#he does not have to say anything to lure me in and yet he has his little distorted voice with a thick British accent | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

1-imaginary-girl · 1 year ago

Text

Wolf Bite

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Summary: During a fight between your friends and Klaus and his hybrids, you get bit. A certain someone appears later to help heal your wounds and complicate your feelings. Reader uses she/her pronouns.

Warnings: Violence, fluff

Word Count: 4850

Part 2

A/N: I have been obsessing over Klaus lately and thought I would share this passion with you guys. I haven’t seen TVD or TO in a while so I apologize if I get anything wrong about the lore. It doesn’t follow any canon plot, just inspired by Klaus healing Caroline’s bite.

You’re leaning against a wall in the Salvatore brothers’ house as the rest of your friends talk about their newest plan to threaten Klaus and his family. The idea seems foolish to you, but you know better than to voice your opinion. Ever since the Mikaelson clan moved to town, being a vampire has gotten a lot more complicated. You’re suddenly not so immortal when there’s a whole group of people out to get you and your friends.

You’ve also started to notice a shift in the group as Elena now has feelings for both Salvatores. You’re well aware that your presence has slowly started to go unnoticed and yet here you are again. You watch as the group argues about how to lure Klaus and co. to the woods where you’ll meet him.

“What if we send someone to his house to deliver the message?” Elena suggests. But Stefan shakes his head.

“No, it’s too risky,” he says.

“Not if we send someone with a white oak stake for protection,” Caroline says.

“That would ruin the plan,” Bonnie says. There’s a silence as the group thinks of a new idea. Until Damon speaks.

“What if we get Y/N to call him?” Damon says, looking at you for the first time today. Your eyes widen as the rest of the group now looks at you. As if they weren’t just ignoring you.

“What? N-no way,” you say, not prepared to be put on the spot.

“Come on, he’s clearly shown an interest in you. Now’s the time to use that,” he argues. It’s true. Ever since you first met, Klaus seems to have taken a liking to you. But you think the group’s making it a bigger deal than it is. You think he just does it as a way to annoy the group. Though why he chose you instead of someone like Caroline or Bonnie, you’ll never know.

“I don’t want to do that,” you say, not wanting to explain exactly why. You’re not even quite sure yourself. “Besides, it probably won’t work. I mean, I don’t even have his phone number.”

“Oh right,” Damon says, furrowing his eyebrows as you throw a retch in his plan.

“You could deliver the message in person,” Caroline suggests. Your jaw almost drops.

“Wait, so it’s too risky if someone else goes to the house, but not me?”

“Come on, he won’t hurt you,” Damon says. You’re beginning to think being a wallflower was the better option.

“We all have to help, Y/N,” Elena says. You choke on your words as you look around, seeing no one objecting to this plan.

“Wait, you guys my message spell!” Bonnie exclaims. Everyone turns to her and you are relieved to be out of the spotlight as you lean back against the wall. “I need paper, something to write with, and something of Klaus’s.”

Though you are currently mad at all of them, you decide you’re mad at Bonnie the least so you open your bag. You’re able to scrounge up the materials, even something of Klaus’s (you didn’t ask). With the necessary ingredients, Bonnie performs her spell and the written note lights on fire before quickly disintegrating. She opens her eyes.

“That should do it,” she says.

“We should go,” Elena says and everyone agrees.

†††

The group is waiting in the woods for Klaus to appear, as is expressed in the letter. Another argument broke out on the way here as to who will get the white oak stake as you only brought one to threaten Klaus with. The group didn’t want to risk any of the other stakes. In the end, Damon won the argument as he reminded Stefan his responsibility was to look out for Elena, which she did not like. The rest of you are armed with regular stakes just in case anything happens.

“When is he going to get here?” Caroline says, though no one answers as no one knows. “I mean, how can he even find us? We’re in the middle of the woods!”

“He can probably track us by seeking out Elena’s blood,” Damon says which angers Elena. Sometimes you feel bad for her being the only human amongst the group (other than Matt), and other times you envy her for it.

When the group is about ready to give up, you hear something coming. The other vampires can hear it too and you ready yourselves. Soon enough, Klaus stands before you with a smile on his face. “Well, well, isn’t this a nice surprise? I hadn’t realized we were pen pals,” the Original says. His eyes rake over the group and he perks up when he spots you. “Hello love.”

The others glance at you and, panicked to be on the spot again, you say, “Uh, hi,” with a small and awkward wave.

This causes Klaus’ smile to grow wider and seemingly more genuine, and you try to suppress the urge to blush. Although you don’t think your friends were pleased by that interaction.

“I assume you know why you’re here,” Stefan says, bringing Klaus’ attention back to the group.

“Ah yes, the cryptic message,” Klaus says. “So, what is it that I must see? Truly, I’m dying to know.” You see Damon smirk.

“I wouldn’t act so cocky,” he says.

“Oh, and why’s that?” Klaus says with an entertained look on his face. His face changes, however, when Damon reveals the white oak stake. His cocky attitude shifts quickly to fear and anger. “Where did you get that?” he growls.

“Well it turns out when your sister burned down that bridge, she didn’t realize that other things were made from your precious oak tree,” Damon taunts. He’s exaggerating, of course, as there was only one other thing made from the tree. But Klaus still looks fearful.

“So what? You really think you can kill me with one stake?”

“We don’t intend to kill you. At least not now anyway,” Caroline says.

“We called you here as a threat. To tell you to leave Mystic Falls or else,” Stefan says with a calm smile on his face.

“Oh, and this isn’t the only stake. We wouldn’t risk bringing all of them with us just for you to break them,” Elena says.

“You’re bluffing,” Klaus sneers.

“Care to find out?” Damon asks. You can practically feel the steam of anger rolling off Klaus.

“How dare you threaten me,” Klaus says, his blue-green eyes turning a deadly shade of yellow.

“What are you going to do about it?” Damon says with a taunting smirk. Klaus’ face shifts and he smirks back.

“Why I’m so glad you asked,” he says. He then lets out a whistle and some of his hybrids emerge from the woods. You widen your gaze as you hold out your weapon, trying to assess the situation. The hybrids move in closer, and you can see the others preparing themselves. “Now, let’s try this again. Hand over the stake, and no one gets hurt.”

You thought the answer would be obvious. Sure, Klaus might be bluffing but you can’t kill that many hybrids. And what’s one lost stake anyway? However, you seemed to be the only one thinking that.

“No thanks,” Damon says. You look at him incredulously.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Klaus says. As soon as Klaus advances, his hybrids pounce and the group is thrown into an attack. Your weapons will only slow the hybrids down, but your best hope is to get the upper hand and snap their necks to incapacitate them.

Damon and Klaus immediately face off. The rest of you prepare to face the small army of hybrids while Stefan protects Elena. One of the hybrids locks onto you and hisses before attacking you. You instantly try to hold the hybrid off and stab her, but you can feel her overpowering you in strength.

Still, you rely on your moves in combat to avoid any major injuries or worse, her bite. You manage to get the upper hand and stab her through the stomach, and while she’s slowed down, you move to behind her back and snap her neck, knocking her out for a good while.

You’re trying to catch your breath when you sense another hybrid coming at you too late. He pounces on you and you slam into the ground with him on top of you. You’re caught off guard and without your stake. When you try to move to fight back, the hybrid digs his teeth into your shoulder. A short scream rips through you, powered both by panic and pain.

Meanwhile, Klaus is fighting Damon when he hears the scream. He looks your way as he feared it was you, and the scene causes his eyes to widen. With a newfound urgency, Klaus faces Damon and quickly finds a way to snap his neck.

As you’re panicking from the bite, you feel the hybrid being pulled off of you and you see Klaus with a furious expression. The hybrid is very confused by his sire’s anger. You think you hear Klaus growl, “Not her,” before snapping their neck.

You’re shocked at what just happened all at once and remain on the ground, sitting up with wide eyes looking at Klaus. He looks away from the hybrid to meet your gaze and his eyes instantly soften. He looks concerned, though you’re not sure why. He makes a move to walk toward you but before you can say anything, Caroline rushes over to you.

She quickly puts herself between Klaus and you. “Stay away from her,” she hisses at him. Klaus’ expression shifts back to anger, and before you can explain to Caroline what’s going on, Klaus’s gaze flick from her to you and then he sprints away. Not just away from you, but he leaves the forest. The hybrids that haven’t been incapacitated follow.

You look after him, longing to talk to him and figure out why he saved you, when Caroline’s face comes into view. “Are you okay?” she asks while helping to pull you off the ground. You nod and you guess that’s enough for her because she walks towards the rest of the group.

You’re a bit stunned as Klaus seemed to show more compassion than your friend, but you merely shake off the exchange. From the woods, the group heads back to the Salvatore’s place. You trail behind them, your mind racing as you’re overly aware of the fact that a werewolf bit you. Not just a werewolf, but a hybrid. You haven’t told your friends about it because you don’t want to be a bother to them as that’s all you feel like you are these days.

On the way back, your mind wanders to the one person that seems to be on everyone’s minds these days. Klaus. You don’t know why he saved you, even from his own hybrid, but you want to thank him. You know you should hate him like the others do but for some reason every time that man looks at you, your stomach erupts into butterflies.

You feel awful for how you feel, you know all the harm he’s caused to your friends and not to mention the world, but you can’t help it. It doesn’t help that he pretends to be soft on you either. You haven’t told anyone about your feelings, whatever they are, for fear of persecution but you can’t stop thinking about him.

You arrive at the Salvatore’s and the group huddles in the living room for a quick debriefing of what just went down. All the while images of Klaus and your bite flash through your mind. You look at your shoulder and you can’t see the full damage as it’s covered by your shirt but you know it’s not good.

“How are you holding up, Damon?” Caroline asks teasingly. He glares at her and rolls his neck.

“Doing just great thanks,” he says.

“What the hell even happened?” Elena asks. “I mean, why did they just leave?”

“All I know is, one minute I’m holding my own against Klaus--” Damon says and to this you hold back rolling your eyes. Klaus must’ve been going easy on him, toying with him. “--and then he gets this raged look on his face and boom, lights out.”

“He went to Y/N,” Caroline says causing all of their eyes to stare at you again. You bite back your annoyance at her for bringing that on you.

“What happened?” Stefan asks while the rest of the group waits. The image of Klaus looking at you causes your face to heat up and you struggle to come up with a lie. You don’t want to tell them the truth when you yourself haven’t even gotten to the bottom of it.

“I-I don’t know,” you say. They still stare at you. “Maybe he was mad at me for harming his hybrids.”

“There were two knocked-out hybrids beside her,” Caroline adds. The group looks at you with a mix of shock and amazement.

“You knocked out two of them?” Damon asks with surprise and slight amusement. You don’t want to outwardly lie so you just kind of nod.

“And then he just left,” you say.

“It still doesn’t make sense. I mean, why target you specifically?” Bonnie asks.

“Maybe he’s miffed his lover betrayed him,” Damon says and your face turns beat red.

“W-What?! I am not his—” you burst out in surprise until someone cuts you off. No one even looks your way.

“Or maybe he’s planning something,” Elena suggests. The rest of them start diving into conspiracies but your mind is elsewhere. You suddenly feel drawn to look at your bite. The more you look at it, the more it’s like you can feel the venom pumping through your veins. Your heartbeat is suddenly too loud and you feel like you can’t breathe.

You don’t know if it has something to do with the venom or just your overall panic, but all of a sudden, the world goes black.

†††

Your eyes slowly open and your vision is blurry at first. Figures stand over you and after blinking a few times, you recognize your friends.

“She’s awake,” Elena says, as if everyone isn’t seeing it for themselves. You realize you’re lying on the Salvatore’s couch. You wonder how long you blacked out for.

“What the hell Y/N?!” Caroline instantly yells at you. You flinch at her volume but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Why didn’t you tell us you got bit?”

At the reminder, you look back at the bite only to see that its gotten worse. You wince at the sight of it and face the group. You guess they discovered it when you passed out.

“I don’t know, I-I thought I could handle it,” you say, not wanting to admit the real reason. Most of them roll their eyes at you.

“Of course you couldn’t handle it!” Damon says. “You should have told us.”

I didn’t know you cared. You bite your tongue to keep the words from spilling out of your mouth. “I’m sorry,” you say, losing interest in the conversation as you are now painfully aware of the venom from the bite.

“What are we going to do?” Bonnie asks. They begin to cut you out of the conversation even though they’re talking about you and you decide you can’t deal with this right now. You stand up from the couch, feeling a bit of a head rush before steadying yourself. This seems to draw their attention.

“Hey wait, where are you going?” Stefan asks, as they all look at you with bewildered expressions.

“I’m going home,” you say and start to walk away. Unfortunately, they follow.

“You can’t just go home!” Caroline exclaims, reacting as if you just said you were going to the moon.

“Watch me,” you say, your frustration getting the better of you. You try to make your way towards the door but a few steps in you stumble and Stefan speeds over to steady you.

“Okay, we’ll take you home, alright?” he says and in that moment, you’re grateful for him. He turns to the rest of the group. “We can regroup at her place and brainstorm ideas there while keeping an eye on her.” The rest of the group seems to agree with the idea. In separate cars, the group drives over to your house.

Soon you’re pulling into your driveway. They’ve all been invited in before so entering isn’t a problem. With Stefan’s help, you climb the stairs and soon find yourself in your cozy bed. You wish you could just sleep away this problem but a sudden sharp pain from the wound reminds you that isn’t possible.

“So what now?” Elena asks as the group piles into your bedroom. It feels weird and you’re slightly uncomfortable with it but you keep quiet and just get under your inviting covers.

“Maybe we can ask Klaus for help?” Bonnie suggests. At this, Damon instantly scoffs.

“Yeah that sounds like him,” Damon says.

“Maybe he’ll do it for Y/N,” Caroline says. “He does have a soft spot for her.”

“I don’t know if that’s enough for him,” Stefan interjects. “We all know what he’s after.”

“No,” Damon says. “We finally have a real weapon against those Original assholes and I’m not just going to throw it all away for—”

“Damon,” Elena hisses and nudges him in the chest before nodding over to you. Once more, all eyes are on you and you don’t know what to do. Damon looks away, maybe feeling guilty for basically saying you’re not worth it.

“Why don’t we continue this conversation downstairs?” Caroline suggests. You once again wonder why they’re talking about this situation without you but you’re too tired and hurt to care.

“We’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” Bonnie says and then the group filters out closing the door behind them.

Throughout the day a few of them check in on you every once and a while, barely giving you updates on if they’re going to find a cure. As your pain grows and the sky darkens, you start to think that maybe this is it. Maybe this is how you die. You never imagined it happening like this and your chest caves in at the thought of a final death but it’s looking more and more likely.

You’re not sure what time it is, but later in the night you hear a faint knock which sounds like it’s coming from your front door. You ignore it, not having the strength to answer it. You figure one of your friends will answer it. If they’re even home.

The knock sounds again, louder and more persistent, and you start to suspect that your friends have left. You take a deep breath as fear coils around your throat, constricting your breath. Your friends aren’t here and you’re going to die all alone before you even got to live. The knocking stops and you settle back into the silence.

Then a sound comes from your window. It sounds like…knocking? From your bed, you can’t see the outside since it’s too dark out. You wish your friends were here. Slowly, you climb out of bed and try to rally your strength in case you have to fight something or someone. As you walk over your confusion only grows.

There, perched on a branch from the tree outside your window, is Klaus Mikaelson. He gives you a wave and you hesitantly wave back. You approach the window cautiously before opening it.

“Um, can I help you?” you ask, trying to understand what you’re seeing. Hallucinations are a side effect of wolf venom, right?

“Well hello to you too, love,” he says with a cheeky smile on his face. His eyes roam over your body and his smile falters. You suddenly become aware that this is the closest you’ve ever been to the Original. You try not to let your cheeks flush.

“What are you doing here?” His smile drops entirely, noticing your serious demeanour.

“I’m here to help. Now if you could just let me in—”

“Help with what?” His face becomes grim as his eyes trail over to your shoulder. It’s now out in the open as you’ve changed into pajamas. You then remember that he must’ve seen the bite when it happened.

“Your wound, love.”

“Why…why would you want to help me with that?” you ask. Then a thought occurs. “Wait, have my friends spoken to you?”

His eyebrows furrow as he shakes his head. “No, I haven’t heard from them,” he says and though you can’t say you didn’t expect it, your heart drops at hearing it. “Wait, do they know about this?”

“Um yeah.”

He looks angry as he asks, “And where are they now?”

You look at the floor and try to keep your embarrassment inside. “I don’t know, I thought they would’ve contacted you.”

“Apparently not.” His face is still twisted in anger although you’re not quite sure why. Then he looks at you and seems to remember why he’s here. “So, can you let me in?”

The thought of having Klaus Mikaelson in your room makes your heart beat faster. And though you want to give in, to continue living your immortal life, you hesitate. “Why should I trust you?”

“What?”

“How do I know if I let you in now, it won’t come back to bite me in the ass?” you ask, your arms crossed.

Klaus doesn’t seem to understand your concern. “Love, you realize that’s a hybrid bite. I don’t think you have the time for this.”

“So you admit that you would use it later?”

His face scrunches up. “That’s not—no I wouldn’t do that—just please let me in,” he says, giving you a sincere look that threatens to break down your walls. Just as you’re about to question him more, a wave of pain washes over your body. You let out a groan as you slightly stumble back. “Y/N?” The pain grows more intense and you let out a whimper before you collapse onto your knees. “Y/N!” It’s as if your body is at war with itself and you can feel every impact of it.

“You have to let me in, just say the words and I can help you. Please!” You hear Klaus say from the window. But it’s hard to find words when the pain is so intense. You want it to stop. “Y/N!” You hear him bang his fist against the walls of your house.

You slowly lift your head up to see his worried face, desperately waiting for you to let him in. You no longer care if this will come back to haunt you. You take a few deep breaths before you say, “Come in.”

As soon as the words take effect, Klaus rushes into the house and scoops you into his arms. You clutch at his chest, not thinking of anything but the pain. He carries you over to the bed and gently places you down before quickly running over to the window to close it. The pain seems to be dwindling down but you know it’ll be back. Your whole body is so weak, you used the last of your strength to walk over and talk to Klaus.

Speaking of, he’s quickly back at your bedside, eyes furiously scanning you for signs of physical distress. Then his eyes lock on yours and you feel your breath hitch. “You have to drink my blood,” he says quietly to you.

You know that that’s the cure and that it will save you, but you’re still hesitant. This is Klaus you’re talking about. The big bad hybrid who’s been attacking your friends and causing chaos for weeks now. And yet for some reason, a part of you wants to trust him. A part of you wants to give in to the idea that he could be good. But how can you trust him when you can’t even trust your own instincts?

He must sense your hesitation, because he leans down to look into your eyes. When you look at him, you’re stuck by how truly beautiful he is. His eyes are a beautiful blue, but more than that, they hold a look of sincerity in them. “I know you don’t trust me, I wouldn’t either,” he says. “But this is what’s going to save you. So please, take a chance. What have you got to lose?”

He does have a point.

“I don’t want to die,” you admit in a small voice. Your breath stutters as you let the fear bubbling inside of you rise to the surface. Klaus’s look is sympathetic.

“I don’t want that either,” he whispers. Your eyes meet and you feel caught in them. “Let me help you.”

Maybe it’s because this is a different, more sincere side of Klaus that you’ve never seen before. Maybe it’s because your friends are gone and you’re feeling vulnerable. Maybe it’s because your instincts seem to have aligned. Either way, you nod your head.

He offers you a small smile. He then sits on the bed and gently shifts you so that you’re leaning against his chest. You’re too weak to move yourself. Klaus rolls up his sleeve and bites down on his wrist before bringing it close to your lips. You’re tempted but look at him to make sure it’s okay first. He nods and you sink your teeth into his wrist.

At first, you feel weird about the situation. But then you lean into it and begin to enjoy it. Klaus whispers encouragingly in your ear as his blood enters your body. You can feel your strength begin to return and the fog in your brain clear. You almost don’t want to stop, and the way Klaus is petting your hair doesn’t help. But eventually, you know you’ve had enough, so you pull away.

“Wasn’t so bad, eh?” Klaus says and you look up to see him smiling down at you. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I think so.”

“Then I guess my work here is done.” He moves you so you’re lying back on your bed, but when he moves to leave, you grab his arm. He looks back, confused.

“Why did you do that?” When his confusion doesn’t clear, you clarify. “Why did you help me?”

He looks down at the floor and his lip twitches into a smile. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, love, but I quite fancy you. Wouldn’t want you dying on me before I’ve had a chance to win you over.”

His words shock you enough to let go of his arm. The strangest part is that he looks sincere about it. “But…you actually like me? Like, that wasn’t all an act?” you ask. Both of you seem to be confused by the other.

“Why would I do that?” You start to feel embarrassed.

“To—to get on the group’s nerves? To throw us off?”

“Is it so hard to believe that I might just like you?” To be honest, the thought hadn’t occurred to you. Trickery made more sense.

“Yes,” you say and then wish you didn’t. “I—I mean, why me? Why not Caroline or Bonnie?”

“Besides the fact that you’re the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever laid eyes on?” he asks and you’re suddenly glad it’s dark because your cheeks are on fire right now. “Because you’re different.” That doesn’t make you feel so great. He must have picked up on that because he catches your eye and says, “Because you’re better.” The idea makes you flustered, that anyone would think you’re better than them, let alone a powerful hybrid like Klaus.

“I still don’t understand.”

“Hmm.” He seems to think on what to say before smirking. “Then I guess I’ll have to do a better job at showing you.” When he winks at you, you think your face might be on fire from how hot it is. Once again, he turns to leave.

“Thank you,” you call out which makes him stop in his tracks. He turns around to face you and seems confused by your words. But you mean them. He didn’t have to save you, you gave him nothing in return, and yet he did.

He smiles and you think it’s much better than the fake ones he gives to the group. “Of course love,” he says. “Couldn’t have my favourite vampire dying on me.” You give him a smile back, genuinely happy to hear someone say that to you.

Then your eyelids begin to feel heavy and you have to blink rapidly to stay awake. Klaus sees this and says, “Goodnight, my love,” before opening your bedroom window.

“Goodnight,” you say back as you watch the window close. You lay back down on your bed, thankful to no longer be dying. You guess you have your new saviour to thank for that. As you close your eyes, you can’t help but see Klaus in a different light. Not as a villain, but as a complicated man. You don’t think your friends are going to like your change of heart, so for now you’ll keep it to yourself. You’ll be content in knowing that maybe the big bad hybrid isn’t so bad after all.

#klaus x reader #klaus x you #klaus x y/n #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson x you #klaus mikaelson x y/n #klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson fanfiction #tvd #tvd fanfiction #the vampire diaries fanfiction #tvd klaus #the originals #the originals fanfiction

4K notes · View notes

mywhisperingwords · 12 days ago

Text

these three little words | fred g. weasley

summary: three times fred told you he loved you and one time he truly meant it word count: 3.6k masterlist

“You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

Fred put a hand on his heart while saying, “You wound me greatly.”

Rolling your eyes, you kept walking, leaving him behind, “And yet you are still alive and well just to annoy me.”

Behind you, you could hear him snickering to himself before he caught up with you.

“Just you, my darling,” he told you, putting his arm around your shoulder, “besides, all I said was that your sudden interest in Potions was quite suspicious. For some unknown reason I doubt that you do it for George and me.”

He put his mouth close to your ear, his hot breath tickling your cheek and the sudden closeness made it hard for you to comprehend the next words he whispered, “One might wonder if some specific professor has anything to do with that.”

It took you a moment, but you finally realized what he meant.

“Are you seriously accusing me of fancying Snape? Snape of all people? Sickening,” you shouted as you pushed him away from you with a revolted expression. “That thought alone makes me want to throw up in your face.”

“Now, now, don’t be so vulgar. Snape is awkwardly handsome, quite old and wise. Maybe he could teach you some things,” he started winking suggestively at you before breaking in a laughing fit.

All you could was stare at him, horrified by the idea alone.

This whole conversation only sparked because you mentioned your study’s that were related to potion making. Which you only took up, to help out with new creations in relation to Fred, and George, of course.

Maybe he wasn’t that far off with the whole fancying idea, he just confused the person you fancied.

“Do you hear that?” he asked abruptly, a serious look on his face, that made your stomach twist in an uncomfortable way.

“What?” you asked, still annoyed but also a bit nervous. You weren’t that far away from the forbidden forest and you never knew what kind of creatures were luring in the shadows.

“I thought I heard,” he paused for a moment, suspension rising, “wedding bells.”

“Merlin, you’re a git,” you moaned.

You swiftly turned away from him and crossed your arms, more annoyed with him and his stupid jokes. Quickly you started walking, trying to get away from him.

Maybe it was your attitude or maybe he just realized that you were done with his jokes at the moment but he immediately went after you.

When he caught up with, he again put his arm on your shoulder, before saying, “Aw, come on. You know I was just joking.”

Ignoring him, you kept on walking in the direction of the castle. You weren’t bothered by his jokes, not really. It’s Fred you’re talking about here, he does not mean any harm — at least not to you.

You were also not upset by his little scare, or maybe a little bit. To be honest, you were not quite sure why you were so agitated currently.

Maybe it was the fact that you spent your free time studying, just for him, and George of course. But mostly for Fred. And all he could do is make a mockery out of it just so he doesn’t have to deal with real feelings.

Because you knew, that he was overwhelmed when you told him your studies were a way of helping him and George with their products. Fred wasn’t someone who asked for help, he’d rather deal with his problems on his own. But he also knew that accepting offered help wasn’t a weakness, especially when it came from you.

You recognized it in the way he got quiet for a moment, avoiding looking at you, his cheeks turning a shade of pink, before starting to joke around.

It was a typical Fred reaction.

“Don’t be like that, darling. I love you, don’t ignore me,” he murmured, pressing his lips against the side of your head.

Sometimes you wondered if he knew, when he said things like that but you were aware of the fact that he only saw you as a friend—he had made that clear numerous times.

“I’ll stop ignoring you if you stop joking about me and Snape,” you told him.

He held up his hands in surrender, “Deal.” Grinning at you, he linked his arm with yours, continuing the way up the hill towards the castle.

After a beat of silence, he interrupted it by saying, “But be honest with me, you fancy him at least a tiny bit, right?”

This time, when you pushed him away, you couldn’t help yourself and let out a laugh at his stupid joke.

Nights like these were your favorite.

Sitting in Gryffindor common room that was buzzing with conversation, around the fireplace with the people who felt like home to you, and Fred, who was so much more.

All the jokes, the laughter and the love that was shared between you made it sometimes difficult to deem this your life—it felt too good to be true.

Angelina was just retelling the story of how her newest fling asked her out, right after he won his quidditch game. The whole school witnessed that slightly awkward scene, but Angelina was head over heels about this public display of affection.

You could see that George was not so fond of these news, he was averting his gaze and seemed to obviously be more than annoyed at Angelina’s pawning about this handsome Hufflepuff boy.

If only George would tell her how he felt, but who were you to judge, considering you could not even tell your best friend about your feelings.

George’s behavior seemed to be obvious to anyone but Angelina, but Lee was the one to finally put George out of his misery and interrupt her speech, “I can’t even fathom what rid that guy to do all that in public.”

Angelina rolled her eyes, while everyone else laughed. “Maybe the fact that he knows what a woman wants?” she said, raising her eyebrow at you, clearly looking for support on this matter.

But you were the wrong one to address, because you couldn’t imagine anything more horrifying than somebody confessing their love for you in front of everyone.

“I understand that you like that kind of thing, but me personally, I think I would die of embarrassment. I don’t want my love to be so out in the open, at the end of the day it’s only between me and that person,” you told her, giving her an apologetic smile.

While trying to convey your thoughts on that matter, you couldn’t help yourself but let your mind wander to the person you always thought about these days it felt like.

Fred was sitting right next to you, but he was not his usual loud and joking self. There was something weighing on his mind and you wished you could just crawl inside it to find out what was wrong.

But you could not, so all you could do was lean to his side and quietly ask him, “Are you alright?”

Your words seemed to have pulled him out of his thoughts, because his eyes locked on yours, he was quiet for a moment, taking his time to think about his answer. He seemed to find it in your face, because he slowly began to grin before jumping out of his seat, interrupting George who was just talking enthusiastically.

Even with everyone’s eyes on him, he seemed to have only eyes for you.

“Oh, dearest lady of mine heart!” he exclaimed, striding toward you with a grand sweep of his arm. The room fell silent, a few chuckles escaping from his friends as he carried on with exaggerated passion.

He took your hand, eyes glinting with mischief as he dropped to one knee. “Thou art as radiant as the morning sun that doth chase away the drear of night,” he intoned, voice dramatic and thick with feigned longing. “Might I but win a single glance of thy affection, my soul would soar higher than the castle towers!”

You bit back a grin, feeling your cheeks heat up as everyone laughed, watching Fred carry on his theatrical performance.

He leaned in, lowering his voice just a touch. “Ah, fair lady, dost thou know what torment ‘tis to sit beside thee, with no claim upon thy heart?” His tone softened, eyes suddenly more serious than playful. “For, alas, thou hast bewitched me in ways I can scarce confess.”

Someone whistled, and George called out, “Go on, Freddie! Pour your heart out!”

With a smirk, Fred straightened and gave a bow. “Then, my fair one, grant me but a single smile, and I shall know all is well with my heart—for it beats for thee alone.”

You were staring holes into the ceiling, wide awake.

That wasn’t a rarity these days.

The impending war was hanging over your head, the uncertainty these days was keeping you up most nights nowadays. Never knowing if the next day would arrive with word of the beginning of the end.

You were staying at the Burrow, a house that has always felt like a safe place, a second home, to you. Lately it didn’t feel as secure as it used to, only the people occupying the space giving it the feeling of a home.

People were scared and though you tried not to show it, you were too.

Sleep was not going to come, you were sure of that. It has come worse and worse in the last few weeks.

That was the reason for why you would spend most nights in at the porch, looking out at the trees until the sun would rise and the rest of the house would wake up.

Some nights Fred would catch you up, not being able to rest himself, so he’d keep you company for a while, until sooner or later falling asleep on the floor next to you.

He would sometimes try to lighten the mood, trying to get you to laugh. Trying to put a smile on your lips, to make these times feel less daunting. And other times he would just sit in silence next to you, watching the sunrise. That’s when you would know that even Fred himself was struggling with being hopeful.

But you would never talk about it, because that would mean that this was real. The possibility of death and loss might not just be that — a possibility.

This night was different than the others and you couldn’t quite pinpoint why that was.

Maybe the reason was, that Fred was already out of bed. Normally you would be the first to come downstairs and he would soon after follow. Sometimes you would swear that he would just listen for your footsteps down the hallway, before he would emerge from his room.

This time when you walked down the stairs, you saw that the side door was slightly open.

When you walked by the kitchen window, you could see Fred sitting outside, staring at the night sky.

He did not acknowledge your presence when you took a seat next to him. All he did was continue to stare at the stars that shone so brightly, even in times like these, looking deep in thought.

After a few minutes of silence, his quiet question was a startling reminder that this fight was taking a constant toll on everyone, even the ones filled with happiness.

“Don’t you wish that it would all just end?”

You did not expect a question like this from him, the one person in this world that always had a hopeless optimism, no matter how bad things looked, he was the one that always said that things can only get better, even with a dagger in his heart.

There was no answer, that you could give him. At least not one, that he did not already know himself.

After a long moment of silence, where you admired the clear night-sky, you told him in a soft voice, “The stars are beautiful tonight.”

“Yes, yes they are,” he agreed, but when you looked over at him, his gaze wasn’t directed towards the sky, no, it was directed at you.

All you could do was stare back at him, and listen to the beating of your heart. You swore, if you stopped breathing, you could also pick up the beat of his.

“I love you,” he whispered and the beating of your heart stopped, for only a second, “You’re my best friend.”

How strange it was to feel anything at all.

You were bleeding.

A few moments before, you got hit, you think, you couldn’t remember when it happened exactly.

All you could do was to keep going, ignoring the humming pain at your side. The adrenaline pumping in your veins was keeping you from thinking clearly, acknowledging the deep wound.

The one and only thing that was on your mind, was Fred.

Ever since you heard his name leaving someone’s lips, mentioning that he was hurt, severely, all you could do was look for him in every face that laid on the ground. So many bodies, so many souls that have left before their time.

You felt guilty, that every time you did not see his face on any of the bodies, you felt a sense of relief.

With every turn you took, people were trying desperately to make it out alive. It was a miracle that you were even still alive at this point, with the way you were running past Death Eaters without a care in the world.

It was in the Great Hall where you finally found him, sitting on one of the gurneys.

Without a second thought, you ran towards him, engulfing him in your arms, needing to make sure that he was real and not just a figment of your imagination. There was too much demise for you not to consider that you yourself have already passed.

But when Fred put his arms around you and pulled you against his body you knew that this was real, because it hurt like hell. He was pressing against the wound on your side and you were hurting him too, you must be, given the state he was in. But not any of this mattered when you felt so secure in his arms.

“What were you thinking?” you muttered in his neck, not wanting to let go of him, “You could be dead.”

Fred’s ghost of a laugh brushed the skin of your cheek, leaving a haunted touch. His response to your worries was unconcerned, “I’m not.”

His carelessness made you push him from you, turning your head to the side, so he couldn’t catch a glimpse of the tears welling in your eyes when you whispered, “But you could’ve been.”

The realization hit you at once. There was a sudden urge to just scream your soul out, as you acknowledged that there was a possibility that you could not be sitting here with Fred.

But you did not lash out, no, you broke down. The adrenaline rush and the fear of losing Fred was leaving your body at once and you began crying, not being able to hold them in any longer.

There were so many emotions you were feeling in this moment, guilt for not staying with Fred, anger at anyone who harmed him, and panic for everything you have endured to still be alive.

Fred reached out his hand, taking ahold of yours, muttering sweet nothings to you, “I’m okay, hey, I’m okay.” But you wouldn’t hear it, even if his words rang true. The idea of finding a lifeless Fred in the Great Hall was still to raw. All he could do to comfort you, was to hold you, and he did as he continued to whisper, “I’m right here, alive and breathing.”

You heard his words but you did not recognize them, too caught up with sorting through the mess of your mind. But his next words finally got through to you, because he confessed with a low voice and a soft smile, “I love you too much to just leave you like that.”

Only a few moments later, he noticed the blood on your shirt, a fearful expression on his face as he saw your exhausted eyes, yelling out, “I need a healer. Now!”

Something shifted between the two of you after the war, you could feel it in the air, almost being able to touch it with your bare hands.

It was in the way he looked at you, like you would vanish the moment he looked away, and the way he touched you, the way he refused to let go of you, like he feared that you might fade away from his life.

As if he wasn’t the one that could’ve almost slipped away from you.

Maybe it was a reassurance to him, to feel that he was still here, alive and breathing.

To you it was torture. Never before has he been so close to you, yet so far. It was cruel, if you were being honest.

You had taken on the responsibility of helping out with the shop, with Fred healing and George being overwhelmed with the workload, it only made sense.

That was at least what you told yourself. The whole truth was, that you too were scared that if you only for a second turned around that he would be gone. That it had all only been a dream, and Fred had not survived the war but had succumbed to his injuries.

But he had.

It was a day like the one before, you sat next to Fred in the office after the shop had closed, looking over some of the paperwork.

You worked in silence next to one another, but all you fixate on was the way his thigh was plastered on your thigh, the way his arm was pressing right into your arm. It was hard to tell where you began and he ended, everything was blended together and you loathed it.

You hated it, because it was everything you ever wanted, but it looked wrong, misshapen.

“When I was talking to George earlier, he asked if you were staying over again, I told him that you were,” he mumbled, not looking up from his work.

That had been another thing that had been creeping into your new everyday without you noticing it at first. You spend most of your time at their flat, only going to yours to get the mail and water your plants, that were slowly rotting away with the amount of times you were actually around to take care of them.

Like so many other things, it had been unspoken. An unspoken agreement between you, that was just there.

Just like it had been unspoken that you would no longer spend the night on the living room sofa and instead on Fred’s bed, when he saw the uncomfortable sleep you would have on that sofa. Which was not completely true, because it wasn’t the sofa keeping you awake, it was the nightmares.

It was a day like this, long ago, when instead of letting you go left to the living room, he gently took your hand and lead you into his room. Neither of you said a word, when you got ready for bed. You just laid down together, taking comfort in one another, while holding onto each other.

You did not talk about, how you slept better together, or how the nightmares were fewer now. That was just another thing that sneaked its way into your everyday routine.

So when you walked up the stairs into his flat, that felt more like home to you than your own home, you did not say anything, because it was just the way things were now.

And you did not say anything, when you two stood in his tiny bathroom and undressed for bed, because it was just the way things were now.

And you did not say anything, when you crawled into his bed, onto your side, because it was just the way things were now.

But when he put his arms around you, and whispered those three words into your ear, like it was just a part of your new normal, you could not keep quiet any longer.

“Don’t say that, please, don’t say that. Not if you don’t mean it,” you whimpered into the darkness of the night.

He tightened his grip on you, whispering “But I do mean it.”

You were shaking, and with a raw throat you told him the truth, “Not in the way I want you to.”

“In what way do you want me to mean it?” he asked, voice soft.

“In every way.”

He put his lips on your neck, “I do, in every way.”

For the first time in, what felt like years, you finally let go. You let go of all that pain you endured over the years, all of the confusion and agonizing fear you felt. Sobbing into the arms of the man that you have loved, long before you even knew what love truly meant.

And all he did, was hold you together, so you could fall apart, continuing to whisper these words in your ear.

352 notes · View notes

skzdarlings · 4 months ago

Text

the kingsguard ; jisung x reader ; part iv

pairing: han jisung/reader summary: You are a queen. He is a kingsguard - a member of a holy order that vows to defend the king in the name of the gods. They forsake all earthly goods and swear a vow of chastity to avoid all worldly temptation. When he stands in as proxy for the royal wedding, all those vows are tested.

content info: reader described with curly hair.

content warnings: the previously established story dynamics are prevalent in this chapter, please proceed at own discretion.

chapter word count: 12000 words.

Your body inevitably surrenders to its exhaustion. You sleep through the sunrise and past noon, opening your eyes to a day gone by. The deep gold of afternoon sunlight fills the room like a dreamy mist.

The golden shade obscures all your worries. You forget where you are. You forget who you are. You feel well-rested and well-loved, a warmth blossoming in your heart, reminiscent of a hopeful spring in this rotting hot summer.

You are brought back to reality by voices outside your door. You sit up in bed, straining to hear.

“—had me ride ahead to see the queen was safe.” That voice sounds like Changbin. You have only heard him speak a few times but he has a recognizable pitch, not to mention his tone when he says, “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Jisung replies. He sounds tired. You can only imagine what he looks like. Did he sleep at all?

There is a beat of silence. Maybe Changbin is waiting for more, but Jisung is not forthcoming.

“Did something happen?” Changbin asks.

“Huh?” There is some clattering as Jisung moves. “Yeah,” he snaps, in a tone more agitated than you have heard from him. “Someone tried to kill the fucking queen.”

“Hey, watch your tone with me. I know that, but you—”

Changbin stops halfway through his sentence. Jisung’s expression is evidently enough to quiet him.

There is some more movement, the swish of fabric, then Changbin says, “Go change into clean robes. Take a nap. I’ll guard the queen. When you’re done, I’ll ride back to the others and report. We should all arrive by nightfall—”

“I’ll ride back,” Jisung says, his voice and footsteps already sounding farther.

“Hey!” Changbin hollers. “You need to rest!”

There is no reply. You hear the creak of booted steps on the stairs, then Jisung is gone.

“Be careful with my horse!” Changbin shouts. “Ahhh, if he leaves her in the woods…”

Changbin keeps muttering even though Jisung is long gone.

You sink into the blankets.

It does not matter how far he goes. Not the shade or the sunlight or the mist can hide him. Even when you close your eyes, he is there, looking back at you. In a few short days, Han Jisung has inextricably twined himself around your heart. You don’t love him yet, but you could. You want to love him. That warmth in your heart is him, a blossom unfolding in the spring of your new becoming, but it aches – not because a love is ending, but because it can never begin.

Jisung has saved you yet again. He took care of you last night, disregarding himself as he has done before. You want to chase after him, swear new vows to him alone. You would give anything for him to experience the same devotion he has bestowed upon others. You want to fly out of this bed and saddle a horse, chase after him, find him in the woods and –

And what? That plan did not work last time.

You linger in bed for a long time, awake but nonetheless dreaming, pondering:

You. Your duty, your family, your people. The king. The marriage, the cruelty, the wedding bed.

Jisung. His eyes, his voice, his everything.

Hunger finally lures you out of the covers. You dress yourself in the gown gifted by the innkeeper’s wife. When your hair is pinned up as neatly as possible, you step into the corridor and greet Changbin. You go downstairs and the innkeeper prepares you a meal. You eat by the unlit fire, the same place you sat with Jisung last night, before –

Your whole body burns when you think about it. Whether you are with the king or on your own, you doubt you will ever touch yourself without thinking of Jisung and last night.

“Is the food all right, Your Majesty?” Changbin asks. His nose crinkles as he looks down at the bowl, as if he expects to find the source of your misery there. “It smells all right.”

“Oh, yes, it is,” you say. You suppose morosely poking at a bowl is bad manners.

The inn is bustling with workers preparing for the royal arrival. When you finish eating, you find the innkeeper’s wife and ask for something to do. Though she says the queen should not lift a finger, you insist that you prefer to stay busy. You tell her you have genuine technical skills and she relents, perhaps seeing the sincerity in your pleading. You do not want to sit in silent thought right now.

That is how you find yourself with the mending. Changbin loiters nearby, not hiding his boredom very well. He starts lifting random objects to exercise his already-ample muscles. He tries to challenge himself but it loses novelty quickly as there is nothing especially heavy in the room.

You ask if he wants to sew with you. He gives you a wary look but takes a seat. You show him some basic stitches.

“Kingsguards don’t do their own mending, I suppose,” you say.

He furrows his brow with concentration. He has thick fingers and struggles to thread the needle, but he cheers for himself like the winner of a game match when he succeeds.

“Ah, no,” he eventually answers, stabbing the needle into a torn shirt. “The squires take care of it. I haven’t touched a needle since my training.”

You chat about his time as squire for the kingsguard. Unlike Jisung, Changbin comes from a noble family, though he is the youngest of ten. Knowing he would never see a penny of inheritance nor an acre of land, he devoted himself to the gods. He claims beyond prayer, his only real skill is crushing skulls.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” you say, resuming your own mending now that he is easily sewing on his own. “You’re quite the seamstress.”

He giggles. That bubbly laughter in that bulky body makes you laugh too.

“Well, it never hurts to have more skills,” you say. “And I don’t think any work is beneath anyone. If you don’t take care, you may forget just how much effort goes into menial tasks.”

“Hmm.” Changbin looks thoughtful. “Yes, that does happen.”

The day passes with a few chores and some conversation. The sun begins its descent sooner than later. You are eating supper when the royal party arrives.

You promptly lose your appetite.

You and Changbin wait in the front room while the party loudly organizes itself outside. The contrast of quietude makes it feel like there is a bubble around the room – weak, vulnerable, about to burst.

Changbin looks at you sideways. He has spoken freely this afternoon and appears to debate whether he should question your wellbeing as a person or stay silent as a kingsguard. He rocks on his feet, fist curled around his sword hilt. His mouth opens with a question when the door swings open.

Chan enters first. He and Changbin exchange a nod, then Chan bows to greet you. “Your Majesty,” he says.

He moves aside swiftly. The king enters right behind him. Your knees knock but you conceal your fright, hoping your queasiness does not show on your face.

“My queen,” the king says. His tone is warmer than usual. He has only ever addressed you with open contempt, but now he approaches you with his hand outstretched and a respectful dip of his head. “The gods have surely blessed you to survive such a trying ordeal.”

You flinch when he grabs your face, though he does not strike you. That would have been less surprising than the kiss he places on the top of your head.

He drops his hands and walks away without another word, leaving you standing there in shock.

The other kingsguards follow. Minho does not show much expression but Hyunjin rolls his eyes at the king’s display. His aggravation seems as red hot as ever, barely concealed as he bows appropriately. When he rises, he gives you a look, one you can only describe as a warning.

Your shock settles. Maybe it is not strange the king is acting nice. He would not want anyone to suspect him of your assassination attempt. Feigning affection for his wife would redirect the accusations.

Hyunjin and Minho move along. Seungmin and Jeongin bow next. You wait but Jisung does not show, just an array of courtiers and servants that have been travelling in the retinue.

“Wife,” the king says, though bellows and commands is more appropriate. “Sit. Eat.”

You do not have an appetite. You sit beside the king as he glowers and mutters complaints about everything and nothing.

Part way through the meal, Jisung arrives. He makes some excuse to Chan, something about minding his horse after its ordeal.

You stare at Jisung across the room. He shakes out his robes, brushing a few twigs of hay from the black cloth. His dark hair is pushed back, his face open as he turns his face to the room.

He catches your eye before anyone and anything. Your heart reacts with an eager leap.

Last night was overwhelming. You remember his desperation towards the end. You can only imagine what was on his mind. You have spent all day in turmoil, alternating between reassurance and berating yourself. Perhaps he just needed to decompress, or perhaps he regretted ever telling you a word, that he would prefer to never look upon you again.

He looks at you now and you realize that was nonsense. It is the same roving, intense stare as last night, one that moves like a hungry touch. You shiver even though the heated room is packed full.

The king pays him no mind, engaged in conversation while he eats. Jisung bows from across the room and it is only for you.

He does not look at you after that, sitting with the other kingsguards while he eats his meal. When it is over, the king asks for music so Jisung fetches his guitar. His singing soothes your anxious spirit. It is so calming after so much turmoil, your eyelids start to feel heavy.

You fall asleep to his music. You wake to a gentle touch on your shoulder, finding yourself slumped over the table, head on your folded arms, a very un-queenly pose. You surface groggily, blinking slowly up at the guard who touched you.

It is Minho. The front room is empty except for the innkeeper, some servants, and two kingsguards chatting, evidently manning the front door. The king is gone, perhaps already to bed. You sigh with relief as hopefully that means he will not bother you.

Minho has been assigned to guard you tonight. He sweeps through your room, checking the windows and locks, but thankfully does not stay inside. You prefer privacy, though you would not mind if it was Jisung, even if it is dangerous to think that way.

Yes, very dangerous, as you close your eyes and imagine his dark eyes, watching you from across the room. You kiss your fingertips and touch your neck, just like he showed you, feeling that tell-tale flush of warmth when you imagine his lips on your throat. Your body feels tight, everything from your waist below clenching inside.

Your hand slips under the covers. You do not think of the king even once, all your thoughts rivetted to Han Jisung. You follow the natural call of desire, going so far as to curl your fingers inside yourself. You dare only a little touch but it still makes you gasp. You bite your lip to stay quiet, even though you want to scream a certain name when you stroke the place he showed you and come apart with the same earth-shattering release. You picture his face the entire time, specifically the dark and desperate way he looked at you when you put your fingers in your mouth.

You do it again, imagining those fingers are his, imagining kneeling in front of him like you desired last night. You take your fingers to the knuckle and wonder what he would say, what he would do. Just watching you made him blaspheme, the gods on his tongue as his whole body shook with a deep breath.

You fear you may be an insatiable, lecherous creature on top of irredeemably sinful, as you lower your fingers and do it all over again.

You whisper his name as you come over that crest of pleasure. It sounds like a prayer in the quiet dark.

A long day of travel looms ahead of you. You do not want to give the king any excuse to berate you, so you rise early and dress quickly without assistance. You intend to be the first downstairs.

You open your door without warning, causing the guard to stumble backwards because he was leaning on it.

The guard is no longer Minho.

Jisung spills into your path, eyes flashing with surprise. You are surprised too. The guards must have traded posts overnight, allowing the first group to get some sleep.

Of course, no one thought anything of assigning Jisung to your room. No one would have reason to believe you would stand like this in the doorway, staring at each other so intently.

You make no sound, just the gentle exchange of breath, but your heart races towards him in a noisy stampede. Given how he leans towards you, as if enthralled in a spell, his own heart is doing the same.

“Ah, uh, Your Majesty,” he finally says, sweeping into a bow.

His dark hair falls over his face. Unable to resist the soft allure of each dark wave, you touch the back of his bowed head. It is a soft, quick caress of your fingertips.

He makes a wounded sound. When he stands, his face is flushed.

“Are you, ah, ready for me to take you?” he asks. His eye twitches. He clutches the hilt of his sword very tightly. “Downstairs,” he says quickly. “Are you ready for me to take you downstairs? Yes. That.”

You nod. You have not spoken a word out loud, but you suspect your gaze gives you away, because Jisung looks into your eyes and makes that same sad whimper before darting down the corridor.

“Downstairs,” he says, a sing-song as he scuttles down the stairwell. “Downstairs, downstairs, la la—”

The king arrives while you are having breakfast. Before long, you are gathered outside the inn, preparing to travel. There is a long stretch of countryside between this city and the capital. The next few nights will be spent camping in the woods, then you will arrive at the capital city and stay at an inn, then finally traverse the great city to the palace.

You are not sure what fate awaits you there. It seems so impossible and far away, but the interim is only a handful of days.

You stand on your own, watching the activity around you, anxiously twisting your fingers around the sleeve of your dress.

In the midst of the hustle, your eyes find Jisung. He is adjusting his saddlebags, surreptitiously glancing at you from a distance. If anyone caught him looking at you now, you fear they would see far too much of everything. Those eyes betray him every time. Right now you see anxiety burning in them. Perhaps he is picturing what you are picturing: that you will have to ride with him, your back pressed to his front, and you will not be able to think of anything except the other night.

You make your way over to him. He turns his attention to his saddle, securing and re-securing every strap, rein, and buckle. He keeps his eyes occupied and his hands busy, even when you finally step into his periphery.

“Jisung,” you say.

“Hmm?” He tightens a strap he just loosened.

“Is it all right if I ride with you?” you ask.

“Of course!” he says, his voice bright and joyful, like a bard entertaining a crowd rather than a man in conversation.

“I just thought I would ask, in case there was a problem,” you say. You get more anxious the longer he does not look at you.

“That’s nice,” he says, in that same boisterous tone. “But why would there be a problem, ha-ha?”

He steps away, circling the horse to adjust something on the other side. You blink at the empty air then follow. The horse dips its head you so you take a second to stroke its muzzle. To anyone passing, you and Jisung look perfectly occupied and uninterested in each other. Truly, you can feel the distance straining. You step a little closer.

“Can you look at me please?” you say softly.

His frantic hands finally stop their fluttering. He looks the other way. It is towards the king’s carriage where the other kingsguards are organizing.

In the blink of an eye, that cheerful bard disappears and a much more solemn character stands before you.

“No, Your Majesty,” Jisung speaks in a low voice. “Not when you’re this close to me.”

It is good he has the sense to look around, because you forget about everyone but him. You are rooted to the spot, unblinking and not breathing. It comes in a shallow gasp at last.

“Why not?” you ask.

His brow furrows with utter confusion, like he cannot fathom the question because the answer is so obvious.

“You know why,” he says.

You are not sure how religious you are anymore. You have drowned in the silence of the gods. When Jisung says those words, this quiet but honest acknowledgement that he is just as affected by this power between you, you feel a force of nature rise within you. It is the closest sensation to the breath of the gods, the supposed life force they breathe into their chosen ones. It moves through you like lightning. You feel hot, dizzy, and not from the sun as it creeps towards its midday pinnacle.

You look at Jisung. He looks at nothing.

“Your Majesty,” Chan’s voice breaks the wall of intense silence.

You and Jisung both whip towards him. If Chan saw anything untoward in your nervous behaviour, he does not comment. He strides to you with the confident steps of an authoritative man. He dips smoothly into a bow. When he rises, one hand rests in a fist above his heart. The other sits on his sword hilt.

“As I’m sure you know by now, yesterday was not just a robbery,” Chan says, getting to the crux without wasting a breath. “Jisung is a very capable soldier but if there is another attempt on your life, the safest place will be with me. If it’s all right with you, Your Majesty, I would personally escort you to the capital.”

There is no reason to refute his request. Perhaps it is better you do not even try. With the intensity of the last few days, maybe it is better to let all these passions simmer. When they have burned themselves to ash, it will be easier to sweep them away.

“Of course,” you say. “Thank you, kingsguard.”

Chan guides you towards the front of the train. You do not look at Jisung until you are perched on the horse. You intend to merely glance over your shoulder, but he is staring intently and it locks your gaze on him. Fortunately, before it lasts too long, Chan swings onto the horse and blocks your view.

You let yourself settle near the kingsguard leader. All the while, you feel a different pair of eyes on you.

It feels like ages before you finally depart. After some time on the road, the others begin their chatter and sing-song. Jisung starts the singing, as is his wont. You wonder if anyone else notices how he starts the songs but never finishes them. As soon as the others begin their jovial singing, Jisung goes silent and remains quiet until prompted again.

You do not have to turn around to know his expression is solemn between bouts of entertaining giddiness.

Chan does not sing or chat much. He has a clear respect and even affection for his men, but he puts his duty first.

Chan is also better at keeping an appropriate distance between your bodies. Perhaps that is because the king’s carriage is close enough that you can catch a glimpse inside. Some of the king’s favourite courtiers ride with him, all of them adjusted to the uneven road as they play card games and drink while talking. You are sure some of their gossip is about you given the side glances and whispers.

You are not sure if Chan notices. You get periodically tense and he is close to you, so maybe he can tell. Perhaps that is why he lets his horse fall back just enough to lose view of the inside of the carriage.

With the king’s judgemental eyes no longer snapping towards you, you can breathe easier. You even dare start a conversation with the kingsguard leader, though it feels intimidating in its own right. Riding with Chan is not like riding with Jisung, and a conversation with the devout leader is very different than giggling with the bard.

“Why doesn’t the king want me to ride with Hyunjin?” you ask curiously. “He seems like a competent soldier.”

“Ah.” Chan laughs, a nervous little giggle. “He is. It’s, ah, not for any real reason. Really. Just that, well, Hyunjin is good-looking, I guess.”

“But he’s a kingsguard,” you say.

“Yes, he is,” Chan answers more seriously. “Honestly, I know the guys joke about it but… Hyunjin is one of the most devoted soldiers I have ever known. There’s a reason he’s in the order. He can’t really helps what he looks like, but whatever you hear: it’s not true. He’s good, Your Majesty. They all are.”

“I believe it,” you say. “I’ve never known a more loyal group of men. They live up to their reputation.”

“Yes, they do,” Chan says with obvious pride.

You were seeking the warmth that is now in his voice, the respect with which he clearly regards his men. It makes the real question inside you burn.

“May I ask something more serious?” you finally say.

“Of course, Your Majesty!” Chan says. “You can ask me anything.”

There is not a hint of insincerity there. You truly do believe Chan wants to do the right thing, but you are still wary in conversation with him. Chan is steadfast with his responsibilities. To him, the right thing will always involve the king in some capacity, so you cannot be as free as you were with Jisung.

“The matter does not necessarily concern me,” you explain.

“Hm, you’re the queen,” he answers. “If it’s about the kingdom, it’s to do with you. Ask me.”

He lends himself easily to trust. With his competency and sincerity, you see how he easily rose the ranks of the kingsguard. Jisung mentioned Chan was one of the youngest squires in history, setting records for length of time spent in training. Those years of study and prayer make him incomparable. He is the best and worst person to ask this question.

“The guard who ran off,” you say, “and the king’s former mistress… What will become of them?”

The king has not forgiven nor forgotten the treachery. It contributes to his constant stream of anger. You cannot imagine anyone, even this spoiled fool, possessing the energy to rant and rave so incessantly, but his passions will not be tempered. He has mused aloud all his gory desires, threats you know he will manifest if given the opportunity.

It makes you sick to your stomach. The details of the king’s fury are nauseating, not to mention your personal connection to the couple. You saw them with your own eyes. You saw their hope and their desire as they risked everything for freedom.

You know that Han Jisung was involved.

All those gory images dance across your mind like tableaus from some horrible play, too gargantuan and horrifying to be real life.

“Ah,” Chan says. Though he encouraged your question, he does sound a little hesitant now. “I understand. That was a… bad introduction to the kingsguard, I guess, wasn’t it?” he says. “We couldn’t spare the resources to search for them, not without delaying our return. The king wants to launch a kingdom-wide search once we are settled in the capital.”

“You’ll be the one in charge?”

“Well, I’m issuing it to Changbin and probably Minho, because I’ll have to attend to my usual duties. But I’ll oversee it. Why?”

“How much will a search like that will cost?” you ask.

The question surprises Chan. Perhaps he did not expect such a pragmatic question, but there is an emotional underbelly to your query. That is your family’s money the king will use to satisfy his own petty grievances, rather than putting it towards the kingdom he is sworn to protect.

“It won’t be nothing,” Chan finally admits.

“What purpose will finding them serve?” you ask.

You want to turn around and shout it: that the king is pursuing them to soothe his own damaged ego and not because they are any threat to the wellbeing of the kingdom. Surely, a man as capable and intelligent as Chan must know that.

You wonder how it must feel for this dedicated guard to be sworn to this type of king. He deserves better. Everyone does.

Chan bristles, hearing the unspoken accusation in your question. You feel his upright posture straighten even more.

“They broke the law,” he answers, his voice steadier than his body. “He broke his vows. She broke her promises. There are consequences.”

“Consequences?” you ask. “Or punishments?”

“Your Majesty,” he says, as sternly as he can without being rude. You suspect if you were a foot soldier, you would have been told to shut up. “The kingsguard is pure. When we give up our earthly goods, that doesn’t just mean literally, it means emotionally. We trade our present life for eternity. Everything we do, we do in service of the gods who provide for us. Then and only then can the kingdom thrive. A slight against the king is a slight against the gods. Corruption can’t be allowed to spread.”

“Corruption,” you say softly. “You truly believe in the king’s purity?”

When he does not answer right away, you look at him. He looks at the carriage. His brow is furrowed, his jaw set, looking very austere and cold. He softens his expression when you meet eyes.

“I think you’re a good kingsguard and a good leader, Bang Chan,” you say. “Your men are good and they put their faith in you as much as the gods. Whatever you believe, I will believe too.”

You know Chan will not speak ill of the gods-chosen king. You also know he will not commit a sin like lying. So when you ask if he believes in the king’s purity, you are not surprised there is no answer. He simply sighs as he turns his gaze ahead.

“Maybe we should talk about something else,” he says.

It is all the answer you need.

Your journey follows a river that flows to the sea, now behind you. The course ahead lays inland. Rest comes a few hours into travelling. It is at a clearing not far from the river. You can only just hear as it rushes and pours in a steady stream that leads far away from here.

Everyone mills about, stretching their legs or sitting in the shade, while some prepare food and share drinks. The king is with his courtiers, Chan close to him as usual. You sit near the remaining kingsguards, close enough to be guarded but not so close to make them uncomfortable. You know they will not speak freely in the queen’s presence so you grant them privacy.

It means they are distracted just enough, blind to the way you and Jisung lock eyes across the breadth of woodland space. After your conversation with Chan about the potential fate of the runaway lovers, you have fought to restrain all those deep, complicated desires. You are less committed to true obedience, resigned to your own tragedy if the king moves against you, but you cannot be so careless with Jisung’s fate.

It should be easy. You hardly know the man. But those dark eyes find you and see you, always right down to the core of you, and it is so difficult to wrench your gaze away.

Jisung turns first. He mutters something to Minho who is sitting beside him. Whatever he says makes Minho freeze, a drink halfway to his lips. His eyes dart over to you.

Your back straightens, goosebumps rising, wondering what Jisung just told him. Whatever it is, Minho makes the same report to Seungmin who also looks your way.

Startled with all the attention, you resume focus on your idle task. You dug some embroidery tools out of your trunk, so you sit on a stump threading patterns with no particular end design in mind. It is just way to look and feel busy. Your loneliness is less acute when occupied with a familiar task.

You are disrupted by the crunching of the dirt path under booted steps. You lift your head, gaze travelling long dark robes until you meet Seungmin’s eyes. Seungmin is not exactly the friendliest, but there is an honest simplicity to him. He does what he must, when he must, and he does it well, with no subterfuge or obfuscation of true intent. So he must mean it very sincerely when he tips his head towards the circle of guards, clearly inviting you to join them.

“Your Majesty,” he says. “The kingsguard would be honoured by your company.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised.

Seungmin does not leave time for argument, taking your embroidery out of your hands and offering his arm. You accept it blindly, ushered along before you can think twice. You are soon seated, this time a part of the kingsguard circle. You take a seat between Seungmin and Hyunjin.

Seungmin returns your tools once you are settled, skirts neatly arranged around you. The boys continue their conversation while you work, a tenderness and warmth in your heart that was not there before.

“I can do that too,” Changbin says, pointing to your embroidery. It makes Hyunjin spray his drink everywhere, the others similarly laughing. “I can!” Changbin protests. “Tell them,” he says to you. “Tell them how good I am.”

“Tell them, Your Majesty,” Jeongin reminds him, nudging him with an elbow.

“You don’t have to call me that,” Changbin jokes, ruffling the youngest’s hair.

“Yes,” you say. You laugh at their antics, but lay a hand on your heart and declare with teasing solemnity, “It’s true. Kingsguard Changbin is quite a natural with a needle, I must swear it so.”

Seungmin whistles, the others still chuckling.

“I believe it then,” Hyunjin says, a twinkle in his eye. “If the queen swears it, it must be true.” There is a hint of seriousness to the proclamation, a knowing glance cast aside. “It’s easier being a queensguard when the queen is true.”

Though it is not unusual to refer to the kingsguards as queensguards in relative context, it is rarely done, and certainly no one has said it yet. You suspect this king would not be so partial to acknowledgement of shared power. Any reminder of your own latent holiness just angers him.

Not to mention, while Hyunjin does not mention the king directly, the proclamation it is easier to guard a true monarch nonetheless carries a hint of accusation.

You say nothing to refute nor encourage the claim, anticipating someone else may correct or shush him.

Instead, Minho tips his cup in your direction.

“Mm, hear to that,” he says casually, before taking a sip.

“To the queen,” Jisung says, lifting his own cup too.

Your gaze flies to him. He smiles from across the circle, his arm outstretched and his cup tilted towards you. Strange to say you have missed that sincere smile after so short a time, but you have, and it moves you more than the toast. It reminds you of the first time you saw him, the first time he saw you in turn, when he stood above a crowd and sang to you across hundreds of people.

The other guards follow his prompt. They lift their cups and take a drink, leaving you more than a little flustered.

“You’re the queen,” Seungmin says with that wide, cheeky smile, lightly nudging you with his elbow. “You’ll have to get used to this.”

You find it unlikely anyone but the kingsguard will ever toast to you, but you smile and express your gratitude.

Conversation has scarcely resumed when Chan comes stomping over. His agitation ripples like rings in a disturbed pool of water, spreading to his men who are follow his flow. They all sit straighter, looking at him for orders.

Chan, clearly frustrated, just huffs and takes a seat.

“Jeongin,” he says. “Go stand guard over the king.” He unwraps some food and takes a bite, shaking his head all the while. His irritation clearly gets the better of him because he mutters through his teeth, plenty loud enough for the others to hear, “I can’t listen to more complaining.”

“Is he mad about the weather again?” Changbin asks with a laugh.

“He’s the chosen one,” Minho says with a sly grin. “Why doesn’t he just make it less hot?”

Chan clears his throat loudly, though he doesn’t berate them beyond that.

“Jeongin,” he says, making a vague gesticulation in the direction of the king.

“Why do I have to go?” Jeongin asks, wearing a petulant pout that only the youngest could get away with. You suspect anyone else would have received a lecture, but Chan just gives him a look, eyebrow quirked, and Jeongin complies with a tired sigh.

“That’s what you get for eating so fast,” Seungmin says, earning himself a smack up the head as Jeongin passes him.

“He’s right,” Minho says. “You eat like a horse.”

“Whoa, hey, man!” Jisung says. “Don’t insult our horses like that.”

There is some more laughter. Jeongin shakes his head but his deep dimples show his amusement. You giggle too, though it is probably inappropriate to jeer and chortle with a group of guards, hiding it behind your palm. It is just too funny. You watched moments ago as Jeongin shoved a truly impressive amount of food in his mouth, all but unhinging his jaw as he crammed it in like it was going to be taken away. The jokes are mostly to that effect as the youngest ambles over to the king for guard duty.

The conversations splinter after that, everyone more or less talking in pairs. You just listen while working on your embroidery. When Seungmin leaves to relieve himself, it opens an empty space between you and Chan. The others are engrossed in their conversations – and playful but rowdy debates – while Chan just smiles and listens. He occupies his hands with sharping the point of a dagger.

You shuffle closer to him. The motion catches his eye and he looks at you. Though your conversations on horseback were polite after the initial topic, he still looks wary, perhaps now recognizing the look in your eye.

“May I ask a question?” you ask.

“You know you can,” he says, though he looks even more concerned.

“It’s about the kingsguard vows,” you say. “I know you said it prevents corruption – but how? But why?”

“Why those vows?” Chan asks.

He picks up the sheath for his dagger, eyes there as he slides it back in place. The other guards notice his contemplative attitude, eyes flicking towards him then towards you. Their conversations trail off when Chan begins to speak.

“The kingsguard is an old service,” Chan says. “Almost as old as the kingdom itself. The gods chose favourites even before the palace had walls, and those favourites become kings, yes? But with palaces, and money, and power… comes corruption. There was a king who lost his way. He stopped listening to the gods. Sin and lust and anger: he let it conquer him. The kingsguard was formed to save him from himself and, when that couldn’t happen, to save the kingdom. The first kingsguard order burned all their clothes, put on the black cloth, and vowed to never be swayed by any temptation or sin. It is not an order you can just join. It is not a vow you just make. The king, your brotherhood, and all the kingdom rely on your sword. The corrupt king was executed by the kingsguard so the gods could choose another. Since then, there has been no need for intervention. It has been a perfect harmony for centuries. So we maintain the vows of those first kingsguards and so the kingdom stays in harmony and order.”

“So it is of utmost importance both the king and the kingsguard keep their vows,” you say.

There is a beat of silence, like Chan knows you are going to say something that will make his forehead throb, but he relents and says, “…yes.”

Rather than torment him with more implications the king is not pure, you ask, “What makes a sin?”

His shoulders fall with a sigh of relief, though it doesn’t last. His eyes dart over the other guards, aware they are waiting for an answer too.

He slowly turns to you and says, “Anything that distracts from the gods.”

“I see,” you say. You can feel the kingsguards looking at you, their attention moving between you and Chan as if watching the volley of an intense game match. It makes your skin prickle, sweat on your nape as you swallow your nerves. “Such as lust and anger, as you said?”

Their eyes flick to Chan.

“Yes,” Chan says.

Their eyes flick back to you.

“Yet I fear I feel the gods most strongly in the throes of such things,” you say. “The gods created all those feelings. I have spent much of my life suppressing the call of great emotion. Perhaps it is not a coincidence that since being chosen by the gods, I have felt their designs all the more powerfully.”

Their eyes practically bulge out of their heads. Chan just stares at you, barely even blinking.

“Perhaps the king does too,” you say, your voice light, like this is a simple remark. You draw your needle through the fabric, watching the colourful thread as you draw it heavenward. “Perhaps that is why his relentless wrath is considered a permissible action.”

Hyunjin makes a sound, a short, sharp cackle, throwing a hand over his mouth before it can grow. The others wear long faces, not daring to remark. Jisung is wide-eyed. When you glance at him, he tips his head, at once curious and concerned.

You tear your eyes away from him. You smile at Chan.

“Ah,” Chan says. “Well.”

“I think it might be the same for other so-called sins,” you say. “Lust for example. I think… I think it’s a lot like prayer.”

“I’m sorry.” Chan shakes his head rapidly back-and-forth. His eyes close in a painful wince. “Like.. like prayer?” He looks at you like you just smacked him. He probably would have preferred it. A kingsguard can take a hit, but you are not sure they are built to withstand the queen speaking like this.

“Yes,” you say, smiling. You look down at your embroidery, threading a little flower. “I think intimate intercourse is like praying. It is the highest expression of gratitude and love, showing appreciation for the life the gods have given you, and the appreciation of the life they have created in another. I think this can be turned into a sin, of course. When it is stolen, when it is forced, when it is coerced, when it is taken without care or consideration for the other… Yes, I believe this great gift can be corrupted. But I believe it can be the holiest of all earthly actions. I dare say there is no way to be closer to the gods.”

There is a long gap of silence. Hyunjin still has a hand over his mouth, like he doesn’t trust himself otherwise, and Jisung is still wide-eyed – and more than a little flushed. Tufts of dark hair are flicked up at the nape of his neck, a scarlet tinge to his complexion.

Minho and Changbin eventually say, “Wow.”

“Um.” Chan clears his throat.

“I know,” you say, smiling at him. “We should talk about something else.”

You focus on your embroidery, humming to yourself.

Seungmin returns and sits down in the silence. He looks around the quiet circle and lifts an eyebrow.

“What did I miss?” he asks.

Rest comes to an end. There is a bustle as everyone packs up and prepares to continue the journey. You will travel a few more hours, at which point the sun will begin its descent. You should reach the predetermined site to build camp before nightfall.

You wait near Chan’s horse, stroking its muzzle, lost in thought. You imagine what would have happened if you died yesterday. Would the king have the audacity to celebrate, even in the face of his solemn guards? His success might have emboldened him, made him feel justified, like the gods were on his side. You like to think his failure has tempered him, that he will take it as a sign of the gods’ disapproval, but you doubt it.

You spot Changbin in the middle of the crowd. He is helping the servants with some heavy lifting, packing cooking instruments back on the wagon. Chan looks like he will be another minute. While he is distracted, you wander over to Changbin.

Changbin puts the last piece of equipment on the wagon. A servant bows and thanks him profusely. Changbin grins and lifts the servant out of his bow. He winks, saying, “Ah, no work is beneath anyone! You don’t need to thank me.”

You smile as Changbin gives the flustered servant a friendly pat on the back. Of course, Changbin is quite strong, and the willowy servant stumbles, but it is still a sweet moment. Once confirming the servant is all right, Changbin approaches you and bows.

“Your Majesty,” he says. “Can I help you?”

Changbin is in a good mood. The kingsguards did not seem angry with your earlier words, just surprised, even amused. You think they just like to see their incorruptible leader so flustered.

“Not so much,” you say. “I just have something on my mind. Chan told me the king intends to launch a search for the missing guard and mistress. He said the primary duties may be relegated to you.”

“Ah.” Changbin’s eyes darken with the furrow of his brow. His grin disappears and he looks very morose. “Yes. Most likely. Do you have something to report?”

Flashes of that night play in your mind. You shiver as you suppress them.

“No,” you say. “I just – I have a great deal of respect for the kingsguard. This is a difficult situation for you all, I am sure. I just wished to make my allegiance to you known. In the event of any… complications.”

“Complications,” Changbin repeats.

“Yes.” You weigh your words very carefully. You can either win Changbin’s confidence or push him further away. “Like Chan said, the vows are so important, and your brotherhood relies so strongly on each other. I’m sure Felix meant a great deal to you, at a time. This must be very difficult.”

“Yes.” Changbin’s brow unfurrows, his face softening in a moment of obvious reminiscence. He seems to stare right past you, lost in some faraway thought. He sighs and runs a hand through his black hair, smooth strands falling back over his forehead. “Felix was a good man,” Changbin says. “You… remind me of him, a little. The things you say. Ahhh, this is all wrong.” He shakes his head, his expression pinched with frustration. “It shouldn’t be like this. I don’t like the idea of going after him.”

You restrain yourself, not leaping too eagerly at the brazen remark. With the well of emotion rising in your chest, you ask, “Then why do it?”

“Because those are my orders,” he says, like it is obvious.

“What if those orders are wrong?” you say.

“They’re the king’s orders,” Changbin says, not quite an argument, not quite an agreement.

“Yes,” you say. “And the king is heaven’s earthly sovereign, who rules us all by the will of the gods. But what if those orders are not actually coming from the gods?”

The king is close to you. Changbin sees him first, but too late to spare you.

The king shouts your name like it is a blasphemous slur. The scream is imbued with so much fury, it sounds as though he means an exorcise a demon right here, right now.

Although you told yourself you were resigned to his wickedness, the terror of that voice makes your whole body shake. Bravery is much easier in theory, a whispered voice in the back of your head that extends no further than stolen words in shadows, but it is different to stare down a hateful man whose cruelty knows no bounds.

You turn to face the king, grateful for the length of your skirt as it hides your trembling legs. You summon your many years of etiquette practice, feigning the most stoic countenance you possibly can.

The king gets right in your face, screaming so loudly it blows a loose curl out of its pin.

“You have the audacity to blaspheme against your king?”

A deathly hush has fallen over the forest, all conversations ended. You hear nothing but the shuffle of bodies as people either retreat or approach the action. Servants make themselves scarce, courtiers gathering with eager eyes. The kingsguards swarm, abandoning their horses and forming rank with a hand on their swords. You are not sure who they mean to protect.

Chan is the only one to directly intervene, shoving through the throng to reach the king.

“Whoa, whoa, Your Majesty,” he says, skidding to a halt, his black robes swishing around him. “What happened?”

“This blasphemous creature dared to question the will of gods before my people,” the king snaps.

“I did not,” you say, wrenching your voice from the nauseas pit of your gut. “I did not question the gods.”

“You have the nerve to call my authority into question?” the king asks, taking another menacing step forward.

You instinctively stumble back. Your gaze darts when you move, eyes finding the other kingsguards. Minho, Changbin, and the younger two watch the scene intently, hands on their sword hilts. Hyunjin has partially withdrawn his sword, hilt firmly in hand and a shiny length of silver catching the sunlight.

Jisung has one hand on his hilt but his grip is loose. He is the only one moving, taking tentative steps towards the scene. His wide eyes are concerned but not frightened, his shoulders tensed, entire body braced. A fist uncurls, hand lifting. You are not sure if he is reaching for you or warning you.

The king is still ranting. All he does is repeat the same accusation, hurl the same slander. There is a wretched delight to his snarling ire. Because of the assassination debacle, he has been forced to feign a modicum for respect for you. Your remark serves as justification for unleashing all that contempt once more.

He calls you every foul name a man can call a woman. No doubt you are also subject to his anger for the mistress. It makes your hands curl up in fists at your side. Your trembling body is building adrenaline with every quivering shake. You think of the mistress, of Felix, of Jisung, of a cluster of crying servants, of your own body slumped in a carriage with an arrow in your heart, when all you ever wanted to do was help your people.

“I would never speak ill of the gods,” you snap. Perhaps it is your shaking or perhaps it is heavenly intervention, but you feel your voice as it thunders out of you. It reverberates in the arching trees and quakes underfoot like an earthen tremor. “Even in moments of my greatest doubt, I use them as my example in how to conduct myself.” You speak loud but steady, looking the king in his startled eyes. “I would never speak against them. I would never act against them. I would never assume I have the perspective to rebel against their will. No matter how someone might offend me, I would not attempt to intervene on the god’s will by bringing harm anywhere near to them.”

Ostensibly, this is in retaliation to his comments – but everyone knows the attack yesterday was not just a robbery. No one is speaking the accusation aloud, but it sits on the tip of every tongue when the subject is broached. Yes, everyone here knows what the king has done, and when you make your declaration, it is all anyone hears.

Only one of you has kept your vows. Only one of you is righteous.

He backhands you, clean across the face. It lands even harder than on the wedding night. That slap burned like a hot iron welt, but this one drums like a storm. It knocks you to the ground, the earth rushing up so quickly that you cannot even catch yourself. Your cheek hits the dirt, your body crumpling on impact.

Your face is downturned but you hear the zinging slash of sword after sword as the kingsguards reveal their weapons. When you look up, you see every blade partially drawn. Hyunjin is the only one to fully draw his weapon, his sharp, intense face focussed on the king while the other guards look at Chan.

Jisung is the only one who looks at you. He does not draw his sword. His hand leaves his hilt and he runs straight towards you. He slams onto his knees with so much impact, it sends leaves and gravel flying. His hands are on you, shameless and without delay.

“Your Majesty,” he says. He holds your shoulders, guides you upright into a sitting position.

You can barely see him through your tears, watering from the sheer physicality of such brutal pain. You face is numb so you do not even realize Jisung is wiping it clean.

His efforts accomplish very little because the king kicks you over, a sharp jab in your side that makes you cry out. It is more unexpected than the smack and makes everyone gasp.

Jisung catches you, drawing you protectively into the cradle of his arms. You imagine his face, his wide, startled eyes turned up to the king in questioning terror as he clutches the queen to his chest. You fear he will be kicked for insubordination. You press against his chest and will the world to disappear to around him.

“Are you seriously going to allow this?” Hyunjin’s voice rips through the clearing.

You turn your face, cheek pressed to Jisung’s chest. Hyunjin has stepped forward but he does not address the king, anger bright red on his handsome face as he stares at Chan.

Chan looks at him but it is the king who answers, spinning on his heel to march up to Hyunjin.

Bellowing, the king begins, “The kingsguard does not allow or disallow me anything—”

“The kingsguard has a right to intervention in the face of injustice!” Hyunjin shouts back, driving his sword into the dirt a mere foot from the king.

It draws the man to a halt, a flicker of intimidation crossing his face as he looks at the guard. He quickly shakes it off, pointing a threatening hand at Hyunjin.

“What do you dare accuse me of?” the king demands. “Do you have the audacity to make so formal a claim against me? Tell me, kingsguard! Use your rights! Make your claim! And I shall make mine, rest assured!”

Hyunjin cannot say anything more. He stares at the king, fuming. Chan was not exaggerating when he spoke of Hyunjin’s devotion to his beliefs. More than a pretty face, indeed. He does not budge an inch for the tyrant king.

While the king is distracted, Jisung helps you up. You rise on shaking legs, using his arms for leverage. He murmurs your name, not your title, so soft an utterance that no one else hears. It affects you more deeply than the king’s shouting.

Your watery eyes lift to Jisung. You are clasping his forearms for support but you want to fall against him. Your heart and body both call to him. You are overwhelmed with the memory of being in his arms at your most vulnerable moment, bare and open and overcome. It makes you feel like if he is close, there is no height you cannot reach, no harm that can ever pursue you there.

With your eyes locked so reverently on Jisung, you do not see the king approach. You turn your face as he throws Hyunjin an arrogant, challenging look.

Then the king reels back and punches you. It is clumsy and too emotional, his anger getting the better of him, so it lands with less force than intended. You still feel it right down to your toes, a shock of awful pain. You are not sure what actually hurts, if he hits your nose or something else, but you taste blood, tangy and metallic on your lips and tongue. Jisung catches you when you fall, keeping you upright while you spit blood onto the forest floor. If anyone gasps, you cannot hear it over the ringing in your ears.

Hyunjin instantly explodes. He attacks the king with his bare hands, his swing far cleaner, a swift punch that strikes the royal face so hard, it makes a cracking sound. Hyunjin is lean but evidently strong because the king reels upon impact.

Hyunjin does not let him recuperate. He lands another blow, then one more, coming at a different angle each time. The king hits the ground on the third punch, landing with a humiliating scream and thud.

Everyone is chattering and shrieking now, even the most eager courtiers retreating from the violence. Minho and Seungmin spring into action, charging Hyunjin before he can chase the king to the ground.

“Hold him back!” Chan shouts at them. Like everyone else, pure shock delayed him.

Minho and Seungmin seize Hyunjin by the arms, hauling him away from the king while he froths with anger. The king recoils from him, then starts to rage because he has been humiliated. Hyunjin shouts back, so much piercing chaos that you hardly make sense of it.

“This ends now!” Chan shouts above it all. He does not need to draw his sword or swing his fist. Hyunjin finally goes silent, shrugging Minho and Seungmin away. Even the king ceases his hollering, spitting blood onto the ground.

Your own mouth is still streaked red. Chan looks at you, his hard expression softening.

“Your Majesty, are you okay?” he asks.

The king begins to answer, a furious exclamation that he is obviously not okay, then he realizes Chan is speaking to you.

“How dare you address that creature—” the king begins.

“That creature is the gods-chosen queen!” Chan shouts. Where Hyunjin and the king raged with a red hot fire, Chan is cold, the harsh narrowing of his eyes speaking for him. It cuts across the clearing. Everything, high and mighty or low to earth, seems to bend in acquiescence. “The queen is not to be struck under any circumstances,” Chan says sharply, a hand on his sword hilt, his eyes on the king. “I am making a formal accusation against you as I just witnessed the offense with my own eyes.”

The silence is more deafening than the chaos. You watch as Chan shakes his head. His booted steps roll like thunder on the dirt as he approaches you. His arm is outstretched, a word on his lips, but he interrupted by the king.

“I want him flogged.”

Chan freezes. His back is to the king and all the courtiers, guards, and servants. Only you and Jisung see the flash of fury, barely tempered as Chan clenches his jaw then draws a breath.

“The gods spoke to him,” Chan says, frighteningly calm. “They told him to defend the queen who should never have been struck so carelessly.”

“And for that I won’t have his head removed,” the king snaps. He spits blood on the ground again, looking at Hyunjin as he does. Hyunjin stares back but has the sense to not act again. The king lacks any and all sense. No sense of duty, no sense of responsibility. He points at Hyunjin like an infant points at a child, stamping his foot and crying to his parents of some petty, childish plight. “Twenty lashes,” the king demands. “Ten for each time beyond this so-called defense he dared laid his hand against the holy king.”

Chan turns. He looks at Hyunjin. Hyunjin stares back, a silent conversation unfolding in the space between them. You see the calculation, the surrender. Chan shakes his head and Hyunjin clenches his jaw.

Your hand twitches at your side, instinctively searching for Jisung. He finds it, clasps it, hiding your joined hands between his robes and your dress.

“Jisung,” you whisper.

“It’s all right,” Jisung whispers back. Despite his words, he sounds upset. “Hyunjin can take it.”

In proof, Hyunjin does not await further instruction. He rips at his outer robe, tearing it off his body and dropping it in a heap on the forest floor.

“Jeongin,” Chan says. “Get me a horsewhip.”

You jolt. Jisung squeezes your hand, holding you back, shushing you gently. You watch, heart in your throat, as Hyunjin tugs off his under-shirt. He drops to his knees where he stands, Minho and Seungmin backing away, their faces plastered with practiced stoic looks. Seungmin betrays only a hint of thought, shaking his head an infinitesimal degree as he backs away. Minho flashes Jisung a look of similar aggravation.

You still taste blood, even when you wipe your mouth with a shaking hand.

Hyunjin prostrates himself on the ground, a full bow as if at prayer. Chan has the whip in his hands and he snaps it open at his side. You do not know if your eyes water from pain or sorrow.

The king stands nearby, arms crossed, a smug look on his face. You look at him as Chan swings an expert arm and brings the whip down. The king does not flinch, his pompous self-satisfaction only deepening.

You jump at the crack of the whip, eyes racing back to Hyunjin. There is a welt across his skin, pale as it is never exposed beneath those layers of black. Despite all the jests made at his expense, Hyunjin does not remove those robes for anything. He keeps his vows with an unrelenting determination. He is a good kingsguard. It is not his fault he has a bad king.

“Stop,” you say.

Jisung tries to hold you back but you drop his hand. You are still dizzy and speaking with a mouth full of blood, but you march onward. The king is probably looking at you with all that heated aggravation but you do not care. You look at Chan, the only authority you respect.

“Hyunjin was defending me,” you say. “He acted on my behalf. I will take his punishment.”

There are immediate protests, not just from the kingsguards but from servants and even scandalized courtiers. Their vocal protestations make chaotic discord, the forest shaking with every shout and holler.

You hear Jisung above the rest.

“Chan!” he says. “Don’t you let her, Chan! Chan!”

You and Chan are the only ones who remain silent, staring each other down. You are perfectly calm, holding his gaze. He looks at you like he is reading a book in a language he did not even know existed, scrutinizing the shape and sound of everything that lies in front of him.

“Silence!” the king finally shouts, curtailing the worst of the chaos. He marches over to you, hand out like he intends to grab you. “Stand down, woman! You’ve caused enough problems today!”

You storm towards him too, wiping the blood off your face with such a flourish that it flicks towards him. He takes a step back, so surprised by your approach that he almost trips over his own feet.

“Am I not correct in saying that a citizen has the right to stand in for another when a punishment has been issued?” you ask.

“You are not a citizen, you fool, you are the queen,” the king snaps.

“Oh, so now there’s some fucking rules about propriety!” you snap back. “Punching me in the face did not account for it, but this does? I am curious where your lines are drawn, Your Majesty, and which gods drew them, as they certainly do not resemble any teachings I know.”

The look on the king’s face is more satisfying than any welt or punch.

“Enough,” Chan says, not raising his voice. He drops the horsewhip to the ground and Hyunjin lifts his head. “This has gone on long enough,” Chan says firmly. “We have a long journey to make today. This was a petty disagreement and a misunderstanding, and it is an insult to the gods and all of us present to draw it out any longer. Hyunjin, get up. You’ll spend the night in prayer asking the gods for forgiveness for any slights they perceived. Accept their revelation and be done with this. Everyone, back in formation. Now.”

Finally, the crowd disperses, speaking lowly amongst themselves as they return to their former tasks.

Chan faces the king. In the same tone, he demands, “You too, Your Majesty.”

The king boils with such a quiet, fiery rage that you are amazed he does not burst. Chan does not relent in the face of his threats, standing firm until the king storms away. Once he is gone, your own adrenaline cools. Your legs feel weak again. You stumble.

Jisung catches you. His arm swings wide, catching your waist and drawing you into him.

“She’s still bleeding,” Jisung says.

“Take her,” Chan says, nodding sharply. “Get cleaned up. Meet back at the horses soon. He’s not going to be in the mood to wait.” Chan rolls his eyes and turns away.

You and Jisung are the only ones left. You are standing too close to him, his familiar heartbeat pounding against yours, and you need to rip away but you want to be even closer.

Jisung takes a step, guiding you towards the sound of the river. When you try to separate further, he pulls you back into his side, that hidden strength revealing itself. Your feet only skirt the ground as he practically carries you the riverside, like if he lets go for a second the gods will sweep you away from him.

Jisung holds the briars as you cross through dense brush. The riverbank is on the other side. You step onto the gravel bed, breathing a sigh of relief as you feel separated from the world again at last.

Jisung touches your lower back, just a press of his fingertips to get your attention. It certainly works, sparks shooting up your spine as if he traced the length of it. But no, it stays there, palm on your lower back, nudging you towards the water.

Earlier, he could not bring himself to look at you. Now you are the one hiding your gaze. After a tumultuous day of warring with yourself, of provocations and retreats, accusations and regrets, you feel tired and unsure, hurt and embarrassed.

“What were you thinking?” Jisung asks.

You kneel at the same time, at the river’s edge, the cool fresh water lapping at the edge of his robe and your skirt. It is paid no heed. You gather water in the cup of your hands, bringing it to your face in a gentle splash. You close your eyes, relishing in the cool kiss of the stream. The water runs pink as it spills over your lips. You scrub your mouth on the sleeve of your dress.

“It doesn’t matter what I do, does it?” you ask. “It doesn’t matter if I follow every rule he makes or if I break them in front of him. He is going to hurt me. He is going to find ways to justify it.”

Jisung is still bad at hiding his emotions, looking at you with sad, shiny eyes, his face long with sorrow.

You spare him a momentary glance, too affected by his empathy. It would be easier if he did not care. It would be easier if he did not look at you. It would be easier if he did not gather every undone curl to pull them back over your shoulder.

It makes you shiver like the first time. That chill is swallowed by heat as you remember him looking at you through that mirror, drawing your hair off your shoulders, firelight warm against your naked skin as he choked on his breathing.

Even now, his hand lingers on the back of your neck, on your shoulder, your arm. Every touch is just a second too long. He looks at his hand like it belongs to someone else, curling his fingers towards his palm like they hurt.

“Your Majesty,” he says, not much louder than a whisper.

“You can use my name,” you say, just as quiet.

The roar of the river makes you bold. You are alone but even if you were interrupted, you could never be overheard. It makes everything feel so natural, so right, like the gods themselves have aligned the world in such a way that you would be here with him at this exact moment. Yet at the same time, that is impossible. The gods chose you for the king. It was you who chose Jisung.

“I know,” he says. With a laugh, airy and humourless, he runs a hand through his hair and says, “Believe me, I know.”

You finally look at him. His eyes are drawn to your mouth, but that is because you missed some blood. You fold your hands neatly in your lap, the very picture of lady-like perfection if not for your bloodied lips and the aching swell of your cheek.

Jisung cups water into his own palm. With one hand, he holds your face, thumb and forefinger curled around your chin to tilt your head. He brings the water to your lips, pours as neatly as he can.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers. “I mean, you’re crazy— Fuck, I shouldn’t say that to the queen – Fuck, I swore again – don’t listen to me – Your Majesty, with all due respect, you’re just—” He laughs, truly and deeply, wiping blood off your cheek while you stifle your own giggles.

The ordeal is still too fresh to truly have any perspective, but you suspect you will be reeling later tonight as you remember your own adrenaline-fueled actions.

“Don’t tell anyone I told you that,” he teases.

“Our secret,” you say, smiling.

His eyes are on your cheek, his thumb scrubbing a mark. When you say that, his gaze flicks to yours.

Your whole body reacts to his eyes. You feel – tight, clenching, stomach twisting with heat. There is at once an impossible emptiness at the centre of your being, and also a penetrating fulfillment as he looks at you so intensely that you feel it deep inside of you. You think the king could come to your chamber every night, could do whatever he would, and it would not feel half so thorough a claiming as one glance from Han Jisung.

“I, um, oh. Oh.” Jisung shakes his head. He looks down, hair falling into his eyes as he swoops over to cup some more water. He still holds your chin with his other hand, fingers loosely clasped.

He straightens, tossing his hair out of his eyes, focussed on your lips.

You know it is just because he is cleaning the residual blood, but his searching glance moves through you. It deepens when he wets your lips, as he lets that little bit of water pour off his skin and onto your mouth.

Your lips part, trusting. His fingers on your chin tremble just a bit. When he exhales, it flutters through a loose curl.

“Thank you,” you murmur, lips moving against his fingers.

“Your Majesty,” he says, trying to be jovial, trying to laugh, but it comes out like a croak. “It’s why I’m here,” he says in a voice that sounds as rough as it did the other night. “I’m supposed to serve you. And – And I—”

His thumb runs slowly across your bottom lip, his eyes entranced with the way it gives under his touch, where it softly springs back. Your breath spills over his fingers and he swallows.

“And,” he tries again, breathing deeply when you do.

“And?” you say on that breath.

His gaze moves from your lips to your eyes. He drops one hand as if startled, fumbling for nothing, accidentally finding yours in its descent. You clasp that hand in your lap, heart racing as he so tightly curls his fingers around yours. It is such a desperate clutch, but it does not hurt. No, it never hurts.

“And,” he says, those other fingers still curled under your chin. It would make any defense impossible, his fingers so obviously guiding your face closer to his own. His mouth is a breath away, every exhale soft against your lips. “And I want to serve you, my queen,” he says in a soft, low murmur. “I need to serve you.”

You make a noise that could be mistaken for pain, wounded and sharp, but it is not that. It is the sound you make when you draw your kiss-wet fingers down your own throat, the way his damp fingers now trace that same descent. You tilt your head, offering him all that vulnerable skin, shivering under the long, slow touch.

He recognizes that sound too. He heard you make it two nights ago. You remember him kneeling, just like this, looking at you, just like this. You remember him, slouched in that chair by the fire while you dreamed of nothing more than kneeling in front of him. What would you even do from that vantage? You do not know. You just know it beckons to you like a call from above.

“Oh,” you say, trembling for a very different reason than earlier. “Jisung,” you whisper, “I want to serve you too.”

It is that remark that petrifies him, his hand freezing, his eyes wide. He stares at your neck like it is more dangerous like a sword-hand. A million complicated thoughts seem to flash across his face, one after the other.

His fingers splay open across your throat, your pulse beating under his hand. You swallow.

“What are you doing to me?” he breathes.

Then his fingers are under your chin again. Your faces come close. His lips are touching yours but it is not a kiss, just the promise of one, so painfully close to kissing that your mouths brush with the slightest twitch or breath. Still, he does not close the space entirely. He leans into it like he will, but then he collapses with a pained whimper, abruptly letting go, turning his face to the side.

“Fuck,” he says. He puts a hand over his face and shakes his head.

You turn your face the other way, closing your eyes too, breathing hard. You also touch your face, fingers shaking as you touch your unkissed lips, still tingling from the proximity.

Your other hand is in your lap. It is still tightly clasped around his.

“Oh gods,” he says.

“Yes,” you say. “I feel them too whenever you’re near.”

You look at each other. His mouth opens, some sentiment on his lips, desperate to be uttered, but he only manages to move his lips a few times before surrendering to muteness. He stands. With a gentle tug, he brings you with him.

The river laps at your feet. There is a swirl of pink where your blood spilled. You look at it for a long moment.

“In the banquet hall,” you say, watching the pink wash away. “In the wedding ceremony. On the road. In that inn.” You lift your eyes to his. “I felt it everywhere,” you say. “The gods, or just you, all around me, like nothing I have ever felt before.”

You lift his hands, bringing them to your lips as he did last night. He just stands there, mouth open, watching as you kiss his knuckles with the same devoted press. Where he was all desperate teeth and lips, you are tender, a soft wet kiss that lingers on his knuckles, scraped and scarred from so much work.

“These hands are a testament to years of hard work, kingsguard,” you say. You give his hands one final squeeze before letting go. “They should be worshipped too.”

He makes a sound you can only describe as a comical squeak. Your sweet, complicated, funny guard. Big eyes blink at you as you step back.

“Shall we?” you say, nodding to the brush, to the world that waits on the other side.

He nods, still too stunned to speak, staring at you as if in a trance. You bow your head to him, clasping your hands politely in front of you. You turn to leave.

You have only taken one step when you feel his hand on the back of your neck. It sends a bolt of fire shooting down your whole body. Your heart, moments ago doused with cold water, comes roaring back to life, shooting heat to every extremity.

You remember the strength of his arms. Yes, you will never forget. He wraps one arm in a possessive grip around your waist, just like before, but more. The other hand stays on the back of your neck, buried in your half-pinned hair, leaving it even more dishevelled.

The state of your hair is a perfect visual metaphor for what you feel inside: unravelled, undone.

He pulls you right into him. His name has scarcely left your lips before he swallows the sound, mouth pressed to yours in a hot, hungry kiss. His lips, his tongue, his teeth, all of it there, soft and hard and needy.

A kiss is the most you ever dared to steal over the years, silly childish exchanges that amounted to nothing.

But this –

This is everything.

“Jisung,” you say, like begging, almost a cry against his mouth before he steals the sound again.

You are both clumsy from lack of practice, or maybe lack of time. You are desperate to feel everything in the few moments afforded to you. There are lifetimes of desire packed into that kiss, eternities surrendered to the passionate press of his lips on yours.

He breathes your name, cups your jaw, tilts your face just so, kissing you slowly despite the ticking clock. You shiver, humming a sweet, amorous sound against his lips. The taste of blood is long gone, replaced with him. Just Jisung, on your lips and your tongue. You want it everywhere else.

You would give yourself to him if he asked. You would forget about everything and do it right here on this riverbank.

Fortunately, he has more sense than that. He lets you go, takes a small step back. He breathes unevenly while raking his fingers through his hair.

“We can’t do that again, okay?” he says.

You blink at him. It must be a convincing argument because he groans, then grabs you by the hips and pulls you towards him. He kisses you again, mouth open against yours, coaxing all those tender sounds you did not know you could make. It feels wet and messy and it should be awful, this frantic animal hunger, but it just feels good.

You just – feel.

“Okay,” he gasps. He clutches your waist, holds your body in his hands and counts under his breath. Finally, he steps back, nudging you away from him. “Okay,” he says, wiping his mouth and shaking his head. “That’s fine. That was – that was just. Exactly, you’re so right. Yes. All right. Very fine. Very good.”

He clears his throat, adjusting his black robes neatly like he did not just ravage your mouth in his holy garments. He tips his head back and stares up at the sky, holding the briars back for you, pointedly not looking down even when you approach.

You could walk right past him. You should walk right past.

You lean towards him and whisper, “I thought of you again last night.”

You step through the brush. You listen as he somehow accidentally slams them all in his own face, sputtering as he fights through the greenery to join you. He shakes himself out like nothing happened.

“Right,” he says. “Right. Right. Right. Go.” He points ahead.

You walk a few paces ahead. He escorts you back to Chan. When you are perched on the horse, you look back over your shoulder, once more intending just a fleeting glance. Jisung is already looking at you, fingertips pressed to his bottom lip. He lowers his hand.

You smile softly. Like something heaven-sent, he smiles back.

#han jisung x reader #jisung x reader #han jisung x you #jisung x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz x reader #skz x you #kpop fanfiction #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfiction

284 notes · View notes

luludeluluramblings · 3 months ago

Text

Smalltown Characters Background

A/N: Just a brief introduction to Smalltown's residents from the Smalltown!Meta!Reader series. I'll try to keep them general for the main story, but this is just extra to give y'all some lore on what Reader's got going on back home. It's not vital to the series, but it'll help. (Y'all might see me reuse these character's in other things.)

Smalltown is meant to be located in Louisiana.

Judith Anderson “Nana”

Reader’s Step-grandmother, Samuel’s mother.

Don’t let the name fool you, as much as Reader loves their family Nana can be a bit controlling. She didn’t exactly approve of Adeline, Momma. Being that Adeline, Reader's Momma, though from a respectable and wealthy family, already had a child. It took some time getting used to, but eventually she grew very fond of her step-grandchild. It isn’t until Reader’s abilities manifest that she goes full Yandere. And, she’s a desperate controlling one. She wants Reader to stay in Smalltown, not just because she loves them and adores them, but because it gives her clout. Not many people can say they have such a divine being calling them Nana, as if she'd ever give that up to some sinful city slickers.

Charles Anderson “Grand Daddy”

Reader’s Step-grandfather, Samuel’s Mother

He’s an extremely serious and quiet man. Very much like his son in how he spoils his wife by doing anything she asks. If Nana wants something done, Grand Daddy will do it. Fix the sink? He’ll do it. Build a shed? He’ll do it. Take that bitch that tried to hurt their grand baby out back and feed their limbs to the alligators? He’ll do it. He’s always been fond of Reader. He’s very happy to have them as his grandchild, and hates the thought of them settling for something less or away from them. Their abilities just make the world more dangerous for them. It’s best they stay where they can be kept safe.

Amelia “Mae” Palmer

Reader’s Childhood Bestfriend

Smalltown’s resident bug fanatic and fashion expert. A very unusual girl. But, Reader was their first friend and she adores them. They never judged her for collecting bugs. They always played with them and encouraged them. All Mae wants to do is be the one to dress Reader for their entire lives. She just wants to dress Reader in the clothes she’s made. She doesn't want anyone else’s designs to touch their skin. That’s her job. She’s fine if Reader leaves Smalltown. Just don't wear other people’s trash clothing and designs. Don't let it touch your precious skin. She fully plans on following Reader to Gotham. As if she’d let those pompous assholes dress her best friend.

Tanner H. Palmer

Reader’s Childhood Crush and Childhood Best Friends Older Brother

Tanner has always had a puppy crush on Reader. Hard not to when they treated his younger sister so kindly and were always following him around to play. It got worse when they got older and Reader’s crush grew more and more oblivious. Unfortunately, with how protective the entire town was, he wasn’t allowed to do anything due to their age gap. Reader dating in high school put him through utter hell. He lost a few screws and his temper during that time. He may have caused a few rumors that resulted in some of the competition being dragged out into the bayou. But, really? Those asses claimed to love Reader yet had the audacity to smile at someone else. Clearly they were just playing with Reader’s feelings. Getting them out of the way would open the position by Reader’s side for someone much more worthy. Naturally, Reader being sent to Gotham put a damper on his plans. But, not all is lost. He’s got Nana and the rest of Smalltown’s favor now. They just need to lure Reader back and then he’ll get his chance. What are those arrogant Gotham elites going to do about it? They don’t know Reader like he does.

A/N: I'll try to draw up some of the characters and make a background like this for Momma, Daddy, and Little Brother.

A/N: Part Seven is in the works. Just gotta get the creative juices flowing.

#yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #platonic batfam #smalltown!reader #yandere dc #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #original character

190 notes · View notes

zizzy-rie · 4 months ago

Text

Another AU I've been thinking about for the past several days now

Here are some close ups of the second pic

More info under the cut

Lucifer Morningstar

His main job is creating toy designs and inventing them. Despite what people might think, he actually comes from a very wealthy and famous family, having owned several companies and lands in different parts of the country. Even though he has his wealth, Lucifer chose to live far from his family and start a life on his own, much to the disappointment of a lot of his relatives. From time to time, he does contact his father and siblings to catch up and know that they're okay.

Lilith Magne

She is a famous fashion model. Not much is known about where she came from as she rarely speaks about her past. Some say that she's bossy and unapproachable (men) but others see her as soft spoken and understanding (women and children). No one in society knows what she does behind her fame, except those powerful syndicates from the underworld. Lilith is a seductress killer who targets men as her victims. She lures them during huge gatherings and parties, wearing a purple gown paired with a black mask over her eyes. She leaves nothing but a black rose on the scene of the crime.

Alastor (??)

He is a radio host from an obscure radio show. Not many know who he is, much to his delight, as he prefers not being traced back to the monthly deaths happening in the city, most of which was his own doing. Alastor is quite organized with the way he chooses his prey, to the way they should be killed. In the underworld, he is well known, both by amateurs and by powerful and huge syndicates, yet no one dared to touch him or report him to authorities (they know what happens if they do, or even try to).

Relationships

Radioapple

No one knows how Lucifer and Alastor met, not even their close friends and family. One day, Lucifer was just suddenly seen arguing with Alastor on the street while holding some plastic bags filled with different things. Complicated is what can be described about their relationship. One minute, they're arguing and trying to hit each other with anything they can hold on to, then the next, you'll hear them cackling at each other's corny jokes. Their relationship got more complicated when the two got drunk off their asses and swore off and made a bet to make the other get laid.

**It would probably go something like this: Alastor and Lucifer, both very drunk and incomprehensible to anyone eavesdropping on them, somehow talking about relationships and partners (how their topic of conversation led to that is up to everyone's own interpretation).

Lucifer: Pppfft- I'm definitely a whole package! I mean just look at me! Charming, rich, handsome, great with the ladies~ Who wouldn't want that? Ehh? Eh?~

Alastor: Well, I don't see anyone hovering around you like an annoying pest now, do I? I guess you're not as charming or great as you think you are, sire.

Lucifer: You're one to talk! You've never even been on a date once!

Alastor: That's because I chose not to, Lucifer. Relationships are messy, and only complicate things. I have no time dealing with such feeble emotions such as love everyone oh so desperately craves. That is clearly not my cup of tea.

Lucifer: Pft, bet I could find you a partner that matches you.

Alastor: oh? Is that a challenge I hear, sire?

Lucifer: oh! How about this? you find me a partner to date, and I find you one as well. If one of us gets to find a match for the other in a matter of 6 months, then the winner gets to receive a reward. Sounds good?

Alastor: hhmmm, tempting, but what would be the reward, sire? If I may ask.

Lucifer: the winner gets to choose his reward, how about that? Doesn't that sound nice? Hhmm?

Alastor: Alright then, challenge accepted Lucifer. Although you're only making this easier for me, as I have never ever fallen for someone and I can assure you that it will never happen. Good luck with finding me a partner.

Lucifer: oh I definitely can, just you wait.

The current situation on their challenge so far: difficult is one word to describe it. No one has found a suitable date or partner for the other yet. [Until Lilith comes into the picture]

Radioqueen

Lilith is a witness to one of Alastor's murders. While disposing of the body, she had accidentally walked into the scene, much to Alastor's disappointment. This is their first meeting with each other, although they have heard rumors about the other from amateur criminals and rookies. Alastor, not wanting to kill Lilith because of his moral code of not killing women and children, bribed her into getting a date with one of the rich and chivalrous men in their city, Lucifer Morningstar, in exchange for her silence. Pleased with the idea (and perhaps another prey to feast on), Lilith agreed. The two exchanged contacts and have been in touch ever since. They are acquainted easily as the two share sentiments on not harming women and children in their murder spree. One detail Alastor forgot to take notice though is, Lilith's victims are men who she had a date with before their deaths.

Lucilith

The two bumped into each other in a cafe. Lucifer was getting a latte for himself, stressed out on the list he is making (names of random people he has heard of who he thinks are the type of people Alastor would go out with). Lilith was getting coffee, just finished from her modeling job in a nearby building. Their meet up was merely a coincidence, which was a delight for Lilith. This way, she could gain more information about who the person Alastor is setting her up with. Lucifer, mesmerized by her voice and stunned by her brilliance, tried to ask for her name. Unfortunately, he blurted out a different question as he was mulling over other problems in his head, such as the list for Alastor's possible dates. Asking someone to date their friend is not the kind of question anyone should be asking to a stranger, and yet it still happened to Lucifer, no less. Being possibly one of the most socially awkward people to exist, he could only sit on the ground and hide his face in shame and horror. Lilith, not expecting this kind of behavior from a rich and supposedly charming man, had found him quite cute and endearing. This is when she decided to leave her original plan of killing him, and instead vowed to marry him someday in the future.

#the second one had my phone lagging because of the huge file #hindi nakaya ng phone ko #this au was brought into fruition cuz of bog #frienny has a lot of cool ideas #lucilith #radioapple #radioqueen #yes they are poly because I said so #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel au #lucifer morningstar #lucifer hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #lilith morningstar #lilith hazbin hotel

173 notes · View notes

tootiecakes234 · 1 year ago

Text

The Bet

Part 1

Warnings: smut(MDNI)

You and Katsuki make a bet to see who can go the longest without sex.

This all starts because you’re in bed with Katsuki and he’s trying to keep you there. You have plans to go out with your friends, but he’s trying to lure you with sexy time to stay with him tonight.

“Kit Kat, baby, this girls night has already been rescheduled twice. I can’t cancel again. I-I’m going.”, you try your best to sound stern but he’s pressing kisses up your neck and along your jaw. Asshole knows those are tender spots.

“Mmmm, do you remember when you canceled the first time?? It started off just like this.” His voice is low and thick. Dammit, your legs automatically squeeze together.

“Yes, I do remember actually. Which is why it won’t be happening again Kat. Yo- No! No!” He’d started sliding his hands down your stomach. You know that if he got those thick fingers of his inside your panties, you’d end up just like last time.

You roll yourself away from him and get to your feet. When you look over at him he’s half way from under the sheet with his muscled chest and arms on display. He’s also sporting that sexy ass smirk of his.

“ You need to learn how to keep your hands off of me.”, you give him a firm look and all he does is chuckle.

“Y/n, You’re saying that shit now, but you don’t say it when you’re cumming because of ‘em…. But if that’s what you want, I can do that.”, he says all smug.

“You can do what?”, you ask him suspiciously. You start moving about getting yourself together so you can leave soon.

Katsuki’s watching you for a reaction, “ I’ll keep my hands off you.… that is until you beg me.”, he says it so casually. Like you’ve already started begging him. Like he’s already won a game you haven’t started playing yet.

You stare him dead in the eye, “ Please! Katsuki, you wanna play that game with me?? If anything you’ll be on your knees begging me to give you some. You’re an addict.”

You notice the gleam in his eye before he even speaks, “ Ha, me beg?. You living in the same reality as me?? Oh!! This is what your friends mean when they call you “delulu””.

“Babe, have I ever told you how funny you are?? Ha ha… cuz if I did I was lying. I do wanna play your game tho, but we gotta make it interesting.”, you’re grinning at him now.

The two of you are beyond competitive. You knew this was gonna be fun.

“ Ok then, we make a bet. No more sex starting now and the first one to cave, which is gonna be you, loses. Winner gets to decide on the punishment.”

“You’re on. I need to decide my punishment quick. You’ll probably fold before tomorrow.”, you answer him in the cheekiest tone you can muster.

Katsuki gets up from the bed, walks over to you, and leans down to your ear to whisper, “ You have no fucking idea what you just got yourself into sweet girl, but I look forward to hearing you beg for me.”

Fuck, that got you a little. Your mouth is slightly open when he pulls back from you and he’s grinning. He knows it got to you.

“You don’t wanna keep your friends waiting, hurry up and get dressed. I’ll drop you off.”

The bastard already thinks he’s won. Well he’s gotta another thing coming. You aren’t going down without a fight.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

#imagine #bakugou x reader #mha fanfiction #bakugou drabble #drabble #katsuki bakugo mha #bakugo headcanons #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #fluff #katsuki fanfic #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou imagine

542 notes · View notes

shmorp-mcdurgen · 2 months ago

Text

An Analysis of Gman in Half Life: Alyx

HL:A Gman is by far the most interesting version of Gman I've seen and I've noticed so many details in his one interaction with Alyx, to the point I needed to make a full post about all the bullet points. (Note that this is MY personal interpretation, so it could be different from what was intended or what other people believe)

Starting from the very beginning, when Alyx asks whether Gman is Gordon Freeman or not, he responds in a kind of. Condescending way.

It's almost like he's amused by the fact he was mistaken for Gordon. not to mention the use of "Imprison" in the statement, almost as if he's not only making a snide remark towards Gordon, but also implying that even he sees Gordon's employment as "imprisonment". Not to mention the implication that it really does not take that much to hold Gordon captive in one way or another. Could also be literal, meaning Gordon isn't near powerful enough to require a full Vault be built around him.

A: "So. Who are you?"

Alyx asks a very simple question cause. why wouldn't she be confused? She expected a super-weapon; she expected Gordon Freeman, so when she found nothing but a man in a suit who straight up scoffs at the misunderstanding, of COURSE she'd want to ask questions. However, Gman only responds with:

Gman deflects the question, but rather than completely ignoring it, he simply leads it into a new question: "What can I offer you?"

He guides the conversation to a different topic, luring Alyx away from questioning who, or what, he is, whether it's because he doesn't want to (or can't) give an answer, or if it's because he simply wants the conversation to move forward rather than being caught on the nature of Gman himself.

G: "Some believe the fate of our world is Inflexible. My Employers disagree."

This statement is funny in an ironic way. he states that fate is flexible and can be changed, yet. When was the last time Gman didn't have full say on what can and will happen? By making everything go a very specific way, you CREATE fate.

G: "They authorize me to… nudge things in a particular direction from time to time. What would YOU want nudged, Ms. Vance?"

The use of word "Nudge" is an interesting way to describe changing things within the timeline. though something else that's interesting is his facial expressions during this moment.

He looks almost. Kind. but in a forced sort of way. It feels like he's expecting a certain answer from Alyx, and is just waiting for her to say it.

However, when she says she wants the combine off earth, his expression changes.

The change in expression implies that Alyx's answer was not the one he wanted or hoped for. Thus, he once again ignores what Alyx said and gives his own reasons for it.

G: "Ahhh. That would be a considerably large nudge. Too large, given the interests of my employers."

Rather than giving Alyx a second chance at a more reasonable request however, he instead says:

G: "What if I could offer you something you don't know you want?"

It finally clicks together why Gman's there: To make a deal. Whatever Alyx said before this moment was completely irrelevant. No matter what Alyx requested to have "Nudged", he would have brought up his own offer. He had already mapped out how the conversation was going to end even before Alyx had even begun speaking to him. It was just a matter of getting there.

Gman showing Alyx her fathers death was an intentional and targeted choice. Alyx is a little more naïve here than she is in HL2, not to mention her close relationship to Eli. Eli is one of the only people she has left at this point in her life, so. Why wouldn't she want to save him? This is exactly the reason Gman chose this event in particular above anything else, because he knew it was an offer Alyx would NEVER say no to. He knows Alyx more than she knows herself, and had already predicted the outcome of the situation. So, understandably, Alyx kills the Advisor in place of her father's life.

This line. This line is so interesting to me in particular. Rather than describing Eli as a "person" or "human", and describing the dead Advisor as something "alien", he refers to both as "entities." almost as if he sees both of them on the same wavelength of sorts. It implies Gman sees no difference between a human and an animal, or alien of some kind. Sees them all as simply that. Entities.

Yet another example of Gman deflecting the questions given to him, guiding the conversation instead towards Alyx herself.

G: "A previous hire has been unable — or unwilling — to perform the tasks laid before him. We have struggled to find a suitable replacement. Until now."

Him referring to Gordon in this way is interesting to me. Was the sudden wish to drop Gordon from employment due to the Vortigaunt intervention in HL2 Episode 1? Was it because Gordon was truly incapable of fulfilling certain "tasks"? Or maybe it was because Gordon was not as vulnerable to Gman's influence? It's unclear, and it's also not clear whether this means Gordon is fully free of Gman's control or not.

At this point it's made crystal clear that Alyx killing the advisor in place of her father was a contract she was signing, one she didn't even know she held the pen to. This was always going to be the outcome of the interaction, since the beginning. Everything Alyx had done up to that point was to help Gman and his "Employers" get further in their goals now that Gordon was deemed "Incapable". Nothing that Alyx could have done would've mattered; her "fate" was decided from the beginning.

Overall what I gather from this ending is a lot about Gman as a character. He never truly lies, yet he purposefully leaves out important details, such as the fact that reversing Eli's death wasn't without a price. He manipulates the conversation to fit his wants and needs, ignoring direct questions he sees as unimportant to his goals. And the thing is, he does it in a way that Alyx doesn't even seem to notice. He has played this game so many times that he knows exactly what moves to play. He knows the people he talks to more than they know themselves. He uses their worst fears against them to make them go to him for safety.

Judging by the things Gordon survived in Black Mesa, you can gauge he had a strong will to survive. So what better to do to seal a deal than to threaten that life he cares so much about? To tell him that the only other option was to go under Gman's employment else he face death itself? Alyx had such a strong connection to her father, so what better to do than to tell her that Eli will die if she doesn't do anything, luring her in to sign a contract without even knowing what she was signing?

Gman is a master manipulator, no better words for it. And he always manages to do it in such a way that you can barely even notice it happening. He never raises his voice. he never shows irritation or hostility aside from only one instance. Because why should he be frustrated? He's won even before the game started. And honestly that is frightening to me, cause it shows that he's done this many times before and knows just how to get what he and his "Employers" want, regardless of how it effects other people.

#half life #half-life #gman #g-man #ramblings :)#my god I have so many thoughts on this thing this creature #another thing I wanted to mention but had no place to is Gman's body language #He uses a lot of hand gestures and the way he overall moves is almost. Stiff.#Also the fact he seems to circle around Alyx like some sort of. Predator animal #He's a frightening dude when you think about it #Are all my points something other people have noticed as well? Almost definitely #But I wanted to put this analysis out there regardless just because. HL:A Gman is so well written #The EPITOME of Gman to me #Like. HL2 gman is silly as well but. come ON #It really feels like HL1 Gman was the base. HL2 was when he got his footing. and HLA is when he REALLY became his own #Like HL2 and HLA are when Gman fully became. Gman #GRAH this fucking guy

80 notes · View notes

harmonysanreads · 8 months ago

Note

HARMONYYY i just finished the penacony quest and OH MY GOD. the emotional damage wtf... and the murderer 😕 i honestly don’t think anyone could’ve foreseen that

on another note, sunday really does have huge yandere potential !!! (i was swooning the entire time he was on screen im sorry.) he literally isn’t beating the allegations at all. even the other characters comment on how weird it is for him to casually keep a model of the golden hour, because what in the control freak 😭

he seems like he’d play dollhouse with darling. after all, in a place like that, every single aspect of it is under his thumb — literally. having that much control over your circumstances is a reassurance. oh, are the placeholder models crashing? don’t worry dear, he can fix the malfunctions. he can even make them speak more realistically for you. he can give anything to you, even change the layout of the place entirely if you’re bored of it. you want to get back to normal size? well, he can’t quite do that just yet, please understand..

or if he pulls that weird interrogation magic thing on them. darling who just lies through the entire thing, and he uses this to scare them about the death countdown while not mentioning the part that he has the power to really just cancel it in the end. though, the same trick won’t work on them twice. at least the process gets darling to become part of the family in the end.

not to mention the spies he has everywhere. stupid birds watching you in every corner…

idk i just want to hold him and shake him aggressively. out of love, of course.

- 🕯️

When I tell you I've lost sleep over the thought of just how much more Sunday is probably capable of doing, nonnie.

If he has access to technology and power like this, which are all unrestricted for his personal use moreover, imagine the things he's hiding. And imagine farther the things he had to do to get to where he is today, another dash of spice to the mix. I went back to his scenes and did some thinking. The me-slandering-Sunday is obviously a joke but I really, really hope people just don't focus on the morally-gray and questionable aspects of him and completely disregard his other characteristics now.

If you think about things from his perspective, he really is just trying his best to keep the image of The Family. But the loss of probably the only person he trusted with his heart and the disregard to bring justice to that case from The Family's side, compelled him to put his agenda first (as he himself mentions that he allowed Aventurine to pull that stunt so that it'd lure Gallagher out). What we get from this is, while Sunday is an extremely dedicated member of their faction, he had to learn to be selfish in certain situations to save his and Robin's backs.

The desire to control usually comes from a feeling of helplessness. We can make some speculations based on the current information of why Sunday has these tendencies, I've also seen some people say he has OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) but, we can't be sure until his full lore drops. Another thing to note about Sunday is how lonely he probably is, especially at present. The Family is in chaos, the situation of Robin, external forces' traps, the Charmony festival's deadline and he doesn't even have one person he can sit down with and not question their motives. He really must want to rest just as much as the characters around him are suggesting.

So basically, Sunday is a multi-layered character, just like Aventurine. He's definitely a politician, is what I'll say. Even though he is a control freak whose motives are hard to guess, he's still that little boy fighting for his and Robin's shared dream inside.

#but he still deserves to be aggressively shaken for that move on aven #and then sent to a three month vacation #do you guys catch my drift my here like you can still manipulate him to do your bidding :)#opps... didn't mean to drop that #sunday brainrot #──⚝🕯️anon #yandere sunday #yandere sunday x reader #sunday x reader #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader

245 notes · View notes

she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 11 months ago

Text

It’s one in the morning let’s talk Six of Crows analysis - it feels like it’s been ages since I did any analysis, which is like the entire point of this account so sorry about that but here we go: We should talk more about Adem Bajan you guys okay because first of all he effectively comes to represent the vast majority of everyday people in a clear juxtaposition to both Inej and Van Eck, but he also is in a position of far less choice than I think we give him credit for.

As a reminder, Bajan is a young Suli boy (presumably somewhere around 19 but we have no confirmation of that) working in the Van Eck household teaching Alys music. He is highly implied to be having or to have interest in having as affair with Alys, and was Van Eck’s chosen jailer for Inej at the beginning of Crooked Kingdom. Van Eck claims he made this choice because he thought “a Suli boy would be most conspicuous” when he was attempting to lure Kaz into a trap to save Inej, but it was also an inarguably smart decision in that, as Inej even comments herself, Bajan was easy to talk to, made her feel nostalgic, homesick, and alone, and very nearly succeeded in drawing information out of her without having to restore to torture. If anything, resorting to torture was Van Eck’s major mistake at this point but that’s really a conversation for another time. Bajan is a really interesting character because he doesn’t want to hurt Inej and specifically encourages her to tell him things so Van Eck won’t escalate things further, but when Van Eck does escalate things Bajan is unable - or possibly unwilling - to stop him. For this Inej calls him a monster, and when he claims he did nothing replies “no, you’re the man who stands idly by congratulating himself whilst the monster eats its fill”. She draws a Suli phrase on him that effectively means he’ll be rejected by the community forever and his spirit/soul won’t be accepted, and she describes it as the worst fate or something along those lines sorry I can’t remember exactly. But what’s the most interesting thing is that even though he claims not to believe in any of it Bajan gets noticeably upset by this and says “that’s not fair”. Inej is surprised that he’s this soft, and there’s a very clear juxtaposition between the lives they have lived.

BUT - let’s look at this from Bajan’s perspective. And remember - this is important - Bajan is not described as an employee of Van Eck’s, but an indenture. An indenture. So Bajan is a young boy indentured in a foreign country to a man as high up in the country’s government as you can get and who has clearly been illustrated to the reader as a terrible person on several different levels that I won’t dissect in too much detail right now. He appears to have acclimatised himself to Kerch surroundings and acts with elevation above his status, because that’s what he has to do to survive in the upper echelon of a deeply classist society that actively diminishes and disapproves of his culture. (<<if anyone wants references for that let me know and also I’ve written about it quite a bit before so that’s kicking around on my page somewhere) He refuses to speak to Inej in Suli because “it makes me maudlin” and my question to you is: is he rejecting the language to further attempt to fit in and as a product of internalised prejudice, or because it’s so incredibly painful to be half-connected to a culture not only that he has forced himself to reject but also that he feels he can never safely return to? Probably both. He tells Inej he doesn’t believe in Suli superstition, religion, or culture, and yet is deeply upset when she uses it against him. Is this because he actually does believe, or wants to believe, in the Saints and the Suli interpretation of them but has rejected them for survival and the supposed betterment of himself? Possibly.

Bajan strikes me as very similar to Jesper in the way he presents himself as free, flirty, and casual, but had a considerable weight to almost everything he says and considerable pain hidden closer to the surface than he may have realised. I think there are parallels between him and Inej if we want to see them, but also a very stark difference in the way Kerch and Ketterdam have treated them. Bajan may not be privileged but even as an indenture he has - or at least as far as we know has had - a far safer and kinder experience than Inej has. This could be related to gender since the hyper-sexualisation of Suli culture is mostly centred on women - “the Menagerie always stocked a Suli girl” (I’ve intensely analysis this quote before so I won’t now but ugh there’s so much to say) - but we do know there are young boys captive at the pleasure houses as well although less commonly and it’s also possible that this difference is linked to Bajan’s decision to turn his back on Suli culture in order to appeal more to Kerch society whilst Inej continually embraced her culture and arguably became more religious in response to her experiences.

This is complicated because I’m not entirely sure how I feel about Bajan. I understand and support Inej’s perspective and everything she saw whilst in a far more dangerous position that he was, but is it possible that this was a lonely boy who saw someone he thought was like him and tried to communicate with her the only way he thought was safe? You are completely isolated in a foreign culture and hate yourself for having suppressed your own upbringing in order to survive, but now you meet someone else who yes, is in more danger than you, but who you might be able to help so that she can help you in return. You aren’t safe to speak freely and so you subtly tell her that you are an indenture, hoping she acknowledges that none of this is of your free will and because you know that she was indentured too (and remember from a societal pov there is very little understanding of what indentured girls at the pleasure houses actually go through and although that doesn’t excuse ignoring Inej’s trauma it may explain why he doesn’t fully acknowledge that their positions aren’t equal), you tell her that speaking your own shared language makes you feel maudlin, hoping she realises that you desperately miss your homeland and using your language makes you feel even further from your family than you already are because you can’t share it with them. She doesn’t seem to be taking any of it in, your employer has every intention of hurting her and you don’t know what else to do, so you make a last plea: you ask her about home. You think you’ve already made it clear that speaking about home is painful, so you ask her about it to invite that pain, to share it, so you both understand. But it fails, because she only sees your employer puppeteering you. You openly beg her to tell him the truth so that he won’t hurt her but she refuses to comply, and after all of your efforts and your desperate attempts to connect and beg her to help you both go home, her response is to turn your home against you and banish you from it for eternity. So when you see her the next morning, how could you possibly look her in the eye?

Bajan did not make all of the right choices in his brief time on the page. He didn’t. But maybe he was trying really hard, and he had no other options left.

Anyway I’m not saying this is definitive one way or the other it’s just an interpretation but I find him a very interesting and very sad character and I although I support all of Inej’s actions in these scenes from her point of view I do find myself wondering how she appeared to Bajan and how he felt in the aftermath.

256 notes · View notes

theseeingfawn · 22 days ago

Text

Chapter 8: Secrets... Secrets...

Summary:

Azriel and Elain navigate the complexities of their growing relationship while desperately trying to keep it hidden from the Inner Circle.

Azriel Elain sprawls out before me. Her perfect body draped along my bike. Her plush thighs wrap around me as I fight to catch my breath. My eyes lock in on the rose tattoo under her breast, my cock weeping at the sight.

Say you're mine. I tell her, my voice choking from restraint. She has my mark, she’s all but mine. I just need to hear her say it. Her eyes flutter at the request. That perfect rosy blush I love so much spreads across her cheeks and down her neck. I'm yours.

I curse when the sound of a piercing alarm wakes me. It was a dream. Another fucking dream. But the throb in my slightly damp sleep shorts is very real. I reach down and stroke myself, finding my cock harder than it's ever been. I watch as my hand slides up and down providing me with much needed relief. I see the rose on my hand and I’m immediately back in my dream with Elain. I close my eyes, allowing the images of her bare before me to return. I'm so close, embarrassingly close. I stroke myself once, twice and I jerk at the force of my orgasm. My muscles tense as I shoot my release across my stomach. I lay there catching my breath, frustrated that I'm in this position yet again. It's been a week since my last date with Elain and I've woken up like this every single morning.

I've been keeping my distance from her until I get these feelings under control. I warned her my work would take me away for days at a time. She hasn't questioned it. Hasn't messaged me. Nothing. I don't know what I expect. The distance is what I want, no it's what I need but it's agony. I don't understand this chokehold she has on me. Everything about her drives me wild. She's an intoxicating mix of boldness and shyness. The way she quiets my thoughts. How she plays with me like no one else does.

I think about how she lured me into this secret arrangement. Stalking me like prey in the townhouse study. The way her hand slid down my chest as she taunted me. How she pretended she didn't know how to play darts just so I would touch her more.

Fuck, I'm hard again. I groan in frustration. I've never been this horny in my life. Maybe the solution is to give in to the feeling. I just have to work this need out of my system, I think as I start stroking myself all over again. I'll empty myself out as many times as it takes and then I'll decide what to do next.

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

“You look like shit,” greets Cass.

I bite back a response and instead turn my attention to the movement in the corner of my eye.

I watch Nesta as she slams her wrapped fists into a punching bag over and over again. The intense focus shining in her eyes like a burning flame. It's impressive though her form is shit. I can't imagine Cassian has been able to get her to work with him.

“You'll last longer in a fight if you keep your elbows up.” I say as I walk over to her. I demonstrate by getting into a fighting stance. She nods at me and raises her arms higher. Instantly improving her form. Cassian gawks at me like I’ve performed some sort of miracle.

“I've been telling her that all week but she won't listen.”

“That's because you're a pain in the ass.” She responds without looking at him. “I'd rather train with Az.”

I turn and give him a smile. He scowls at me in return,“Why are you even here?”

I narrow my eyes. “I'm here to work out, this is a gym, isn't it?”

Turns out rubbing myself raw didn't solve anything. All I learned from my experiment is that t Elain Archeron is capable of keeping me permanently hard.

“Oh, is that what you want? If that's the case, why don't we spare you smug bastard?”

I chuckle. Cassian’s fuse is even shorter than I thought it would be. Nesta must be putting him through it. Someone should be.

We warm up in preparation for hand to hand combat. It's not my preferred way of fighting. I don't care for the intimacy of it but if I had to spare with anyone it would be Cass and I need to get rid of this pent up energy. In fact, picturing my fist in his face is the only thing that has eased this overwhelming need burning through me.

The gym Cass has built looks amazing with everything a person could possibly want. There's high dollar equipment, a studio for classes, a strip of turf for pushing a sledge, and a locker room with a sauna. Which I fully intend to use after this. Nesta moves over and sits on a wooden bench to watch. I don't miss the gleam in her eye, a hope I might knock Cass down a peg. After his scheming with Rhys he deserves it. While I love him, I'm disappointed in his method for getting closer to Nesta. The least I can do is humble him a little infront of her.

I join him in the center of the ring. I sigh impatiently as I watch him swagger around me without striking. He always waits for me to strike first. He thinks he is testing my patience which is fine by me, I can control myself. But, with Nesta as an audience I have no doubt that Cass will try and pull out all the stops to impress her. So, I wait and wait and wait. Growing more amused by the second as I see both Cassian and Nesta tire at my ability to wait it out. She cracks first, “are you just going to dance around or are you going to do something?”

Cass turns to her acting as though he is distracted but I know better. I half heartedly lunge at him and he blocks me with a cocky gleam in his eyes. He presses forward with a powerful punch that I dodge. We trade blows until we fall into a familiar rhythm. Strike. Block. Counter. Repeat. Occasionally, a few blows land but we are evenly matched. He has more muscle while I have speed.

We take a break and I turn to grab a sip of water behind me. That's when I catch Nesta staring at me out of the corner of my eye. Interesting. I take my shirt off and head back to the center of the ring. Her eyes track me as a disconcerted Cass shoots daggers at me. Not one to be out done, he also takes his shirt off and starts flexing. I can't help but chuckle, “Subtle.” I mouth at him. He narrows his eyes at me and mouths, “are you mad?” I snort which just irritates him more. It's too easy to rile him up. I lean in a bit, “if you want to impress Nesta maybe you should actually land a few blows.”

He grunts at me, “you're a real bastard you know that?” The taunting works because he starts pacing around me more determined than before. “You’re been more quiet than normal,” he comments.

This is his version of a taunt. I don't respond. He studies me closely, “you have bags under your eyes, is it work?” I don't answer, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. He tilts his head to the side and smiles, “No, it's a woman isn't it?” Again, I keep quiet. “It is, isn't it? Are you seeing someone? One of your secret lovers?”

Nesta hears Cass and adds a little too curiously, “you have a girlfriend?” I'm not going to ignore Elain's sister. I like her and don't want to be rude. So, I bite out a quick, “No.” Cass though latches on to my engagement. “It is a woman isn't it?” He smiles like an idiot and I send a jab right to his face which he barely dodges. “Oh,” he practically coos, “It's definitely a woman then.”

Nesta is watching us intently as she asks, “Is it the woman who rode your motorcycle?” Cass lets out a whistle. “You took a woman on your bike? Must be serious. Ness, he never lets anyone on that bike.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? Don't. Call. Me.That.” Nesta grits through her teeth.

I do my best to ignore them, I can't have them fishing around me and Elain. Cass sends a fist at my left jaw but I easily block it. I'm not nearly as distracted as he hopes I am.

“I'm not seeing anyone.” I say as blandly as I can.

It seems to work because Cass shrugs before he lobs another predictable combo at me.

“So, that's what it is… you need to get laid.”

I pause for half a second but it's enough. Cass saw it. He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Ohhhh…. I see. You need to go to pound town.”

Nesta and I both scrunch our noses at that. She gives me a, “Can you believe this guy look?” which makes me appreciate her on a whole new level. Finally someone who can relate to what I've endured all these years.

“You know, you could always call up one of your lovers.” He adds as if he is trying to be helpful. Which he most certainly is not.

I decide to kick him in the shin which he doesn't see coming. He winces as he raises his leg like a wounded dog which makes Nesta laugh. He sends her a withering look.

“I don't need to get laid.”

“Sure you do. Look at how tense your shoulders are and your poor jaw has been sawing back and forth since you got here.”

“Maybe that's just the effect you have on me.”

Nesta adds, “He has that effect on me too.” I chuckle which only makes Cass angry and he lands a blow to my ribs. It hurts like hell but I'd rather die than give him the satisfaction of showing it.

“Come on, just pull out the little black book and release some pent up energy before you do something stupid.” He says while trying to punch my face.

“When have I ever done something stupid?”

He pauses. Honest to Gods pauses and thinks it over. “Never. But you’re just a man Az, you're bound to fuck something up like the rest of us.”

The accuracy of that ominous statement unsettles me more than I'd like it to.

Nesta tilts her head to the side in curiosity, “Do you really have a little black book of secret lovers?”

“No.” I bite out at the same time Cass says, “Yes.” Letting Cass think I've lost focus, I turn to face Nesta giving her a wicked smirk, “I'd never be foolish enough to leave a trail.” I watch as she gulps.

Cass lunges at me but I anticipate his move and turn to hit him with a combo that has him flat on his back. I lean in and help him up, “I'm not the one who is distracted by my cock Cass. You're projecting.”

Cass wasn't projecting. I'm just as pathetic as he is, ready to do whatever it takes to please an Archeron sister. Because when I got a text from Feyre the next day reminding me about the monthly Inner Circle dinner I almost smiled. Over a social event. Where I must talk to people. I really must be losing my grip on reality.

Elain

I shouldn’t be sneaking around. It’s a bad habit but I can’t seem to help myself. People let their guard down when I’m around, and mother save me, I’m too nosey for my own good. I only meant to drop off the double fudge brownies in the townhouse kitchen before joining the others. I didn’t intend to tiptoe to the sun room where I heard Feyre whispering to Mor.

“Cassian’s convinced he has a secret lover or four.” Feyre states as Mor snorts.

“You have to admit his behavior since he’s returned to Hewn Hills has been off and now this rumor about a blonde on his motorcycle and an explosion? Honestly Mor, I don’t know what to think.”

I lean in further knowing it’s Azriel they are talking about. A little eavesdropping can’t hurt I tell myself.

Mor sighs amused, “Oh Feyre, you're being a touch dramatic don’t you think? He’s a grown man if he is seeing someone, who cares?”

Elain can’t see her sister but she just knows her lips are pursed in annoyance. If it’s one thing her Feyre can’t stand, it's being brushed aside when she wants to pry into other people’s business.

“She doth protest too much.” Came Feyre’s smug reply.

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on Mor, he was spotted leaving here with a blonde woman on the back of his motorcycle. You called him marvelous!”

My sister barely takes a breath before she powers onward, “I even heard you two had dinner when he flew into Velaris weeks ago. You know, at that sexy new restaurant Rhys loves to get takeout from. I’m only asking you to be honest with me, I thought we were close.”

I fight back an eye roll. Gods why was I cursed with the most dramatic sisters? If it isn’t Feyre pouting about being denied private information it was Nesta threatening to stab someone for looking at her funny.

I can't help but smile to myself knowing that our secret is still safe. My sister’s think they know me so well, that I am boring and shy Elain… little do they know.

“For the hundredth time Feyre, Azriel and I are just friends.”

I hear a sniffle and notice someone is crying. I creep a little closer, finally able to see Mor frantically wring her hands in her lap while I see Feyre reach for a tissue. Her response seems out of character. Her complexion also is paler than normal. Her expression is almost grave. She’s acting a little hormonal. It seems like I'm not the only one hiding something. I make a mental note to check in with Feyre soon.

So lost in my thoughts, I nearly miss Mor whispering a confession I never expected to hear.

I close my eyes wanting to whack my sister for pushing her too far. Because Mor is gay. I suddenly feel queasy about spying on them. Mor has been nothing but kind to me and here I am trapped with a secret I have no right to knowing.

This is why you don’t snoop, Elain. Now I have three secrets to hide. What a tangled web we weave.

I turn back toward the kitchen ready to flee and beg the gods forgiveness for my wicked wicked ways when I hear Azriel’s name again. Unable to help myself I turn back around to hear better.

“It doesn’t matter if I were into men or not. I could offer myself up to Az on a silver platter and he would deny it’s what he wants if it means having to face his feelings of inadequacy.”

I replay the words over in my mind as I walk aimlessly through the house. Trying to put some distance between me and what I stumbled upon. Does Azriel feel inadequate? Would he truly deny himself love, if it was offered to him? I’m so lost in my thoughts that I walk directly into a wall. No, not a wall, but Lucien.

He grabs me by the shoulders as he steadies me on my feet. It takes several seconds of blinking before I clear my mind. “Woah there, you nearly took me out.” He says with that stupid grin that everyone else finds charming.

“Then you are easy to push over,” comes my snarky reply before I could stop myself. But instead of being dissuaded Lucien laughs, the sound catching me off guard. “Is that a slight toward my physique or politics?”

I look him over, truly taking in his form for the first time. He isn’t as imposingly tall and burly as Cassian. Nor sculpted and sleek as Azriel. But, Lucien is no less strapping. He notices my slow perusal and his eyes soften ever so slightly. That won’t do. I need to keep him at a distance. I may appreciate his form like any normal woman might and can admit we share a bond over our work but I am not his, and never will be. “Both.” I say trying to add even more bite to my tone than before. His grin widens as if delighted by my taunting. It seems Lucien may secretly enjoy a little fire. I shudder at that, Gods Elain you do not need to subject yourself to that.

“Ouch Miss Archeron, you seem to have wounded me again.” My heart stops and my stomach turns, he is flirting with me and I flirted back, didn’t I? Perhaps Azriel’s lessons in being bad are working a little too well. I move to take a step back but he gently grabs my elbow. His touch foreign and not at all what I expect.

“I’m actually glad you bumped into me. There is a bit of a problem I thought you should be aware of regarding some official town business.”

I sigh dramatically and rub my temple, “Please tell me Bernadette and Pauline haven’t been vandalizing election signs again?” The last time that happened it took a lot of pleading, and what some might call unscrupulous tactics, to get them out of jail. Lucien laughs, “I would have called you right away if that were the case.” He's right, handling those two is an all hands on deck situation. I can’t help but smile and feel a sense of comradery toward him. He is the only other member of the town council who everyone seems to treat like their own personal assistant. Not a grievance nor opinion is left unheard by the golden boy.

I let out a shaky breath, imagining the worst, like murder or heaven forbid a letter writing campaign.

Sensing my unease he rubs a hand gently up my arm. I fight the urge to pull away.

“It's bad but not that bad,” he consoles. “I received several requests about banning motorcycles.”

I scrunch my face up in confusion and then realize there is only one cause for this.

“It's about Azriel, isn't it?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

His hand stills as he watches me closely with those odd eyes. One is russet and the other gold.

“Partly.” his tone suddenly flatter than before. “Some complaints were specifically about Azriel. While others fear that the new biker gang activity in Windhaven might spread here. Some think it already has…” He leaves the rest unsaid. The implication landing like a blow.

The town has been on Azriel's case since the moment he got here. Now, he is being singled out again.

“They think Azriel is a gang member?” I ask, my cheeks heating with fanger.

“Some do, yes. Others are just afraid because he represents what they don’t understand. He’s an outsider.”

I take a deep breath and state the obvious, “That’s not fair.”

“No, I suppose it’s not. I brushed it off at first but the complaints kept coming. He is Feyre’s brother-in-law so I have tried to keep it from becoming… a thing. But, I’m afraid it’s quickly spinning out of my control. I need your help, the people here trust you and you’re practically his family too.”

I fight back a wince at the implication of that statement. “So, you haven’t told Feyre?”

“No, I’d rather not. I want to hold off until I’m certain there is no other option. You know how heavy handed they can be on handling local matters. Do you think you can help?”

I nod, and his smile returns. “We can chat about it more before the next town council meeting and come up with a plan.”

“A plan to make a plan,” I say.

He snorts, “a plan to make a plan that will surely go off the rails.”

I smile, “Like the time you tried to start a film club at the library and Twilight was the only movie people would watch?”

His eyes flash with a challenge, “No, you must be thinking about the time you added medicinal herbs to the community garden and everyone accused you of planting marijuana?”

“It was a chaste tree! It’s great for helping with period cramps.”

“Uh huh, and what did they accuse you of when you mentioned that?”

“Witchcraft.” I can’t help it, I giggle at the memory. Even after all this time Bob watches me a little too closely when I putter about the garden. We both share a laugh over our shared suffering.

Lucien’s face falls as his attention is drawn toward something behind me. I turn to see Azriel standing in the doorway. His face is as inscrutable as ever. Our eyes meet for half a second before his gaze is back on Lucien. I pivot to look toward him, his eyes finding mine and he huffs out a breath and walks away.

I walk toward Azriel, an uneasy smile on my face. “It’s good to see you,” a polite and bland sentiment that does not match the true feelings I keep hidden.

“It’s good to see you, too.” He does not meet my eyes and I can’t bear it.

I walk closer still and let the tips of my fingers graze his. I lean in ever so slightly, brushing my bare arm against the cobalt blue dress shirt covering his bicep. Only then does he turn to me, our eyes locking. My heart flutters as a small gasp escapes my lips.

Those hazel eyes devour the sight of me. They hold such tenderness and longing that I can’t stand the thought of looking away, of leaving him without him knowing I want him. But I must before I do something foolish. We have managed to protect our tentative relationship and I won’t risk it.

Azriel

I try forcing myself to focus on the conversations happening around me at the dinner table and not the fact that Elain is sitting next to him. She willingly sat next to him. She laughed with him. She had a private conversation with him, that I walked in on foolishly chasing the sound of her laugh. Their interaction seemed more friendly than I‘ve ever seen them before. Not that I see them together often, I can’t stand the sight of it. But surely they do spend time together. I overheard the tail end of their conversation. They were discussing the town with such shared affection. I can’t stand that they have something that ties them together.

Okay, maybe she didn’t choose to sit next to Lucien but she didn’t wait for me to get her out of it like last time. And yes, we shared a moment earlier though it isn’t enough. It never feels like enough of her. She is keeping her distance for a reason. I wanted distance, so why am I so upset? I hate feeling jealous. I have felt it a thousand times before with Mor and it never gets any easier. If anything it’s only gotten harder.

I bite the inside of my cheek until the pain becomes unbearable. Using the pain to numb my feelings. I make myself turn to Cass who is of course making puppy dog eyes at a scowling Nesta.

“How’s the right hook?” I ask her.

“Better, thanks to your help.” Cass shows his contempt by stomping on my foot hidden by the table. Typical.

“You know I can help you, Ness, much better than Az can.” He adds with a cocky grin.

Nesta rolls her eyes, not taking his bait.

“You should give him a chance,” Feyre says.

Nesta hisses at her sister, “You'd like that wouldn't you? It would make you feel better about what you've done to me.”

Rhys sets his fork down. A dark scowl swept across his face so quickly I nearly miss it.

Feyre releases an uneasy breath.

Before she can lob her retort, Nesta turns her wrath elsewhere.

“I want to focus on Elain and her new secret boyfriend.”

Elain’s eyes go wide as saucers. Not expecting her usual defender to throw her to the wolves.

Unfortunately, Feyre takes the bait. “Yes, Elain, why don't you tell us about this mystery man.” Her eyes hopeful.

Don't look at me. Don't look at me.

The clever woman she is, Elain keeps her eyes locked on Nesta who is sitting pleased with her successful thwart.

“There is nothing to tell.” Elain says quietly before taking a bite of food.

Nesta tisks, “Come on Elain, I can't be the only one whose life is ripped apart and examined for entertainment.”

I still, at the bitterness of her words. Nesta knows full well that Elain’s life is always under the microscope. But Nesta is like a wounded animal, lashing out at anyone or anything to avoid scrutiny.

“My love life has been the focus of too many dinners as is.” She says with a calm grace that neither of her sisters seem to possess.

“It's because he's fake, isn't it?” Nesta accuses. At this Lucien turns the weight of his full attention to Elain.

I ball my fists at my sides. Trying to remind myself that Nesta isn't in a good place. That she's Elain's sister and if anyone can handle Nesta it's Elain.

“Just because you're not in a good place doesn't mean you get to lash out at me. Handle your feelings like an adult or go to therapy.” Elain says showing more spirit than I've seen before.

“Well, look who's finally decided to show some claws.”

“She's right Nesta, you don't have to lash out any time someone asks you a question.” Feyre adds.

“Piss off, miss high and mighty. You two best friends now? Makes perfect sense that Elain takes your side, doesn’t it? Pushover that she is.”

I pivot ready to aim my ire at Nesta, ready to defend Elain. Before I get a word out she's responding. “I'm an adult, stop fighting over me like I'm a child.”

“Look who finally decided to be interesting after all.”

Elain flinches and I close my eyes unable to tolerate seeing the hurt on her face. How many times has she told me she wants to be seen as interesting, only to have it thrown in her face by someone she loves.

“I'm allowed privacy and my relationship is mine to discuss if I choose,” her voice is strong despite the hurt she wears so obviously.

Cassian asks, “so, it's a secret… That's funny because Azriel has a secret lover too.”

“How interesting,” Amren says, smiling into her cup.

I feel Rhysand's eyes boring into the side of my head.

Mor just looks between Elain and I with a look of hopeful amusement.

“I knew it,” says Feyre, clapping her hands, “who is she?”

“Oh, he’ll never tell. He never does,” adds Cass. “Maybe Elain has learned something from him.”

I'm going to kill him.

Lucien turns his focus from Elain to me. Clearly mulling over the situation at hand. Nesta eyes me curiously, as if seeing something new she hasn’t noticed before.

“A gentleman never tells,” I add, giving Feyre a wink.

“That's not fair, Az!” Feyre whines.

“Get used to it girl, he's had countless lovers and I've never learned a single name.” Amren says. Varian adds, “his reputation is well known even in Adriata.”

I notice Elain breathe a sigh of relief. If I have to take their scrutiny to spare her I will.

“Of course he doesn't share their names, there are too many to memorize. It's easier If he just calls them all baby, isn't that right?” Cass chuckles to himself. It’s like the man has a death wish. He’s not wrong of course, as a roguish teen I may have done that but it's been well over a decade since I've stooped so low.

“Yes, baby,” I croon to Cass. He lets out a howling laugh.

“Oh my god, is that why his contact name is ‘daddy’ in your phone?” Nesta gapes.

Cass just shrugs, “among other things.”

Everyone breaks out in a raucous laugh, except for Rhys who is still watching me closely. His eyes shift to Elain who is smiling brightly.

By the time dessert is brought out, all the tension from earlier has been eased. Cass and Rhys took turns recounting my glory days to the sisters and laughing at my expense. I don't mind the ribbing as long as Elain is no longer under scrutiny.

She brought double fudge brownies as a treat and I would have eaten them all if my hand wasn't swatted away. Rhys invites the group to move to the living room to play card games. I take my chance and wrap my hand around Elain's wrist and pull her into the shadowed alcove beneath the stairs.

“Hello, lover,” I teasingly whisper in her ear. She pulls away slightly, “one of many?” she asks with a teasing glint in her honey colored eyes. I graze my fingers along the smooth skin over her cheek, “Elain, I…” The sound of voices nearby pulls my focus away. “We shouldnt do this here,” I pull her closer as I look behind me to see how much time we have left. “Go up to my room, the third door on the left in fifteen minutes.”

I turn back to her and she's biting her bottom lip in that enticing way. She nods before I walk away.

Elain

The moment I’m inside Azriel’s room panic sets in. Did I just willingly enter the room of the great seducer? I’m not prepared for this. Azriel may be a master at sneaking around but not me. What if he proposes we take our relationship to the next level? What if I can’t resist him luring me to his bed. Do I want to resist? If I didn’t, was I willing to face the consequences of our secret relationship being revealed the most tawdry way possible? With me chanting his name as I climax with our friends and family downstairs?

Before I let myself answer that question, I look around his room and instantly let out a laugh of relief. I spot the cheetah print throw draped over his hot pink bedding. At the head of the bed there are sequin throw pillows in various shapes and colors. In the corner is a mosaic end table topped off with a lava lamp. The only evidence that this is Azriel’s space is the black leather jacket hanging from the hook on the back of the door. Nothing about this room suggests a modern day rake lives here. Perhaps someone’s slutty grandmother or that gigolo I threatened him with last month.

I turn around amused by the status of his current living situation. Admiring more Precious Moments figurines than I can count and holy shit is that the ‘Love One Another’ figurine. Clearly I have nothing to worry about.

The door suddenly opens and Azriel rushes in and closes the door behind him. He leans back against it like he escaped an enraged bear. “You wouldn’t believe the level of detail Amren can go into about Varian’s cock when she’s had a little too much to drink.” He is still wearing the same dark blue button up shirt but now his sleeves are rolled up revealing his heavily corded forearms. He has an excited and down right devilish smile that makes him look like an entirely different man. It fades when he takes in my expression, “why are you smiling like that?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” I say, waving him off, unable to stop giggling. He cocks his head at me skeptically and tosses his phone on his bed. “Okay, clearly it’s not nothing. Why are you giggling like a schoolgirl?”

I can’t help it, I finally give in and let out a cackle. Tears prick my eyes. I’ve wasted so much time feeling intimidated by Azriel’s prowess. Just earlier I was feeling jealous of his secret lovers when he is clearly a teenage girl with a love of collectible children’s figurines.

“It’s silly, I was a little nervous when you asked me to sneak into your bedroom. Especially after everyone went on and on about your… reputation. But then I realized you were living like Austin Powers and I didn’t feel so worried anymore.”

“Wait,” he says looking offended, “Why don’t you feel worried anymore?”

“Because,” I say laughing as I picture Azriel trying to seduce someone with a disco ball above the bed. “Look at this room! The only thing you’ll be holding in here is a seance to talk to Liberace.”

He scoffs, looking away briefly only to meet my gaze again, “You think this decor matters one bit? If I wanted to seduce you, the sequins and the pink frills aren’t going to stop me.”

I roll my eyes, “Okay, Casanova.” I plop down on the unsexy bed. “Here I thought the notorious Azriel Rosehall would live somewhere with elegant mood lighting and a record player in the corner where he would offer to show his favorite slow jams. A true den of iniquity.”

“Well, I don't love that name.”

“But, really it’s putting me in the mood to watch a Bratz movie. Does this thing even…” I bounce up and down on the bed a few times. “Oh my gosh, it doesn’t even squeak, Azriel! What kind of ladies’ man are you?” I lose it and fall back on the bed in a fit of laughter.

He watches me amused, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Most certainly. Because you sir, are a disgrace to bad boys everywhere! I’m tempted to take a picture of you next to the Kylie Mongue poster and post it on Instagram.”

Azriel steps toward me, “Alright, get your ass up.”

I feel giddy and loose-limbed from joy as I sit up and take his outstretched hand, “What are we going to do, bedazzle your motorcycle jacket?”

But my breath catches as he spins me around and pins me against his bedroom door. His very large, very warm body is pressed flush against mine. “Because you’ve insulted my carefully crafted image of a heathen, your next lesson in being bad starts now. I’m going to demonstrate a few things -”

Gods save me.

Azriel takes both of my hands and pins them beside my head as he carefully interlaces our fingers. His searing gaze is locked onto me. The naughty twinkle in his eyes tells me he won’t miss a single one of my reactions. His hands are rough and large. His pressure isn’t too firm and not too soft. Just the right amount. My lips part on instinct and Azriel’s eyes lower to my mouth - watching the moment that it happens. The smallest smile teases at his full lips before he moves his mouth to the shell of my ear. His breath tickles me, sending pleasing little waves of pleasure down my entire body. My neck is so sensitive, even the faintest of kisses are enough to make me finish. My response betrays that fact as he teases me effortlessly. New sensations I haven’t felt before surface in the pit of my stomach and lower… He smells so good. Feels so good.

“First things first…,” His bedroom voice is dark as night and silken. So hot. “It’s never about the room. The room doesn’t play a part in seducing.” His voice deepens, amused and cocky. This is exactly how I imagined Azriel as a lover. No, he’s even better than I imagined.

He continues, his breath hot and heavy against my sensitive neck. “In a bind a closet, a bathroom, even the back of a motorcycle will do just fine.” His mouth moves even lower and he inhales deeply. Never touching or kissing, just breathing me in. “Decor doesn’t matter.” He moves back up my throat as he speaks. Then he switches sides. I tilt my head back offering more of myself to him. I want to make sure he reaches every spot, every possible crevice.

“Because, if I’ve decided to be bad Elain and capture my lover's attention, from the moment we are alone, her pulse will be racing. Her mind will be solely focused on my touch, my smell, and my desire that the color of the bedspread won’t even cross her mind.”

His hands continue to pin me to the wall with the most delicious amount of pressure that makes me squirm. A desire so potent floods me that I feel my knees start to buckle. Desire I didn’t know I was missing. Desire I didn’t know I needed. Now I’m afraid I’ll be deprived of it for the rest of my life.

Azriel moves from my neck, fanning his breath across my jaw to hover over my lips. “Elain, open your eyes and look at me,” he commands, and until now I hadn’t realized I closed them. When my eyes flutter open, I feel drunk. His hazel gaze is dark now and heavy on mine. I feel desperate for him to kiss me. Ready for him to teach me more, ready to be bad for him. With him. To him. I barely remember what I was jealous about. All I know is the sound of my pulse drumming in my ear and it’s saying the same thing over and over again. Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

With his mouth only a blink away from mine, he smiles, “Believe me?”

I nod silently.

He releases my hands and takes a step back. My arms fall to my side. For a moment, I am still pinned to the wall. Unable to move for fear of my knees giving out completely. I mourn the loss of him even though he is just there, just a few feet away. His head turns to the side, eyes refusing to look at me. Why didn’t he kiss me? He’s done it before.

“Why did you stop?” I demand.

He shakes his head. “You’re not ready, Elain. You say you are but you aren’t willing to jump off the cliff into the unknown. You are holding yourself back and I’m not going to be the one to push you.”

I shake my head in frustration.

But, he continues on accusing, “you want cheap thrills. You are just hiding from the life you didn't choose.”

He stops and takes a deep breath, “you're just using me to give a big fuck you to fate.”

I feel anger I’ve never known rise within me. His words don't make sense. Our whole arrangement is about him helping me. Was that not a lesson he just offered me? He is forcing distance between us. It’s a cop out. Just like him letting the others talk about his lovers. He was trying to push me away. He wants… He wants… and just like that the anger I feel morphs into something else.

“I could offer myself up to Az on a silver platter and he would deny it’s what he wants if it means having to face his feelings of inadequacy.” Isn’t that what Mor had said? I close my eyes and steady my nerves.

I take a step forward and another until I am in front of him. I reach onto my tip toes and take his chin and turn his face toward me. His expression is hard steel, a mask he uses far too often to hide how he really feels.

“It’s not me who’s holding myself back, Azriel.” I slide my fingers over his chiseled jaw. “You won’t let go, you won’t give into this.” His eyebrows bunch in confusion.

“You think I don’t see you, that I can’t tell that you want me as much as I want you.” His eyes churn with emotion.

“You draw me in just to push me back out. You guard your heart because you're afraid I don't want this.” I look into those eyes that see so much but never willing to believe.

“I'm not Mor, Azriel. You think I shouldn’t want you but I do. This is more than just lessons and games to me.” I say as I slide my finger tips against his lips.

“What is it?” He whispers, sounding pained.

“It’s everything.” I sigh as I reach for him, draping my arms across his neck and kiss him like I have always dreamed.

He groans into me and kisses me back with a burning passion. My feet are no longer on the ground as he spins and tosses me onto the bed. Before I can move he is on top of me pressing his erection between my legs. I let a wanton moan and the sheer pleasure of it.

His large hand covers my mouth. “Quiet.”

I whimper into his palm. Utterly ruined by his dominance. “Fuck.” He says grinding into me. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

I feel my thighs start to shake. I’m already on the verge of cumming and he hasn’t even truly touched me. “I’m going to ruin you.” He pants into my ear. “I’m going to…”

I startle as someone knocks on the door, “Azriel, are you in there?”

It’s Rhysand.

#azriel x elain #elriel #elain x azriel #elriel fic #elriel fanfic #pro elriel

39 notes · View notes