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prythianpages · 2 months ago

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A Light That Never Goes Out | Azriel

Azriel x Rhysand's sister (reader) | The aftermath of Azriel kissing you in front of everyone in the Court of Nightmares.

warnings: angry Rhys, angry High Lord, brief mention of Tamsand, mating bond snapping

word count: roughly 3K, around 3.5K if you read the bonus scene

a/n: This is a part two to this but can be read as a stand alone. I had fun writing this but I worry this sounded better in my head. I was tempted to turn this into a crack fic bc of this trending tiktok sound.

Azriel kisses you, consequences be damned. His hand slides from yours to the nape of your neck, drawing you closer. You kiss him back with the same intensity, years of longing and love pouring into this single moment. Your mind and thoughts tangling with his, the bond between you surging with emotion. Desire and hope. He’s still in disbelief that tonight was the first night he told you he loved you.

But in truth, Azriel had been telling you all along—in every glance, every touch, every kiss that held more than words ever could.

Azriel’s shadows recoil as the two of you pull apart, breathless. The Court of Nightmares had faded away, the two of you lost in each other. It’s just you and him, as it is meant to be…Until the distinctive footsteps of your father approaching echoes throughout the ballroom. Your eyes are wide, too many emotions swirling within their depths.

But Azriel is relieved that regret is not one of them.

“Azriel.”

The High Lord’s voice is calm and collected but the fury flickering in his violet eyes is unmistakable. He stands no more than two feet away, the authority radiating from him as cold as it is absolute. Beside him, Rhysand watches, his expression unreadable.

Your father lifts a hand, wisps of darkness and starlight spilling from his fingertips. The orchestra resumes under the silent command and driven by some invisible force, the guests resume dancing and drinking. As if nothing had happened.

“Come with me,” your father says, his tone leaving no room for argument. His command is directed solely at Azriel. “I’d like to have a word.”

You try to hold on to Azriel, to keep him close, but he slips his fingers from yours, bowing his head in quiet submission to your father. Without another word, he follows after him. And though his command had been directed solely at Azriel, the weight of the situation falls on the both of you.

So you step forward, determined to follow after them. But just as you step outside the ballroom, Rhysand grasps your arm, forcing you to a stop.

“You stupid, foolish…,” his voice trails off in frustration. “What have you done?”

You spin on him, eyes flashing with anger as you yank your arm out of his hold. “What have I done? What about what have you done? Planning marriage alliances behind my back? Like I’m some pawn on your chessboard?”

Rhysand’s gaze softens for a brief moment. “Y/n, I–”

“No.” You interrupt sharply, starlight beginning to swirl from the fingertip you point at him. You don’t want to hear his excuse, whatever justification he thinks will make this right. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Cassian and Mor making their way toward you, slipping through the dancing couples and out of the ballroom.

The starlight seeping from your fingertip glows brighter, ready and poised to attack. However, it’s your words you speak into his mind that make the blow instead.

“You know, if you love that runt from Spring so much, why don’t you marry him yourself?”

Rhysand’s eyes widen, his brows furrowing as the meaning of your words hit him. The revelation that you know his secret. Where he’d sneak off to some nights. Why the scent of crisp rain and earth lingered on him when he’d return. You and Azriel had pieced it together after Cassian had mentioned that his book on Illyrian training and methods suddenly went missing. Given your secret, you and Azriel had kept that information to yourselves, waiting for the moment Rhysand would feel comfortable to tell you himself.

It takes him a moment to regain his composure, for his gaze to harden again. His lips curl into a snarl–a warning. “Y/n.”

He leans in forward but you take a step back and winnow away, only one thing on your mind. Finding Azriel.

The walk to the High Lord’s private office in the Court of Nightmares is silent but the sense of foreboding is nearly deafening. Azriel is tense, his shadows quiet and burrowing into his leathers. Too many possibilities and consequences storm through his mind, each one more damning than the last.

Does he regret kissing you in front of everyone? No.

That kiss was the first honest, uninhibited thing he’d allowed himself to do in years. It was freeing, exhilarating to be able to show everyone, especially the sons of Spring and Autumn that you were his and he was yours. He could face death for this—for touching the High Lord’s daughter. For kissing you so openly, so brazenly, in front of the entire court.

But why? Why should it be so wrong for him to love you? Because of his birth? The scars of his past that marked him as unworthy? He’s served loyally. Bled for this court.Tortured for this court.

He’s watched from the shadows as lords and sons, full of false charm, have circled you like vultures, eyeing you as nothing more than a prize to be claimed. And yet, when he—who knows you, who cherishes you—shows his love, it is considered a crime.

It isn’t fair. But Azriel has never been afforded fairness.

The heavy doors to the High Lord's office swing open with a wave of his hand, and Azriel steps inside. The air is thick with tension, and every muscle in his body tightens. The High Lord gestures for him to sit, but Azriel bows his head, respectfully declining. Standing feels safer. Less vulnerable. He wonders if his refusal will anger the High Lord further, but the single shadow curling at his ear reports no rising fury.

He can feel the weight of the High Lord’s gaze—it’s heavy, scrutinizing, like the cold press of a blade against his skin. He keeps his eyes forward, even though his heart pounds in his chest. If there’s punishment to be had, Azriel will accept it.

The High Lord moves to his desk, positioned beneath an oculus, where moonlight spills through and dances across his features. He gazes up at the starlit sky as if searching for answers—or perhaps, waiting.

“Normally, this is the part where people like you should be begging for forgiveness, for a way to rectify your mistake.”

Azriel’s jaw tightens. “I haven’t made a mistake.”

“No?” The High Lord’s gaze snaps back to him, piercing as if he could peel away Azriel’s very skin to lay bare his soul. Azriel wonders, for a brief moment, if your daemati powers had been inherited from your father. Could the High Lord see into his mind, his thoughts? Have kept this power to himself all these years as a secret weapon?

“You sound so sure of yourself,” the High Lord continues, his tone sharpening. “Tell me, how long has this... affair been going on?”

“For decades.” Azriel admits, knowing that there was no use in lying. The truth was already written in the way he kissed you, in the way he looked at you as you broke away from the kiss.

“For decades?” The High Lord repeats, his expression darkening, violet eyes narrowing. “You took my daughter’s first dance tonight of all nights.”

Azriel’s silence says everything. Both of them aware that Azriel had taken more than dances, more than a kiss.

“You’ve taken her innocence. You’ve ruined her…” The High Lord continues to seethe in that cool, unnerving tone.

Azriel’s fingers twitch at his sides, fighting the urge to reach for his dagger. Not to defend himself, but because it’s his only comfort in moments like these.

But this is not a battle to be fought with daggers or swords. This is a battle of love, of politics, of status. One he’s had no training for yet one he’s willing to fight. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d fight against all odds.

“Whether she marries Spring or Autumn, she will become a lady of the highest esteem and forge a strong alliance with my court. Laden with all the riches and wonders only a High Lord can offer. What can you offer? You don’t even have a proper last name to give her, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel swallows thickly, the weight and shame of his low-born status crashing into him like the violent current of Illyria’s river. It feels like he’s sinking under it, drowning in it. He knows he can’t offer you what any son of Spring or Autumn could. He had reminded you of that—again and again.

It’s as if you can feel his doubts creeping back in, the poison of guilt and worthlessness seeping in. Your presence—soft, warm, and steady—enters his mind. You bring forth the memory you had shared with him moments ago on the dance floor again.

“I can’t give you much,” his voice had dropped to a whisper, barely a rasp as he leaned his forehead against yours. His nose brushed against yours, his lips hovering just over your own. “But I can give you everything I have.”

“That’s all I’ll ever need,” you had replied, the words echoing now in his mind, like an antidote to the venom of doubt. That’s all I’ll ever need, that’s all I’ll ever need, that’s all—

“I asked you a question, Azriel.” The High Lord’s sharp voice cut through the memory, yanking him back to the cold, oppressive reality of the Court of Nightmares. “What can you offer in exchange for my daughter?”

Azriel’s knees buckle beneath him before he even realizes it. He drops to the floor, bowing his head low. His shadows stir, swirling around him in a frenzy, urging him to stand. To stop him.

“My life.”

“Your life,” The High Lord muses. He lets out a dark, humorless chuckle. “You love my daughter enough to give your life for her?”

“Yes,” Azriel says, his voice firm and steady, even as his shadows coil tighter around his arms, trying to pull him back from this path. But he stays rooted to the floor. His life, his soul—it all belongs to you anyway. What was it worth, if not to protect you? To be yours?

The High Lord’s eyes narrow as he studies the swirling shadows, dark and restless, wrapping themselves around Azriel’s form. Shadowsingers are rare. Their power is precious. They can see and hear things others can’t. The only known living one kneels before him now.

Despite his low born status, the Shadowsinger had also proved himself a formidable, Illyrian warrior. A Carynthian. It’s why he appointed Azriel as the Night Court’s spymaster.

And now this powerful and strong male is offering his life.

To have a Shadowsinger as his spymaster is rare, a gift in itself. To have Azriel’s loyalty, his strength, his skills bound by magic for life. A weapon of mass destruction, at his beck and call. No room for betrayal, no worry over him leaving his court for another.

All in exchange for your hand in marriage?

Now, that sounds like a deal.

He lets out a thoughtful hum, voicing his consideration. He could give Azriel a title, raise him from his bastard status. At his will, darkness begins to rise from the floor. The power of the bargain hovers in the air between them, ready to etch itself into both their skins.

Azriel finally lifts his head, meeting the High Lord’s eyes with no fear. Only the light of determination. He is willing to give his life to your father if that’s what it takes to be by your side.

The cloud of darkness begins to separate, its dark tendrils moving toward him, the binding magic poised to seal his fate, to chain him to this bargain for the rest of his life.

But before it can touch his skin, before the deal can be made, a bright light erupts in the room. A sharp hiss escapes the darkness as it recoils, retreating back into the shadows where it had come from. Azriel’s own shadows seem to shudder in relief.

Both Azriel and the High Lord’s heads snap toward the source of the light. You stand at the doors, your eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears, your hands glowing with pure, raging starlight.

“No!” you cry, the word trembling on your lips as you step forward, the glow around you growing even brighter.

Your eyes lock with Azriel’s and something tightens in his chest, crawling up his rib cage. It’s sharp and breathtaking. His hand grabs at his chest and yours does the same.

”He will not be your slave,” you say, turning to your father with the same determination flashing in your eyes. “There has to be another way.”

The High Lord’s features morph into a scowl. “Another way? My star, he is a bastard—”

“I love him!”

That tightening in his chest finally snaps and Azriel’s breath catches. He feels that light in your eyes, perfectly reflecting the one in his. It sears into his soul, as fierce and unrelenting as the starlight glowing from your hands.

Your father doesn’t notice the shift in the air, the change in Azriel’s posture, in his chest. Or in yours.

“You think that means anything?”

Azriel’s shadows whisper a warning into his ears, of an oncoming raging darkness. Different but similar to the High Lord’s. He barely hears his shadows, too focused on you, on the bond thrumming between you. His mind is consumed with you.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

“You and mother—” you begin.

“Do you think your mother and I love each other?” The High Lord interrupts sharply, his voice cold and cutting. He breaks out into a laugh.

Azriel snaps out of his trance. Anger flares within him at the shock, the devastation that takes over your features. He watches as you shrink back slightly, his instincts roaring to protect you from any harm, whether verbal or otherwise.

Because he’s your mate. Because he loves you.

“You think I would marry your mother, a low born seamstress by choice? What your mother and I have is different. It’s complicated. A special bond. One that gave me Rhysand and you and–”

A sound like thunder crashes through the room, reverberating off the stone walls as darkness swells in every corner. One moment, Azriel is on his knees. The next, he’s slamming into the cold marble floor, the force of Rhysand’s power pinning him down. Tendrils of Rhysand’s darkness coil around Azriel’s form, fighting with the shadows that instinctively rise to defend him.

“How long?” Rhysand's violet eyes blaze as they burn into Azriel.

“And I am beginning to think you both are nuisances to my existence rather than gifts...” The High Lord mutters followed by an exhausted sigh.

“How long have you been fucking my sister?” His words are a snarl as he slams Azriel harder into the floor, advancing toward him with clenched fists.

“Rhysand!” You let out a cry, rushing to the two males to separate them.

Your brother whips around, his anger igniting into something fiercer at the sight of you. “Stay out of this!” he snaps, his hand raising. He’s too angry, too heated. So much that he doesn't even notice the force of darkness he aims your way.

Rhysand’s magic hits you hard, knocking the breath from your lungs. A choked gasp escapes as you stumble backward, struggling to keep your footing. A burst of bright sapphire explodes from each of Azriel’s siphons, a deep and low growl rumbling from his chest. He breaks free from Rhysand’s magic, standing to his feet. His wings flare behind him, shadows swirling like a storm.

The look in his hazel eyes is nothing short of feral, dark and ancient, a fierce and possessive glint that makes Rhysand falter and surprise flash across the High Lord’s features.

You fall to the ground with a thud, palms scraping against the stone and pain flaring in your hands. Rhysand turns toward you, the anger that had been simmering in his violet gaze immediately dissolving into guilt and regret. “Y/n, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t touch her.” Azriel growls, standing in between you and your brother, his shadows forming in an additional protective barrier. Some shadows flutter toward you, helping you stand and bringing you to Azriel’s side. Your hand instinctively seeks Azriel’s, fingers curling into his and you squeeze it, letting him know you’re alright.

“By the Cauldron…” the High Lord’s voice comes out in a low murmur, his gaze darting between you and Azriel. His eyes narrow as he finally notices the subtle shift in the air, in your scents. The scent of a bond.

“You two are mates,” he says, tone laced with resignation. Because even he, a High Lord, is not above going against The Cauldron.

It feels like a punch to the gut for Rhysand. His best friend and his sister. Fate’s inevitable design had been right under his nose all along. “What?” Rhysand breathes in shock, chest still heaving from the exertion of his magic.

Azriel’s hand tightens around yours. His gaze softens as he turns to you, the fierce protectiveness from earlier easing into something gentler. And when your eyes meet again, it’s there—the unmistakable light of the mating bond. It shines bright and steady between you. Just like your love for each other does.

A light that never goes out.

bonus scene

Once the shock of the bond had worn off, the High Lord excused himself, muttering about damage control. “Spring will be the hardest to deal with,” he had said.

Rhysand’s body tensed as his eyes found yours. But you’d only given him a small, reassuring smile. Though it is something you would like to talk about, his secret would remain safe with you.

Your father would soon announce the bond to the Court of Nightmares, already making plans for a grand mating ceremony. You’d much rather have something private, intimate. But a public celebration seemed like a small price to pay for the lifetime you’d get to spend beside the male you loved.

Rhysand turned his gaze back to Azriel, his expression still unreadable. “You never answered my question,” he said, voice calm but edged with something darker. “How long?”

Azriel hesitated before answering, unlike the way he had with the High Lord. This was his best friend standing in front of him. The one he grew up and trained along with, survived the brutality of the Blood Rite with. Rhysand was like a brother to him and he went behind his back for years.

“A decade.”

“A decade?” Rhysand blinks in surprise.

A whole decade of secrecy. Of Azriel sneaking around with his little sister. It all made sense now. Why Azriel became more reserved, more private. Why Azriel no longer indulged himself with the pleasures of the females at Rita’s or the Illyrian camps like he and Cassian did. Why you spent more time at the Moonstone palace, instead of the House of Wind, where you had grown up and been raised by a handful of Priestesses. It hadn’t been to learn about the politics of the courts but to be closer to Azriel.

And then, with no warning, Rhysand swings.

The hit lands squarely on Azriel’s jaw, so swift and unexpected that neither you nor Azriel’s shadows had seen it coming. Azriel takes the blow without protest, silently commanding his shadows to stand their ground and not fight back.

“Rhys!” you snapped, your brows furrowing into a scowl.

Rhysand huffs, shaking out his hand from the impact. “That’s for going behind my back,” he says. He pauses for a second and then, he lets out a low chuckle. Full of disbelief and relief.

“I’m still angry at both of you,” Rhysand admits, and Azriel lowers his head, bracing for more. “Not because it’s you—though I’ll admit, seeing you together is... strange. But because you kept it from me for so long, putting both of your lives at risk.”

Then Rhysand’s voice softens, his gaze following. “But I’m glad it’s you.”

Azriel lifts his head back up in surprise as Rhysand holds out his hand.

“You’re a good male, Azriel. Better than most. And I know you’ll protect her. Love her in a way no one else can.”

Azriel stares at Rhysand’s outstretched hand before finally clasping it, the tension between them easing. Your chest warms at your brother’s sincerity.

The sound of footsteps, heavy and hurried, echo through the stone walls. They grow louder with each passing second and moments later, Cassian and Mor appear at the entrance of your father’s study. Cassian braces himself against the doorframe and Mor leans on him, their chests rising and falling rapidly.

It’s clear they’re winded from the endless stairs they must’ve taken to reach the floor of your father’s private study. It was located between the Court of Nightmares and Moonstone Palace, warded so that only those of his bloodline could winnow directly inside.

Their eyes dart between the three of you.

“What did we miss?”

a/n: hope you enjoyed! here’s a little HC (idk what to call it?) of Rhys’s sis & Az if you’re curious 💙

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

fic tag: @noisyinfluencerstrawberry, @tothestarsandwhateverend, @tulipbite, @kylaisra, @stressed-reader

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #acotar x you #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #azriel x rhysand's sister #rhysand's sister x azriel

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beloveds-embrace · 15 days ago

Note

What if in og dukedom Kiong was also a Duke but from another kingdom, perhaps the "monsterous northern duke" webcomics like to do lol.

You meet him at a gala in his kingdom (maybe Price had to attend for some political reason?) and make polite conversation, not bothered by this massive intimidating man (you live with Simon after all)

And he feels so at ease with you. This kind and warm woman who is unafraid of him, doesn't shy away from him when he moves a little closer. Perhaps you don't know about the rumors around him being a monster.

But you did know, you mentioned as you watched noblewomen gossip behind their fans. They were just nasty words spoken by bored nasty people. And you smiled so warmly up at him, him of all people.

It made his chest tighten watching you leave to return to your husband's side. He can't help but start looking into you after the gala, wondering what your life is like back home.

And it breaks his heart hearing what people say about you. Calling you a barren woman who's destined for divorce, how you're doomed to become a fallen noble because of it. You were the sweetest woman he's ever met, there's no way fate would have take the chance of motherhood from you. Obviously this was your husband's fault.

And he was more than happy to take you from him and give you all the children you were meant to have.

Wait omg yes i love this 😫 always the cliche northern duke tho hehehe will never get bored of that trope LOL

Dukedom au masterlist

I’m just thinking of him unable to stop thinking about you, even when months passed. In just one night, one gala, you had thawed the ice around him and now, you are all his thoughts circle back to you, you, you.

The flickering firelight danced across the dark stone walls of König’s private study. The room was quiet save for the occasional crackle of the hearth and the faint rustling of paper as he read through the letters his informants had gathered. With each word he read, a knot of anger tightened further and further within his chest, his calloused fingers gripping the parchment.

“Barren,” the word stood out on the page like a cruel slash across delicate skin. “A failure of a wife. Her inability to bear children has become the subject of much speculation among the Southern court. Whispers grow louder of Duke Price seeking annulment or taking a mistress. Some say he might already have.”

König’s sharp, pale eyes lingered on the word. His jaw clenched so tightly it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack. How dare they? How dare anyone reduce you to such indignity? The woman they were speaking of- the woman he could not get out of his thoughts no matter how much he tried- was kind, intelligent, poised beyond anything the shallow nobles of the Southern Kingdom could comprehend.

You spoke to him with no fear, no judgment. Not a single noble was worth half the delicate shoes you wore.

And this was what said nobles spoke of behind their gilded walls?

He exhaled through his nose, a harsh, controlled sound as he set the letter down. His hands, broad and powerful, trembled faintly as he dragged them over his face, trying to compose himself. His mind betrayed him, conjuring an image of you at the gala months ago, your warmth and grace so at odds with the venomous words on the page.

König stood abruptly, his imposing height casting long shadows across the room. The parchment fluttered to the desk, discarded, as he began pacing. Long strides carried him to the window, where snow fell silently beyond the frosted glass. He stared out, his breath fogging the pane, though his eyes saw nothing but the specter of his anger.

Unbelievable.

This wasn’t just idle gossip. He knew better. Rumors of this kind didn’t grow legs this much unless someone was feeding them. And who else but your own husband could have allowed such things to fester?

“Price.” König spat out the name like a curse.

The thought of the Duke filled him with a cold fury. John Price, who stood beside you at that gala with the possessive air of a man who knew what he had but didn’t deserve it. Price, who allowed these baseless, cruel rumors to circulate unchecked while you stood tall and weathered them alone, a lighthouse in the dark, deep oceans of nobility.

König’s hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms. What kind of man allowed his wife- his Duchess- to suffer such indignity? A real husband would have silenced those rumors before they even began. A real husband would have cherished you, ensured the world saw you as König did: radiant, strong, untouchable. A goddess in your own right.

But Price… Price was blind. Or perhaps worse- he simply didn’t care.

Unbelievable.

“It’s his fault,” König growled to himself, taking a deep breath to calm the anger rolling through him.

Still, idea burned like a brand in his mind. If Price had been the husband you deserved, these rumors wouldn’t exist. If he had protected you, König wouldn’t be reading about your supposed “failings” in a cold Northern study lacking your warmth. The hearth was just a pale imitation of you.

His gaze returned to the letter on his desk. He reached for it, smoothing the crumpled edges with surprising gentleness for a man of his size. He scanned the hateful words again, and instead of despair, something else stirred within him- resolve.

If John Price wouldn’t shield you from this venom, then König would. He didn’t care what it cost him. You deserved better, and he would ensure you knew it. The Northern nobility bowed to him; no rumors against you would be allowed once he got you with him.

König pulled out another parchment, clean and smooth, and he wrote a letter. He needed to know what you’d like in general to have around, to make this space more comfortable for you.

How could a man be so blind to the treasure he had? König truly couldn’t fathom it. You deserved love, adoration, and everything the world had to offer. If John Price couldn’t see that, König would ensure that you knew your worth.

He dreamed of sweeping you away to his estate, where the snow-capped mountains would shield you from the cruelty of society even if by the time he had you, all their tongues would be culled. He imagined you holding his children, your laughter filling the halls of his once-empty home.

Yes, he decided. You were meant to be his.

Months later, so much information gathered, another diplomatic meeting brought you back to the Northern Kingdom. This time, König ensured he was present, his heart pounding at the thought of seeing you again.

When you arrived, carefully stepping out of the carriage with John’s help, he couldn’t help but crack a smile; you looked so lovely, bundled against the cold in a fur-lined cloak and mittens, the deep and pale blues of your clothes making you look like a snowflake. He approached immediately, pale blue eyes bright.

“Duchess Price,” he said, bowing slightly. “Welcome back to the North.”

Your smile warmed him more than the roaring fireplaces in his castle ever could.

“Duke König,” you replied, offering your hand for him to kiss. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

He took your hand gently, his calloused fingers brushing against your gloved ones. “The pleasure is mine, my lady. Shall I show you the gardens? They’re especially beautiful this time of year.”

John watched from a distance, forced away as the servants began showing them to their room, though his sharp eyes narrowing as König led you away. Simon, standing beside him, crossed his arms with a grunt.

They… didn’t like this.

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jupiterpilgrim · 7 days ago

Text

The Elf Who Couldn't Help

Christmas Special 🎄

Miyeon x Male Reader

word count: 5K

You're wandering through the crowded mall, Christmas music blasting from every direction as you try to check off the last few items on your shopping list. The usual holiday chaos surrounds you - parents dragging screaming kids, teenagers hogging the benches, old people walking too damn slow. Just another December afternoon.

That's when you spot the Santa's workshop setup near the food court. There's a long-ass line of hyper children waiting to sit on Santa's lap, but what catches your eye is his helper elf. She's this tiny Asian girl in a green costume that looks about two sizes too big, desperately trying to wrangle the kids into some kind of order.

"Please stay in line! One at a time!" Her voice is high and stressed as a group of boys completely ignores her, ducking under the rope barriers.

You can't help but chuckle at how overwhelmed she looks. The elf costume is ridiculous - striped tights, pointy shoes with bells, and a hat that keeps sliding down over her eyes. But there's something endearing about how hard she's trying, even as chaos erupts around her.

And she's undeniably adorable too.

"Fucking hell," you mutter under your breath as another kid breaks free from the line, causing even more chaos. The girl's shoulders slump in defeat as she tries to restore order. This will definitely be a long day for the poor thing.

You continue with your shopping, but find yourself passing by the Santa setup a few more times. Each time, the poor elf looks more and more frazzled. Her dark hair is escaping from under the hat, her cheeks are flushed, and she's practically jogging to keep up with all the line-cutting kids.

"Please, one at a time!" the elf girl pleads, her voice cracking slightly. You notice dark circles under her eyes as you walk past.

After finishing up your shopping, you head to your car feeling accomplished. That's when your phone buzzes - a text from your mother saying your cousin - yes, that cousin - decided last-minute to join Christmas dinner.

Fuck.

Now you need another gift.

With a sigh, you trudge back into the mall. The Santa setup is gone now, packed away for the night. You quickly grab a generic gift card (he's not worth much effort anyway) and head back to the parking lot.

That's when you hear it - soft sniffling coming from between two cars. You pause, keys in hand. The sound continues, clearly someone crying. Following the noise, you find a small figure curled up against a tire, wearing that ridiculous elf costume.

"Hey... are you okay?" You ask gently.

She jerks up with a gasp, hastily wiping her eyes. It's the same elf from earlier, but her makeup is smeared and her eyes are red and puffy.

"I'm fine!" She squeaks, trying to force a smile. "Just... just taking a break!"

You raise an eyebrow. "In the parking lot? At night?"

She deflates slightly. "Okay, maybe not just taking a break..."

"I saw you earlier, helping Santa. Rough day with the kids?"

A bitter laugh escapes her. "That obvious, huh?" She sniffs and wipes her nose with her sleeve. "Everything went wrong. The kids were crazy, I couldn't control them, I dropped hot chocolate all over myself... and now they're firing me. Said I'm not 'elf material.'"

"That's harsh. Those kids were like wild animals though, not sure anyone could have controlled them."

She shrugs, looking down at her ridiculous pointed shoes. "I really needed this job though. Even just through Christmas..."

"I'm sorry. I'm sure you'll find something else soon." You hesitate for a second, then you say your name.

"Miyeon," she replies softly.

"Nice to meet you, Miyeon. Look, this might sound weird but... would you want to grab something to eat? You look like you could use a friend right now."

Her eyes widen. "Oh! That's very kind but... I don't know you. And I probably look terrible..." She gestures at her tear-stained face.

You grin. "Come on, who doesn't want to have dinner with a Christmas elf? I promise I'm not a serial killer. We can go somewhere public with lots of witnesses."

That gets a small laugh out of her. "I really shouldn't..."

Right on cue, her stomach lets out a loud growl. Her face turns bright red.

"When's the last time you ate?" You ask.

"Um... breakfast? Maybe?" She admits sheepishly. "I was too nervous to eat lunch..."

"That settles it then. Come on, my treat. Consider it my good deed for the holiday season."

She bites her lip, clearly conflicted. "You really don't have to..."

"I want to. Plus, how often do I get to take an elf to dinner? It'll make a great story."

Finally, a real smile breaks through. "Okay... but only if you promise to drive me home after?"

"Scout's honor," you reply, helping her up.

—

You lead her to your car, noticing how small and vulnerable she looks in the ridiculous elf costume. During the short drive, you learn that Miyeon is a college student who needed extra money for textbooks next semester.

"The mall job seemed perfect," she explains. "Decent pay for just two weeks of work. But I guess I'm not cut out for dealing with kids."

"Those weren't kids, they were tiny terrorists," you reply, making her giggle.

At the diner, you slide into a booth and watch in amusement as Miyeon demolishes a huge plate of pancakes. She pauses between bites, suddenly self-conscious.

"Am I being rude? I must look like such a pig..."

"Not at all. Eat up - you've earned it after this sitty day."

Other diners keep glancing at your table, probably wondering why there's an elf having breakfast for dinner. Miyeon shrinks under their stares.

"Don't you need to return the costume?" you ask.

She shakes her head. "Had to buy it myself. Waste of money now..."

"Seriously? They made you pay for it? That's fucked up."

"Yeah... I spent most of my savings on it too." Her voice wavers slightly.

You study her as she eats - she really is cute, even in the silly costume. There's something genuine and sweet about her that draws you in.

"So what are you studying?" you ask.

"Art history. Everyone says it's useless but... I love it. There's something magical about understanding how art has shaped human culture throughout time."

Her eyes light up as she talks about her studies, hands gesturing animatedly. You find yourself smiling at her enthusiasm.

"That's actually really cool. Most people just chase whatever degree will make them the most money."

"That's what my parents wanted me to do," she sighs. "They think I'm wasting my time. The mall job was supposed to prove I could be responsible and support myself but..." she trails off, looking down at her empty plate.

"Hey, no matter what they think. Do what makes you happy."

She gives you a grateful smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

After dinner, you drive her home as promised. She lives in a small apartment complex near campus.

"Thank you so much for everything," Miyeon says sincerely. "I don't know how to repay you."

You pretend to think hard for a moment.

"Hmm, how about drinks tomorrow night?" you suggest. "No elf costume required."

Her eyes widen. "Are you... are you asking me out?"

"Unless that would be weird?"

"No! I mean... no, it wouldn't be weird. I'd like that." Her cheeks flush pink.

"Great. I'll text you?"

She nods, typing her number into your phone. As she gets out of the car, she turns back one more time.

"You know... maybe getting fired wasn't the worst thing after all."

—

The next evening, you meet Miyeon at a cozy bar downtown. She looks completely different out of the elf costume - wearing a simple sweater and jeans that highlight her petite but curvy figure. Her dark hair falls in soft waves around her face.

"Wow, you clean up nice," you tease. "Almost didn't recognize you without the pointy ears."

She rolls her eyes but smiles. "Never mention that costume again. I'm trying to repress those memories."

Over drinks, conversation flows easily. You learn that Miyeon moved here from Korea as a child, that she has a passion for Renaissance art, and that she secretly loves terrible reality TV shows. She's funny and smart, with a dry sense of humor that catches you off guard.

"So what do you do?" she asks, sipping her cocktail.

You tell her about your job, making her laugh with stories about your weird coworkers. As the night goes on, you find yourself moving closer together, knees touching under the table.

"Want to know a secret?" Miyeon says, slightly tipsy. "I actually hate Christmas music now. Hours of Jingle Bells on repeat will do that to you."

"I don't blame you. That shit's torture."

She giggles, leaning into you slightly. "You know what else? Some of those kids were evil. Like, actually evil. One bit me!"

"No fucking way!"

"Yes! Right here!" She rolls up her sleeve to show you a small bruise on her forearm. Without thinking, you gently run your fingers over the mark. Her skin is incredibly soft.

Miyeon shivers slightly at your touch, looking up at you with those big dark eyes. The air between you feels charged suddenly.

"Do you want to take a walk in the park?" you ask softly.

Shd nods, biting her lower lip.

—

The winter air nips at your faces as you and Miyeon stroll through the park. Christmas lights twinkle in the trees, creating a magical atmosphere despite the late hour. Snow crunches beneath your feet as you walk close together, shoulders brushing.

"Thanks for tonight," Miyeon says softly. "I really needed this after... you know." She gestures vaguely, probably referring to the elf fiasco.

"Hey, I should be thanking you. Not every day I get to rescue a damsel in distress from a parking lot," you tease.

She playfully shoves your shoulder. "I wasn't in distress! I was just... strategically regrouping."

"Is that what we're calling crying behind a car now?"

"Shut up," she laughs, but moves closer to you as a cold breeze whips past.

You find a bench overlooking a small pond, its surface reflecting the colorful lights. Sitting close together for warmth, you can smell her light floral perfume mixing with the crisp winter air.

"You know what's funny?" Miyeon says, watching her breath form little clouds. "If I hadn't been such a terrible elf, we never would have met."

"You weren't terrible. Those kids were demons."

"True. But still..." She turns to look at you, snowflakes catching in her dark hair. Her cheeks are pink from the cold and maybe the drinks. "I'm kind of glad it happened."

The moment feels perfect - the lights, the snow, her eyes shining as she looks up at you. You lean in slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants to.

Instead, she meets you halfway.

Her lips are soft and slightly cold from the winter air. The kiss is gentle, tentative at first, then deepening as she sighs against your mouth. Your hand comes up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing away a snowflake.

When you finally part, Miyeon's eyes stay closed for a moment longer, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Wow," she breathes.

"Yeah," you agree eloquently, making her giggle.

—

The next few days pass in a pleasant blur. You text constantly, sharing memes and stories about your days. She sends you pictures of terrible Christmas sweaters at thrift stores, you counter with photos of your coworker's increasingly elaborate desk decorations.

You meet up again for coffee between her job hunting attempts. This time she's wearing an oversized sweater that makes her look even tinier, hands wrapped around a steaming peppermint latte.

"I had another interview today," she sighs. "At a bookstore this time."

"How'd it go?"

"Well, I didn't cry or spill anything, so better than the mall job already." She takes a sip of her drink, leaving a foam mustache that you resist the urge to kiss away. "But they said they're looking for someone with more retail experience."

"That's bullshit. How are you supposed to get experience if no one will hire you?"

"Exactly!" She throws up her hands in frustration. "It's like they expect me to emerge fully formed from the womb with five years of customer service experience."

You think for a moment. "You know... my friend works at that art supply store downtown. I could put in a word?"

Miyeon's eyes light up. "Really? You'd do that?"

"Of course. Plus, it's related to your major kind of. You'd be surrounded by art stuff all day."

She practically bounces in her seat. "That would be amazing! Thank you-thank you-thank you!"

Her enthusiasm is infectious. You can't help but lean across the table to kiss her, tasting peppermint on her lips.

The art store interview goes well - Your friend's recommendation carries weight, and Miyeon's genuine passion for art shines through. They hire her for a temporary position through the holiday season, with potential to stay on part-time after.

"I start Monday!" she tells you excitedly over the phone. "And the employee discount is amazing. I'm going to buy so many fancy pencils."

You celebrate with takeout at her tiny apartment near campus. It's cramped but cozy, walls covered in art prints and fairy lights. You sit on her futon eating Chinese food straight from the containers while she tells you about all her plans.

"The manager said they do workshops sometimes too. Like, teaching basic techniques and stuff. Maybe eventually I could lead one!" She's practically vibrating with excitement.

"Look at you, moving up in the world. From disgraced elf to art guru."

She throws a fortune cookie at your head. "Never mention the elf thing again! I'm trying to maintain some dignity here."

You catch the cookie and crack it open. "'A surprise encounter will lead to lasting happiness.’ Huh, guess these things are right sometimes."

Miyeon blushes, ducking her head. You set aside the takeout containers and pull her close, kissing her slowly. She melts against you, fingers curling into your shirt.

The makeout sessions are becoming a regular thing, but neither of you pushes for more. It's nice, this slow build of intimacy. Learning the little things about each other - how she scrunches her nose when she laughs, the way she absently hums while reading, her habit of stealing sips of your drinks and more.

—

You help her prepare for her first day, picking out an outfit that's professional but still her style.

She texts you updates throughout the day:

"OMG there are so many types of pencils. How are there this many pencils??"

"Just had to explain to someone why they can't return used paint. Why are people like this?"

"A kid just asked me what colors taste the best. I told him blue. Hope I don't get sued."

After her shift, you meet her for dinner. She's tired but happy, chattering about everything she learned.

"And did you know there are pencils that cost like $50 EACH? For one pencil! But they're so smooth, feel this!" She pulls a sample pencil from her bag, making you test it on a napkin.

"Very smooth," you agree, charmed by her enthusiasm. "Worth $50?"

"Maybe not $50, but with my discount..." She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

The days leading up to Christmas pass quickly. You help Miyeon learn the store's inventory system, quizzing her on different types of paper and brush sizes. She introduces you to her favorite cheap noodle places near campus.

One evening, you're walking her home when it starts snowing heavily. She tilts her head back, sticking out her tongue to catch snowflakes.

"You know what?" she says thoughtfully. "I actually kind of miss the elf costume. Just a tiny bit."

You raise an eyebrow. "Stockholm syndrome kicking in?"

"No, it's just... if I hadn't taken that stupid job, if I hadn't been so bad at it... we wouldn't be here now." She stops walking, turning to face you. "Sometimes the worst things lead to the best things, you know?"

You brush snow from her hair. "Very philosophical. Must be all that art history education."

"Shut up," she laughs, standing on tiptoes to kiss you. Her lips are cold but her mouth is warm, tasting like the hot chocolate you shared earlier.

When she pulls back, her eyes are serious. "Thank you. For everything. The job, the support... just being there."

"Hey, I got something out of it too. How many people can say they're dating a former mall elf?"

She groans. "I take it back. You're the worst."

But she's smiling as she says it, snowflakes catching on her eyelashes, and you think maybe those fortune cookies know what they're talking about after all.

—

The art supply store keeps her busy through the holiday rush. You bring her coffee during her breaks, watching her explain different types of paints to customers with growing confidence. She's in her element here, surrounded by creative supplies and fellow art enthusiasts.

"A lady asked me to recommend brushes for oil painting today," she tells you proudly. "And I actually knew what to suggest! I'm becoming one of those knowledgeable retail people."

"Better than being one of those retail people who hides in the stockroom to cry," you point out.

"That was ONE TIME," she protests, but she's laughing.

—

Finally, about two days before Christmas, you invite her over to your place for dinner. You've cooked before, but tonight feels different. There's an electricity in the air, an unspoken anticipation.

Miyeon shows up wearing a simple red dress that hugs every curve. Her dark hair falls in soft waves past her shoulders, and you catch a hint of floral perfume when she hugs you hello.

"Something smells amazing," she says, following you to the kitchen.

"Don't sound so surprised," you tease. "I can cook sometimes."

"Sometimes being the key word." She peers into the pot on the stove. "Remember the Great Pasta Disaster of last week?"

"Hey, how was I supposed to know the sauce would explode like that?"

She laughs, stealing a piece of garlic bread. "My ceiling is still stained red. My landlord thinks I murdered someone up there."

Dinner is comfortable, filled with your usual banter. But there's an undercurrent of tension, a charge building between you. Every accidental brush of hands sends sparks down your spine. You catch her staring at your lips more than once.

After the dishes are done, you move to the couch with glasses of wine. Miyeon curls up against your side, fitting perfectly under your arm. You can feel her heart racing.

"This is nice," she murmurs, tracing patterns on your thigh.

"Yeah?" Your voice comes out rougher than intended. "Just nice?"

She tilts her head up to look at you, eyes dark and intense. "Maybe more than nice..."

You cup her face with one hand, thumb brushing her cheek. She leans into the touch, breath hitching slightly.

"Miyeon..."

"Yes?"

"Do you like me?"

Instead of answering, she surges up to press her lips against yours. It starts soft, tentative, but quickly deepens into something more urgent. Her tongue slides against yours as she shifts to straddle your lap, dress riding up her thighs.

You run your hands up her sides, feeling her shiver. She grinds down against you, drawing a groan from your throat. When you break for air, her pupils are blown wide with desire.

"Bedroom?" You manage to ask.

She nods frantically. "Please."

You stand, lifting her with you. Her legs wrap around your waist as you carry her down the hall, still kissing. You nearly trip twice, making her giggle against your mouth.

Finally reaching the bedroom, you put her back on the floor, your fingers gently touch her cheek, she looks up at you with such trust and want that it makes your chest ache.

"You're sure about this?" You have to ask.

"I've never been more sure of anything," she replies.

That’s all you needed to hear.

Your hands roam over Miyeon's body, mapping every delicious curve through her thin dress. She arches into your touch, soft moans escaping her perfect lips. When you kiss down her neck, she threads her fingers through your hair, pulling you closer.

"I've wanted this for so long," she whispers, her voice trembling with need. "Ever since we first met..."

You gently bite her neck, making her gasp. "Me too, princess. You drive me fucking crazy." Your hands slide down to squeeze her ass through the dress. She feels so perfect, so soft yet firm.

Miyeon grinds against you, her breath coming faster. "Please... touch me more..." She guides your hand to her breast, letting you feel her hardened nipple through the fabric.

You waste no time sliding the dress straps off her shoulders, revealing more of her flawless porcelain skin. Her medium breasts spill free, pink nipples begging for attention. "Fuck, you're gorgeous," you growl, taking one peak into your mouth.

"Ohh! Yes, suck them..." She holds your head to her chest as you lavish her breasts with your tongue, alternating between gentle licks and firm sucking. Her moans get louder when you graze your teeth over the sensitive buds.

Your hands push her dress down further until it pools at her feet. Miyeon stands before you in just her lacy panties, her face flushed with arousal and slight embarrassment. You drink in the sight of her nearly naked body.

"You're staring too much," she says shyly.

You gently grab her wrists. "It's because you're fucking perfect." You pull her close for a deep kiss, your tongue exploring her mouth as your hands roam her exposed skin.

She melts into the kiss, pressing her breasts against your chest. You can feel her nipples hard against you through your shirt. Her hands tug at the fabric. "Take this off... I want to feel your skin..."

You break the kiss just long enough to pull your shirt over your head. When your bare chest meets hers, you both moan at the contact. Her skin is so incredibly soft against yours.

"Bed. Now." You guide her backwards until her knees hit the mattress. She lies back, dark hair fanning out on the pillow as she looks up at you with those innocent yet lustful eyes.

You crawl over her, leaving a trail of hot kisses from her tummy up to her neck. Her hands explore your back, nails lightly scratching. When you grind your clothed erection against her core, she gasps.

"Can you feel how hard you make me?" You thrust against her again, making her whimper.

"Y-yes... I want to see it..." Her hands move to your belt, fumbling with the buckle.

You help her undo your pants, kicking them off along with your boxers. Your cock springs free, already rock hard and leaking precum. Miyeon's eyes widen as she takes in your size.

"Like what you see, princess?" You smirk as her hand wraps around your shaft, stroking experimentally.

"It's so big..." she whispers, thumb brushing over your sensitive tip. "Will it... fit?"

"We'll go nice and slow, baby. But first..." You hook your fingers in her panties, sliding them down her legs. You spread her creamy thighs wide apart, admiring how her pink pussy glistens with arousal. Her outer lips are puffy and swollen, inner folds glistening with her juices. The musky scent of her cunt makes your mouth water as you lean in closer. “Fuck, you're already so wet for me.”

"Please..." she whimpers, squirming under your intense gaze. "Stop teasing and lick me already!"

You give her a wicked grin before diving in, dragging your hot tongue through her dripping slit from bottom to top. The taste of her pussy explodes across your tongue - tangy and sweet like ripe fruit. She cries out and bucks her hips up into your face.

"Fuck! Your tongue feels so good!" Her fingers tangle in your hair as you focus on her clit, circling the swollen nub with firm strokes. You can feel it getting harder and more pronounced under your tongue.

Holding her thighs open wider, you bury your face deeper between her legs, eating her pussy like it's your last meal. Your tongue alternates between fucking into her tight hole and flicking rapidly over her clit. Wet sucking sounds fill the room as you devour her cunt.

Her pussy is absolutely drenched now, cream coating your chin as you feast on her. You slide two fingers into her clutching channel while continuing to assault her clit with your tongue. The walls of her cunt squeeze your digits hungrily.

"Holy shit, don't stop! Right there!" She grinds her pussy against your face, chasing her pleasure. "I'm getting so close already..."

You curl your fingers to massage her g-spot while sucking her clit between your lips. The combination has her writhing and moaning uncontrollably. Her thighs start to tremble as her orgasm builds.

You increase the pressure and speed, determined to make her cum hard on your tongue. Your fingers pump in and out of her sopping pussy while you flick her clit mercilessly. She's so wet that obscene squelching noises accompany each thrust of your fingers.

"Fuck fuck fuck! I'm gonna cum!" Her back arches off the bed as her climax hits. Her pussy clamps down on your fingers as waves of pleasure course through her. You keep licking and sucking, drawing out her orgasm until she pushes your head away.

But you're not done with her yet. Not so soon. As she lies there panting, you reposition yourself between her legs. Her pussy is still twitching with aftershocks when you dive back in, this time focusing solely on her sensitive clit.

"Wait! I just came—ahhhh!" Her protest turns into a moan as you suck her swollen clit between your lips. You can feel her trying to close her legs but you hold them open, continuing your relentless assault on her pussy.

The oversensitivity quickly transforms back into pleasure as you work her towards another orgasm. Your tongue swirls around her clit in tight circles while three fingers pump into her dripping hole. Her cream coats your hand as you finger-fuck her roughly.

"Oh god, I can't... it's too much!" But her hips are rocking against your face again, chasing the building pleasure. You can feel her pussy getting even wetter, if that's possible.

You alternate between broad strokes with your flattened tongue and quick flicks directly on her clit. Meanwhile your fingers curl to hit her g-spot with each thrust. The combination of stimulation has her climbing rapidly towards another peak.

Her moans get higher and more desperate as you drive her wild with your mouth and fingers. You can tell she's fighting the pleasure, still sensitive from her first orgasm. But you're determined to make her cum again.

"Please... I can't take it... gonna cum again!" Her thighs start shaking as her second orgasm approaches. You double down, sucking her clit firmly while hammering your fingers against her g-spot.

She screams as she cums, her pussy clamping down so hard on your fingers that you can barely move them. You keep your lips locked around her clit, sucking gently to draw out the intense pleasure.

When her orgasm finally subsides, you slowly withdraw your fingers from her quivering pussy. They're absolutely coated in her cream. You make eye contact as you lick them clean, savoring her tangy flavor.

"Holy shit..." Miyeon pants, still trembling. "That was incredible. I've never cum that hard before."

You smirk and dive right back in, making her yelp in surprise. Her clit is swollen and ultra-sensitive now, perfect for what you have planned. You flatten your tongue and lap at her pussy with long, slow strokes.

"No more, baby, I can't..." But her protests are weak and her hips are already moving against your mouth again. You can feel her getting wetter as you continue eating her out.

This time you take it slow, building her up gradually. Your tongue explores every fold and crease of her pussy, occasionally dipping into her hole to taste her essence. When you finally return attention to her clit, she's practically begging for it.

"Please... need to cum again..." Miyeon rocks desperately against your face, seeking more pressure. But you keep your touches light and teasing, driving her crazy with want.

You trace letters on her clit with the tip of your tongue, spelling out filthy words as she writhes beneath you. When you finally slide your fingers back into her clutching pussy, she moans in relief.

"Yes! Fuck me with your fingers while you eat my pussy!" Her dirty talk spurs you on as you pump three fingers into her dripping hole. Your tongue works her clit with firm, steady pressure.

Her pussy is absolutely gushing now, cream running down your wrist as you finger-fuck her roughly. The wet sounds of your fingers plunging into her cunt fill the room along with her desperate moans.

You curl your fingers to massage her g-spot while sucking her clit between your lips. The dual stimulation has her climbing rapidly towards another orgasm. Her thighs start trembling as she gets close.

"Gonna cum again! Don't stop, please don't stop!" She grinds her pussy against your face, chasing her pleasure. You increase the pressure and speed, determined to give her the most intense orgasm yet.

Her back lifts clear off the bed, her body trembling violently as the orgasm tears through her. Miyeon's cries of your name echo in the room, her voice breaking into a series of desperate whimpers. Her pussy clamps down on your fingers, pulsating in rhythm with the waves of pleasure crashing through her. Her hands clutch at the sheets, knuckles white, as her thighs twitch uncontrollably. You don’t let up, your fingers continuing to work her through every shuddering moment of ecstasy, curling and teasing until she lets out a sharp gasp and pushes your head back, her hips jerking away.

"Stop, stop! Too much," she pants, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her body glistening with sweat.

You lean back, watching her recover, her hair splayed out like a halo against the pillow. Her cheeks are flushed deep red, lips parted as she struggles to catch her breath. She drapes an arm over her face, giggling weakly. "Wow... that was—like—insane. I didn’t know you were this good with your hands."

“Take your time,” you say, your tone soft but teasing as your gaze roams her utterly wrecked form.

She peeks at you from beneath her arm, her eyes still hazy and unfocused. Her thighs quiver as she stretches her legs out, one hand brushing against her stomach as if grounding herself. “Okay, just give me a second,” she murmurs, her voice shaky, a tired smile playing at her lips.

While she lies there, basking in the aftershocks, you reach over to the nightstand. Your fingers brush against the foil packet, and you tear it open deliberately, watching her out of the corner of your eye. Her gaze snaps to you as you roll the condom onto your throbbing cock, her pupils dilating slightly.

"Already?" she whispers, a flicker of excitement chasing away the exhaustion in her expression. You smirk, positioning yourself above her, letting her feel the heat of your body pressing against hers.

"Yes. Ready for me, princess?" You position yourself at her entrance, rubbing your tip through her folds.

She nods, pulling you down for a passionate kiss. You can feel her trembling with anticipation.

"Tell me if it's too much," you murmur against her lips as you start pushing in. The head pops past her tight entrance, making you both moan.

"Oh fuck... you're so big..." She bites her lip, adjusting to the stretch as you slowly feed more of your length into her.

You go inch by inch, letting her pussy accommodate your size. Her walls grip you like a vice, so hot and tight it takes all your control not to just slam in.

"That's it, baby, taking my cock so well..." You bottom out, fully sheathed in her warmth.

You stay still for a moment, letting her adjust while peppering kisses across her face and neck. When her hips start moving against you, you take it as your cue to move.

You start with a few slow, shallow thrusts, just to get her warmed up. Miyeon's moans are soft at first, but they grow louder with each push, urging you on. You can feel her nails digging into your back, her legs wrapping around your waist, pulling you deeper into her. The angle changes, and you hit something inside her that makes her cry out.

"Fuck, right there," she gasps. "Don't stop."

You don't plan to. You pick up the pace, your hips moving faster, your cock sliding in and out of her slick pussy. She's meeting your thrusts, her body arching up to take you deeper.

"Faster," she begs, her voice ragged. "Please fuck me faster."

You grip her hips, your fingers digging into her soft flesh. You start really giving it to her, your balls slapping against her ass with each stroke. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard banging against the wall as you pound her tight pussy.

"You like that, huh?" you growl in her ear. "Like getting fucked hard by my big cock?"

"Yes!" she screams. "Oh god, yes! Your cock feels so fucking good inside me."

Her words dissolve into incoherent moans, her body writhing beneath you. You can feel her getting wetter, her cream coating your shaft and dripping down her ass, making a fucking mess of the sheets. You can see it glistening on your cock every time you pull out, can feel it easing the way as you slam back in.

You lean down, your teeth finding her neck, biting down as you fuck her even harder. She cries out, her body convulsing around you. You can feel her pussy clenching, her walls squeezing your cock.

"Fuck, you're close," you groan. "I can feel it."

"Yes," she pants. "I'm gonna cum again. I'm gonna cum all over your cock."

You can feel your own orgasm building, your balls drawing up tight. But you hold back, determined to make her cum first. You want to feel her lose control, want to feel her pussy milking your cock.

You reach between them, your fingers finding her clit. You rub it in tight circles, your cock still pounding into her. She screams, her body bucking, her pussy clamping down on you like a vice.

"Cum for me, baby," you growl. "Let me feel you cum all over my cock."

And she does. She cums hard, her body convulsing, her pussy pulsing around you. You can feel her cream coating your cock, can feel it dripping down your balls. You keep fucking her, drawing out her orgasm, making her cry out with each thrust. Gradually you slow down the pace, each time your cock goes deep inside her, it pulls out slowly, you stay at this teasing pace until she catches her breath, then when you finally pull your cock out of her, without warning, you lift her shapely leg, exposing her dripping pussy and those delicate feet with festive red toenails.

"What are you doing?" she asks, watching as you grip her ankle.

"I'm gonna worship every inch of you," you growl, bringing her foot closer to your face. "Your pretty little toes look too tasty to resist."

Miyeon giggles nervously. "Nobody's ever... Oh fuck!" she gasps as you take her big toe into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it. The polish is smooth against your tongue as you suck gently, watching her face for reactions.

"Does that feel good, baby?" You ask between licks. Her toes taste clean with just a hint of salt from sweat.

"Mmmhh... it's weird but... kinda nice," she admits, wiggling her toes against your tongue. You take two toes in your mouth now, sucking harder as your hand slides up her thigh.

"Your feet are fucking perfect," you tell her, kissing down to her arch. "Just like the rest of you." Your fingers find her pussy lips, already swollen and slick from earlier. You gather some of her wetness and start rubbing slow circles around her clit.

"Ohhh..." Miyeon moans, her leg trembling in your grip. You alternate between sucking her toes and licking long stripes up her sole while your fingers work her pussy. Her cream coats your digits as you slide two inside her tight channel.

"So wet for me," you growl. "I love how your pussy gets all creamy when you're turned on." You curl your fingers, finding that special spot that makes her whole body jerk.

"Fuck! Right there!" she cries out, grinding against your hand. You keep the pressure steady, pumping your fingers as you lavish attention on her feet. Her pussy clenches rhythmically around you.

"You gonna cum again for me?" you ask, increasing the pace of your fingers. "Gonna soak my hand with that sweet pussy?"

"Yes! Please don't stop!" Miyeon pants, her head thrashing on the pillow. You can feel her getting close, her inner walls fluttering. Just before she peaks, you withdraw your fingers, making her whine in protest.

"Not yet baby," you tease, releasing her foot. "I want to fuck you while I suck these pretty toes." You position yourself behind her, keeping her leg lifted. Your cock slides easily through her folds, gathering her wetness.

"Please," she begs. "I need you inside me..."

You press just the tip against her entrance, making her squirm.

"Tell me how bad you want it."

"Please, baby, I need to feel your big cock deep in my pussy! Please fuck me... I'm so empty..."

Unable to resist her pleading, you thrust forward, burying your full length in her tight heat. "Fuuuck," you groan. "Your pussy feels amazing." You start a steady rhythm, not too fast yet, wanting to build her up slowly.

Miyeon moans with each thrust, her pussy gripping you perfectly. You capture her toes in your mouth again, sucking hard as you fuck her. The dual stimulation has her writhing.

"Oh god... that's so... unngh!" She can barely form words as pleasure overwhelms her. You increase your pace gradually, driving deeper. Her cream coats your shaft, making obscene wet sounds with each stroke.

"You like having your toes sucked while I fuck this tight pussy?" you ask, releasing her foot momentarily. "Such a good girl, taking my cock so well."

"Yes! Love it... love your cock..." she gasps. You've never heard her talk so dirty before. It spurs you on, making you thrust harder.

Her pussy starts clenching erratically around you as you pound into her. You can tell she's getting close again. This time you don't let up, determined to make her cum hard.

"Something's happening..." Miyeon pants suddenly. "Feels different... like I need to pee..."

"That's it baby," you encourage her. "Don't fight it. Let go for me." You redouble your efforts, angling your hips to hit her g-spot with each thrust while sucking her toes enthusiastically.

"But... unngh... I can't..." she protests weakly, even as her body tenses up.

"Yes, you can! Cum for me Miyeon. Fucking squirt all over my cock!" You slam into her faster, feeling her pussy spasm around you.

"Oh god, oh god, OH FUCK!" Miyeon screams as the dam finally breaks. Clear fluid gushes from around your cock, soaking the sheets beneath you. Her whole body convulses as she experiences her first squirting orgasm.

You keep thrusting through her release, prolonging it as much as possible. More fluid spurts out with each stroke as she trembles uncontrollably.

"That's it baby, let it all out," you growl around her toes. "So fucking hot watching you squirt."

Miyeon can only moan incoherently as waves of pleasure crash over her. Her pussy clamps down so hard it nearly pushes you out, but you maintain your rhythm until her orgasm finally starts to subside.

You gently release her foot and slow your thrusts, giving her time to catch her breath. She looks absolutely wrecked in the best way possible.

"Holy shit," she pants when she can speak again. "What... what was that?"

You chuckle, still buried deep inside her quivering pussy. "That was you squirting, baby. Felt good, didn't it?"

She nods weakly. "Amazing... I didn't know I could do that..."

"Oh we're just getting started," you promise with a wicked grin. "Now that I know how to make you squirt, I'm gonna make you do it again and again..."

Miyeon whimpers at your words, her pussy clenching around you. You can feel she's still sensitive, but also still aroused.

Perfect.

"Ready?" you ask, starting to move inside her again. She moans in response as you lift her foot back to your mouth...

Your cock slides easily through her creamy folds as you build up a steady rhythm once more. Miyeon's moans get louder with each thrust, her oversensitive pussy gripping you like a vice.

"Such a good girl," you praise her between licks to her foot. "Taking my cock so well after that huge orgasm."

"Feels so good," she gasps. "Everything's so sensitive..."

You angle your hips to hit her g-spot again, making her whole body jerk. "Think you can squirt for me again?" You ask, increasing your pace slightly.

"I... unngh... maybe?" Miyeon pants. "Still feels like I might pee..."

"That's normal, baby. Just let it happen." You suck her big toe into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it as you fuck her deeper. Her cream coats your shaft, dripping down onto the already soaked sheets.

"Oh fuck... oh fuck..." she chants as the pleasure builds. You can feel her starting to tense up again, her inner walls fluttering around your cock.

"That's it," you encourage her. "Let go for me. Show me what a good little squirter you are."

Your words push her over the edge. With a sharp cry, Miyeon's pussy contracts hard and another gush of clear fluid sprays out around your cock.

"Fuck yes!" You growl, maintaining your rhythm as she squirts. "So fucking hot watching you lose control like this."

Wave after wave of pleasure rocks through her body as you continue fucking her through the intense orgasm. Her toes curl against your tongue as more fluid spurts out with each thrust.

When her release finally subsides, Miyeon lies there trembling and gasping for air. You slow your pace but don't stop completely, knowing you can wring at least one more orgasm from her oversensitive body.

"Please..." she whimpers, her body trembling beneath you. "It's too much... I can't..."

"Shh, baby," you murmur, your voice steady and firm. "You can take it. You can take everything I give you." You slow your thrusts a little more, letting her catch her breath, but not enough to let her come down from the peak. "You've got one more in you. I know you do."

She shakes her head, her hair sticking to her sweat-slicked face. "No, I can't... I can't..."

"You can," you insist, your cock still moving inside her, stirring up her pleasure again. "You're a fucking goddess, Miyeon. You can take every inch of my cock. You can cum all over it again."

You increase your speed, your hips moving faster, your cock hitting that spot inside her that makes her scream. You can feel her pussy clenching around you, trying to keep you in, trying to milk you.

"Oh god," she moans, her voice rising in pitch. "Oh god, oh god, oh god..."

"That's it, baby," you growl. "Feel that? Feel my cock hitting your g-spot? You're gonna cum for me again. You're gonna squirt all over my cock."

"I'm so close... I'm so clo—OH GOD!" she cries out, her body tensing, her pussy gripping you like a vice.

You can feel her right on the edge, her body coiled tight, ready to snap. You lean down, your teeth finding her earlobe, biting down just hard enough to send a shockwave through her.

"Cum for me, Miyeon," you command, your voice low and rough. "Fucking let go. Let me feel that pussy explode. Let me see that squirt. Do it, baby. Fucking do it now."

She screams, her body convulsing, her eyes rolling back in her head. "I'm cumm—AAAAH!"

You can feel it, hot and wet, gushing out of her, coating your cock, dripping down your balls. You keep fucking her, drawing out her orgasm, making her scream with each thrust.

"That's it, baby," you groan. "Fuck, that's so good. You're squirting all over my cock. You're such a good girl, Miyeon. Such a fucking good girl."

Her body is shaking, her pussy still pulsing around you. You slow your thrusts, letting her ride out her orgasm, letting her come down slowly. You're about to cum, right on the edge, but you hold back again. This is about her.

This is about Miyeon.

You gently pull out of her, your cock still hard and glistening with her cum. You move down her body, your tongue tracing a path down her stomach, down to her pussy, your hands stroking her thighs, your touch gentle and soothing.

The bed beneath her is a fucking mess—sheets soaked through, the scent of sex heavy in the air. You can see the wet spot spreading, a testament to her pleasure.

"Fuck, baby," you murmur, your voice soft but filled with awe. "Look at this mess you made. You're so fucking sexy."

Miyeon's breath hitches as she looks down at the wet sheets, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and satisfaction. "I... I didn't know I could do that," she admits, her voice shaky. "It felt... god, it felt so fucking good."

You smile, your fingers tracing patterns on her inner thighs, feeling the slickness of her cum. "You squirted, baby. You fucking squirted all over my cock. It was the hottest thing I've ever seen."

She shivers, her body still sensitive from the intense orgasm. "I've never... I've never felt anything like that before. It was like... like my whole body just let go."

You lean in, your tongue lapping at her pussy, tasting her, cleaning her up. She jolts, her hips bucking slightly, but you hold her steady, your hands gripping her thighs.

"Shh, baby," you soothe. "Let me take care of you. Let me clean you up."

She relaxes, her body melting into the bed as you take your time, your tongue exploring every inch of her pussy. You can feel her shivering, her body responding to your touch. The taste of her is intoxicating, a mix of sweet and salty, pure fucking heaven.

"You taste so fucking good, Miyeon," you murmur, your voice low and husky. "I could do this all fucking night."

She moans softly, her fingers tangling in your hair. "It feels so good... I can't believe I did that. I can't believe I squirted."

You look up at her, your eyes meeting hers. She's watching you, her eyes soft and hazy with pleasure. You smile, your tongue giving her one last lick.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Miyeon," you whisper. "God, you're so fucking perfect…"

"But you haven't come yet," she suddenly notes.

"You're right. And where do you want my cum, princess?" You ask.

"On my face... want to taste you..."

"Fuck... Okay. Yeah, right. Get on your knees, baby,” you ask her as you quickly remove the condom.

Miyeon looks up at you with those innocent eyes as she kneels before you, her pretty face flushed with arousal. Her lips are already swollen from all the kissing, making them look even more cock-hungry than usual. You grab a fistful of her silky black hair, guiding her face closer to your throbbing shaft.

"Open that pretty mouth for me baby," you command, tapping your cock head against her plump lips. "I want to see how deep you can take it."

She parts her lips obediently, sticking out her pink tongue to lap at your sensitive tip. The sight of your precum glistening on her tongue makes your cock throb with need. You slowly feed her more of your length, watching in satisfaction as her lips stretch around your girth.

"Mmmmph," she moans around your cock, her eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. She clearly loves having her mouth filled, eagerly sucking and slurping as you push deeper.

You start with slow, shallow thrusts, letting her get used to your size. Her tongue swirls expertly around your shaft as you slide in and out between those perfect lips. Wet sucking sounds fill the room along with her muffled moans.

"That's it baby, take my cock," you growl, tightening your grip in her hair. "Your mouth feels so fucking good."

She responds by taking you deeper, relaxing her throat to accommodate more of your length. Tears form in the corners of her eyes as you hit the back of her throat, but she doesn't pull away.

If anything, she seems even more eager.

You pick up the pace slightly, fucking her mouth with measured strokes. Her lipstick is getting smeared all over your cock, marking it with traces of red. The sight of her face getting messy already has your balls tightening.

"Such a good little cocksucker," you praise, watching her cheeks hollow with suction. "You love having your pretty face fucked don't you?"

She nods as best she can with your cock stuffed in her mouth, humming in agreement. The vibrations send pleasure shooting through your shaft.

You pull out briefly to let her catch her breath, a string of saliva connecting her lips to your cock head. She gasps for air but immediately opens wide again, eager for more. Her face is already a mess of smeared makeup and drool.

"Please fuck my face harder," she begs, voice hoarse. "I want you to use my mouth like a pussy."

You don't need to be asked twice. Gripping her head firmly with both hands, you slam your cock back between her lips. This time you don't hold back, setting a brutal pace as you fuck her throat. She gags and chokes but takes it like a champ, her eyes watering heavily.

The wet sounds of her throat getting pounded are absolutely obscene. Drool runs down her chin and neck as you use her mouth roughly. Her hands grip your thighs for support but she doesn't try to pull away or slow you down.

"Fuck yes, take that cock," you grunt, watching your shaft disappear repeatedly into her willing mouth. "Going to paint that pretty face white soon."

She moans eagerly around your length, clearly excited by the promise of a facial. You can feel your orgasm building as her throat muscles massage your sensitive head.

Your thrusts become more erratic as you get closer to the edge. Her face is an absolute mess now - mascara running down her cheeks, lipstick completely ruined, drool everywhere. She looks utterly debauched and you haven't even cum yet.

"Get ready baby," you warn, feeling your balls tighten. "Going to cover that beautiful face."

You pull out just in time, the slick heat of her lips giving way as you grip your shaft tightly, aiming at Miyeon's upturned face. Her mouth is already open, tongue stretched out, her eyes locked on yours with a look of pure, desperate need. "Give it to me," she breathes, her voice thick with anticipation. The sight of her waiting so hungrily for your release sends a jolt through you, your cock twitching violently in your hand.

With a guttural groan, you let go, the first rope of hot cum splattering across her forehead and sliding down to her nose. She gasps softly, her breath hitching as the next thick jet paints her cheek, followed by another streaking across the bridge of her nose. Your hand works your shaft steadily, aiming with intent, making sure to glaze her perfect lips thoroughly, the creamy mess dripping onto her tongue as she moans in satisfaction.

She doesn’t flinch—if anything, she leans into it, her tongue sweeping over her lips, savoring every drop that lands in her mouth. You’re relentless, emptying yourself onto her until her face is a masterpiece of your desire, every inch of her skin marked with your seed. Thick streaks cling to her lashes, a stray drop dangling precariously from her chin before falling onto her chest. By the time you're finished, she’s a vision of debauched perfection, her flushed cheeks and parted lips framed by the glistening evidence of your climax.

"Fuck," you mutter, your voice hoarse as you admire her. "Look at you. My perfect, filthy girl."

She moans softly, tilting her head as you bring your cock closer, your tip still sensitive but eager for more. Slowly, deliberately, you use your softening length to spread the mess across her skin. You smear the cum over her cheeks, tracing her jawline, rubbing it into her lips before sliding down to her chin. She stays perfectly still, her eyes closed, a serene smile tugging at her mouth as she basks in the attention.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” you whisper, your voice thick with awe. “That pretty face deserves to be covered in my cum every day.”

Her lashes flutter as she peeks up at you, her voice soft but dripping with satisfaction. “I’ll let you paint me whenever you want. I love how it feels... so warm, so dirty.”

Your thumb moves to her lips, smearing the last of the cum over them before pushing lightly into her mouth. She sucks on it obediently, her tongue flicking against your skin, her moan vibrating through your thumb.

When you finally pull back, you grab a handful of tissues, leaning down to clean her face. You start gently, dabbing at her cheeks and lips, but you can’t help but pause to admire her wrecked state—the messy hair, her flushed skin, her swollen, cock-bruised lips. Even as you clean her, the heat between you lingers, your touch lingering on her skin as she smiles up at you.

"You’re mine, Miyeon," you blurt out unconsciously, but there’s no mistaking the edge in your voice.

"Yours," she repeats, her voice a dreamy whisper. "Yeah, I'm yours.”

—

After changing the sheets on the bed, you both collapse onto the fresh, clean mattress, exhausted but content. You pull Miyeon close, her body fitting perfectly against yours as you snuggle together. The room is quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the city outside the window.

Miyeon props herself up on an elbow, looking down at you with those dark, beautiful eyes. "So... this isn't just a one-time thing, right?" she asks, her voice soft but hopeful.

You pull her in for a kiss, your lips lingering on hers. "Definitely not," you murmur against her mouth. "Unless you want it to be?"

"No!" she says quickly, then blushes, her cheeks turning a cute shade of pink. "I mean... I really like you. Like, really really like you."

You smile, your heart swelling in your chest. "Good, because I really really like you too," you say. "Even when you're not dressed as an elf."

She groans, hiding her face in your neck. "Are you ever going to let me live that down?" she mumbles, her voice muffled.

You chuckle, your arms tightening around her. "Nope. It's how we met, it's part of our love story now."

She goes still in your arms, her body tensing slightly.

"Love story?" She asks

Shit. Too soon? You think to yourself, wondering if you've fucked up. But then she's beaming up at you with that bright smile that first caught your attention, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

"Yeah," you say softly. "Love story."

She kisses you again, pouring all her feelings into it. When she pulls back, her eyes are sparkling with happy tears. "Best Christmas present ever," she declares, her voice filled with joy.

803 notes · View notes

dadsbongos · 6 months ago

Text

a king, his advisor, and the betrothed

@toxycodone the fic is here fren

11 K words / warnings - reader has vag n wears a dress once, threesome WOAH, p in v + p in a sex, oral (m receiving), kabru is a fan of inappropriate workplace relationships

summary - Laios cannot find a suitor on his own, so Kabru is forced to summon an old... friend... for help.

~~~

“Just… someone you would like, then.”

“Someone I would like?”

“Yeah! If you like them, they must be good, right?”

“This isn’t about… ugh, fine.”

Kabru already knew exactly who to set up with Laios, but he wanted to grant himself a few more hours of delusion by drafting a list of desired traits.

A queen should be: diligent and humble, wise and patient. Honest.

Ideally, a short-lived king should marry from another short-lived race. Any children will therefore be short-lived as well, which Kabru considers highly preferable. Another tallman is his best option to keep infertility sparse.

Laios’ personality will need to be accounted for as well (Kabru finds that the longer he dawdles, the more fun he has hypothesizing Laios’ perfect match).

Laios, specifically, needs someone blunt and unencumbered by conformity -- the man seems to thrive when others feel comfortable speaking frankly with him. Someone from another royal court will not do, and especially not someone descended from direct nobel blood. Furthermore, Laios is clueless as to what his own title ensues, so he does little more for his countrymen than make appearances or pass budgets and bills. So for Kabru’s own sanity, someone intelligent and inclined to make Laios do his actual job is also preferred.

They must balance indulgence and sobriety for the man’s antics, as well as willingness to sit through Laios’ obscure personality.

Wait…

“No,” Kabru scratches that last half of his sentence, ink bleeding across the page, “What kind of matchmaker settles?”

They must like Laios, and Laios must like them. Laios is not a man Kabru can envision enduring loveless marriage, it’d be too awkward and the dolt would have it annulled.

Someone not petrified by monsters and intrigued by Laios’ strange personality, but also not so deranged as to be exactly like Laios.

Again, a single name comes to Kabru’s mind, but this time he does not put it off. He’s had his fun scheming, now he must draft a letter to the Northern Continent. To a village chief’s firstborn -- acquainted well enough with basic politics while also sharing a similar upbringing with Laios.

You’re perfect.

You’re also…

“An ex-party member?” Laios’ eyes skim over the contents of Kabru’s summoning letter, addressed at the top to you, “Cool.”

“Yeah, an ex-party member,” Kabru sighs to himself, imagining Rin beating him over the head with her staff right about now, “I think you should know, I briefly- ”

“Kabru,” Laios shakes his head, grinning, “I don’t care. If you trust them, I do.”

Briefly -- sure -- if an entire year and some months was brief. Kabru sighs louder and decides to let Laios find out on his own, since the king is so determined to look cool and easygoing.

In any case, you’ll be fond of Laios, Kabru’s certain.

Certain, and also dreading.

Year 512

“Where’d you find the space case anyway?”

“You sound upset.”

“Look!” Rin flings a gloved arm straight out, gesturing heatedly towards where the party’s newest member is staring straight at the first floor’s cracked ceiling.

Both hands squeezing the straps of your pack, you leave your throat completely exposed in order to gaze at a dark, faraway roof. The ease with which Kabru could slit your tender neck is comical, he finds it more concerning than charming. Any hoodlum or hooligan could rob and beat you blind and you’d be incapable of a proper defense.

“Let me handle it,” Kabru hopes to placate Rin with a soft grin, its success is limited because Rin’s known him long enough to push through his gushy exterior. She puts up no fight, thankfully, and let him approach you alone, “Hey!”

“Shh!” you hiss cutting your fingers along your jaw to silence him. His shock and horror at your rudeness must be visible because you wave that same hand around and smile, “Sorry. It’s just…”

Pointing up, your stare returns to the ceiling. Eyes wide and lips curled with glee. Kabru heeds and grimaces: glistening slimes the shade of clovers goop between gaping slashes in the ceiling. Pulsating and shivering as one beating organ, Kabru can’t think up a more disgusting sight.

“Slimes are sensitive to the heat we exhale, so the louder you are the easier they can find you.”

Blinking at you as inconspicuous as possible, Kabru asks, “Why stand right under them then?”

“They’re so weird. They don’t look intelligent, but they move around easily and developed such a scary way to trap prey. Pretty neat.”

Kabru has half a mind to cut you out of the party just for saying that, until you tack on a,

“Still super gross, though. We should move before they notice us.”

Kabru nods, watching you cross towards the rest of the party before following with a silent prayer that you’re not actually a monster fanatic.

His prayers are answered on the second floor -- your party is down, Holm and Daya crumpled over on opposite sides of the tree den. Kuro is strewn over a shaking, teary Mickbell with a bloody gash in his back. Rin has a similar slash, only deep in her gut and Kabru can tell she’s bleeding out fast.

While he prides himself on his wit and light thinking, Kabru is horrified by the sight of his party in agony. Planning so far ahead of himself he’s trying to scheme how to charm a passing healer into aiding Rin or reviving Holm, meanwhile he can’t even be certain he’s going to survive this attack. His own life is on the back on his mind, body stiff in preparation to swing his sword and cut off the chicken head of a charging Basilisk.

But how should he cut? It has to have a carotid artery, or a heart, but where? What if his strike is at a wrong angle and the snake side gobbles you all up.

Suddenly, the glint of your sword blinds him -- you snip the snake in half, exploiting the monster’s following stagger to round its body and stab through the Basilisk’s head. Tearing outward and splattering Kabru in blood as the beast drops.

He looks to you in silence, knees sore and wobbly and hands a shaking wreck.

Simply, you say, “The snake head is the real head, so if you attack that end first the chicken tail is distracted and easy to sneak up on,” then, you notice his trembling, “Oh, sorry…”

As if waiting for permission, Kabru’s body gives out once your hands find his shoulders. You smooth a palm over his back while shredding the loose material of your blouse to mop up the mess. Gently soaking Basilisk blood from his face with a frown marring your face, continuously murmuring apologies.

Kabru takes your wrist in his hand, blinking back his shock to sigh, “Thank you.”

Suspecting there’s more words jumbled on his tongue, you patiently wait that way: knelt beside Kabru as he squeezes your wrist.

“I think we should go back to the surface.”

You nod quickly. Much quicker than he’d assume you would given how directly you dealt with the terrifying Basilisk, “Do you want me to head back and get corpse retrievers? I doubt we could carry everyone up by ourselves.”

He takes note of how you specifically exclude Mickbell, presumably due to the young man’s hysterics.

The sharp tang of raw iron is filling Kabru’s nose, he chokes on it. He can’t stand to smell it a second more.

“No,” but inhaling through his mouth makes him taste it, rotting each bud on his tongue, “No. I’m the party leader, I should get them.”

Your eyes are lidding, no shock or awe found in the twinkle of your iris -- you were expecting this response.

“Sure, Kabru, I’ll wait with Mickbell.”

You don’t call him out on it, though.

Once the party has been revived and Kabru’s thrown the men their coins, you suggest the crew return a floor above.

“I’m sure nobody wants to eat where they died, so let’s have lunch up there and save instead of visiting a stall,” you gasp quietly and cover your mouth, then deferring to Kabru, “If that sounds good to you? Sorry… I shouldn’t have spoken so boldly like that…”

“No, you’re right,” even though he’s not looking to confirm, Kabru can feel Rin burning holes into his skull with her glare, “I think that’s a good idea.”

Secretly he’s glad no outsiders heard you make that call -- he isn’t ashamed to be bossed around by someone in a blouse, but he’s also not unrealistic. Others seeing that could threaten his meager status among the adventuring community. He’d be the wimp pushed around by his own members.

Interrupting his spiral, again, is you, “Okay, let’s get going then!” you clamp another hand over your mouth, “Right, Kabru?”

“Right.”

Thankfully, it is just your party who only finds your zealousness comedic rather than an opportunity for mutiny.

Returning visit to the first floor proves you about as useful as the initial one did.

Holm and Daya are unpacking rations with Mickbell and Kuro straggling at the edge of the blondes’ conversation. Rin is fetching water. Kabru is watching you; and he knows he should be either helping Rin, or lecturing you to help Rin, but he keeps watching.

He cannot hear you, but he knows you’re speaking -- crouched to make eye contact with a pair of slight humans. Round cheeks and marblesque eyes tell Kabru they’re just scratching at maturity. Not even thirteen.

The shorter one, a boy with freckles, picks at tender plumes of skin around his nails, knees shaking. He finds no voice, but the girl beside him does. She squeezes the shirt over her heart and her brows furrowed with passion, he can barely make out the words: mage, fourth, corpse retrievers.

One of your hands is perched on your bent knees while the other grazes along the forsaken graveyard, your head tilts and if he really forces his ears then Kabru can hear you ask, “How did you get separated?”

The girl’s shoulders go lax, lip twitching down as she sputters a reply. The boy’s picking grows frantic, his head shaking and voice shivery (this time Kabru can pick up: without her, no chance).

Kabru’s gaze hones on you, dissecting each twinge in your face as you process the information. Daya and Holm’s voices become vague, like buzzing insects, even Rin’s agitated staring from the fountain is pushed out of focus. How will you react to these children?

It's a horrible story, he’s sure. He’s so sure it’s a truly heartbreaking tale about two little ones separated from their ward on a lower level due to a snap decision from fear. However, it could also be just that: a story.

Criminals banned from The Island’s coasts often seek refuge in the bowels of the dungeon. Kabru feels confident that as this dungeon continues to fester unconquered: criminals are beginning to raise their children here.

If you blindly follow them down, you’re a fool. If you hand over all your party’s gold, you’re a fool. If you do nothing, you’re heartless. Heartlessness can be worse than foolishness, at least fools have good intentions.

Fingers wrap around the stem of a limping flower and pull, cutting it clean from the floor and holding the plant for both children. You push your hand closer to the kids, waiting until the girl grasps the flower before speaking again,

Something long winded, and judging by the shudders racketing down the boy’s frail body something rather dismal too. Yet you’re beaming up at the children, then they’re smiling as well. Rising to your feet, you brush moss stains from your knees and wave the children off with a promise Kabru can actually hear,

“If my party finds any retrievers, we’ll send them down.”

With eager nods, the kids sniffle and affirm their bravery to you -- the girl cradling the plucked daisy to her chest. You return to your party’s camp and boldly declare,

“I think we should try reaching the fourth floor soon.”

Rin bonks you with an elbow to the side, “Where’s this enthusiasm when I needed help carrying the water?”

Rubbing the tenderized area, you laugh and accept her frustration, “Sorry. Got caught up.”

“Obviously,” Rin sighs, falling to her knees around the party’s temporary camp.

Kabru sits as well, still observing as you apologize to Rin again though your eyes trailing the kids as they heft food packs onto their shoulders and begin their trek.

Mickbell settles into Kuro’s lap, Daya has begun digging into her plate while Holm ensures everyone has a filling portion. Rin agrees to dissolve the tension, meaning you two can begin gaffing amongst yourselves. As if you never left, the party is normal.

Despite your itch to reach the fourth floor as soon as possible, you don’t mention the interaction whatsoever.

Overall, Kabru considers your first dive with the party a cohesion success.

Year 515

“Don’t speak over or interrupt. Got it?”

“Okay.”

“At all.”

“Alright.”

“I’m serious,” Kabru’s eyes widen a smidge, as if to force how pertinent it is that Laios absorbs this lesson, “I’m still upset about the meeting last week.”

“I didn’t know he wasn’t done talking,” Laios frowns, shrugging in an obnoxiously coy play, the worst part being that Kabru knows Laios does it in earnest. His stupid kicked-puppy stare is entirely genuine, “That guy takes long breaths, it’s hard to tell when he’s done.”

“Well try harder to tell now,” a wave of guilt hits Kabru in the chest, heart squeezing at the sight of Laios’ frown deepening, “I don’t mean to upset you. I just… I want this to go well.”

“I do, too, you know?”

Kabru finds that hard to believe, but Laios isn’t lying to him right now. He’d know otherwise. Whether Laios can make a positive impression will have to be seen, but the man clearly has no intentions of sabotaging himself.

For all his lackluster socio-political ambitions, Laios is still a good king: insightful to the experience of commonmen and quick to new ways of strengthening their country. He has yet to give citizens, or Kabru, valid reason to question his ability to rule.

“I’m sure,” Kabru turns in his desk chair, bracing his forehead with his palm, “Let’s get this finished then.”

“But- “ Laios hesitates when he’s shot an icy glare from Kabru, “But I’m so hungry…”

As if to punctuate his torment, Laios’ stomach grumbles. Loudly. Echoing through the informal setting of Kabru’s personal quarters.

“My poor royal majesty,” Kabru coos, inked with sarcasm, “Will you survive till lunch?”

Laios’ eyes go thin, arms folding, “Don’t demean me.”

“It’s one meal. You’ll hardly die. The faster we finish this paperwork, the quicker we can usher you to breakfast.”

“I want to go now,” Laios, with no sense of self, lays his lips into the crook of his advisor’s neck. Soft, plump flesh scorching Kabru’s pulse, then a cold flash of bone: teeth, “I’m starving.”

Bladepoint canines puncture Kabru’s skin, shock blinding him to the scathing scratch till after Laios has already pulled away. Saliva stringing them together before Laios snaps it, sloppily swiping the wrist of his sleeve across his mouth.

“Disgusting,” Kabru starkly avoids eye contact by glaring at the sheen of spit on his shoulder, cupping the inflamed flesh, “Go change your shirt now, it’s not a handkerchief.”

He doesn’t remember when he first felt comfortable being so venomous around Laios, only that it's easier than trying to be pleasant all the time.

“After I eat?” Laios prompts.

“After you eat,” Kabru massages his tensing temples, working away the headache as it builds.

Upon Laios’ exit, Kabru traces the shallow indents with his fingertips -- lashes fluttering against his cheeks at the resulting faint sting. Now he’ll be forced to find a new shirt of his own, one that hides his bruising mark.

Year 513

“As long as we don’t piss off any living armor, we should be able to get to the fourth floor, at least,” you nod to yourself, hands steady and body firm as you hold up your homemade map of the area.

Raucous groans follow your cheery assessment, and a cursory glance back shows your party in disarray: Rin and Holm have heavy, discolored bags beneath their eyes. Daya is leaning against her axe with quaking arms while Mickbell coils around Kero’s shoulders. Even Kabru can admit he looks worse for wear, or assumes he does because he certainly feels at his worst.

“Oh, unless you all want to head back?” you roll the map up and wave a hand dismissively, almost seeming ashamed of the previous suggestion. Cautious to maintain a soothing and even tone, clearly doing your best to prevent any of them from feeling coddled or mocked.

Not that he truly wants to, but Kabru agrees, “Probably for the best. We’re running low on food, so we should save what we have for the journey back.”

“Makes sense,” you don’t appear disappointed or discouraged, “There’s always next time.”

“Enough optimism,” Mickbell whines, “It’s making me all nauseous.”

“Be nice,” Rin chastises, then looking at you forlorn, “You could probably carry on without us.”

Her dejected lilt prevents any accusations of wanting you to go it alone.

“No way, I’d go crazy by myself!”

Kabru reads that instantly as a lie -- if your scrunching brows and fidgeting hands weren’t telling enough then perhaps you don’t remember confessing to him your days as a solo adventurer.

You could easily carry on without the rest of the party. Hell, you could even join a better, stronger party -- the Toudens, maybe. They’d chomp at your skills if they cared even a little about their fellow men. Kabru bets you would even be able to form a party of your own with ease.

“We’re strongest when everyone’s at their best, after all,” you reassure, turning your back on the dream to hit fourth floor this crawl in favor of aiding your party’s exhaustion, “As long as we can go that deep eventually, I’ll die happily.”

Kabru doesn’t bring up how rapidly approaching the date for you to sail back home is, he gets the sense you wouldn’t want him to.

“Well don’t go keeling on us as soon as we do,” Rin’s scowl loosens, only slightly, when you smile in return and loop an arm through hers.

“Of course, not, Rin. Who else would terrorize you if I died?”

Quickly, the mage’s dark eyes flick to Kabru before returning to you, “I have an idea.”

“Oh, duh.”

Her gaze lingers on the way you’re staring at Kabru and how Kabru stares back. She must read his fondness because her forehead wrinkles up and she tugs you forward, “Yeah, duh.”

Year 515

Kabru’s foot taps impatiently, knowing it’d be improper were he to rush over and help you down from the carriage himself. But forgive the man, he’s in a hurry to have you at his side again.

He wonders if you wear the same perfume.

He wonders if you’ll take to Laios immediately, or will it take the entire two weeks before your wedding ceremony for you to warm to him?

Most of all, he wonders if he can compose himself during the entire courting process.

“Hey!”

Kabru’s mind snaps back into the present at your call, you’re charging over with an ecstatic wave. He waves back, calmer and centered towards his chest.

“It’s great to see you again!” you effortlessly knock the polite handshake Kabru extends aside to wrap your arms around his shoulders, “Imagine my surprise, the first time you send a letter is to try and marry me to a king!”

“I never found the time to write back when things finally got interesting,” Kabru bluffs, returning your hug. Warmth spreads between the both of you, if he focuses hard enough he can make out the dull thud of your heart, “Hopefully this makes up for it.”

“Definitely,” you pull back, rolling your eyes, “Father made my brother village chief while I was on The Island, so there wasn’t anything left for me to do there.”

“Perfect time to get one up on your brother. Even just marrying into royalty is better than village chief.”

You hum thoughtfully, “Let’s meet Laios Touden first. I remember he was kind of a weird guy, no?”

“He still is,” Kabru shrugs, turning to guide you into the main hall as men lug your bags towards the castle’s south wing, “He’s nice, at least. Wants to make living easier,” he glances back at you over his shoulder, “Handsome, too. You must remember what he looks like.”

“I remember he was big.”

“Strong, yeah,” Kabru slows to match paces with you through the rolling corridors, “Nice jawline, pretty eyes, and the slope of his nose isn’t terrible. He’s kind of an outstanding specimen, physically I mean.”

“Oh…” you press a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing at his rambling, “So his looks do the heavy lifting?”

“Just something to keep in mind,” he pauses outside a set of tall double doors, one hand braced against the hanging, solid black handle, and the other drawing circles into his temple, “His unique personality hasn’t faded with becoming king.”

“How interesting.”

“That’s a word for it.”

Laios is slumped comfortably back into his throne, sunlight complimenting his bored expression before he notices the pair pushing through his grandeur. Immediately, his eyes sink into you, scrawling from the top of your head to your feet in blatant observation. Staunchly, his gaze remains respectful to your modesty, indicating he’s purely sizing you up; perhaps confirming whether or not he could take you in a fight. Or to use you as a meager replacement for his monsters, studying your anatomy and mentally attaching tails and horns and heads where he sees fit.

“King Laios,” you politely remain behind Kabru. Your own gaze lurches over the king’s body as well, much less clinical than his examination -- you already know you could take him in a fight. What you want to imagine now, is if he’s the outstanding specimen that Kabru claimed, “So nice to see the Golden Kingdom for myself.”

“Prettier than the North,” Laios, much to Kabru’s unspoken irritation, scratches the back of his head without grace, “You’re from there too, right? How has it been? I haven’t been in awhile.”

“Oh, you know,” none of the men from your village look like Laios, despite their hard labor they aren’t built like him. Big. Beefy. Chewable also comes to mind; you could chew him up and be full of protein. From the little pouch of his stomach you surmise he isn’t cut or excessively defined, which drives you mad, “Same as usual. Cold and quiet.”

“Mhm. How about the monsters up top? I don’t think anybody from my village was willing to slay them,” he folds his arms, legs spreading as he readjusts for comfort, head ticking curiously, “I’ve been thinking lately that they could be overrun by monsters if nobody fights them off.”

Kabru’s irritation grows, having to claw at his thighs to restrain from choking the man. He may be older and bigger and more powerful than Kabru is, but Laios is the most painfully oblivious man in the world. He just has to be. He’s so focused on not attacking his king that Kabru almost misses how eyes scald his side at the mention of monsters overtaking the North.

“I haven’t noticed anything unusual,” and you mean that, the North truly is as boring as it was when you were growing up, “Maybe more acceptance for magic, but that’s mostly to combat the increase in ghosts.”

“Increase in ghosts,” Laios’ eyes bulge, posture straightening out in vivid excitement, “Do they know why there’s so many? Do they just wander around, or do they remain in cemeteries?”

“Ah, King Laios,” you try to hide the way your eyes bounce repeatedly towards Kabru’s rigid frame. His hands are balled, even shaking, and his stare is aimed over the king’s right shoulder, “Perhaps we could get some privacy before discussing such things?” you boldly step forward, correctly assuming Laios would take no offense at the intrusion, “We should get to know each other on our own.”

“Oh, right!” Laios waves a dismissal towards Kabru, apologizing for holding the man so long.

You don’t ask Kabru if he’s okay before he leaves, but you take one of his hands and squeeze it gingerly. Smiling tenderly and bidding him well. A soft halo of gold ringing around your head from sunlight pouring through glass panes.

“Don’t let- ” just as he’s apologizing for his king, you silence Kabru.

“I’ll form my own opinion,” you release his hand, still grinning, “You trust me, don’t you?” he nods, of course he does, “So trust me to gather my own thoughts, okay?”

Oh, God that cannot be a good sign.

Please, please, please -- he’s contemplating getting on his knees to pray outside the doors -- please don’t let his reaction to Laios’ monster obsession make you hate the king. You’re his only choice, the only one that will do!

You’re kind and strong willed and beautiful and he’d love to have you living under the same roof as himself.

Not that that has anything to do with his decision. No, no, that would be idiotic.

That would be the worst plan he’s ever planned in his entire life. So, he’s glad it's separate from his real motivation.

At least, he’s glad until that night. Alone in his bed with only moonlight shining along his pristine sheets.

For hours Kabru has been cooped in his room, and technically he’s been cooped in his mind even longer. Since the second a passing pair of guards relieved him from lingering outside the throne room, Kabru blindly stumbled through his messy thoughts.

Worse now than ever before is the desperation to know. Clawing him apart from the inside out. He needs to know.

To know what you’re feeling. To know what’s being said. To know why you two never came out, even hours after Kabru left. In explicit detail, he must know. What you like about Laios, what you don’t, what you find attractive, if you got hot in the face when you saw him, if you ever felt that way about Kabru, if you think Kabru’s attractive, if you accepted his invitation just because Kabru sent it or because you truly wanted to meet Laios.

He can’t just ask, so now he must meticulously set up a series of precision events to fish the information out.

Because your hesitance to emphatically accept the proposal confuses Kabru. You’ve never been particularly picky about partners, but you’re not the type for manufacturing attraction to spare a person’s feelings. So theory one is that Laios is not physically appealing to you.

Though not even that explanation makes sense. To be short, Kabru doesn’t understand how you couldn’t be attracted to Laios. Such strong, determined features demanded attention; and trust, the attention would be positive.

Broad shoulders and meaty thighs, Laios’ build is admirable on its own: Kabru could sink his teeth into Laios’ bicep and never cut bone. Aside from that is the healthy fluff of blonde hair his king keeps trimmed, as well as his face. Remaining clean shaven gives an air of proper hygiene and self-sufficiency that makes Laios seem more attractive.

Kabru cannot fathom how you’re not preparing vows yet.

That thought makes him shoot up in bed, eyes wide and a hand curled into his churning gut.

Why can’t Kabru fathom how you’re not preparing vows? Why does he find it so peculiar?

That type of questioning, this obsession -- it implies Kabru wants to prepare vows, doesn’t it?

With ragged grumbling Kabru collapses back into his mattress, letting his fried brain melt through his ears as he finally attempts giving in to sleep.

…

He wakes to a nightmare the next morning -- you and Laios are alone in the great hall, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the end closest to the kitchen. Chairs pushed so close the armrests are peeling against each other, elbows knocking as Laios forgoes all table etiquette. Not once do you scold or demean him. Instead seeming too engrossed at the ear-nibbling of shapeshifter trivia Laios is laying down.

“Did you ever run into one?” Laios asks, eyes a little too glittery for someone who must’ve woken quite early for this private breakfast, “My dad had our dogs follow herds so we could spot them in the flock.”

“Dogs can tell which sheep are fakes?”

“Oh, yeah! Dogs can tell by the smell,” Laios taps his nose, “I wonder what the difference is, don’t you? Do they smell more sweet, like dirt? Or do they have no smell at all since their illusions?”

“Maybe a Kobold would be able to tell you? Their anatomy is dog-like, after all.”

“I thought so, too! But there’s not many Kobolds native to the North.”

“Well, hopefully you can find out one day,” then you bite for more monster facts, “I did always wonder what my own shapeshifter could look like. Don’t they read people’s minds to make their copies?”

Laios’ silverware clatters away, tinking loudly on the glass plate, hands flexing hysterically, heart jumping to his tongue, “They do, they take other people’s interpretations of you to confuse your company into keeping it around.”

“How thrilling,” you muse.

“It’s a shame I’ll never get to see or make another one,” he lifts his fork, pushing meat and eggs around his plate glumly, “Would’ve been fun to see what you look like in my memory compared to the real thing.”

“You can tell me now,” your palm bares his shoulder, leaning over your chair and towards his own. Laios’ honey eyes dip, tracing the shape of your lips which makes you lean even closer, “How is it that you see me, Laios? Would I be flattered?”

“I hope so,” he blurts.

Kabru backs away, rattling door hinges before slumping back into the corridor. Rotten thoughts of how lovely you are corroding his brain. You’re so lovely to nip at your betrothed’s interest wholeheartedly, no matter how unconventional.

You’re so lovely it's all consuming.

You’re so lovely he can’t remember when or why, exactly, he fell in love with you.

You’re so lovely he thinks he might have just always been your emotional pin cushion.

There remains to be a single thing Kabru could name that made him fall in love with you.

Kindness is much too bland of a trait. And you wanted the wellbeing of others, but that’s something Kabru expects from people. You are pretty, but that’s no reason to daydream about buying a house together. Perhaps it was a combination of all three that mixed lethally well with how much time you spent together.

That, with how detrimental party romances are to group fallouts, maybe made you more desirable? Could that be it?

You were a new, fascinating person he couldn’t pick apart as soon as he gazed upon you, and you knew exactly how to swerve his expectations. You loved listening to him mutter about the interlocked nature of humans: one man cheating on his wife in Kahka Brud undoing a port in Melini. But you stepped away from interpersonal Island gossip. You could rattle out seven variations of man-eating plants but couldn’t stand to even look upon the vegetation without grimacing.

Approachable with a thin smile and batting lashes, beautiful and quiet. Very quiet. You hardly ask anything of others. It should make you seem ominous or menacing, but no part of him feels endangered by you.

Kabru always felt so comfortable around you that, despite knowing his other party members longer, he found you the easiest to converse with. Before he could realize himself, you’d crawled over so many emotional walls without letting him bypass a single one of your own.

You’re his worst nightmare, he craves you more than oxygen.

Year 513

The tavern door opens with an outrageous squeal. If the mood were different, then you would probably make a humorous remark about the aged hinges. But the mood isn’t different. Things are tense and he just wants to go home now.

Even twinkling stars blink away to avoid giving his humiliation anymore attention. Moonlight rudely oozes over you both, though, reminding him how much he prefers the sun. The moon always seems to follow him when he’s whirled in his worst turmoil.

You step into the tavern first, holding the cranky door open for him. He’d thank you like the upstanding young man his mother raised… if only the mood were different.

Silently, Kabru trails behind you, cheeks blistering hot and palms moist, with his head bent. You two make it back to the table circled by your party, sans Daya due to a more pressing engagement with her fiance. Rin’s perma-scowl cracks briefly into blatant shock at his slouch before schooling herself into re-wrinkling her face. Confusion curling into the folds of her glabella.

“What happened?”

Per usual, you answer for Kabru, “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” anger seems to flash briefly over her for a moment, a spasm so minute only Kabru can spot it, “Really?”

He’s not surprised she’s upset about him, shamefully, trying to woo you during a night out with the party. What surprises him is that her anger is solely directed at you.

At least until you nod firmly, “Nothing happened, Rin.”

Then pity laxes her irritation, she spares Kabru a flicker of eye contact before mumbling an ‘okay’. She ends up remaining largely silent for the rest of the night, only extending responses when directly prompted.

What else surprises him is the ease with which you lie. Something happened, just not how he wanted it to play out.

Maybe he didn’t notice because of his drowned mood, but Kabru swears you didn’t exhibit any of your usual tells when you spoke.

(the fact he harps on your physical tells will make him so mad he cries later tonight)

Year 515

“He’s going to burn their ear off, I’m telling you…” Marcille grumbles.

“I think it's cute,” Falin grins.

“Of course, you do,” Marcille sighs, though smiling fondly at the girl while scritching around her plumage. Falin chirps happily and nuzzles into Marcille’s shoulder, “He’s your brother, you never think he’s as weird as he is.”

Kabru speaks boldly, which he knows is unlike himself but he’s so eager to show that he knows you more than them that he cannot stop himself, “They can bond over the monster talk, at least.”

“Are they even into monsters?”

“Kind of?” he backtracks, realizing that he isn’t sure how to answer her question, “They hate monsters, but they know a lot.”

“Good on you for finding someone like that, then,” Marcille shrugs, “They might actually have a good marriage.”

Kabru tenses, even though he shouldn’t (because he knows why you’re here, so he can’t exactly get depressed when other people bring it up), “Yeah. They will.”

“For a while, I thought you’d marry my brother,” Falin says suddenly. Eyes sharp on Kabru’s figure.

Marcille guffaws, “Why would you say that?”

She shrugs before letting her eyes relax to their usual serene state, “They get along well. And Laios likes him. Laios doesn’t usually like people.”

“I guess you have a point,” Marcille waves a figurative flag before gesturing to the room around them, “But we’re not planning their wedding.”

“Yeah…” Falin sighs like she’s the one most disappointed.

Kabru says nothing, only returning to the list of ale and wine suppliers eager to vend for the upcoming royal wedding. His eyes skim names he’s heard various reviews for, but his brain takes none of them in. Rather, he’s fixated on what Falin said.

She could see it?

Could they have gotten married?

If Kabru forgot you completely, or even better never met you, could it be him stepping up to the altar? Would Laios have him?

Laios doesn’t usually like people. but in crowded meetings, it's solely Kabru that Laios searches for. And it’s the sight of Kabru that makes Laios sigh in relief. And it’s the sound of Kabru’s voice that Laios waits for before delivering a response.

At dinner, back when they ate together before you monopolized mealtimes, Laios always ensured Kabru had twice his fill before calling it a night.

(“Even though we’re not fighting in a dungeon anymore, I still think you should retain your strength.”

“You sound like you just like watching me eat.”

“Maybe that, too. You have a nice mouth.”

Kabru never responded to that, too petrified over the implications. Now he thinks he probably should have, maybe it would have meant he’d be marrying a king.)

Falin was right in that Laios doesn’t take to people easily, and he’s sure that’s all she meant. But Kabru knows that her statement is a criminal oversimplification of Laios.

Laios likes people so much he’s gone on potentially endless, potentially fruitless, endeavors for them. Laios likes people so much he makes them harpy eggs because they seem minorly interested in monster cuisine. Laios likes people so much he makes sure they’re treated with the utmost dignity. Laios loves people, and suddenly the thought of you becoming one of those select people is getting harder to grieve.

Laios’ love is not limited, but now Kabru’s forced to come to terms with the fact that Laios’ romantic love for him is--

“So, did you pick yet?” Marcille and Falin are swatching fabrics from the cushy loveseat of the main library, “I’ve heard of a roach outbreak in Smisson’s breweries, so I hope you didn’t get attached.”

Kabru jolts upright and shakes his head, saying the first dumb thing he can think of, “I heard of that, too.”

Falin giggles, “He’s the one that told you about it, Marcille.”

“Huh? You’re kidding!” a furious blush overtakes the elf, “I’m sorry, I don’t know how I forgot that!”

Kabru shakes his head again, swallowing roughly, “It’s fine.”

Really, it’s all fine.

Year 513

“Everyone wanted to be here,” Kabru chuckles quietly, as if raising his voice could somehow wake the entire Island.

“I’m sure,” there’s no hint of sarcasm in your voice, “They were with me late last night, so… I didn’t really expect anyone to see me off,” you giggle softly, a hollow sound he doesn’t take very kindly, “I’m surprised you made it.”

“It’s the least I could do after everything you gave the party,” with no decorum he scratches the back of his neck, and avoids looking you in the face, “It’ll be harder in the dungeon without you.”

“I believe in you.”

His breath hitches. He looks at you. A barely-there smile and tired eyes. It may be the most honest he’s seen you. He’s tempted to ask how you meant that ‘you’, but doesn’t.

He doesn’t even speak until you’re boarded -- until he’s forced to raise his voice so you can hear him over a bustling crew and fellow passengers.

“If I send letters, will you read them?” Kabru silences you before you can open your mouth, “Will you respond?”

Then, you’re smiling wider, and your eyes are tight with joy. It isn’t the usual siren cant of droopy lids, it’s pure elation. You’re laughing at his question, shoulders bouncing gleefully. You’re nodding. You speak between chortles, as if he asked you what color the sky was.

“Of course, I will!”

You look more beautiful than he’s ever seen you before.

“Okay, I’ll write you, then.”

“You better!”

Your ship rocks as it sets off from the dock, but you don’t disappear beneath the ridge. In fact, you almost hang over it, torso flattening against wood and nails digging for purchase as you wave.

Kabru waves back. He runs down the dock like a fool, barely catching himself from tumbling into the lapping ocean.

“Bye, Kabru!” you’re still smiling, bathed in soft orange and soothing yellow -- your voice grows distant over crashing waves, “I’ll miss you!”

He keeps waving. He waves and he waves and he doesn’t stop until your ship is behind the horizon. Only then does his hand fall to his side, eyes sopping wet and chest squeezing.

He feels pathetic.

He misses you already.

Year 515

Days prior this morning, the grand hall was cleared out -- pews replaced the needlessly long cherry oak dining table. Flowers plotted in tall carved vases with white lace and silk choking the necks, a velvet track from the altar through open doors to the courtyard. People from across the continents were invented, diplomats to friendly nobles to acquaintances Laios does not remember to true friends to your father and brother and Falin.

(“You don’t want to invite your parents?” Kabru re-evaluates his list of guests, “Seems uncouth, no?”

“What do I care?” Laios’ legs are splayed, thighs pressing against either side of the gold throne, “A wedding is meant to be happy, why would I need people I don’t like there?” he knocks a fist back into Kabru’s chest, letting his knuckles linger over the man’s heart only as long as he can say, “I have you, and my betrothed, and my friends. Really, that’s all I need.”

“It’d be rude to- ”

“I get it,” Laios’ hand falls back onto his armrest, fingertips skimming the rounded metal edge, “This is why I’m leaving it to you, I trust you.”)

Out of all the tedious preparation, dressing Laios was the most tragic in that the king hated everything the handmaids and servants stuffed him in. Countless hours were wasted before they begged Kabru to help, only then did the king settle:

No crown, terminally unsurprising, since Laios abhorred the weight and feel of it on his head. Rather, he would adorn himself with that dreadful Winged Lion’s pelt, and a vermillion cotehardie reaching mid-thigh with gold trim. Leather belt tethered around his waist gave the fabric shape whilst holding up loose britches. Daggered teeth of various beasts lined his neck, which Kabru was privy to each and every complaint over the sensory nightmare they provided. He’s sure as soon as Laios can, he’ll be tearing the necklace off.

Dressing himself, regardless of Laios’ multiple emphatic encouragements, was a similar exercise in disaster:

It felt massively inappropriate to wear something so shiny and attractive as gold on another man’s wedding night, even as Laios insisted Kabru wear whatever he pleased. Still, Kabru chose silver earrings and accents. Sparkling and flattering, yes, but nothing so bold. He did splurge with a sapphire blue kirtie that made his eyes shine brighter, and a simple chain of pearls. He felt attractive, and joyous.

Joyous for tonight. Joyous for a wedding! Yes, simply so ecstatic for tonight’s marriage.

Truthfully, Kabru is so overjoyed for his king, he really could just fucking die.

From joy. And happiness.

Because what makes it even better is how you look happy. Actually happy. No low gaze or siren simper, just pure, carefree merriment as you link hands with Laios. Reciting vows from a flushed, teary-eyed Marcille. Neither of you has that gleam or honeydew sparkle of pure love, but Kabru is good at his job: zero doubt swims in his mind that you two will be a pair truly enamored with each other.

His misery must be unfiltered in the back of the grand hall, far behind the rest of the wedding party, because Rin’s dark eyes are piercing through the side of his skull. She’s frowning up at him, arms folded.

She murmurs, “You should’ve said something.”

Kabru grins at her sardonically, “I should’ve broken up their engagement? You didn’t even like us interacting when they were in our party.”

“That’s- !” her cheeks stain red, an annoyed huff rattling her whole body, “They never told you why they rejected you, right?”

Kabru’s silence is answer enough. It’s also more unsettling to Rin than any dungeon monster she’d encountered.

“They knew that I wanted you,” Rin clears her throat, embarrassment trying to choke her into silence, but she overcomes it for the sake of her friend, “So, out of respect, you were refused and never told why.”

Kabru loves Rin, as a sister. He loves her so much he’d kill for her, because she’s like his sister. He loves her so so so much that he cannot even be mad at her, because part of him always considered her somewhat to blame for your rejection of him.

For an agonizing, silent few seconds, Kabru just stares down at her with those crystalline eyes. Blinking himself from his stupor, Kabru asks the dumbest question he could think of, “Did they want to say yes?”

Rin’s frown deepens, forehead wrinkling, “Is that something you really want to know?”

Laios is a terrible kisser, and out of respect you cover your mouths with a hand as he maps out your lips with eyes clenched. Kabru told him not to close his eyes too early, and naturally Laios did not listen. Thankfully you’re there, hiding Laios’ possible humiliation with one hand and guiding him with your other on his jaw.

“No,” Kabru sighs, “Not really.”

That’s the biggest lie he might’ve ever told Rin.

Still she pats his back sympathetically, even laying her head against his shoulder.

Celebration begins, food laid free for grabbing and wine flowing like water -- especially into Kabru’s gaping maw. It's sour on his tongue, but as far as he’s seen it's him alone that scrunches his face and shakes out his hair at the taste, which only has him feeling crazier.

“Isn’t this foul?” Kabru scoffs, slumped over one of the many strewn tables in the general ballroom, cramped posture making him seem smaller. Ordinarily this is embarrassing. Ordinarily he’s not drunk.

“I don’t notice anything,” Chilchuck swigs from the clear chalice in his hand.

Marcille takes a civilized sip for herself, unspoken concern that their friend’s taste in alcohol is not utmost dependable, “I don’t notice anything either.”

Kabru swirls his wine, staring into the dark spiral and wondering if a bug of some type sensed his grim mood and decided to drown itself and poison his cup.

“I’m going to get a new drink, then,” Kabru rises, bidding the pair well as he guns for the barrels of frothy ale.

People cheer and clack maizers, spilling various toxic cures onto the floor making his shoes stick with loud clicks. Something he doesn’t bother with knowing Laios will seek him out once the stains are discovered.

Laios, Laios, Laios: speaking of.

Kabru’s gaze floats across the party to find his king, who is staring off with hands fidgeting in the drape of his Winged Lion’s pelt as your father speaks. An unfortunate sight, one he’s itching to rectify when a lengthy gown flows into his vision.

Dashing and soft and yours.

Sage fabric glides along the floor, intricately sewn floral trim skittering along the ground. Flowers of lace and yarn decorate the bust and sleeves, even a crown of colorful buds blooms atop your head. Rings of gold link around your fingers. Hair swept away to unveil your face, coiled and braided with, unbelievably, more flowers dancing between the tresses. Faint lavender and tangerine lingers around you in a hypnotizing haze, culling lovestruck head-turns of men and women with your every step.

“Your husband’s alone with your father.”

“They’ll come out alive, or we’ll hear them killing each other,” you pull out a seat at the longest central table and gesture to the chair directly beside you, “Sit. We never got to properly catch up.”

Kabru sees you have wine. He suddenly craves the sour grape flavor (maybe all he was missing was the sensation of licking it off your lips). From what he remembers, Laios was holding wine as well. Kabru considers stretching out to steal a second taste.

Although, sugary enough is the sound of your voice, suddenly his fresh mug of ale is entirely forgotten.

“Kabru?”

You’re so pretty, Kabru could tear his eyes out now and not miss a single greater sight. Especially when you’re -again- bathed in the pouring gold sunlight through grand windows, tranquil beside him at the long table. As if there isn’t a single other spot you prefer, you sit right next to him with a chalice of the worst wine he’s ever had.

“Hey, Kabru…”

His hands shake with the need to hold you. Chest raging with his uncontrollable heartbeat. His head hurts with the knowledge that there really isn’t a place he prefers more than by you (even if he’s forced to drink alcohol so foul it's comparable to sewage).

“Kabru,” your touch startles him, pout and knitted brows capturing his whole attention, “You’re not even listening to me!” you laugh, shaking off his incompetence so easily it makes him want to thank you with a kiss, “Are you drunk?”

“Huh?” he lowers his head into his hands, “Yes,” he lies to you, “Yes, that must be it.”

“Poor thing, I thought you were better at holding your liquor.”

“Your memory is fading…”

“Oh, well, suppose me and the king will have to tuck you in. Make sure you get to bed safely without bumping into anything expensive.”

Kabru gags, pushing himself up from his seat and dashing towards the nearest bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach (wine, mead, beer, and beer’s good brother ale).

Tears sting his eyes, snot beginning to leak from his nose as he spits into the toilet bowl. You and the king. The king and you. You and Laios: married. Perfect union. And Kabru did it all to himself. He wanted so desperately to drink himself under the table to forget, and you just had to go reminding him.

You are the worst person he’s ever met, and so is Laios! Your commitment to respect is disgusting, and Laios’ trust in him is an absolute travesty. You two should just hurry up and keel over instead of shoving your romance in Kabru’s face; and if either of you ever thanks him for setting you up then he’ll gut you both that very instant.

Laios and you are terrible, awful, no good devils -- and he wants you both so bad he’s vomiting in the bathroom on your wedding night.

Maybe he can send you both off on a honeymoon? Yes, yes. And while you’re away, he’ll drown in responsibility by day and pretty faces by night. Upon your return, he’ll have forgotten he was ever smitten.

No, who is he kidding? That would be a pointless venture.

You’d be so giddy to tell Kabru allllll about your trip while Laios would show off trinkets he picked up with that charming smile, Kabru would fall right back here. Puking and crying. He should just resign totally. Rot away in bed and die so he never has to see either of you again.

How cowardly.

How unbecoming.

Kabru could kick himself.

Rin was in his position more or less (...less, though, definitely less) and still had the nerve to face him every day for years. She didn’t run away, and she didn’t make her party suffer because of her feelings -- so how could Kabru extend the kingdom’s wellbeing over his? Without him, Laios would socially drown with a village chief’s firstborn as a life preserver.

You’re smart and well-versed in reading others, but you’re not Kabru for God’s sake. You can’t apply half of what you know, not to mention you don’t even care to learn.

Wiping off his mouth and flushing the toilet, Kabru stumbles toward the doorway with a prayer in his pocket to find water soon.

Returning to the chipper scene, Kabru can instantaneously spot Laios flagging him down, with his spare hand curved into the base of your spine.

He dodges you both and retires to bed. Lightheaded and miserable, he’s asleep quickly.

Then, suddenly, he’s not.

He’s outside Laios’ room.

Did his feet carry him here subconsciously? How pathetic…

Kabru is fully prepared to turn back and amble to his room when there’s a sound from the other side of the door. A sharp gasp and whine, then your giggling, and Laios’ voice pleading for you to be nice to him. More murmuring, then a soft moan. A lofty sigh.

Song of a consummation.

Foolishly, Kabru hadn’t thought that your sex life was something he’d have to encounter directly. And despite knowing he should step away, if not out of honor then at least to preserve his own heart, Kabru’s curiosity bolts him to the floor.

He’s never seen Laios fuck.

He’s never seen you fuck, either.

He feels compelled to study -- how does your subdued front mesh with Laios’ eager hands? Which of you takes control? With his bigger size and more powerful title, one would assume Laios, but Kabru bets it's you. Will you make him wait? Would he dive between your thighs with fervor? How will the lip stain your ladies painted you with look slathered across Laios’ pale skin?

Despite knowing what it says about his character, Kabru stays. On some level to get it through to himself that you two are together and off-limits; and on a deeper, truer level because he’s sick in the head.

As was the plan anyway, until a booming, “Hey!” echoes from down the dim hall. A guardsman fast approaching from his patrol route. Kabru’s face is hidden by the dark, figure easily mistaken for a passing servant. But even if the guard could recognize him, would it matter?

What reason does the royal advisor have for lingering outside his king’s chambers so late into the night?

Lies fly through Kabru’s brain as the guard bristles closer, none of them plausible. Finally, the idea of killing this man cycles through his mind, and he reconciles with the fact that must be his only option to avoid an obscenity charge.

“Oh, you came!” a soft hand lands between Kabru’s shoulder blades, voice floating past him and to the guard now two feet away, “Thank you for your faithful service, but don’t concern yourself with him. Our king summoned him,” your laugh soothes Kabru’s tensed muscles, “I wasn’t sure he’d make it because of the hour.”

Kabru stares at you, not bothering to hide his confused, jaw-hanging stare as the guard retreats to his typical patrol.

A thin silk robe drapes over you, loosely tied at the waist and exposing much of your chest.

“I never took you for a pervert, Kabru,” such a mellow voice makes even your scalding accusation sound sweet. You whirr him around by the arm and lug him into yours and Laios’ newly shared room. All proprieties trapped outside but trepidation slithers through, lodging in his gullet.

Laios lays on the bed, exposed completely. Tousled sheets bunched between his hands and under his thighs. Cheeks flushed redder than the head of his cock, hard and slapped against his stomach. Wide spread thighs and heaving chest bountiful eye candy.

“How’d you know it was him?” Laios sounds devastatingly breathless, eyes low and ruby lips swollen.

“Hunch,” you answer plainly, petting down Kabru’s arm until your fingers lace with his.

Kabru murmurs your name, wide eyed. You knew?

Of course, you knew. How could he have thought anything else? Your calm nature about the whole ordeal solidifies that you must’ve known for a long while. Longer than him, even. When would you have figured it out?

“He’s beautiful,” you perch your chin on Kabru’s shoulder, cooing into his ear, “You were always so focused on his face, you’ve never gotten to see anything beneath his clothes, have you?”

Oh, right. The very first day you got here, obviously.

Laios rolls his head from one shoulder to the other, brows pinching in frustration, heated gaze straying from Kabru to you, “He’s going to touch me, right?”

“Depends,” your hands skim up Kabru’s spine, nudging him forward, “Kabru, do you want to touch your king?” one arm glides around his front, fingers toying with the band of his trousers, “And myself?”

“Uhhh…” can he be honest with himself? Can he lay himself bare before not one, but two people? Two people he’s interested in above all else. Heat laps from the barrel of his chest, scorching from cheeks to ears to forehead as sweat beads along his hairline and the back of his neck.

“I asked a question. I need a response.”

Laios’ cock twitches against his abdomen, throat croaking around desire.

“Yes,” Kabru exhales, heavy, barbed, and thorny, cutting him up inside until he’s too weak to stand. Sinking onto the mattress by his knees, “I will.”

Laios’ eyes flick from Kabru’s face down to his weepy erection.

He wants Laios in his mouth. Wants the warmth slapping his tongue, burrowing towards the cinch of his throat. He wants to grope the bulge his king forces through his neck and feel your hands buried in his dark hair. The latter need is fulfilled, your fingers combing through dark curls to push him into your husband’s crotch.

“What a pretty mouth, Kabru, you love to run it,” you climb onto the bed beside him, holding Laios steady by the base, “Try something new, hm?”

“New is- ”

“Try it, Kabru. Now,” regardless of the choppy demand, your voice remains dulcet. Pillowy and fluffy. He could melt into your sound.

His tongue lolls to slather the underside of Laios’ cock with hot saliva, enveloping the man in his mouth. Cheeks hollowing and lashes batting wetly up at the king, crimson deepening on Laios’ face. Behind him, the mattress dips and shakes, Laios’ eyes jumping from baby blues to over Kabru’s back, hips jerking against his chin.

Your hand lifts from inky hair, curls slipping between your fingers in vain attempts to tether you against his skull. Now both your palms run up Laios’ chest as you mold against his side. Your thighs spread around one of his arms and robe nowhere to be found, painted lips smear rouge up Laios’ neck and cheek before you claim his lips.

One of Laios’ hands cradles Kabru’s head, not rudely pushing nor wrangling his hair, just an affectionate reminder of whose cock is in his throat. Meanwhile, the hand between your thighs crooks towards your heat, middle finger ringing your clit -- earning a jump and heave from you.

Laios coaxes Kabru off, winded as he requests, “Can you two kiss? Please?”

Kabru gives the king no time to abjure before he’s spearing you with attention, not that you’re more patient; hurriedly cupping his cheeks and legs spreading to welcome him between. Sat up enough to give Laios a proper view, Kabru fondles your ass as you happily cram your lips to his. He wonders if your lip stain wipes off on him as well. He hopes it does.

“So beautiful,” Laios muses stroking his cock, casually flicking his wrist and thumbing the head, as you reach for Kabru’s.

Kabru’s lips sear down your neck, urged to bite. He does not.

“Soft, right?” Laios lays his head against your shoulder, poking obnoxiously into Kabru’s space (not that he minds), “Still sweet with wine.”

You taste better than the fucking wine.

Does Laios?

Your lips curl, drifting away just to whisper against his lips, “Would you like to kiss the king?”

“Can I?”

Before you can reaffirm, Laios snatches Kabru by the chin to kiss him.

Laios is not sweet like wine, he tastes like beer and salt and iron from a raw lip, and yet Kabru cannot drink him down fast enough.

Hands, big and calloused and sweltering, brand Kabru’s hips -- spinning him around to face the door as you unwork the man’s nightshirt. Tossing the flowy cloth aside, you press a final kiss to Kabru’s lips, before laying out beneath him.

Kabru’s eyes hone on the honeydew slick glossing your slit, hands scrambling for perch on your bracketing thighs as Laios’ settle on his ass. Anticipation builds and flows out of his mouth, rich and thick and in the form of a lashing tongue. Broad and cozy, Kabru sweeps up your cunt, thumbs parting you for the purest taste. Audible sighs fan over your pelvis in time with Laios burying his spit-slick fingers into Kabru’s hole.

A groan vibrates through your hips, Kabru’s electric eyes flashing over the quiver in your thighs as you grind onto his nose. Both hands knotting through his hair.

Fingers prod inside you, curling toward your stomach before scissoring apart just to noisily slurp out leaking wetness.

Burly hands rearrange Kabru again, manhandling him until he’s got his back against Laios’ chest with legs thrown out across the bed. Exhilaration surges through Kabru’s whole body, extremities jittering and whines dribbling down his lips. Slowly, he’s lowered onto Laios’ cock with teeny rasps inspiring you to grab him by the shoulders. Again, sweet lips meet his, but he realizes the ploy quickly: torturous pleasure rips through his gut as you push him back to prime for riding.

Laios’ hand finds your chest, tweaking your nipple while snapping his hips up. Pounding into Kabru’s clenching hole in time that you sink down on the poor man.

Over Kabru’s shoulder, you and Laios swap spit with noisy kisses and if he weren’t sweating ecstasy then maybe he’d find the power to be embarrassed over his desperation to join. Regardless of getting his brains ground into mush by your combined, incessant pistoning, Kabru finds himself giddy to be involved further.

You’re purposeful and elegant; excruciating, tantalizing bounces with nails digging into the meat of Kabru’s chest. As if you could easily tear him apart, only dangling in front of him like a carrot-drawn-horse.

Laios is frantic and overwhelming; hips unrelenting and thick muscled arms belting Kabru against him. Skin clapping skin, moist with sweat, and fat rippling from the impacts of Laios’ fucking. Each thrust into Kabru sends him rocketing further inside you; bulging deep, deep in your squelching cunt.

Contrasting in all ways -- your hands pet and scratch while Laios’ anchor and tug, you moan and mewl while Laios groans and growls. When you’re not kissing your husband you impress downy lips upon Kabru’s chest while Laios tears bruises from his neck with full teeth.

Passion swells each suck and stroke and pap, pap, pap until Kabru’s bursting from the inside out. He keens, body tensing.

“Breathe,” Laios huffs into his ear, voice low and crackling, “Breathe, it feels better when you don’t tighten up.”

Kabru heeds, blowing hot air across your bare chest as he cums, and you coo, “Good boy.”

A slush of your combined juices cascades, soaking and matting Kabru’s pubes. Wetting his and Laios’ balls. Three hard rams and Laios is spilling inside Kabru as well. Pants and gulps echoing around the room.

Reclining against the headboard, Laios slowly pulls your exhausted body off Kabru before slipping his cock out of the man. Each of you is fully aware the hygienic option is to wash yourselves, change the sheets, and maybe even comb through messy heads of hair.

None of you do, though.

Laios, grinning bright and alluring as the sun, has an arm nestled around both you and Kabru to keep you flush against his sides. Your head finds a pillow in your husband’s chest, Kabru copying the motion. Swamped exhales pass between yours and Kabru’s blissed out faces, but only measured breaths pull a serene rise and fall from Laios. Drool even leaks from the corner of Kabru’s mouth, he groans in disgust but can’t manage the strength to wipe it away. Neither can you, exhaustion poisoning you from the knees up.

A careful thumb dabs the spittal away, only to grossly end up smearing it across Kabru’s shoulder when Laios replaces his hand on the man’s bare arm.

“How…” Kabru shudders for breath, “Why…” his eyes flutter drowsily, “Not tired…?”

“I didn’t do much,” Laios reasons (whether he genuinely thinks that or is bluffing, nobody can be sure), voice low as he notices you’re beginning to drift asleep, “Wore yourselves out, though.”

“Still…” Kabru huffs defiantly, yawning against the moist valley between Laios’ pecs, “I… more stamina…”

“Ass,” you drowsily pitch in, eyes closed and lashes stark against your cheeks.

“Ass?” Laios looks down at Kabru.

“Ass,” Kabru yawns again, now capable of slurring full sentences together with his breath sufficiently caught, “First time taking it in the ass. Probably took more out of me than I expected…”

“You should’ve said something,” Laios lours, “Even monsters like Orcs that have sex for pleasure stretch their partners more than I did. It helps prevent tearing. I wish I could’ve seen more mating rituals before getting cursed.”

“You could read more…”

Kabru’s too tired to negate your yawn of a suggestion. He doesn’t need to before Laios mutters again, seconds away from passing out altogether,

“I’ve read about them a lot, I just wanted to see it for myself.”

Year 515. Some days later.

Laios suddenly turns in his throne, angling his body towards Kabru, “You think I can make polyamorous marriage legal?”

“Why?” Kabru’s sure he knows exactly where the king’s head is, he just wants to hear the man say it.

Sticking out his thumb, index, and middle finger, Laios scrunches the digits towards his palm twice, “Aren’t we all getting married?”

“You’ll have to ask your real spouse about that first.”

“I did.”

“Huh?!” that makes Kabru’s heart explode, blood and meat blowing through his orifices. Teasing Laios is easy now that he more clearly understands the man’s motives, but you?

You’re intimidating even after he’s been inside you, he doesn’t know how Laios can so casually ask you something like that (he does though, it’s due to Laios’ many loose screws).

“I already asked about us marrying you.”

“And…?”

“They thought it was a good idea!” Laios shakes off, as if Kabru should have just known you would go along with your husband’s insanity, “So, can I legalize it?”

“Probably,” Kabru settles a hand over his chest, hoping to calm his racing heart (or what remains, anyway), “I’ll look into it.”

“Yay! Thank you!”

~~~

kabru miserablism POV my beloved

beast laios and fae reader and treasure kabru imagery makes me so hard

#laios touden x reader #kabru x reader #laios x kabru #labru x reader #laios x reader x kabru #laios touden smut #kabru smut #dungeon meshi x reader #i spent so long staring at this thing i don't wanna look at it anymore omg

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dcxdpdabbles · 17 days ago

Note

Dani/Ellie as a member of YJ or Teen Titans.

The team is helping the JL with an all hands on deck apocalypse on earth. They are losing badly. She looks around herself, at the destruction all around her, squares her shoulders and says 'looks like it's time for the nuclear option... DADDY!!!!'

I didn't know if you've seen the post where a scary Danny got summoned instead of Klarion and everyone (heroes and villains) was getting ready to team up because of how scared/intimidated they were. That's the Danny I'm picturing answering his daughter's call for help. Maybe with an equally scary Fright Knight sword already drawn at his back.

The team was struggling with keeping the villains at bay. This was supposed to be a coordinated attack with the Justice Leauge, moving simultaneously on the other world.

Earlier yesterday, the Light had organized for reality to split apart, forming two worlds. One contains children, and the other includes adults, causing the opposite age groups to vanish before the eyes of horrified humans.

To the adults, their kids were taken in a flash worldwide. To children, their parents went missing in the same flash. It was chaotic, and if it had not been for Captain Marvel, they would have never figured out what was happening.

Dani was a little peeved that she was on the child's side, but despite being a princess of the Infinite Realms, her body technically did not form until four years ago. For all intentions and purposes, she is sixteen. So she stayed with Young Justice, following the kid's command and feeling alive.

She may request to be placed on the Team when this is all over. She sends an energy blast towards Klarion, watching the little Lord dodge with a laugh. He sends back a wave of magic that would nearly knock her out of the air if not for her gritting her teeth and digging in her heels within her ectoplasm.

She always hated dealing with the stupid Lord of Choas. They gave her Dad nothing but trouble whenever he called a court. Everything Danny suggested was a challenge on the grounds of attempting to "control" their disorder.

Honestly, Dani preferred dealing with them than the Lord of Order. They were a bunch of self-righteous uprights who didn't care about who was hurt in the process of their justice. At least the Lord of Choas admitted they were monsters.

Oddly enough, she was grateful Klarion wasn't treating her like the princess she was. It made work so much easier when he allowed her to attack him and vice versa.

"Echo!" Robin runs towards her, waving a hand. "Maneuver seven!"

She nods, abandoning her stance to shift her flight path into a large arch. Her hands clasp into a tight cup as she speeds back up into the air. Robin doesn't miss a beat, launching himself at her just in time to press his foot on her clasp hands, using them and her upward rise to launch himself clear across the field to land a mighty kick on Teekl.

It lets out a howl that quickly gathers the attention of the angered Lord of Choas. Seeing her chance, Dani fires more energy blasts, quickly forcing the witch boy into a defensive position.

She pinned him for a few seconds while Kid Flash raced toward the marking on the ground. Dani grunts to shift the ectoplasm in the air into a long beam, firing it straight at Klarion's shield.

A few cracks are forming around the dark red dome, and she is just about to break through when Teekl comes out of nowhere. A roar is the only warning she had before the blasted cat slams into her, claws digging into Dani's side, and she can only scream as the pair fall.

"No!" Kid screams somewhere behind her, but Dani can't turn since she is holding the claws of the large cat away from her and pressing into the ground to stop it from tearing her face off with its fangs. Its sneering face looms over her, snapping at the air, while her arms tremble with the force of holding the large beast at bare.

Getting her wits about her, Dani uses a ghostly wail to get the cat off her. Teekl is flung through the ai,r landing in a heap by Klarion's side.

The witch boy gasps, "Teekl!"

Dani heaves herself to her side, legs turn, and oozes a mix of red and green blood. Teekl had managed to claw at them during the fall, which meant she couldn't stand, let alone fight, for a good while.

Panting through the pain, Dani presses her hands to leg, attempting to put pressure on it. Her vision goes in and out as white-hot fire races up her legs and body. The Team struggles with an outraged Klarion just a few feet away from her.

Dani wishes, not for the first time, that she was a perfect clone of Dani. If she was, she would have all of his powers, including super healing and duplication. Instead, she sits like a heap, an utter liability to the team, as Klarion dances circles around them.

It pains her to do it, but Dani starts to drag herself away from the battle, realizing she needs to put space between herself and the danger. If the Witch Boy or his stupid cat realizes they can use her as a hostage, Dani will never live it down.

She is just about to drag herself to the tree line when she notices Zatanna raise her hand and speak in rapid-fire magic. A nearby bush drops its illusion to show a very familiar helmet. Dani's eyes widened in alarm, and she took it into her hands and slid it right on.

"Zatanna! Wait!"" She hears herself scream, but it's too late. The girl's body has become a vessel for Nabu, the champion of the Lord of Orders. She really hates those guys.

Zatanna rises into the sky, now dressed as Dr. Fate, flickering in and out of sight as the split realities mess with Nabu's anchor.

Klarion taunts him for it, seeing this as a chance to take down the ancient Dr.Fate, but Dani has other plans. Raising her hand, with every last ounce of strength she has, Dani aims one last good ecto-beam towards the crystal in the center of the spell runes.

It shatters the crystal in a thousand pieces, sending a shock wave of magic across the field. Klarion throws a fit, like the immature brat he is, before he calls back his stupid cat, and the two vanish into a portal. If Dani was feeling better, she would have chased after him.

Captain Marvel beams back into their reality, informing them the adult magic casters were all defeated by the Justice League. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief when Dr. Fate and Zatara med the two worlds back together

Superboy rushes over and leaves Dani in his arms, mindful of her wounds. She offers him a soft thank you, which earns her a grunt in acknowledgment. Not one for words, that Conner Kent.

She thinks about the Conner Kent of another universe, this one younger and more arrogant, running around in leather jackets and piercings but a Young Justice member all the same. One day, she should introduce the two. If the fabric of realities didn't fall apart upon their meeting.

Dani is snapped out of her thoughts when the pair get close enough for her to make out what Zatara is begging the Order Champion. Her mouth falls open as Dr. Fate refuses to leave Zatanna's body.

"Kent would never allow-"

"I have sent Kent Nelson's soul to the afterlife." Dr. Fate cuts off Kid Flash with what sounds like a coldhearted taunt to Dani. The way he uses Zatanna's voice makes her skin crawl.

"Take me," Zatara offers desperation in his voice. "My body is at its peak, my magic stronger than my daughters. Use my-"

"No!" Dani shouts, flailing in Conner's arms. Her ectoplasm boils in her veins when she points an accusing finger at the flowing Dr. Fate. "Nah-uh. This is against the law, and you know that, Nabu!"

"You know not what you speak of,child-" The ass tries, but Dani won't hear any of it.

"Long-term overshadowing of any living being is against Infinite Realms law." She sneers, facial features slightly less round and more uncanny with her anger. Around her, the Team is staring wide eyes.

Oh, right, this version of the Team has never seen her proper Phantom form. They only know Echo- named after being the copy of the great hero Phantom- who looked awful like her human form, just color flipped.

Her Halfa form was much more appealing than her entire ghostly appearance.

Dr.Fate crosses their arms. "Against a mortal will. This child willingly gave her body to me in exchange for aid in combat. I broke no law."

"Oh yeah! We'll see what the King has to say about that!" She screams, and finally, Nabu seems slightly worried, but it vanishes quickly as he jolts Zatanna's chin at him. Using her friend like some sort of meat suit.

The nerve.

"The King has better things to do than heed the call of an unimportant child." Nabu hisses, and yeah, she's going to make him pay for that.

"It looks like it's time for the nuclear option, just remember Nabu, the Lord of Order's Champion, you brought this upon yourself." Reaching out with a hand shaped entirely of ectoplasm, Dani launches a blast at Nabu.

The Team screams, Kid Flash's voice rising about the others. "No! Zatanna feels ever hit you land!"

"Echo, stand down!" Batman commands, but Dani doesn't pay them any mind as her attack lands against Dr. Fate's cross shield. She smirked, willing her glowing hand to rip a piece of the shield and fling it back towards her.

Conner nearly drops her as Dani slams the pieces into her leg, allowing them to cover up Teekl's magic. Wobbling her lips and letting the water fill her eyes, Dani lets out a whine and then a scream.

"Daddy, help!"

At once, the field is overflowing with death magic. Every living being in the area- including the animals in the forest- is brought to their knees as a fear unlike anything they have ever experienced digs its way into their very souls.

Conner falls to his knees dropping Dani in the process but she doesn't mind. She is too busy enjoying the way Dr. Fate's entire body has gone rigid as one glowing green eye snaps behind him. Zatanna small figure is no bigger then the pupil of the glowing eye, her body bath in the glow of it's green light and even the moon pales in comparison to the might of it's shine.

The eye quickly gainst a smile, stretched across a row of sharp teeth, then a second eye, a nose, and slowly Danny, King of the Infinite Rleams, forms in front of everyone's eyes.

The sweet smell of terror fills the air as Dani breathes it in.

Danny stares at the overshawed girl, eyes locked on Nabu who is resting just behind the layer of her skin, and glares. "You have brought harm upon my heir."

Nabu is too terrified to move, so Dani puts on a bigger show, letting tears roll down her face as she calls up, "He stole my friend too! He overshadowed her and won't give her back!"

Danny's face clouds with rage. "You have taken my heir's love. Release her."

Woah, hey now, no need to out Dani like that. Blushing, Dani ducks her head as Nabu quickly allows Zatanna to take off the helmet. Danny's large hand reaches towards the helmet, ripping out the spirit of Nabu, who wails in horror as the King drags him towards a portal. "You shall face trial for these actions."

"No! Mercy, your majestic, it was for the purpose of order!" The ghost cries, but his pleas fall on deaf ears as skeleton ghosts burst out of the portal, dragging the kicking and screaming ghost through. The portal slams closed with a loud crack, Nabu's screams echoing across the field.

Danny turns his large head towards the cowering group of mortals before the pointy-dark features of death melt away into a warm human face. It's a whiplash of change as the air shifts to comfort and personified sunshine when the King smiles. "Dani, I just wanted to let you know how proud I am you joined a hero team. Visit home a little more often and bring your friends."

"I will, Dad. Thanks." She beams back as Danny's large finger presses into her side, and his healing magic overflows her body. He does the same to all of her teammates and Justice League co-workers.

They are too petrified to move or thank him for the healing, but neither is Phantom Mind.

Danny nods, winks, and then vanishes like he was never there. Slowly, sound returns to the world- the leaves rustle in the wind, and animals begin to chirp.

"Well," Dani starts, climbing out of Conners's arms and dusting her outfit. "Who wants victory fudge?"

She gains a lot of round-eye looks, and when no one answers, she sighs, "I guess we can do victory pizza instead. But I demand one kind of sweet, or I'm going home to my father to complain."

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Echo's Dad #Part 1 #Young Justice Cartoon #Dani travels through dimensions #Liked this one and stayed #Never mentioned who her dad was #Danny is scary #Zatanna takes her up on that date later on #Robin kicks a tree #Don't worry Nabu is released on a warning but he won't take over someone life anymore #Danny is Dani father

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chirp-a-chirp · 1 year ago

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Court of Darkness: Untamed

Couple: Roy and MC (MC named Carla)

Other Characters: Sherry, Rio, Fenn

Description: Why does Roy, the consort who strives to obtain the “perfect prince” image, have a hairstyle that can only be described as an “elegant mop top”?

Alternate Description: @aide-falls I finally finished your “hair-raising” Roy story request! AKA why is drawing this 2D man’s hair so difficult? @x-daedalus-x @jaysquid @daegupaksu you might appreciate this too 🙂

Tags: Fluffy crack? Crack-filled fluff? And partial innuendo because Fenn’s in it.

…

Carla, Sherry, and Rio make their way to the entrance of Roy’s room. The group are meeting for a picnic on the rooftop garden. As Sherry pushes the door, they hear an exasperated cry.

For Creator’s Sake! For once, do as I ask!

Carla opens the door further, alarmed at Roy’s rare outburst. Sherry exchanges a fond look at Rio and closes the door, leaving a small crack to peer inside Roy’s room.

Sherry: Ah, dear brother is at it again.

Rio: What’s he using this time?

Sherry: Looks like some kind of enchanted gel from Luxure.

Carla: What are you all talking about?!

Sherry gestures for Carla to look through the crack in the door. Carla sees Roy’s back as he’s standing next to a floor-length mirror. Through the mirror’s reflection, Carla notices that Roy’s lips are pursed in a tight line as he slathers copious amounts of gel in his hair to try and slick it back. At this point, his hair looks as if it’s been electrified and licked by numerous cows.

A frown appears on Carla’s face. She loves Roy’s hair. It’s soft, warm, with golden highlights among the light pink strands; it reminds her of pink and yellow wildflowers that blossom in all directions, seeking the sun. With its many layers, subtle waves, and upturned tips, Roy’s hair is as elegant as a mop top can be. But mop top it certainly is.

Carla sighs, understanding in an instant. Hair reminiscent of wildflowers is NOT princely, or so Roy thinks. Crisp white jackets; finely embroidered capes; golden buttons with the Invidian crest tailor-fit to his clothes; and, of course, an ever-present smile—these are the successful pieces to the princely image Roy tries to project in public. It never occurred to Carla until now that his unruly hair is the one part that never fit that self-imposed prince perfect persona of his.

Sherry: *Turns to Carla* Roy’s hair has always been messy. About once a year, he gets it in his head to try and tame it. Magic, enchantments, gel, hairspray—nothing’s worked.

Carla: Not even S:Rank magic?

Rio: Lynt tried magically styling Roy’s hair once, but it looked more like a birds nest perched on his head.

Sherry: Then the headmaster got involved. But Lou ended up styling Roy’s hair to be an ACTUAL nest. A few birds made Roy’s hair their home for weeks.

Carla: WEEKS?!

Sherry: Why yes. A pair of rare exotic birds nested there. And these are birds that, once their eggs are laid, can’t be disturbed without harming them.

Rio: Roy got used to sleeping sitting up pretty quick. He was very gentle with them.

Sherry: And now the birds reside in the Invidian royal gardens!

Carla: OK, I wasn’t expecting THAT. Has Roy ever tried just cutting his hair?

Sherry: Yes, but for every strand of hair he cuts, two new ones appear in its place instantly. So there’s little point in doing so.

Carla: So my paramour has a magical hydra in hair form on top of his head?!

Rio: Yeah! But at least his hair doesn’t grow beyond what it is now!

Carla: Is there ANYTHING ELSE I should know about Roy’s hair?

Sherry: When Roy stands out in the sun long enough, his hair smells like strawberries!

Rio: Carla’s hair also smells like strawberries!

Carla: That’s my shampoo Rio. Not magical pheromone hydra hair.

Fenn: Well, well, well! Is there a reason why we’re all admiring Roy’s assets like this? *Points a finger through the cracked door at Roy’s backside as Roy continues to glob gel on his head*

Rio: Roy’s trying to gussy up his hair again. He seems super focused so we didn’t want to distract him.

Sherry: That gel brother’s using appears very expensive. Did you gift that to him Prince Fenn?

Fenn: Ah, yes. I owed Roy. He recently helped me with a situation involving an Akedian diplomat’s daughter that was—alas, I can’t say anymore for the Princess’s sake.

Sherry: I have a very active imagination. I can fill in the details!

Rio: I’m sure you were a great help Fenn, even before Roy stepped in!

Carla: *Sigh* Maybe you should give some of your imaginative powers to Rio, Sherry?

Fenn: *Continues peeking through the cracked door* Our dear Roy looks as if there’s a wet mop on top of his head! It’s quite the look.

Carla: Yeah, well, Roy looks GREAT wet.

Sherry: …

Rio: Aw, have you both gotten wet walking in the rain together?

Carla: *Claps hands over her mouth* Oh God, forget I said that!

Fenn: You and Roy do seem VERY devout when you take baths together. Oh God, Oh Vane…

Carla: Roy’s room is soundproofed! How would you know what we—

Fenn: I live next door to Roy remember. And my imagination is much more active than Sherry’s. Not that I need to imagine, Treasure. You and Roy are loud enough to pierce through ANY sound barrier.

Carla: S-stop joking Fenn!

Fenn: Oh Heartspell, sweet Heartspell, just like that…

Sherry: I wish my imagination weren’t QUITE so active now.

Rio: Why not Sherry? Walks in the rain are fun! Though Roy doesn’t seem the kind of chap to like that sort of thing.

Fenn: Roy and Treasure engage in a very different water activity Rio. Rather enthusiastically, in fact—

Carla: ANYWAYS…Fenn, is the gel you gave Roy special?

Fenn: Not sure it’s special, but it has to be better than the gel Jasper and Guy gave Roy that one time.

Carla: How so?

Fenn: Guy’s gel MAY have caught on fire while Roy was teaching a potions class…

Carla: WHAT?!

Fenn: Hmmm, the gel had some black market ingredients Jasper failed to mention were present. But don’t worry. Roy’s fan club doused him with lots of water! They were VERY excited about that.

Sherry: Poor Roy was positively mobbed.

Carla: So that answers the question “Has Roy participated in a Wet T-Shirt contest”…

There. It is finished!

Fenn, Rio, Sherry, and Carla crowd the door at Roy’s words. For a brief moment, Roy’s hair is successfully slicked back, not a strand out of place, his hair the very picture of a fairytale prince. Roy smiles in satisfaction.

Sproooooooong!

As if the hair had a mind of its own, the gel leaps off of Roy’s head, flying in all directions. Gobs of gel land on the mirror, walls, tea cups, and nearby tables. One gob splatters on the front door, narrowly missing the four people watching.

Roy hangs his head slightly and removes the remaining gel from his hair. With a poof, his hair reverts back to its usual mop top shape. His arms fall to his sides, hands clinched in tight fists.

I just…wanted to look dashing for Carla. Just once.

Carla’s heart clinches at the sad tone in Roy’s voice. His hair obsession is not just about the prince persona—not now. He wishes to look good for her. Carla turns to Sherry and Rio.

Carla: Please go on without me. I’ll bring Roy along in a minute.

Rio: OK then. Fenn, come join us mate! There’s enough food for us all.

Sherry: Good luck Carla.

Fenn: Sorry the gel didn’t work. At least Roy’s hair didn’t catch fire! Feel free to douse him with water though since Roy clearly likes it when you do it Treasure! *Wink wink*

Carla rolls her eyes as Fenn, Rio, and Sherry leave. She opens the door and walks in, grabbing a single-stemmed pink rose from a nearby vase. Carla approaches Roy from behind; she wraps her arms around his waist and places the rose in Roy’s right hand.

Carla: Roses are not the only flowers that are beautiful, you know.

Roy: *Surprised* Oh?

Carla: Roses—they’re refined, elegant, radiant. When I see them, I instantly think of Invidia—and you.

Carla: *Turns so that she’s facing Roy, standing on tiptoes as she runs her fingers through his hair* But, you also remind me of wildflowers.

Roy: *Laughs softly* Really? Pray tell why.

Carla: Like your hair, there’s an aspect of you that yearns to be free. That part is a little wild, a little unexpected, untamed. And I love it. Please don’t hide it away. Please.

Carla’s words pierce Roy’s soul. A winding affection grabs Roy’s heart and refuses to let go. His arms wrap tightly around Carla as he holds her close. He whispers in her ear.

Roy: So, which do you prefer—roses or wildflowers?

Carla: *Hovers her lips just above Roy’s and whispers back* Both.

#court of darkness #voltage games #fan fiction #roy invidia #sherry invidia #rio voleri #fenn luxure #fluff and crack #voltage romance games #otome mc

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historiaxvanserra · 1 month ago

Text

In Hades I Am With You | Chapter One

Pairing: Azriel x Hewn!city reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: With rising tensions across the sea causing unrest in the capital, the two warring factions of the Night Court must come to terms.

Reader is the ill-fated daughter of a cruel Lord of Night; plagued with prophetic dreams and cursed with rare, arcane gifts. Azriel is the stoic spymaster; forged from violence, lethal and honed to a fatal sharpness. The pair find themselves bound to one another through sacred oaths. For better or worse.

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

Please let me know what you think. This chapter and readers powers are heavily inspired by Poppy from From Blood and Ash.

I was born on a night like this, I think.

Storm-streaked, he had once called me. If only he could see me now; standing at the foothills of the mountain, wind-beaten and with the acrid taste of seafret on my lips. When I was a girl my father had told me that I came into the world the way the Old Gods had. Born from the merciless, blue-green depths of the sea.

To be beautiful and cruel, and fearless.

Now fear is all I know.

The streets of the great mountain city are plagued by a feverish summer storm and, at the fatal peal of thunder I cast my eyes skyward. A terrible dread coils in the pit of my stomach.

The visions come with the storm; fleeting images of an unforgiving tempest as it ravages all in its wake. The dark figure of a man, who whispers my name like a prayer.

The God of plagues and prophecy.

Death had first come to me in a dream. Haunting and prophetic. Shrouded in seraphic blue light.

Heat swells beneath the surface of the hydrangea clouds and the dark waters of the Sidra turn violent. Ivory seafoam coils and contorts violently like the tendrils of some grotesque sea-snake. I think of an old story my father had told me once. A human princess from the continent. She had been beautiful once. Until some dark, deathless God had lay claim to her. A monstrous thing. Rising from the depths of her watery tomb to lay waste to the men who had hurt her. Thrashing and writhing as the waves crested over the port of this wretched city.

The crack of forked, white lightning against the darkening horizon breaks my reverie and Scylla nestles into my side with a bruising force. I smooth a hand flat on her muzzle. Her lustrous dark mane feels soft under my tender touch and she exhales a hot breath that rises like steam in the wet heat of the Summer storm.

“Calm, Scylla.” I whisper tenderly to the mare I had taken to mount. My lips graze her dappled coat along her muzzle and I welcome the earthy fetor as it fills my senses.

“Gentle, girl.” I reaffirm, patting the mount affectionately as I tie the reins to the crumbling statue of some prince long dead.

“I’ll be back soon.” I promise. My voice wavers with another rumble of thunder.

When I was a girl, my father had told me to count the moments between the cacophony of thunder and the flash of white lightning to work out how many leagues away it might be.

At this moment I know that I am standing in the eye of the storm.

Scylla watches warily as my figure disappears into the darkness of the lower city. I still hear her in the distance long after I am gone. Cloistered in the darkness of the city’s narrow alleys I remove the onyx veil that shrouds my features. I bury it in the folds of the plain, grey cloak I had stolen from Leda.

I weave through the long, winding streets. I observe the world in flashes of cruel light and sound that permeates the suffocating darkness that saturates the lower city. I hear the echo of it in the lurid shouts of merchants, and the vulgar songs of sailors, coming home from the docks at the mouth of the Sidra. I listen to them all; as they beg, barter and brawl in the filthy streets. The fetor of decay lingers in the air like festering fruit flesh in the feverish heat of the slums. Throngs of beggar children chase the merchant's carts as they roll through the putrid pools of waste upon the wet, cobbled stone. Though, I only catch fleeting glimpses of them each time the cruel, seraphic light cuts through the blanket of the dark.

As I pass through the Streets of Silk, I hear the bawdy rhymes of the painted whores as they call out into the night like a siren song; all sultry-eyed and dressed in lace that billows in the wretched breeze like the tendrils of a monstrous chimera. Fated to lure wayward sailors to their watery tombs.

It is then, as the city bells toll their mournful song, that I reach my destination.

The building stands as one of the last unsanctioned pleasure halls in the city; its weary slate facade is cut from the same dark stone as the mountain that oppresses the city. Its neglected roof tiles gleam in the pallid silver faelights like moonlight on the murky-green depths of the Sidra. Above the door, I observe the pillory that bears the establishment's name. The Jade Pearl, painted in varying gaudy shades of green and gold.

The pleasure hall on the outer banks of the mountain city is alive with sordid activity. The whores in their fine silks twirl and dance in merry rings like water nymphs, and the serving girls sing sultry harmonies like siren songs, as they fill up the cups of patrons with sticky, honeyed mead. The high-arching melody of lyres and harps cut through the cacophony of carnal sounds; the officious laughter of Darkbringers, the vulgar curses and honeyed words, whispered into the skin of wind-beaten sailors and fat merchants.

I traverse the narrow corridors that run like veins into the heart of the tavern. Its dark antechamber is bathed in shadow and dying fireglow that casts the word in a pallid light. The emerald bar curves around the hall in the shape of a crescent moon and the tables dapple the room like stars.

“What a pretty creature you are, Mistress.” A beautiful wraith compliments, tugging and the long sleeves of my stolen robes. With tender touches and whispers the wraith works the buttons of my robes until I am left in the thin champagne shift I had worn beneath my cloak.

She’s a slender looking creature, with pale blue eyes that look almost silver in the dying light of the hearth. Her long, white hair is braided over her shoulder like the tendril of some mythical siren.

Dangerous and inviting.

“Whatever you desire, be it wine or women, I will procure for you tonight,” She purrs, her voice low and sultry as she looks at me with those pale eyes. She’s dressed in the gauzy, silk robes of a whore. The garment flows like water over the curve of her hip and with a deep slit in its middle that exposes the graceful swell of her breasts beneath. And through her guise of beauty and seduction, I see the chains that bind her.

As I am bound. To this court. To the mountain that we call home.

“A drink would be nice,” I acquiesce, sliding a gold coin across the polished surface of the bar, “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It is no trouble at all, mistress- but this far too much coin.” The wraith begins to untether the cracked leather coin purse from her hip. She begins to exchange the gold for smaller coins of silver and bronze, counting them in her open palm.

“Please - keep it -- I’ve no use for such things anyway.” I command, nodding towards the coin in her hand. The wraith shakes her head and tries to protest but a call from the brutish looking owner draws the girl's attention away from me. I look up from my spot, across the painted emerald surface of the bar, to the games table. A voice, thick with mirth and malice, beckons my attention.

“There are rumors amongst the legion that the High Lord will return to Court by the moon's turn.” The cruel laugh of a Darkbringer draws my interest as they sit around an emerald table. Crimson cards and dice litter the surface of the table and in its center a collection of coins. The male at the head of the table is dressed in his court robes; a dark overcoat with silver embroidery along the collars and cuffs. The others have abandoned their stifling robes in lieu of casual black tunics and pants. It is only through the tendrils of dark that shroud them in shadow that I know what they are.

These men are members of The Night Court’s legion of Darkbringers; and servants of the High Lord’s Steward. The larger of the three, unsheathes his dagger and places it atop the pile of coins in lieu of money.

A reminder of their lethal potential.

A vein of dark power that speaks to a coming vision plagues me in those spaces between the seconds. Untethered and adrift in the ether I allow my fragile mind to wander. I see a lake from which the dead rise like a devastating tempest. I see a King atop a dias, and a throne of splintered bone. And, through the blanket of the dark, I see the gleam of Illyrian Steel and age worn bone.

Then, that tenuous connection to the Otherworld is severed.

“The commander of the city watch says that tensions in the lower city are rising.” The deep timbre of the Darkbringer rouses me from thought again.

“I heard that the Lord Protector plans to broker an alliance with the Death Lord himself,”

“ if only to free himself of Rhysand’s leash.”

“--bring him and that bitch of his to heel morelike.” The youngest of the three smiles malevolently.

“Enough of that, boys, we’re in the presence of a Lady.” The leader implies dangerously and at once, three heads incline in my direction. There are no Ladies allowed in this part of the city. The females of this forsaken city are bound to the Moonstone Palace. Forced to our knees in deference to our male oppressors. The only women that still dwell in the lower city are whores and exiles. Of which I am neither.

Something dark and terrible roils in the pit of my stomach as the male approaches. I pull the hood of the austere, grey cloak to veil my face in shadows. The pale eyes of the Darkbringer meet mine through the din and his smile curls around the sharpness of his teeth.

The cold, amethyst hilt of a dagger kisses the tender flesh of my thigh beneath the many lawyers of dark fabric and I am reminded of my own lethal potential. The dagger had been passed from my grandsire some years ago. Made and forged from the ancient power that dwells beneath the mountain that we call home. The dagger itself had been set in a hilt of dark wood, trimmed with silver and precious gems; amethyst, sapphire and onyx. Its blade was fashioned of Illyrian steel and honed to a fatal sharpness.

“What a pretty little bird, she is.” He taunts as he approaches, his manner imposing and vindictive as he takes my chin roughly between his fingers.

“I am no Lady, Ser.” I swallow thickly. It is true, of course. I am no Lady of the Night Court. I had been a babe when they found me. The cursed daughter to a cruel lord and some terrified nymph.

My mother died giving me life and left me at the ruined Temple of Beara, the Mistress of Storms, deep in the foothills of the mountain. In the hopes that the Priestesses would shelter me from the cruelty of this court. After the temple fell I was brought before the Lords of Night and given to the Temple of Astarion on account of my rare and ancient gift.

“Then perhaps you might regale my friends and I with the tale of how a pretty thing like you ends up here.” The Darkbringer replies, sliding a coin across the table. His gaze drops to the rings that adorn my hands; fine rings of onyx and amethyst, mined from the wretched bowels of the mountain that I have come to call home. The mark of my good breeding.

“I assure you Ser, I am no whore either.” I chastise, sliding my hand beneath the folds of my cloak. The lust that pools in his eyes is a dreadful thing. Lecherous and heinous. Though I take comfort in the knowledge that my true identity is concealed.

As the Pythia of the Night Court a dark veil typically obscures my features from the view of men; save from my eyes, which are heavily darkened with kohl and pigments of sapphire and amethyst that hail from the mines of Illyria. The veil protects me as much as it oppresses me. For if male like this knew of the power I possess, they would seek to control it, to covet that power until I were a vessel of their ill intent. That is why I was given to the Temple as a child. Why my estranged father and the Steward of the Night Court seek to make me their weapon. I know then that if I am discovered I will suffer for it. The kind of suffering that only exists here, in the rotting depths of Hewn City.

“No, I see that now.” Devilment darkens his pale gaze and the cut of amethyst shines in his dark eyes, he releases me from his bruising grip with a dark laugh.

“Curious little thing.” One of the men whispers.

“This is not the place for a gentle creature like you, Lady” He whispers, his pointed finger ghosts the cut of onyx on my hand, “luckily for you I am feeling quite merciful.”

“I am not as gentle as I look, Ser.” I warn. The three Darkbringers laugh cruelly. I turn to leave when a firm hand closes around my wrist and twists me so I am held in the Darkbringers bruising embrace. His lips drag a tortuous line along the side of my jaw.

“Now, now little bird,” He coos mockingly against the shell of my ear as I struggle violently against him, “flighty little thing.”

Bile rises in my throat as the Darkbringer’s companions laugh and fingers dig into the knife at my thigh, unsheathing it in a moment and pressing it against the male's pale throat. Unshed tears line my eyes like flecks of silver starlight as his hands still on my waist.

“That is what you call mercy?” I laugh bitterly at the man, his eyes hardening as the Illyrian steel blade glints in the dim light.

“Let go of her, Aeres.” The eldest of the three orders and the Darkbringer unhands me at once.

“Now fly back to your cage, little bird.” The elder male nods towards the rear exit beyond the bar.

On uncertain feet I Traverse the narrow aisle of the tavern I find myself adrift amongst the dancing tide of patrons. A throng of women, clad in gauzy robes and underthings, twist and contort like columns of technicolor seafoam. The cruel laughter from the dance floor pulls me deeper into the wretched heart of the pleasure house. Lurid whistles and a series of vulgar gestures rouse my attention. A female; dressed in spider silk and lace coils around a portly merchant at the games table. She slips into his lap with a serpentine grace. I watch as the merchant’s weathered hand traces the line of her throat to the swell of her breasts. Smacking his hand away, the woman laughs, it is a beautiful, false thing that glitters in the pallid light.

“Well, girl I hope you fuck better than you play cards.” The merchant complains, laying down his deck of crimson cards. The female curls a painted hand around the cuffs of his tunic and whispers into his ear and the merchant's mouth curves into a lurid smile. One thick hand draws down her stomach, the other brushes the flesh of her thigh, slipping under the folds of her robe between her legs --

Oh.

I avert my eyes at the scene as a blush kisses its way along my neck and chest at the intimacy of it. The merchant rises from his seat at the table, taking the female slender hand in his. The whispered words they exchange are too low for me to hear but her answering smile is enough to know it was something wicked. The female rises leads the merchant towards the sleeping chambers beyond the emerald curtains.

I watch as the merchant's shadowy figure is swallowed by the darkness as the curtain is drawn. My attention lingers far after they are gone, leaving only the smell of salt and jasmine in their wake.

I am overcome with a strange, prophetic awareness.; dreams of shadowed light and a bleeding star, scarred hands that track the constellations as they reign over the black tapestry of the sky.

The high-arching symphony of strings and lyres blossoms in the feverish heat of the tavern. The soft melody of the lyres seems to echo off of the high, domed ceiling, as the heavy beat of a drum joins the cacophony of sound. It’s a hypnotizing, deeply sensual beat, that is unlike anything I have ever heard.

Primal and carnal.

I find myself adrift in the sway of the dancing sea. Slowly, I make my way along the length of the bar, reaching out to touch the gauzy jade curtains, parting them slowly --

“I don’t think you want to go in there, Mistress.” The lilting voice of the wraith warns.

“Why not?” I ask curiously, lowering my hand from the curtain. The wraith laughs prettily, her cerulean eyes glinting in the dying light of the fire.

“Some don’t appreciate an audience, Sweet girl.”

“An audience?” I ask.

Through the darkness of the antechamber, I see the silhouettes of the whores and their patrons, writhing and undulating with the beat of the drum. The music is punctuated by panting breaths and lilting moans, and the vulgar sound of men as they find their pleasure.

“Oh.” The wraith laughs again, her painted lips curl into a wicked smile.

“Is it your first time here, Priestess?” The wraith leans in, the rich tenor of her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. Fear coils in my stomach and my grip on the emerald surface of the bar tightens.

“I’m no priestess.” I try to emulate her melodious laughter and my eyes narrow in faux concern.

“You needn't lie to me, Pythia. Your secret's safe with me.” Her words resound in my head and realization dawns. She’s daemati.

“That type of secret is not safe with anyone.”

“What could I gain from exposing it to anyone? I wish you no ill will.” She returns.

“You’d earn the Lord Protector's favor, of that I am certain --.”

The wraith's face twists into a grimace and her sapphire stare hardens to a cold, wicked thing. “I have no need for that viper’s favour.” The venom laced in her voice speaks to the malice she holds for this place, its patrons and the cruel light of Hewn City. Many within the court resent the way in which we live, clinging to the slivers of power we are allowed, cowering in the darkness of the mountain.

Things are changing as of late, war looms ever closer and whispers of dissent from the continent bring about unrest in the people. Many turn to the High Lord and his Lady for liberation from the dying vestiges and brutal traditions of this court. For many years I myself have lived in servitude and isolation, serving Keir, The Lord Protector and Steward of the ancient mountain city.

As his coveted oracle; a conduit for his own power.

A cruel wind cuts through the heat of the pleasure hall as the doors open to announce an influx of new patrons. Three men, dressed in court robes enter through the archway, each shaded in shadows and dark wisps of power. My heart hammers thunderously in my chest as the men enter the heart of the establishment.

“A flagon of wine and some dice, Arik.” The Darkbringer announces to the man behind the bar. My face pales from where I stand. These men are of my personal guard; formidable and unwaveringly loyal to my keeper.

These men, these good men, are sworn to a monster, and they must do monstrous things to survive here.

As we all must.

I veil my face with the hood of my stolen cloak, tucking my hair into the collar so that it is concealed from view, and my face obscured almost entirely. If they were to discover me they would be duty bound to drag me back to the Moonstone Palace and throw me down atop the emerald dias for Keir and my father to punish as they see fit.

I take another tentative look across the room and observe the men crowded around the game table with women hanging off them, like a swarm of beautiful and merciless harpies.

“That one’s usual girl looks like you--” The wraith whispers to me, casting her own gaze to Ares who stands alone near the fire rather forlorn for a male in the middle of a brothel.

“She’s busy with her favorite client upstairs. Perhaps you might retrieve her and make your escape.” Slowly, I turn to the wraith who takes my hand gently and leads me along the length of the bar.

“You will find Aelle on the second floor -- take sanctuary there. I’ll come for you when your friends are occupied.”

I hold her hand fondly and press a gold coin into her palm.

“Thank you.” I say. She presses a chaste kiss to my cheek and ushers me up the stairs.

As I ascend the steps of the pleasure hall, I slip a hand between the folds of my cloak, fingers ghosting the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh once more.

The upper levels of the house are painted a deep emerald color and the flickering fae lights saturate the long, narrow corridors in onyx wisps of shadow. The room at the end of the corridor is stepped in near darkness, veins of indigo and navy that obscure everything in a shroud of blue-darkness. The mantle is hung with half-burned candles and a garland of foxglove and jasmine. The antique furniture looks as though it has been carved from the black wood of ash trees and the armchairs in front of the dying hearth are embroidered with dark floral motifs and silver threads.

I draw in a sharp breath and the scent of pine and night-blooming florals shrouds me in its winter kiss.

A flash of seraphic light illuminates the room and a deep voice, shaded in nightshade calls out from the blue-darkness.

“I’ve been waiting for you,”

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

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lxkeee · 11 months ago

Text

END GAME

PART ONE

pairing: lucifer x fallen angel! fem! reader

fandom: hazbin hotel

genre: fluff

warnings: no warnings yet.

notes: very feral for this man and this is multishot fic and would be writing a smut for this. Reader is close to his age (probably a hundred years younger but meh)

additional notes: this is a long one.

Part two |

[y/n] stood in the podium, her hands bound by golden chains. She looked at the higher angels who sat on the high chairs of the courtroom, her [e/c] eyes stared at them with boredom. She never liked being in heaven, so many rules to the point she couldn't breathe. She was created a few years after the infamous Lucifer fell from grace, she admired him. She has heard his cause and mentally agreed to his beliefs—she couldn't say it out loud as the higher beings would punish her. She was a good angel, always a rule follower and a good role model, then she suffered from burnt out, repeating the same thing everyday—waking up, praying, doing good, following the rules.

She started questioning their ways and now, the time has come for it to bite her back as she finally faces a trial. [Y/n] what happened the majority of her trial, she remembers doing a couple of nods in agreement and occasionally rolling her eyes whenever Adam said something stupid. She couldn't take whatever bullshit Sera was yapping about and decided to cut her off, “Enough about all these rules, just admit that us angels are egomaniacs, always hungry for control. Heck, Lucifer was right with his intentions but you guys saw it as an act of disobedience. You didn't like what he was doing since it didn't follow what you guys wanted him to do.” She said coldly, her tone making the whole room tense and cold, “he thought it was unfair to the humans to follow whatever heaven's command is without question and hesitation. But Lucifer gave them freedom,” [y/n] pauses, glaring at the higher beings, eyebrows furrowed and her eyes staring at their very soul, “Heaven is fake, you put on a show for everyone, pretending that everything is fine and this is a fun place filled with peace and we all know you guys want them to blindly follow your rules.”

“Do not ever speak his name or do you want to follow where he is?” Sera asked loudly, her voice commanding and echoing off the walls of the court but her message just made the angel in trial smirk, “Oh...? Frankly speaking, I think hell seems to be a better and more fun place than heaven. I could do whatever the fuck I want.” [y/n] says with a smirk, heart thumping loudly for the first curse word she had said. This made Sera more angry, “Then, so be it.” Sera sneers.

Falling... So this is what Icarus felt when he flew too close to the sun. Lucifer was lucky as heaven wasn't this harsh before, [y/n] closes her eyes as she felt the stinging pain of the wind caressing her back, golden ichor flowing from where her wings should be, but despite the pain, a grin was plastered on her face as she embraced the imminent pain she'll receive once she hits the burning ground of hell. Despite the extreme pain she felt on her back, the missing part of her that heaven decided to take—she felt free, shimmering tears cascades down her cheeks as she cried for her acquired freedom while simultaneously mourning for the loss of her wings. Her weak body passing by many, many clouds, passing by the crust of the earth and soon she could see the fiery red skies of hell, she can only wait for the impact.

She could hear the sound of something breaking and cracking, the loud ringing on her ears before her world turned dark. Falling from grace isn't enough to kill her.

Lucifer's usual schedule usually consists of him wallowing in self pity inside his room, making rubber ducks, or having an existential crisis in his balcony. Lucifer just so happens to be on his balcony that day, talking to his newly created rubber duck that looks like his daughter when his eyes noticed the dark red clouds of hell parting and a figure falling at extreme speeds, at first he thought it was another soul who ended up in hell but his eyes widened to see occasional gold shimmering on the figure. “What...” Lucifer murmurs in confusion, his eyes following the figure and what the...? It's about to land in his front yard.

Only his eyes widened in fear as the figure crashed and golden ichor splattered everywhere. The realization damned upon him that another angel has fallen from grace.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Lucifer never cursed so much as he jumped off the balcony, three pairs of wings springing out of his back as he quickly flew next to the crash site. “I swear to me if this person died,” this wouldn't be the first time someone died in his front yard but it would be the first time an angel would, but can an angel even die from this impact?

He quickly checked the fallen angel, identified that it's a female. She looked like such a mess, golden ichor splattered everywhere, messy hair from falling, eye bags, and passed out but despite all that, he found her to be very beautiful, “I swear to me, this isn't the time Lucifer.” he muttered to himself as he began to work and make sure this woman is treated properly. What made the king of hell freeze was when he used his power to lift her up gently, he noticed that so much blood was gushing out of her back where the bone that should connect to her wings. He just realized why this angel crashed, she couldn't fly. She doesn't have her wings anymore and that realization filled his heart with anger.

He stared at her broken form lying on the bed of the spare guest room of the castle, he couldn't fully heal her. There's a limit to how much his angelic powers could do, it can't reverse the damage heaven themselves have done to her. Thankfully, he managed to fix all broken bones and close the wounds she had received but he can't fix the trauma she'll receive from this. Believe him, he tried (with himself).

His hand caressed away the hair that was falling on her face, finally taking a good look on her. She looked more beautiful without those wounds, she looked better without the stress—a contrast to the first time he's seen her. Warmth flooding his cheeks, he doesn't even realize that the red of his cheeks has become significantly darker.

“Ah, Lucifer stop. You don't even know this woman,” Lucifer mutters in annoyance as he squeezes his own cheeks to stop the warmth before eventually leaving the guest room to continue his usual routine.

He's starting to get worried, the fallen angel that currently resides in his guest room still hasn't woken up. It's been eight days. He spent the entire week checking up on her and continuing to treat her, he admits that this unknown angel's presence did good to his mental health as he was busy worrying for her that he forgets to listen to his intrusive thoughts. “What am I going to do with you?” Lucifer mutters softly as he places his hands above her, hovering over her body as golden hue begins to glow. Slowly and surely healing her.

Aching pain in her muscles is what she felt, slowly regaining consciousness. [Y/n] woke up in an unfamiliar room, oddly reminds her of the rooms that only royalty have. She tried to move her muscles but she could feel it cracking from not moving for a long time. “What happened...?” she asked herself softly, trying to remember what happened. The trial, Sera's anger, Adam being annoying, falling, her wings, then crashing. “Where am I?” she asked herself again, her voice croaking slightly, she slowly moved her body so she could sit on the bed, her eyes wandering everywhere, taking in her surroundings. She noticed that the symbol apple and snake was present on the designs of the tinted windows. The door opens.

Another week has passed, still no sign of her waking up. Lucifer was walking towards the guest room, preparing himself to try to heal her again. He opens the door and he froze to see the fallen angel who's usually lying limp on the bed is now sitting and staring on the window. “You're awake.” he says softly and she turned to look at him, her eyes, it's so beautiful. “Who are you?” she asked him softly and he smiled, “The name's Lucifer Morningstar, welcome to hell.”

#Spotify #lxkeee hazbin hotel masterlist #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer magne #lucifer #PLEASEE THIS WAS ORIGINALLY A SMUT BUT I DECIDED TO DO A BACKGROUND WRITING ON THEM FIRST FOR THEIR RELATIONSHIP TO BLOOM #“END GAME” — LUCIFER X READER

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daycourtofficial · 9 months ago

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Wingspan Matters

Summary: based on this request, you, Nesta, and Feyre catch your mates in a pissing contest over their wingspans

Author’s note: silly little crack hehe

Word count: ~1k

You poured yourself another cup of tea as Feyre and Nesta began squabbling over something you really couldn’t bring yourself to care about. You looked out the window, taking in the nice spring weather. A light breeze was flowing through the trees, causing the branches to move in a dance to the wind’s patterns.

You watch as the birds flit by, their song a lament to the end of winter, as if they too were sending their thanks to the Mother for spring to return. It’s the first warm day in months, the first day that your forearms won’t get cold being exposed to the air.

The life around you seems to dance and sing at the joyous return of spring - insects buzz past the windows, their high pitched frequencies a delight to your ears. You don’t let yourself think for too long about how the resurrection of spring will cause Cassian to snore even louder than before.

Perhaps you and Azriel can plan an escape to the Summer Court for a few weeks. Hopefully the distance and the crashing of waves will be enough to block out Cassian’s loud snoring.

You get lost in a daydream of laying on the beach with Azriel, either in the sand or in hammocks, applying a protective balm to his wings. The sun is warm on your skin, the salty spray of the ocean in your hair.

Muffled shouting disturbs both your daydream and whatever quarrel Nesta and Feyre were in the middle of. The three of you open the doors to the balcony, leaning over the railing to find your mates in a circle in a clearing on the property, their tan skin and large, dark wings making them stand out amidst the greenery that surrounds them.

Azriel was standing to the side, looking incredibly smug with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches his two brothers. Cassian has a piece of ribbon that he was holding up to Rhysand’s back. The two kept bickering, over what you couldn’t discern.

Before any of you could question what the two were discussing, Rhysand took the ribbon from Cassian and pushed him off. Cassian landed on the ground, but immediately sprung back up, his hands coming up and shoving Rhysand off the rock he was perched on.

“Looks like the bats are finally measuring themselves,” Nesta muses, bringing her cup to her lips.

You could hear Rhys’s laugh from the balcony as he sprung up, keeping low to the ground as he charged at Cassian, his shoulder hitting Cassian’s hips. He pushed Cassian into the ground, causing Cassian to push his weight upwards so the two of them begin rolling around on the ground, punches and curses being shared to and fro.

Feyre chuckles, “it seems Azriel’s already won.”

Nesta peers back to you over her cup, “I don’t think it’s just Azriel that’s won.”

“Don’t draw yourself up too short, Nes. I think Cassian’s in second place.”

Nesta looks back at you, eyes roaming up and down your frame, “I’m more surprised he hasn’t broken you in half yet.”

Feyre laughs as you reply, “you’d be more surprised if you saw some of the things we do.”

You waggle your eyebrows at Nesta as Feyre continues laughing, but Nesta’s not quick enough to hide her smirk without your notice.

“How long do we wait until we have them measure Feyre’s wings?” you ask.

Feyre thinks for a moment, hand on her chin, “maybe when Azriel gets a little too cocky.”

“Or Rhysand gets too pouty,” Nesta adds.

From across the courtyard, you could see Azriel’s amused smirk as his eyes met yours, a light tug on the bond urging you to keep your gaze on him. You smile, pulling back softly. He raises his eyebrows up and down a few times, and you send some amusement down the bond as you roll your eyes at him.

He stretches his wings out at your attention, making them as large as he can. You’re pretty certain you’ve seen birds do similar things in mating rituals, but the unfortunate thing is seems to actually be working on you.

He looks over to his brothers, still rolling around in the dirt, and gently takes off for a short flight up to the balcony the three of you are on. He lands softly in front of you, his wings creating a small wind, his chest glowing in the sunlight as his hands reach for you, pulling you into him by your hips.

You melt into him, arms going around his waist, your head resting over his heart as he supports your weight with the railing behind him. The warmth from his skin is soothing without being overbearingly hot.

“They make me want to gag,” Nesta tells Feyre, and you move your head so you can see the two pairs of eyes looking back to the two of you. Azriel wraps his wings around you, making you nearly impossible to see if it weren’t for your feet. You can hear the smile on Nesta’s face at her words, though.

You weasel an opening between Azriel’s arms so you can make eye contact with Nesta as you tell her, “he makes me gag too,” as you make an obscene gesture with your hand.

Nesta’s face immediately goes into her hands while Feyre chuckles, but her laughs are drowned out by the male in front of you, his laugh rumbling in his chest beneath your ear.

He peers down at you, one eyebrow raised in question. You nod slightly, and the two of you vanish into his shadows, leaving Feyre and Nesta to watch their mates continue to fight in the dirt, forgetting who really won the competition.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #azriel x y/n #acotar writing

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prythianpages · 2 months ago

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Next to You | Azriel

Azriel x Reader | The world is ending and Azriel does all he can to be next to you.

warnings: angst, this does touch on death/dying (character deaths/reader death), end of the world, mentions of blood/injuries

word count: roughly 3,400

a/n: You can thank Lady Gaga & Bruno Mars for this lol. I was supposed to post this way earlier but I decided to rewrite some things last minute.

Death had come, manifesting in a cloud of heavy darkness. So dark it made Azriel’s shadows appear light and shiver at the sight. The darkness was rising from every crevice, every corner and a low, rumbling growl shook the earth beneath him.

Koschei was here.

The sky began to darken, the sun being swallowed whole by the vast darkness much like the warriors at his side did. Shadows writhed and swirled around him, whispering and frantically urging him to run.

But Azriel’s eyes were still fixed on the spot where Rhysand was standing. Where Rhysand had stood.

Koschei had suddenly unleashed his wrath upon Prythian, taking each court down one by one. He saved the Night Court for last but he took its High Lord first. Feyre had stayed behind with Mor and Amren at the riverhouse to protect Nyx. Rhysand had been struck with such brutal force and swallowed by Koschei’s void of darkness so swiftly that Azriel still couldn’t believe it.

Not a single trace was left behind of his best friend, his brother, his High Lord.

Rhysand was gone. Just like that.

There was no time to grieve, no time to scream. Koschei’s men were advancing, their swords and arrows drawn and ready to continue their relentless attack. Azriel, Cassian and Nesta fought back alongside their own soldiers or what little remained of them.

It was no use. They were vastly outnumbered and no help would come as the Night Court was the last one standing. It felt as though the battle had already been lost, the sickening smirk on Koschei’s pale face sealing their fate.

The ground buckled and split, jagged cracks tearing across the cobbled streets like veins of chaos. Trees swayed violently, their roots torn from the earth and the sounds of fae screaming rang out in the distance. All signs of life were being ripped apart at the seams.

Azriel’s gaze darted to Cassian, and an overwhelming wave of dread twisted deep in his gut. The Night Court General, usually so unbreakable, now stood battered and bloodied, his eyes void of any hope. Defeat clung to him like the grime smeared across his face. Nesta reached for his hand, their fingers threading together in silent solidarity.

A look of understanding passed between them.

“Go,” is all Cassian said.

Azriel hesitated, his chest tightening with wild emotions. There were words burning on his tongue—words he never thought he'd have to say. But he couldn’t force them out. He didn’t need to. Cassian nodded once, his eyes conveying further understanding. A final, silent farewell. A nod that Azriel returned.

And then he spread his wings wide, launching into the air. The wind howled against him, his shadows shuddering nervously, sensing his panic and wanting to soothe him. But they, too, could see that the end was near.

Azriel had never feared death.

As an Illyrian warrior and the Night Court’s spymaster, he had long prepared for it, accepted it as an inevitable part of his life. He was willing to die for his court.

But then he met you and everything changed.

Suddenly, the thought of dying filled him with terror. The fear of leaving you behind, of never being able to say goodbye. The idea of dying without feeling your touch one last time, without whispering how much he loved you. That was more frightening than any enemy he could ever face.

The words you had exchanged earlier were rushed and hurried, Koschei's attack taking everyone by surprise. He hadn’t said goodbye. He had only just enough time to promise to come back to you.

And that’s all Azriel could think of in this moment–in what could very well be his last moments–is keeping that promise.

Smoke and dust choked the air, Koschei’s darkness thickening. He doesn’t turn around in fear for what he’d see. He kept his gaze forward, watching in distress as buildings shattered. The city of Velaris was crumbling apart around him.

He ducked and wove through the falling stones and debris, doing his best to avoid the death arrows that seemed to be coming from every direction. His hazel eyes were sharp and focused. Even as pure fear clawed at his chest, making his heart race and hands tremble.

Your name was a prayer on his lips that manifested into a mantra of desperate hope.

The bond between you thrummed and sung madly. What once was a source of comfort was now only magnifying his fear. He could feel your terror, feel the frantic rhythm of your uneven heartbeat, echoing through the bond like a scream.

Azriel’s eyes locked on the House of Wind as it came into view, his wings straining as he pushed harder against the air. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, pushing past the protests of his muscles, the stinging of his injuries. The mountain the house was on trembled beneath the force of the quakes. His breath caught in his throat as one of the house’s spires broke away, crashing into the rocky expanse below.

He folded his wings in tight, landing hard in the courtyard, barely keeping his balance as the ground beneath him bucked and split. Cracks spidered across the stone beneath his boots, but he forced himself forward. Determination burned bright in him, every second counting. He had to find you, to be next to you.

Inside, the walls trembled, stone and dust raining from above as the ceilings began to crumble. He barreled through the halls, his destination clear. The library. He had left you there, hidden away with the priestesses and some of Valkyries, who had vowed to defend in case the attack reached them.

He thought you would be safe there. That he’d defeat Koschei and his army of death. That he’d return to his family and be able to hold his nephew, who has only had a taste of the world, in his arms again. That he’d be returning to you with the promise of tomorrow and a future where the two of you could start a family of your own.

All those hopes and dreams were dying along with the world around him. The cruelty of fate knew no bounds. It continued to weave its harsh and bitter threads and when Azriel threw open the library doors, his heart stalled in his chest. Panic gripped him, raw and unyielding, flooding his veins like ice. So cold that he found it hard to breathe.

Because there was nothing.

No priestesses. No Valkyries. No you.

Only darkness.

Koschei’s death magic had hit the library first. The clouds swarming below let out a hiss from the faint light that dared to creep in through the doors. Azriel’s shadows slammed them shut, trying to hold the darkness back. The House’s energy pulsed faintly, aiding his shadows and taking over. Whatever magic remained of the House directed itself at repelling the evil force that had invaded its walls.

His shadows scattered, darting through the ruined halls, desperate to find you. But the gnawing fear clawing at his chest felt insurmountable, a type of desperation he had never known. He reached for the bond, tugging on it with everything he had. He pulled and pulled on those threads, frantically searching for any response.

Tears stung his eyes when, at last, he felt your response.

“Please,” he rasped, his voice trembling, the word a plea torn from his soul. He didn’t know who he was begging—the shadows, the House, or the Mother herself.

His shadows moved, drawing his attention away from the door that shuddered under the pressure of Koschei’s darkness. His head snapped up as he realized where you must be.

Azriel bolted back up the stairs, his shadows scouting ahead and darting through the debris and cracks. His head began to pound and vision blurred from his injuries but he pushed on. The connection through the bond grew stronger, the tug more insistent.

She’s safe for now. Not hurt, a shadow reported to him but he needed to confirm it for himself. Needed to see you with his own eyes, feel your presence.

His legs trembled as he pushed forward, his lungs burning. When he finally reached the door to your shared room, he shoved it open with more force than necessary, his gaze sweeping around, wild with fear.

And there you were.

The sight of you nearly buckled his knees. Relief washed over him in a crashing wave. You stood on the balcony, your back turned to him, silhouetted against the dimming sky. Koschei’s creeping darkness loomed on the horizon, thick and unnatural, swallowing the sky and closing in around the House of Wind.

The sense of relief he had felt was abruptly cut short. Time was running out.

His shadows reached you first, swirling around your feet, urging you to turn. When you did, his heart clenched painfully.

Your eyes, wide and teary, were full of fear and despair. You clutched something tightly against your chest—his cloak. Your fingers trembled as you gripped onto the fabric as if it were a lifeline.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” your voice quivered. “I thought–I thought I wasn’t going to see you again…”

Azriel crossed the distance between you in the blink of an eye. He pulled you into his arms, wrapping you tightly against him, cradling your head to his chest. His embrace was fierce, almost desperate. Only when he buried his face in your hair, breathing in your scent, did he finally allow a few tears to slip from his eyes.

“I’m here,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. He repeated it, softer this time, as if trying to convince himself. “I’m here.”

You pulled back slightly, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. Your hands cupped his face, thumb gently wiping at his tears. When your eyes roamed over his face and then lowered, a sob tore through your body, more tears spilling from your eyes.

“You’re hurt,” you choked out, taking in the gashes and bruises marring his skin and wings, the torn leathers barely holding together. The agony in your eyes when you met his gaze once more was far more tormenting and painful than his injuries.

Azriel shook his head, his breath ragged and labored. “It doesn’t matter.”

The world outside was falling apart—literally crumbling into darkness. Azriel was dying and every breath now tasted of bitter and agonizing defeat. He could only hope that the Mother would spare him some mercy and grant him more time so that he may go with you.

“You’re bleeding,” you whispered, your hand reaching down to touch the blood that soaked through his leathers. It stained your hands and Azriel removed your hand from his side, placing it back onto his face, not caring over the blood that now smeared his face.

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated as if he could force the pain away with sheer will.

Because you were the only thing that mattered to him at this moment. You are his everything. His only reason to keep fighting, to keep breathing.

You let out another sob, the sound like a dagger, piercing straight through his heart. “I don’t want this to be the end,” you whispered, your words shattering him further.

“I know, baby, ” Azriel replied. His grip on you tightened, his wings curling protectively around your frame as though he could shield you from anything, as though nothing in the world could touch you while he was near.

He wished he could take away your pain, your fear. That there was something he could do to stop the darkness invading the world. His brows furrowed in anguish, whether from his wounds or your suffering, he couldn’t tell. He leant his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, feeling as though he failed you. As your mate, he had vowed to protect you, to shield you from harm, to always keep you safe.

“No,” you said firmly, sensing his regret and shame through the bond.

“Azriel, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. The best partner I could’ve ever wished for. I thank the Cauldron every day for blessing me with you so” –your face tightened, the very thought of Azriel’s shame and sense of failure cutting deeply through you– “so don’t for a second think you’ve ever failed me. Not then, not now."

"I love you so, so much."

His eyes opened wide, searching yours, and there he found only love. His heart swelled with emotion, eyes filling with more tears. “I love you, too.”

And then he kissed you. One last time. The saltiness of your tears mixed into the kiss but he didn’t care. Azriel cherished every taste of you, savoring the bittersweet blend.

The harrowing sound of stone breaking and collapsing followed by more screams had you tensing and breaking apart. Azriel’s shadows circled around you both, forming a protective barrier as the world around you got darker and darker. The floor groaned and splintered beneath you and a shudder coursed through you as the air grew unbearably cold around you.

Unbridled fear and panic surged through the bond, so intense he could no longer tell where your emotions ended and his began.

“Look at me,” Azriel murmured, his voice soft but laced with a tremor, betraying the emotion he was holding back. He looked at you, his eyes tracing every feature of your face, indulging himself one more time.

Azriel’s shadows let out a hiss and your breath hitched. Koschei’s darkness had finally reached your room. But Azriel refused to let the overwhelming emotions suffocate you both, refused to let things end this way.

“Look at me,” Azriel said again, holding your face firmly in his hands to keep your head from turning. There was a slight tremor in his fingers as you looked back up at him, tears slipping continuously. He offered you a smile that was trembling yet still warm and comforting. “That’s it, baby. Just keep your eyes on me.”

The stone above you began to crackle and Azriel pulled you closer to him, held you tighter. “I’ve got you. In this life and the next. I will find my way back to you.”

His eyes looked into yours, those hazel irises filled with raw vulnerability, a fierce determination. Your lips trembled as you nodded, struggling to form words past the lump in your throat. Yet, slowly, you managed a smile of your own.

The world was ending around you, Koschei’s oppressive shadow of death looming. He could take anything and everything he wanted. Except for this. He could never take what lived between you.

Because not even death could tear you apart, sever the thread that bound your souls.

Azriel swallowed hard, pressing his forehead to yours. His chest heaved with the effort of breathing, each inhale more shaky. “Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow,” he whispered, his words straight from the vows he made to you during your mating ceremony.

“And wherever we go, we'll face it together, ” you breathed, the ache in your chest nearly unbearable, mirroring the one in his. Yet, beneath the weight of fear, a fragile sliver of hope flickered.

And Azriel couldn’t help but think back to how he’d always imagined his end would come. Brave, fearless and alone. A warrior’s death. It was the way he’d been raised and trained to believe he should go.

But this… this was something far greater.

He found a deeper kind of bravery. The courage to love so deeply and fiercely, even at the darkest of times. To face death not with a sword, but with you in his hold and feel whole. There was something tragically beautiful in facing the end with you by his side...

A sudden chill swept through him, paralyzing him. The warmth between you two began to fade yet your gazes remained locked. Unwavering and resolute.

Was this it? The last shard of light before the darkness consumed him? The scene around him began to dissolve, your image flickering like a candle in the wind.

The last thing he saw was your eyes before the world faded into black.

just kidding!

Azriel startles awake, eyes wide and frantic, searching through the darkness. He blinks and he realizes that it’s not completely dark, that he's in your shared room and it's warm and comforting. Moonlight trickles in, casting a soft glow on you and he feels like he can breathe again. You’re nestled in bed beside him, turned on your side and facing him. He watches as your chest rises and falls gently, features soft and peaceful.

So different from the you he had seen moments ago and a stark contrast to the way his chest is currently rising and falling. Rapidly and uneven, driven by the hammering of his heart.

It had all been just a dream. A nightmare.

A strand of hair falls across your face, and Azriel’s eyes catch the movement of a shadow. The one that much rather prefers to be by your side than his. It peaks over its hiding spot, your hair, to face Azriel.

Though his shadows don’t have eyes, he feels as if it is blinking right back at him, slowly assessing him. It gives a shudder and then, another shadow darts from the corner, stirring the rest awake. They rise from were they had been hiding and resting, rushing back to him in a heartbeat.

Master is safe, they whisper as they brush up against his arms and wrap around him. Before he can reign them back, some of them flutter toward you, doing the same. Master’s mate is safe.

It was just a nightmare. You both are safe.

The cool caresses of Azriel’s shadows have you shifting slightly and they coil back as you blink your eyes open. Sorry, they whisper. Some of them retreat back into hiding in the corners, merging with the ordinary shadows of the room. The ones hovering at his side continue to whisper their reassurances, intent on calming and soothing their master.

“Az?” Your voice is heavy with sleep.

You begin to push yourself up and Azriel scoots closer to you, one of his wings draping over you to keep you in place. His hand reaches out for your face and he pulls you in close until your noses nearly touch.

Concern immediately flashes in your open and wide eyes as you must sense the lingering unease through the bond. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Azriel murmurs, still groggy and shaken from the remnants of his nightmare. But as he studies you—the warmth in your gaze, the absence of the fear and despair he had seen in his dream—his anxiety begins to ebb. “I am now. It was just a nightmare.”

Your brows furrow in doubt, and he brushes his thumb along them, soothing the crease. Your hand then reaches for his chest, right over where his heart is still racing and your frown deepens. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can bring you some tea.”

Though his wing remains draped over you, he hooks a leg around you for added security. “I’m okay,” he reassures you, leaning in to nuzzle against your nose. When he pulls back, he can still sense your worry so he adds: “I don’t need tea. I just need you.”

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he breathes back almost immediately.

He covers your hand on his chest with his own, feeling his heart begin to calm with each passing moment. He then brings your hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to your palm before resting it against his cheek. He can feel the warmth that blooms in your chest at his touch and reciprocates the feeling through the bond.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoes softly. “Now, go back to sleep.”

“You too,” you huff out, the sound of small disbelief strangely soothing to him at this moment.

Azriel grins, his tense muscles slowly easing. “You first.”

He lets out an amused exhale as you slightly roll your eyes at him, but he can tell sleep still clings to them. After one more assessing look at him, you let out a sigh and finally, close your eyes. His gaze is tender and loving as he watches you drift back to sleep, your features softening. The grin on his face eases into a contented smile when you shift even closer, instinctively seeking his warmth.

This time, the last thing he sees before closing his eyes is your peaceful face, the lines of worry smoothed away. No trace or hint of fear or panic. Only tranquility.

And as he sinks back into the embrace of sleep, he feels relaxed and secure, knowing that the promise of another tomorrow still awaits for the both of you.

a/n: Did I get y'all? Honestly, I was going to leave this without that last scene but then I thought that was too cruel so I stayed true to the song "I just woke up from a dream." I watched this scene between Cersei & Jaime from Game of Thrones so many times to help me write this because I wanted it to give the same vibes.

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfiction #azriel imagine #azriel angst #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar x you #acotar fic

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