Do you remember some of the plays we put on back in the day? Some of them took literal years of planning and prepping. Ugh, just thinking about it makes me tired."

"Aw, c'mon, don't be such an old man! You could totally join a theatre troupe and just perform - leave all the behind the scenes work to the kids!"

Macaque was bemused, "You really think I'm capable of just performing?"

He thought about it for half a second before he scoffed, "Yeah, you're right. You're way too much of a control freak for that."

"I believe the word you're looking for is perfectionist. As if I'd let any show I'm part of be anything short of spectacular."

Control freak. How could he have forgotten how obsessive Macaque used to get over every single detail? He was sure he must have micromanaged people to the point of insanity but credit where it was due, he always put on a good show.

Still he teased, "Surely if you're a good enough actor then you can carry the show no matter what."

"Well obviously but if someone is coming to watch a show - they're there to see a show not just one damn good actor."

His smug face allowed no room for doubt who that "damn good actor" was. With a little less levity he asked, "Don't you miss it though? Being up on stage?"

Macaque shrugged, "Nah. Not really. I get plenty of opportunities elsewhere to flex my dramatic flair." He then laughed, "I drive Red Son nuts with it every time I visit."

He smiled briefly at the thought but he pushed, "It's not the same though. You're really sure you don't miss it? Like not even a little bit?"

Macaque appraised him for a minute before an infuriating grin spread across his face, "I'm really sure but I'm getting the feeling that you, on the other hand, really want to see me back on stage."

For some unknown reason, he felt his face heat up and petulantly he crossed his arms and turned away, "What? No! I just don't want you to be missing out because you think you're too good to play nice with others."

He could hear the amusement in Macaque's voice, "Oh? And here I was thinking my biggest fan might appreciate a private show."

He was not proud of the way his mind immediately fell into the gutters but he yanked it back out with both hands and shook it for good measure. He hoped the rosy glow of his cheeks was mistaken for general embarrassment over being sappy or sentimental.

The truth was though, he realised, that he actually did want to see Macaque up on stage - to see him in his element and loving every moment of it. How long had it been since he'd seen him perform? To see him glow with joy and pride as he took a bow as the crowd went wild? How long since he'd heard him sing?

Swallowing his pride, he admitted, "Well, I guess, I... I mean, it would be nice to hear you sing again. Sometime. Maybe. If you wanted to."

Macaque was clearly eating this up, "Aww. You want me to sing just for you?Want me to serenade you, hm? What were you thinking? Yuèliang dàibiǎo wǒ de xīn? Xuǎnzé? Or are those a bit too modern for your tastes? Oh, maybe you'd prefer I write you an original piece?"

God, he hated this guy. Almost as much as he hated the way his treacherous heart sped up at the thought of Macaque genuinely singing him something romantic.

Macaque, of course, could hear it and he leaned into his space as he cooed, "Aw, who would've guessed that the big, bad Monkey King wanted to be courted? And so sweetly too?"

He absolutely did not want to be courted! Romance was for losers! He had never, ever even entertained such a ridiculous notion! But no matter what he said he was never going to live this down - denying it or storming off would only add more fuel to the fire. There was only one way he could possibly recover from this in the long term.

He sat up tall, "I want an original piece. And I want live music and a fancy get up to go with it."

Macaque chuckled, "Of course, you do." He leaned up and placed a brief, chaste kiss on his lips, "As you wish."

Wukong wasn't sure if he was relieved or not when he retreated back to the other side of the couch. He definitely didn't love how satisfied he looked with himself but he was distracted by Macaque mentioning off-handedly, "I'll need some help making outfits and such. You up for that?"

He coughed and tried to compose himself, "Uh, yeah, sure. I can do that."

Macaque continued smoothly, "I hope you don't mind waiting for a little while - been some time since I picked up an instrument, let alone composed something."

Wukong leapt on the chance to change the subject somewhat, "I've basically learnt how to play pretty much every instrument there is since I retired! We could play together!"

Macaque grinned, "Oh? Your skill extends beyond hitting the gong at the end of the song?"

He couldn't believe that with everything that had been going on at the time Macaque had still managed to pick up on that little tidbit. He crossed his arms huffily, "My musical talents would have been wasted on that crowd."

"That's because any talent, musical or otherwise, that you might have disappears as soon as you step foot on a stage."

Wukong was on the back foot for the rest of the evening. He just could not get the upper hand and bring Macaque down a peg. He was going to have to find some way tomorrow to get even.

Despite his pouting however he did deign to let Macaque share his bed with him. Even more benevolently he allowed Macaque to rest his head on his chest while Wukong idly ran his hand through his hair, quietly he asked, "You really think your theatre days are behind you?"

Macaque hummed, "On a grand scale? More or less. The lights for one thing are way too much to deal with but it's just a lot of high energy and emotion that I don't think the shadows love either."

He frowned as he buried his face in Macaque's hair, who gently pointed out, "This is bothering you a lot more than it's bothering me."

He explained, "I know. I just... You used to really love all that stuff and I don't want you to be forced to give it up."

Macaque huffed, "You're so dramatic, you know that? If I want to put on a show I still can - it just wouldn't be a big production to a crowd of thousands. And honestly, I think that's for the better. Sure, the actual performance was always great but the amount of stress that went into making it happen? I'm too old and tired for it. Just like you're too old and tired to wreak havoc anymore."

He couldn't stop his knee jerk reaction, "I'm not old!"

Macaque just scoffed. He was right though - he was old and he was so unbelievably tired. These little adventures they'd been going on recently had been just the right amount of excitement for him. Gone were the days he forever chased after new heights.

Maybe the physical changes Macaque had experienced added to his disinterest in putting on showstopping performances but just being old and tired was likely enough on it's own. Both of them lived at a slower pace these days.

He kissed Macaque's head, "Yeah, I get it. I get front row seats if you're in any sort of show though, right?"

"You'd have to fight the kids at the youth centre for it and I don't like your odds."

"Ah, kids love me! If anything I'll just end up stealing the show!"

The lighthearted bantering persisted until sleep claimed him.

----

Overall, time off the island was well spent and they were at no risk of running out of things to do or see anytime soon. On the list of potential date ideas he hadn't suggested yet however included going on a double date with Niú and Gōngzhǔ but he just hadn't quite worked up the nerve to ask

He thought it could be a lot of fun - Niú was an absolute riot after he'd had a couple casks of wine - but while he was definitely on better terms with them these days, there was no denying who their favourite monkey was and honestly he was a little worried he'd go and all three of them would give him a hard time.

Macaque's friendship with them was something that had developed while he was locked away beneath Five Phase Mountain but he'd never actually asked him how it had come about. It had always struck him as a little bizarre though because Macaque and Niú had barely even tolerated each other during the Brotherhood days.

But his relationship with Niú was as genuine as it was with Gōngzhǔ - he spent as much time with them individually as he did with them together. Though Wukong strongly suspected that it was Gōngzhǔ's influence on Niú that had changed him for the better in Macaque's eyes.

Maybe that was the best way to ease into the idea - get Macaque to share with him what he'd missed and what they got up to when they hung out. He wondered if they knew about Macaque's physical changes or if they even suspected anything was amiss.

If they did surely they would be looking into it too? Maybe they had even roped Red Son into looking for a technological solution. Wukong doubted that's where the answer lay but every avenue was worth exploring.

Although he was somewhat horrified by the image of a half cyborg Macaque. He had a feeling that he'd never go for that though - it didn't fit his image at all. He supposed he could just cover it with a glamour but still being half robot was-

His musings were cut short by the back of Macaque's hand none to gently smacking him on the nose, "Wukong, I can hear you thinking and I'm trying to snooze here so would you kindly knock it off?"

He laughed slightly as he snuggled against Macaque's back, "Sorry, my thoughts went way off on a tangent... Hey, you would never think about becoming, like, half-robot, would you?"

He was promptly ignored.

----

In preparation for whatever romantic event he'd signed himself up for he had started practicing his sewing again. Sure, he could magic up whatever he or Macaque wanted or he could just buy it but those were such boring options. Besides, he had a real knack for seamstressing and he hadn't had an opportunity to really work at it for centuries.

If it gave him an excuse to take Macaque's measurements and feel him up for tailoring then that was just a bonus. A bonus that Macaque was exceedingly tolerant of.

There were a lot of things he enjoyed that he realised he'd let fall by the wayside. Picking up various instruments again had also been a lot of fun - the monkeys liked to join in too with that one. Whether it be dancing, "singing", or trying to make their own music to go with it - it was a chaotic ear sore but everybody had a good time.

Well, bar Macaque, who tended to disappear when the monkeys really got going. Although, sometimes he would just sit close to him and reduce the range on his hearing to block out most of the riffraff.

Macaque was away for the day however and he found himself reclined on a branch of his peach tree, idly strumming on a pípá he'd unearthed from the palace, as he let his thoughts wander.

Wukong was not a particularly romantic person by nature but as he considered this song that Macaque was working on he couldn't help but picture how it would go. The most likely outcome was that Macaque used it as an opportunity to trash talk him in a new, creative way but he also wouldn't put it past him to make a legitimate, sappy love song just to embarrass him.

He wasn't sure he actually hated the idea of a genuine expression of how Macaque felt. Sometimes, it was like pulling teeth trying to get either of them to even say a nice thing about the other. He knew deep down they both loved each other a truly disgusting amount but saying as much was handing the other the chance to make fun of them on a silver platter.

Their actions generally betrayed how they really felt but as embarrassing as it felt to admit it - he did sort of like the idea that they could have a moment where they just let themselves speak about how they felt about each other without being little shits about it.

And the more he thought about this scenario, the more he realised there was something else he wanted too. If they were going to be open and honest, then they should go for broke and take off their glamours - no hiding what they really looked like.

If he was being truthful, it was something that had been playing in the back of his mind for a while, but how did he go about making it happen? Because he had to face it, he had a lot less on the line than Macaque by revealing himself.

For one, Macaque wouldn't really be able to see the difference. He would probably be able to sense that his glamours were off and he would perhaps appreciate the gesture but his shadows wouldn't necessarily reveal his scars to him, and he wouldn't be able to feel them as he ran a hand over them. Maybe he would notice how his eyes had changed colour? But that would probably be it, Wukong would have to describe what was different.

Secondly, the body he was hiding behind his glamours really wasn't that different from the one Macaque knew. Sure, there were a couple notable changes but overall the only thing truly dramatic about them was how he personally felt about them. And even then he'd come to terms with a lot of it, he really just hid them because he had an image to maintain.

Macaque, on the other hand...

Wukong didn't know how he had changed - he knew about his ruined eye, of course, had seen glimpses of it even, but he didn't know what else Macaque was hiding or how Macaque felt about how he looked now. If Macaque didn't feel comfortable letting him see then he wouldn't push it but admittedly the thought that he didn't trust him with the truth did sting.

He knew it was much more complicated than that but some small part of him refused to listen to reason. It was stupid. How they chose to appear to the world didn't make a difference to what they meant to each other and yet, he desperately wanted to see Macaque for who he truly was and for him to be seen in return.

Well, there was really only one thing that he could control about the situation. He took a breath in and as he let it out, he felt his glamours melt away - from his position all he could see was the scarring across his knuckles as his hands moved over the pípá.

There was some curious chirping from the monkeys currently lazing around him but inevitably it was a change met with very little fanfare. He'd just have to wait for Macaque to get back to see if there was any reaction to be had.

He had been sat watching TV when Macaque returned and the slight pause as he looked at him oddly was the only indication that he'd even noticed. Immediately falling back into routine as if nothing was different.

That was... Fine. Great even. It shouldn't be a big deal. This should be a totally normal thing for either of them to do. No need to make a fuss about it.

He managed maybe half an hour before he couldn't take it any more, "You're really not going to say anything?"

Macaque regarded him coolly, "What is it exactly you want me to say?"

He threw his arms up, "Something! Anything instead of just ignoring it!"

"No, you did this because you wanted something from me and I don't know what that is. Anything I say or do now is going to be wrong."

"I don't want anything from you! I did it because I-" He cut himself off, and took a breath, "No, ok, look, I've wanted to do this for a while but I just... didn't know how to bring it up, alright?"

"You're still expecting me to respond in some way though."

"Well, yeah, but not in a specific way. I just don't want you to ignore it. It's sort of a big deal, y'know?"

"Is it?"

He'd convinced himself that it wasn't but now that he was here he was realising that it absolutely was. He hadn't taken them off since he'd completed the Journey and it mattered to him. It really mattered to him because he wanted Macaque to see him, the real him.

But, of course, Macaque couldn't see him, not really, and that wasn't his fault.

How had even been expecting Macaque to react after springing this on him with no warning? Tenderly look at his red eyes and scarred face before dropping his own glamours and admitting he'd wanted to do this for just as long? In what universe was that ever going to happen?

"No... No, it's not. Sorry, I was being dumb. Got worked up over nothing."

Macaque said nothing for a long moment before he asked, "Were you expecting me to drop my glamours in response?"

He hunched in on himself, feeling guilty, "No. I mean, I... I hope one day you might want to but I just... Forget it, it was dumb. I'm sorry."

Macaque sighed before he moved to sit beside him, tail curling around his, "Tell me about what your glamours were hiding. I can vaguely see red on your face where there isn't normally any but that's about it. Tell me."

And he did and it was unbelievably cathartic to talk about the things he'd hidden and why. He'd never spoken to anyone about the furnace before, or the fear the circlet had instilled in him even long after it was removed, or the number of times he'd bitten off his tongue while trapped under the mountain - anything a welcome distraction from the nothingness that awaited him every waking hour.

Just seeing his various scars wouldn't have revealed the real him to Macaque. Not like knowing the stories behind them and how they made him feel did. He felt rung out by the time he was done, tiredly leaning against Macaque's shoulder as he admitted, "I think I needed that a lot more than I realised."

Macaque kissed the top of his head, "I could tell."

A little contritely, he offered, "Sorry for dumping all that on you. I... Well, if you ever want to return the favour... Not that I'm saying you have to. I just... Y'know..."

Macaque sighed, "You want to see me without my glamours."

It wasn't a question but he responded anyway, "I won't lie and say I don't but I don't want you to take them off just because of me. If you don't feel ready for me to see or talk to me about everything... I get it."

"Wukong..." He seemed to fight with himself for a moment, "My scars aren't like yours. They're not just a mark with a story. They're... I don't even need my eyes or to be able to feel to know they've disfigured me. Trust me, the glamours are best staying in place."

If he didn't need his eyes or touch then his scars must have changed the shape of his body. His shadows would be able to pick up any physical change in shape - like, pockmarks or gouges or a missing appendage.

With a depressing amount of certainty, he asked, "You're not just talking about your eye, are you?"

He felt Macaque shake his head, "No. The Lady Bone Demon really did a number on me." He laughed without humour, "Put it this way - I'm not winning any beauty contests any time soon."

Quietly he asked, "What did she do?"

Eventually, Macaque responded, "Close your eyes and give me your hand."

He did and Macaque guided him to his right arm. At first he thought Macaque had forgotten to roll up his sleeve or something but when he realised that wasn't the case he forced his eyes shut tighter in an effort to stop himself from looking.

There was no fur on his arm, and the skin wasn't smooth, it felt almost... warped. Macaque explained unprompted, "Remember, when she "lent" me some of her power? Back during the whole Samadhi Fire fiasco? Well anywhere her ice touched is like this. My arm, my side, my head... my face..."

He took a breath and slowly moved his hand up, giving Macaque a chance to stop him. It came to rest on his cheek and Wukong could feel the damage. He followed it round to the side of his head and his breath caught when he reached his ears. All three of them, "burnt" by the Lady Bone Demon's magic.

He used the last of his restraint to say, "Macaque. If you don't want me to see, put your glamours back up now." He paused for five seconds to give him the chance to do so and then he sat up and swung a leg over Macaque's so he straddled his lap. He was a terrible mix of disappointed and relieved that Macaque had taken him up on his offer to restore his glamours but still he brought his hands to either side of his face, unconsciously gentler on the right.

His chest roiled with fury, injustice and agony but spitting vitriol at the Lady Bone Demon would achieve nothing. He would wait until he was alone, somewhere where it didn't matter what crumbled under his hands, to work through those emotions. He chose to focus on who was in front of him, that was what was important right now.

But what could he say? That he wished that he could undo all the damage? That he would give anything for none of this to have happened in the first place? That he hated how much he had suffered because of events that he had put in motion? It may have all been true but what good would saying as much do? He couldn't change what had happened, neither of them could.

He felt Macaque tentatively lay his hands on his thighs and of all the feelings that he invoked in him, one was almost overwhelming in it's intensity.

It was almost punched out of him, "I love you." He felt Macaque's grip tighten at the gentle declaration, "And I..." He took a breath, "If this is how you want me to see you then... That's ok. But I need you to know that how you look doesn't make a difference to how I feel about you. You don't have to hide any part of yourself, not out of fear that it would make me love you any less, at least."

Macaque looked down, an almost guilty expression on his face, "Wukong... I... I want to believe you but..."

It hurt but he could understand. His words meant little, he'd proven that to Macaque time and time again when they were younger.

He placed a soft kiss over Macaque's ruined eye, "I know. Actions speak louder than words. So I'll prove it to you. Every day from now until the end of eternity. I won't run, I won't falter, we're in this together. No matter what."

Macaque wrapped his arms around him and buried his face against his chest, and Wukong didn't hesitate to hold him back just as tightly, a little wetly he heard Macaque whisper, "You don't know how badly I want that to be true..."

He swore to himself he was going to prove to Macaque it was. He was going to make good on his promise of forever. No matter what.

--Chapter End--

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#lmk #lmk fanfiction #my fanfiction #originally posted on ao3 #tumblr fic #au: shadow (lmk)#lmk macaque #lmk monkey king #lmk sun wukong #lmk shadowpeach #shadowpeach #lego monkie kid

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futurehunt · 1 year ago

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My Old Friend, Fire

Azriel x Eris

Against his better wishes, Azriel has found himself growing close to the new Autumn High Lord, Eris Vanserra. The male has dug himself under his skin and now he can't get him out. An invitation to the Autumn Equinox changes the path of Azriel's life for the better.

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AO3 version is updated with editing and spelling corrections!!

Word count: 15,737

Azriel POV

18+

Content warning: Smut- story can be enjoyed fully without reading it!

*no beta, we die in Prythian

This is long, I apologize! It's a lot of feeling, realizing, and longing. Azriel's got all the emotions. Flashbacks are in italics- they all have important details in them that tie in at the end so don't miss 'em!

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"I would do it all again. I would suffer another five centuries of you loving another, another five centuries of facing my father's cruelty, another five centuries of being hated by all of Prythian just for this- just for you."

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Azriel shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting at the pinching sensation caused by the buttons on the wing-flaps of his jacket.

Mor had bought it special for him, special for today.

It was a tight-fitted jacket made of a dark, woodsy green fabric. Along the cuffs and collar were sewn black embellishments that swirled and shaped a pattern so complex that Azriel hated to think of how many hours went into creating it. Intricately carved silver buttons ran up the front and finished at a final clasp around the middle of his neck.

Mor said the jacket suited him, brought out the colors in his eyes. Azriel just felt like a fool.

He'd been on edge all week leading up to tonight. The Autumnal Equinox, Mabon. The Autumn Court's Great Rite.

It was Eris's first Equinox as High Lord of Autumn. He had graciously extended an invite to Rhysand, Feyre and the Inner Circle- his treasured allies he mockingly referred to them as in his letter- and encouraged them to come celebrate his new position and experience a true taste of Autumn.

"Treasured?"

Eris remained silent in response, bow drawn tight. His sharp gaze honed in on a pheasant, trackings its movement through the stalks of wheat. Its emerald neck acting as a beacon for the eye.

Azriel wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that gaze, how it would burn.

On an exhale, Eris let the arrow fly. "Don't talk while I'm aiming, it's rude." He turned towards Azriel, not bothering to spare a glance to see if his arrow met its mark. Eris released a shrill whistle and his hounds took off, cutting through the stalks to their target.

"Treasured?" Azriel pressed again.

"I used my thesaurus for that one." Eris quipped back.

Azriel squinted his eyes at the High Lord. "You like being disliked, don't you. You're a masochist."

"You like me".

"I tolerate you." There was a chill in the wind that blew towards them across the field. It dusted red across Eris's pale cheeks, the fire in his blood seemingly not fighting the bite of the cold. "Here are the reports we have on Koschei. He's getting desperate."

Eris reached out for the thin file from Azriel, the full might of the hunter's gaze finally locked onto him. It burned right through him, just as Azriel had suspected. Burned right through to the icy center of him.

Rhysand and Feyre decided they would not attend. While they wanted to put on a good show for diplomacy, they deemed it unnecessary for the High Lord and High Lady to make an appearance. And as it is with them, where one goes so does the other. In their stead, Azriel, Mor, Cassian, and Nesta would be attending as representatives of the Night Court. Azriel was pretty sure Cassian and Nesta only decided to tag along because they wanted to fuck in the woods.

Azriel chuckled to himself as he remembered the conversation in which Cassian crudely explained to Nesta the erotic nature of Great Rite celebrations after nightfall. Nesta had known the basics, brief snippets of information from what Feyre had deigned to share with her about Calanmai, Spring Court's Great Rite, but wasn't aware the seasonal courts all had their own version. Nesta was all too eager to attend after learning everything.

Mor was attending because. . . he wasn't entirely sure. Azriel knew Mor had made great strides in accepting Eris as an ally of the court, knew that she had traveled the path of forgiveness with him and the two were on amicable terms. Amicable, nothing more. Eris certainly did not make it easy, he was still an asshole. Gods was he an asshole.

But Azriel also knew she was still haunted by the past. Saw it in the glaze in her deep brown eyes every time Keir threw barbed comments her way. Azriel gathered that this visit tonight would serve as one of Mor's final steps in conquering the demons of her past. Regardless, she seemed all too willing to attend.

It was part of the reason Azriel agreed to join the visit today- why Rhysand pulled him aside and adamantly requested he tag along. Though Rhysand's request left little room for disagreement.

He wanted Azriel there to keep an eye on Mor. Rhysand knew all too well how suffocating the horrors of your past could be. Azriel remembers vividly the nights, not too long ago, when dark power filled with shadows and stars would burst through his brother's window as he drowned under the weight of everything that haunted him.

.…........................

That's how Azriel found himself here, in the ornately decorated receiving room of the River House, the base of his wings getting pinched to Hel by the jacket Mor bought him for Mabon.

He's the first to arrive as usual.

It was barely past three in the afternoon but the sun, beaming in through the room's westerly windows, was already on a quick descent. His shadows dodged the rays and dissipated whenever they come in contact.

Azriel thumbed the plum, silk curtains that draped the large picture window whose frame he leaned on. Not that he would ever utter the thought out loud but he found the interior of his brother's home a bit gaudy. Fit for a High Lord, no doubt, but it felt impersonal.

Eris's manor smelled of sandalwood and cinnamon. Woodsy and sweet. The scent stuck inside of Azriel's nose, invading his senses. It invoked a nostalgia for an experience he had yet to live.

"The magic in Spring is growing weak- I can feel it in the land at our shared border. We need to get Tamlin back on track," Eris spoke without preamble. He stood opposite Azriel, a smoke gray granite countertop separating them. The texture of the stone rippled and eddied, it felt like the scars on his hands.

"Tea?"

Azriel nodded in assent and looked around the kitchen in which they stood. Dark brown wood laid the foundation of the room, it blended well with the warm colors of the furnishing.

"You made yourself right at home. Was your father's body even cold before you started moving in?" The question was probably too crude, even for Azriel.

Yesterday marked a month since the long awaited death of Beron Vanserra finally came to fruition.

Eris merely smirked over at him, taking his crass question in stride as he poured the second cup of tea. His eyes traced over every inch of Azriel's face before he responded, "You wound me, brute. This manor hasn't been inhabited since my grandfather. My father felt it too exposed and only resided in an apartment deep within the Forest House."

Azriel snorted. His only response. He continued to take in the room.

In the corner of the kitchen was a nook that housed a dining area encased by a dome of windows on one half. It gave the illusion that you were dining out in the jeweled canopy of the woods.

His attention caught on the dining chairs that surrounded the table.

They were all shaped to fit wings.

Growing weary of the solitude, Azriel decided to set out to track down Rhys, Feyre, and Nyx in the massive house when the carved wood door at the home's entrance swung open. From his spot within the receiving room, Azriel watched Mor strut in.

"I knew that color would look great on you," She tittered, looking him up and down, "you really ought to let me buy you more for your wardrobe."

Azriel's face pinched - answer enough to her demand.

"A shame" she bemoaned, throwing herself on to one of the room's stiff cobalt couches. "Where's Cass and his Lady Death? We should be off soon."

"Don't call her that." Azriel chastised, not having an answer for the first part of her question.

Mor just shot him a look, rolling her eyes. It's been a year and a half since Nesta sacrificed her Cauldron-stolen power for the life of her sister and nephew, yet Mor still clung to that infernal nickname. For Mor it's all in good fun, but Azriel never fails to catch the haunted look that ghosts Nesta's face whenever the moniker is used in her presence.

As if on cue, he heard the bustle of Cassian and Nesta coming in through the home's rear entrance. No doubt they landed on the back lawn after flying down from the House of Wind. Cass still likes to give Nesta a good fright by coming in hot for his landings, the back lawn providing a perfect landing zone for him.

Confirming his suspicions, Nesta's face is tinged with green as she rounded the corner and came in sight of Azriel and Mor.

"Cassian, they're in here," she called over her shoulder. Her hair, uncharacteristically, is worn loose today, with a tight braid running down the center of her head segregating both halves of her hair. Her mauve, linen dress was modest in the length of its hem and sleeves but clung to her frame in a way that suggested excellent tailoring. As she twisted to shout to his brother, Azriel noted the deep scoop of the dress's back.

"You look...very good today, Nesta." Azriel said to her as she twisted back around and entered the receiving room. Not that she didn't usually, though she now wore her Valkyrie leathers more often than not.

Mor interjected from the couch, "You didn't say anything to me! I even complimented your jacket".

"Your ego doesn't need anymore stroking, dear sister." Cassian quipped sarcastically, picking up the conversation without pause as he too rounded the corner and entered the room. "And, my even dearer mate is upset with me so she told me she'll be leaving me tonight for our beloved- her words not mine- High Lord of Autumn".

Azriel hummed his acknowledgment, not wanting to voice anything that may incidentally draw himself into the middle of their squabble.

Eris would probably think she looked drab in the linen dress.

"Linen is the fabric of the working class, Azriel," Eris drawled, a mischievous grin lifting the right corner of his mouth.

Even from his position on the leather tufted couch on the opposite end of the room, Azriel could see the mirth glimmering in Eris's eyes from where he sat behind his grand mahogany desk. Azriel twisted away from the sight to look back into the depths of the crackling fireplace that warmed the High Lord's office.

"You're just a snob", he shot at Eris, not bothering to turn around again.

He heard him snort. "Linen is a lightweight, breathable, porous fabric. It is designed to be worn by those working the fields. It's not supposed to be fashionable- I'd look like a fool wearing linen to a dinner with my court representatives. Apologies for knowing the intricacies of garments and how they relate to socio-economic class."

Azriel couldn't help himself. Throwing an arm across the back of the couch he twisted to look back at Eris again.

"Lightweight, breathable, porous fabric? You're a snob and an ass." He secretly delighted in the look of glee that flashed across Eris's face at the insult. "Why even ask for my opinion then? If your own was so decisive."

"I like to hear what you think." Nothing but truth burned in the amber flames of Eris's eyes.

"Thank you, Azriel." Nesta shot sharply at him. She lowered herself gracefully onto the couch opposite of Mor. Not allowing space on either side of her for Cassian and his wings, leaving him to settle in standing next to Azriel.

He felt a nudge on his shoulder and looked over at his brother who leaned in and said, "Nice jacket, Az. You look like a proper little prince of Autumn in it".

Azriel scoffed, taking a wide step away from his brother before quickly twisting his body to punch Cassian in the arm in retribution for his gibe.

Nesta guffawed from where she perched on the couch. Composing herself, she remarked, "At least he made an effort! You look like you're ready for a visit to Windhaven."

It was true. Cassian donned a standard set of his leathers, albeit cleaner and newer than his usual ones.

"Whatever. I'm not making an effort for the prick," Cassian shot, impudence lacing his tone. "It's an Equinox celebration that the entire court is invited to, at most we'll see him to shake his hand before he moves on to others he deems more worthy of his time."

He wasn't wrong. Like Calanmai in Spring, Grianstad in Winter, or Litha in Summer, denizens of Autumn flooded to their court's seat during Mabon to celebrate the equinox and participate in the Great Rite. It's a tradition, Azriel heard, that even Beron nurtured and encouraged. After all, a fruitful turnout for a Great Rite produces a wealth of magic for the court. Azriel is sure that another strong motivator for Beron's patronage of the event were the swaths of young fae females that showed up clambering for his attention, hoping the magic of the Rite would choose them for their High Lord. Even the deep-seated fear and corruption that Beron plagued the land with wasn't enough to dim the honor of being selected by whatever powers governed the Rite.

This year, for the first time, it would be Eris's turn to lead the Great Rite. He would pair off with a lady and together they would fuel enough magic to inundate the land until the next Mabon. The thought settled like glass in Azriel's stomach.

"Even then," Cassian continued "he'll likely only deign to be touched by you, Nesta. The rest of us are too beneath him for an actual handshake."

"Speak for yourself, Cassian," Mor chimed in indignantly.

Nesta hummed in agreement and added, "He'd probably give Azriel a handshake. After all, he's the closest with Eris out of any of us at this point."

"We are not close," Azriel growled at her defensively.

He immediately regretted his tone when he saw the trepidation in her eyes. He felt like his father.

"Is your father still alive?" curiosity clouded Eris's face from across the chessboard between them.

Azriel's eyes flickered up to him for a moment to take in his demeanor before refocusing on the board as he took one of Eris's black marble bishops with his gleaming, white knight.

"How is that a pertinent question?"

"How is playing chess pertinent," Eris countered.

"As the official liaison between the Night and Autumn court, it's my duty to make sure our allies are properly schooled in all forms of strategy," Azriel arrogantly replied. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep his grin from spreading across his face. After six months of working with Eris as liaison between their two courts, he had come to enjoy the haughty banter the pair fell into in each other's presence.

"Azriel," Eris dead-panned.

Azriel would never admit to the shiver that ran through him at the sound of his name in Eris's mouth. Shame washed over him at the mere acknowledgement of the sensation.

"He's dead," he at last replied to Eris, dryly.

"He gave you those burns?"

Azriel only shook his head.

"You're ashamed of them." An observation, not a question from the High Lord.

Azriel settled his face into a sheet of neutrality. His centuries-old mental barriers slamming into place as the topic of conversation entered an area he had no interest in going.

Playing his turn, Azriel hoped to end the game quickly now. He shouldn't have stayed this long anyway, was only there to assess the durability of the security wards around Forest House as a courtesy to Eris.

Quiet blanketed them as the pair finished up their game. Azriel refused to raise his eyes to look at Eris.

"Beron would have healers erase all the scars he etched on me. For five centuries."

"I don't care, Eris." Cruel words that did not reflect the truth. He did care- deep down in a pocket of his soul that he never let see the light of day- he cared about what Eris had to say.

Azriel still refused to raise his gaze up to the High Lord sitting across from him.

"He would erase everything he did to me. No proof that I lived. No proof that I suffered. No proof that I survived. All my torment is trapped inside my head with no evidence that it happened, no outlet for escape... I wish he had left them... but that was probably the point of healing them in the first place."

Eris's declaration cut deep through him, burning through the layers of his defenses in a rage of fire.

He stayed for another round of chess.

Azriel ran a scarred hand down his face, mortification riding through him in waves.

"I'm sorry, Nesta, I didn't mean to snap."

Nesta shook off his words with ease. "I only mean to say, you literally are closest with him," she pressed on "the rest of us haven't even seen him since his crowning ceremony eleven months ago. You're the only one meeting with him anymore."

Of course. He was such an idiot. Of course that's what she meant.

Cassian came up behind him, clamped his hands on his shoulders, and jostled him jovially. His brother's voice boomed behind me, "Don't worry, Az, we know you still hate the lordling as much as ever. We'd never dare suggest otherwise." Azriel could've sworn he heard an undercurrent of sarcasm lacing his brother's tone.

But he didn't hate Eris. Didn't hate him at all. Dreaded the looks on his family's faces when they realized just how much he didn't hate Eris Vanserra anymore.

That was the other part of the reason he agreed to join the visit today. For the past eleven months he'd been working as the Night Court's liaison to Autumn, having taken it over from Cassian, he's found himself... inexplicably drawn to the High Lord. Perhaps in the absence of conflict, Azriel was subconsciously poking around for danger and adrenaline. Eris made his blood boil and he was addicted to it. Not that he would ever admit that out loud.

Mor was looking at him with an expression he couldn't decipher.

"We should go." Was all he said to the room.

The females got up from their respective places on the couches and together they all trundled through the receiving room out into foyer.

"Guess Rhys and Feyre don't want to see us off," Mor observed.

"Ten gold marks they're both dead asleep upstairs. Nuala told us that Nyx has started climbing out of his crib at night and that Rhys and Feyre can't leave him unattended for even a second," Cassian added, laughing.

The four of them headed out to the front courtyard, not wanting to check and risk waking the parents up. They cut across to a point that would put them outside the wards encasing the River House.

Nesta grabbed Cassian's hand. Feyre, in her free time, had been teaching Nesta how to winnow. The eldest sister became adept at it rather quickly and could even carry Cassian along with her over great distances.

Together, they winnowed away to the Autumn Court.

....................

A thrum of voices chattering around him was the first sensation Azriel perceived as his shadows dissipated and left him standing in an area of woods on the outskirts of the Forest House.

The next sensation to follow was an aroma of smoked meat, spun sugar, and baked pastries.

Surrounding him, and stretching out as far as he could see, were merchant stands and food stalls. There seemed to be no coordination with how the stalls were organized. They were dotted randomly throughout the woods, the sea of stands interspersed with giant oak trees that comprised this section of the forest.

Waves of people bustled around him, side-stepping the obstacle of his body in order to reach their next destination.

He snapped his wings tight into him to avoid any unwanted contact.

Azriel looked over the heads of the fae surrounding him to try and locate Mor, Nesta, and Cassian. There had to be thousands here. His eyesight found no end to the mass of people.

At last, he spotted the three of them already together a few hundred paces away, ogling the vendors. He made his way over and heard the last snatch of what Mor was saying.

"- seen these only in Montesere." Her voice was filled with awe.

They were huddled around a table laden with glazed pottery. Plates, mugs, and bowls all painted with rich, vibrant jewel tones.

"Eris reached out to a few territories on the continent to invite local artisans to come sell their wares at this year's Mabon," Azriel confirmed, sidling up beside Mor. "With Calanmai being... not what it used to...with everything going on with Tamlin...Eris is trying to pick up some of the slack."

Mor's face twisted in surprise at his words.

"And I think he's trying to set a good precedent. After all, Beron only allowed upper-class and high fae craftsmen to set up booths here and apparently he even took a cut of their sales," Azriel scoffed out. "Eris didn't limit who could participate this year. He told me a lot of local lesser fae farmers are coming and selling excess crop from the growing season that just concluded- I think he might've gone a bit overboard with how many he's permitted though."

Mor nodded silently, smirking in amusement at him.

Realizing how much he'd just prattled on about Eris and his booths, Azriel felt his face heat up.

He focused his attention of the pottery in front of him, suddenly very interested in inspecting the intricacy of the handiwork.

Azriel pointedly avoided Nesta's stare that was burning a hole through his head. He had easily just proved wrong his statement earlier about how close him and the High Lord had become.

"So...is that where Eris lives?" Nesta's attention had shifted away from him and she was turned around, pointing to the Forest House in the distance. It's oppressive size seemed to have stunned her. Azriel knew from experience that it took around three hours to get from one side to the other, having done the entire walk with Eris a few months ago.

Azriel shook his head, refusing to foolishly prattle on again and reveal precisely how entrenched in Eris's life he really was.

"From what Azriel's told me, he now lives in the High Lord's manor. It has sat vacant since his grandfather. I think it's somewhere on the other side of the Forest House," Mor fills in for him. "Though from the crowd that's gathered around the south entrance, I'm assuming Eris is likely over there now."

Indeed, there was a massive congregation of people milling around the wide, stone stairs that led up to the grand south entrance of the Forest House. The massive wooden doors at the top landing were thrown open. Though due to the row of guards flanking the stairs and entryway doors, Azriel couldn't make out if Eris was up there.

It hit him then.

The hundreds of fae gathered around the steps, the thousands more that wandered through the festival, the countless guards and sentries patrolling the area- they were all here for Eris. Eris Vanserra, the bane of Azriel's immortal existence, the High Lord of Autumn. Eris was a High Lord now; no longer a pestering lordling with dreams brighter than his own damn hair.

Azriel knew this, of course, had been working one-on-one with Eris for months to help ease the transition into his new role. But being here, it all felt more real.

The Eris he played chess with last week in the study of his manor home while they drank out of a shared bottle of wine was the same High Lord who now ruled the court he stood in and drew the crowd of thousands surrounding him. The same High Lord who seemed to already have the admiration and respect of many, given the throng waiting to greet him.

The crowd awaiting Eris seemed to be largely comprised of females, no doubt hoping to be the lucky maiden selected to help him complete the Great Rite that began after sundown.

Azriel's shadows thrashed around him at the thought.

"Well, let's go get the greetings over with. One of Eris's weasly guards probably already informed him of our arrival," Mor said bluntly, stepping away from the table of pottery.

Azriel steeled himself with a breath and dropped into step next to her as the four of them weaved their way through the festival-goers and headed for the south entrance steps.

He was thankful for the push of the crowd that slowed their journey down.

A wave of anxiety flooded through Azriel, causing his stomach to clench. His lungs wouldn't expand to take a full breath and it was making his surroundings spin. He felt like he was standing on the precipice of a battle that he was guaranteed to lose.

Why was he nervous?

Azriel willed his centuries of training to take over and took a deep breath to release the tension that seized him.

He pulled at the high-neck collar of his jacket, hoping to loosen it. It felt like a leash growing tighter with every step he took towards the Forest House.

Eris was going to mock the jacket, he was sure of it. He was going to call Azriel 'a want-to-be Autumn aristocrat fool', he never should have let Mor dress him in this.

He just hated seeing Eris. Hated the male's all-knowing gaze that could tear through Azriel's defenses without a thought. Mor, Cassian, and Nesta were going to see it. They were going to see the way Eris could pick him apart and expose a layer of Azriel he never showed. They were going to witness first-hand just how much the Autumn High Lord affected him.

As they reached the rear of the crowd huddled around the bottom of the staircase, Azriel's eyes darted around the top trying to spot the High Lord.

He couldn't see him. Where was he? Was something wrong?

And as much as he was dreading speaking to the male, his absence made Azriel's stomach drop even further.

His mind whirled with unexplainable anxiety.

He needed the Cauldron-damned crowd to get out of his way so he could get up there and see if something was wrong.

Fae tended to retreat willingly away from Azriel. His oppressive height, writhing shadows, and intimidating wingspan conveyed what he usually didn't need words for. It seemed the prospect of catching sight of the new Autumn High Lord distracted the fae in front of him enough that none marked his presence behind them.

"Move," Azriel's deep, menacing voice broke through the thrum of sound. He felt no inclination to add pleasantries to his request.

As the fae closest heard him, they turned to look at the source of the sound and scrambled back at the sight of him.

With ease, Azriel marched through the pathway that opened for him and led Mor, Nesta, and Cassian to the stairs.

Five flights made up the grand entrance and by the second landing Azriel still couldn't catch sight of Eris.

Desperation quickened his pace.

At last he reached the third landing, coming into view of the palatial wooden doors of the Forest House thrown open at the top. And there he was.

Eris.

A full breath of air whooshed into Azriel's lungs as he finally gazed upon the High Lord.

Eris's beauty was undeniable. It was almost laughable the way he made everyone around him look simple. A God stood amongst fae-kind.

In the afternoon sun, Eris's hair glowed like living flames; the ends of those fiery locks pushed back behind his pointed ears. Those very ears were adorned with a handful of small golden hoops in the upper cartilage, drawing Azriel's eye to trace along their curve.

His beautiful, wicked face was twisted into a wry grin in reaction to whomever he was speaking to. Azriel couldn't tear his eyes away from the High Lord to check. With his unmarred porcelain skin, Eris appeared to have been carved from marble.

Azriel's eyes continued their journey down the slope of Eris's neck, taking his time to trace its length. He was surprised Eris couldn't feel his gaze burning into him.

The male wore a billowing white silk shirt whose neck hung open to reveal a hint of the muscled chest that lay underneath. He wondered what more lay unexposed. The shirt was tucked into a pair of dark, well-tailored pants- very well-tailored pants.

On top of his ensemble, Eris donned a cloak whose hemmed reached to the bottom of his boots. The garment was a rich, velvety maroon, with gold details running down the sides of the opening.

Perfectly put together as always. Eris was skilled at wielding clothes like a weapon, he always knew how to arm himself properly for the occasion. And today he looked so damn regal and powerful, commanding the attention of everyone around him.

As if finally registering the weight of his observation, Eris turned and caught sight of Azriel and the others.

A wide smile broke across Eris's face.

Azriel's head whipped around to look behind himself. Who the hell was Eris smiling at? Mor? Nesta? Had someone else followed them up the stairs?

Cassian and the two females had come to a stop behind Azriel, no longer ascending the stairs.

When had he stopped walking?

Azriel looked back and the smile that had cut across Eris's face was gone. The male was now biting his lower lip, keeping it still.

Cassian gave him a push from behind before sliding around Azriel to take the lead with Nesta.

"Let's go you fool," his brother said to him gruffly.

The shove and command from his brother broke Azriel out of his reverie. It must be the magic of Mabon that entranced Azriel when he was regarding Eris. The magic flows most acutely through the High Lord after all. Azriel had become as spell bound as the hoard of fae below him.

Azriel resumed his climb, drawing nearer and nearer to Eris.

As Cassian reached the final landing ahead of him and approached Eris, Azriel heard the High Lord say in greeting, "Well, if it isn't my favorite court. Behind the four others. I'll be generous and put Tamlin at the bottom of my ranking."

Still an asshole. A beautiful asshole.

"You're look very pretty today. I like what that jacket does for your eyes." Azriel chuckled at his brother's words. Cassian had learned well how to get under Eris's skin.

Eris sneered at him, not responding, before turning his gaze to Nesta. His expression lightened as he looked to her. "Nesta, you do yourself no favors with the company you keep."

To Azriel's surprise, Cassian chuckled good-naturedly at the High Lord's remark.

"It's lovely to see you again, Eris." replied Nesta, politely. "I think you might be right. I find myself occasionally regretting my refusal of your proposal."

Eris nodded his head in the mockery of a bow before replying sarcastically, "At your earliest convenience Lady Archeron, I will eagerly make you my bride." His eyes glittered with derision.

Nesta chuckled, curtseying before Eris, before grabbing Cassian's hand and pulling him out of the way.

Eris shifted his attention to Mor. "Morrigan, I must say I did not anticipate your appearance today."

"Eris," Mor nodded in greeting. "It's been a while since my last visit."

Visit is not how Azriel would categorize it.

She continued, "I wanted to reacquaint myself with the court and I heard," her eyes shot to Azriel, "that this event was not to be missed."

Azriel's face twisted. He said no such thing.

"Hmm," Eris hummed as his gaze quickly darted to Azriel, "Well I'm happy you could attend. I hope everything is up to your standards."

Perfectly cordial, the two of them. They had come such a long way.

Mor gave no reply before bowing out of the way.

She turned to Azriel, squeezed his arm and said quietly, "We'll wait for you at the bottom of the steps."

Why? He didn't voice the question aloud.

He turned to face Eris who was glaring pointedly at the spot on Azriel's arm that Mor just touched.

Azriel stood in silence, waiting. After a moment, Eris's stare rose to his.

"Azriel."

"Eris."

More silence.

Eris's gaze darted down Azriel's frame, taking him in.

With surprise lacing his tone, the High Lord said, "Your jacket... I like it."

Azriel's brows shot up his face.

"The color. It suits you. I don't think I've ever seen you in something other than black. I appreciate that you made an effort with my court's style," Eris added on. Genuine sincerity shone in his face.

Azriel merely nodded in thanks.

A slight weight lifted off of Azriel's chest at the High Lord's words. Why did he give a damn what Eris thought about his clothing? It was humiliating. Why did he have this irritating need to impress him, to get his approval?

Azriel wanted to run away from the knowing glint in Eris's eye, the ghost of the smirk that danced on his lips, like he knew exactly the effect his comments would have on Azriel.

Planning to do just that, Azriel spun on his heels angling to catch up with the rest of his companions who already reached the bottom of the staircase.

"Wait." Eris's voice stopped Azriel in his descent.

The Illyrian turned to look up at the High Lord who now descended the few steps Azriel was able to make.

Eris came to a stop on the same stair as Azriel. They were eye level. How had Azriel never realized the two of them were the same height? Perhaps it was due to Eris's new commanding presence, it was now impossible not to be aware of every detail about the High Lord. Azriel tried desperately to tamp down the flush in his cheeks.

Eris continued on, cool confidence lacing his tone, "I'm heading out to tour the vendors, would you join me?"

A lifetime of stoicism is the only thing that kept Azriel from reacting visibly.

There was a crowd of people waiting to meet the High Lord. More dignitaries were set to arrive, surely Eris had to wait to greet them.

But Eris was looking at him with such an earnest expression that Azriel couldn't find it in himself to care about what duties of his might take precedence.

"Is that... a request or a command, High Lord?" Azriel responded after a moment, keeping his features neutral.

Eris's eyes narrowed slightly.

"A command. I don't want you off on your own scaring away all my visitors"

Laughter broke from Azriel's mouth before he could catch it.

The corner of Eris's mouth quirked up in satisfaction.

That wouldn't do.

"No, thank you." That should humble the High Lord. Azriel took off down the flight of steps at a much quicker pace this time.

Silence. And then, "No?!" Eris called after him.

The smack of boots against stone rang out as Azriel heard Eris follow him.

Azriel made it down two flights, nearly halfway to the bottom, before Eris caught up. He could see Mor, Cassian, and Nesta looking up at them from below.

Eris grabbed his arm. His cheeks were flushed and eyes a bit wild as he demanded, "You really won't come with me?"

His arm tingled under the hand grasping it.

"Ask nicely."

Eris huffed out an exasperated laugh.

"-Azriel!" That was Mor's voice this time from two flights below.

He could see Eris's face bunch up in frustration. The grip on his forearm tightened infinitesimally.

She called up at him, "I promised Emerie I'd get her something so I'm going to go look around. Alright?"

Azriel nodded in understanding. It was then that he realized Nesta and Cassian had already peeled away and were reentering the thick bustle of the festival.

At his assent, Mor followed after them.

His attention returned to Eris.

"Azriel. Would you please join me?"

He was quiet for a moment, before, "Yes... what about them?" He nodded at the throng waiting for Eris.

The hand on him gripped hard and then Eris was winnowing them in a spark of heat and light.

..........................

They reappeared on the outskirts of the Forest House's northern side. A few hours walk from their last location.

The festival stands and crowds were sparser here. But in a small field of grass close to the northern entrance of the estate, a group of children were playing. Squeals of delight rang in Azriel's ear as the children ran around, tossing a ball between themselves. His shadows jumped at the shrill noises, darting out as if they'd investigate.

A pleasant, carefree atmosphere hung in the air.

"It's so... different here now," Azriel said carefully.

So different from Beron.

Eris hummed quietly in confirmation at Azriel's words. He wistfully watched the children play. "Rhysand once advised me that change is slow in our world and to prepare myself accordingly. I've personally found that it's only slow if you don't care to try hard enough."

Azriel's eyes narrowed at the slight jab to his brother.

Eris pulled his attention from the children and dropped his hand from where it still wrapped around Azriel's forearm. Azriel hadn't registered it was there but the cold it's absence left in its wake sent a shudder down his spine.

Leaves crunched under the heels of their boots as the pair walked leisurely into the festival.

"You think you care more than Rhys? Care more about your court?" The comment rubbed Azriel the wrong way, he couldn't let it go.

"I think Rhysand cares an awful lot about Velaris. I know he sacrificed greatly to keep them safe from Amarantha. But a High Lord's duty is to the well-being of everyone in his court, not just those he favors."

Azriel stopped in his tracks. "Don't speak about it as if you have any idea."

"Don't I?" Eris said, stopping with him. His brow quirked up on his face. "Aren't I one of the few that can now judge him?"

"You know nothing of the Night Court. Since when were you an advocate for the rights of Illyrians?"

"It's not the Illyrians about which I'm concerned."

Azriel's mouth dropped slightly, "The Court of Nightmares? You can't be serious. Keir has gotten to you."

Eris whooshed out a frustrated breath. "Keir is a pest. But he's not the only one that lives there. You forget that I have experience at Hewn City, not only now, but from before."

Rhys had snuck Cassian and Azriel into Hewn City earlier that morning. It was the first time Azriel had been anywhere but the steppes of Illyria.

His shadows writhed over his wings, something in the bowels of the mountain called to them.

The three of them stood a few hundred paces from the entrance to the Court of Nightmare's receiving hall.

She was in there. Mor.

She was in there with Keir getting introduced to her new captors, the Vanserras.

It was the reason for Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel's visit today. Mor would never admit it, that beautiful, proud female, but Azriel knew she was terrified for the encounter. He had practically begged on his knees for Rhys to take them there so they could keep an eye on her.

The grand obsidian doors that kept Mor from view creaked open suddenly, startlingly the three males.

They stood straight, imbuing confidence into their features. Despite being barely of age, the three of them refused to cower under the presence of Keir and the Autum High Lord.

Beron Vanserra exited first, Keir keeping at heels like an overexcited dog. Pathetic.

A few paces behind was Mor, eyes blazing as she kept her stare straight forward. And there he was.

Eris.

His cruel, cold beauty matched his reputation.

The second Azriel laid eyes on him, he felt a searing hatred for the male tear through his chest.

Azriel had hated before; hated his father, his half-brothers, the camp lords that shunned him. That hatred had been iced-cold, settling inside him like a stone. It followed him everywhere and pushed him to work harder, fight harder.

What he felt now, staring at the Autumn male before him, was a passion so bright it ached deep inside him. It set his blood on fire.

As if sensing Azriel's glare, the princeling's eyes slid over to him. Eris's mouth parted slightly, eyes widening, as he looked at him. The shadows often taken people by surprise.

Azriel sneered at him before tearing his eyes away to look at Mor. As she passed Azriel, she gave him a reassuring nod. She was alright.

He shot her a gentle smile in return.

He kept his attention on her as she walked away but had the odd sensation of another stare burning into him.

"I don't think you went there more than once," Azriel scoffed.

"I was enough."

"Enough for what?" Azriel grew exasperated.

"Enough to see that Mor was not the only young female desperate to escape that prison. She was just the only one that had a lifeline out of there. Rhysand condemns everyone in there for the crimes of their ancestors. For the crimes of Keir and his ilk. I know monsters lurk in every shadow corner of that gods-forsaken place but it's Rhysand's responsibility to not abandon those that need help. Who want something better."

That immediately shut Azriel up. He looked to Eris's face and saw a passionate fury on it, saw a look of someone who related intimately to about that which they spoke.

"Perhaps you're right." Damning words from Azriel's mouth. But today was not the day to delve into it, to process just how much a part Azriel played in keeping those people trapped within the confines of the Court of Nightmares.

A slight burst of guilt churned his stomach.

Eris observed him with an understanding he didn't deserve.

"Anyway," Eris shifted the topic onwards, "I am hungry." He made a show of looking around the booths around them as they walked. "What interests you?"

Azriel shrugged noncommittally. "Whatever doesn't have a line."

"Why would I want the food that doesn't have a line. Don't you think that would suggest it's not worth eating."

Azriel rolled his eyes and said, "Nothing can be that bad. Food is food."

"Very well. But if it is bad you still need to eat it all." Eris said and took off towards a food stand that stood patron-less.

As the two of them approached, the man standing behind the stand's counter eye's widened. A High Lord and an Illyrian shadowsinger marching towards you was likely an intimidating sight.

A basin of cooking oil bubbled away behind the stall, lit by a large fire kindled underneath. On a small table next to it two trays were filled; one with a rough flour mixture and one with beaten, uncooked eggs. A container full of wooden skewers sat next to it. On the ground, off to the side was an ice-box whose lid was firmly shut.

"My lord!" The stall's operator rose from his stool and gave Eris a sweeping bow.

He then merely jerked his head at Azriel, saying nothing. A look of contempt flashed across Eris's face at that.

Eris shook the look off his face and smiled stiltedly in greeting to the vendor. "We are looking for food, sir. What are you making here today?"

"Amazing," the vendor exclaimed, "I am the premier maker of fried Autumn frogs!"

Azriel watched Eris's brows shoot up his forehead.

That explained the lack of line.

Now that Azriel looked, he saw a crudely painted wooden sign depicting a frog skewered onto a stick. He should've been paying better attention on their approach.

"Wonderful." Even centuries of courtier skills couldn't stop the trepidation from slipping into Eris's voice.

"We-," Eris darted his eyes over to Azriel and he could see a dark humor glittering on the High Lord's face, "We will take three, please, one for me and two for my friend. He's very hungry."

Azriel stomped on the male's foot as soon as the vendor turned to start preparing their order.

"Food is food," the High Lord whispered at him, wincing in pain at his foot.

"I'm not even hungry," the Illyrian hissed back.

"Too bad, you are now." The High Lord chuckled at his own antics.

They stood there waiting for their food. Azriel scowled as he watched the frogs get dipped in the batter and then dunked into bubbling oil.

He was deeply regretting his earlier statement.

Eris slid a few silver marks onto the stall's table as Azriel grabbed two of the skewers from the vendor. He'd let Eris grab his own.

The pair strolled away, eyeing the food in their hands.

Azriel gulped before braving a small bite from the fried meat. He swallowed roughly.

"So?" Eris questioned.

Azriel contemplated for a moment before replying, "It's... not that bad." He went in for a second bite.

Following his approval, Eris raised his own skewer to his mouth and took a sizable bite.

The High Lord's face dropped at the taste that met him. His stare burned through Azriel with fury as he slowly chewed and swallowed the large bite that was in his mouth.

Azriel threw his head back roaring with laughter.

Eris chucked the food into a nearby trash bin, "That. was. disgusting," he seethed. "Why did you say it was good."

"You deserved it you ass." Azriel threw his skewers into the bin as well.

"It was sour!?"

Azriel continued to laugh.

Eris's eyes softened imperceptibly as he looked down at Azriel's smile. It sent a jolt through Azriel's system.

The two of them wandered on, appetite gone.

They stopped at many stalls along their walk. Eris thumbed through heavy, fur garments on display from a Winter Court seamstress. Azriel weighed and handled Raskian throwing knives brought from a merchant on the continent. The pair chuckled at a table that displayed men's silk undershorts, saying they were going to send a collection to Helion. Eris grimaced when Azriel reminded him his mother would be on the receiving end of the silk shorts, the male's amusement dissipated immediately. Azriel had to drag Eris away from buying a dozen handmade leather collars for his hounds. Eris did end up buying a thin silver chain bracelet from a local Autumn crasftwoman. It was made from a metal found only in this court, Eris told him, and the metal is the only known deterrent to the fire magic the flowed through the blood of Autumn court fae.

"It's incredibly hard to find, near impossible to forge into something wearable, and gods-damned expensive as a result. I can't explain to you how it works, just that it'll lessen the effect of fire magic on the wearer. The Mother balances all things she creates."

Eris pivoted towards him and in the blink of an eye clipped the bracelet around Azriel's own wrist. It sat right below where the scars on his hand faded into unmarred skin.

Azriel gaped at the High Lord.

"Well it's not like I need it," Eris said in response to his expression. "I am the Lord of fire. It's not exactly going to hurt me."

Fluttering ignited within Azriel's chest, it tickled along his ribs.

"Will it protect me from you?" He meant the question to sound coy but it came across strained.

Flames flickered in Eris's irises as he said, "Nothing could stop me from reaching you, Azriel."

Azriel's heart ponded painfully within him. "Your fire, you mean?"

"Yes, my fire." The flames in his eyes shuttered and he took a step away.

They strolled on.

It was impossible to miss the way passersby looked at Eris. Hunger. Longing.

It reminded Azriel that nightfall was rapidly approaching, only two hours away. The notion saddened him.

"How does tonight work. For you?" questioned Azriel, although he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

Eris smirked in amusement at him, "When two people are attracted to one another, Azriel, they do something called-"

"You ass," he growled, cutting Eris off, "What's the ritual? I know Calanmai has a cave, Summer a beach cove, Winter... I don't know- a glacier? What's the landmark of choice for Autumn."

"A tree."

"A tree?"

"Yes. A tree. Don't give me that look, I didn't pick it. There's a large oak tree at the center of Autumn, I'm told it's been there since the court's creation. It's said to be the center, the beating heart, of all magic here. A load of nonsense but it's tradition at this point. I've seen it a few times. It's this massive thing, so large that a hundred people wouldn't be enough to line its entire perimeter. According to my father, it's hollow inside. I'm not sure how that works out. There's ancient wards around the oak that only allow the High Lord to approach or winnow inside the tree. And that- that is where the magic happens." Literally and figuratively.

"A magic sex tree?" Azriel said crudely.

"It's no worse than a magic sex cave. Certainly better than a glacier. Or snow bank. We should really find out what it is in Winter."

"Well I feel bad for whatever poor female gets chosen for you tonight. She has your company and a floor of dirt to look forward to." Bitterness laced Azriel's words and he hoped it sounded like contempt for the High Lord.

"Don't sound too jealous now, Azriel." The fire was back raging in the High Lord's eyes, "After all, no one said it had to be a female."

Azriel couldn't help it as his attention dropped down to Eris's full lips at the words. Dropped to look at the High Lord's muscled body hidden beneath his clothing. Azriel wondered what his skin tasted like, if it was sweet and woodsy like the cinnamon and sandalwood that wafted on his scent.

"Unfortunately," Azriel choked out, "I will not be here to see the lucky chosen person. Female or male."

"What?" Eris sounded frantic.

"I'm not staying. Mor and I are leaving before nightfall. Nesta and Cassian are the only ones remaining."

Eris stared at him, eyes wide, searching Azriel's face. "Are you serious? You're leaving? Why did you come?"

"You invited us. Mor was adamant on coming and I didn't want her to come alone, Nesta and Cassian aren't much for company." It was a lie, one that Azriel spouted again.

"Then where is your precious Morrigan?" Eris made a show of looking around them.

"I'm here if she needs me."

"You really came here only for her?" Devastation etched across Eris's face. Azriel refused to read into the expression but his shadows were jumping around him, slithering out as if they wanted to wipe that look off the High Lord's face.

"Why do you care anyway? What's it to you if I stay and find some stranger to fuck in the woods and add a little magic to your Great Rite. It doesn't interest me." The words were a barrier to hide the war raging inside Azriel; to hide the feelings ripping away inside of him desperate to get out.

Eris looked away from him and stared up into the vibrant canopy of leaves above them. The setting sun shone down through the branches, making his fair skin glow. He seemed to be counting every leaf on the oak that towered over them. As Eris got lost in the scenery above them, Azriel took a moment to map out every detail of his face.

Eventually Eris said, voice controlled, "You're right, I don't care. I'll be preoccupied with someone else anyway."

Eris glared at him, staring deep into his soul, as if he could see the animal that went wild inside of Azriel at his words.

They walked for an hour longer, finally approaching the south entrance again. Their conversation was noticeably more stilted.

The disgust from the fried frogs had abated but Azriel found he was no longer hungry for an entirely different reason.

The sun was cresting the horizon. Soon it would set completely and the Great Rite would begin. He could feel the magic thrumming in the air, ready to break free from the confines restricting it.

He looked at Eris next to him. The High Lord looked agitated, twitchy. The magic must be beating away at him as the Rite's beginning drew nearer.

Now that he had his gaze on him, Azriel couldn't look away. There was a magnet inside of him drawing him closer as if its match was inside the High Lord. He understood now why people went mad during Great Rites, this heady sensation made him want to disregard all expectations and let loose. Azriel wanted to lean in and taste the sweat beading up on Eris's skin.

Unknowingly, Azriel had taken a few steps closer to Eris who darted his attention over to him. He wanted to keep those amber eyes on him- didn't want anyone else to come in between them. He wanted to feel Eris's burning palms running along the skin under his jacket. Wanted to feel those lips against his neck, sucking marks for everyone to see.

Azriel needed him. He couldn't let anyone else have him- not tonight.

He was going to tell him as such, "I-"

"Azriel!"

The call from Mor broke through the haze Azriel was lost in.

"What? Azriel, what?" Eris grabbed him by his jacket bringing his attention towards the High Lord again.

Azriel wanted to step into the fire inside of Eris's eyes and burn.

"Azriel" Mor's hand clamped down on his shoulder as she said his name a second time.

He turned to look at her.

"It's nearly nightfall, we should go. I'm feeling pretty drained, do you think you can winnow both of us back? I don't think I can make it the entire way?" she looked up at him expectantly.

He needed to go. He couldn't leave her here alone. He looked back at Eris.

The High Lord looked like he was seconds from dropping to his knees to beg Azriel to stay. The hand holding his jacket twisted tighter.

"What were you going to say, Azriel?" Eris sounded manic.

"I need to go, Eris"

"Yes. Okay." He looked crestfallen. His hand still gripped Azriel's jacket.

"You need to let go."

The High Lord actually shook his head no in response to that.

"Of the jacket. You need to let go of my jacket." Azriel felt like his heart was ripping out of his chest. Desire was swallowing him whole.

He at last dropped his hand away.

Azriel spun on his heels, grabbed Mor, and winnowed away without glancing back.

.…........................

Azriel bid Mor goodnight in the dimly lit foyer of the River House and dazedly made his way up to his room on the second floor of the home. Dropping onto the foot of his bed, he propped his elbows on his knees, stuffed the heels of his hands into his eyes and pressed so hard that a constellation of lights popped into his vision.

He needed to get up. He needed to fly. He needed to lay down. He needed to get drunk. He needed to go to sleep. He needed to scream until there was nothing left in him. He needed to curl up and cry.

There was an animal inside of him clawing to get out, ripping at his chest so hard he swore he could feel it tearing underneath his ribs.

What was wrong with him?

After a few minutes there was a knock on his door and Azriel jolted up from the hunched position he'd been in.

Peering in through the cracked doorway was Mor. When she met his gaze, she gently swung the door open the rest of the way. It was silent for a moment as she looked over him as he remained sitting on the foot of the bed.

"You should go back", Mor whispered delicately into the depth of the room.

Azriel's brows furrowed. He just stared at her, tried to read her expression. There was nothing but quiet contemplation on her beautiful face.

"You should go back", she repeated, simply. Mor's assessing gaze tore into him. He could feel the truth she wielded cutting through him as they looked at one another.

Azriel said nothing. Couldn't choke out the words and only shook his head.

Mor at last entered the room fully and crossed over to where he remained sitting.

She gently grasped his face between both of her hands and angled him up to look at her. Her fingers were delicate and soft against his skin as her thumbs stroked short arcs soothingly against his cheeks. There was a time that he would've killed for a touch like this from her.

Now all Azriel could think about is what the same touch would feel like under wider, stronger, warmer palms. If there were fiery amber eyes looking back at him instead of warm brown ones.

His eyes pricked at the thought and he attempted to duck out of Mor's grip, cowering at the weight of everything he felt.

"You're the one who asked me to leave with you. Why should I go back," he asked her, staring at the tile underneath her shoes.

"I wanted you to have a few moments alone, away from the Rite's magic so you could clear your head and think without it influencing you."

His shook his head again, "I don't want to go back."

"Yes you do. You know you do."

"I don't want to want to go back." He looked back up at her.

"You don't need to be afraid of it anymore, Azriel. We love you, every part of you. No matter what you choose." This was the Morrigan of Truth who spoke to him now. The fae who saw every facet of the world around her with uncharacteristic clarity.

She didn't elaborate before heading back out of Azriel's room and down the hall. She left his door open.

Azriel sat there. He counted to a hundred before standing up and hurtling out the door and down the stairs. He rushed out into the front courtyard, made his way to the ward boundaries and winnowed away in a swirl of shadows.

.…........................

The hum of a crowd didn't meet him this time as his feet touched down in the Autumn court for the second time that day. The buzzing of insects and the rustling of wind blowing through leaves were the only sounds that kept him company.

He didn't recognize the land where his pesky shadows deposited him. He intended to go back to the same spot he originally left.

He felt, more than he heard, someone winnow into existence behind him.

Azriel drew his blade and spun around, expecting to find an attacker awaiting him.

It was Eris.

His hand holding the knife went limp and dropped down in shock.

"How did you find me so quickly?" he asked.

"I could find you anywhere you go, Azriel."

His name was butter in the High Lord's mouth. He wanted to grab Eris and taste the tongue that said his name like that.

"You came back." Eris's pupils were blown wide as he looked Azriel up and down. He'd become a creature of the Rite, the power making him more monster than male.

Azriel's blood rushed in his ears in response.

"I did."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"I need to hear you say it." The male clawed back control to ask that question. To hear Azriel give his consent.

Azriel let him stew in silence, driving Eris mad. He was nervous to let the words out of his mouth.

Growing impatient, Eris said, "Azriel."

"I want you... Eris. I want this. I want you."

With a groan at his words, Eris rushed to Azriel and slammed his lips into his.

The first press of Eris's lips against his own was like a lightning strike. It made Azriel's skin burst to life with the power of it.

Azriel slid his hands into the silky red strands of the male and held him close. He angled the male's head to the side to deepen the glide of their lips along one another.

Eris's hands, which had gripped his waist, moved down underneath Azriel's jacket to brush along the skin of his lower back. His hands burned a path along Azriel's skin, just how he imagined they would. At the sensation, Azriel let out a small groan.

Eris used the opportunity to slide his tongue into Azriel's mouth. His tongue stroked along Azriel's own, sending a shiver of desire down his spine.

The taste of Eris was better than he ever expected; it made him feel high. He barely drew a breath, not wanting to part from Eris's mouth for more than a second. His taste was more gratifying than air.

Azriel pressed his front into Eris until they were fully flush, his hardness pressing into the other male's own.

"Azriel, fuck," Eris backed away for a moment to murmur on his lips. "I need- I need-," he didn't finish that thought before leaning in to give more sucking kisses to Azriel's bottom lip.

A broken groan escaped Azriel as the High Lord bit down on his lower lip, his cock growing harder in his pants.

Eris pulled off him again and grabbed Azriel's face between his hands to keep him still. That didn't stop Azriel from chasing his lips for more.

"Have you been with a male before?" Eris asked him.

"I'm 545 years old, Eris, of course I've fucked males."

Eris growled at the statement, eyes blazing. He grabbed Azriel's ass and dragged him back in for a few moments.

Panting to catch his breath, Eris said, "That's not what I mean." He squeezed his ass for emphasis.

Oh.

No, he hadn't. Not that it didn't appeal to him but he could never give someone control of him like that. But looking at Eris, into the face of the male he'd grown to know so well the past year, Azriel didn't feel the same trepidation that tended to hold him back. Azriel realized that he actually trusted Eris. He wondered when that happened.

"I want to." With you, only with you. He hoped his eyes conveyed the truth he wouldn't speak.

Eris leaned in and gave Azriel a gentle kiss before winnowing them away.

They reappeared inside the hollow of a massive tree. It must've been the oak Eris spoke about before.

It smelled mossy and the air was damp inside the trunk. As Azriel predicated, only dirt lined the floor.

Eris conjured a couple faelights that rose above them and sent a gentle glow cascading down upon the pair.

There was a beat thrumming in the air. It pounded so loud through Azriel that he felt his heart skip to match its beat. The sound made his head swim with a heady sensation.

He saw Eris in front of him similarly affected.

His gaze dropped to see tenting at the front of Eris's pants. His wings twitched with the arousal that flooded him in response. He needed him. Now.

Always knowing what was on Azriel's mind, Eris hooked a finger through one of Azriel's belt loops and dragged him back toward him.

Instead of his mouth, this time Eris ran his lips down Azriel's throat. They were delicate kisses that sent goosebumps over Azriel's arm. The male seemed to be savoring the pounding of Azriel's pulse beneath him. When he reached the soft hollow between his neck and shoulder, Eris sucked hard.

Azriel's knees buckled beneath him. Only Eris's strong arms supporting him kept Azriel up as the High Lord laid claim to the sensitive spot.

Azriel shoved at the coat draped around Eris's shoulders. The maroon garment thudded to the dirt floor with success.

Once that was gone, Azriel slid his hands under Eris's silk white shirt and traced along his back and chest. Though Eris was leaner than him, shapely muscle lay underneath his clothes. He had been general of Autumn for close to five centuries, the training required for that now showed in the strong chest and abdomen that Azriel's fingers ghosted down.

Eris moved on to sucking a matching mark on the other side of his neck. Azriel's head fell to the side as he let out a low, deep whine at the sensation.

"You taste so good," the High Lord whispered into his skin.

Azriel rolled his hips against Eris's in a desperate search for friction. Eris snapped his fingers and the entirety of both the males' clothes disappeared.

A wobbling sound left his mouth as he took in the sight of the naked male against him. Eris's muscled, pale chest and long lean legs made his mouth water. He wanted to taste every inch of him. He pushed Eris to the ground and did just that.

Azriel nipped and sucked down the male's chest, leaving marks and savoring the taste of his skin. He paused when he reached Eris's cock. Where Azriel was long, Eris was thick.

He bent down aiming to take him in his mouth when he was stopped.

"No." Eris's chest was heaving. "I can't- don't want to finish yet. If you take me in your mouth, this'll be over far too quick."

Azriel smirked, leaning down to lick a long stripe up the underside of him anyway before leaning back on his knees.

Eris followed him up and pushed him down onto his back. The male settled between Azriel's legs and looked down at him.

"Is this okay for your wings?"

Azriel never let his wings get trapped like this. In his centuries of taking lovers, would only ever be on top. But the sight of Eris above him made his cock twitch and blood heat, and Azriel knew it was alright.

"It's fine."

Spurred on by his confirmation, Eris bent down and took Azriel in his mouth without preamble.

Azriel shouted a groan at the warm sensation of Eris's mouth around him. He worked Azriel slowly, tongue dragging along him. Eris was looking at him, watching his every reaction with blazing eyes.

After a minute, Azriel started to feel a tightening in his lower stomach. He was already so close.

Just then, Eris's hand that rested on his thigh, slid over to press into the area beneath Azriel's balls. Questioning eyes looked to him and Azriel nodded his approval.

A bottle of oil appeared out of thin air into Eris's other hand and Azriel felt a zap of cleaning magic rush through him. Convenient.

Eris pulled away to pour oil onto the fingers of his right hand. After slicking them up, Eris grabbed one of Azriel's thighs and pushed it up out of the way. He then ducked down and took Azriel in his mouth again while gently pressing the tip of his pointer finger against Azriel's hole.

The Illyrian let out a choppy moan and the High Lord slowly pressed his entire, long finger into him. It was a weird sensation. Neither pleasant or unpleasant, just new. Eris's mouth continued to move up and down him, keeping the pleasure stable. After a few seconds Eris moved the finger within him, steadily withdrawing and pushing back in.

Azriel relaxed around the finger after a few moments and felt Eris's middle finger push in to join it. He hissed at the slight burning sensation that went with it. The High Lord shot him an apologetic look.

Both fingers pressed in all the way together and repeated the same cycle of moving slowly to loosen Azriel up. The only noises were the sounds of Eris's mouth on his cock, the slide of the fingers inside him, and the gentle moans coming from his mouth. As Azriel once again relaxed around the fingers, Eris pulled off him.

He gave Azriel a wicked smirk before curling his fingers up and brushing along a spot that he hadn't yet touched. Azriel's legs spasmed at the jolt of pleasure that shot through him.

"Gods, what was that." he moaned out.

"You must not have been pleasuring those male's very well if you don't know what that is, Azriel."

Eris started thrusting his two fingers harder inside of him, keeping steady pressure on the spot.

Azriel threw his head back, moaning loudly.

Eris pushed a third slicked finger in. The burning only heightened his pleasure this time.

Azriel drew his second leg up as Eris rammed his three fingers into him, no longer taking Azriel in his mouth. He didn't need it. The High Lord's fingers alone felt amazing.

Azriel's hole eased around the three fingers and was taking a fourth appendage in no time. He felt stretched so wide. The amount of fingers Eris had stuffed into him allowed him to brush roughly against that spot every time. Knees drawn up, Azriel's eyes rolled back into his head as he laid there getting fingered by the High Lord. His hands clenched at the ground above his head.

The drums of the Great Rite thrummed around them. The sound clanged in Azriel's ears. The closer he got to finishing, the louder they grew. They reached a deafening crescendo before Eris's movements came to a stop inside of him.

Azriel groaned out in protest. He was about to cum from Eris's fingers alone. His hips thrusted uselessly as he tried to get him moving again

Eris leaned down and sucked Azriel's lips into a kiss. "You're not cumming until you're on my cock, you big bat." He slipped his fingers out of Azriel.

Eris sat back and started slicking his cock up with oil.

"I want you to start off riding me," he said, "that way I know you're in control in the start. The magic is getting to me, I don't know how much longer I can keep it contained and I don't want to hurt you."

The sentiment thrummed in Azriel's chest.

He swung a leg over the male and settled up against his chest. Eris was sat up, a hand on the ground behind him to prop himself. The other was still stroking his cock.

Since the males were the same height standing, Azriel rose over him a bit while sitting in his lap. He leaned forward, unable to resist the temptation of kissing Eris.

When he pulled back, Eris was giving him a look that knocked the wind out of him. There was a well of desire and admiration in his eyes. No one had ever looked at Azriel with such raw longing before.

He felt Eris line himself up behind him. The head pressed against him and Azriel rocked his hips back slightly. He had to press hard to get the tip to pop in and when he did, he released a long whine at the burn.

Azriel gripped the High Lord's shoulders tightly. His features twisted at the discomfort and he stayed motionless for a while. With one hand still holding himself, Eris raised the other to rub along Azriel's lower back.

Eris tilted his chin up and recaptured Azriel's lips. It proved a welcome distraction and shortly Azriel was rocking his hips again, taking more of Eris's cock in him.

The hand Eris had on his lower back was gently pushing him down on every rock, increasing the pace at which Azriel took him. It was the only sign of desperation from the High Lord.

Once Eris was far enough inside him that he didn't need to guide his cock in anymore, his hand reached around Azriel's front to press a thumb against the skin between Azriel's balls and hole.

The jolt that shot through Azriel was similar to the one from the spot inside him. With a renewed desired, Azriel pushed down into the press of Eris's thumb. As his hips chased the pleasure of the pressure, Azriel was surprised to find himself meet the jut of Eris's hips below him. He had taken him to the hilt.

He leaned into Eris's neck and moaned loudly at the feeling of the male's cock fully enclosed within him.

"Fuck. So good Azriel. You're so good."

Azriel was stretched so wide on the base of Eris's thick cock. He felt the tip deep within his stomach.

In that moment, Azriel was completely owned by the High Lord.

He raised his hips up a few inches and dropped back down. Eris let out a rasping groan and tightened his arms around Azriel.

Azriel's shadows wrapped around the pair as he began to ride Eris in earnest. Eris's cock scrapped deliciously along that spot inside of him and Azriel rode him hard, addicted to the feeling.

His full, leaking cock bounced forgotten beneath their stomachs.

"You're riding me so good, Azriel. You feel fucking amazing." Eris groaned into his ear.

The praise made Azriel's skin flush. He wanted to erase every fae from Eris's memory. Make him forget anyone that wasn't him.

He bounced mindlessly on Eris's length. Content to stay like that, wringing the helpless moans from the male's mouth.

But the pressure on his thighs grew to be too much and Azriel still needed it harder. He couldn't ride Eris's cock hard or fast enough to get what he wanted.

"Eris," he moaned deeply. "More. I want more."

"Gods, Azriel. Anything. I'll give you anything you want."

"Fuck me, please."

Without pulling out, Eris flipped him onto his back, showing care for his wings. He hooked both of Azriel's legs over his arms and placed his hands onto the dirt floor in the gap between Azriel's waist and wings. He then started pounding so hard into Azriel that the Illyrian saw stars.

The feeling of the full length of Eris's thick cock pistoning in and out him rendered Azriel speechless. All he could do was grip Eris's back and moan into the air in the hollow of the tree.

The beat of the Great Rite's drums resumed, matching the rhythm at which Eris fucked in to him. The slap of their pelvises reverberated in the enclosed space.

Eris dropped his legs and lowered himself on to his forearms by Azriel's head. The shallower angle made him grind furiously against that spot along Azriel's walls. Eris nipped at his lower lip, panting into his mouth.

"You're so gods damn perfect Azriel."

Azriel moaned at the words.

The drums raced around them.

"So. fucking. beautiful." Each word from Eris was interrupted by a brutally deep thrust.

"I wish I could fuck you all night but I'm so close," the High Lord continued on.

Azriel nodded in agreement, wrapping his legs tight around Eris's hips. He didn't want the male pulling too far away from him, not now. He hole was squeezing sporadically around Eris's length.

"I-" Azriel couldn't get anything out, too busy moaning.

The drumming was reaching a crescendo again. It rocked against Azriel's skin.

"What is it." Eris brushed kisses along Azriel's jaw as he fucked him.

The beat around them was deafening.

"I feel so good, Eris-" Azriel groaned out the male's name.

It must've been from witnessing the delirium of Azriel's pleasure that he caused but at his words, Eris shouted out a long surprised groan. Azriel felt the male's cock twitching inside of him and his thrusts stuttered to quick, deep jabs. Heat bloomed within Azriel's stomach from the High Lord cumming.

At the sensation of the pulsing warmth of Eris's cum inside him, Azriel felt his own cock start to shoot. He grabbed himself moaning as his strokes heightened his finish.

As Azriel plummeted down into his orgasm, the drums of the Rite's magic pulsed through him. The beat matching the rhythm of his heart hammering inside him. Azriel's legs tightened around Eris as they both rose and fell through the waves of their pleasure, creating their own rhythm that sang with the magic of the night.

Fingers still dug tightly into the pale muscled back above him, Azriel's release came to an end. His legs dropped and relaxed to the ground as all his strength flooded away. He felt Eris's cock give one final kick inside him before he too finished and relaxed fully down onto Azriel's front.

The thrum of the magic in the air came to a stop, the sounds of the woods rushing in to fill the silence left by the drum's departure.

They laid there, Azriel wasn't sure how long, catching their breath. He closed his eyes, laid his head back, and enjoyed the warmth of Eris pressed against him.

The pressure on his wings soon became too much and he shifted, pushing slightly at Eris's hips.

With a groan, the male on top of him pushed up onto him arms, staring down between them as he pulled out. Azriel hissed at the sensation.

"M'sorry," Eris murmured, rubbing a hand down Azriel's thigh soothingly.

Eris Vanserra was rubbing his thigh.

Hundreds of fae showed up tonight with the hopes they'd be the lucky ones selected to sleep with the High Lord. And here Azriel was, in the middle of some historic magical tree, spend dripping out of him, getting his thigh rubbed by Cauldron-damned Eris Vanserra.

It was completely fucking surreal.

Azriel giggled. He didn't think he'd ever giggled in his life.

He felt drunk on the atmosphere. Maybe this was an after-effect of the magic's let-down; after the high of Rite abated you were left feeling delirious.

Eris took one look at him and started laughing too. They were definitely delirious.

Leaning his weight forward into his forearms again, Eris rested his forehead against Azriel's collarbone as laughter kept rocking his frame. Azriel buried his face in the silky red hair below him, chuckling into it.

With deep breaths, they both collected themselves.

Eris rose up onto his knees and glanced down between Azriel's legs.

"Fuck," Eris groaned, throwing his head back," You need to close your legs or I'm going to be ready for round two in a few seconds."

Azriel burst into laughter again, kicking Eris away from him.

"Gods," Eris moaned as he clambered to his feet. He reached a hand out for Azriel who took it and forced Eris to do most of the work pulling him up.

Azriel wrapped his arms around Eris's hips, the other male grabbing his bicep and throwing his second arm around Azriel's neck.

Silence weighed down on them as they stood facing each other. Eris's thumb left a path of heat in the arcs it swiped along Azriel's bicep. His other hand played in the short cropped hair at the base of Azriel's head.

With the high of the night seeping from his system and Eris's hands tracing warm paths along his skin, Azriel felt his eyes start to droop.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Eris whispered, lips only mere inches away from Azriel's own. Anything louder would've felt like a shout in the calm atmosphere around them.

Azriel nodded in assent, he wasn't sure any words would make it out of him.

He leaned forward capturing Eris's lips in a delicate kiss. They stayed like that, mouths moving slowly together, until Eris pulled again with one last nip to Azriel's lower lip.

"C'mon," he murmured, backing away from Azriel. With a snap of his fingers, Eris magicked both of their clothes back on.

Azriel walked up to press into Eris's front again and raised his hands to straighten the male's cloak which skewed haphazardly on his shoulders.

"Magic is not a precise science," Eris justified.

Mustering up the energy to speak, he replied, "You're such an ass."

Cackling, Eris winnowed them away in a crack of flames and light.

...........................................

The large rustic living room of Eris's manor was blessedly cool.

Warmth prickled along Azriel's skin, it felt like the sun was beaming down on him. He'd lived most of his life at a temperature that matched the night-time air on a crisp autumn night. This was a welcome change but an odd adjustment.

Azriel had a feeling the fire lord with him had something to do with it.

His eyes traced the wooden beams that led to the top of the room's vaulted ceilings as Eris moved around the kitchen in the distance.

Shuffling alerted Azriel to his entrance back into the living room.

He eagerly accepted the tall glass of water Eris handed to him and chugged it in one go, spilling a good portion of it down his chin.

"Brute"

Azriel glared at him through the glass.

"Didn't stop you from fucking me."

Eris's eyes darkened at the words, the right side of his face was lit up from the moonlight pouring in through the sizable windows that framed the woods outside. The High Lord only shrugged, grinning wildly.

His own grin grew in response. This was probably the most he'd smiled in one day. There was an ache in his cheeks from his overuse of the action; mindlessly he rubbed at the sore spots.

"Get used to it," Eris said.

Azriel didn't know if he meant the fucking or the smiling. Both would be fine, he figured.

They stumbled upstairs, giggling like a pair of drunk younglings every time Azriel's wings caught on the stairs. He was usually much better about keeping them raised but his body felt like it'd been sitting in the birchin for an hour- every muscle loose and tired.

Eris's bedroom was large and its foundation was laid by the same rich, dark wood that Azriel had loved in the kitchen. On the opposite side of the bedroom's entryway was a wall of windows and a glass door that led out to a partially enclosed terrace.

In the moonlight, Azriel vaguely deciphered a few plush couches and ottomans clustered together out there. They were enclosed by concrete columns that lined the terrace's perimeter. Enough space was between each column that, if Azriel wished, he could climb the railing and sail out over the autumnal canopy on his wings.

"You look like you're plotting your escape." Eris's sharp gaze tracked Azriel's own. He'd always been able to read him like book much to Azriel's chagrin.

"A good fighter always has an exit strategy."

A flash of sadness crossed Eris's expression at his words. There- and then gone- before Azriel could truly register it.

Reality began crashing in around him, settling a heavy weight on his chest.

To distract himself, he stepped onwards into the room and continued his assessment of the space. To the right was a massive fireplace framed by a large picture window on either side. Azriel saw the glow of faelights at the Forest House in the distance. There were two leather armchairs placed in front of the fireplace.

The left of the room held a palatial bed, wide enough to comfortably fit two winged fae if desired.

It was a wonderful space. If Azriel had ever desired to design his own, it likely would've looked a lot like this. It was nothing akin to Feyre and Rhy's palatial, overly ornate estate, or the soulless sandstone interiors of the House of Wind. Eris's room- his house- was warm and inviting, it beckoned Azriel in like a moth to a flame.

Eris, having followed Azriel into the room, continued on, "There are stairs up to the roof... if you wanted to know other escape options. It'd probably be easier to take off and land there."

Azriel turned to face the male behind him and asked, "Why do you have stairs to your roof?" Odd indeed for a male who could never and would ever be able to fly himself.

"Why not?" Eris wouldn't meet his eyes then.

But Azriel knew. Deep down he knew, had always known.

The roof. The two armchairs in front of the fire place. The dining chairs carved for wings. The male's burning gaze that was able to melt away centuries of ice that coated the outside of Azriel's soul.

He knew what it all meant, used to be terrified of it. Yesterday afternoon he feared it so much he could hardly breath.

He wasn't scared anymore.

And Eris knew too. Had likely known far longer than Azriel- he was always so clever.

Eris had probably figured it out forever ago and let it rot away inside of him. Trapped in his mind, tormenting him like the scars from his father that would never mar his skin.

"Centuries, Azriel," Eris muttered. It was as if the fire-blooded male in front of him, who still would not look at Azriel, could read every thought that ran through his mind. Could he?

Silence settled around them. Eris's attention focused on the dew fogged window next to them. He looked fixedly at the Forest House lights gleaming in the distance.

"I've wanted you- this- for centuries," Eris ground out. The truth, at last.

"I have known for centuries." Each word out of Eris's mouth sounded pained.

Azriel walked up to the male, reached out a scarred hand to gently grab his chin and turned his face towards him.

He traced every inch of Eris's face with his thumb. The strong jaw that framed everything. The sharp cut of the cupid's bow on his full lips. The long, straight bridge of his nose. The flushed cheeks that burned under Azriel's touch. The constellation of freckles that dotted his porcelain skin. The permanent crease between his brows, the only sign of mortality on his beautiful, immortal face.

He looked nothing like Azriel but looking upon him was like gazing into a mirror.

"All this time? Everything?" Azriel whispered. He couldn't find it in himself to elaborate, desperately hoped that Eris would once again understand what he meant.

"Everything. Always. It was always you." Eris's brows cut together, a look of sorrow and desperation overtaking the face under Azriel's thumb.

A small whimper escaped Azriel's lips but he clamped down on it.

The small sound must've been enough for Eris because it seemed a dam broke inside of him with the way his next words poured out.

"From the first moment I saw you at Hewn City, I knew Azriel. I could feel it so deep in my bones that it ached. But the engagement to Mor had already been finalized and I had no clue what to do. I knew you loved her, saw how you looked at her. I felt sick. My mate-"

Another whimper broke from Azriel's lips at the word. Eris spoke it with such finality and confidence.

At its utterance, a key clicked into place deep inside Azriel's chest and opened a truth that he had known all along.

"My mate," Eris continued "was in love with the female I was set to marry. Quickly, I grew to realize Mor's desperation for freedom, the truth about herself she kept hidden away. I couldn't help her. Azriel, you have to believe me. I tried. But, I had so little power to fix the situation. Leaving her there- in the woods, leaving her to her freedom, it was the best I could do. I thought she would understand. I thought you would underst-" Eris's voice cracked on the last word and he ducked his head down out of Azriel's hands to hide it from view.

Composing himself with a deep breath, Eris raised his head and continued on.

"I never imagined my actions would lead to you hating me for centuries. I thought I'd have a chance to explain. I thought you- Mor- Rhysand- anybody- I thought somebody would understand that if I helped her, she would have become a ward of my court. Trapped there. Keir knew; that's why he left her in my woods. Eventually I realized it was for the better- you hating me. I was a fool for ever thinking otherwise. I still had no power against my father and if he ever suspected, ever got a whiff, of what you were to me, he would have tried to kill you. He most certainly would have killed me. And it all would have been for nothing. I knew I did the right thing after he executed Jesminda. She was harmless, so innocent, a member of his own court, and he still killed her for the crime of being a lesser fae in love with my brother. It was then that I decided to never do anything but make you hate me. I wanted you as far away from me as possible. I could handle the torture my father inflicted upon me but the one thing I'd never be able to bare was him hurting you. Not you. Never you."

Eris's voice shook as silent tears cut across his cheeks. Azriel wondered how he could still be so beautiful while he cried.

"You were this precious thing that the Mother had blessed me with and the only thing that mattered to me was keeping you safe. And the only way I could do that was by keeping you far away from me and the reaches of Beron. Then everything with Amarantha happened. Forty-nine years under there and Azriel, you were the only thing that got me through it. Knowing you were safe, wherever you were, and that you were out there. I made a vow to myself that if I lived through the ordeal, if I ever managed to be free, I'd fix my wrongs. I didn't want to die knowing you still hated me. I wanted to see you, at least once, look upon me with something other than loathing. But then I got addicted to it- addicted to you not hating me anymore. Addicted to being with you, speaking to you, learning about you, playing gods damned chess with you. I crave it more than I crave my next breath. Five hundred years of torment and the past year has made every second worth it. I would do it all again. I would suffer another five centuries of you loving another, another five centuries of facing my father's cruelty, another five centuries of being hated by all of Prythian just for this- just for you."

Azriel's vision blurred from the tears flooding in his eyes, mind whirring as he tried to process the weight of Eris's confessions. No words came to him. Instead, he leaned forward into Eris's shoulder and sobbed. He sobbed and sobbed, releasing centuries worth of sadness and pain and loneliness that had built up inside him. He found a comfort in the crook of Eris's neck that he'd felt never anywhere else before.

It was as if his soul knew he'd met his mate all those years ago in the depths of Hewn City and had been decaying inside him ever since, growing sick at the distance that separated it from its other half. As Azriel leaned into the warmth of Eris, he felt a small part of his frozen, sad soul started to heal.

Eris said nothing, stroking a thumb across the back of Azriel's neck. He leaned more heavily into the sturdy support of Eris's body with each soothing swipe.

"Let's go to bed," Eris whispered into his ear once the sobs stopped racking Azriel's body and his choppy breathing evened out.

There'd be more time to talk tomorrow. The darkness of the night felt too fragile for the words they would need to share, the decisions that needed to be made.

Eris turned his head and gently brushed his lips across Azriel's. They fell in to one another, deepening the kiss before pulling away to catch their breath.

Eris ran the hand that was on the back of his neck down his arm, fingers ghosting across the sleeve of the dark green jacket Azriel wore. At the cuff, he danced along the black sewn embellishments before finally trailing down to tangle his fingers with Azriel's.

Wordlessly, he pulled him towards the bed.

When they got to the foot of it, Eris raised his hands up and began unclasping the silver buttons that held Azriel's jacket closed. He then reached around his back and unbuttoned the ones that ran from the bottom hem to the base of his wings.

"I really do like this jacket on you," Eris whispered into the depth of the silence.

"I knew you would," Azriel murmured back.

He said nothing about the disbelief that twinkled in Eris's eyes. He knew Azriel too well.

Kicking off his shoes and shucking down the tight black trousers he wore, Azriel rounded the bed to the right side closest to the wall of windows. Behind him, he heard Eris also undressing.

Azriel lifted back the heavy duvet and stretched out on his stomach, hoping to give his wings some reprieve from the pressure they'd endured that night. The cool cotton sheets tempered the burning he felt inside of him.

Eris climbed in next to him and laid on his back.

Turning to face the High Lord, his High Lord, he reached out a hand to grasp the wrist that lay closest to him and stroked the delicate skin there.

At the contact, Eris slid over underneath Azriel's outstretched wing, moving closer to him as their gaze locked.

Fire blazed deep inside his amber eyes. It felt like an old friend; one that had scarred him long ago but would never again.

They probably should've bathed, should've eaten something, should've talked more. But the smell of sandalwood and cinnamon flooded Azriel's senses, seeping the energy from his body. All he could do was watch the fire dance in the eyes next to him and think about how Eris smelled like a long-lost nostalgia that he'd finally found.

For the first time, sleep welcomed Azriel with open arms and he felt at peace.

#azris #azris fanfiction #azriel x eris #azriel x eris fanfiction #eris vanserra #azriel #azriel acotar #azris supremacy #acotar #acotar fanfic #azriel fanfic #eris fanfic #my old friend fire

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clonedchaos · 5 months ago

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👟 𝓜𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓷 🌸

Orchids and Oranges: A Yasammy Week Special

Yasammy week brought to you by @yasammyweek!

Sorry this one was late, I had some errands to run yesterday and an 8 hour shift early this morning. I'll try my best to catch up, but I might be a day late on my prompts.

Day 2: Firsts Rating: G/PG Summary: Sammy attends her first marathon. Fortunately, she has an expert partner to coach her along.

AO3 Version:

Tumblr Version:

"Ready for this, Sammy?" Yaz asked, reaching down to touch her toes. Her hair was done up in a tight bun, preventing any loose strands from obscuring her vision. Sammy had ditched her boots for a nice pair of pink running shoes; courtesy of her amazing girlfriend. After so long sporting boots, this experience felt foreign. It was far more practical for running at least.

Sammy quickly copied her action as Yaz continued to lead her through the stretching exercises. "Ready as I'll ever be," She smiled. This would be the first time since Nublar that she would be running such long distances. And, it was the first time Yaz had done anything akin to track since the island. Plus, it was fundraising for the local hospital in Yaz's district. All around, this would be a fun time. She was thrilled to be able to partake in an experience and hobby that was close to Yaz's heart. She just hoped she could keep up!

"Alright. You know the basics. Conserve your energy until we near the finish. When going downhill, let gravity do the work for you. It'll make your pace far easier, trust me. And don't push yourself too hard. If you need to take a break, we'll take one," Yaz listed, twisting her upper body to loosen her muscles.

"You got it!" Sammy chirped, playfully saluting her. Yaz chuckled and nudged her with her shoulder.

"Runners! To the starting line! We will begin shortly!" A man's voice crackled through a loudspeaker.

Sammy noticed the flame of competition erupt in Yaz's eyes at the announcement. She was so passionate, so confident. Oh, how she wished she had that sense of valor.

Yaz turned her attention onto Sammy and extended a hand. "Ready, cowgirl?"

"Always, track star," Sammy replied, playing up the nickname. Her fingers intertwined with Yaz's and they headed for the starting line.

Sammy's heart beat wildly in her chest as the anticipation began to build. Her first marathon! This was going to be so much fun!

She was forced to wait-- she hated waiting when she was this excited-- until the announcers dropped the welcome banner and the marathoners took off. Sammy was instantly pulled forward as Yaz shot off like a bullet. She felt like a cartoon character with the way her legs were flailing back and forth.

Yaz glanced over her shoulder and slowed her pace. "Sorry about that. Got a bit carried away," She apologized, her movements deliberate and precise.

Sammy put a bit more pep in her step and took the lead. "Don't tell me you wanna slow down! We've got competition!"

The marathon path snaked through the thinning shops of the town square and out into a lush pine forest. Miniature markers were laid out on the trail, directing them where they should go. Despite the event not being a race per se, the duo kept toward the head of the pack.

They passed by a small blossoming flower field with vibrant daisies. It took Sammy all the self-restraint in the world to not divert off the path and pick a few to give to Yaz. She'd look astonishing in a woven flower crown.

A medial incline was up ahead.

"Remember, Sammy. Let gravity do the work for you," Yaz panted, having vast control over her breathing patterns.

Sammy nodded and powered forward. By the time her and Yaz reached the top, her calves felt like they were on fire. As they descended, Sammy reserved her energy and let motion take hold. The breeze tickled her cheeks as they picked up speed. She couldn't help but laugh, causing Yaz to do the same.

The next locale was to skirt around the edges of a lake. The sand pulled at her feet, a much rougher terrain to balance on and navigate through than hardpacked dirt or concrete. And boy, cannonballing into the water was getting more and more appealing by the second. It was hot. Really hot. Why had they chosen to do this in the summer again?

Sammy wasn't sure how much time had passed when her pace began to slow. She wanted to keep up with Yaz, but her body felt like it was in the process of shutting down all together. With every gulp of air, her chest burned and her throat stung.

"Sammy? Do you need to take a break?" Yaz asked as they crested another hill. She began to slow her own pace.

Sammy shook herself. Come on, Sammy! You can do it!

Maybe she could. From the high vantage point, Sammy could spot the finish line at the bottom of the hill. Several onlookers awaited them, as well as volunteers with numerous water bottles and towels at the ready.

"We're so close. We can't stop now!" She insisted.

"But Sam--"

Sammy released Yaz's hand. Just a little bit further. Her legs felt like jelly and her cheeks burned. The sun was relentless. Was she going to black out?

Yaz suddenly overtook Sammy. She crossed the finish line and spun on her heel. "Come on, Sammy! You got this!" She encouraged, waving her hands. She didn't take Yaz for the cheerleading type, but she sure inspired Sammy.

Yaz was right there! She was waiting for her. Just a few more steps. She could do this, couldn't she? Seeing Yaz standing there, waiting for her, it filled her with hope. Sammy pushed forward with one last burst of energy. Her legs completely gave out from under her and she crashed into Yaz, sending both of them toppling onto the ground.

Sammy blinked, her throat burning and chest heaving as she fought to take in oxygen. Sweat dribbled down the side of her face. She was used to the heat and physical exertion of working on the farm, but she forgot just how taxing running could be. Being chased by dinosaurs had surely lit a fire under her back on Nublar.

Sammy finally snapped back to reality as she moved into a sitting position. Immediately she helped Yaz do the same. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?!" She immediately began checking her over for any bruises or scrapes that she might have accidentally inflicted upon her. Exhaustion was thrown to the side as her girlfriend's wellbeing was of far more importance; to her at least. She didn't even care her vision was slightly spinning.

Yaz grabbed her hands. "Sammy. I'm fine, really." Her eyes searched Sammy's expression thoughtfully.

Sammy set a hand on her forehead and wiped away the sweat on her brow. Why was she feeling fuzzy?

Yaz leapt to her feet, dashed over toward one of the water refuel stations, and grabbed two ice cold bottles of water. In seconds, she was right by Sammy's side. "Here, drink this. You're dehydrated," She uncapped one and handed it off.

Sammy brought the bottle to her lips and took in the refreshing icy chill. In ten seconds, she had downed the entire thing.

Yaz held the other bottle against her forehead to help cool her off. With her other hand, she supported Sammy's back in case she fainted. "Feeling better? I don't want you passing out on me. If you need to lie down, I'll help you," She quickly rambled off and bit her lip.

"I'm fine, Yaz," Sammy assured as she leaned against Yaz's shoulder. Her breathlessness had begun to subside, and the water bottle had done wonders for her heat exhaustion. "Just out of it is all. I forgot just how much running takes it out of ya. You make it look so easy."

Yaz chuckled and moved to set a hand atop Sammy's. "It took years of practice to get to where I am today. Or, well, to where I used to be. You did amazing. Besides, I can say the same for you and horseback riding. Remember what a disaster I was trying to ride for the first time?" She teased.

Sammy thought back to that particular, eye-opening experience. "I thought you got an A+ for effort," Sammy mused with a smile. "Give it a few more lessons and you'll be a proper cowgirl in no time."

Yaz laughed. It made Sammy's heart flutter. "I know it's hard for us to find the time when we live so far away... But what do you say about going on a few nature runs with me from time to time? In return, you can give me horseback riding lessons."

Sammy dropped her empty bottle and squealed. "Ooo! That sounds perfect! There are tons of places around the farm with a more scenic view. Or, or-- We could go camping! I've only done it a few times, but I think we'd have tons of fun. We could roast marshmallows, tell spooky stories, cuddle by the campfire. Imagine hiking in the mountains! Going for a morning jog while overlooking a breathtaking view would be just the sight to get us up and going!"

Sammy continued to ramble on with her ideas, Yaz listening intently. There were so many things they had yet to experience together. Where would they go next?

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mcytblraufest · 1 year ago

Text

Holiday Exchange: General Rules and FAQ

TIMELINE: Sign-ups open, Discord Opens: 18 October Sign-ups close, everyone must have joined the Discord: 15 November Assignments sent out: 23 November - 26 November Check-in: 9 December - 10 December Posting Week: Sunday 24th December through Monday 1 January.

RULES FOR PARTICIPATING: - Must join our Discord for communication - Must tag your recipient in the eventual post - Must tag this blog in your post so we can keep track of gifts - DM a mod ASAP if you don’t think you’ll get your gift out on time or at all, or you want to withdraw - Must check in at the half-way mark to make sure everything is on-track. -Must request and offer to create around a minimum of three characters. -Any under-18 persons found requesting or offering NSFW content will be banned from this and all future iterations of the exchange. -Because of Tumblr, Ao3 and Discord TOS, you must be 13 to participate.

RULES FOR CREATING: - Make a good-faith effort to respect creator boundaries - Your gift doesn’t have to contain only requested characters, but it does have to centre on at least one requested character. - Any shipping must be kept to PG-13 levels or below unless your recipient specifically requested NSFW. Any non-requested NSFW is grounds for a ban from this and all future iterations of the exchange. -Respect your giftee's DNW. Any gift found to be in violation of a reasonable DNW is grounds for a ban from future iterations of the exchange. - Dark or Violent themes must be tagged appropriately -No AI-created content.

DISCORD LINK - Discord: [here]

CREATING RESOURCES: - How to add your fic to an Ao3 Collection. [link] - The Ao3 Collection. [link] - How to image-describe your art. [link1] [link2]

MINIMUM REQUIREMENTS: - Art (1 drawing, created to a standard you would normally post as “finished”) - Writing (1k+ words) - Playlist (2 hour-long playlists) - Moodboard (2 boards, at least 9 elements each, for a total of at minimum 18 elements between both boards. Speak to mods if that really doesn't work for your designs) - Web Weaving (1 board of at least 10 elements)

MISC: - Tag this blog as well, so we can reblog you! - You will not necessarily be matched with someone who matches your ‘willing to create about’ exactly. The goal is to have multiple matches, but in cases of more obscure requests you might be matched with someone who only has one commonality between your ‘willing to create’ and their wish list. In that case at least you know what to make your gift around pretty quickly. :D - Please send asks if you need information. If it is something you do not feel comfortable sending in an ask, you can message the head mod at @antimony-medusa - If you ask us a question about something that has been already outlined in this post we will not answer!

FAQ:

-I changed my mind about my gift list, I want to add something, what do I do? You can re-do your entry and we will delete the earlier version of any duplicate entries, or you send us an ask (off anon if you want an answer back) to change something (only minor changes using this method, please).

-Is there an Ao3 collection? I want to add my fic to it. There will be! It will be released once assignments are sent out.

-I added my fic to the Ao3 collection, but I can’t see it? The collection is currently set to ‘unrevealed’, so works can be added but won’t be visible before reveal day, so it’s all a surprise.

-I need to contact my recipient, but they have anon off! What do I do? Talk to us, we’ll contact them for you.

- I didn’t save my assignment message and now I’ve forgotten my assignment, what now? Get in contact with us, we’ll resend it.

-I can’t finish my gift by the deadline, what do I do? You have two options. Option one is to consider if you can still finish it by a couple days or a week or so later, and ask the mods if you can get an extension. We will check with your recipient to see if it’s okay to extend your deadline. Option two is to drop entirely, in which case you tell a mod, and we will assign your gift to a pinch-hitter so your recipient still gets something. In both cases, the important thing is that you get in contact with a mod ( @antimony-medusa is head mod) as soon as possible to figure out a plan.

-If I want to make more than one gift, can I? You can make as many gifts as you'd like! If you really enjoy making gifts, we suggest signing up as a Pinch Hitter in the discord

-I don't celebrate Christmas, can I sign up? This exchange welcomes all holidays (even a complete lack of holidays), and people will have an opportunity to opt in to what events they want represented in their gift, whether that's real-world holidays, imaginary minecraft events, or no holidays at all.

-I'm only a fan of a small server, can I sign up? You are very welcome to sign up even if your fandom doesn't have the most active tag, this is a broad MCYT exchange. We will do our best to match you with someone else who also likes your block people. If your fandom has less than a thousand fics on the archive, we recommend that you try and recruit friends into the exchange too, so you know that there are people who like the same characters as you in the matching pool. We can't absolutely promise to match on smaller characters, but we have run this exchange twice and we haven't had anyone be entirely unmatchable yet, so fingers crossed that continues.

-Is RPF allowed? While MCYT is in a fuzzy space while we're often close to RPF and many of our older works are still tagged with Video Blogging RPF, this is a character-focused exchange. You will not be able to request or offer direct RPF for this exchange.

-Is shipping allowed? Yes. For the comfort of the greatest number of participants, we ask that participants make a good-faith effort to ensure that any shipping is boundary-respecting, but because there is no broad fandom-wide consensus about how that is defined in specific cases (whether it's okay to write beeduo as /r or /p is an obvious case) or between specific fandoms (lifesteal approach to shipping is different from HBG is different from DSMP), the mods will not be policing any specific understanding of boundaries across the event. The event will operate on Don't Like Don't Read, in that everyone will have the chance to opt in for themselves as to if they are comfortable with shipping or NSFW for each specific character they want to work with, and mods will match based on that.

-Is NSFW allowed? Yes, NSFW is permitted as long as it respects creator boundaries, and both sides of the gift exchange are 18+. People will only be matched to others who specifically requested NSFW work. For the comfort of the greatest number of people in the exchange and the mod team, nothing that would warrant the tags Underage, Rape/Noncon, Dubcon, Adult/Minor, or Incest is permitted.

-My person requested characters I don't want to write, and one of them is a ship I don't like. What do I do? You are only expected to create a gift for the characters you matched on. If you offered to create for Grian (shipping allowed), Good times with Scar (shipping allowed) and Docm77 (only gen), and you matched to someone requesting Grian (shipping allowed), Docm77 (shipping allowed) and Keralis (only gen), you are only expected to make a gift with the characters and relationships you matched on, in this case, Grian. If you are entirely uncomfortable with your match, you can tell a mod, and we can take it off your hands and get it pinch-hit. You will still receive a gift.

-If noncon isn't permitted, is non-consentual touching (platonic) allowed? As technically a punch in the face counts as non-consensual touching, and pvp is a classic part of most MCYT canons, we find banning all nonconsensual contact to be unnecessarily restrictive. As long as nonconsensual contact is not sexual in nature, it is permitted, however, it must be tagged for adequately along with any other potentially triggering content.

-Do you allow dark or violent content? Yes. The lore of many mcyt servers includes death games, abuse, cannibalism, murder-for-hire, and other dark or violent themes. However, all potentially triggering content must be tagged for so readers and giftees can make an informed choice to get infolved or not. We would recommend that you not include particularly dark topics unless requested to by your giftee.

-What is a Pinch Hitter? A pinch hitter is a person who saves the day and steps in when the original creator is unable to deliver their work for whatever reason, making a new work on an accelerated timeline. You can sign up to be a Pinch Hitter in the discord.

-What is a DNW? All participants will have the opportunity to fill out a DNW, which stands for Do Not Want. This is anything that has the potential to ruin a gift for you. DNWs must be phrased politely, (so no "No foster aus because they suck and you suck if you like them"), and they must be reasonable, (so no attempting to box someone into a specific gift, i.e. "DNW anything that isn't a space au where Tommy is a dinosaur-hybrid and Tubbo is a ghost bee and they rampage through the living ship named Las Nevadas"), but they can be as petty (disliking specific art styles) or as broad-reaching (no modern aus, no specific ships, no crossovers with specific servers) as you like. Deliberately breaking someone's DNW is grounds for a ban from the exchange.

-When do I have to join the discord? You have the option to join the dicord and hang out as soon as signup starts on October 18, and you must join the discord so we can communicate with you by November 15. Anyone not in the discord once we start matching will have their sign-ups deleted.

-Is the discord a social server? Can I expect game nights? The discord is primarily an event server, we are not going to be hosting events. We will have a directory of other social servers, if you want to take a conversation started in the discord into a more convivial space.

-What's a check-in and how do they work? Check-ins are there to make sure everyone is on track to finish their piece in time, and to communicate any issues with the mods! If you know that you won’t be able to check in on a specific date (lack of internet, etc), please contact the mods in advance.

-What if I need to drop out? It is your responsibility to communicate with us if you need to drop out of the event for any reason, and we do need that communication. We know that life is no respecter of fic and art deadlines, so no hard feelings if something happens. However, we would hate for anyone to end up having no gift, so please think about this if you are thinking of dropping out close to reveals. Please inform us in advance if you must drop out or think you will not be able to complete your gift on time. Dropping out after the last check-in without informing the mods will result in not being permitted to take part in further events run by this mod team.

I have a question not answered here? Send us an ask on tumblr, contact @antimony-medusa on tumblr or discord!

#mcyt #mcytblr #gift exchange #fandom gift exchange #faq #holiday exchange 2023

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fuzzyclink · 4 months ago

Text

Rules and Regulations

A self indulgent one-shot Ceo!Au fic to celebrate the launch of Keir and Cirrus's second chapters tomorrow!

Tags: Cirrus/Reader, degradation, unethical office relationship, abuse of power, power dynamics, spanking, glove kink, pain and bruising, bad BDSM etiquette, gender neutral reader, reader body not described.

Link to AO3 version

You had been so desperate to find a job in your new city that you hadn’t been especially picky. You’d moved here as a last option, relocating because of the world-renowned hospitals in this area. There was an experimental study opening soon that focused on your life-threatening condition, and you knew that it might be your only option. Certainly, the bemused expression of the so-called “experts” in your hometown had discouraged you from staying. Your condition didn't even have a WebMD page. So it hadn’t mattered to you much at the time that all your funds went into renting a moving truck, paying the deposit on an apartment, and boxing up all your belongings. You had arrived, penniless, and sought jobs as quickly as possible - applying to everything and anything that you could convince a recruiter you’d be good at. You just needed some income while you waited to hear back about whether you were eligible for the medical trial.

Applying to Crescent Consulting had been surprisingly easy. You’d uploaded your resume online, answered a few questions that MAYBE were some kind of personality test (the question “What does the full moon mean to you?” had definitely seemed a little strange at the time), and were offered an interview a few days later.

You pressed down your nerves as you approached the company. You were dressed in your least-wrinkled interview clothes, pulled out of a cardboard box the night before. There hadn’t been time to unpack everything. The exterior of the building was grand. Silvery glass extended high above you, the blue sky reflecting mirror-like off of the eighty floors of windows. The interior matched the prestigious exterior. All around you were gleaming stone floors, elevators that smelled like new carpet, well-groomed and refined staff, and chandeliers that likely cost as much as your apartment.

Crescent Consulting was on the third and fourth floors of the building. You speak to a receptionist near the entrance and she ushers you into a small, private office to the left of the door. You smile politely as the hiring manager seated inside looks over your resume, asking about your experience, your career goals, and previous successes and difficulties. Pretty standard stuff. The pay and benefits seem good too. You try to recall the information you’d read about the company, peering down at the job description you’d printed out and brought with you.

“From what you’ve said, I think this company would be a good fit for me,” you say, trying to infuse your words with an air of confidence you didn’t really feel. “. . . but the job listing was a little sparse on details. Would you mind going over exactly what this position would entail?”

The routine atmosphere of the interview dissipates. The interviewer grows far more serious, fixing you with a stern look over the rim of their tortoiseshell glasses.

“This position is essential to the success of our company. Crescent Consulting is directed by Mr. Cirrus. As our CEO, he leads us, guides us, and makes decisions that keep us at the forefront of consulting in this city. He’s an exceptionally talented man.” She regards you with her steely gaze as if you would dare challenge her statement. You nod at her meekly.

She shifts in her seat. “But he’s also exceptionally busy. Too much of his time right now is taken up by scheduling things, answering emails, filing documents…we’ve all tried to help where we can, but eventually, it became clear that it was time we hired someone to do it full-time. So, that’s where you come in. The job position is to work as his assistant. He has exacting tastes, and expects the finest work.”

You can practically see the job opening slipping away right before your eyes. The words spring from your lips.

“I assure you, I am someone who is deliberate, detailed, and focused. Crescent Consulting is my top choice and it would be an honour to assist Mr. Cirrus as he continues to lead such amazing work.”

She nods at that, relenting a little. “We’ll hire you for a probationary period. Let’s see how you do after a week on the job. If your work is satisfactory - and Cirrus takes a liking to you, we’ll offer you a full contract.”

After that, the first week goes by in a blur. You’d seen Cirrus’s emails and calendar plenty of times, but hadn’t even met him face to face. They gave you a cubicle in the corner of one of the floors and you toil away diligently, working your way down a seemingly endless list of tasks. The hiring manager was right - there was plenty to do. You spent your time reading the employee handbook, completing new employee training, learning about the different clients, trying to remember which employee names and titles, and archiving documents that hadn’t been looked at in years. You’ve just started working on a summary of consulting projects completed in 2017 when you feel a presence just over your shoulder.

You jump in your chair as you spin around looking up to see a man looming over you. He’s tall and lanky, even taller from your current position. Long white hair slinks down over his shoulders, stopping near the waist of his suit. His accessories stand out against his dark clothes - a gold metal snake that encircles his finger, two chain bracelets that glimmer from beneath the cuffs of his sleeves, and thin hanging earrings. A tailored waistcoat highlights the way his broad torso narrows at the waist. The man’s arm rests casually against the wall of your cubicle, a thin pen between his fingers. He's undoubtedly handsome, imposingly so. You finish taking him in and meet his gaze, an amused smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Hurriedly, you introduce yourself. “I'm very sorry, I didn't notice you there! I’m a new hire, I’ve only been working here for week, I don't believe we've met?”

Surely, you'd be able to remember someone who looks like THAT.

“I thought it was about time I came to meet you,” he says politely, watching you through nearly translucent lashes. “You've already begun to prove yourself useful to me.”

“Oh, are you… Cirrus? I'm really thankful for this opportunity, sir, the company seems great and everyone has gone out of their way to be helpful…” flustered, you’re immediately thrown off your game. So this is the man you work for. You had to admit, you'd assumed that Cirrus was some older, stodgy executive- someone thoroughly unattractive. It was shocking to be confronted unexpectedly with someone so… well, different!

“I'm glad to hear it. It's important that Crescent Consulting cultivates a welcoming environment towards newcomers.” He spins the pen between his fingers a little, playing with the clip on it. “How are you finding the work so far?”

“It's been easy enough,. It seems like it's just a matter of checking over everything carefully and making sure that -”

His pen falls from his hand with a clink, sharp and startling against the waxed tile floor.

You bend in your chair, leaning to pick it up without a delay. You hand it to him, reaching up. It's hard to miss the way that his eyes flick from the pen in your hand to your face, but he takes it without comment.

“Please, reach out if you have any questions. And ask the hiring manager you met with earlier for the full employment contract. You're a good fit. I look forward to our work together.”

And just like that, you're officially hired. ------

The next Monday, you're at your desk for only a few moments before his shadow darkens your screen. Cirrus, the same outfit as you saw before - dark and stately in the fluorescent-lit office. His placid smile is at odds with the weight of his presence, a heavy, frozen thing that spills out through the weight of his shoulders and the cant of his head. It urges you to bow to him. Or grovel, your mind unhelpfully supplies. You end up half jumping out of your chair before settling back into it and dipping your head in acknowledgement. Embarrassing.

"I emailed you a list of tasks on Sunday for you to begin this week. We're entering into our busiest quarter of the year, so I'll be depending on your work. As always, please reach out to me if you have any questions."

"I've already skimmed through it to familiarise myself with the tasks before I arrived today." You smile up at him a little. There's no need for him to worry about your accountability. You want to do well. Especially for him.

…But only because he’s your boss, of course.

He responds with a gentle nod towards you. "Good. Eager to get started, hmm?"

“I'll send you an update on what I've accomplished by the end of the day. Let me know if there's anything else I can do to meet your needs, sir."

His hand falls onto your shoulder for only a moment, fixing you into your chair. His golden eyes dart towards yours, serious. “Let’s start with the list for now. Don’t want to exhaust you before the end of the second week.”

With that, he leaves, returning to his office. The firm press of his hand lingers on your shoulder. You raise your own hand to it, fingers ghosting over the sensation. Would meeting his needs really be exhausting? You’re determined to dispel any doubt he may hold about your capabilities.

As you adapt to your job, your list of duties starts to expand. The hiring manager wasn't kidding. Cirrus seems to be particular about everything. He cares about the scent of the soap in his bathroom (lavender), the way he takes his tea (no sugar, one and a half creamers), and the height of the window blinds in his office before he comes in each morning (lowered to the height of your knees, raised to shoulder level after lunch). Rather than resenting the numerous rules, you find joy in the structure they give your day.

And he certainly is gracious. He’s kind to you, thanking you for the tasks you complete. Polite, yet reserved. Always controlled and professional. His occasional praise makes you glow a little. It's proof that he notices and cares about the effort you put into your work. It's a little addictive. It drives you to be increasingly exacting, hoping to impress him. You find yourself wondering whether there’s something hidden behind that polished facade of his. He reminds you of a Greek statue. Beautiful, unyielding, and with a smile that never quite reaches his eyes.

You find yourself staying late at the office recently, struggling to get everything done during the day. Eight hours doesn’t seem like a lot of time when it’s stretched over so many tasks. But Cirrus stays late too. Your coworkers file out of the office one by one until it’s just you and him in the building. The light shining through the frosted glass of his office door there to keep you company. You remember the first time you stayed late. You had sat in your mesh desk chair, bones stiff and weary from their long hours of inactivity. The sound of his office door opening had been a welcomed interruption. Cirrus wore his coat, warm wool fitted closely to his body, and was in the process of pulling on leather gloves. He hesitated on his path out the door, clearly surprised to see you.

“I hadn’t realised you were still here,” he had said, coming around to your desk.

“Oh, I’ll be heading home soon, sir. Just finished summarising the documents I received this afternoon so you can look them over tomorrow before your morning meetings.”

“Such a devoted employee.”

His smooth, rich voice sent shivers down your spine. You laughed it off.

“It’s no trouble to me, sir, I like to be kept busy.”

“You’re not keeping anyone waiting at home…?” Sharp eyes had betrayed his interest in your response.

“I’ve just moved to the city, so no - living on my own for now. I can stay as late as I need to. Haven’t really had the time to try and meet anyone.”

“That’s a shame. We’ll just need to make the work here worth your while then, hmm?”

You nodded at him, and he had left, sliding the gloves the rest of the way on his hands.

His questions made you wonder if he cared about your dating life. That was the first personal question he’d asked of you. You’d certainly wondered about his - but no wedding band was seen on his hand, and no family pictures in his office. You kept your ears and eyes open for information after that night. You would ask a coworker but given the speed of the office rumour mill, you were sure he’d learn about your prying questions. After days pass without clues, you doubt it. After all, he spends the most time with you out of anyone. With the long hours he keeps, he’d struggle to find the time to meet a partner, just as you have. You can practically imagine his response. I’m married to my work, he’d say. That is, if he wasn’t offended by your impudence.

As the month goes on, you shadow Cirrus more and more during his daily tasks. He started by requesting that you take the minutes for his meetings with clients. It's simple enough and you enjoy getting a better idea of the actual objectives of the company. Plus, during quiet moments, when he or the client refer to documents about their work together, you get the chance to really look at him. The slender line of his neck. The way his muscled back can be seen beneath the expensive fabric of his shirt, shifting as he leans over the table to read. The soft pink of his lips, through which you can see pointed canines flash as he speaks. You see why everyone at Crescent Consulting has such a reverence for him. It’s electrifying to be swept up in the energy and admiration that surrounds him. He's impeccably focused on his tasks and clients are thrilled with the work he does for them. Good thing that you’re kept busy. Spending so much time near him is becoming increasingly distracting.

You're just coming out of one of these meetings, a little breathless. The client had spoken exceptionally quickly, stuttering and prone to long tangents that left your head spinning. You’d done your best to take notes, but you’d definitely have to edit them later on in the afternoon. At times you'd just slumped over the table, desperately listening and typing as best you could as the conversation ricocheted between the two of them.

“My office, please,” Cirrus requests, as controlled and peaceful as ever. Immediately, your pulse jumps, anxiety spreading through your body. Cirrus hardly ever asks to speak with you privately - he’d email you, or casually drop by your desk to discuss business. Even confidential matters about his work were discussed between the two of you during your meeting together every morning, not off the cuff.

You step inside after him, pulling the door shut. His office is a place you’ve grown familiar with, though never comfortable in. It was always too quiet. The decor is utilitarian and minimal. One side is entirely windows, partially covered with blinds. A coat rack near his door has a few discarded wire hangers from dry cleaning. There are etched glass awards on his mostly barren bookshelves. A whiteboard is fixed to the wall with a scribbled timeline on it. Cirrus’s desk in the middle of the room, empty except for a few folders and a chair across from it. You choose to hover awkwardly in the doorway. It feels safer, like you could escape if you needed to.

He takes a seat behind his desk, the expansive piece of dark wood now separating the two of you.

Cirrus regards you coolly as you start to pick at your fingers.

“I've been quite happy with your work up to this point, don't be mistaken. However, as my assistant, your conduct and decorum reflect directly upon me.” He steeples his fingers in front of him. “Clients notice if you have poor posture. Clients notice if you wander ahead of me in the hallway or speak out of turn. Clients notice-” his gaze falls to your fingers, picking nervously at the edge of a nail, “-when you fidget”. Your hands still immediately.

You knew that he was aware of you. But you hadn't realised that he paid such close attention to the behaviours you displayed. Had you really acted so unreasonably? Had maybe a client confided in him, or expressed their displeasure with you? Your heart beats wildly in your chest.

“I'm sorry sir, I haven't been on my best behaviour as of late. I'll work on improving my posture and habits in the office. I hope it hasn't negatively impacted your work…”

A smile streaks across his face. Sharp, furtive, misplaced, and gone as you peer at him nervously.

“Please see to it that you do,” he replies. There's a lightness to him, an excitement that pulls at the edges of his expression. Something dangerous. “That’ll be all.”

Your hands, sweaty with nerves, pull open his door and you exit quickly. It's the first time you've really been reprimanded by him. How could you have let yourself grow complacent? Still, it seemed unfair. You drop down at your desk and pout a little, staring unseeingly at the backdrop of dolphins on your computer monitor. You already do so much for him and follow all his silly little rules, and now he’s getting on your case about fidgeting? What is this, finishing school? Your thoughts swirl as the day goes by. It was embarrassing to be called out on your behaviour. But moreover, it was embarrassing that you had become increasingly reliant on him and his praise. You hadn't fully realised it up until he withdrew it this afternoon. You'd become dependent on him too quickly. He’s just your boss. Nothing more beyond that. And why did his expressions in that conversation seem so… odd? It was unsettling.

After that conversation between the two of you, Cirrus’s expectations skyrocket. Every day there are new rules. New subcategories that emails need to be sorted into, preferences on the alert sound for his calendar notifications, the type of lightbulb for his desk lamp, the way you structure your notes for him. It feels endless. And at times, when he gives you feedback - always in that same controlled and polite tone - you catch a glimpse of that same fleeting expression you had seen earlier. You're diligent, dutifully noting down each preference as they come. You walk two paces behind him in the halls. You mind your tone, your facial expressions. You sit at meetings rigidly, still and quiet unless addressed. Your frustrations at his restrictions, once something small and easily cast aside, grows by the day. The amount of care that you direct towards your work is immense. Cirrus is polite to you. Often kind. But the structure from the rules that once felt supportive now feels like a tangled net, restricting your every move. You feel taken for granted. The majority of his requirements are silly preferences that you're sure have no influence on his (or the company’s) success.

When he interacts with others in the office, however, things seem easy between them. They fawn adoringly at whatever he says, and he replies to them - always calm and kind. You find yourself a little disgusted with their eagerness. And it's quite simple for them, isn't it? They do their basic job responsibilities and he praises them, values them. That same response from him requires such an extreme amount of effort from you. You scoff to yourself. They might not admire him as much if they ALSO had just gotten an email that read: “In the future, please only order Oleander Co.’s organic fair trade oat milk creamer in low fat. I prefer it over the brand you currently purchase.”

You are capable of the work he asks you to do. But your sense of justice rankles at it. It's not fair that he asks such an astronomically higher level of work from you. At times you wonder if he delights in messing with you. It seems inevitable that one day you’ll forget one of his many rules. You're not sure exactly what makes you decide to do it. The last sliver of your pride, perhaps.

You order a different type of soap for his bathroom. Your courage wavers a little when you go to order, so you decide on lilac as a replacement. Suitably similar to lavender if you need to defend yourself. It's silly how nerve-wracking it is. You've never directly gone against anything he’s asked you to do. And it’s just soap, after all. You doubt he’ll even notice.

—---

You place the soap in his bathroom that next Monday after it's been delivered. You look at it, where you’ve set the bottle neatly by the sink, evenly spaced from the wall. You spin the label to face away from you before you leave. Cirrus and you have your morning meeting, as usual. He’s just the same as ever and you find yourself both relieved and disappointed. You’d expected some kind of reaction from him… some reprimand maybe, or a reminder. Something to show you again that he sees you and your work. Something to break the pattern that you’re in with him. But the meeting ends quickly and everything remains as it did before.

You’re seated at your desk, about to head to lunch, when Cirrus stops by.

“A word, please. Now. Follow me.”

He’s very still. Nothing about his face was kind or gentle.. A coworker at the neighbouring desk glances up at you, startled, before they catch themselves and pretend to be engrossed in their salad.

You stand abruptly, silently, fingers fumbling with the notepad on your desk for a moment before you decide to leave it.

You follow him to his office. Two steps behind him, of course, posture, impeccable. Your hands, forbidden from fidgeting, are held stiffly at your sides.

He shuts the door firmly behind you. The click of the lock is grimly final. The bottle of soap is on his desk. You exhale, shakily.

Cirrus leans back against his desk, the bottle next to him. His arms are crossed. You’re not truly afraid until you see his expression. His eyes hold a wildness to them, intense and sharp. The mouth, normally in a polite smile, is stretched wider, sardonic. Your unease grows when you see there's even a light flush across his cheeks. His finger taps rhythmically where it rests along the edge of the desk. His entire appearance has an electricity to it that arcs off of him in waves.

“Explain this to me.”

Your fear is tempered by the frustration at your mistreatment. “My apologies, sir, I seem to have made a mistake. There’s a lot of work I’m doing currently, I must have simply selected the wrong one.” Your voice is deliberately polite but you’re unable to hide your irritation.

His wicked smile grows. “You’ve never ordered the wrong one before.”

“Yes, well, I know others make mistakes here, too. I don’t see any of them called into your office over something like this, I mean, it’s, it’s - I do my best, sir, I apologise if it’s just not enough for you.” Your cheeks are hot from the defiance burning within you.

The tapping of his finger ceases.

“I'm quite certain it wasn't a mistake. No. Not from you, my star employee. Always obedient. Always careful. Attuned to my preferences, my rules for you. When I restricted your decorum in meetings, I wondered if I had gone too far. If maybe - you’d recoil. Hmm.. instead, you grew more pliable, eager to please. Desperate for my praise. Willing to be moulded by me. You question me, why I ask more of you than the other staff here. Well, my star. It’s because you enjoy it. And,” he draws closer to you, less than an arm’s length away, “because I can.”

All the blood in your body seems to leave you and you sag, leaning against the wall. Suddenly, everything becomes clear to you. The constant increasing requests. The minute details he requires you to remember. His attention to your posture, your every mannerism. Each of them feed into his power over you. And the part that makes your heart pound and ears ring is that he's completely correct. You crave it.

He takes in your shocked expression with something akin to glee.

"So eager for me. And now, acting out. Silly little ploy to try and catch my interest. You've already had it. Had it from the moment I met you, when you leaned down and handed me that pen. I wanted to see if you would. If you'd bend for me, right from the start. Don't I give you enough of my attention? Or would you like something more concrete - a reminder you're mine?"

It feels almost impossible to speak but you try, urging your breath back into your struggling lungs.

"Please, sir, I - I…" A reminder that you're his. You are his. The way you speak, the way you walk, every hour of every day, all in service to him. Intoxicating to learn that he's orchestrated it this way. Cirrus has seen you to your very core and it is paralysing.

He raises his hand to your throat, fingers soft, and pins you against the wall. "Don't worry, my star. I'll give you what you desire. Even if words have failed you."

His touch is nothing more than gentle pressure at the base of your neck, but the sensation makes you release a choked gasp.

"Something to remind you, hmm? I'll give you a gift then. Pretty bruises that you can take home. "

Cirrus's hand is tighter around your neck now. Your pulse hammers against his grip. All you can do is nod, the edge of his thumb sharp against your jaw. He releases you, taking a step backwards. His cunning eyes scan the room.

"Place your hands here."

He gestures to the whiteboard and you stumble after him, legs trembling. You place your hands flat on the surface, just below shoulder height, glancing at him questioningly. He traces around your fingers with a marker, outlining each hand in red. It reminded you a little of grade school art projects, and the absurdity of the situation makes your face flush. What if this was all some kind of cruel joke, just to see how much you'd agree to?

His voice breathes low in your ear. "It's in your best interest if you don't smudge any of those lines. Do so and you'll leave with more than just bruises."

Immediately, the levity drains out of you. "I'll try my best, sir."

His hand smooths down the plane of your back. "You always do."

Behind you, you hear him walk over to the coat rack by the door. You twist, your hands fixed in place, and watch as he pulls on his fine black gloves. The leather shines softly in the light of his office.

"Please attempt to be quiet. You know how much the office ladies love to gossip."

You grit your teeth and turn, facing the board once again. Watching him was too much. You close your eyes and exhale a long, shuddering breath.

He brings his hand down swiftly, your clothes and the gloves muffling the sound where he strikes your behind. It's ferociously hard. The force of the impact rocks you forward on your toes and your eyes fly open, checking the lines around your fingers anxiously. A dull ache answers the sting that spreads through you. Your desire spreads too, burning. You'd known he was strong, assumed it from the way he fills out his impeccably tailored dress shirts, but the power behind the slap surprises you. Your breath hisses through your teeth.

A second strike comes, placed right where your butt meets your thigh. It's harder than the last. It forces a gasping yelp out of you, barely stifled through your gritted teeth. Your hands curl just the slightest bit on the board. Your breath comes faster now, panicked. Legs twist where they stand, shying away from him, unable to fully move with your hands pinned.

"Excellent. You're doing well."

He has said that to you so many times before. When you’ve finished your work early, when you've taken minutes for meetings, when you've reminded him of some small important detail. You'll never hear it the same again.

Cirrus waits to deliver the third strike and you try to anticipate it, flinching at every small sound he makes from behind you. He laughs at that, watching you closely.

"Patience."

When he hits you, it spreads across your skin, burning where it lands. You bow forwards, leaning away desperately. The sensation after the strike is just as bad - a second wave of pain that makes sweat prickle at your forehead and brings tears springing to your eyes.

"In my haste, I forgot myself," he muses, stilling behind you. "How can I see when I've fulfilled my promise?"

He slides your clothes off your waist, the air of his office cool on your skin. They bunch tightly around your thighs. You hunch forwards between your arms, humiliated. You're sure that your behind is just as flushed as your face. One gloved hand traces over the reddened skin, the leather like a soothing balm.

The next strike is more targeted, hitting right where your skin is the reddest. The sweat on your hands causes them to slip just the slightest bit on the board and you rock back towards him, trying to lift the weight off your unreliable arms. The outlines remain complete for now. You throb, each heartbeat bringing with it another crashing wave of pain.

"Fuck."

"You know better than to curse around me. Haven't I made my expectations for your etiquette clear?"

He smooths one hand over you, just below the small of your back. Your skin sings at his touch. You feel the weight of him follow, the hard plane of his body pressed up against you. His hands grip your hips. One slides up the front of your chest, pausing for a moment at your throat. It continues, gloved fingers finding their way into your mouth. The bitter taste of leather follows. His other hand grips your hip tightly. He presses down on your tongue, making you gag. Your saliva slicks the material. Cirrus's breath is hot against your ear.

"I'll help you behave yourself."

He withdraws his fingers from your mouth, smearing the wetness across your face. When he moves to the side, you catch the first glimpse of him since you placed your hands on the board. His flushed cheeks are the only sign of his exertion. Not a hair is out of place. You watch through teary eyes as he bites the tip of his gloved hand, pulling the leather from his skin. The glint of his sharp teeth shine from between pink lips. Glove off, he presses his fingers cruelly into your cheeks, prying your lips open once again. His removed glove is pressed between your teeth, silencing you. The material is thick, forces your jaw to spread.

He hits you again before you're really ready, ungloved hand anchored on your hip. The force of the blow shoves you forwards while Cirrus's nails dig into your hip bone, leaving deep grooves. A muffled sob breaks free. Your hand slides down the board, erasing the lines surrounding it. You stumble forward, gasping. His hand creeps under your bent waist, supporting your weight.

Cirrus lays into you without any reservations. He spanks you, hand crashing down again and again. You thrash, hands clutching desperately at his supporting arm where it lays steel-like against your stomach. Twisting, flailing, as he brings you back in line. Drool spills down out of your mouth from around the fingers of the glove. He kicks your legs apart when they clench together before beginning again. The blow blend together. You are ablaze. Writhing in his arms. Needy with desire and aching all over. Your eyes are a mess of tears and you gasp desperately around the glove, nose running. Both of you breathing hard, he takes a moment to examine you before pulling the glove out of your mouth.

"I think you'll be pleased, my star. Once you've come back to yourself. Proof of my ownership pressed into your skin. You won't be able to sit without remembering whom you belong to."

Every part of you throbs. Pain, pleasure, and obedience all searing through your veins in equal measure. You're limp, resting nearly your full weight against him.. You cry softly, stuffy and worn out.

"Come here," he tells you, as he hefts you towards the chair behind his desk. As if you'd have the strength to deny him. He sits and reclines the chair fully, laying back. He holds you against his chest. A moment for you to calm down. You press your damp face into the safety of his shirt while his arms rest softly around your shoulders.

"You shine in your obedience to me."

His voice is quiet against your hair. You lay there, boneless, listening to the gentle thump of his heart. Feeling the solid ridge of the button of his vest imprint itself on your cheek. Gradually, you come back to yourself. Breathing in his scent as he continues to hold you. You test your limbs, achingly shifting them. Wipe your eyes softly against the back of your hand. A sharp cry springs from your mouth as your raw skin scrapes against the material of his pants. If the way you feel is any indication, you’re probably covered in speckled bruises, soon to shift into blooms of blue and purple. You flinch as you feel a scarlet bead of blood inch down your inner thigh. He shushes you, hand coming up to card through your hair.

“Does this mean things have changed between us?” Your plaintive question hangs in the air.

Cirrus’s hand stills. “It doesn’t have to. Continue to serve me. I won't mark you where others will see.”

You nod at that, accepting it without complaint. He was to remain your boss. At least for now, you find yourself thinking. You long for something more. And you suspect he might feel the same, though he’s reluctant to admit it. His rules, so many designed to constrain and rankle. The attention he pays to you. His satisfaction from putting you in your place. Those fleeting moments of tenderness. Nothing about it was casual. Perhaps, with time - and enough tactical disobedience - his commitment to professionalism will crumble. It’s a challenge. Rules and regulations then. A path to something more.

#obscura fic #cirrus x mc #cirrus obscura #obscura vn #cirrus #Ceo!au #cirrus x reader #cirrus x vesper #obscura visual novel #obscura #obscura cirrus #let me know ur thoughts! and i hope you all enjoy chapter 2<3 #giving jumin han energy #jaehee I'm sorry

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chockfullofsecrets · 2 years ago

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Spiderverse: Smile Log

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: “Okay, we got the time your baby kicked you in the face and you thought you’d broken your nose. Nice, classic slapstick.” “Lyla-” “And then that time an anomaly accidentally tickled him-” “Lyla, no-”

Peter B. asks an unexpected question and gets some information he really shouldn't have.

Wordcount: 1478

Oh, Miguel is fully aware of what the other Spiders think of him. Feral this, stick in the mud cabrón that - but for putting up with extended exposure to the Earth-616 version of Spider-Man for the six months that his little experimental society has existed? They should be calling him a shocking saint.

The Peter in question continues to hang off his shoulder, where he’s been since he swanned into the monitoring room ten whole minutes ago without an invitation. “-stay with me on this, I’m building to a point here - hello? Earth to Miguel?”

“What,” he snaps.

Peter pouts, an expression that he honestly didn’t think grown men were capable of until meeting this guy. “Did you hear anything I said?”

Easy. “No.”

And anyone who was, you know, sane, might take that as the insult he means it to be, but Peter just laughs and jostles his shoulder companionably. “You really are a grump sometimes, you know that? You gotta lighten up, you’re gonna give yourself a heart attack one of these days.”

“Tell me about it,” Lyla says from his other shoulder. She likes Peter, talks to him directly more than any of the other Spiders, and she’s programmed to gather information that she thinks he wants, which means - yeah, he’s going to go ahead and ignore the implications of that one.

Peter makes a thoughtful noise. Concerning. “Hey, Lyla, you’re around this guy twenty-four-seven, right - does he ever relax? When’s the last time he, I don’t know, smiled?”

Miguel expects a snarky reply, not Lyla’s glasses flashing opaque the way they do when she’s looking something up. “Hm, let me check. Pulling up a smile log…”

He’s focused on the latest multiverse model, like everyone else should be, so it takes him just a bit too long to realize that they’re ganging up on him. “Wait. Lyla, belay that-”

“Okay, we got the time your baby kicked you in the face and you thought you’d broken your nose. Nice, classic slapstick.”

“Lyla-”

“And then that time an anomaly accidentally tickled him-”

“Lyla, no-”

“And - aw, this one’s cute! - after a mission he helped a girl get her runaway balloon and she hugged him-”

“Lyla!” he snaps, slamming a fist onto his desk, and she finally stops. “Por dios, would you quit that? Why do you even remember that stuff, it’s a waste of storage space!”

She sticks her tongue out at him. “My data, my business.”

“Yeah, yeah, can’t you just run the scans like I asked you to and stop causing trouble?”

They keep bickering over the new extrapolation methods, and Peter -

Okay, look. Miguel doesn’t have a “spider sense” or whatever seems to warn the rest of the Spiders before anything happens, so he has to rely on his own judgment. And with Peter being around all the time, Miguel’s learned to more or less tune him out, figures it’s the only way he’s ever going to get any work done.

Which is more or less why he doesn’t notice that Peter’s still there until someone’s hands shove their way under Miguel’s arms and start tickling, because that’s when his brain decides to turn on the instant reactions. “Jammit - hAh-”

He clamps his arms down automatically, reeling backwards into Peter’s chest just in time for the attack to stop. “Wait - did you just laugh?” Peter demands. “Shit, I didn’t think that was actually going to work, do it again!”

Peter’s fingers start wriggling back into hypersensitive flesh, trapped in his armpits, and Miguel barely manages to keep his mouth shut as more embarrassing sounds start knocking loose inside his chest. Get away, he yells to himself, hit him, move, just fucking move - he can’t remember the last time his reflexes have been anything but overprotective, but right now every fiber of his body insists he has to stay exactly where his is because granting Peter’s hands even a millimetre more of freedom is going to be the death of him.

He refuses to think about the way his mouth is spasming at the corners entirely without his permission even as the rest of him locks in place. Lyla can record that one, if she wants. See if he cares, it doesn’t count. This is fine. All he has to do is stand here until Peter gets bored - the way he acts, the other man might not even know what an attention span is.

Peter sighs, proving his point. “I’m not asking for much, just one laugh,” he laments dramatically, though Miguel can hear the stupid big grin he gets in his voice. “Do I need to be more annoying? I can be more annoying.”

Miguel sincerely doubts it - at least, until Peter flips one hand around from where it’s pressed up against the top of his ribcage, locks onto his elbow, and starts trying to lever his right arm away from his body. “Geez, would you lay off with the triceps? I’m gonna give myself carpal tunnel over here.”

If Peter would just stop tickling for one shocking second, he’d tell him that he sincerely hopes his stupid fingers break off and die. Instead, he wraps his arms around himself in a motion that’s definitely defiant and not at all panicked, getting as far as opening his mouth before the part of his brain that’s being lit up by every twitch of sensation decides to take over. “Nngh - no, nohoho, mierda!”

His entire face burns red as strangled snorts of laughter keep leaking out of him, has to fold over and brace one of his hands against his jaw to regain any kind of dignity - not that it helps, with Peter changing his hold to adapt to even that small bit of movement and using it to finally pry his arm up.

It’s really, really not fair that the most irritating Spider-Man is one of the most competent ones too. Miguel’s pretty sure luck hates Spiders in general, but it seems to love messing with him in particular.

“You know,” Peter starts conversationally, like he’s not wrapped around Miguel and taking half his weight because he’s shaking too hard to do it himself. “I think this is gonna be a good experience for us. Like, ah, coworker bonding. What’d you say we do this every week until you figure out how to loosen up like a normal person?”

Miguel’s going to kick his ass. He’s going to take his watch and ban him from Nueva York in perpetuity, as soon as he can stand up again. Earth-616 has other superheroes, they’ll survive their Spider-Man losing an arm or two.

Peter dodges the frantic headbutts and kicks he attempts and laughs, light and easy - it makes Miguel feel even stupider, twisted up on himself in desperation to avoid just that. “Hey, if it doesn’t work with your schedule you could just say so! I’ll pencil you in for biweekly, then.”

Idiota. Culero. Miguel doesn’t know if he’s cursing himself or Peter out anymore. He’s properly trapped now, sandwiched up against his own desk with one of Peter’s hands keeping his arm pinned and the other wiggling threateningly over a defenseless armpit. “Well? You gonna say something, or do I have to go full supervillain? I do a great Doc Ock impression, let me tell you.”

Miguel painstakingly loosens his death grip on his own jaw and opens his mouth just enough to wheeze out a heartfelt declaration of his undying hatred. Coughs before he can start, his throat raw from attempting to keep his laughter contained. There’s a movement out of the corner of his eye, and he turns his head to find Peter looking down at him with something between amusement and genuine concern.

Fine. Fine. “Can you just. Stop. Before I pass out?”

Peter laughs again, landing firmly in amusement and on Miguel’s list of dimensional threats. “Yeah. Yeah, fine, I’ll let you off easy this time.” He lets go, hovering for a moment and then swooping back in to pull Miguel upright when he can’t quite manage it himself. “Okay, super ticklish and super repressed. I can work with that.”

“Don’t,” Miguel growls, leaning on Peter’s shoulder entirely against his own will as he starts to walk both of them out of the office. Where are they even going? The cafeteria? It’s only been-

Oh. He hasn’t eaten in twelve hours. No wonder Lyla had decided to mess with him. But Peter wouldn’t have known that.

“Nope, too late, I’m invested now. Wasn’t kidding about the biweekly thing, by the way.”

Lyla perks up from behind a screen. “I’ll put it on his calendar.”

“Oye, I’m locking you both out of the monitor room.”

The two of them start talking over his head, planning some kind of break in. Miguel turns his head away so Lyla won’t see him smile.

#tickling #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #peter b parker #chocfic

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freddie-77-ao3 · 6 months ago

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sup yall we're vibing here

anyway. hey, my name's freddie, and i'm finally trying to write an actual intro/master post which... we'll see how this goes.

important stuff is highlighted in orange.

so, basic stuff:

as I said, my name's freddie. he/him pronouns. i'm a college student (majoring in accounting, might add a psych minor). not gonna say which college but i'm currently in california.

i've been on tumblr since 2019 i think? not under this account, this started as a fandom account and then spiralled out of control... really fast. um, my regular tumblr which i've not actually opened in ages is @chronicchthonic14 so. yeah.

not particularly relevant to this blog, but i might mention it at some point so, i have autism and adhd. and some other things but. like. that list is very long and those are the two most relevant because i promise if i come off wrong/mean, i didn't mean to, i just forget to make my words normal. but. those are the two most referenced. if for whatever reason someone wants to know more or has questions you can send an ask ig?

i'm scottish, born there. moved to US when I was four. finishing uni and moving back.

some quick warnings

this blog definitely contains cursing/vulgar language, whatever you want to call it, so if you're not comfortable with that, probably not the blog for you, as i don't tag cursing or anything for you to filter out.

if, for whatever reason, if i ever reblog something that contains a slur (against racial minorities, queer people, anything) i will ABSOLUTELY tag that though.

also if anyone has any trigger warnings they think any content needs, please let me know-- asks, dms, comments, reblogs

the cursing thing also applies for sort of dirty jokes? think that only applies to like. two posts and very not explicit. those aren't currently tagged but if they get any more explicit they certainly will be.

queer identity because the explicit reminded me, i'm asexual, and probably straight. maybe bi? dunno, don't particularly care. and i'm trans. ftm. this isn't the blog i talk about that on usually though, unless it relates to a specific ask or a fandom thing.

which, getting into what this blog is for because i can't think of anything else i need to add here (guys let me know if i forgot important stuff, please, i'm an idiot!!! i will forget the important stuff and write random shit instead!! i've already deleted three tangents from this!!)

sooooo

fandoms!! ones i write and/or post about or will potentially post about

percy jackson extending to hoo, toa, tkc (definitely post way less about this), mcga (again, way less). haven't read TSATS or COTG yet, but spoilers are fine. i post way more about minor characters. write fanfiction for and have some posted (both on here and ao3) and a bunch of snippets.

dcu-- films, comics, animated shows, all of it. personally, my favorites are young justice (the comics, not show version), new teen titans, and batman inc (batgirls, nightwing, and red robin esp). late 90s yj run is my favorite, and i loved the DCeased event. favorite batman comic is definitely court of owls run. no fanfics posted, but some on docs.

mcu-- way less so, but have a stucky oneshot. slowly making my way through in timeline order.

throne of glass. i'm an aedion and chaol apologizer because they do a bunch of dumb shit but then WHO DOESN'T in this series. fanfics in doc, not posted.

this would go on for ages if i listed everything so instead, here's an ask i answered on my fandoms/genres and everything. feel free to send me asks about anyone. if you send me something about radium girls i may cry though (tears of joy) so there's your advanced warning.

main things you'll see on my blog are incorrect quotes, snippets, and the occasional fic

this^^

my... idk, contact policy? seriously what do i word this

asks are always open, anon is on.

if you send hate... whatever. i'll probably delete it.

unless i find it funny. then I'll post it. there's really little you could say to me that would hurt.

when i say asks are always open, you can drop anything you want.

literally anything

you need to vent? want advice? want to request headcanons? request a fic? give me a prompt? ask random things about me? something else I've forgotten? go right ahead

if you want to ask me to update my fics? go right ahead. sometimes i forget i didn't post something.

send as many asks as you want, i don't care if it might be spam

i can't promise i'll respond to asks in a timely manner, sometimes i open my inbox and forget they exist for months, i'm sorry. if it's something you really want answered you can send another one

dm's are alright? if you want to be friends or something, go right ahead.

anyone can reblog any of my posts/comment/heart, i don't care. you want to heart 50 things in a row? i adore you. if i had kids, you would get my firstborn

if we're mutuals you can ask for my insta/give me yours.

now, other accounts:

anyway, i think that's it?

#intro post #introductory post #pinned intro #pinned post #blog intro

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woman-of-balnain · 2 years ago

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The Claim Part 5/5 (Alpha Rick x Omega Reader)

Previous Part | Collection Masterlist | AO3 Ver. | Next Work

Pairing: Rick Grimes/Fem!Reader

Summary: Now that your heat has arrived, Rick fully claims you as his.

A/N: Okay, here is the final part. Happy Valentine’s Day lmao.

First thing: I forgot to add earlier that this part will involve breeding kink elements from both Rick and the Reader. Sorry, I added it on the ao3 version but not here. So if that’s not your thing, don’t read.

This is like the size of two normal parts lol and out of the roughly 8k words, approx. 7k is smut 😅

The last bit is just some plot to wrap the story up. I feel like that bit is a little too short, so I might extend it later.

I’ve given it one read over before posting but it’s so damn long and there might still be some typos and/or errors. Hopefully nothing major.

Lastly, I do plan to write some more stuff with this particular Rick/Reader pairing, exploring some other stuff that will take place later in twd series. If you have any requests for them lmk.

Anyway, enjoy 😏

Warnings: Rick has A LOT of stamina, multiple male orgasms, multiple female orgasms, multiple creampies, shower sex, doggstyle, cowgirl, oral sex (male and female receiving), mentions of tasting blood (from claiming bites), deepthroating

Word Count: 8,308

Dividers by: @newlips + @cafekitsune

Rick and Glenn had found a small and abandoned hunting cabin, that sat secluded in the woods. With your mind addled and hazed from your heat, you barely took notice of the setup, but your inner omega was happy to see that they’d established a perimeter with empty cans and bottles that would make noise to alert Rick if any walkers came too close.

Your alpha didn’t waste any time once you arrived. Rick threw you down onto the bed, his hands instantly falling to the waistband of his pants once you were laying down in front of him. You watched with a hungry gaze as he unbuckled his belt, your slick pooling between your legs with anticipation.

“You think this is a show, ‘mega?” He growled out, still angry from seeing you taking comfort in Daryl. “Clothes off. Now.”

He pulled the belt away from his jeans, flinging it off to the side, but not before unsheathing the knife he kept holstered on it. Despite the way your heated skin made your clothes feel like they were scratching uncomfortably against you, every fiber of your being was so entranced by him that your hands fumbled clumsily with your dress, not wanting to take your attention off him.

Rick was much more calculated and composed in his movements, eyes watching you intensely as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. When he’d gotten rid of that too, and you had still made no progress in getting rid of your own clothing, Rick came onto the bed, moving on top of you and caging your body beneath his.

“These damned dresses,” he muttered with a mix of annoyance and appreciation.

He moved one hand down over your chest and then your stomach before he bunched up the skirt of the short summer dress, revealing your clothed pussy. You were soaking wet, causing the material of your white panties to be practically transparent. Rick glided two of his long fingers over you, teasing your clit, which caused your back to arch and your hips to buck with desperate need.

“Please, Alpha…” you whined, unable to wait any longer.

Rick’s gaze was dark and fiery, showing that he was just as eager, but he still had a lot more control than you did. When he raised the knife still held in his other hand, pointing it down at you, logically you should have been scared.

But you knew that Rick wouldn’t hurt you, and the deep lust in his gaze reassured you of that fact. He brought the blade down slowly, applying just enough pressure to the material of your dress to cut into it and give him an opening.

He flung the knife off carelessly after that, letting it clang onto the floor somewhere across the room. His hands were all over you then, as he tore your dress apart, desperate to explore the skin it concealed underneath. His gaze only grew impossibly darker when he saw that you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Naughty girl,” he chastised you heatedly, his hands moving to squeeze your now exposed breasts.

“Oh god,” you moaned, eyes fluttering shut.

His fingers teased your nipples, tugging and stroking them until they were achingly hard. Then you let out a salacious moan as Rick’s head dipped, taking one of the sensitive peaks between his lips, his tongue and teeth tormenting you further.

Your hips bucked again, and he moved his free hand between your legs, right where you were desperate to be touched. Rick’s attention on your breasts never faltered as his fingers pushed your panties to the side, giving him access to your dripping wet pussy.

He thrust two fingers into you, sliding in easily due to the amount of slick there. Your body moved wildly, the heat inside of you driving you crazy and sweat coating every inch of your skin. You were desperate for release, felt like you needed it, and Rick was quickly getting you there.

But then his mood darkened as he pushed his fingers in a little more roughly, while his other hand and his teeth tugged hard on your nipples.

“You were curled up to another alpha,” he pointed out angrily, pulling back to look you in the eye. “While you were this wet, Omega.”

“I… I’m sorry,” you cried out, not wanting him to be mad. “I needed you so badly and you weren’t there…”

“You’re mine,” he reminded you possessively. “This body, this pussy… everything about you is mine.”

“Yes,” you moaned out instantly, agreeing wholeheartedly. “I’m yours.”

Rick pressed his body closer to yours, his bare chest coming into contact with your heated skin. His nipples brushed against yours, teasing you both and his eyes fluttered shut with a groan. He rested his forehead against your own, his warm breath fanning out over your lips as his fingers continued their rapid thrusting in and out of your pussy.

“Show me,” he requested breathlessly, his thumb moving up to rub against your clit. “Cum for me, omega. Show me you’re mine.”

He curled his fingers inside of you, hitting that one perfect spot, while his thumb continued rubbing and flicking against your clit.

“Fuck,” you whined. “Rick, I… I’m…”

“Let go, baby,” he murmured soothingly, rubbing his cheek affectionately against yours.

He pressed down hard against your clit and your body gave him exactly what he wanted. You felt the waves of pleasure overcome you, your eyes squeezing shut and your mouth falling open as a deep moan escaped your lips.

“Good girl,” he praised, loving the way you tightened around him.

You saw stars and your mind was in a state of euphoric bliss. Rick trailed kisses along your scent gland while his fingers continued to stimulate you, waiting patiently for you to come down from your high.

When your eyes lazily fluttered open again and your body settled, you found Rick gazing at you with a mix of emotions. There was still that dark and heated lust in his eyes, but there was also deep care and affection and you thought, that due to the intensity of it, maybe it could have been akin to love.

He didn’t give you much time to ponder over it though, because he quickly bent his head down and captured your lips in a searing kiss. The burning feeling of your heat had settled temporarily thanks to your orgasm, so you let yourself enjoy the feel of his mouth languidly caressing yours.

Rick gently pulled his fingers from your pussy, allowing both of his hands to tease your inner thighs. He alternated between squeezing you possessively, his fingers digging into your skin, and lightly caressing you, leaving trails of goosebumps in the wake of his touch.

His lips, the bottom one so much fuller than the other, enticed your own with their slow and calculated movements. His tongue moved in perfect harmony with your own, leaving you breathless.

Eventually, his head pulled back and you tried to lift yours too, chasing his mouth to continue the heated kiss. But Rick just bit down on your lower lip, gently tugging on it before he completely moved away, leaning back to take you in with his lustful gaze. The effects of your heat were building up again, demanding more.

“Rick,” you moaned out. “Please, Alpha, I need you.”

His eyes fell to the apex of your thighs and his fingers tugged a little at your panties before his impatience won over. Pulling his hands away from you, Rick moved them to his jeans, quickly unbuttoning them and pulling down the zipper before tugging them down his hips.

Then his hands were back on you, pushing your panties further to the side so that your pussy was exposed enough for him. Not wasting a second, Rick pushed forward and thrust into you deeply, almost to the hilt and causing you both to let out desperate moans.

“Damn it, Omega,” he grit out in pleasure. “You’re so tight, squeezing down on me perfectly.”

As if in response to his words, your pussy clamped down even harder on his cock, causing his hands to reach for your hips instinctively, gripping them tightly. He kept his hold on you, using it for leverage as he pounded into you over and over and over again, setting a brutal pace.

“You’re not…” he got out between his thrusts. “Ever gonna… even look… at another alpha… again.”

He said it like it was a promise, as though he intended to imprint himself somehow on your body so that you were constantly reminded of him. Apparently, he didn’t realize that he’d already pretty much done so.

“I only want you,” was your response, promising him exactly what he wanted.

Rick leaned down, kissing you hard. The change in his angle caused him to move deeper and his cock brushed against that bundle of nerves inside you again. You gasped and moaned into his mouth, hips thrashing wildly in desperate need.

He kept you steady with the hold he still had on you, stopping you from thrusting your hips so high that he would slip out. Instead, he ensured that you felt every inch of his bare cock, the silky texture of the skin brushing against your sensitive walls and driving you closer and closer to the edge.

He never let up in his forceful thrusts, fucking you hard, deep and fast, until your thoughts drifted away into a mindless haze and the only thing left was Rick and how he made you feel. All the while he kept kissing you, lips claiming yours possessively until yours were swollen and bruised and aching for more.

With each push into your pussy, the sweat-slicked skin and light hairs on his pelvis brushed against your clit and stimulated you further. You were clinging to his back, nails digging into his skin, but Rick didn’t seem to care.

Finally, his lips left yours and your eyes opened to see his own lost in a state of ecstasy. He was just as close to cumming as you were, if not closer.

“’m gonna fill you up, sweetheart,” he promised in a daze, one of his hands moving to rest on your lower stomach. “Fuck my cum into you until your belly’s swollen with my child.”

“Oh god, Rick,” you moaned with an eagerness you’d never felt before.

“Gonna make sure everyone knows you’re mine,” he continued heatedly, head dipping again to kiss along your neck.

You nodded fervently, loving the sound of everything he said, but you doubted he noticed, since he was preoccupied by lavishing your scent gland with attention. Rick gave a few more deep and forceful thrusts before the head of his cock hit your cervix and he groaned out desperately.

His fingers dug into your waist, holding you steady as he came deep inside of you. The warm feel of his cum filling you up and the way his cock throbbed against your tight walls sent you over the edge. You spasmed around him, pussy clenching him even tighter, milking him completely.

Rick’s teeth grazed against your scent gland, and you tilted your head obediently, offering yourself for him to claim you. But then he pulled his head away and you let out a whine of frustration, not understanding his reluctance.

His gaze was still addled with lust, but there was an underlying sadness in his eyes that you couldn’t comprehend. When your legs wrapped tighter around him and you squeezed around his cock again, he lowered his head to your shoulder, biting down hard.

It wasn’t where you wanted or needed him, but the shock of his teeth piercing into your skin and the fact he was still thrusting deeply into you, albeit more slowly, sent you over the edge yet again.

It was like a second wave of your first orgasm, with the intensity becoming even greater. It was enough for you to lose yourself again, forgetting about your disappointment for a moment and just enjoying the feel of Rick completely surrounding you.

As your bodies settled, his tongue soothed the bite he’d left on your shoulder and his fingers caressed along the feverish skin of your stomach and waist. Your breaths calmed and you sunk back into the mattress and then he was pulling out of you slowly, careful not to cause any more friction.

You absentmindedly noticed that he was still completely hard, but your body was spent, and your eyes were droopy, telling you both that you needed some rest. The mixed fluids of his cum and your slick pooled out warmly between your thighs, but you paid it little mind.

Instead, you turned tiredly on your side and snuggled up into the sheets. Rick moved behind you, his body fitting against yours like you were two pieces of a puzzle, and he wrapped an arm around your waist.

“Get some rest, ‘mega,” he murmured, nuzzling affectionately into your neck. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

That wasn’t your concern, though. You were upset about him not claiming you, despite the way he was so insistent that you were his. Still, your exhaustion won out for the time being, so you let your eyes fall closed and your body relax against him.

You’d sort it out later. For now, you just wanted to bask in the afterglow and the warm feel of his body protectively pressed against yours.

When you woke up again, the first thing you noticed was how you were even more feverish than earlier. It was unbearable in a way you’d never experienced before. Your skin felt like it was on fire, as though there was a raging inferno inside of you that couldn’t be soothed.

Your sweat soaked into the sheets and your fever made you feel slightly delirious, like a haze was clouding your mind. You couldn’t think, only feel and when the fog of sleep finally left, you felt nothing else but Rick and the desperate state of your heat.

You were on your back now, legs spread wide with Rick’s head buried between them. His hands were gripping your inner thighs, holding you steady while his tongue gave slow, languid licks along your pussy.

“Alpha…” you moaned, fingers tugging lightly on his hair.

The scruff of his beard scratched along your thighs, and you felt his lips curl into a smile against your wet folds. He flicked his tongue back and forth over your clit, his lips sucking down at the same time and sending you into a frenzy.

He already seemed to know your body well and as your pussy clenched, aching for something inside of it, Rick moved his tongue down and away from your clit. His tongue pushed into your dripping core right as his nose brushed against your sensitive nub.

He fucked you with his tongue, lapping up your slick while his hands squeezed your thighs in a vice-like grip. His hold on you was strong and a little painful, but the way he was showering your pussy with attention made any discomfort fade away.

Then, Rick moved up again, bringing his mouth back to your clit and his fingers plunged into you instead. He moved them at a quick pace, in and out, curling up with each thrust to stimulate your inner bundle of nerves.

All the while his tongue stroked against you and then he let out a deep, guttural moan. You were already a squirming, lust addled mess, but when the vibrations reverberating from his throat pulsed against your pussy, the extra simulation made you cum like never before.

“Rick…” you moaned out in a complete daze.

You repeated his name like a mantra, over and over as your body sang with its release. He just kept licking and sucking and fucking you with his fingers until the wild movements of your hips became too frantic and he pulled away.

He was grinning at you, his gaze heated and devilish, promising that he wasn’t anywhere near done with you yet. As you settled, he moved up your body until his face was just above yours and then he brought his lips to your own in a slow and sensual kiss.

His tongue moved with precision against yours, reminiscent of what he’d just been doing between your legs, and it made desire pool deep in your belly all over again. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer until his cock was pushing against your entrance.

“Not yet, ‘mega,” he groaned out, breaking the kiss and rubbing his cheek against yours, scenting you.

“Please,” you begged, fingers moving down to scratch lightly along his back.

“You’ve gotta eat first,” he pulled back completely. “You need to drink some water too. I promised I’d take care of you, ‘mega.”

You were breathing heavily, and you wanted nothing more than to have his cock back inside of you. But your heat was also a little more sated after your last orgasm but that wouldn’t last for very long. So, you relented, sitting up and nodding.

Rick sat on the edge of the bed, reaching over for his backpack and taking out some of the food and water he’d managed to salvage while you’d all been on the road. You took the water first, taking long sips and letting the cool liquid soothe you.

His fingers traced light patterns along your legs as he bit into a granola bar, needing to keep up his own strength as well. As your mind cleared, you remembered the bite he’d placed on your shoulder and decided that you needed to ask him about it.

Remembering his marriage and how he and Lori had never claimed one another, you wondered if he had some kind of aversion to it.

“Rick?”

“Hmm?” He looked over at you with a lazy but affectionate smile.

You didn’t want to tiptoe around it, so you just asked him outright.

“Why didn’t you claim me?”

He coughed, like he hadn’t swallowed his last bite properly and looked away from you again.

“You wanted me to.”

It was a statement, showing that he had known what you wanted and despite that knowledge, along with all of his words and possessive actions, he still hadn’t done it.

“I still want you to,” you told him. “Don’t you?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair and you watched him worriedly.

“Rick, I meant it every time I said it. I’m yours. But if you don’t want me to be, then –”

“I do,” he cut you off earnestly, finally looking at you again. “I just… can’t.”

“Why?” You asked, trepidation over your relationship washing over you. “Is… is it because of Lori?”

“No,” he assured you, taking your hands in his. “I mean that I really can’t. I… I tried, with Lori. It never lasted on either of us and I just… I didn’t want to disappoint you. I didn’t want it to push you away. I can’t lose you.”

His gaze held such raw emotion that you realized it was a deep-seated insecurity for him. It was something he’d been internally struggling with for a long time, and it must have been hard for him to open up to you about it.

Nevertheless, it was a lot to process. It made the breakdown of his marriage make a lot more sense, but that was the least of your concerns in that moment. Instead, you found it hard to come to terms with the fact that, from what he was saying, you would never be able to truly claim one another.

Maybe that was why he was so possessive and adamant about the fact that you belonged to him.

In the end though, it didn’t really matter to you. Sure, it wasn’t what you’d been expecting your relationship with him to turn out like, but everything with Rick, from the moment you’d met him had just felt right. Like fate or whatever the hell else meant for you to find each other and be together.

So, as you felt his scent change and his anxiety over your silence fill the room, you were determined to set his worried mind at ease. You got up, climbing into his lap so that you were facing him and stroked your fingers along the short and coarse hairs of his cheek affectionately.

“I don’t care,” you told him, your gaze holding his.

“Don’t lie,” he cast his eyes down, but never stopped touching you, holding you close.

You leant forward, placing soft kisses over his cheeks, his jawline and finally one on his lips before pulling back again.

“I’m not lying,” you insisted gently. “I want you, whatever that entails. And yes, I do want you to claim me, to bite into my gland over and over again if you have to. I don’t care if it doesn’t stick. I’m yours and I don’t want you to hold back.”

His eyes met yours with trepidation, his uncertainty clear. But he must have seen the sincerity in your own gaze because his expression softened, and he looked at you with so much adoration you thought you would melt right there in his arms.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” you promised him.

And then you brought your lips to his, sealing it with a kiss. You wanted to show him that your desire for him hadn’t wavered and that your words were honest. One of his hands seemed to automatically find one of your hips, keeping you close to him, while the other trailed up and down your back.

He deepened the kiss and lifted your hips a little. You knew what he wanted so your hand moved down and grasped around his cock, lining it up at your core and pushing back down. His lips left yours as his head fell back with a groan that was filled with lust.

You had more control in that position, and while he still gripped tightly onto your hips, you set the pace, grinding down onto him.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed out, still lost in the ecstasy of it all. “You always feel so good for me.”

“Mmm,” you hummed in agreement, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “That’s ‘cause you fill me up so well.”

He started guiding your hips, while his own thrust up and into you, his movements a little more frantic. He’d still been rock hard when you fell asleep and was the same when you woke up. You wondered if his erection had gone down at all due to how desperately he seemed to ache for release.

He opened his eyes to look at you again and it was like he got lost in the sight of you, with the way you were grinding down onto him and squeezing around his cock. He reached up to tuck some hair behind your ear and his thumb brushed against your cheek.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, gaze still transfixed on you.

Your cheeks heated up in a faint blush and you looked away, shy from the intense look he was giving you.

“Hey, don’t do that,” he took hold of your chin, bringing your gaze back to his. “I mean it. Don’t hide from me, sweetheart.”

You nodded, biting down on your lip, and allowing yourself to get lost in his piercing blue eyes. It was raw and unyielding, the range of emotions in his gaze and you hoped that your own was conveying the same back to him.

“I can’t hold back much longer,” he admitted softly.

“I don’t want you to,” was your honest reply.

He moaned at your admission before flipping your bodies over so that you were on your back again and he was hovering over you. Rick took hold of your waist, making sure he had a steady grip on you before he thrust out nearly all the way and then pounded back into you, right to the hilt. You both let out desperate and guttural sounds at the feeling of him filling you up entirely once again.

He moved with precise thrusts, but his pace was quick and frenzied. You knew he was close, eager to cum inside you again, because it was clear through his expression and the way his body was tensed up with desire and anticipation.

You moved one hand down between your thighs, fingers finding your aching clit and your body reacted instantly to the added stimulation. Your pussy contracted down on his cock, squeezing and pushing him to the brink.

He was pushed right up against your cervix again, not enough for the pressure to be unpleasant, but enough for the insinuation of where his cum would go, to make you insanely turned on.

Rick looked wild, his blue eyes feral and barely holding onto control. He gave you one last look of trepidation and you just nodded before exposing your neck to him.

“Please, Alpha,” you begged, voice filled with desperate need.

That was enough to make his control snap and his head bent down with lightning speed before his teeth sunk into your neck and the first spurts of his cum filled your fertile womb. Simultaneously, he lapped up the warm blood that spilled from your throat and your pussy milked every last drop of his hot cum deep inside you.

The mixed stimulation all throughout your body made another orgasm crash over you like a tidal wave. You were clenching down so hard around his cock that you thought it might be painful for him, but Rick didn’t seem to mind. All of his attention seemed to be on your mating gland, soothing the sore skin like he was in a trance.

You realized, as your body settled and your orgasm calmed down, that suddenly you felt so perfectly whole. As though for your entire life you had been missing half of yourself until that moment. You weren’t as unbearably hot anymore and your unbearably fevered skin seemed to relax until it just felt like you were in a regular heat.

Rick’s fingertips glided over your lower stomach absentmindedly and as the blood flow from your neck slowed to a stop, he pressed countless kisses against the fresh mark. You didn’t care, in that moment, if he had to mark you time and time again. It felt too good and right to you, having his claim on your body.

When his slow and languid thrusts began to pick up again, you realized that he was still hard. You weren’t complaining though, because your body was clearly willing and eager for more. After what felt like hours but was likely only a couple of minutes, Rick peeled his lips away from your neck and pulled back to look at you.

“Feeling okay?” He asked, never once letting up in his powerful thrusts.

“No,” you grinned up at him, not missing the way he raised an eyebrow in question. “’Okay’ would be a severe understatement.”

He let out a light laugh, and you could tell he was relieved by it. Then you hooked one leg around his waist, pushing a little with your hips and he seemed to realize what you wanted. Rick flipped you both over, settling back into the bed and letting you adjust yourself above him.

You ground down on him again, circling your hips and reveling in the way he stretched you out and filled you up. With each time his cock thrust deep into you, it pushed his cum further inside. You could hear the sounds of your mixed fluids every time he entered you, and it was sinfully good.

You loved watching him stretched out beneath you, allowing you to fuck yourself on top of him and the way he was getting lost in the feel of you. His eyes were closed, his head thrown back against the pillows, and he was letting out quiet moans and groans, showing you what you were doing to him.

You leaned forward, entwining his fingers with yours to steady yourself before you moved your hips a little harder and faster, bouncing on top of his cock and making you both wild with desire.

“I wanna mark you,” you moaned out, still sliding up and down his hard and thick cock. “Please, Alpha, I need it. I need to claim you as mine too.”

His eyes snapped open, and he looked at you with hesitation again, just like he had before he claimed you. But then his gaze fell down to your neck, to your mating gland which must have still been swollen and red, with the possessive mark of his bite standing out and showing who you belonged to.

Once his eyes settled on that his features softened, and he looked back at you with a nod.

You didn’t hesitate then, your hands leaving his as you leaned down closer to him. Your fingers ran through his hair, and you nuzzled against his neck, rubbing your nose and cheek along his gland to scent him.

Rick gripped your hips, making sure your pace never faltered as your mouth worshiped the gland you were about to bite into so you could claim him as your own. You could hear his moans getting more frequent and desperate, his lips right beside your ear.

When he thrust deep into you, holding you tightly against him, you let your teeth sink into his skin.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hips stuttering from the intensity of it all.

He came hard for the third time that day, stuffing you just as full as the other two times. He was insatiable, his stamina doing more than just rivaling anything you’d ever experienced. Trickles of his blood pooled into your mouth, the metallic taste filling your senses. Just like Rick had done, you licked and sucked against his gland, soothing the sensitive skin and attempting to stop the blood flow.

“Baby…” he breathed out, his voice betraying how turned on he was. “I can’t stop. You’re driving me crazy.”

As you continued to suck against the fresh mating bite you’d made on his neck, the blood slowed to a stop, and you pulled back. Shifting slightly, you realized he was still fully hard.

“Again?” You asked, a little incredulous, but no less enthused.

He didn’t answer, just lifted your hips until his cock slid out of you. You couldn’t stop the whine that escaped you at the empty feeling it caused. But then he was getting up and giving you a look that conveyed his deep-seated and still yet unsated lust.

“On your knees,” he ordered, moving behind you.

It was an alpha command, telling you exactly what he wanted. So, you lifted your body, holding yourself on all fours and presented yourself to him enthusiastically. He let out a low chuckle at your eagerness, but you knew that he was just as lost in his desire for you.

You choked on nothing but air when he thrust back into you, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you tightly. It was the best kind of pain, with how tender your walls were but how good it felt, nonetheless. One of Rick’s hands sat on the small of your back, while the other moved up your spine, fingers tickling your skin until he grabbed hold of your hair, pulling your head back slightly.

“Alpha,” you moaned out, lost deep in the throes of the pleasure he was giving you.

“That’s it, baby,” he coaxed. “Let me hear you.”

“Fuck, I can’t take much more,” you cried out desperately. “But you feel so good.”

He gave a harder, more forceful thrust into you, making you whine with need.

“You love my cock, baby?” He demanded to know. “You need it?”

“Yes,” you moaned out. “I only need you.”

“That’s right,” he said, satisfied with your answer. “And I’m the only one that’s ever gonna know this tight, sweet pussy.”

“Mmm,” you agreed, nodding your head but unable to form anymore words.

“You want my cum again, ‘mega?” He asked. “Deep inside you?”

“Yes, Rick, please!”

The sound of his hips smacking against yours filled the small cabin, the continuous slapping together of sweaty skin a tell-tale sign of the illicit and sinful things he was doing to you. He let go of his grip on your hair, bringing his hands back to their familiar place on your hips and held you steady before he groaned and came once again.

Your upper body sank down into the bed as your own orgasm wracked through your body. Your pussy spasmed and your hips moved wildly, but Rick made sure to keep you wrapped around his cock, so that you were milking him dry for the fourth time that day.

You both stayed like that for a while, breaths panting, and bodies relaxed. Finally, you felt him soften inside you and as much as his relentless fucking had turned you on, you were glad for the sign of some respite. Rick slowly pulled out of you, and you let your lower body relax before turning onto your side.

He came to lay down as well, facing you and looking just as tired as you felt. He reached out to brush his fingers along your cheek, eyes already drooping before he dropped his hand to caress against your mating gland. The bite he’d left was sore and sensitive, but his touch didn’t irritate you.

You snuggled closer against him and then he wrapped him arms around you, laying on his back and resting your head on his chest. It wasn’t long before you both drifted back off to sleep, both of your bodies spent and sated for the time being.

The next time that the fog of sleep drifted away, and you woke up, you were still in Rick’s arms, and he was absentmindedly stroking his fingers up and down your back. Tilting your head to look up at him, you saw that he was deep in thought, his brow furrowed like something was bothering him.

“Hey,” you reached out, touching his cheek so he’d look at you. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just…” he trailed off, gaze falling to your mating gland. “Something feels different.”

You realized instantly that he was talking about the claim he’d left on you.

“Good or bad?” You asked, a little concerned.

“Good, I think,” his eyes returned to yours. “But I hate that it’s only temporary.”

“Rick,” you sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I already told you; I don’t care if we have to do it countless times. I’m yours, and you’re mine. Nothing can change that except us.”

He nodded but still seemed upset about it. You figured it was something you could come back to later though and watched as he moved to get up.

“You wanna shower?” He asked over his shoulder, changing the topic quickly.

“Desperately,” you sighed. “But that’s a luxury one can’t afford when the world ends.”

He moved a little more to face you again, lips turning up into a grin.

“This place is solar powered,” he explained, reaching out for one of your hands.

“You’re kidding,” you lit up at the revelation.

His smile just widened, and he squeezed your hand.

“Come on, baby, I’ll go with you.”

That just sweetened the deal. Warm, running water along with soap and shampoo was one thing, but showering with Rick? The symptoms of your heat began rising within you once again at the thought.

He led you to the small bathroom and maybe before civilization fell you would’ve lamented at the small, tight space of the shower. But such things were luxuries now and you couldn’t wait to feel the water trickling down your skin.

Neither one of you had clothes to worry about, so Rick turned the knobs of the shower and happiness filled you at the sight of hot, running water. It was a tight squeeze, but you stepped in beside him and he moved out of the way to let you enjoy the water first.

It was heaven; the feel of it running through your hair and down over your body. Rick picked up a bottle of body wash from the shelf and squirted some out onto his hands before lathering it up. One of his hands fell to your hip, rubbing the soap over your stomach and thighs, while the other squeezed one of your breasts.

“Rick…” you sighed happily, your head falling against the shower wall behind you.

His touch was gentle, teasing you a little but he still kept his primary goal as cleaning you of all the dirt and grime and the remnants of incredible sex. Your nipples hardened as his thumbs brushed over them and your pussy ached to be touched again.

But Rick stayed focused, scrubbing the soap along your body until it washed away, and you felt cleaner than you had in over a week. Then he turned you around, his fingers running through your wet hair and his nails scraping over your scalp. It was relaxing and his touch conveyed the deep care he held for you.

You didn’t notice him reach for the shampoo bottle, but when he massaged it into your hair your eyes closed in bliss. He was being so gentle and affectionate with you and your inner omega loved it.

Eventually, you turned to rinse out your hair and then Rick stepped underneath the water, and you were eager to return the favor. Your movements were less slow and had much more devious intentions behind them.

You ran your hands over the expanse of his chest, the lathered-up soap spreading across his skin. He watched through hooded eyes as you moved your touch down to his lower abdomen, fingers gliding softly over the light hairs there.

Then you got down on your knees, eager to have his long, thick cock in your mouth again. One of his hands moved to the back of your head, tangling in your hair, but he remained silent, waiting in anticipation for you to make your move.

You got him to break the silence that had settled around you when your lips wrapped around his hardened length and a deep groan of pleasure escaped his throat. His grip on your hair tightened and he thrust into your mouth, getting his cock deeper inside you.

A moan sounded deep in your throat, and you began bobbing your head up and down along his cock with enthusiasm, eager to taste his cum again. You sucked down on him and teased him with your tongue.

It gave you a deep sense of satisfaction to know you could make him come undone and when the movement of his hips faltered slightly and all you could hear was his desperate moaning, you knew that he was already close.

Using one hand to cup and tease his balls and the other to grab the back of his thigh and keep him close, you pushed your head down further, bringing the head of his cock to the back of your throat.

“Fuck… sweetheart…” he groaned, barely managing to get the words out.

You felt the full length of him pulsate as he pushed all the way in and then his cum was spurting down your tight throat. You took it all, relishing in the way he clung to you and kept your mouth wrapped around him.

When his hands eventually relaxed around your head and you were able to pull your mouth off him, you looked up at Rick with an amused smile.

“Really?” You asked, before giving another quick glance to his cock that was still right in front of your face.

You shouldn’t have been surprised by that point, over the fact that he was still rock hard. But his stamina amazed you. It wasn’t something you were complaining about though because your heat left you filled with just as much desire.

“Come here,” he said gently, lifting you up to stand.

He brought you close, so that your chests were pressed together, and he lifted a hand to gently stroke along your mating gland.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered softly, eyes filled with honesty. “You know that?”

“You’re perfect to me,” you answered, your own gaze soft and affectionate. “I know that much at least.”

He gave you a small smile and then his lips were on yours, now so familiar in the way they felt to you and the way they seemed to work expertly against your own. His desperate need from earlier had settled and now Rick seemed intent on lavishing you not only with pleasure, but with soft affection too.

He moved you back gently, until your body was resting against the wall of the shower and then he was lifting one of your legs, wrapping it around his waist.

“I need more,” he admitted against your lips, his length rubbing up and down your slit.

“It’s okay,” you told him breathlessly. “I do too.”

He pulled his hips back slightly and then he was back inside you, filling you up perfectly once again. Your pussy was still slightly sore from how many times he’d fucked you just on that day alone, but it was nothing compared to the sense of fulfillment he gave you as he moved his hips back and forth.

Rick was kissing you again, one hand tangled in your hair and the other squeezing your ass, keeping you close to him. His thrusts weren’t as fast or frantic; he fucked into you with precise and deep movements, taking the time to enjoy the way you felt around him.

It was loving and intimate, showing that he didn’t just see you as an omega to get through his rut with. He was proving to you that you meant more than that to him, and it made your emotions swirl with happiness and the sense of feeling truly content.

You clung tightly to him, one hand pressed against his back and the other at the nape of his neck. Rick trailed his lips down to your jawline, pressing kisses along your skin while he kept slowly fucking deep into you. Then, he moved down to your throat, and it wasn’t long before he sought out your mating gland.

He kissed along the bite mark he’d left, and then affectionately nuzzled against it. He was too lost in the haze of his rut and the feel of your pussy wrapped snugly around him to notice the change in your scent. The way it was perfectly mingled with his own and gave a clear message that you had been claimed. That you were his omega.

Without that realization, he kept lavishing the bite with attention and eventually his teeth scraped along it, teasing you to the edge.

“Rick…” you moaned, instinctively squeezing down even harder on him.

It was exactly the friction he needed, because then he was cumming deep inside your pussy and you loved the fact that it still felt just as good as when he’d first done it. The intensity of it seemed to be too much for him because he sank his teeth into your gland a second time, opening up the wound and claiming you all over again.

Your own orgasm ripped through you, and you clung even tighter to him, keeping his head buried against your neck. His lips and tongue soothed your agitated skin, and you slowly came back to yourself, the cool tiles of the shower wall behind you giving your body some relief from the heat you felt all over.

After a while, Rick’s lips left your throat, and he pulled back to look at you. His gaze was soft and tender, conveying the depths of his feelings for you. When his forehead fell down to rest against your own, you realized that he wasn’t done yet.

“You’re insatiable,” you quipped, squeezing down slightly on his still hardened length.

“I’m not the only one,” he retorted, his voice gruff but no less playful.

His lips captured yours once again and you let yourself get lost in him. If this was how all of your heats would be in the future, then there would be nothing left to complain about or dread. You briefly wondered why you’d been so worried over your inability to continue taking suppressants before your mind became clouded and all you could think of, yet again, was Rick.

Your heat was over after two days. It was the shorter than you’d expected, and you wondered, with a small, devious smile if Rick had fucked it out of you. His stamina never let up and by the end you were a sated, but exhausted mess.

Your dress was ruined, but Rick had packed some spare clothes and you returned to the rest of the group in one of his shirts and a pair of your own jeans. And he still seemed to have the need to touch you, to keep you close. You didn’t mind, but the way that the eyes of the others lingered on you both when you returned was a little disconcerting. Sure, heats and ruts were a natural part of the world, but that didn’t make it any less embarrassing.

Rick and Daryl exchanged a look and then a nod, silently conveying that Rick’s earlier display, when you had both gone into rut and heat, respectively, was forgiven and forgotten. Then, after you both came back, the whole group set out on the road again.

Two weeks had passed since then, and you often found yourself absentmindedly touching the claiming bite Rick had placed on your neck. Sometimes, your gaze would also linger on the one you left on him.

It was confusing, because neither of them had shown any sign of truly healing. They had healed to some degree, in the normal way, with the redness around them fading and the skin no longer feeling agitated. But they weren’t fading away and once you were both no longer distracted, you and Rick realized that your claims over one another had stuck, and you were truly mated to each other.

So, that was how you found yourselves talking to your father, with Rick asking if the older man might know what it meant. He was happy and relieved by it, but no less confused.

“I looked into it,” Hershel told Rick. “Before we lost the farm, like I said I would.”

You glanced between them, a little surprised by the fact that your father seemed to have known before you did about Rick’s inability to claim Lori and vice versa. But you stayed silent, interested in what he had to say.

“We have a book, in our family,” your father revealed. “It keeps a record of omegas and alphas in our line that mated with each other. Some omegas in our family tree mated differently than others, though.”

“What do you mean?” You asked.

You’d never heard of that book before, and you were surprised to only learn of its existence now.

“There are a few omegas in our ancestry where their bodies would reject attempts to claim them. The records that have been kept show that only a particular alpha, their true mate, could actually claim those omegas.”

“True mates?” Rick asked in disbelief. “That… that stuff’s just fairy tales, stories for kids. It’s not real.”

Hershel just gave him a look, one that conveyed his lack of amusement with Rick brushing off his words.

“The evidence is in the two of you,” he continued. “You weren’t able to share a true mating bond until now, Rick. You’re the only alpha able to command Y/N… I’m sure there are other signs I’m not aware of and that I don’t want to know about.”

Rick looked taken aback by your father’s words and you felt just as surprised.

“It doesn’t matter, in the end,” Hershel said, placing a hand on Rick’s shoulder. “You were able to claim each other. That’s all that matters.”

Rick just gave a nod, still a little stunned and then Hershel walked off, leaving you both alone. The idea left you feeling uneasy though, and you bit down on your bottom lip, looking off to the side.

“Hey, you okay?” Rick asked, reaching out to take your hand in his and picking up on the change in your mood instantly.

“Yeah, I just… it’s a lot,” you admitted. “I mean, what if the connection we felt before we claimed each other was just… some weird thing like fate that was pushing us together? I’ve never even considered true mates to actually be a real thing, so I don’t know how it’s supposed to work, but I just… I don’t want those feelings to be fake or forced… I don’t want the way I feel about you to not be real somehow…”

“Y/N,” he took hold of your chin gently and brought your gaze to his. “Whatever this is between us, however you want to label it, it’s real. I don’t know about all the other stuff, but I know how I feel about you. You don’t ever have to worry about that.”

His words caused relief to rush through you and you nodded, giving him a small smile. He returned it before pulling you closer to him and capturing your lips in a kiss. It was soft and affectionate, and his lips moved languidly against your own. All of your doubts left your mind and only one thing remained – the knowledge that you both belonged to one another, fully and irreversibly.

And with both of your mating bites sitting proudly on your necks, showing that you had claimed one another, there was no way for anyone to either doubt or deny it.

Next Work in this Series

Taglist:

@bking4000, @starsaroundmyscxrss (sorry but the tag wouldn’t work for one of you!

#rick grimes x reader #rick grimes/reader #rick grimes x f!reader #alpha rick grimes #alpha!rick grimes x omega!reader #omega reader #fem reader #rick grimes fanfic #rick grimes smut #twd smut #twd fanfic #the walking dead fanfic #rick grimes/you #rick grimes x you

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