#i feel like this would be set up with sun with a human form though | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

redeemingvillains · 8 months ago

Text

obliviate - mattheo riddle

summary: when voldemort finds out about you and mattheo, he devises the perfect way to keep you apart.

word count: 5k

a/n: okeeey i know this is longer, but i actually adore it so much! kinda put my heart + soul into this one! extremely special shoutout to @pizzaapeteer's research on mattheo's favorite quidditch team, which provided a name i needed at the very end (hint hint!) ♡

warnings: angst (but also fluff, pls, it's me), use of the cruciatus curse, voldemort being voldemort.

soundtrack: dancing to the sound of a broken heart - galantis

OBLIVIATE (v.) -- To forget, to wipe from existence.

You noticed before he did.

It was early; the morning sun was just barely sneaking past the curtains in the window that fluttered gently in the autumn breeze, setting his bedroom in a deep golden hue. Your limbs were heavy with sleep and you were settled warmly in Mattheo’s arms, you could feel the rise and fall of his chest at your back, his warm breath on your neck. Normally this was your very favorite way to wake up, but something was off, something had made your eyelids flutter open, a feeling, a foreboding.

You didn’t want to wake him, gods knew he needed his sleep, so you squinted slowly around the room until your eyes rested on the very arms that were wrapped around you.

It was his dark mark, writhing against his skin.

No— you thought, but in an instant, Mattheo jolted awake, breathing heavily like he was coming out of a nightmare, or coming into one, and within a moment he was pulling his arms out from around you and you immediately felt cold for their absence.

“Matty” you whispered, turning to face him and reaching out for him, but he was already up and out bed, pulling his clothes on haphazardly.

He turned at the sound of your voice, looking longingly at you for the briefest moment, tangled in his sheets, perfect in the morning glow, your eyes begging him not to leave.

“Stay?” you asked quietly, and his stomach lurched. Fuck if you didn’t have the ability to bring him to his knees with just one word; but his arm burned and ached with impatience… He wouldn’t be kept waiting much longer and Mattheo could only come up with so many excuses as to why he was always late without exposing the truth, desperate to protect you.

“I have to…” he started, but he didn’t finish the statement, didn’t want to say what exactly he’d have to do and thank the gods you never asked.

“I know” you sighed.

“I love you” he said, leaning forward to kiss you sincerely, his fingers brushing your jawline, taking one last piece of humanity and goodness with him.

“I love you more” you whispered as his form disappeared in front of you, leaving you alone.

Mattheo knew the moment he arrived that something was deeply deeply wrong.

He recognized his surroundings at once: the Riddle family manor. The halls echoed with a silence so familiar to him and his childhood it felt like his heart stopped beating so as not to make a sound. Besides silence, though, he also felt the other hallmark of his childhood: loneliness. He was alone; not one in a mistakable mix of followers that he could slip into undetected, he was home, and he was alone, and he felt an uneasiness, a sickness settle over him as the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise and he turned to see his father stepping out of the shadows.

“Twelve minutes” he said by way of greeting, avoiding Mattheo’s eyes as he approached him like a predator would its prey.

“Twelve minutes. From the time I summoned you, until now. What, pray tell, was so pressing, so urgent as to cause your delay?”

Mattheo’s mind swept quickly over the image of you in his bed, your hair splayed on his pillow, the smile on your lips and your soft whisper as he’d apparated, but he quickly dismissed the thought.

“S’early” he said, kicking himself for how his voice waivered in its reply.

Voldemort nodded in mock understanding, like he was considering this, drawing out the silence between them, painfully so.

“So not only are you late, but you are also lying” he said, emphasizing the last word, spitting it like a hiss, his black eyes snapping to Mattheo’s in way that caused him to jolt in reply, an automatic defense mechanism against the only living being capable of scaring him as Voldemort stormed towards him, entering his personal space as his voice rose.

“Do you remember what happened to Alexei Donovan when he lied to me?” he asked.

Mattheo’s eyes shifted between his fathers, swallowing, vividly remembering watching Nagini devour Donovan limb from limb.

“ANSWER ME!” his voice boomed.

“Y-y-yeah” he stuttered.

“Yes, my Lord” Voldemort corrected him.

“Yes, my Lord” Mattheo repeated.

And then Voldemort’s tone changed completely, as he took a step back and a smile spread across his inhuman face, which was somehow more disturbing than the alternative.

“But I am a merciful Lord, aren’t I?” he asked, his head cocked, daring Mattheo to disagree.

“Yes, my Lord” he said.

Voldemort nodded in approval.

“Yes, I am. And what a relief that must be to Ms. YLN at this very moment, hmm?” he asked, his eyes clocking Mattheo’s reaction as the blood drained from his face, his eyes blew wide and his shaking hand reached for his wand.

You watched the empty space where Mattheo had apparated like he might change his mind and come back, perhaps willing him to, before you laid back down, settling for his lingering warmth and his smell against the sheets when you heard footsteps outside the door.

You sat up, excited...naive you would think later, so fucking naive with the hope that he had returned, only to feel the blast of the door getting blown off of its hinges as you moved to cover your face from the flying debris.

Mattheo was breathing erratically, his chest visibly rising and falling with pure, unadulterated rage mixed with a fear so palpable it was like he could taste it on his tongue. He was desperately trying to rein in his emotions and failing miserably as his mind catapulted over every worst case scenario.

He spoke, finally, conjuring the only thing he could think to say as his brain continued in overdrive.

"Don't" he said firmly, threateningly, his voice level for the first time that morning.

His father smiled broadly without an ounce of kindness behind his eyes as they narrowed.

"You never learn… What did I tell you? What have I always told you? This—" he said, gesturing to Mattheo's body shaking in fight or flight mode "—is weakness. Look at you!" he said with disgust, with disdain, "You're worthless. You can't decide what to you, your mind is divided when it should be focused; you're thinking of her when you should be thinking only of yourself!"

Mattheo heard every word he was saying, but all he could think about was you, about how to get back to you, how to stop whatever had already begun; but it was like chasing a train on foot that had long since left the station, no matter how badly he wanted to jump in front of it, it was far too late.

"So, one question remains" Voldemort said, circling him again. "You...Or her?" he asked, sneering.

Mattheo's eyes flicked darkly to his father. "Me or her what?" he said through gritted teeth.

"Surely you understand that I can't allow this relationship to continue with the way it's destroying you, and while the Carrows provided me with a lengthy list of ways we could enforce that" he said, smiling, letting the threat of his most devoted followers linger. "I have something much simpler in mind." He stopped pacing, snapping to face Mattheo fully, his robes flourishing around him.

"I will have your memories" he said proudly. "And one of you will forget their feelings for the other... forever" he whispered as Mattheo felt weak in his knees, like they'd buckle beneath the weight of what had been said.

"So, whose will it be?" Voldemort asked.

You felt excruciating pain in every limb, every tendon, every bone, and when you opened your mouth to scream, the Carrows took your words.

All you could do was watch them through the tears that poured out of your eyes in your silent struggle, willing, praying for Mattheo to come back, pleading with him in your mind; please, please, please you thought even as you felt your resolve and strength waning.

Mattheo's mouth had run dry and there was bile in the back of his throat at the impossible decision before him: Either forget the brightest light in his life, perhaps the only thing keeping him steady in an ever-spiraling world, forget the way your skin felt under his fingertips, the smell of your shampoo, how tightly you squeezed him when he hugged you, or the sound of your laugh, the way you listened sincerely to him with your full attention or rubbed his back when he couldn't sleep; forget the only and most sincere feeling of love he’d ever experienced.

Or worse, meet your eyes and not see a light behind them, the way they'd twinkle with adoration for him, watch you forget him completely and live life instead as your friend, a bystander, maybe even watch you fall in love with someone else... His stomach lurched.

...But in a way, isn't that what you deserved? To live a life free of all of this, free of him and the pain he caused you, constantly, every time he had to leave, every time he had to live this second life. You were meant for more than this, you deserved to be loved by someone who could give you everything in return.

"Hers" he spluttered. "Take her memories" he said quickly before he could change his mind.

Voldemort nodded obligingly before waving a hand, dismissing him.

Your eyes fluttered open as you lay in your four-poster bed, a soft smile on your lips as you saw the morning sun just barely sneaking past the curtains in the window that fluttered gently in the autumn breeze, setting your bedroom in a deep golden hue.

Your limbs were heavy with sleep and you were settled warmly in your sheets. You felt refreshed, though you had the smallest echo of a headache that you attempted to rub away as you got ready for the day.

You made your way down to breakfast, settling in amongst your friends.

"Good morning!" you said cheerfully as you took your usual seat between Pansy and Blaise.

"Good morning, babes!" Pansy chirped as the boys nodded, waved, and greeted you in various acknowledgements. You grabbed a pastry and pressed closer to Blaise to help him with the crossword puzzle in the Daily Prophet. You were deeply focused on the black and white print when Mattheo wandered in, sliding onto the bench across from you. His movement caught your eye and you glanced at him and offered a small wave before returning your attention to the paper.

And that was all he got.

A glance, a smile that he tried to hold on to, to see if there was even a glimmer of recollection behind it. But there was nothing.

The spell was strong. It had tied up every lose end. Your things were gone from his room, your pictures together wiped clear by the time he returned, even your hair tie had disappeared from his wrist. And when he crawled into his bed, and realized your scent was gone from his sheets, he pulled his pillow over his head to mask his muffled sob.

Now not even his friends remembered your relationship, he realized, as he looked around at them, all totally unphased by the fact that you weren't glued to each other's side. At once he craved the way Theo complained incessantly about your PDA, and Blaise teased him for being whipped. He would give anything anything for something other than the complete ignorance in front of him.

He'd never felt so alone.

A few days later, you noticed Mattheo was...off. Even moreso than usual. You were used to him being standoffish, reserved, a total closed book, but you sensed something different about him. You had never been close, but something about his demeanor kept catching your attention.

"Are you okay?" you asked him that weekend at the Slytherin house party.

You'd had to raise your voice to be heard over the crowd and the loud music and his eyes snapped to yours, almost in shock, before they began intently searching your face.

You looked back at him, confused, waiting for a reply.

"M'fine" he said finally, taking a long drink from his cup in an effort to occupy hands that desperately wanted to pull you into him and lips that desperately wanted to tell you a truth that didn't exist anymore.

"Lighten up, Matty!" you said, gently shoving him on his chest as you walked away, and he nearly choked on his firewhiskey, because there was only one person in his life that had ever called him that, and it was you, beginning the night you'd first time told him you loved him.

He watched you walk away and fade back into the crowded party, wondering, daring to hope that there was a way to get you back.

After that night, Mattheo’s attention on you increased tenfold. The following morning he'd squeezed his way next to you at breakfast, nearly knocking Blaise off the bench as he slid you your favorite coffee.

"Oh!...Thank you?" you'd said, surprised as you peered over his shoulder at Blaise and then looked down at the latte. "How did you—?"

"—Can I walk you to class?" he asked eagerly, a smile on his face.

"Suuureeee" you said hesitantly.

Then, he wanted to walk you to every class, and he'd even offered to carry your books. It was kind, endearing even, but it felt misplaced, so out-of-the-blue that it caught you off guard and confused you.

"Mattheo, I really want to thank you for everything you've been doing for me" you said finally as you walked out of your potions class to find him waiting for your eagerly, like a puppy, a smile on his face. Your eyes shifted to the classmates that walked by, eyeing the two of you together. "I just want you to know, I'm not really looking for anything serious. We're friends, that would be a little...weird, you know?" you said gently.

A moment.

And then he felt a chasmic split in his heart that he didn’t think he’d live through once, let alone twice. It had never occurred to him that there was a world in which you wouldn’t fall madly in love with him again as your words brought a memory rushing forward...

"Is this going to be weird?—" you asked, breathless, until his lips cut you off again, crashing to yours as his hands pulled you further against him in the broom closet. "—Darling, I could not care less" he murmured against you, and you laughed as your fingers tangled into the curls at the base of his neck and he felt your tongue against his own. “Mmm our friends are going to lose their mind” you whispered, grinning wickedly at him.

"Matty?" you asked, concerned at the look on his face, pulling him out of the memory, even as he tried and failed to hold on to it.

His eyes refocused on yours as his face darkened.

"Why are you calling me that?" he asked abruptly, his eyes narrowing.

"What?" you asked, taken aback at his tone.

"Matty. Why are you calling me that?"

"I—" you started before looking up at him, confused, feeling the dull ache of one of your more frequently occurring headaches coming on. "I-I don't know" you said quickly, a blush rising to your cheeks as you pushed past him.

He turned and punched the wall forcefully, feeling his knuckles crack in response.

Weeks went by. Every second in your existence was a painful reminder of what he would never have again, and yet he refused to distance himself, desperate for your laugh even if was for someone else, your smile, even if he wasn't the one to put it there.

Sometimes he swore he saw the slightest recollection in your eyes; he'd catch you looking at him, and you'd smile when he caught your eye, but it was always friendly, never like the look you used to give him, with the glimmer of something sinfully mischievous beneath it that had the two of you tumbling into his bed between classes.

The whole situation was setting him on edge, making him more anxious and fidgety than he'd ever been. But, of course, no one seemed to notice, his friends either chalking it up to his normal idiosyncrasies or bewitched to ignore his unusual behavior.

Now he was staring at the book in his lap, reading the same line over and over and over again, his mind running ragged as you sat beside him. At this distance he could smell your perfume, could feel your warmth radiating next to him and his heart ached at your proximity.

He hadn't realized he was doing it at first, but his leg was jiggling incessantly between the two of you, his jitters working at the pace of his mind, his body's panicked response to being so tantalizingly close to you, so desperate for you and not being able to have you. Suddenly he felt a warm hand on his leg, resting there gently as fingers began to trace a familiar pattern on his thigh, causing his jittering to slow along with his heart, which had now dropped into his stomach.

He glanced sidelong at you, afraid to move an inch, terrified that you would stop. He noticed you hadn’t broken your concentration on your book, perhaps hadn’t even realized you were touching him, it was like your body was moving on autopilot to comfort him in the very way you used to, tracing hearts on his thigh before nuzzling into him or pressing a warm kiss to his cheek.

He held his breath with the hope that this might mean something deeper, that there was a piece of you that remembered him as he closed his eyes, and tried to focus on the pattern of your fingers, the simple touch nearly bringing him to tears as he tried to let himself live in the memory of you.

You were right at the very best part of your book, the plot finally taking off, when you felt the familiar ache in your head that very quickly turned to a throbbing that brought you back to the present moment, and made you realize your hand had been resting on Mattheo’s thigh.

“Oh, gods!” you said suddenly, pulling your hand back quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—” you started until you saw the pained expression on his face, his eyes closed, his head hung as his hand carded through his hair. Your headache was pounding in full now, enough to make you wince and touch your temple. His eyes fluttered open, looking at you with concern.

“YN—?”

“—S-Sorry!” you said quickly, gathering your things and beelining for your room.

“Have you noticed anything… different with Mattheo recently?” you asked Pansy that weekend.

You were laying on your stomach on your bed, flipping casually through a magazine as she sat next to you, admiring her nails as she painted them a deep emerald.

You’d tried to ask as nonchalantly as you could, but she looked up at you with an eyebrow raised in question.

“I don’t know he’s been so… strange with me. He’s wanted to walk me to class, and carry my books, he wants to hang out all the time and he somehow knew how I liked my latte…?” you trailed off, leaving out the way your hand had ghosted over him, the expression on his face, and your recurring headaches that didn't feel like a coincidence anymore, flaring up every time you were around him.

A moment passed but Pansy didn’t reply and when you looked at her you saw that her expression hadn’t changed; she was staring blankly at you, not saying a word, which was extraordinarily odd to put it mildly.

This was the type of gossip that would usually have her on her feet, screaming, spiraling, devising a messy plan to get two of her best friends together, but you were getting nothing in return, less than nothing.

“Pans?” you goaded, prompting a response.

Her head tilted slightly, abnormally in a way that was starting to creep you out as her blank stare continued and you slowly pulled yourself upright and away from her.

“Let it go” she said flatly. “You’re imagining things.”

You were taken aback and started to respond before she interrupted you.

“—I mean, you can’t think that he’s into you or something, do you? He would never go for you… what would he see in you? What could you possibly have to offer the Dark Lord’s son YN? He’s got girls lined up out the door for him.”

You felt tears sting your eyes as you sat up fully now. Never once in your almost ten years of friendship had she ever said anything like that to you before. You were hurt, but you also couldn’t help but feel like something was very very wrong as fear fluttered in your heart at her dark words and unnatural expression.

Suddenly, your mind snapped black for a moment to another time you felt foreboding, felt fear in your bones, screaming silently with no one to hear you and you stumbled to your feet, wiping the tears from your eyes as your head throbbed so hard you were afraid you were going to be sick.

Pansy looked up at you, and smiled, unphased by the way you were shaking or swiping at your running mascara as she smiled. “Want to go to dinner babes?” she asked cheerful again, like she had forgotten everything she’d just said to you.

“I-I’ve got to go” you said quickly, as you made your way for the door, desperate to find the person you sensed was responsible for this all.

You made your way to the common room in slow motion, like one of those dreams where you’re running but not actually going anywhere. You felt flushed and feverish as your body began to tremble and the room felt like it was distorting itself. You looked around frantically and found Mattheo walking in your group of friends on their way to dinner.

“YN!” Blaise cheered, noticing you approach as Draco and Theo turned in concert, smiling widely at you with uncannily happy expressions.

But the minute Mattheo’s eyes landed on you, his smile dropped to concern and he quickly approached you, closing the distance between you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately, reaching for you before pulling his hands back awkwardly.

“Can I talk to you?” you winced as your headache intensified “Please?”

“Yeah, of course” he said eagerly, motioning to his friends, “I’ll catch up with you” he said, nearly ignoring them completely as he led you back towards their now empty room.

He shut the door behind you both and you swayed on your feet before moving between the four poster beds and sitting on the edge of his.

There were five identical beds in the room and he tried not to read too much into the fact that you’d known which was his, even though in this reality you’d never been here. And then he tried to calm the erratic beating of his heart of you being here, alone with him, in his room, shaking the thought from his mind quickly as he took in the pained look on your face, your eyes pinched closed as you rubbed your temple

He came quickly to you, kneeling in front of you, moving to place his hands on your legs and pulling back, never knowing what the fuck to do with them anymore around you.

“What’s going on—” he started.

“—What did you do to me?” you whispered harshly, your eyes fluttering open, your face scrunched angrily in accusation.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“Mattheo, something is very very wrong, and you can’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

He stopped breathing. It couldn’t be.

“Our friends aren’t normal, people around us aren’t normal, and I feel like my insides are on fucking fire” you said, grimacing. “And it only happens when I’m around you. I’m not an idiot, Mattheo, is this because I turned you down?”

For his part he looked like he was about to cry, he didn’t look threatening or guilty, just enormously sad as he looked up at you with his amber eyes and your headache split to a nearly debilitating degree and tears flowed from your eyes in pain.

“My head” you said in a muffled sob.

You felt his warm hands rest on your legs, the first time he’d let himself touch you in months and you felt another flash in your mind, him smiling down at you with a lopsided grin in a way you’d never seen him look at you before, with adoration, with longing, with love, but it didn’t feel weird this time, it felt normal, so familiar…

“YN?” he whispered and your eyes fluttered open to see his transfixed on you, scanning your every feature, his expression full of concern. “Please hear me when I say I would never ever hurt you.” A lie he realized too late as he looked at you now.

“I-I know that?” you said shakily. “Somehow I know that but I don’t know how else to explain this or how I’m feeling” you said, sniffling.

“Fuck!” he muttered in frustration as he stood up and started pacing, running his fingers through his hair. He was certain that something was happening and yet he had no idea how to help you, the image of you crying in pain on his bed making him physically ill.

You sniffed again and said the next sentence so softly he swore he'd dreamt it.

“You have a scar on your shoulder, here” you said, gesturing over your own shoulder blade, tracing the same pattern of the raised skin on his back.

“You take your tea with milk and two sugars” your voice wobbled but was gaining strength as you kept speaking and he turned to look at you.

“You write left-handed but play quidditch right handed.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, words tumbling from your mouth now, like a broken dam.

“You always wanted a dog growing up and if you’d had one you would have named him—"

“—Zoryn” you said simultaneously. He moved to approach you, crouching in front of you again as he stared at you in awe, unable to believe what was going on.

Your eyes opened at his voice.

“After my favorite quidditch player” he said. “YN you’re the only person who knows that.”

“Why do I know these things?” you asked, pained.

He opened us mouth but nothing came out.

“Matty” you were practically beginning him to help you understand but he was too scared to be wrong, too scared to tell you the truth.

“...I’m the only one that calls you that” you whispered, and he nodded encouragingly.

“Yeah, you are” he said quietly, gently.

You reached out tentatively, your hand trembling and touched his cheek and he let his head fall against the palm of your hand, nuzzling into you as his eyes fluttered closed. You sniffed again.

“It’s okay, love, I’m here” he said tenderly.

“B-But you weren’t there” you said, breathing heavily all of a sudden, panicked. “I-I was scared and I wanted you there and you weren’t there…” and just like that your eyes blinked to his and memories came like an avalanche as you stood and he rose his feet beside you.

The first time he kissed you, the feeling of his warm palm in yours, tangling your fingers in his curls, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest in bed, the way he’d pull you onto his lap at breakfast and everyone would moan about it, him nuzzling into your neck, his arms around your waist and his hand at the small of your back in the corridor between classes. His lopsided grin as his amber eyes twinkled down at you and he whispered “Gods, I’m crazy about you, darling”

“I remember! I remember!” you said finally looking up at the real Mattheo standing in front of you, his face somewhere between sheer panic and shock and suddenly the inches between you were too much as you flew into his arms, wrapping yourself around him as he lifted you off the ground.

“Fuck baby” he said as you felt him shaking beneath you. “I’m sorry I’m so fucking sorry. He made me. M-made me choose, your memories or mine and—“ he choked up as hand came to rest on the back of your head, holding you closer to him “—I didn’t want you to live a moment in any reality thinking I didn’t love you.”

“It’s okay, Matty, it’s okay” you murmured against him, clinging to him, to the moment.

“None of this is okay” he said back.

“It’s ok now” you reassured him.

He made to pull back but you squeezed him tighter, afraid.

“I don’t want to forget” you mumbled into his neck.

“You’re not going to” he said through a laugh, the first time the sound had left his lips in months.

“Let me guess” you sniffed against him, fighting the knowing smile on your lips, “because you’re unforgettable” you grumbled at his cocky humor.

“Well, yeah” he said, laughing genuinely now, even as you pinched him.

“But more importantly—” he said as he took a step forward to lay you down on his bed so he could look at you, could finally see the sparkle of recognition in your eyes that he had been craving. You were looking back at him like you were committing his every feature to memory, your stomach flipping at how beautiful he was, at how you could ever forget it, tracing the scar at his eyebrow, his flushed cheeks, his lips and noting the twinkle in his eyes.

“—You’re not going to forget because the most powerful wizard alive already tried to make you, and it didn’t fucking work.”

You smiled at him, resolutely. “I could never forget you.”

“That’s right, baby” he said as he leaned down to brush his lips against yours, lingering for just a moment, savoring it like it was the first time all over again.

taglist: @dustie-faerie, @urfavfrenchgrl, @darlingshecried, @thegoddessofnothingness, @kenjikishimotoswifey, @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @sectumsempraaa

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle fluff

2K notes · View notes

callsigns-haze · 3 months ago

Text

Maybe us one day

Pairing: Xaden Riorson x reader

Xaden's life has changed completely. Ever since he became King of Tyrrendor, your lover, overcame venin, his life has been perfect. Hs squad now grows, in many ways, and the old Xaden Riorson would have not suspected this to be his faith.

Word count: 13.4k

This contains mature themes: mentions of giving birth, kidnapping, blood, war I don't think there is any spoiler in fairness, it's just what I'd love the ending to be.

The kitchen was quiet, save for the faint chirping of birds outside, signalling the early morning. The cool, pale light of dawn filtered through the wide windows, casting long shadows across the polished countertops. You stood at the sink, the knife in your hand sliding through the stems of wildflowers with practiced ease. Each snip was soft but definitive, the rhythmic sound blending with the gentle hum of the world waking around you.

The bouquet you were arranging was far from perfect—wildflowers rarely behaved the way delicate garden blooms did—but you didn’t care. You needed this. The act of creating something with your hands, something beautiful in a world that had seen so much ruin, felt grounding. Cathartic, even. The vase stood waiting on the counter, half-filled with water, droplets clinging to the glass like dewdrops.

The house was still. Xaden was likely still asleep upstairs, his chest rising and falling in the deep, unguarded rhythm you’d come to recognize as his only true form of rest. His responsibilities as King of Tyrrendor weighed heavily on him, even in the year since the revolution had ended. Peace had not come easily—it had demanded sacrifices, including pieces of himself he’d never truly reclaim. But now, Tyrrendor had something it hadn’t had in generations: hope.

You ran your thumb over the stem of one of the flowers, feeling the ridges and imperfections under your skin. Three days ago, Violet had given birth to her son, Alic. The name had startled you at first, dredging up memories you thought you’d buried. Aaric’s brother. The man who had challenged Garrick Tavis during Threshing, who had tried to take his dragon and paid the ultimate price.

And now, there was a child carrying his name. A child Violet and Aaric had brought into a world that was finally safe enough for him to grow up in. You weren’t sure how Xaden truly felt about it; he’d mentioned Alic’s name only once in passing before falling silent, a shadow crossing his expression that you hadn’t dared to press. You’d learned, over the years, to wait for him to bring things to you when he was ready. And he always did. Eventually.

Chaire’s presence unfurled in your mind like smoke curling through a quiet room. Why are you awake, Lumiere? The sun has barely kissed the horizon, and you’re playing florist?

His voice was a rich, rumbling thing, laced with dry amusement. You smiled despite yourself, pausing to brush an errant strand of hair from your face. I couldn’t sleep.

Hmm. There was a deliberate pause, his amusement shifting into something sharper, more knowing. Or perhaps you couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d say to Violet when you see her next.

You rolled your eyes, though you knew he couldn’t see it. I’m not thinking about that.

Liar. The word was a purr, low and teasing, but not unkind. Your thoughts have been circling like vultures for days. You humans have such a peculiar attachment to guilt. Alic is long dead, and his name is just that—a name. Yet you brood as if his ghost is perched on your shoulder.

I’m not brooding, Chaire. But the truth of his words pricked at you, and you sighed, setting the knife down. It’s just... complicated.

It always is. His tone softened, the bond between you humming with warmth. But it’s done, little one. The past cannot be rewritten, and Violet’s choices are her own. They do not diminish you, nor do they tarnish what you have now.

You leaned against the counter, the cool marble pressing into your palms. The bouquet was almost finished, the wildflowers forming a chaotic but oddly beautiful arrangement. You’d placed the brightest blooms at the centre, surrounded by smaller, softer ones. It felt symbolic in a way, though you couldn’t quite articulate why.

Chaire’s presence lingered, a steady, comforting weight in the back of your mind. You should wake him, he said after a moment. Your mate will sulk if he finds out you were up before him and didn’t say anything.

A small laugh escaped you. He doesn’t sulk.

Oh, he sulks, Chaire countered, his amusement returning. And you let him get away with it, which only makes it worse.

You shook your head, pushing off the counter and reaching for the vase. The bouquet fit perfectly, the wildflowers spreading like a burst of sunlight. It was messy, imperfect—but it was yours. Just like the life you and Xaden had built here, in the fragile peace of a world no longer at war.

As you turned toward the stairs, ready to wake him, Chaire’s voice curled through your mind one last time, soft and uncharacteristically tender. You are enough, little one. For him, for this world—for yourself. Don’t forget that.

You reached for the rose, its deep crimson petals unfurling like velvet against the pale morning light. It was stunning, the kind of flower that demanded attention, even among the wildflowers you’d gathered. But as your fingers brushed the stem, a sharp sting blossomed at the tip of your index finger.

You hissed softly, pulling your hand back and glancing at the small bead of blood that had welled up. Without thinking, you brought your finger to your lips, the coppery tang of your blood meeting your tongue. The sting faded quickly, but you didn’t stop to linger on it. The bouquet wasn’t finished yet, and the vase demanded your full attention.

The roses had to go in next, carefully arranged among the wildflowers to create a contrast between elegance and chaos. You leaned in, frowning slightly as you adjusted the angle of one bloom, tucking it just beneath a spray of lavender. The quiet world around you faded as you focused, completely absorbed in the task at hand.

It wasn’t until a familiar, silky sensation wrapped around your waist that you realized you were no longer alone.

The shadows came first, coiling around you like a lover’s embrace. They were warm, alive with the faint hum of Xaden’s magic, and they tugged gently, pulling you back a step before you could react. A startled laugh escaped your lips as you straightened, the bouquet momentarily forgotten in your hands.

And then you felt him—solid, warm, and undeniably Xaden—press against your back. His arms circled you, drawing you flush against his bare chest. The scent of him enveloped you, a mix of cedar and something darker, uniquely him. He was leaning casually against the doorframe, his posture as relaxed as his hold on you was firm.

“Up before dawn and playing with flowers,” Xaden murmured, his voice low and rough from sleep. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Should I be worried?”

You twisted slightly in his arms, just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. His hair was a tousled mess, dark strands sticking out in every direction as if he’d just rolled out of bed. Which, judging by the lazy smirk on his lips and the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, he probably had. He was shirtless, his skin still warm from sleep, and the soft gray sweatpants slung low on his hips left little to the imagination.

“You’re awake,” you said simply, your voice softer than you intended.

“I am now.” His lips curved into a smirk, though his dark eyes were warm as they swept over you. “You’re making enough noise to wake the entire citadel.”

“I’m not noisy,” you protested, though your tone lacked conviction. You turned your attention back to the bouquet, but Xaden didn’t let you go. His arms tightened slightly, keeping you anchored against him.

He glanced over your shoulder at the arrangement in your hands, his expression softening as he took it in. “It’s beautiful,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “You’re beautiful.”

A flush crept up your neck at the unexpected compliment, and you shook your head, trying to hide your smile. “It’s just a bunch of flowers.”

“It’s more than that,” he countered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. The sensation sent warmth pooling in your chest. “You could make a battlefield look like art.”

You didn’t respond, too flustered by the quiet intensity in his voice. Instead, you focused on the bouquet, adjusting one of the roses to avoid meeting his gaze. But Xaden wasn’t one to let you off the hook so easily.

He shifted slightly, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips, his touch light but possessive. “Are you going to tell me what’s really on your mind, or do I have to guess?”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly around the stems of the bouquet. But before you could answer, Xaden leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your neck. It was gentle, almost absentminded, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you all the same.

“Take your time,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low rumble that made your knees feel weak. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that, he rested his chin on your shoulder, his dark eyes watching as you arranged the final flower. The weight of him, the warmth of his presence, made the world feel a little less heavy. For the first time in days, you let yourself exhale.

You leaned against the counter, turning the bouquet slowly in your hands, the flowers casting long shadows on the marble as the early sunlight caught their petals. Xaden still stood behind you, his arms encircling your waist, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder. The quiet intimacy of the moment was grounding, yet the words you needed to say caught in your throat like thorns.

He noticed, of course. Xaden always noticed. His hands, rough and calloused yet achingly gentle, tightened slightly on your hips. “You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, his voice still carrying the rasp of sleep. “Too quiet. That usually means there’s something weighing on you.”

You swallowed, staring down at the vibrant arrangement in your hands. The roses seemed brighter now, almost glaring in their perfection. You set the bouquet down carefully on the counter, buying yourself a moment to gather your thoughts.

“It’s not an easy thing to explain,” you began, your voice softer than you intended. “I love Violet and Aaric. I really do. They’ve both been through so much, and seeing them find this kind of happiness after everything…” You paused, exhaling shakily. “It’s beautiful. I love that they invited us to meet their son. I want to be there for them. I do.”

Xaden didn’t say anything, but his presence behind you was steady and grounding. His thumbs traced slow, comforting circles against your hips, silently encouraging you to continue.

“It’s just…” You hesitated, your fingers brushing absently against the edge of the countertop. “It’s complicated. You and Violet—you’ll always have this bond because of Sgaeyl and Tairn. And I know that’s not something either of you chose, but it’s there. It always will be.”

His silence was heavy, but it wasn’t impatient. He was giving you the space to speak without interruption, and for that, you were grateful.

“And now, with Alic…” You trailed off, biting your lip. The name felt heavy on your tongue, weighted with a history you weren’t sure you could untangle. “He’s theirs, Xaden. Their son. And I know it’s irrational, but it makes me feel…awkward. Like I don’t belong in this part of their lives. Like I’m intruding on something I can never fully understand.”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and the moment they did, you felt the sharp sting of vulnerability settle in your chest. You turned your head slightly, catching Xaden’s gaze. His dark eyes were unreadable for a moment, his expression guarded yet softened by something that looked like understanding.

“Say something,” you whispered, the weight of your confession pressing down on you.

Xaden’s lips pressed together, his brow furrowing slightly as he processed your words. Then, slowly, he shifted, turning you in his arms so that you were facing him fully. His hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing lightly over your cheekbones. The tenderness in his touch sent a pang through your chest.

“You’re not intruding,” he said, his voice low but steady. “And you’re not irrational. This…all of this…it’s complicated as hell. I won’t deny that. But you have just as much of a place in this as anyone else. Violet and Aaric invited us because they care about us, because they want us to be part of their lives. Not because they feel obligated, not because of the bond between Sgaeyl and Tairn, but because they trust us. They trust you.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. The gesture was intimate, grounding, and it silenced you before you could protest.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” Xaden continued, his voice softer now. “But you don’t have to figure this out alone. We’ll go. We’ll meet Alic. And if it feels awkward or messy or too much, then we’ll leave. Together. But you’re not an outsider in this, love. You’re mine, and that makes you part of everything I am.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping the fabric of his sweatpants as if anchoring yourself to him. His words settled over you like a balm, easing the ache in your chest.

“You always know what to say,” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly.

He smirked, leaning back just enough to brush his lips against yours. “Only because I know you better than you think.”

You smiled softly, the tension easing slightly as Xaden’s words sank in. His hands were still cradling your face, his dark eyes searching yours with a mixture of tenderness and quiet intensity. But even now, you couldn’t help the teasing edge that slipped into your voice.

“Did you read my intentions just now?” you asked, tilting your head playfully as you raised an eyebrow at him.

Xaden’s lips twitched, the beginnings of a smirk forming. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re doing that thing,” you continued, pretending to be serious even as the corner of your mouth quirked upward. “The whole ‘I know exactly what you’re thinking before you say it’ thing. Did you read my mind or something? Because I didn’t feel you reaching through the block.”

His smirk deepened, and the low chuckle that escaped him sent warmth curling in your chest. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“You didn’t deny it.” You grinned now, leaning into his touch just a little more. “I’m onto you, Xaden Riorson. Admit it—you’ve been secretly reading my mind this whole time.”

“I don’t need to read your mind to know you,” he countered smoothly, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your lips. “You’re an open book to me. Always have been.”

You scoffed, trying and failing to suppress the flutter in your chest. “That’s what someone who’s secretly been reading my intentions would say.”

His smirk grew wicked, and before you could react, his arms tightened around you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. A squeal of surprise escaped you as he spun you around, his laugh rumbling against your back like a thunderstorm.

“Keep teasing me,” he said, setting you back down but keeping you firmly in his grasp. “And I might have to prove just how well I know you.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, breathless but grinning. “You’re too soft to prove anything right now. You just woke up.”

Xaden leaned down until his lips were hovering just above your ear, his voice dropping to that dangerously low tone that always made your knees weak. “Careful, sunshine. I might be soft now, but I can change that.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you were utterly still, caught in the heat of his words. Then you shoved lightly at his chest, laughing as you pulled away. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you love it,” he said, his smirk softening into a genuine smile as he pulled you back into his arms.

You didn’t argue, because he was absolutely right.

You couldn’t help the giggle that slipped out, light and airy as it escaped your lips. It started softly, barely more than a sound of breath, but quickly grew until you were grinning, the tension in your chest unravelling completely. Xaden tilted his head at you, his dark brows raising in that way he always did when he caught you in a moment he didn’t entirely understand but found entertaining nonetheless.

“What?” he asked, his voice filled with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. His arms were still looped loosely around your waist, keeping you close, his body warm and steady against yours.

You shook your head, biting your lip as another laugh bubbled up. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice light and almost incredulous, like the weight you’d been carrying had been lifted so suddenly you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. “I was so worked up about it—about everything—but now… I don’t know. I just feel excited. Like—there’s a baby in the squad now. A baby, Xaden.”

The words tumbled out of you in a rush, and the giddiness in your voice was impossible to miss. You let out another giggle, leaning your head against his chest as the realization fully hit you. “I mean, how weird is that? After everything we’ve been through—revolutions, battles, betrayals—and now we’ve got… a baby. In the squad. Can you even imagine?”

Xaden’s lips twitched, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think Alic’s going to be taking on Threshing anytime soon, if that’s what you mean.”

You snorted, swatting playfully at his chest. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. I just… I don’t know, I think it’s kind of amazing. After everything we’ve lost, everything we’ve fought for, there’s this little life now. Something innocent and good. It feels… hopeful.”

The words came out quieter, softer now, and you looked up at him, your eyes shining with a mixture of emotion and newfound excitement. Xaden’s gaze softened, his usual sharpness giving way to something warm and unguarded. He reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for a moment before trailing down to your jaw.

“It is hopeful,” he agreed, his voice steady and certain. “And you’re allowed to feel excited about it. You’re allowed to feel everything, even if it’s messy.”

You smiled at him, your heart swelling as his words settled over you. And then, as if you couldn’t contain yourself any longer, you let out another laugh, stepping back slightly but grabbing his hands in yours. “Can you imagine? Violet’s probably already teaching him strategies to overthrow the government, and Aaric’s probably arguing about which flying technique is the safest for kids.”

Xaden chuckled, the sound low and warm, and you could feel the tension in him ease as well. “They’ll be lucky if Alic doesn’t try to steal a dragon egg by the time he’s ten.”

You laughed harder, the sound filling the kitchen like sunlight. “I mean, I wouldn’t put it past him. With parents like that? He’s bound to be trouble.”

“And if Sgaeyl and Tairn have anything to say about it,” Xaden added, his smirk growing. “The kid’s going to have two of the most overprotective dragons in history watching his every move.”

“Oh, definitely.” You shook your head, still smiling. “Can you imagine Sgaeyl trying to teach him manners? She’ll probably lecture him about posture and poise while Tairn sneaks him extra treats behind her back.”

The thought sent you into another fit of giggles, and Xaden finally broke, laughing quietly along with you. He pulled you back into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as your laughter finally subsided into a contented sigh.

“You’re something else,” he murmured, his voice soft against your hair. “You know that?”

You looked up at him, your smile still lingering. “Yeah, but you love it.”

He smirked, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. “I really do.”

You were still smiling, the warmth of your earlier laughter lingering as you glanced back at the bouquet on the counter. A faint hum of excitement buzzed through you, thoughts of tiny Alic and the strange, hopeful future ahead swirling in your mind. You reached out to adjust one of the flowers, still chattering, your voice light and teasing.

“Do you think Violet and Aaric are ready for the chaos? I mean, a baby with their genes? That’s a future instigator of revolutions if I’ve ever seen one—”

You trailed off mid-sentence, realizing Xaden hadn’t responded. Slowly, you turned to glance at him over your shoulder, expecting to see his usual smirk or a quip forming on his lips. Instead, he was just… watching you.

His dark eyes were fixed on you, unblinking, his expression unreadable. There was no teasing smirk, no sharp remark. Just an intensity that made you feel like he was seeing through every layer of you, like he was memorizing the way the morning light kissed your face, the way your lips quirked as you spoke, the way your fingers danced absentmindedly over the counter.

“What?” you asked softly, tilting your head at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He didn’t answer right away, and the silence stretched, leaving you confused and just a little unsettled. You shifted your weight, your brows furrowing as you studied him. “Xaden?”

Still, he said nothing, and the longer he stared, the more your nerves bubbled to the surface. “Okay, seriously, are you trying to read my intentions again? Because I’m telling you right now, there’s nothing particularly exciting happening in my head.”

That earned the faintest twitch of his lips, but it wasn’t the reaction you were expecting. He just shook his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours.

“You’re doing it again,” you said, your voice quieter now, edged with curiosity. “The whole mysterious, brooding thing. What are you thinking?”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice low and almost hesitant. “Nothing,” he said, his words deliberate, like he was choosing them carefully. “I just… You’re incredible. That’s all.”

Your confusion deepened for a moment before your chest tightened, warmth flooding through you at the sincerity in his tone. “Xaden,” you started, but he cut you off, stepping closer and lifting a hand to brush his fingers against your cheek.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You have no idea how incredible you are, do you?”

You blinked up at him, his words sinking in slowly, leaving you momentarily speechless. The weight of his gaze, the warmth in his touch, it was all so much and yet not overwhelming. It was grounding, like standing at the edge of something vast and infinite, knowing that he was there to catch you if you fell.

“I—” you started, your voice faltering slightly before you cleared your throat. “You can’t just say things like that, you know.”

His lips twitched, but the smirk that usually accompanied his teasing remarks didn’t fully form. Instead, he cupped your face with both hands, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. “Why not? It’s true.”

You scoffed lightly, though the warmth spreading through your chest betrayed your attempt to play it cool. “Because it’s not fair. You say something like that, and now I’m the one who doesn’t know what to say.”

“That’s a first,” he said, his tone lighter now, though the depth in his gaze didn’t waver. “You’re never at a loss for words.”

“Guess you’ve finally managed to shut me up,” you quipped, your voice soft but carrying the hint of a smile.

His lips finally curved into a proper smirk, and he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ll consider it one of my greatest accomplishments.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound quiet and warm between the two of you. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

The teasing glint in his eyes was back now, but there was something deeper there too—something steady and unyielding. His hands slid from your face to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The heat of him, the strength in his hold, it was all-consuming in the best way.

“I’m still here,” you agreed softly, your hands sliding up his bare chest to rest against his shoulders. “And I always will be. No matter how insufferable you get.”

His expression softened at your words, and for a moment, the teasing melted away, leaving nothing but raw honesty in its place. “Good,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The vulnerability in his words, in his tone, sent a shiver down your spine. You reached up, your fingers brushing through his dark, unruly hair, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “You’re stuck with me, Riorson. Get used to it.”

“Gladly,” he murmured, his voice low and rich with promise as he pulled you even closer, the world outside fading away entirely.

You pulled back just enough to glance at him, a playful glint returning to your eyes as the weight of the moment lightened. “Alright, enough of the sentimental stuff,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, but the grin tugging at your lips gave you away. “You’re going to help me wrap this bouquet, right?”

Xaden raised an eyebrow, his fingers still resting on your waist. He seemed amused by the sudden shift in mood, but there was no hesitation in his gaze as he nodded. “I didn’t realize I was a florist now, but for you? Anything.”

You laughed, stepping away from him and moving toward the counter where the bouquet was resting. “Good. I’m pretty sure I’m going to need all the help I can get. And since I’m not exactly a professional when it comes to flower arrangements—” You gestured vaguely at the messy array of stems and petals, “—I think it’s only fair that you do your part.”

Xaden grinned, following you to the counter, his hands resting on the edge as he looked down at the flowers with a mock seriousness. “Alright, what’s the plan? Do I need to make them look pretty, or are we going for the ‘just throw a bunch of stuff together and hope for the best’ look?”

“Definitely the first option,” you teased, picking up the roll of floral wrap and a pair of scissors. “I’m not leaving here with a disaster on my hands. I need this to be at least presentable.”

He made a show of dramatically inspecting the bouquet, his eyes narrowing as if the flowers were a puzzle only he could solve. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” he said with a smirk, clearly enjoying the chance to tease you right back.

You handed him the roll of floral wrap, and he immediately began unrolling it, his focus intense as he fumbled with the edges. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. “You look like you’ve never wrapped a gift in your life.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m an expert at unwrapping things,” he shot back, his smirk widening as he glanced over at you.

“Oh, I’m sure you are.” You rolled your eyes playfully, moving to straighten the flowers as he awkwardly tried to manage the wrap. “Just try to keep it together, okay? We need this to look like it wasn’t made by a toddler.”

With exaggerated concentration, Xaden carefully arranged the wrap around the stems, but his movements were all slow and deliberate, as if he was savouring every moment of the task. You could tell it wasn’t exactly second nature to him, but there was something endearing about his determination.

“I don’t know if it’s the flowers or the fact that I’m just trying not to make a mess, but I feel like I’m getting a crash course in floral design,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Well, consider it a life skill,” you teased, watching him carefully as he worked. “Every person should know how to wrap a bouquet. It’s a part of being an adult.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied dryly, finishing the wrap with surprisingly decent precision. “How’s that?”

You took a step back to inspect his work, your lips curving into a smile at the sight. It wasn’t perfect, but it was definitely good enough for what you needed, and the effort he’d put in was more than enough to make you appreciate it. “Not bad, Riorson. I’ll let you keep your ‘florist’ title for now.”

He gave a smug little nod. “I knew I had it in me.”

“Alright, now let’s tie this off.” You handed him the twine, and without missing a beat, he wrapped it around the stems, securing everything in place with surprising ease.

When he finished, you stepped back, your hands on your hips as you surveyed the bouquet. “I think we make a pretty good team.”

“Sure, if you’re into making flowers look presentable,” Xaden replied with a teasing smirk.

You grinned at him, feeling lighter than you had in days. “You know, I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.” He gave you a knowing look, stepping closer and brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “After all, I’m the one who helped make this bouquet look almost perfect.”

You carefully set the bouquet into the water, making sure the flowers were resting comfortably in the glass vase, the soft morning light highlighting their delicate petals. The faint scent of roses filled the air, and for a brief moment, everything felt serene, like the calm before the storm of excitement about to follow. You stepped back, admiring the bouquet before turning to leave the kitchen.

Just as you stepped into the hallway, you felt a pair of strong arms slip around your waist, lifting you effortlessly off your feet. A startled laugh escaped you as Xaden’s presence enveloped you. “Alright, what are you doing?” you asked, your voice a mix of surprise and amusement.

Xaden didn’t answer immediately, only holding you securely against him. You glanced up at him, catching the way his lips curved into a playful smirk, his eyes dark with that signature look of mischief. “I’m carrying you,” he said, matter-of-factly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow, half amused, half baffled. “What happened to I’m just going to stand here and look at you like you’ve lost your mind?”

He gave a low chuckle, carrying you effortlessly as he started up the stairs toward the bedroom. “I figured we could mix things up a bit,” he said. “Besides, you’ve got enough on your mind with the baby talk. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t overexert yourself.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny the way your heart fluttered at his gentleness. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah.” His voice was light, teasing, but there was a tenderness behind it that made you relax against him.

You couldn’t help but grin at the easy banter, but as he carried you into the bedroom, you found yourself feeling a sudden surge of excitement that wasn’t entirely about the bouquet or the quiet morning. You had been looking forward to hearing all about Violet’s baby, and you wanted to share what you’d learned from Brennan and Mira.

“You know, Brennan and Mira are absolutely over the moon about Alic,” you said, your voice soft with affection as you settled against his chest, your fingers tracing light patterns along his arm. “They met him yesterday.”

Xaden’s grip on you tightened slightly, but his eyes remained focused on the path ahead. “Yeah?” He tilted his head, genuinely curious. “What’d they say?”

“They’re completely taken with him. Brennan couldn’t stop talking about how perfect he is, how he already has his eyes, like Violet's, and how he's got this little furrowed brow when he’s thinking,” you said with a fond smile, the image of the baby, so new and innocent, filling your mind. “Mira kept going on about how tiny his hands are, and how he’s going to grow up with so much personality because Violet’s already spoiling him rotten.”

Xaden’s lips quirked at the mention of Violet spoiling her son. “I don’t think she’s going to have much of a choice, considering the way Tairn’s already attached to the kid.”

“Oh, definitely,” you agreed, laughing softly. “Mira was saying Tairn is practically hovering over him, like he's the new baby dragon. She said if Alic makes the slightest noise, Tairn’s on alert.”

Xaden’s expression softened at that, his eyes briefly flicking over to the side. “Can’t say I blame him. It’s probably strange, for all of them, having a baby in the family after everything that’s happened.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely a change.” You paused, your fingers lightly brushing against his chest as you leaned into him more, your mind turning over the complexities of the situation. “But, I think it’s a good change. Like… a new chapter. For everyone.”

Xaden was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was low and thoughtful. “I’m glad we’re part of it. I’m glad you’re part of it.”

As Xaden stepped through the door of your bedroom, he gave a small sigh, lowering you gently onto the bed. You shifted slightly in his arms before your feet hit the ground, and without a second thought, you darted toward your vanity across the room. The soft light from the window illuminated the space, casting everything in a gentle glow that made the room feel peaceful—but not peaceful enough to stop you from running around like a whirlwind.

Xaden blinked in mild confusion, watching you rush to the vanity. His brow furrowed as he leaned against the doorframe, his eyes tracing your movements. “It’s still early, you know. You don’t need to get all dressed up this early,” he said, a note of concern in his voice, though there was amusement tugging at the corners of his lips.

You didn’t even glance at him as you practically flung yourself into the chair at your vanity, pulling open the drawers to rummage for your essentials. “I have to make a good first impression, Xaden. It’s important.” You replied in a voice that was far more serious than it should’ve been, though there was an undercurrent of excitement. Your hands worked quickly, pulling your hairbrush through your tangled hair, ignoring the small knots as you made the swift, efficient motions.

Xaden’s confusion deepened. “First impression? Who exactly are you trying to impress this early in the morning?”

You paused for only a second, catching the glint of his dark eyes in the mirror’s reflection. Your hands didn’t stop moving, however, as you pulled a strand of hair back from your face and began curling it with a quick flick of your wrist. “Alic,” you said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You focused on smoothing down a few stray strands of hair, your motions precise. “I’m meeting him today, and I need to look like I didn’t just roll out of bed.”

Xaden’s eyebrows shot up as he slowly walked over to the side of the bed, clearly still processing. “You’re getting ready for a baby?” he asked, the bemusement in his voice barely contained. “He’s, what, like… a day or so old?”

“Exactly!” You practically bounced in the chair, turning to face him with a grin as you applied a light coat of mascara to your lashes. “And I need him to know that Auntie YN is cool. You know, I’ve got to look the part.” You winked at him through the mirror, your energy suddenly sky-high.

Xaden crossed his arms, leaning against the dresser now, clearly bewildered but trying to hold back his own laugh. “You’re serious,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re over here getting dressed up for a baby that can’t even see straight yet?”

You threw your head back with a laugh, a quick, light sound that bounced off the walls. “It’s all about the vibe, Xaden. First impressions are everything. Even for babies.”

Xaden just watched you, his eyes softening as he took in the way your hands moved with such precision, as if every moment mattered. He didn’t interrupt as you finished curling your hair and began lightly applying makeup, your face growing more polished with each swipe of product.

“Alright, alright,” he said, his tone a mix of mockery and affection. “But if you end up spending all this time getting ready, you might miss your chance to actually hold the kid.”

You shot him a side-eye, your grin playful. “I’m making sure I look good doing it.”

Xaden raised an eyebrow, looking over your work so far. Your hair was falling in soft waves, and your makeup was subtle but perfect, enhancing your natural features. You really did look like you were about to step into the room and make a strong impression—not just on a baby, but on anyone who saw you.

He couldn’t help but smile at you, the affectionate look in his eyes finally matching the teasing grin he often wore. “Well, I’m just glad you’re not trying to impress anyone else, or I’d be jealous.”

Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you finished adjusting the last strand of hair. You gave him an exaggerated pout. “Oh please, Xaden. You know you’re the only one who can keep up with me.”

Xaden stretched out on the bed, feeling the cool sheets beneath him as he let out a deep breath. The energy from the morning was still buzzing in his veins, but his body was craving the soft embrace of rest. He had no intention of fully falling back asleep, but the idea of relaxing for just a few more minutes sounded too good to pass up. His eyes flickered over to you as you adjusted yourself by the vanity, but his thoughts quickly drifted to Violet.

With a mental nudge, he reached out to the bond between him and Violet. His connection to her wasn’t one he used lightly—only in moments like this, when he felt the pull of the bond, like he needed to check in on her.

The warmth of her presence washed over him, the familiar sense of her emotions seeping through the bond, like a slow-moving river that always carried the weight of their history. He settled into the connection, finding a calm, steady rhythm in the flow of her thoughts.

Violence? he sent, his voice playful as he mentally prodded her.

There was a brief pause before her response came through, thick with exhaustion but also laced with amusement. Xaden... Her voice was soft, a little worn, like she had been through a battle. Which, in a sense, she had. What do you want?

Xaden couldn’t hold back a chuckle, his mind’s touch light as he teased. You’re the one who woke me up, Violet.

Her mental voice tightened with a hint of surprise. What?

He grinned, imagining her expression even though they weren’t physically in the same space. You didn’t close me off when you gave birth. Your emotions flooded through the bond, and now I’m awake since then in fear of a surprise attack. Thanks for that.

There was a brief moment of silence on her end, and then Violet’s mental voice returned, slightly breathless and tinged with embarrassment. Oh, shit. I’m so sorry. I must’ve forgotten to—

Yeah, I can tell. He mentally laughed, not really bothered by it. His tone was playful, like an old friend joking about an old habit. But I’m glad you’re doing alright, even if you forgot to close me off like you usually do. You know, the next time you're about to have a life-changing experience, I’d appreciate a little heads-up.

Violet’s response was a soft groan, and he could practically feel the weight of her exhaustion in the brief shift of her emotions. I didn’t exactly plan on having to keep track of all that right now, Xaden. It wasn’t exactly a quiet birth.

He smiled, his connection to her soothing as he reached out with a comforting thread. You don’t have to explain. I can only imagine what it was like. How’s the little guy?

Violet’s mental presence softened, and there was a warmth in her emotions as she shared a picture of little Alic in her mind, a tiny bundle wrapped in blankets. He’s perfect. Just… a little overwhelming, you know? But he’s perfect.

Xaden’s heart softened at the image, feeling his affection for her and her son surge through the bond. You’re handling it like a pro. But you’re going to be on your feet in no time, just like always.

There was a pause before Violet responded, a wry edge to her mental tone. I hope so, because I’m not sure I can handle much more of this. It’s not exactly easy, especially with Tairn being so... She hesitated, unsure how to describe the dragon’s devotion to his new son.

Overprotective? Xaden offered with a chuckle, knowing full well how Tairn could be. The dragon had a soft spot for Violet, and now that her son was here, it only made sense that the dragon would be just as protective.

Exactly. Violet’s mental voice was tinged with humour, but there was a fatigue to it as well. If he wasn’t so big, I’d say he’s just a big baby himself.

Xaden laughed at that, the sound filling the space around him. You two are alike in more ways than you think.

Violet snorted mentally, though it was accompanied by a fond affection for her bond with Tairn. Maybe. But I’m not sure I’m ready for this. There’s so much I need to figure out.

And you will, Xaden reassured her, his tone steady. One step at a time. Besides, you’ve got plenty of people who’ve got your back. Everyone’s here for you.

There was a moment of silence before Violet’s mental presence softened again, almost as though she was sinking into her exhaustion. Thanks, Xaden. I don’t know what I’d do without you... and without the rest of them.

Xaden smiled, his heart warm with the unspoken bond between them. You’re not alone, Violet. Never have been.

She gave a mental sigh of relief, a quiet smile in her voice. Good to know. Now, I’m going to try and get some sleep before I’m asked to be social again.

Sleep well, Violet, Xaden responded, his mental touch lighter now. And remember to close me off next time.

He could almost feel her smirk through the bond as she replied. I’ll try not to forget. No promises though.

With a final chuckle, Xaden broke the connection.

You stepped back into the bedroom, brushing your hands against your dress to smooth out invisible wrinkles, your energy practically radiating as you prepared for the day ahead. The bouquet was ready, you were dressed to make an impression, and everything felt like it was starting to come together. Xaden was sprawled out on the bed, his head propped up on one arm, his relaxed posture a stark contrast to your whirlwind of activity.

He turned his head to you as you entered, his dark eyes softening with a flicker of amusement. “You’re buzzing around like a little sparrow,” he teased, his deep voice warm and steady. “I feel like I should warn Alic to brace himself.”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh, grabbing a stray hairpin from the vanity and tucking it into your hair. “I’m just excited, okay? I want to be ready.”

Xaden chuckled and sat up, resting his forearms on his knees. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he spoke again, his tone shifting to something quieter, more thoughtful. “I spoke to Violet through our bond a few minutes ago.”

That caught your attention immediately, and you turned toward him, your hands stilling in your hair. “You did?” you asked, your brow furrowing slightly in curiosity. “How are they? How’s Alic?”

“They’re good,” Xaden said, his voice softening further, as if the weight of the bond lingered in his chest. “Violet’s tired—she didn’t exactly get much sleep last night—but she’s okay. Aaric’s handling it well too, from what I could sense.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you stepped closer to the bed, sitting on the edge beside him. “That’s a relief,” you said quietly, your voice filled with genuine warmth. “I’ve been wondering how they’re holding up, especially Violet. This is such a huge change for her.”

Xaden reached out, his fingers brushing lightly over yours as he gave a small nod. “It is, but she’s tougher than she thinks. She’s already so smitten with him, and Tairn’s practically glued to her side. I think she’s going to be just fine.”

The tenderness in his voice made your heart ache in the best way, and you squeezed his hand lightly. “That’s good to hear,” you murmured, your mind already imagining Violet with her son, Aaric by her side, the love between them shining bright.

Xaden’s thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly, his gaze fixed on you as if weighing his next words carefully. “We should head down to see them in about an hour or so,” he said, his voice low but certain. “Give them a little more time to settle before we show up.”

You nodded, the idea making sense, but you couldn’t resist teasing him just a little. “Oh, so now you’re the one telling me to slow down?” you asked with a playful smirk. “Weren’t you the one practically dragging me out of bed last week to spar at dawn?”

Xaden raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a grin. “That’s different. Sparring is a necessity. This? This is you trying to impress a newborn.”

You laughed, leaning into him slightly. “Touché. But fine, we’ll wait an hour. I can pace myself.”

“Good,” he said, leaning back on his hands as he watched you with that relaxed, confident air that was so uniquely his. “And maybe in the meantime, you can stop fretting about whether Alic will like you. He’s a baby, YN. He’s not going to hold you to some impossible standard.”

“I’m not fretting,” you protested, though the faint blush on your cheeks betrayed you. “I just want to make a good impression. You only get one first meeting with a baby, you know.”

Xaden’s laughter was deep and rich, and he leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “You’re unbelievable,” he said affectionately, his breath warm against your skin. “But that’s one of the things I love about you.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you leaned into his touch for a brief moment before pulling back with a grin. “Alright, fine. I’ll calm down—for now. But when that hour’s up, you’d better be ready to go.”

Xaden smirked, his gaze following you as you moved to the other side of the room to grab your shoes. “I’m always ready, sunshine. The real question is, are you?”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face said everything. Today was going to be a good day.

Two hours later, you found yourself standing outside Violet and Aaric’s bedroom door, the hallway quiet except for the faint hum of activity somewhere deeper in the house. Xaden stood beside you, holding the bouquet you had painstakingly put together earlier that morning, though his grip on it was far from what you’d call ideal.

“Xaden,” you whispered sharply, your eyes narrowing at him as you adjusted your hold on the box of baked goods in your arms. “You’re holding it wrong.”

He turned to you, eyebrows raised in amusement. “How am I holding it wrong? It’s flowers, YN, not a sword.”

You huffed, reaching out with one hand to tug the stems slightly so they rested more evenly in his grasp. “You’re crushing the leaves on this side,” you muttered, fussing over the arrangement. “I spent forever making it perfect, and now you’re about to walk in there like it’s been through a hurricane.”

Xaden smirked, his free hand brushing against yours as he let you adjust the bouquet to your liking. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“I am,” you replied, standing back to assess the bouquet in his hands, now satisfied that it was presentable. “First impressions matter, and you’re not ruining this one with your terrible flower-holding skills.”

“Noted,” he said, his smirk widening as he adjusted his stance slightly, now holding the bouquet with exaggerated care. “Better?”

“Much,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Now, just stand there and look charming. I’ve got the baked goods covered.”

Xaden gave a soft laugh, but his eyes flickered to the door as you raised your hand to knock. The sound was light but deliberate, and you shifted slightly on your feet, the box of goods balanced carefully in your arms.

The door opened after a moment, revealing Aaric, his expression warm and welcoming despite the exhaustion visible in his eyes. His blonde hair was slightly dishevelled, and he looked like a man who hadn’t had much sleep but was still running on the high of becoming a father.

“Aaric,” you greeted, your voice bright with excitement as you offered him a warm smile. “Hi! We brought some things for you and Violet.”

Aaric’s gaze flickered between you and Xaden, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks,” he said, his tone genuinely appreciative as he stepped back to let you both in. “Come on in. She’s just feeding Alic right now.”

As you stepped into the room, you caught the faint scent of lavender and something warm, like freshly laundered blankets. The space was cozy, and though it was clear they were still settling into this new phase of life, there was an undeniable sense of peace here.

Xaden gave Aaric a small nod as he stepped inside, holding the bouquet with exaggerated precision, which didn’t go unnoticed by Aaric. “Nice flowers.” Aaric said with a teasing grin, glancing at Xaden.

You bit back a laugh. “Ignore him,” you said to Aaric, your tone light. “He’s been subjected to flower-handling lessons all morning.”

Aaric chuckled softly, closing the door behind you. “I’ll make sure Violet appreciates the effort.” He gestured toward the small seating area near the window. “You can sit if you want. She’ll be out in just a minute.”

You glanced at Xaden, who shrugged slightly before moving to set the bouquet down on the nearby table with a carefulness that made you stifle another laugh.

As Aaric gestured for you to sit, you set the box of baked goods on the table and turned toward him, your curiosity getting the better of you. He looked tired, but there was an undeniable happiness in the way he moved and spoke, like he was still soaking in the reality of his new life.

“How have you been?” you asked gently, tilting your head as you took a seat on the edge of one of the chairs. Your voice was warm but laced with genuine concern. “I mean, it’s only been a few days, but… how are you really holding up?”

Aaric ran a hand through his slightly dishevelled hair, the corners of his mouth lifting into a tired smile. “It’s been… a whirlwind, honestly,” he admitted, leaning against the back of a chair near you. “Violet’s doing great, but it’s a lot to process. I didn’t think I could function on this little sleep.”

You smiled softly at his candour. “It sounds like you’re handling it pretty well. I mean, you’re still standing, so that’s a win.”

He chuckled at that, shaking his head. “Barely. Alic’s got a strong set of lungs for someone so tiny. But seeing him—holding him—it’s…” Aaric paused, his voice softening as he searched for the right words. “It’s something else. Nothing can prepare you for it.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache in the best way. “It sounds like you’re already an amazing dad,” you said earnestly. “And Violet… how’s she doing? Is she okay?”

Aaric’s expression softened even more at the mention of his wife. “She’s incredible,” he said quietly, his voice full of pride. “Even when she’s exhausted, she’s so focused on Alic. She’s a natural with him. I just keep trying to make sure she gets enough rest and doesn’t push herself too hard.”

You nodded, your admiration for Violet only growing. “That sounds like her. Always taking on the world without hesitation. But I’m glad she has you to look out for her.”

Aaric smiled at that, his gaze dropping to the bouquet on the table. “She’s lucky to have friends like you and Xaden too,” he said, his tone genuine. “It means a lot that you’re here.”

“Of course,” you replied softly, glancing over at Xaden, who was leaning against the wall, quietly observing the conversation with his arms crossed. His gaze flicked to you, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, as if to silently echo Aaric’s sentiment.

“Well,” you added, looking back at Aaric with a playful grin. “If you need backup for anything—diapers, baby cuddles, sneaking in naps—just let us know. We’re here for all of it.”

Aaric chuckled, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “I might take you up on that. Especially the nap part.”

The door to the adjoining room creaked open, and all three of you turned instinctively. Violet stepped into the room, her petite frame wrapped in a soft robe, her hair pulled back in a loose braid. Her arms were cradling a small bundle, swaddled snugly in a pale blue blanket.

“Hey,” Violet greeted softly, her voice warm but tired as her gaze swept over you, Xaden, and Aaric. There was a light in her eyes, one that was both new and deeply familiar—the quiet, fierce joy of a mother.

You felt your breath catch as you caught sight of Alic. He was impossibly small, his delicate features just visible beneath the edge of the blanket. His tiny hand peeked out, curling into the fabric, and for a moment, it felt like the entire room stilled, all attention focused on him.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Violet said with a small smile, shifting Alic slightly in her arms as she walked closer. “Feeding him took a little longer than I thought.”

“Take your time,” you assured her quickly, rising to your feet. “We weren’t in any rush.”

Xaden pushed off the wall, standing straighter as his dark eyes flickered to Alic. For all his usual confidence, there was a softness in his expression now, a quiet respect for the moment unfolding in front of him.

Violet moved to sit on the edge of the couch, her movements careful and deliberate. Aaric stepped forward instinctively, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder as he sat beside her, the silent support between them palpable.

You couldn’t help but inch closer, your gaze locked on the baby. “Oh my gods,” you breathed, a smile breaking across your face. “He’s perfect.”

Violet’s smile widened, and she tilted Alic slightly so you could see him better. “Meet Alic,” she said softly, her voice full of pride. “The newest—and loudest—member of the squad.”

You laughed quietly, leaning down to get a closer look. “He’s so tiny,” you murmured, your heart melting as you took in his delicate features—the tiny nose, the barely-there eyebrows, the faintest dusting of hair on his head. “And so cute. Violet, he’s beautiful.”

Violet’s cheeks flushed slightly, and she glanced down at Alic with a look of pure adoration. “He’s already stolen all of our hearts,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Even Tairn’s been quieter than usual, like he’s trying not to disturb him.”

You glanced at Xaden, who was still standing silently nearby, his eyes fixed on Alic with an unreadable expression. For a moment, you wondered what he was thinking, but before you could ask, Violet looked up at him.

“Want to hold him?” she asked, her voice gentle but teasing. “Or are you scared he’ll cry the second you touch him?”

Xaden’s lips twitched into a smirk, and he stepped forward, his usual confidence returning in full force. “I think I can handle it,” he replied, his voice low and steady.

As Violet carefully passed Alic to him, you watched the transition with a mixture of awe and curiosity. Xaden’s large hands cradled the tiny bundle with surprising gentleness, his movements careful and precise. He held Alic close, his expression softening as he looked down at the baby.

“Well?” Violet asked, her tone light but filled with affection. “What do you think?”

Xaden’s eyes didn’t leave Alic as he spoke. “He’s perfect,” he said simply, his voice carrying a quiet reverence that made your chest tighten.

You smiled, stepping closer to stand beside him. “Told you need a good first impression,” you teased softly, glancing up at him.

He met your eyes briefly, a rare warmth in his gaze. “You might be right about this one,” he admitted, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Violet and Aaric shared a look, their hands brushing briefly as they watched the moment unfold. It felt like the room was filled with something unspoken—a quiet bond between all of you, forged in the presence of new life and old friendships.

As Xaden stood there, holding Alic with a level of gentleness that almost didn’t seem possible for someone of his size and strength, you watched as something in his expression shifted. His dark brows furrowed just slightly, his gaze flickering—not at Violet, but at something unseen.

You knew that look.

He was reaching for their bond.

It was a connection that had existed long before you, something forged through their dragons, Tairn and Sgaeyl, being mates. It wasn’t something he could break, nor something Violet could ignore, no matter how much life had changed between them.

Violet, who had been watching him carefully, exhaled a small laugh through her nose, shaking her head as she adjusted the blanket around her lap. “Checking in again, Xaden?”

You turned your gaze toward him, curious but not surprised.

Xaden’s lips twitched slightly, though his eyes were still distant, as if he were focusing on something beyond the physical world. “Making sure you actually closed me off this time,” he murmured, voice carrying that dry amusement that only he could pull off. “Unlike during childbirth, when you conveniently forgot and woke me up at an ungodly hour.”

Violet rolled her eyes, but there was humour in them. “In my defence, I had more important things on my mind.”

Aaric chuckled, shaking his head. “Like bringing a person into the world?”

“Exactly,” Violet quipped, lifting her chin slightly in triumph. “Priorities.”

You smothered a laugh behind your hand, watching as Xaden’s gaze refocused, his attention snapping back to the present moment. He shook his head slightly, as if shaking off whatever emotions had bled through their bond.

“She’s exhausted,” he announced, though it was clear Violet already knew that. His gaze flicked down to Alic, still cradled in his arms. “But happy.”

You glanced between them, watching the way Violet’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as if there was something comforting in the confirmation—even if she hadn’t needed it.

Xaden exhaled, rolling his shoulders before turning his attention fully back to Alic. “And apparently, this one doesn’t know how to sleep unless someone’s holding him.”

Violet smirked. “Welcome to parenthood, Xaden.”

You nudged him lightly with your elbow. “You’re officially part of the baby squad now.”

He shot you a look, but there was no annoyance in it—just something softer, something unspoken. He didn’t argue. Didn’t deny it.

And you figured that was answer enough.

Xaden shifted slightly, adjusting Alic’s tiny body in his arms before glancing at you. His dark eyes gleamed with something unreadable—maybe amusement, maybe curiosity—as he lifted the baby just slightly toward you.

“Here,” he said casually, as if he were passing you a training weapon instead of a newborn.

Your eyes widened, and you instinctively took a step back, hands held up in protest. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I’ve never held a baby before.”

Xaden raised an eyebrow, looking between you and Alic. “And?”

“And that’s a really small, really fragile human being,” you said, voice slightly higher than usual. “I don’t even know how to—what if I drop him?”

Aaric snorted from his seat beside Violet. “You’re more likely to trip over your own feet than drop him.”

“That is not reassuring!” you shot back, your pulse kicking up at the thought of somehow doing this wrong.

Violet laughed softly, shifting forward in her seat. “I promise, it’s not as scary as you think,” she said gently. “He won’t break.”

Xaden, still holding Alic effortlessly, tilted his head at you. “You fight people with swords and dragons, but you’re afraid of holding a baby?”

You gave him a pointed glare. “Yes, because swords and dragons make sense! Babies are unpredictable and squishy.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re being pushy.”

Aaric leaned back, crossing his arms. “I, for one, am enjoying this.”

Violet elbowed him lightly but was clearly holding back a laugh.

Xaden sighed, his grip shifting slightly on Alic as he studied you. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice carrying that teasing edge. “Guess I’ll just have to keep him all to myself.”

You crossed your arms. “Good. You do that.”

Violet grinned. “You’ll cave eventually.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response—but deep down, you knew she was probably right. Aaric exhaled softly before pushing himself to his feet. He reached down, offering Violet his hand with a knowing look.

“Come on, Vi,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “You need to rest.” Violet blinked, clearly fighting exhaustion, but didn’t protest as Aaric gently pulled her up. She swayed slightly on her feet before leaning into him, her body visibly relaxing against his.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, though her eyelids were already drooping.

Aaric huffed a quiet laugh, steadying her as he led her toward the bedroom. “Sure you are.”

She didn’t argue, only letting out a soft hum as they disappeared into the adjoining room. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving the space suddenly quiet. You glanced toward Xaden, still holding Alic, his gaze fixed on the tiny sleeping baby in his arms. The room felt different now—smaller, more intimate.

“So,” you said after a moment, shifting slightly. “It’s just us and the baby now.”

Xaden hummed, a hint of amusement curling at the edge of his lips. “Looks like it.”

You eyed the newborn warily. “You’re still not handing him to me.”

His smirk widened. “Not yet.”

The room was quiet now, save for the soft crackling of the fireplace and the occasional shifting of Alic as he breathed in his sleep. The warmth of the space wrapped around you, making everything feel more intimate, more delicate.

Xaden still held Alic effortlessly, one strong arm supporting the tiny bundle while his other hand gently adjusted the baby’s blanket. His expression was unreadable, but there was a certain reverence in the way he looked down at the newborn, as if he were memorizing every detail of him.

You swallowed, watching him carefully. “You’re… really good at that.”

Xaden’s dark eyes flicked up to you, his brow lifting slightly. “At what?”

You gestured toward Alic, still keeping a careful distance. “Holding him. Like you’ve done this before.”

He smirked, tilting his head. “I haven’t.”

Your brows furrowed. “Then how are you so—”

“It’s not difficult,” he interrupted smoothly, shifting the baby slightly. “You just… hold him.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “That’s easy for you to say.”

His smirk deepened, amusement flickering in his gaze. “You’re really afraid of this, aren’t you?”

You hesitated, feeling a sudden rush of vulnerability at the realization. “I just… don’t want to do something wrong.”

Xaden was quiet for a moment, his expression softening just slightly. “You won’t.”

You let out a breath, shaking your head. “You don’t know that.”

He studied you for a long moment before shifting Alic slightly in his arms. “Come here.”

Your eyes widened. “Xaden—”

“I’m not handing him to you,” he said, cutting you off. “Just… come here.”

You hesitated, your feet rooted to the ground. But the way he was looking at you—calm, sure, unwavering—made something in you melt.

Slowly, cautiously, you stepped forward.

Xaden adjusted Alic in his arms, tilting him just slightly toward you, enough that you could get a closer look without having to hold him. The moment you were near enough, your gaze dropped to the baby’s tiny face.

Your breath caught.

Up close, Alic was impossibly small. His tiny nose, the way his mouth moved slightly in his sleep, the faintest furrow of his brow—it was overwhelming in a way you hadn’t expected.

Xaden watched you carefully. “See?” he murmured. “Not so scary.”

You exhaled softly, unable to tear your eyes away from the baby. “He’s so… small.”

Xaden chuckled under his breath. “They usually are.”

You shot him a quick glare before looking back at Alic. Your hand twitched at your side, a sudden urge filling your chest.

Xaden caught the movement instantly. “You want to touch him.”

You swallowed hard. “I don’t want to wake him up.”

“He sleeps through worse,” Xaden murmured. “Go ahead.”

You hesitated for only a second before slowly, carefully, lifting your hand. Your fingers barely brushed against the soft blanket wrapped around Alic’s tiny body.

Warm.

So warm.

A strange feeling swelled in your chest—something protective, something unfamiliar but deeply instinctual.

Xaden watched you the entire time, his expression unreadable. But there was something softer in his gaze, something almost knowing.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Okay,” you murmured. “Maybe I don’t fear babies.”

Xaden smirked. “Told you.”

Your fingertip barely grazed the soft fabric of Alic’s blanket before instinct took over, your hand moving with careful precision as if he were made of glass. The warmth of him seeped into your skin, delicate and impossibly small.

And then, without warning, his tiny fingers twitched.

You froze.

Alic’s hand, barely the size of your thumb, moved blindly before curling around your finger. His grip was weak, barely there, but it was enough.

Enough to make your breath catch.

Enough to shatter something deep inside you.

Your vision blurred instantly, and before you could even think to stop it, a tear slipped down your cheek. Then another. Xaden noticed immediately. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice lower, softer. “What’s wrong?”

You let out a shaky laugh, quickly swiping at your eyes with your free hand, but it was useless. The tears kept coming. “Nothing,” you whispered, your voice thick. “Absolutely nothing.”

Xaden didn’t say anything, but you felt the warmth of his presence beside you, steady and grounding. He watched as Alic’s tiny fingers remained wrapped around yours, his grip so small, so fragile—yet somehow the most unbreakable thing you’d ever felt.

You sniffled, glancing at Xaden with wet eyes. “He’s just… perfect.”

Xaden’s expression softened in a way you rarely saw, his usual sharp edges dulled by the weight of the moment. “Yeah,” he murmured, gaze flicking back down to the sleeping baby. “He really is.”

Alic shifted slightly, his little mouth opening in a quiet yawn before he settled again, still clutching onto you like you were something safe. And for the first time, you truly believed you were.

Xaden exhaled softly and adjusted Alic in his arms before stepping back toward the large armchair in the corner of the room. He sat down with an ease that made it seem like holding a baby was second nature to him, his movements fluid, instinctual. Alic barely stirred, still curled in the safety of his arms, small and warm against his chest.

You watched him, arms crossed, standing just a few feet away. Xaden tilted his head, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. “You’re still hesitating.”

“I am not,” you lied, your arms tightening slightly over your chest. His lips twitched in amusement. “You’re still afraid you’ll break him.” You huffed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “He’s so tiny, Xaden. What if—”

Your words cut off as something cool and familiar wrapped around your waist.

Shadows.

Before you could react, they slithered over your body in a controlled, precise motion, curling around your wrists, your thighs—everywhere they needed to be to move you effortlessly. A surprised gasp left your lips as they tugged you forward, pulling you toward the chair where Xaden sat.

“Oh, you—” you started, but your voice turned into a quiet laugh as the shadows guided you right into his lap.

Xaden didn’t even flinch as you landed against him, his free arm immediately wrapping around your waist to steady you. His smirk was pure arrogance. “You were saying?”

You shot him a glare, though there was no real heat behind it. “That was unnecessary.”

“That was effective.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he shifted Alic in his arms, drawing your attention back to the baby. And just like that, your frustration melted into something else—something softer.

Xaden’s voice was quieter now, more coaxing. “You’re going to have to hold him eventually.”

Your heart pounded as you looked down at the tiny bundle, your fingers twitching at your sides. Xaden saw it. Knew you were seconds away from giving in.

He adjusted Alic again, then carefully, slowly, guided the baby toward you. His movements were deliberate, giving you the chance to change your mind. But you didn’t. With a deep breath, you let him settle Alic into your arms.

The second the baby’s weight pressed into you, your entire body stiffened. “Xaden—”

“Relax,” he murmured, his hand still hovering beneath yours, steadying you. “You’ve got him.”

Alic barely stirred, his tiny body curling slightly against your chest, his warmth bleeding into you. Something in your chest ached.

Xaden pulled back just enough to give you space, but his shadows still lingered against your skin, cool and grounding. His arms stayed close, ready to steady you if needed.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “He’s so… small.”

Xaden’s smirk softened into something almost tender. “Yeah,” he said. “But you’re holding him just fine.”

The weight of Alic in your arms felt so impossibly light, yet it settled over you like something far heavier—something deeper. His tiny body was warm against you, his breaths soft and steady, little fingers twitching slightly in his sleep.

And then, it hit you.

A thick, overwhelming wave of emotion, crashing into you without warning.

Your throat tightened. Your vision blurred. A shuddering breath escaped before you could hold it back.

Xaden noticed immediately. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, softer.

You shook your head quickly, blinking against the tears threatening to spill. “I—I don’t know why,” you whispered, but that wasn’t entirely true.

It was everything.

It was the sheer innocence of the baby in your arms, the way he fit so perfectly against you despite your earlier fear. It was the tiny weight of him, the way his delicate fingers curled and uncurled slightly, completely unaware of the world around him. It was the fact that for the first time in your life, you were holding something so small, so fragile, and yet… he trusted you.

And he didn’t even know it.

A hiccupping sob broke free before you could stop it, and the first tear slipped down your cheek, then another.

Xaden shifted beneath you, his arms tightening slightly around your waist. His shadows curled around you instinctively, grounding, steadying. “You’re crying again.”

You let out a shaky laugh, swiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. “I—he’s just—” Your voice broke, and you took a breath, trying to steady yourself. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

Xaden was quiet for a moment. Then, his hand brushed against your back, slow and reassuring. “You don’t have to.”

That only made you cry harder.

You curled around Alic just slightly, cradling him closer, your fingers running carefully over the soft fabric of his blanket. He stirred just barely, making a tiny noise before settling again, completely at peace in your arms.

Your heart clenched painfully.

Xaden watched you, his expression unreadable, but there was something softer in the way he looked at you now—something almost knowing.

You sniffled, finally glancing up at him through blurry eyes. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you?”

His lips twitched. “I had a feeling.”

You let out another watery laugh, shaking your head as another tear slipped down your cheek. “I hate you.”

Xaden’s smirk deepened, his grip tightening around you. “No, you don’t.”

You sighed, glancing down at Alic again. The tears still wouldn’t stop, but for once, you didn’t care.

You sniffled, wiping at your cheeks, but the tears wouldn’t stop completely. The overwhelming warmth of Alic in your arms, his tiny weight pressed against you, was something you hadn’t expected to feel so deeply.

Xaden watched you, his smirk just barely restrained. “You going to be okay?”

You huffed out a shaky laugh, still cradling Alic close. “No.”

His smirk turned into something softer, his hand rubbing slow circles against your back. You glanced down at the sleeping baby, your heart still aching in the best way possible, and then—without really thinking—you blurted out, “What if we just took him?”

Xaden blinked. “What?”

You looked up at him, a mischievous glint breaking through your emotional haze. “What if we kidnapped him? Just… casually walked out of here with him. Think Aaric and Violet would notice?”

Xaden let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, I don’t know, love. Maybe when they realize their son is missing?”

You grinned, wiping at your face again. “We could make a run for it. I think we’d be great parents.” Xaden raised a brow, his shadows tightening around you almost instinctively. “You’re unhinged.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

You giggled, rocking Alic slightly. “I’m just saying, if we left right now—”

“I fear what the lightning wielder would do to us,” Xaden interrupted, his tone dry.

That made you laugh even harder. “Oh, come on, Vi wouldn’t kill us.”

“She wouldn’t kill you,” Xaden corrected. “I, on the other hand, would be dead before I stepped outside.” You considered that for a moment, then shrugged. “That’s fair.” Xaden rolled his eyes, though amusement still lingered in his expression. “Put the baby back before you get any more ideas.”

You sighed dramatically, looking down at Alic. “Fine. But just know, little one, I would’ve given you an excellent life.” You sighed dramatically again, shifting Alic slightly in your arms. “Fine, I guess we’ll let them keep him.”

Xaden huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Generous of you.”

You glanced down at the baby again, watching the way his tiny lips moved in his sleep, the peaceful rise and fall of his little chest. The warmth in your chest grew, deeper than before. “He really is perfect.”

Xaden’s shadows curled lazily around your waist, settling against your skin like a reassuring touch. ��Yeah,” he murmured. “He is.”

For a long moment, the room was quiet—just the crackling of the fireplace, the steady rhythm of Alic’s breaths, and the occasional rustling of Xaden’s shadows as they moved around you. It was a rare kind of peace, one you hadn’t expected to find in this moment.

Eventually, you sighed. “Alright, I should probably give him back before his parents wake up and accuse me of actually stealing him.”

Xaden smirked. “You mean before Vi electrocutes me on sight?”

“That too.”

He chuckled but didn’t argue, shifting slightly as he helped guide Alic from your arms. You hesitated as you let go, your fingers lingering against the soft blanket wrapped around him. Xaden noticed. “You can hold him again later.” You swallowed, nodding. “I know. Just… didn’t expect to get so attached this quickly.”

His smirk softened into something else, something knowing. “I did.”

You shot him a look, but before you could argue, a quiet rustling sound caught both your attention.

You turned just in time to see Violet stirring in bed, her hand instinctively reaching toward the empty space where Alic had been. Aaric shifted beside her, murmuring something under his breath before settling again.

You glanced at Xaden. “Guess that’s our cue.”

He nodded, standing with effortless ease, Alic still cradled securely in his arms. You followed as he moved toward the bed, carefully lowering the baby back into Violet’s waiting arms. She barely stirred as she tucked him close, instinctively settling into the warmth of her son.

Your chest ached at the sight.

Xaden lingered for a second, his gaze flicking between Violet and Alic before he exhaled quietly and stepped back. His fingers brushed against your wrist, a silent signal.

Time to go.

As you walked down the dimly lit hallway, Xaden’s arm still wrapped firmly around your waist, you couldn’t help but sigh. Your mind was still stuck on the feeling of Alic’s tiny hand wrapped around your finger, the warmth of him in your arms. It was ridiculous how quickly he’d burrowed into your heart.

Xaden must have noticed your distraction because his thumb traced slow, deliberate circles against your hip. “You’re thinking too hard.”

You huffed. “I do that sometimes.”

He smirked. “I’ve noticed.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into him anyway. His warmth was grounding, his presence something solid in the whirlwind of emotions still settling in your chest. After a few quiet steps, you sighed again, tipping your head up to look at him. “Do you think Violet and Aaric will let us babysit?”

Xaden barked out a laugh, his shadows flickering with amusement. “I think we’d have to get through Vi’s overprotective streak first.” You groaned. “Right. She’s going to hover, isn’t she?”

“Like a dragon over her hoard.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I guess that’s fair. If that were my kid, I wouldn’t let anyone near him either.”

Xaden’s arm around you tightened slightly at your words, and when you looked up at him again, something unreadable flickered in his expression. It was brief, gone in a blink, but you knew him too well to miss it.

You frowned. “What?”

His smirk returned, but it was softer now, less teasing. “Nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Liar.”

He just hummed in response, steering you toward your shared room.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, you turned fully to face him, crossing your arms. “Seriously. What was that look for?” Xaden studied you for a moment, his gaze sweeping over your face like he was debating something. Then, finally, he spoke. “I just think you’d be good at it.”

Your brow furrowed. “At what?”

His smirk deepened, but there was something almost careful in the way he said, “Being a mother.”

The words hit you like a physical thing, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your heart stuttered, eyes widening slightly as you stared up at him.

Xaden wasn’t teasing.

He wasn’t joking.

He meant it.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling too warm. “I—”

He stepped closer, his shadows brushing against your skin in that familiar, grounding way. “Relax,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “I’m not saying we should steal Alic for real.”

That pulled a surprised laugh from you, though it came out breathless. “Good. Because Violet would absolutely murder us.”

Xaden smirked, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “Without hesitation.”

You hesitated, searching his face. “But… you meant it.”

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

Your chest ached in a way you couldn’t quite put into words. The idea of a family—of something more, something real—it wasn’t something you’d let yourself dwell on before. But now…

Now you weren’t so sure.

Xaden seemed to read your thoughts, because he didn’t press further. Instead, he just tilted your chin up slightly, his lips brushing against your forehead in a rare, tender gesture.

“We’ve got time,” he murmured against your skin.

And somehow, that made your heart ache even more.

A/N: I was not intending it to get so long but eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek Credit to @empyreanevents for the divider

#fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #iron flame x reader #xaden x reader #fourth wing xaden #xaden rirorson x you #xaden riorson x reader #xaden riorson #xaden riorson x y/n #xaden riorson fanfic

724 notes · View notes

harmonysanreads · 15 days ago

Note

Hello! Wanting to follow up on one of your previous posts about Phainon, cause he has been living rent free in my mind. Cause like, being with a hero is almost sobering experience I feel- especially with someone like Phainon, who Aglaea has described as more or less being the perfect hero. Someone who is willing to take on the people's hopes and dreams and make them his own. In a way, his heart will never truly be your own, cause it also belongs to the people he has sworn to protect and serve. Regardless of how understanding or patient you are, I imagine a rift would begin to form between the two of you. Now, with this in mind, imagine a certain cloaked figure taking advantage of Phainon's folly. Flame Reaver witnessing you quietly enduring current Phainon's unintentional neglect, ie his attention being averted elsewhere when you two are together, continuous post-poned or rescheduled dates, or just the general feeling of being under appreciated. Even though deep down you know he cares and adores you, it still stings. But rather than "inconvenience" Phainon with your grievances, you bear it and grin through it all. Not wanting to burden him further with your true feelings on the matter.

Flame Reaver, ever the opportunist, decides to use this to his advantage. Capitalizing on his current self's mistakes, and becoming the succor you need. Presenting himself as Phainon in order to spend time with you when you need him the most, while his true self is occupied elsewhere. Monopolizing and cherishing every moment he has with you like its his last. Which it very well may be. And naturally, you notice the change, outside the obvious change in attentiveness from "Phainon", but also the way he carries himself. No longer your bright eyed, and bushy tailed puppy of a lover. But something more…mature, or even dangerous.

The question is, will you choose to see past his carefully crafted facade, revealing the wolf in sheep's clothing before you? Or, will you indulge in the beautifully crafted lie and revel in the ignorant bliss of your new found relationship?

So, I've been thinking about this concept for months now and I've gone through four drafts in exploration of it but, nothing had managed to satisfy me. Because I kept on having this nagging feeling that I was... missing something, the actual distinction between Phainon and Flame Reaver to be precise.

Then, version 3.3's story was released and we got to see a bit more of Flame Reaver's ‘personality’ and it clicked for me. I would've typed this down sooner but the past two months have been ridiculously hectic for me, so, apologies :')

The thing is, Flame Reaver is less of a complexly intelligent life-form and more of a... worn down, broken television that only displays one channel from time to time, the buzz of its antiquity persistent throughout. A small rebellion against a set of strictly constructed programs but, shattered nonetheless.

They say, even a broken clock is right twice a day. There may be nothing but a dreadful darkness surrounding the Flame Reaver's vision and only his objective may be the beacon which keeps him adrift that abyss, but still, there is a factor that triggers his long corrupted consciousness from that blind chase — you.

When Flame Reaver catches sight of you in this cycle, still tormented by the unfiltered radiance of the sun, he feels a harrowing ache somewhere within him. It's horrifying, because it pierces through that torpid haze and jolts that remaining humane fraction within him.

And so, he abandons all fragments of reason and forfeits before you.

Insects are lured in by sources of light, humans spectate the way they jump into their demise and question, how could they be so foolish?

When Phainon sees this, the supposed architect of his nightmares, grasping onto your form, croaking your name on repeat — he shudders. He cannot even find it in himself to blink, because he recognizes the way those bloody fingers cling to your skin, those distorted crises begging you to live — it is an all too familiar scene.

The end of that tragedy is but a blank page.

#phainon x reader #phainon x you #yandere phainon #yandere phainon x reader #hsr x reader #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #flame reaver #blueevileye

388 notes · View notes

meownotgood · 1 month ago

Text

all I need. / arcane herald!viktor x reader, 18+, reader is gender neutral (no anatomy is described, just that viktor is inside them), monsterfucking, mind meld, stomach bulge, size difference, marking, yearning, dom / sub undertones, praise, very slight degradation, aftercare. (pet names used for reader: little dove, little lamb, pet, love, my dear, beautiful, beloved) word count: 12.9k

read on ao3

════════════════════

The Herald of the Arcane closes two giant palms around your waist, the faux air around you shimmers, compresses — and he promptly lifts you to settle your weight on his thigh, as though you weigh absolutely nothing.

You could partially attribute it to the softening of gravity. He's carved out a slice of the arcane for just the two of you. A pocket of unreality that sizzles with color, envelops you in its embrace, and fractures in the edges of your vision like broken stained glass.

The Arcane Herald, for all his clear omnipotence, has tracked you back down to your shitty little apartment on the corner of the Zaun-Piltover bridge. He tapped the door with his knuckles, and ducked underneath the doorframe to casually push into your apartment. You have to crane your neck at a near-painful angle to look up at him. You can't help but find it funny. A nine-foot-tall amalgamation of Hextech and magic and sinews twisted to an eldritch whim still knocks, before he enters your home. It was his home too, once.

But the two of you are currently somewhere else entirely.

"AN EDGE BETWEEN THE BOUNDS OF CORPOREALITY," Viktor answers; he reads your thoughts as if they're an open book, an effortlessly analyzed constellation sprawled beneath his fingertips. "DO NOT BE AFRAID. I COULD RETURN US TO THE MORTAL PLANE, IF YOU WISH."

He sounds like an angel. Reminds you of an artificial God in necromantic clothing.

His voice echoes, collapsing in on itself. It sings through your mind with the pure strength of the arcane. A melody resounding. There's a hint of his old tone, buried deep beneath the layers of power and magnitude. The abyssal reverberation opens its maw and swallows Viktor's familiar voice whole.

You shake your head in reply.

The Arcane Herald's false eyes stay steady on yours. Golden suns. Pupils ringed, spirals of anomaly-light curling within like whirlpools. A shiver shudders up the notches of your spine. It's as though you're being watched by multiple sets of eyes, instead of just two. The third arm jutting out from his back twitches violently, before strings of zodiac-runes fill the phantom space around you.

No, you aren't entirely afraid. Viktor can sense any underlying fears. Blossoms of wilting crimson and snapping venus fly traps, sprouting throughout the flourishing garden of your mind.

Still, when he curls his palm in, fluidly digging through the soil of your sequestered emotions, he can feel your affection. The resonant brush of old roots and bright, vivid petals.

You might've been scared, once. You must've been terrified when you thought Viktor was dead. And it certainly must be unsettling to finally come face to face with the aberration that's been wearing his skin. If you were to run, he couldn't blame you. His new form is effortlessly strong. Large, when compared to a mortal. A vessel capable of bending the structure of reality to his perfectly architectured will.

Viktor was prepared to sweeten your mind with pleasant memories. Perhaps you'd react better to a more desirable version of him. A cosmos-filled remembrance of soft touches and softer whispers, framed by promises made of sugar cubes and thick honey. He would bare what remains of his humanity, if you asked.

Instead, as Viktor catches your eyes for the first time in forever, he watches you murmur his name — less of a question, and more of a confirmation. Viktor. You sound shaky enough to topple and break. It's you. It's really, honestly you.

He steps a bit closer, a bit further into your apartment, the way one would attempt to corner something skittish. Crackles of lightning spark from where his feet meet the hardwood floor. You stumble in, fox to open bear trap, and you wrap your arms around his middle. Damp and teary cheek pressed into his side hard enough to leave an imprinted gear-shape behind.

He held you. What else was he meant to do? Allowing himself to be drawn here is an abandonment of his purpose in its own right. He hardly cares, barely considers how inconsequentially quaint this is. The Arcane Herald — the arcane's chosen vessel of calamity, once compelled to turn all of humanity into crumbling husks on a dead and faultless world; Viktor permits you to sob against him, as his hand delicately caresses the soft back of your head.

Viktor finds that right now, hours later, there is not a single droplet of fear present in your storm-bound system. Only pure, cascading delight.

You shift closer on his lap, you lean into his touch when he steadies a splayed palm to the bare small of your back. As the scene stabilizes, bubbling ripples of magic smooth out, until you and the Arcane Herald are held in a perfect crystal ball of transcendental abnormality. This is how Viktor's hold on your mind describes it, anyway.

"I HAVE MISSED YOU," Viktor coos. The deafening boom to his voice drowns out the subtle traces of tenderness. "YOUR PRESENCE IS… WELCOME."

You've no need to speak. He reads your reply before you can voice it. I've missed you, too.

Fate is a perpetual predetermination. Atlas holds the sky on his shoulders, and Viktor carries the glory of an entire arcane galaxy in his palms. Orpheus turns around for Eurydice, and Viktor chases the bittersweet comet-trail right back to where he first left you.

There isn't much sense in this. It goes against his pragmatic vision for pure evolution. He knows humanity is far from him now, a shadow he left with his first death. Indulging in its traces clashes with his goals. Clashes with everything the Hexcore sought to make him into: a chrysalis stripped of emotion, weakness, love.

In the first seven minutes after death, as the body turns cold, brainwaves replay the moments where they felt most warm; Viktor spiralled through every softly-braided memory of you, in the seven days he spent cocooned; the sound of your breathing, his breathing. The press of touch to touch, like soft snow against snow. His hex-ridden heart doesn't beat. He thinks he's seen your face behind his eyes for every hour of the seven months he spent evolving, searching for enlightenment all alone.

He is always alone, at the very end of everything.

Destiny weaves its cosmic thread through the magic he carries in his veins, and against all odds, it brought him here. To you. He remembers flickering through tangibility like a ghost, an apparition haunting the halls of Zaun and Piltover. Crawling home as though he never truly left.

Viktor has missed you the way dry earth misses rain, the way an entry shot misses an exit wound. The way electricity longs to be harnessed, and divinity craves to be worshipped.

He's weaker than he should be, for you. You are a lingering flicker of sentiment, a part of the fragments he swore to crush beneath his newfound palm. The sun-strong radiance inside himself that he can't manage to snuff out.

And now that the Arcane Herald has you, he isn't certain he'll ever be able to let you go.

The anomaly's bubbling aurora-light frames you, a halo glimmering at your edges. You've already discarded all of your clothing; you were meant to be cherished, he reasons, as he observes how your chest heaves with subtle, panting breaths. You quiver with mankind's most potent emotion: desire.

You impatiently shift closer. Your forehead lands against the nape of his neck, where his cape is tattered and magic-blown. Viktor's hold on the arcane shudders around you.

"Viktor," You sigh out, like it's simple, an exchange between lovers; like he's the man you once loved, not the shattered remnants of him; like you aren't dangerously close to the biomechanical half-God nearly responsible for the subjugation of humanity. You sit pretty on the Arcane Herald's lap, perfectly designed to be coveted.

You laugh, half-amused, half-in-disbelief. Viktor's featureless gaze bores into you, echoes of light glittering on his golden, spiked crown. He tilts his head, curious. As if he's asking, What's wrong?

"I have an otherworldly threat to all of Runeterra in my fucking apartment," You answer, exhaling. "Gods."

His voice pounds inside the fabric of your thoughts.

"TO BE PRECISE, YOUR MIND IS LINKED WITH A THREAT TO THE FUTURE OF RUNETERRA, WHICH EMPOWERS YOU TO COMBINE WITH HIM INSIDE THE ARCANE."

"Ah. We're tangled up in a cavity of magic?"

"YES."

"I wasn't sure if it was…" You shrug, and reobserve the space around you. Magic pulses from every angle, smearing color in messy brushstrokes. It begins to burn your eyes the longer you look. "I don't know. Some sort of illusion, I suppose."

Viktor hesitates, burning eyes flickering faintly. "ARE YOU… ALRIGHT WITH THIS OUTCOME? WOULD YOU PREFER IF WE DID NOT CONTINUE?"

You shake your head, smiling. "Come here."

You reach for him. You're holding his face in both palms, as if he's a statue, porcelain and intricate. A stone-carved, cherubic effigy. Markings dot either side of where he's been split. Small, star-shaped divots. One beneath an eye, another above a mouth.

With how large he is, you have to prop yourself up more to let your breath ghost the space between his eyes. The main cross-section of his mask is cool, as smooth as solid steel, while his hidden first-face is rough, rigid. Reminiscent of crumbling marble.

You kiss him. Gods, you kiss him and Viktor can feel it, even though such a thing shouldn't be possible. You press your lips to the star beneath his false, forever-closed eye, and it glints like amethyst, shimmers like a constellation. You pepper kisses to the gold etchings underneath his sun-strong gaze, where his tears were once midas-touched.

Viktor is sure his blasphemous, forged-by-violence form does not deserve this, but he still leans into your touch when your lips trail pleasurable arcane-abundant explosions down the golden veins of his neck.

"LITTLE DOVE..." Endearment clicks through the steady gear-sequence of his reverberant tone.

Starry pupils unchanging, Viktor's gaze can only regard you emptily. But, in an expression of tenderness, he drags his huge palm up your bare side, caresses your soft skin and admires the subtle intricacies of your flesh. Your birthmarks, your scars. Everything he still remembers. The curve of your waist, the section of your ribs. He feels your fingertips, as you trace where the gears of his back brace are permanently fused to his breastbone. Viktor trembles, somehow.

"Vik," You parrot, words warm on his neck. You kiss his nape, then his jaw, then the flat faux-steel of his face.

Energy radiates off of his touch in persistent waves. His palm paths up your spine, and surges of death-defying magic fill you — tenacious, resurrection-burned electricity.

You make yourself tall, propping up onto your knees, so you can gently press your forehead to his. Viktor scans your expression. Your eyes flutter shut; he wants to preserve their softness the way one would pin a fragile butterfly's wings. Once again, you aren't carrying a hint of trepidation. When your gaze finds his own, you're admiring him. In all of his chilling, daunting, inhuman glory.

Some faint, gnawing contradiction opens a hole in Viktor's chest, and makes him wish he would've done anything to deserve it.

"THE OUTCOMES LAID BEFORE ME…" Viktor begins; your persistent breaths leave fog on his cold mask.

"THE OPPORTUNITIES DEFINING WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN… I THINK… TOGETHER, WE COULD HERALD A NEW VISION. WE CAN BE THE AUTHORS OF OUR OWN TENDER PURPOSE."

A small smile plays on your lips. You wrap your arms around his shoulders. "I'd follow you anywhere, Vik. I trust you." Your jaw grits. I still trust you.

And then, you sigh. "But can we just be us? Just for tonight?"

Viktor buries what he truly wishes to say in between his makeshift ribs and beneath the star-filled madness in his core. And what are we?

"OF COURSE," He answers, instead.

His huge hand finds your own; arcane-infused power ripples from his palm, untamed. Still, your digits fit perfectly between the gaps of his, as Viktor laces your uneven fingers together. Strong, with weak. Your gentle flesh, and his rigid, purple-gold, bony digits.

He gives your hand a soft squeeze, brushes his thumb along the back of your palm to a wave-like rhythm.

"I HAVE LONGED FOR THIS. TO INDULGE IN YOUR COMPANY. TO UNITE YOUR MIND WITH MINE."

More so, Viktor has craved to remember the shape of your touch; and converging with the arcane has filled him with a knifelike sensation, unrelenting and hungry; it's given him an insatiable desire to consume.

(Viktor recalls when he first held you, your body curled up against his, his unnaturally long limbs awkwardly spread so the both of you could fit on the ragged couch in your tiny living room. The distant hum of both twin cities fills the space: huffing pipes, whirring airships. Back then, a large living space wasn't deemed necessary, considering the two of you planned to spend most of your shared time at the lab.

It's achingly intriguing — your persistent attachment to a dead man's belongings. You've been watering his plants, in his absence. Small pots of succulents and flora line the kitchen windowsill. A spare cane leans against the dining room table, still exactly where he left it. Viktor — the arcane-enthralled Viktor — thumbs through his newfound grip on your mind, listening closely for the echoed answer.

Your distant thoughts murmur to him, It's because it makes me believe you might still be coming home.

The Arcane Herald feels his third arm twitch. He says, I do not understand.

You crane your neck, unaware, glancing at him from where your head leans against his forearm. Understand what?

Why you continue, why I can remain an object of your affections. Viktor twists a small anomaly sphere between his fingers, webs of the arcane clinging to his gold-tipped digits. Stray flecks of magic spark like lightning. You consider how it'll feel when he must press this sphere inside your mind.

I am not the man I once was, he says. Perhaps some would describe me as… inhuman. A monster. Your mind reveals you have dwelled on such rumors, yet you show no fear.

You answer simply, Because it's you, Viktor. I could never be afraid of you.

Viktor considers this, as your fragile emotions pool within him — he curls in on himself at the bottom of the ocean, drowning in the midst of all that you are. An endless surge of affection and guilt and voracity, in hues of blossom-pink and cold-silver and delicious-orange.

He gazes at you calmly, before the anomaly sphere fizzles out of existence with a flick of his fingers.

There is perhaps… a less painful method of transmitting the arcane. Shall I explain?)

You clumsily squeeze Viktor's large hand back, and a sharp jolt of magic resoundingly kisses your skin. When you reach above you, cupping his face in your free palm, Viktor nuzzles into your touch like a giant contented cat, the thrum of the arcane gently purring from him.

He caresses from your side to your spine, numb digits pressing tenderly to vertebrae. You're acutely aware of how large his palm is. How huge the Arcane Herald is compared to you, how pathetically small and stupidly human you must look in his lap. You swallow hard, arching into his touch.

Gods, you've missed Viktor more than anything. You want to be his. You want the Arcane Herald to covet you in the blasphemous way a fallen angel loves a mortal. Without reason, with sets of six broken wings and bitten tongues and storms of chaotic maelstroms, as you make a mockery of what he was made for.

"Viktor," You breathe, tone low, as though whispered beneath an altar. Arcane demigod, my archangel. "I need you."

Viktor lifts you with ease, both of his hands finding your waist, propping you above his lap. He supports your weight as you drown him in kisses, pressing your lips to the statuette side of his face.

His voice laps against the sides of your mind, like waves against a dock in a storm's aftermath.

"I NEED YOU MORE THAN MERE EMOTION COULD EXPRESS. BUT THIS BODY IS… UNCONVENTIONAL. I DO NOT WISH TO BREAK YOU."

"I'm not fragile, Vik. I can take it. I want to take you."

At this, his eyes seem to soften, sharpen. Radiant suns filled with pure warmth, utter zeal.

Third arm tilting, bending at its metallic joints with a dull cracking sound, he grabs your face in his huge, firm claw.

His tone echoes, seraphic. "PERHAPS YOU SHOULD BEGIN BEGGING, THEN."

And you do. You whine softly when Viktor's large palm squeezes your leg, his thumb teasingly rubbing your inner thigh — your voice threatens to break, while you recite scripture. "Please, please, don't tease me anymore. I fucking need you, Viktor…"

It's easy, simple, instant — the calculation the Arcane Herald effortlessly solves, enabling him to immediately determine a new course of action, a mirror to your potent emotions.

He watches you pant, purposefully waits with his palm gently caressing your thigh, until you're sufficiently teased, and practically shaking with want. Viktor's third arm digs its pointed talons into your cheeks. He dips a hand between your legs, and promptly shifts into utter depravity.

"SUCH A DELIGHTFUL MESS YOU HAVE MADE FOR ME…" Viktor coos; he uses his gold-tipped thumb to collect your glistening arousal, to get you dripping and dumb on his long, delicate digits. You tremble hard, knees wavering like branches ready to split in the wind. "YOU GIVE IN SO EASILY TO INSATIABILITY, MY LITTLE LOVE."

Words won't come. You can only whine: "Viktor…"

And Viktor's reconstructed body tenses, every emotionless inch of him caught in your equinox. He can feel the pitter-patter of your heart, the thump of your warmth, resounding throughout his viscera; your sun, to his night.

Despite the limitations of his newly metamorphosed form, and the utter clearing of his mind, he's getting off to this. To the quiver in your breath and the way you plead his name — pleading for him. All for him.

"I CAN FEEL YOUR DESPERATION." Viktor's voice is everywhere, echoing against the boundaries of the anomaly. His familiarly accented tone chips at the walls of your mind with a delicately honed chisel. He flicks his thumb over where you're swollen and desperate and oh-so sensitive. There's stars in his touch, as he rubs in slow circles, in smooth galaxy swirls.

Now, says the whispering echo, the sweet outline, the caress of Viktor's kindest tone against your brain. How do you wish to be taken?

"Anything-" You retort, breathless. "You can do anything you want to me."

The Arcane Herald's resounding laugh is nothing short of maniacal.

"YOU ARE SUCH A NEEDY CREATURE. ABSOLUTELY EAGER TO BE FILLED."

Needy. This word sounds exceedingly saccharine.

His third arm acts with a mind of its own, squeezing your face a bit tighter. Lightly shaking your head back and forth as if you're a toy. The sharp end of a claw playfully traces your puffy bottom lip.

"WE COULD MAKE USE OF THIS SILKEN, PLIANT MOUTH. KNEES BENT BEFORE ME, MY PALM STEADIED TO YOUR THROAT AS I SLIDE MYSELF ONTO YOUR AWAITING TONGUE. YES?"

"Y-Yeah," You find it hard to focus, hard to think, hard to keep your eyes steady on his mechanical gaze — were his pupils always such perfect, artificial, phoenix-bright circles? "But I want- want you inside. Please."

Viktor hums a rich, pleased noise. He spreads his long legs a bit wider, the anomaly begins to flutter around you in endless cosmic spirals; a thrum, thrum, thrum of restless magic; Viktor's cock unfurls, curls out from his pelvis as a thick, rippling, dripping mess —

But he keeps your gaze focused on his own, clawed third arm holding your chin tightly.

"EVERYTHING YOU COULD POSSIBLY DESIRE, YOU WILL HAVE." Energy surges from his form, careens up the tingly river of your spinal column, in turn. "I WOULD CROSS GALAXIES AND REALITIES FOR YOU, MY DEAR. I WOULD BRING THE GODS TO THEIR HEELS."

Eager pressure mounts in every corner of your nervous system. You swear under your breath.

Once his third arm finally releases you, your gaze is trailing downwards. Past the delicate curve of his waist, live-wire magic threading through the indents of his body like visible veins. Past the V shape of his pelvis, and the unnaturally jutting handlebar-edges of his hip bones.

To be anatomically correct, the Arcane Herald's cock is most akin to a thick, wet tentacle. It's ribbed with gold ridges like the rest of his body, bolts and gear-shaped ornaments lining the underside in place of where octopus-suckers might be. A slimy, clear liquid thickly coats its surface. The appendage is thin at the end, the very tip as thin as your pinkie finger, but at the base, it gets twice as thick as your forearm.

"Hah," You gasp, too dumbfounded to breathe more than a disbelieving huff, "Shit-"

"WE WILL PROCEED AT YOUR PACE," Oh. The booming echo behind his tone sweetens itself into madness, and what's left of his voice sounds utterly affectionate. Nervous, only slightly. "I DO NOT WISH TO… FRIGHTEN, NOR HURT YOU. YOU MAY TAKE AS MUCH OR AS LITTLE AS YOU NEED."

"I want you," You're answering, assured. "Right now."

Viktor tightens his hold on your waist.

Arcane resurrection hasn't merely made him anew. It isn't a mere matter of placing a puzzle back where it belongs: the pieces of his amber eyes, his sinews, his skin dotted with little brown stars. He is a different form of alchemy, all together.

How much of him is still him, and how much is lost due to Hexcorization?

He imagines prying himself open, pulling apart his ribcage after the arcane left him raw, chewed up and spat back out. The cavity of his chest shimmers like the mouth of a kaleidoscope; he knows this, it wouldn't be the first time he's been split in two. He'll place these newfound emotions right where his heart should be, until they sing in runic shades. Until they sprout and flower: his personal, tender contradiction.

Would he remember who he once was — who you've truly been waiting for, then?

There lies the truth of it. He wants to give you everything you've been waiting for.

As he begins to lower you down, you feel the end of his cock flick against your entrance. Lavender-hued fluid laps against you, diligently getting you slick and slimy. You can't help but close your eyes, boneless as you hug him tightly, collapsing against his large, all-encompassing form.

Gravity warps around you, it presses into your skull. Viktor gently pushes you back by your shoulder until your gaze is forced to meet his own. His third arm clicks. A halo of shimmering sparks and glowing symbols and precise code begins to frame him, demanding in the way it hungrily commands the anomaly's magnetism into itself.

Carefully, his palm is placed onto your cheek. Gazing down at you, he caresses your skin with his thumb. As if you're made of velvet, a soft blossom on the wind.

"LOOK AT YOU," The Arcane Herald purrs. The anomaly shimmers, your mind warps; and for a brief moment, you're a distant observer, gazing at yourself and Viktor from an outside perspective. Gods, Viktor is huge, and you, bare and pliant on his lap, look so terribly pathetic.

"SUBLIME," Viktor corrects, head tilted inquisitively. The connection between your mind and his strains like a knot pulled taut. "YOU ARE PERFECT. VERITABLY GLORIOUS."

He grasps your chin, his free palm presses flat to the center of your chest. Your eyes glaze over, shifting into empty spotlights of stormy stardust — and you're seeing through Viktor's eyes, your head swimming as you're made to admire yourself.

Everything is covered in a film of murky, iridescent light. The edges of your figure are sharpened and saturated. Viktor doesn't see in color, more than he perceives an image as flowing droplets of static-rich energy, of equations surrounded by blooming halation. Diamond-shaped artifacts settle in the boundaries of his compound vision, reminiscent of the pattern on the rim of the Hexgates, or the matrix used to spark a Hexgem to life, or the configuration that gleams all around you: the anomaly, breathing in constellations.

Viktor watches as the lithe tip of his cock ever-so gently presses in — and you're watching, too, observing the spread of your shaky thighs, and the heave of your chest as he presses his palm between your ribs. You are captivating, in this way. Beautiful. All of your details create a painted picture of perfect tandem. Your shape, your skin, your hair, your eyes, your everything.

Or perhaps Viktor's thoughts are too closely entwined with your own. Splendid little human. All mine. Can you see why I adore you?

With how fucking thick he is, and how unexpectedly small you're realizing you look, in comparison — is he even going to fit?

You're barely given time to consider. You whine when you feel the first ridge, a tiny gear-shape embedded into his tip; with your bottom-lip quivering, you realize you don't need to beg, you just need to imagine. I want more, you think, and Viktor, buried deep in the threads of your mind, obliges.

More, you're given more; you watch through his vision as his cock begins to ease inside you, a sizable bulge already pressing at your lower stomach. He splits you open, nice and slow, so you can get used to the way he fills you.

And even though you barely have a third of the fat, writhing tentacle inside of you, you're already utterly full. It flicks and convulses, exploring your walls, slickening your thighs with droplets of glowing, purple spend. You can feel every ridge. The ribbed, golden rings. The protruding bolts. The four-pointed star-shaped studs.

Gods.

You're throbbing. Thudding around him to a heartbeat-strong pulse that beckons him in and pleads for the wraith-like Arcane Herald to fuck you. To ruin you.

"BREATHE FOR ME," Viktor murmurs. He pulls his hand from your chest to softly brush his knuckles over your jaw, and you slam back into your own mind with the force of a thunderbolt. "YOUR PLIABLE SOUL… IT FLICKERS LIKE AN EVANESCENT FLAME."

Light prickles from where his touch once lingered, sparking against your chest. Gasping, you glance down. An imprint of him is left behind on your skin. Five large fingerprints sprawled between your ribs, one for each finger and thumb, textured with web-like strands, shimmering when they catch the radiant light. The soft, golden whispers of the arcane. The Herald of the Arcane's signature.

With this tangible mark, you belong to him, now.

Viktor answers your thoughts. "YOU ALWAYS HAVE."

Always. Though, within the space he has carved for the both of you — reality split apart, a dissected capsule — you are closer to your lover's husk than you've ever been before.

You hold onto Viktor's shoulders tightly, grabbing fistfuls of his tattered cape. There's a persistent hum. Building magic, a whirlpool around you, a supernova in his body; warmth settles in your core, winter in your bones. Energy ripples through his cock in a long wave, firmly throbbing inside you, and you shudder, you shake.

"EXQUISITE… YOU ARE PERSISTING SO EXCELLENTLY. SO GOOD FOR ME…" Viktor caresses a palm up your side in approval. The glowing flames in his gaze begin to soften. He holds you steady, as your warmth eagerly pulses around a little under half of him.

"I can feel- hhah, it's so much…" Your words break, unsteady and weakened.

You, for all of the confidence Viktor knows you have, are reduced to a sputtering, needy mess, quivering on his cock. Delicate as a thin sheet of autumn ice.

The Arcane Herald must admit, he enjoys this pathetically docile side to you. He wants to keep it, possess it, until you're his. Only his.

"YOUR BODY IS NOT ACCUSTOMED TO THIS ABUNDANCE OF ARCANE INFLUENCE. ALLOW YOURSELF TO BECOME LESS RIGID. PERFECT. BREATHE DEEPLY. I HAVE YOU."

You take in deep, controlled breaths, while a large palm begins to drag up your heaving side.

Viktor touches you the way Icarus once touched the sun; an inventor against destiny, soft, fake feathers and warm wax. He is a monsterous imitation of heaven, too.

He hardly cares if he's burning on the inside, if the Hexcore's diagram defines his biology as unwarmable, untouchable. Just for tonight, he wants to be some devout imitation of humanity, a metallurgical replica that comes to life under warmth and love, not a profane shell hollowed by the lack of it. Just for tonight, he'll let himself be weak for you.

Breath nearly caught, you lean your forehead into his chest, and you're unable to resist pressing a reverent kiss to the golden outline that frames his breastbone. His brace, forever welded into his thorax. It's unexpectedly smooth, sensitive. Faint spellbinding threads brush your lips like wind.

Viktor isn't yet a God, but he wonders if this is what it's like to be worshipped.

Crests of magic exhale around you, frothing waves of brilliance, as if he's expelled a steady sigh. He grasps your side firmly. You're dizzy, golden rays of light filling your gaze, before they thin — and you realize you're somewhere else, viewing the beginnings of a vision.

Galaxies stretch as far as the eye can see. An infinite expanse of everything. Shooting stars and divine light ripple through the atmosphere. You're cupped in a giant palm — in Viktor's giant palm, his cosmic form a refracting rainbow, an angel with astral wings. Viktor is the sun and the stars and the moons and the asteroids. You are safe, content. Designed for reverence, the perfect piece to his orbit. And so, you revere.

The vision fizzles into nothing when the clasp of your hands makes the endless, starry abyss flutter with fondness.

Viktor glides his palm down, finding your waist. In his wake, your side is softly seared with his fingerprints.

Another dream lets itself in.

This one is… different.

Tender blades of sunlight burn around the figure that resembles Viktor; a memory, a representation. (A large, arcane-touched palm to your back.) The Viktor you once knew has moonlight-pale skin and a bobbing Adam's apple and a gap between his teeth when he smiles. You always grow soft with the sight of his smile. (A hand to your shoulder. The small of your back. Your neck. Your stomach.)

Recollections flicker inside your brain like flipping through an old photo album. Delicate palms fit with worn calluses, and freckled arms made to be kissed, and hair you dreamt of running your fingers through, soft and wild like chestnut sparrow feathers. He is blinding starlight, even in the moments where he's been made to shatter like glass. Even with fiery amber in his eyes and blood on his palms and a chrysalis, surrounding.

You picture trailing your lips over both legs, from his thighs to his knees to his ankles. You picture pressing your teeth to the bony curve of his clavicle. You picture kissing and kissing and kissing him, a moth to his flame, the kindling to his spark. His lips are soft, his tongue presses a star into your mouth, and you honestly don't care what's become of him because he is still Viktor, your Viktor —

By the time the Arcane Herald is done reaching into your mind, imprints of his fingertips are left all over you. You're absolutely covered in golden fingerprint-blotches. Light dappling your skin from his firefly touch, like the glow of the sun between leaves.

Viktor tilts you towards him by your chin. "YOU ARE WHY HUMANITY ONCE CREATED DIVINITY. I ADORE YOU."

His voice dips into a tone you almost remember. Soft, gentle, human.

You offer him a crooked smile, canines bared. You're breathing hard again, hips impatiently shifting. "You're so, s-so lovely, Viktor. You are. I want to see you. Just like this. Just as you are."

Viktor's gaze briefly flicks across your form. He admires the sheen of sweat on your skin, newly marbled with marks, his touch. Proof of his selfishness, his illogical tenderness. Your soul appears to burn steadily within you. A bright flame in ocean-deep shades of blue and silver and jellyfish-purple. Persistent like the click of gears, as smooth as the glide of a pen, hazy like ash in a misty, bright sky. Perfectly, utterly you.

"ARE YOU CERTAIN?" Viktor asks. The repetition and ricochet of his voice is noticeably just a hint quieter. He gently glides his palm over the marks on your side, arcane ornaments decorating your bare skin. "I COULD SHOW YOU SO MUCH MORE."

"I'm sure." You sound desperate. "You're perfect."

Only for you, Viktor reasons. Only in the lingering afterimage of your gentle influence.

Affection swells in his hollow center. The same shape as when he first saw you, when he finally came home and held you in his arms, while he analyzed the glimmers in your mind of hope and love. And a distinct lack of fear; you trust him, for all of his godlessness. For all of his endless, infinite loneliness.

As foolishly feeble and perhaps impossible as it is, Viktor honestly, achingly wants to kiss you.

Like a sunrise. Mouths touching like a bite into responsive, begging flesh. Perhaps while you taste his starlight, or perhaps with no need to subdue this new form: the arcane-touched chimera he's evolved into.

My softest paradox. For the betterment of the purpose the arcane chose for me, perhaps I should renounce these frivolous emotions. And yet… No, I cannot abandon you. Not when you are in need of me. Not when I need you.

Droplets of anomaly-moisture, as well as condensation caused by the sex-slick heat in between your bodies cascades down Viktor's golden accents, making them shimmer. He slowly shifts to hold your cheek in one giant, careful palm. Sparks of faint light stipple from his touch like fireworks.

In a hurry, you prop yourself up as much as you can manage. You grab his face to pull him closer, his body bending to meet you, so you can press breathless kisses to his cold jaw.

With the way the Arcane Herald is buried inside you — a result of his wavering focus, or maybe your own — the anomaly's aurora-light begins to morph, a shaken-up snowglobe. His cock pulsates with a glowing swell of stimulation. You grind your hips clumsily, groaning against the sunken curve of his false cheek as you lightly bounce on the fat, dripping tentacle. It resounds with a terribly wet, obscene sound, purple liquid now dripping all the way down to your knees.

Allowing your mind to interlace with his is, at this point, purely instinctual. The tightly knit walls of Viktor's headspace purposefully weaken to let you in.

Oh, and his mind surges.

You're enveloped in a raging wildfire, his desire a flickering flame at the very edges of your fingertips. It's hard to breathe. Hard to form coherent thoughts as the Hexcore — Viktor's new heart — whispers within every facet of him. It amplifies his own inclinations, works concurrently to augment his magic and strengthen his cognition. You aren't used to its overwhelming pull. Your thoughts and his and the arcane's potent echo meld together, like several messy brush strokes on the same canvas.

Please, you plead. Pure pleasure and gnawing endearment thrum from Viktor's discordant thoughts, with the strength of a laser beam to your brain matter.

You deserve to hold the solar system in your palms. He'd give you the planets and their rings and the kiss of the stars; you are his perfect, exquisite catalyst.

The Hexcore replies, writes its own poem, to the tune of humming runes and swirls of hazy imagery: you, on your knees. You, with your tongue wrapped around Viktor's fingers. Viktor tipping your head up with the end of his cane, or slipping his palms down your collar, or sinking his teeth into your nape. Viktor's newfound, huge body pinning you into place, while he presses the claw of his contorted third arm to the base of your neck. His large, ornamented hand splays across your back, leaving fingerprint-wings on the skin between your shoulder blades as he roughly pounds you from behind.

Your eyes roll back into your skull.

Oh, but this is what lies within your unveiled desires, says the jeering echo in your head. Resounding, shattering, Viktor's softly accented tone unfurls into a meadow of a hundred voices, speaking all at once. Will you be satisfied when your mouth is full of me? When you are grinding your feeble hips against your hand, your palm filthy and wet, while you sputter and pathetically drool around the luminescent mess of my spend? Of course. You are quite simple to please.

Or perhaps I should push you underneath me, pleasure myself and myself alone with the assistance of your thighs, or your stomach, until you are begging for me to take you. To ease inside you, filling where you are terribly neglected and utterly wanting. Admittedly, I would find contentment in this… watching you plead. Until your skin becomes marked with slick fractals. The most potent brush of the arcane.

"Vik- Viktor, please…"

Can you feel-

"I CAN FEEL HOW WARM YOU ARE," Viktor murmurs, interrupting your thoughts. You rest your arms on his shoulders, searching for leverage as you grind your hips down. "I CAN SENSE YOUR EAGERNESS. YOUR VULNERABILITY. HOW YOUR MIND, BODY, AND SOUL BEG FOR ME IN SYNCHRONIZATION."

Despite relinquishing his humanity with the acceptance of his new body, the way a cicada sheds its exoskeleton — despite embodying a dangerously corrupted representation of life; (praying mantis, disguised as the orchid) — despite the truth of the matter, he was meant to dismantle you piece by piece, he was designed for control and gloriousness and revolution, Viktor thinks, softly, that he'd gladly follow where you lead.

An old, once-loved name is nothing more than an emotional foible. A thread he held onto, because it happens to fit his whims, happens to mean victory. But Viktor feels radiance in his chest when you begin panting for him, gasping out pleas of Viktor, Viktor, Viktor, framed by broken noises as you fuck yourself on him.

It's so wet. There's so much arousal and thick purple lubricant between the two of you. Squelching and dribbling down the golden accents of his length.

Gods, you're trembling on his lap, hands shaking as you grip his shoulders. The ripples of your thoughts are a soft melody, in his. I need you. Need you to save me. He would, without question. He'd hold you to his skeleton until your bones are a part of his bones. He wants to catch you in silken thread and arcane-webbing, while he sinks sharp fangs into your skin.

It happens swiftly, now —

Viktor's jaw unhinges with the sickening sound of breaking bones. The bottom half of his mask splits down the middle, opens horizontally to reveal an abyss, a black hole; a giant maw with rows of sharp teeth, two large, curved canines, and a long, slithery tongue. Forked like a snake, golden at the tip, gradienting into a dark shade of raven-purple. It drips with a sheen of thick saliva.

A firm palm grasps your chin. He pulls you a bit closer, until you're straining your neck to look up at him. Your heartbeat catches. The burning suns of his blank pupils bore into your own fluttery gaze. Both tips of his tongue brush your lips. Politely prying, before possessively slipping into your mouth.

You moan when his tongue licks a heavy stripe over yours, kissing you in earnest. The taste of him as he explores your mouth is all-encompassing. Strong, vibrant, he tastes like nebula and void. Like crimson and moonlight. Ever-so slightly metallic, akin to licking aluminum, like pressing your lips to a supernova.

His saliva is thick and pervasive. His tongue is unmistakably slimy; you whimper, and when you swallow, allowing the bitterness to slide down your throat, Viktor breathes a deep, satisfied noise — like the rumble at the bottom of the ocean.

Divinely transcendental, his voice continues to resound inside your mind.

"GOOD PET. YOU ARE UNEQUIVOCALLY GOOD FOR ME." Viktor laps against your tongue, both forks trapping it before they teasingly graze your canines. You swear light glints on his sharpened maw, and his faux mouth upturns slightly, faded star-mole following along, and he's just barely smiling.

"SO FASCINATING, WHEN YOU BECOME THIS EXCITABLE."

You're shaking so hard, you've no need to move your hips.

Gently, Viktor's long tongue presses a bit farther, forcing faint gags from your trembling system. You're overwhelmed, placed between his gaze and his pulsing heat inside of you — and the way your mouth is utterly full of him. Your lips wrap around the thickest part of his tongue, his taste spilling into your throat: a warm knife, pure sharpness.

You beg with your eyes, pupils fat moon-pools. The colorful, surrounding anomaly satellite-pings approvingly.

"YOU ARE ON THE CUSP OF CRYING. HOW PRECIOUS. TELL ME, WHO IS IT THAT YOU BELONG TO?"

You, your head is rebounding. I'm all yours.

Your heart is pounding against your ribcage, a panicked butterfly trying to get free. Here, in the depths of your emotions, you crave to be devoured. To be held lovingly between his teeth, to have his searing, arcane-infused touch bruise your bones with his imprint. Pulling you apart, layer by layer — skin, muscle, soul.

You'd let him take you anywhere. You'd let him carve his golden-hued love into your marrow.

I will.

Pure endearment overfills his chasmic void, left where the Hexcore landed in his chest like a meteor.

Viktor collects these thoughts in a bottle, holds them somewhere close and contradictory:

Ah, my dear, where shall we go first? You have not seen the gilded sunset over the mountains in Shurima, nor the blossoming of the trees in Ionia. Runic teleportation is only strenuous on the mind the first time you experience it. I want to dance with you atop the highest, star-filled peak in all of Runeterra. If not in another life, perhaps we can still embrace this one.

"COME. SHOW ME, LITTLE LAMB." When Viktor finally pulls his tongue from your mouth, he's licking a fat stripe from your jaw to your cheek, leaving your skin slimy and cold. "I WISH TO SEE YOU BROUGHT TO PANTING, PLEASURABLE CHAOS."

His tongue curls back lazily, and his jaw snaps shut, leaving his masked, expressionless face behind. Viktor's head cocks, owl-like. You don't appreciate being taunted; your brows furrow, and you hurriedly reach up, grabbing onto the gold arches on either side of his face.

They're somewhat akin to antlers, handles. A crown. You've decided to refer to them as horns, either way. Smooth to the touch, and perfectly palm-shaped.

Viktor laughs, purrs. "YES, GIVE IN TO IMPULSE- TAKE WHAT YOU NEED FROM ME, FALL TO YOUR ENCOMPASSING EMOTIONS…"

So, you grind into him, breathing faster, holding on for leverage as you pathetically circle your hips. Viktor brushes his large palm up the small of your back, charting the map of tremors in your spine. You dig your nails into both golden horns, even though you're certain their firm surface won't give. Weakly, you exhale in frustration.

"Vik- I can't- I need you, please…"

That's all it takes.

Finally, finally, Viktor grabs your side and slowly thrusts into you.

Gods. Viktor must be a seraph, the arcane's depiction of the divine, tall and ornate and carved from steel; inhumanly angelic, a synthetic machine — because he feels absolutely heavenly.

The first arch of his body into yours has you gasping. The Arcane Herald, as attentive as he is resolute, methodically falls into your rhythm. He grinds up when you grind down, and you can suddenly feel him everywhere. You can't think through the pulse of his magic, the arcane fervently fucking into you; you can only fall against him, utterly limp.

"HOLD ONTO ME," Viktor murmurs. Head leant into his chest, you can feel his large body vibrating with the words — the thrum of his heart, the steady song of the Hexcore.

You're given a moment to catch your breath. You whimper a stuttered cacophony of words. Please. More.

Your thoughts are a crisp, babbling river Viktor longs to cup his palms into and drink from. More, more, more.

Such a filthy little creature, he rebounds, though he knows his current headspace is just as deplorable.

Viktor begins to fill you with all of him, easing you down so, so slowly — until you've taken all of the fat base of his cock. There's so much of him, and it's a slick, awfully tight slide when he starts to shallowly press in and out of you.

"AH-"

The anomaly wavers to the tune of his stutter.

"YOU FEEL… IMPOSSIBLY ADDICTIVE…" He groans, the sound deep, resonant. "ABSOLUTE PERFECTION… MY LITTLE LOVE, FULLY FILLED WITH ALL I HAVE TO GIVE THEM…"

The energized air around you blossoms with green flora, golden blooms. You sob in delight. You can practically feel him in your stomach.

Honestly, you weren't sure what Viktor was deriving from this, if his new form could feel anything at all — but right now, he sounds completely wrecked.

Not that you're any better.

All you can do is grab fistfuls of his cape, as the Arcane Herald guides you, ruins you. His hand firmly presses into the soft flesh of your side. He's so much larger, so much stronger. (Delicious contrast drips from this; Viktor remembers pressing your shapes together, fragile on fragile, your face held in his sweat-soaked palm as you run your fingers through his hair, and everything is blisteringly soft —)

For this Viktor, it's a simple, effortless task: the way he lifts you up and down to fuck you. Pulling you until you're taking half of his dripping length, only to fill you with its staggering thickness, enough for you to feel the friction of every ribbed ridge. Every golden bolt. You moan softly, and he smoothly bounces you, as though you weigh nothing.

Static encompasses your mind, like storm clouds rolling over. His cock curls, the tentacle writhing to bully a spot inside of you that has you seeing a spider web of constellations. Viktor huffs, every slight groan causing the rainbow-hued arcane to bubble around the two of you.

He slips out for a moment when he pounds you a bit too clumsily, the slick plap, plap giving way as he slides over your bare skin. Utterly wet, his cock flicks, laps at your sex. The tip traces V patterns and rune-shapes right where you're sensitive and throbbing. You drip for him, as expected. Needy. Empty, so desperate to be full of him again.

He caresses your head, leans into your mind to check on you. You've barely processed his ping of, Are you alright? before your thoughts are shaking him back and forth and pleading, Please, more.

In a simple, smooth movement, he eases back into you, pushing every ounce of air from your lungs.

Shooting stars shimmer in your peripheral, a candelabrum of bright, palpable tenderness. The Arcane Herald's hidden affections, on vivid, fireworking display. Viktor's third arm click-click-clicks, and a rune matrix halos him, blurry and blue.

You fuck each other desperately, then. Your broken moans meld with Viktor's electrifying, shuddering hum. You press against him with no distinct rhythm — and it's clear Viktor's resolve is faltering. A crack forming in the flawless shell of his facade. When you're involved in the equation, it's a feeble facade, really.

Because Viktor can't hide his softness, his lingering humanity, especially now, with plumes of earnest affection filling the very atmosphere that surrounds your shape. You breathe it in. Viktor's magic tastes like eternity. The chemistry of his endearment settles in your vessel, richly divine. He adores you. Has always adored you. Down to your soul, you've never known anything more true.

You pant his name in between each breath. You're so lost in him, so focused on finding your peak, you barely notice the accelerating glimmer in the runes above him. Twirling and ticking, their shapes jumbling together like spinning a globe and trying to imagine the place your finger will land on. They're bright enough to blind, if you were to look right at them.

Arousal drips down your thighs, dirties his lap with every slick squelch. Viktor's head spins — post-enlightenment, it should not be capable of such fatigue, and yet the fire behind his glowing eyes twirls in spirals.

His hands shake, the inner workings of his viscera aching with something innate. The Hexcore's budding urge to claim, to devour everything it touches like a long shadow. He loves this, loves bringing you pure pleasure to the point of speechlessness and bonelessness. Loves the auroras of affection and the disorderly waves of ecstasy that amalgamate in your mind. He wants to fill you over and over and over. There's a recursive impulse in his reassembled system that delights in the conceptualized tenderness.

It isn't logical. Sentimentality is far from glorious.

You should continue the life you have already established without him; he can help the lost souls of humanity without you, as he's done up until now. This makes sense. This is the path laid before him, the plan he was hoping to follow once he arrived here. Three simple, necessary steps. Visit you. Settle his reservations. Leave.

But it is terribly lonesome without your presence.

And as far as keeping you at arm's length is concerned, he's already failed, hasn't he?

If he asked, gave you the choice instead of running from it, would you wish to come with him?

Viktor imagines voyaging far from the bright skies of Piltover, and the dark depths of Zaun. Inhuman hand folded over soft hand, as he shows you what it means to step into a new reality.

Everything he has learned and seen sprawls before you, before him, an open map of endless possibilities. He dreams of soothing you to sleep beside a bright, homemade fire. Of bringing you to the edge of the world, or the top of the sky, or the boundary where the earth meets the sea, all with a singular arcane-flare from his staff. The crackle of flame, the hum of the wild. The crash of a waterfall, the echo of your breathing. Viktor will covet every individual intricacy; dragon coveting gemstones, sharp teeth and long talons and unblinking snake-eyes.

He's usually an embodiment of good luck, despite this. To some.

Those he has attempted to heal since he left Piltover tend to fear him. They cower, broken limbs shaking, broken hearts pounding fast. Sometimes they shout. Angel. Demon. God. Viktor is none of those things.

The Arcane Herald presses his fingertips to their foreheads, and watches golden thread knit them anew.

He could be content with this, he sometimes thinks. No grander goal. No overarching evolution. Just this path, paved by the thin shred of his retained humanity. A flourish of kindness in his soul that the arcane can't smother out. (His blanket-turned-cape, the brooch he wears over his chest, the golden notches in his spine. The same lines on his palms that you once kissed, and his own name; you've always loved the way it feels to say his name.)

Especially so, he believes he might've found what he was meant for, a bright glimmer to fill the space where his heart should be, when he pictures changing the world with you.

You've always been like a sunrise. Bright light and warmth, you would lead his way with your firefly-glow. Those he heals would find a new sense of comfort, as you place a steady hand to a tensed shoulder, the way you did with him so many years ago.

A man falls to his knees in front of him, and he shakes your hand, before he staggers away on his unsteady, golden legs. A young woman pleads, says a prayer to him as his runic halo illuminates the fresh fingerprints on her forehead. She embraces you tightly. Thank you, thank you. Viktor drums golden nails against his staff. A softened look crosses your face. It gets stamped in Viktor's brain with spellbound ink until it's completely memorized.

As you step inside the luminous ring of his teleportation circle, he gently grasps your hand to keep you steady. The surrounding light swirls. He holds your forearm, and pulls you close in something of a practiced dance.

You smile at him, his vivid muse. He admires you, unblinking. He brushes his thumb over your knuckles and kisses them with magic. The lilt in your tone is smooth like Janna's breath as you ask, Where to next?

It hardly matters. The persistent, void-like ache within him quiets down for the first time in an eternity. This kindness — yours, his — softly augments him so easily.

Viktor feels wholeheartedly content. A gnawing undertone, satiated. Anywhere, he thinks. Let us cross the universe in a single stride. Amateur astronomers, aren't we?

Together, you'll traverse the desert. The mountains. The sea. He'll carry you home when you're tired from the day's events. He'll stay in with you, even though the arcane calls him onward, even though he has no need to sleep like this, joining you as you rest well into the day.

His legs hang over the end of your small, temporary cot. Utterly out of place, his limbs are too long, the sheets catch on the gold ornaments around his ankles, and his third arm gets awkwardly pinned against the headboard. And when his purple-veined palm splays flat to your chest, slow whitecaps of energy cresting against your head to manifest a pleasant dream, Viktor notes the way you shiver. Breathy gasps uttered from your lips, please, don't go, as you press your feeble form against his.

In the end, he'd give you everything you desire.

This is exactly what you want — to have your oh-so human shape pressed beneath his, Viktor's monstrous gaze burning into you as you pathetically tremble. While he pins your wrists above your head with the sharp talons of his Hexclaw, and purrs so pleasantly when you pant with anticipation.

Nuzzling into the nape of your neck, everything impossibly close, he bathes you in his giant shadow, in the steady rays of his third arm's divine light. The silver ridges of his masked face are cool against your skin. He wants to spend hours upon days upon years marking his favorite details of yours with his fingertips; wax-warm prints on your hips, your back. Arcane-patterns embossed along your thighs and your stomach, polychrome like painting the cosmos across your bare skin.

Your imperfections were made to be admired. No, more accurately, you have always been perfect. There is nothing to fix nor change. You deserve everything, and so much more.

He wants you perfectly sated, softly panting his name every morning and night, each sunrise and sunset greedily spent in one another's company.

Light's first flecks appear on the horizon, alighting Ionia's quiet autumn trees in ichor-lucent shades. Arms and legs locked around him, rays glittering off of his gilded frame, you take Viktor inside of you in the comfort of your makeshift camp.

Dusk bleeds into night, and this time, you're stationed in a run-down inn somewhere north of Demacia.

There's a new form of illusory magic Viktor has been studying. A remnant in a supposedly Targon-sourced tome he bought for dirt cheap in a Bilgewater port.

Considering Viktor's appearance and especially his stature, it's difficult to travel through busy regions without heads turning. This magic particularly affects the mind. It allows you to finally stay at a decent inn for the first time in ages, under the guise of Viktor being your very human, very normal partner.

You are supposed to be a married couple. But if there was a noise complaint —

All this to say — Viktor imagines fucking you in a tiny room with a rickety bed that thumps when it hits the wall and creaks to protest his weight.

He barely fits, the tiny room and the even tinier bed clearly not made for his inhuman, nine-foot-something height; he has to cling to your body, pinning your back against his chest and your ass to his pelvis. The edges of his golden ribs press indents in between your shoulder blades. You look so pliant when you're under him; fully bare, utterly small. So very delightful. My adorable, perfect muse.

The moon is full. The glowing, runic halo above Viktor's head mimics the shimmering descent of the night's stars. The light from his eyes burns bright in the darkened room. Two steady, piercing flames. Shadows cast themselves onto the ceiling, framing his third arm, his horns, his crown. They twist and combine and resemble the outline of fluttery, umbral wings.

Teleporting the two of you would make things simple. Perhaps he could have you in an arcane vacuum, as he's done many, many times prior.

But it's awfully thrilling to cover your mouth with his large palm, to silently purr in your mind that you must be silent, my little dove, because his voice might shake the room with its unholy reverberation — while his impossibly large body pins you, and while he relentlessly fucks whimper after muffled whimper from your drooling lips.

Saliva slickens his purple-mottled fingers. Magic pools from his figure, bathes you in tingly radiance. The wrinkled sheets are drenched in sweat and slick and luminescent arcane-fluid. The inn's little room is filled with the Arcane Herald's huge body, his resplendent presence that dapples magic into the atmosphere, and the messy press of his shape against yours, the repeated, methodically wet echo.

Your swirling thoughts plead, please, touch me here, and Viktor does, exactly in the manner you like. Softly. Lovingly. Until you're swollen and sensitive and needy. A purple thumb greedily slips into your mouth, toying with your tongue. With your hazy cognizance bared to him, your mind diligently fucked open, he tastes your emotions; bites and swallows them whole.

You are beautiful, Viktor whispers into your brain. Sublime. Brilliant. Tenacious. Perfect.

They're premonitions, of course, but Viktor's imagination won't stop singing —

Your gaze, locked to his while you drown in his flame. Your heart, beating fast. Your soul, a blossom of delicate petals in his palm. He wants you on your knees. On your stomach. On your back. Heat pluming over his maw as he pins you to his face and laps at your dripping, sensitive sex with his long, slimy tongue. He wants to press his spend into your mouth with his fingers, wants to leave hallucinatory kisses across the sensitive skin of your nape.

(Kisses you can feel in an astral mind cavity, somewhere far away from here. This is who I am beneath the chrysalis. This is how I've always wanted to kiss you: with boundless desperation, pale palms to your cheeks, and soft mouth to softer lips, and starbursts to starlight. Implosions becoming the dust in space.)

He'll lace his fingers with yours when you kiss the star-moles on his false face. His large, deft hands will pleasure you in every which way while you chant his name, until your voice has gone sore. Viktor. A prayer, a plea, a vow coalescing. And the Arcane Herald will give you what you need, he will hold you and love you and show you everything you have always been worthy of.

He could take you in a moonlit Ionian hot spring, water splashing as you bounce on his lap, or in a cold cabin in the Freljord, bodies close as you exhale hot, shaky breaths, or just anywhere you could possibly want him.

Viktor wants to fuck you until his illogical, potent affection spells your neurons, your electrons, and every last letter of your memorized name.

Your breathing is ragged, now.

Reality dips back into his palm. The anomaly's shape curls into, into, into itself until it billows out in a cloud of miasma. You grind into his lap pathetically, barely in tune with his own steady thrusts. Every buck of his hips has become smooth, as measured as a metronome, while he stays focused on your building pleasure, on bringing you to your budding collapse.

It takes all of your effort to fumble your hands into his chestnut hair, your feeble fingers grabbing on tight. The strands are wild and grown out, starting to fleck with a breeze of blonde. They're soft, even still. You whimper, you let yourself be manhandled, bounced so easily on his lap — so perfect for him, so worthy of his endless adoration.

"F-Fuck," Your muscles go tense; your voice breaks as he presses right there, grinds and slowly drags you onto him to draw out the throbs of pleasure into deep, warm tempests. "Viktor, don't- don't stop-"

There's potency to the way you say his name, igniting a lingering, desperate instinct or an arcane-induced ripple effect; Viktor's cock swells into fullness, the tentacle's fat, ribbed ridges bullying your sweet spots. It drips with sopping wet pre-lubricant, pumps more preparative slickness into you, in turn; it flutters with chameleon-light, thin electrical currents surging from tip to base in shifting hues of glowing purple to lightning blue.

"GUIDING YOU TO UNRAVEL FOR ME IS UTTER ECSTASY." Viktor coos, his accent thick, tone stupidly sweet and possessive. Echoing in your ears until he's the only thing you can hear.

He drives himself into you, purposefully nice and deep. A disgustingly loud groan is coaxed from your panting mouth.

"OH… LOOK AT YOU. TREMBLING. TERRIBLY CLOSE TO AN ABSOLUTE IMPLOSION."

You are dazzling. A precious, desperate mess due to my touch… and only my touch. I will bring you to enlightenment in the manner only I can.

"SO GOOD TO ME, YES? YOU ARE… EXQUISITE. AS PERFECTLY DIVINE AS YOU WERE WHEN WE FIRST BECAME DIVIDED. YOUR MAGNIFICENCE IS… MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN EVERYTHING I HAVE SPENT YEARS REMEMBERING."

I have missed you more than anything in every reality, my dearest.

You deserve to be taken care of, to be filled and admired and held in every way you need — and Viktor shudders through the salty brine of guilt, because he knows he left you waiting and wanting for far, far too long.

It won't happen again.

He holds you as you arch up, his palm instantly finding the small of your back as you make it as straight as you can manage. Your unsteady palms opt to abruptly hold his face and pull him close. Close enough to let his head press to yours.

Even with your eyes closed, his unfeeling sun-pupils blaze behind your brain like pockets of wildfire.

Gods. If he could, he would keep this moment close. A sheathed weapon ready for his right hand, a crux and a complex conundrum. So he will always, always remember how it feels to adore you.

Finding the next best solution, Viktor contradicts all that he is, mirroring your touch. Holding your small face in his own large palms, as though you're precious, his, with enough pure tenderness to capsize you.

"YOU SIMPLY DO NOT KNOW HOW INVALUABLE YOU ARE TO ME… NOR HOW YOU REPRESENT TRUE RADIANCE-" Viktor stutters, it nearly sounds like a sigh, "A GLITTERING STAR MORE PERFECT THAN ANY GALAXY I HAVE FELT AT MY FINGERTIPS…"

Forehead to forehead, pace never faltering, he takes you tenderly, steadily; gently perfect friction fills you with carnality and drowns out all else. You grit your canines. Viktor brushes his palm to your jaw, his thumb over your cheek. Pleasure runs rampant in his shaky hands and the full-on quiver of the anomaly's thinning edge.

The warmth behind his eyes seems to glaze over. A low noise purrs from him that mimics a set of shaking breaths, golden, gill-like ridges on his neck falling open. Puffing plumes of thickly frosted air, like exhaling in the dead of winter.

For the briefest of moments, in the weakening softness of the arcane, you can sense the aurora of how this feels for him.

You are warm, perfect. Your frame shakes like a baby bird, delicate flame, to his fallen-angel maelstrom. Mind unfurling. Minds melding. You adore him in every shape, strong or weak or in any chimeral form he wishes to take. Viktor relishes this. Tastes it with a swipe of his tongue over teeth. You sense it just the same. A strand curling, knotting. Becoming one.

Everything the Arcane Herald feels sunbeams into him tenfold. Pleasure frantically shivering inside every violently reconstructed atom. Devotion sunflowering out from his wilted-rose center, overflowing and filling the void of his frame. It's so much, too much. Affection strong like getting kissed all over, like worship. (Viktor's gentle mouth and his starlit hands and the way he falls to his knees before you without prompting.) Akin to holding a prayer in one's palms, until knuckles ache and skin splits apart.

Love is all you can taste, sense. In its purest, most concentrated, most overwhelming form.

"Close," You manage to pant. Your breath fans over his face and Viktor leans just a bit closer, until your soft lips are grazing the smooth metal. "Vik- please, please, please."

You're begging like there's even a singular shred of him that would deny you. He won't. He doesn't.

"MY BELOVED." A lilt falls into his tone, a loving refraction that kisses your eardrums over and over again. "LET GO. YOU ARE ALL MINE."

Viktor bounces you smoothly; he reaches down, finds where you're sensitive and throbbing and circles his deft, magic-rich fingers there.

I would break the world in two for you. Fruit split down the middle, as I feed you the lush flesh within. I want you to know you are loved, as your heart knows to beat, and darkness knows to encircle light, and emotion knows to tether itself to a soul.

Energy dances up your spine, a deep purple glow emanates from beneath Viktor's veins; the Hexcore's glowing insides, light glinting off of a chasm of amethyst. He can feel it, your sensitivity, your eagerness. Threading within him, a pinwheel turning, and building, building, building.

No, perhaps it's his eagerness. A lingering disruption on the heels of his resurrection, because he was promised freedom from humanity, but he cannot erase the memories that shape him. Because he spent ages in that fucking cocoon with every ache the arcane has ever felt winding beneath his skin: the pain of existence, the pain of overuse, the penchant for a wild rune to corrupt itself into oblivion.

Viktor hasn't been touched by anything other than pain since the arcane decided such sensations are less than glorious. Inessential. Unnecessary.

You curl your palm around the sensitive, slightly ticklish base of his neck, fingernails scrambling to dig into the ridges of golden ornaments. You brush your lips between his tear-marked eyes with purpose. As the numbness begins to fade and the light within him starts to flourish, constellations becoming galaxies — your touch is so perfectly soft it threatens to hurt.

It's exquisite catharsis. The arcane has made him into an unexplainable paradox, a Hexcorized heart that defies itself, a vulnerable vessel that has to relearn the difference between stimuli. It's a perception he wishes to evaluate, with you. To give sun and soil and rainwater and gasoline, so this newfound antithesis explodes into blooms in his hands, all hazy and flickering.

He's missed you. So, so terribly. This is all the runes that bend to his whim can say, now. (Viktor curls in on himself, prods into his bones and finds the weaker vessel he tried to leave behind. Always there, just dormant. He imagines your fingers running through his windswept hair as he kisses you until you're both stupidly breathless. He tastes like nebulae, you taste the same as he remembers.) He watches radiance shine through the mottled marks on your bare skin: his fingerprints, reactive to the untamed thrum of the surrounding stratosphere.

Blasphemy be damned, the Herald of the Arcane takes an oath to stay by your side, just as a younger half of him, more foolish, more weary and rune-carved and destined to betray you once promised he would. And he can, now. He can abandon augmentation to show you pure, exquisite entropy.

The unconscious blending of his mind with yours causes you to hear, causes you to answer as your thoughts resound.

Viktor- I missed you, I missed you so much- I'd always come with you, I promise. I love you.

Ironically, or perhaps impossibly, Viktor's own mind responds to yours before he has a true chance to think.

I have always loved you. Come apart for me.

The anomaly around you flares to life with a surge, a big bang, a colorful amalgamation of wildflower-hues you've never seen before — and you come undone for him, in a storm of broken breaths and reverent chants of his name.

You're falling — dying — in your lover's arms, breaking into pleasant pieces, as Viktor brings you back to life a thousand times over. His lap to his pelvis drip, drips with the residuals of your arousal. He gently rocks his hips as you finish, drawing out your pleasure for everything it's worth.

He's close behind, then. His figure is briefly made of cosmos and fractals, symbols and steel. Viktor's endless shudders, careening through his lithe limbs, cause the anomaly to exhale a cosmos-ridden breath of pure contentment.

As Viktor spills inside you, his spend dripping down his length and your thighs and his lap, vibrant and colorful like an oil-slick — there, onto the prickling, plush skin of your lower stomach, you're gently branded with an intricate half-circle of arcane runes.

They glow brightly, their cornflower-blue outline starkly contrasting your skin. Fleetingly, you're mortal and patron, human and seraph. The Arcane Herald's signature source of power floods into you: cresting waves of stellar divinity, connected constellations of magic that promise, they've been here all along. You simply needed to be taught how to harness them.

And then, as quick as a miniscule spark gets water-doused into nothing, the arcane's addictive influence is gone. All that's left behind are the tingling fingerprints on your body, and the silence of the scar-colored runes, a halo dotting your abdomen, carved deep beneath your skin. Palpable proof of Viktor's touch, his devotion.

Between your heavy breaths, your vision infinitely hazy, you hear Viktor exhale a genuine, utterly delighted laugh.

"Look at you," His voice, for once, is closer to humanity. No longer echoing, instead booming once inside your skull with a potent sense of finality. "Stronger already, yes? I can feel the restlessness of the arcane within you- you are- hah, so perfect. My glorious little love…"

A brief storm of cosmos-colored resplendence threads through his body, from the neck down; the Hexcore's way of recomposing, rebooting. He trembles against you for only a few moments. His third arm twitches, clicks, testing the stiff curl of each talon individually. Something burns underneath his false face, and Viktor realizes it's the splitting urge to break into a smile.

You're limp against him, weakly leaning into his chest. Both of his large palms hold onto your waist to brace your weight. He eases out of you carefully, marvels at the mess you've both made as he returns to faultless, logical normalcy. He's already found his resolve, appearing as he did when he first found you, while you're still gasping for breath. Hair a mess, skin sweat-soaked, legs tensing to try not to tremble.

This element to his new body is one he can learn to accept.

After all, it allows him to admire you: mouth parted, your eyes closed like you're saying a prayer. You're akin to magnetism, a driving force he can't look away from. He measures the steady thrum of your pulse. Touch tender enough to heal, his thumb traces your eyelids, your lashes, the curve of your brows and your nose and the softness of your cheek, as though it's an outline he wishes to memorize. You're given plenty of time to breathe, relax, and find your bearings.

In, and then out. He watches you inhale and exhale for several precious moments.

When your eyes finally open, the first thing you notice is the shift in the surrounding, enveloping anomaly.

The space around you is a brilliant galaxy, a vibrant ether, a stratosphere that spirals into itself like ripples on water. Plants blossom every which way, sprouting from nothing. Triangular pockets of light shine onto your skin, as if filtered through stained glass. Dots of stars flicker, occasional equations of pitter-pattering morse code. It reminds you of coordinates and diagrams and something distinctly technical, yet magical. Something familiar. Rays from the sun and metal against metal and an embrace that lasts too long, or not enough. You've never seen anything like it.

"An amalgamation between your soul, and mine," Viktor softly confirms. He lazily tips your chin up with a patient index finger. You'd almost forgotten how hypnotic his gaze could be. Both eyes firefly-flicker to a warm, exuberant rhythm.

"Beautiful," He says, focused solely on you. "Is it not?"

You nod, flashing him a small, drowsy grin. You cup his face in both palms, holding him far too delicately, and you press a feather-soft kiss to the diamond marking engraved just above his eyes.

The Arcane Herald purrs in contentment. Affectionate, he brushes the back of his hand to your cheek, allowing you to feel the golden kintsugi that adorns his once-broken knuckles.

The anomaly falls away in a quiet blur. Delightfully tousled, you step into the calm eye after a steady storm.

Reality warps, steadying around you. Your apartment comes into view in the aftermath of the arcane's inverted bubble. Your dusty living room, your rickety couch, walls and carpet faded with age. It takes a few moments for your mind to stop throbbing. You're distantly aware that Viktor is still holding you, settling your bare frame against him as he sits down, with your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and his palm to the small of your back.

You're home. Or perhaps you never left.

Perhaps this is meant to be the start of a new beginning.

Gentle fingertips trail up your spine: a lover's caress. You feel elated. Calm. Safe, when you're in the Arcane Herald's arms.

You blink away the haze, adjusting on his lap to keep your newly steadied gaze on his. Viktor's third arm ticks softly, reminiscent of an aged, steady clock. This time, the halo that frames him is low and translucent, iridescently flickering like the beat of dragonfly wings. His masked face is a perfect picture of emotionlessness. Though you find him unreadable, you can't help but melt as you watch him clearly flick his sunset gaze from your mouth, to your eyes.

Weary knees shake as you prop yourself up more, to leave sleepy kisses onto his face, stardust brushing your mouth. His metal edges run cool against your bare skin, his chest pressed against yours. You kiss the sculpted curve of his cheekbone. The indentation of a past beauty mark. The smooth curve of his mask that reflects light and begs to be touched; as much as the arcane insists otherwise, he was made to be adored. You're certain.

Viktor hums, his resounding voice filled with the background noise of a fuzzy drone, "This form of connection… I would assume it could invite considerable strain onto the mind." He nuzzles his face into your nape. You can feel the swell of vibrations as he speaks. "You may rest, if you wish."

It's more of a promise than an invitation. A sleepless being is best suited to watching over while you dream.

You slump back into his lap, resting against his chest and absently trailing your fingertips over the gilded crescent of his ribs. "Not right now. I'm alright, Vik."

Viktor lightly pats your head. "The droplet of arcanic power I gave to you is quite sufficient enough to keep you safe. It will allow me to determine your location, should we become separated."

You seem to deflate, like a plant without water.

"Viktor," You plead, moon-big eyes gazing up at him. "Please. Stay."

He's heard those words before. Between silent tears or grasped hands or fingertips pushing his sweaty hair from his face.

There, in his flickering recollections, he breathes. Bile tinges in his throat when he swallows. He says a prayer in his head. Soft lips graze your forehead and pallid palms shake and unbeknownst at the time, this memory gets shoved down so deep, it's just as vivid in the moments after he first sheds his skin.

He wasn't planning on leaving, but this confirms it. Seals it. Stamps a promise into the empty core of his chest that burns with warmth, a knife lovingly delved into flesh, a beating heart pumping blood and oxytocin. Viktor feels alive for the first time in years.

And even though the Arcane Herald knows he wasn't made for this — he was created for calamity and salvation, not softness on the smallest scale. Just you and him, becoming nothing but a blip on the world's grandest stage. A simple life of endless wandering. A purposeful life where he gets to be intricately born anew for the hundredth time. The softest metamorphosis yet.

Viktor knows, but he holds your cheek in his all-too large hand, he tilts his head and lets his unwavering gaze burn through you, and he still answers: "Of course."

It isn't an argument. Of course, I will stay.

I was meant to.

#viktor x reader #viktor x you #arcane x reader #arcane herald x reader #arcane herald viktor x reader #viktor smut #viktor arcane x reader

300 notes · View notes

aventurineswife · 2 months ago

Note

Jingyuan, jiaoqiu, and dan heng with fem reader who is like a foxian but a cat?? Also she can turn into an actual cat if she wanted to. Anyway shes like super clingy all the time like she always clinging onto their back wherever they are in her human cat form she wont ever get off if they tell her to, and if the want her off they have to physically force her to get off. Also she rarely ever goes into her cat form but if she does its to sneak around bcz char forced to stay home today and thats not happening so she like follows them to work n stuff

Clingy Cat

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader x Jiaoqiu x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Fluff, Cat-Foxian!Female!Reader, Protective, Lighthearted, Humor, Soft Moments, Comfort, Soft Romance.

Warnings: Mild teasing, Overly affectionate behavior.

The sun was just beginning to set, painting the skies of Xianzhou in soft shades of orange and purple, but Jing Yuan was already well into his evening duties. Sitting at his desk, he was reviewing reports of the Cloud Knights, their efficiency improving under his command, as always. His sharp eyes flicked over the documents, yet his mind was only half on the task at hand.

A soft sound from behind him made his lips curve into a faint, knowing smile. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was—after all, you had a knack for sneaking up on him. He could feel your warm hands gripping onto his back, your body pressed against his spine as your gentle purring echoed quietly through the room.

“You know,” he said, without turning to look at you, “You could just sit down. You don’t have to cling to my back every time I try to get work done.”

You huffed lightly, pressing yourself even closer as if to prove a point. Your cat ears twitched with a mix of mischief and affection, and your tail curled gently around his waist in a possessive, yet endearing manner.

“Not unless you tell me to,” you muttered softly, your voice laced with an almost playful defiance. Jing Yuan couldn’t help but chuckle at your clinginess. As much as it was an inconvenience, he had grown used to it over the years.

He sighed, still not looking at you, though a flicker of fondness danced in his gaze. “I’m afraid you’ll have to stay put for now. This report isn’t going to finish itself.”

But that only made you tighten your grip further, as if holding on a little longer would make him relent. Your human form, though a beautiful mixture of foxian and cat traits, was still surprisingly strong. And yet, Jing Yuan knew he wouldn’t win in this particular battle—your determination was unparalleled.

He finally decided to give in, leaning back a little, allowing you to settle completely against his back. As much as you could be a nuisance, he secretly liked the comfort of your presence. It reminded him of the peace he had worked so hard to preserve for his people.

For now, it seemed that your clingy nature had won the evening.

The warm glow of the evening lights filled the healer's quarters as Jiaoqiu busied himself with the alchemical brews that would aid the soldiers of the Yaoqing. He was meticulous, focused on the tasks at hand, yet there was something he couldn’t ignore: the soft, rhythmic sound of paws on the stone floor.

Before he could turn around, your presence enveloped him, as usual. The moment you had entered the room, you had clung to his back, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders as you purred quietly, content and warm against him. You had a way of slipping into his personal space so effortlessly that it made Jiaoqiu chuckle softly despite his attempts to focus.

“Jiaoqiu,” you murmured with a playful tone, “You’re so serious all the time. How about we take a break? You could use some relaxation.” Your tail flicked back and forth behind you, your feline nature all too apparent.

Jiaoqiu paused, his hands hovering over the bottles of alchemical ingredients. He gave you a pointed look, one that was a mix of exasperation and fondness. “You know I’m working, right? We both know you’ll never let go of me unless I tell you to. But it might be more helpful if you didn’t cling to me while I’m making healing potions.”

You only purred louder, nuzzling against his back and pressing your cheek to his shoulder. “But I like being close to you.” Your voice was soft, filled with warmth and affection.

Jiaoqiu sighed, his heart softening despite himself. Even though he often tried to keep his distance from emotional distractions due to the weight of his own burdens, you seemed to slip past his defenses. He allowed you to stay there for a while longer, his usual focus waning as he let the comfort of your presence settle over him.

“Fine,” he said, his voice a mixture of defeat and amusement. “You win. Just don’t expect me to get much work done.”

The Astral Express was eerily quiet, the sound of the train's steady hum filling the air. Dan Heng stood by the cockpit, keeping watch over the controls as he meticulously checked everything. His mind, ever vigilant, was focused on their destination, but his concentration was constantly disrupted by a soft, persistent tug at his back.

When he felt your hands cling to him, pressing against his back once more, he couldn’t help but sigh. The day had already been long, and he had hoped for a moment of peace, but it seemed you wouldn’t let that happen. You were there, clinging to him in your human form, just as you always did.

"Dan Heng..." you mewed softly, voice sweet and insistent, "I know you're busy, but I miss you."

“Again with this...” he muttered, trying to stay focused, his shoulders tense beneath your touch. He had been hoping for some peace, but it seemed you had no intention of leaving him alone. Your tail, which always had a mind of its own, wrapped around his leg like a reminder that you were there.

"You know," he said, finally turning to face you with a resigned look in his eyes, "If you want to stay so close, you’ll have to find another way. I can't move with you on my back."

But you just grinned, your cat-like instincts making it clear that this was exactly what you wanted: to cling to him, to follow him wherever he went, no matter what.

Your voice was low but teasing, "I’m fine with this. You’re warm, and I like being near you."

Dan Heng sighed again, his stoic demeanor not quite hiding the warmth in his eyes as he looked down at you. “If you won’t get off, I suppose I’ll have to get used to it…”

Your playful, contented purr was his only answer, and despite his reluctance, he couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of comfort. Even though you clung to him in ways he could never escape, there was something about the presence of the affectionate, stubborn cat-foxian at his side that brought him a sense of peace he hadn’t realized he needed.

324 notes · View notes

fishthathaspuffyeyes · 9 days ago

Text

Excellent raven

Summary: Everyone is capable of change, even Dream of the Endless.

Notes: I am writing a cute little, reader insert fanfic as I think I have read all existing ones and I am desperately needing new content after watching season 2 (I posted it on AO3 as well, feel free to engage with me on what you would like to see heheheh or just talk sandman season 2 with me plss)

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x Reader, Corinthian X Reader

Chapter 1

You nearly face planted into the ant’s nest in Fiddler’s Green when Dream materialised behind you.

“You are distracted.” came his cool, raspy voice.

Yes, you had been distracted. You were supposed to be practising how to walk, run, dance, adapt to your new human form, but you were distracted by all the juicy worms, ants, beetles… if you were still a raven, you would pick them all up into your belly and take a nice long nap on that thick tree branch over there…. ahhhh…

But you were not a raven anymore!

You reminded yourself and quickly stood up from the grass, wiping the drool from the corner of your mouth.

“My Lord.” You bowed your head quickly. (this had been so much easier as a raven too, why were human heads so heavy?) Raven or not, you hadn’t forgotten your manners.

You quickly glanced up at him to judge his mood, and your conclusion was that he wasn’t in one of his darker moods. If anything, he seemed to be amused.

So you started your complaint.

“This is stupid! I was perfectly fine as a raven.” You waved your arms around, “No, better than fine, I was an excellent raven!”

You both knew that was a lie.

It had been two days since Dream decided you were no longer befitting as his raven. And gave you human form so you could serve as a dream instead. You should have been grateful he hadn’t just turned you into a pile of sand, but you weren’t. You missed your wings, missed flying, missed the agility of your body and how you could easily sneak around, all of which you could not do now.

“You were becoming overly attached to certain habits that are unbefitting of my raven.”

“What habits?” You demanded. Though you knew exactly what he meant. Stealing the Corinthian’s cigarettes and pecking him until he lights one for you, (you thought you looked badass smoking it) the eavesdropping on conversations you had no business hearing, the very often trip you take to Fiddler’s Green for a snack and then ending up napping there until the sun sets in the Dreaming.

“You know precisely what habits.”

You attempted to cross your arms like him and nearly topple over. Walking is ridiculous. Flying is clearly superior in every way.

“Change me back.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“My lord, with the greatest respect and as your humble raven—”

He spoke your name as a warning. And you knew best to close your mouth.

It did a funny thing to your stomach. That felt new, too.

“I shall check on your progress in a week. Report to Lucienne in the meanwhile.” Then, as suddenly as he appeared, he was gone.

———-

You attempted to look presentable and tried to pat down all the soil and grass residue on your clothes before you walked into the library.

You had lost count of how many times you had fallen into the grass. Fiddler’s Green tried its best to soften the impact but the flowers still moved out of their way before your body slammed onto the ground from the loss of balance. You would have crushed every single petal if they hadn’t.

Lucienne was on the top floor, cataloguing some books. You looked for the stairs and sighed. If you were still a raven, a simple leap, a flap of your wings-

“Ah.” Lucienne had spotted you, and she walked down from the top floor. Thank goodness.

“Lord Morpheus said you would be paying a visit soon.” She noticed the trial of mud you had left on the carpet and raised an eyebrow. “How have you been adapting to your new form?”

“Terribly.” You slumped down onto a chair, trying to pick out some flowers and grass that got stuck in your hair. It was black and shiny like your feathers.

You heard the mumbling before you saw Mervyn walking towards you and Lucienne, carrying a giant ladder on his shoulder, and a rake in one hand. No doubt on his way to do some maintenance work that Dream could fix with just a flick of his wrist. He stopped in front of you with a confused expression.

”Who are you?” He tilted his head.

”Hey Merv…”

“Little raven?” He looked you up and down. “What happened to you?”

You sighed, and slumped on the chair to stare at the ceiling.

“Long story. I am not a raven anymore.” You liked Mervyn. He always seemed to have a bunch of sun flower seeds in his pockets, and would throw one to you every-time you were near him. Your snack tendencies were pretty well known across the whole of the Dreaming.

“Huh.” Mervyn set down his ladder with a loud clang. “Boss finally got tired of you stealing smokes and taking naps, eh?”

“I wasn’t that bad,” you protested weakly.

“You were worse,” Mervyn said cheerfully. “You were probably the worst raven Dream has ever had.”

——–—

You spent the last two days cataloguing books in the library, and occasionally helping Mervyn with maintenance.

On the third day, you took your smoke break in the ruins of what had once been a dream about sailing ships. The torn sails were flapping and rustling in the sea wind, and you sat on the splintered edge of the main deck. It felt comforting, the wind on your face, like you were flying again. This form was not so bad tho, you could light your own cigarette now.

“Little birdie.”

You snapped your head up.

It had been so long since you last saw the Corinthian, but you would never miss his distinctive voice and southern drawl in his accent.

“Cori!” You turned, threw your cigarette into the dark abyss below and leaped towards him.

His sunglasses were in the upper pocket of his suit, and he looked so good. His blonde hair tousled by the salty sea breeze, the light reflecting off the tiny white pearls in his eyes and his grin.

You threw your arms around him in a giant hug, you had been wanting to try that with your new arms, it felt nice. And you did miss him. A lot.

“Well, look at you,” he murmured, stepping closer. His cool fingers cupped your face, tilting your face up for inspection like you were an art peice, which in a sense you were, Dream’s art piece. Shaped, carved, formed with his vision, hands and sand.

His pearly teeth-eyes were in a grin, very close to your own. He looked so in awe of you, it almost made you feel proud for simply existing in front of him. And for the first time you didn’t feel like a mistake that Dream had to correct.

“Strangely like the boss, ain’t ya? All sharp angles and dark hair. Suits you.” His thumb brushed your cheekbone. His touch was unexpectedly soft.

“And beautiful eyes…”

You pulled away from him, your cheeks burning. “Don’t even think about eating them, Cori! My eyes are off limits!”

He laughed, and put up his hands in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it, little birdie.”

The two of you settled on the ship, the wooden board creaking under your weight. His back leaned against the wooden mast, his fingers gently braiding your hair.

This was after you had complained about everything you had encountered in your new form, and how you had no idea what to do with your hair. He had offered to do your hair for you, so you let him.

“How have you been Cori?” Your heart was beating fast from his proximity. You hadn’t known he was capable of such gentleness. Having watched on a distant tree branch the way he had killed with these exact hands, the way he skilfully plunged the knives into the sockets of his victims without ever getting a specked of blood on his shirt.

He was kind to you when you were a raven, to start with, he never threw his knives at you when you pecked him. And one time, he even got very close to petting you.

You were sulking on the railings of the bridge, in a very similar fashion to your creator in the throne room, your feathers were flattened by the pouring rain. Everyone else in the dreaming was also drenched like a wet cat, including the Corinthian. He was confused to why you insisted on staying outside and try to convince you to go back inside the castle.

“He doesn’t want me there.” You replied, and shifted further away horizontally, away from him. You were upset, upset that Dream was upset, and also upset that Dream said “Not Now.” in that deep scary voice of his, when you tried to comfort him.

You soared into the gloomy sky before Corinthian’s fingers touched your feathers.

“Busy. Dream had been sending me on lots of errands.” His fingers combed through your hair. You sat cross legged in front of him, the sound of waves gently lapping against the ship.

“When did you learn how to do this?” You couldn’t help but ask. The imagery of him braiding someone else’s hair makes your heart twist in a really unpleasant say.

“I know how to do lots of things you don’t know, little birdie.” His voice dropped lower. “Maybe I’ll show you sometime.”

#dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman #the corinthian x reader

164 notes · View notes

theglassofmiddleearth · 3 months ago

Text

Evenfall

Imagine you wake up in Twilight as a random side character. (Part 7)

Nullification!reader Human reader! Fem reader! SideCharacter Bella! Isekai au! Edward Cullen X reader. Eventually Jacob Black x reader. (2 endings.) (All characters will be written less creepy and one dimensional than the ones in the books.)

Previous - Next

It was strange to see the Cullen house empty. The setting sun casted a glorious, glow over the house. The white walls of the interior were incandescent with a reddish hue. The ornately decorated house was stunning as ever.

‘I really love your house.’ Y/N looked around slowly in awe.

‘Y’know how to make your permanent residence here.’ Edward threw the keys into the bowl on the cabinet.

‘How scandalous! Proposing on the second date!’ Y/N jeered.

‘Ah this is a date?’ Edward raised his eyebrows in mirth, taking Y/N in by the waist. He smelt of lilac, honey and the sunlight. An intoxicating composition.

‘Guh…’ Y/N said intelligently, peering into Edwards' faultless face. The sunset was doing wonders for his skin, displaying a brilliant shimmer that danced across his face. ‘It's so unfair how pretty you are. I can’t form sentences.’

‘At least I have that going for me don’t I?’ Edward laughed, slowly leaning in. Y/N flickered her eyes closed, lacking the will to stop him. She really was only human after all.

The lack of pressure on her lips caused her to flutter her eyes back open, just as the cool forehead of Edward, met hers. His eyes were closed, perfectly full lips curved into a wistful smile as he breathed in deeply. Y/N gave a quiet laugh, placing a hand on Edward’s steady chest.

‘I wonder, if your heart was still beating, what would it feel like right now.’ She gave him an unintentionally sweet smile.

‘It’d be racing.’ He brushed a thumb over Y/N’s warm face. ‘I may not be a human Y/N but I still am a man.’

‘Men can be fickle creatures.’ Y/N noted, looking into Edward’s eyes, mesmerised by the subtle flecks of brown and gold.

‘That is true. Human men. I’m not human, remember?’ Edward pulled back looking smug. He reached for her hand, clasping his fingers over hers and led her toward the kitchen.

‘So, are you going to cook for me today?’ Y/N sat down on the barstool, holding her head up with her hands. The cool marble countertop was spotless, decorated with a basket of oranges and two bottles of wine that Y/N knew, cost more than her house.

‘That's right.’ He took off his overshirt and pushed up his sleeves. ‘I spent the entirety of last night watching the Food Network just in case you’d ever ask me to cook for you.’

Edward frowned slightly, opening the fridge and staring blankly into it.

‘Though I had no idea it would be this soon.’ He muttered, looking adorably confused.

‘Was the Food Network helpful in your learning endeavours?’ Y/N chuckled, slipping off her seat and skipping over to stand beside Edward.

‘No.’ He grumbled, moving aside to let her see. ‘What the hell does season to taste mean? I don’t need to taste food. I don’t even eat it.’ He rolled his eyes goodnaturedly with a grin.

‘True, I always hate it when they say that. Just give me a measurement, right?’ Y/N pulled out some tomatoes and a packet of beef mince. ‘Where do you keep your herbs?’

‘On the windowsill, that big one over there. We grow them but it's not like we ever get to use them.’ Edward pointed.

‘How hard it must be for you my dear cold one.’ She rolled her eyes playfully. ‘Never need to eat other than to occasionally hunt animals. Why would anyone ever want to be a vampire?’

‘You never get to age. I’ll never know what it’s like to become old, be a father or a grandfather.’ Edward looked upset, leaning on the counter.

‘So you’d be against me becoming one of you if I asked?’ Y/N looked up, placing down the tomatoes, moving to stand opposite Edward. The look on his face looked like a wounded animal, conflicted and yearning.

‘Well, I…’ He began, his eyes darting around her form, as if trying to ingrain every last detail of her into his brain.

‘I don’t think it’s in me to deny you anything you ask for.’ He sighed, looking back down at the counter and picking up the tomatoes. ‘So let's make you some pasta.’

‘You’re really good at cop out answers huh?’ Y/N snickered, moving to help him.

‘Yeah well, that's what boys do to stay out of trouble with their girlfriends.’ He smiled, turning on the tap and washing the tomatoes. Y/N noticed his slip in, and couldn't find it in herself to correct him

The pair ended up cooking together, Edward made sure that Y/N wasn’t anywhere near the chopping knives, instead putting her in charge of boiling and salting the water for the pasta. It was homely, domestic even.

Was this what life would be like if they were a married couple? Cooking, chatting for the rest of their lives? It didn’t seem too bad. Edward was a great conversationalist and Y/N’s past memories were able to bring some nuance in perspective.

Finally, the pasta was finished. The kitchen smelt wonderfully of warm, herbaceous, and meaty sauce.

‘Well, looks like we make a great team’ Y/N beamed, grabbing a fork as Edward set down a plate in front of her.

‘I concur.’ Edward smiled, setting down a glass of juice for Y/N.

‘Where’d you get this from?’ Y/N looked puzzled, she hadn’t spotted a carton of juice in the fridge.

‘Esme likes to grow orange trees and sometimes apples too. It’s one of her hobbies to pass the time other than interior decorating and architecture.’ He sat down next to her, swivelling his chair so he could watch her eat.

'Your family has a ton of cool hobbies.'

'That we do.'

‘Do you have to watch me chew?’ Y/N wrinkled her nose, pointing her fork accusingly at the boy.

‘Well I can’t watch you sleep so..’ He jested, raising an arm to defend himself from the imminent smack that the object of all his affections inflicted.

‘Why would you want to watch me sleep?’ She twirled around the pasta on her fork, lifting it to her lips to eat whilst Edward looked on, sighing before answering.

‘It’s not that I want to watch you sleep.’ He began, pushing back a strand of stray hair behind Y/N’s ear. ‘It’s just that, those are the only hours that I’m away from you. I can’t protect you, I can’t see you and it drives me nuts.’

‘I mean, I’ve survived this long.’ Y/N shrugged before eating another forkful of pasta.

‘Yeah, we see how that went with the van and everything.’

‘Touche.’

The rest of the conversation wasn’t remarkable enough to recount. Small talk filled with questions that were fired back with more questions. By then, the sun had fully set, the house no longer cast in a beautiful glow.

They had spent their time cleaning up the kitchen, talking about what foods they’d try to cook together next and possibly bake something too.

It was getting late and Edward knew that he’d have to send Y/N home. It wasn’t something he wanted to do but he was quite sure that Charlie Swan would show up with his gun. Y/N had agreed so they both left the Cullen house reluctantly.

The ride back home went quickly. Almost too quickly.

As they pulled into the driveway, she could see the lights were still on (it being only around half past seven) in the kitchen. Something in Y/N’s chest fluttered when Edward leaned over to unbuckle her seatbelt for her.

‘I guess this is where we part ways.’ Edward smiled forlornly, his eyes tracing her face.

‘Drive home and then come say goodnight. Charlie will think it's weird if your car doesn’t leave the premises.’ Y/N whispered, hoping that the darkness would cover the way she was fiddling with her fingers nervously. It didn't.

‘Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Leave your window open for me?’ Edward’s smile had become radiant, almost blinding.

‘Yeah. Go, I’ll shower in the meantime. Don’t peek.’ She emphasised, opening the door hurriedly, not wanting Edward to sense her jitteriness. However, Y/N’s heart beat betrayed her, speeding up like music to Edward’s ears.

‘Be back soon Y/N/N.’ He murmured, just before Y/N closed the passenger side door. She waved as he pulled away, all but running up the path and opening the door with her keys.

Y/N greeted Bella and Charlie on the way in, waving at them whilst explaining that she was tired and was going to shower and then sleep after.

Charlie had asked if Y/N had eaten dinner yet to which the girl nodded and Charlie in turn looked pleased. Bella however looked slightly jealous.

‘Tomorrow night, do you want to come with me and dad to the diner?’ Bella gave a hopeful smile, turning her body toward Y/N.

‘Yeah that sounds good! You and I can head there after school!’ Y/N agreed easily, whilst taking off her shoes.

‘Okay, I’m going to go shower and then head to bed. Good night guys!’

To which a quick duet of ‘Goodnight’s’ was replied with.

Rushing upstairs she headed into her room, skipping every second step. Y/N opened up her window and then grabbed clothing from her already open closet and stepped into her ensuite.

The warmth of the shower eased the tension of classes and soothed the way her muscles ached, just for being human.

When she finished drying her hair with the blow dryer, she was already clad in her pyjamas. She yawned as she opened the door back to her room. She was met with Edward sitting down on the edge of her bed, one of her pillows in his lap.

‘You got here fast.’ She noted, checking to see if her door was closed.

‘Well, its not polite to keep a lady waiting.’ He said in a hushed tone, taking in her newly washed appearance. ‘I got changed into clean clothes when I went home.’

‘Yeah, I noticed.’ She smiled, sitting down next to him and laying her head on his shoulder.

‘Your hair’s still a little wet.’ Edward brushed his fingers through her damp hair, making sure to detangle any rare knots that he found. Y/N hummed in approval, closing her eyes at the sensation.

‘I’m sleepy already.’ She sighed, blinked her eyes open to look at the man playing with her hair.

‘Do you want me to go?’ He whispered back, lifting up a strand of her hair to his lips.

‘Do you wanna have a sleepover?’ Y/N whispered, ‘But you have to close your eyes the entire night.’

‘You want me to stay?’ Edward sounded exhilarated, it were as if someone had just offered him a large sum of money.

‘But only if you close your eyes. You can lay down with me but no funny business okay?’ Y/N whispered, getting up to turn off the lights.

‘My lady, doth thou asketh me to lay with her before we are wed?’ His tone was hushed and playful, standing behind her with an arm wrapped around her waist.

‘Kind sir, I merely ask for your accompaniment whilst I slumber tonight.’ Y/N answered, turning to go close the window whilst Edward moved along with her.

‘What a scandalous request young miss.’

‘Is this gonna be our thing? We talk like you did back in the 1900’s?’

‘Are you calling me old?’

‘If the coffin fits.’

Edward spun her around just as she shut the window, the edges of his eyes were crinkled.

‘I can stay?’ He breathed, his tone was one of absolute disbelief .

‘Yes.’ Y/N nodded slowly, ‘The bed’s big enough for both of us.’

‘I promise I’ll keep my eyes closed when you’re asleep.’ Edward led her toward her bed by the hand, waiting for her to slide into her sheets before following. Y/N lifted her sheets so he could slip in as well, resting his arm under her head whilst she faced him.

‘I know you will.’ Y/N muttered, feeling her eyelids grow heavier with sleep.

‘Good night love.’ Edward breathed out, fluttering his own eyes shut. He listened to the comforting ‘thump thump thump’ of Y/N’s heart beat slow down as she drifted into slumber, smiling at the sound.

He brought himself closer by a hair, just so he could filter out the other smells of the house and focus purely on Y/N’s scent. He breathed in, feeling his throat burn slightly at her fragrance yet, he felt himself being refreshed all the same.

If he could freeze a moment in time, it would be this in a heartbeat.

It was the first time Edward had truly rested in over eighty years. Maybe even the first time since he had been turned, that he felt the strain and melancholy of his eternal life ebb away.

The gentle breathing of Y/N fanned over his face, bringing a much needed warmth into his lungs. Not all of the blood or gold in the world would have been able to tempt him from this moment.

The night passed, Y/N waking up to chirping birds outside her window. The clock read Five forty five am. It was early even for her. She turned over in Edward’s hold to see his eyes still shut but darting around under his eyelids.

‘Good morning Edward.’ Y/N poked his nose gently, watching his eyelashes batter open.

‘Good morning Y/N.’ He sighed with a content smile, bringing his free hand cup to her face, using his thumb to rub over her cheeks.

‘What were you thinking about whilst I was asleep?’ She closed her eyes, relishing in the coolness of his hand.

‘You.’ He murmured, gazing at her lovingly. ‘I’m always thinking about you.’

‘Sure you are.’

‘When you first walked into class, you were wearing a hoodie, you sat down next to me and I couldn’t hear anything.’ He closed his eyes again, smiling wistfully.

‘You looked at me and suddenly everything was silent and I could only see you. The earth ceased to spin, and time itself stopped, just for that moment when our eyes met.’

‘Okay, okay I believe you.’ Y/N covered her burning face with both her hands.

‘It’ll always be you Y/N.’ He whispered, opening his eyes. ‘Even when you aren’t around, I’m thinking of you.’

‘What, do you have a crush on me or something?’ Y/N teased quietly, her smile bashful.

‘Something like that.’ Edward replied, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead. ‘No one’s awake yet.’

‘It is quite early…’ Y/N hummed, closing her eyes while she stretched. ‘Oh right, I said I’d let Bella drive me home from school and we’d hang out at the diner for dinner.’

‘Then do I get to drive you to school?’ Edward pouted, pressing his forehead on hers. Y/N laughed and pushed his head back gently.

‘Yes you do, pretty boy. And if you behave today, maybe we can have another sleepover.’

‘You think I’m pretty?’ Edward beamed as a ray of morning sun caressed his cheek, illuminating his diamond skin.

‘As if I haven't said it before.’ Y/N rolled her eyes before turning to roll out of bed. ‘Now go home and get changed. You can drive me to school after breakfast okay?’

Edward had groaned out an agreement whilst sitting up in her bed. He had spun her by the hand back into his chest.

‘I’ll see you soon?’

‘It’ll be like an hour at most.’ Y/N laughed, giving him a quick hug.

‘That’s an hour too long.’ he whined, wrapping his arms slowly around her waist.

‘Okay you big sparkly baby. Go home. I’m gonna make waffles for breakfast.’ Y/N unwound her hands from his torso and waited for Edward to do the same.

‘Just another minute.’ Edward brought his forehead down to her’s, inhaling deeply through his nose.

They both stood there in a comfortable silence before a cellphone in the house started ringing.

Y/N and Edward’s eyes flew open, both their heads snapping to the direction of the sound.

It was Charlie’s phone, meaning he would wake up soon.

‘Okay, go, go!’ Y/N whispered, shoving him towards the window.

‘Wow, you really want to get rid of me huh?’ Edward sniffed haughtily.

‘Do you wanna get shot by a gun and then be asked why it bounced off you?’ Y/N stopped to cross her arms.

‘Good point.’

‘See you soon.’

‘Can’t wait.’ Edward gave her a quick kiss on the crown of her head before opening the window and jumping out of it. Down the corridor, Y/N could hear stumbling and a small crash.

‘Charlie? Are you okay?’ She opened her bedroom door and peered out.

‘Yeah ‘m fine. Sorry, did that wake you?’ He flung open his door, rubbing a hand over his somehow charmingly, sleepy face.

‘No I woke up early to make waffles for breakfast.’ Y/N shrugged, watching Charlie’s tensed brow relax.

‘What did we do to deserve you?’ The older man smiled, before the moment was interrupted by the shrill ringing of the home telephone.

‘Looks like it’ll be an early start today.’ Y/N laughed, watching Charlie’s brow set again in an annoyed stare.

‘I’m meant to be off today.’

‘Yikes.’

Y/N stepped back inside her room to change as Charlie trudged down the stairs to pick up the early morning call.

It was sunny today so it would also mean Edward wouldn’t be going to school. He'd be joining the rest of his family in whatever national park playing aggressive tag with bears after he dropped her off.

She slipped on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. It’d be one of the rare, warmer days so she tied the jacket around her waist. Smoothing her outfit down, she started down stairs, swinging her backpack loosely around her shoulder.

By the time Bella woke up and had gotten dressed, Y/N had already made a plateful of waffles and bacon ready for Bella.

‘Y/N, can we get married?’ Bella laughed, sitting down at the table. Before Y/N could answer, the door bell rang.

‘That must be Edward. He has to go out of town today but he said he wanted to drive me to school.’ Y/N explained, turning off the stove to rush over to the front door.

She flung open the door, met by Edward’s smiling face. He had his sunglasses propped up, wearing just a t-shirt.

‘Can you walk around like that?’ Y/N looked around, checking to make sure no neighbours were snooping around.

‘It’s only until I drive you to school. Go eat your breakfast, I’ll wait.’ Edward stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

‘Edward.’ Charlie grunted, looking irritated. ‘We’re seeing a lot of you lately.’

‘Yes sir.’ Edward nodded, seemingly amused by the thoughts in Charlie's head. ‘‘Trying to impress Y/N is hard work so I’m doing my best.’ He added for good measure.

‘Huh.’ Charlie sniffed, looking disgruntled. ‘Well you two stay out of the woods. Waylon Forge was found dead this morning. We don’t know what it is yet.’

‘Oh dear.’ Y/N winced, turning to look at him, walking over and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry Charlie, I know he was your friend.’

‘It’s alright. I’m going to go ahead early. Least I can do is find out who or what it was.’ He pushed his chair back with a scraping noise and went upstairs to change into his uniform.

Y/N turned to look at Edward but found that he had an alarmed look on his face. She grabbed two waffles and gave Bella a side hug before waving goodbye.

Dragging Edward to the car, she asked, ‘What, what is it?’

‘Charlie’s mind is hard to read but the phone call said it was likely an animal attack.’ Edward said, opening the car door for Y/N whilst reaching for his own cell phone.

‘It wasn’t just an animal, was it?’ Y/N looked up at him.

‘No. It wasn’t’

-----

Edit: I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THIS! I think 3k words per chapter is okay, i hope its not too short for you guys :c

BUT ANWYAYS PLS RMBR TO COMMENT IF YOU WANT ME TO TAG YOU IN THE UPDATES EACH CHAPTER! UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN NEXT!

#twilight saga edward #twilight edward cullen x reader #edward x reader #edward cullen #edward cullen x reader #twilight x reader #twilight edward x reader #twilight imagines #edward cullen imagines #twilight edward cullen imagines #edward imagines

360 notes · View notes

manicmanuscription · 3 months ago

Text

Exhibit

PolySJM Week: Day Five

Prompt: Memories and History

Pairings: Feysand / Reader

Summary: You're the last one left in the inner circle, taking a weekly visit to the museum.

Word Count: 2225

Tags: Extreme angst, no like, a lot of angst, hurt and barely any comfort, author hurt her own feelings. Inner circle is all dead. briefly smutty memories but explicit, 18++

PolySJM Week 2025 Masterlist | Acotar Masterlist

My shoes clicked softly against the hardwood floors, yet each step echoed throughout my entire being, the sound deafening in the quiet halls and a sense of dread bled into my heart with every movement.

Being here was suffocating and I tried to remind myself to breathe, to force air into my lungs. Yet I tortured myself with this feeling every Friday, at one p.m. With tentative steps I reached the next room, the open floor plan allowing everything to be displayed properly and I halted in front of one of the clear cases.

My heart constricted at seeing the matching set of jewelry. A custom set commissioned by Rhysand for Feyre and I. Small glittering black diamonds fashioned into the shapes of small stars and tiny pearls all strung up elaborately to cascade down the earlobe.

The earrings sat next to their complimentary tiara's, the highest point also forming into a star. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment at the sight. It had been a mating gift, one of many after the elaborate ceremony he planned. The earrings had been one of my favorite pieces in my vanity and had seen the sun so often my mate had regularly taken it in for cleaning and upkeep services.

Though when they stopped pumping air into their lungs and their heart gave out from the extent of their injuries the sight of it quickly made me want to tear my skin off.

Lifeless eyes and bloodsoaked satin flashed before my vision and I gripped my walking cane so hard I swore you could hear tiny wood pieces splintering.

A few hundred years later andI could still hear Nesta’s anguished cries and Mor’s horrified whimpers as we rushed to save them.

Too late. Too late. Too late.

I could still feel Cassian’s grip on my arms as he forcefully pulled me away from the sight of the gruesome scene, everyone yelling over one another as it all dissolved to chaos. The only thing that existed in that moment was them, the sight of their limp bodies into my mind forever, that agonizing pain in my chest as the bond shattered with their last breath.

Madja wouldn’t even tell me what had truly happened to them. I found out, of course. It took me weeks but eventually I found out. That knowledge nearly sent me spiraling over the closest cliff, and the memory had that ragged bond in my chest stirring painfully.

I forced myself away from the display case and ventured further into the Inner Circle’s exhibit. Blinking the horrid memories away as I passed a few of the other cases, letters between The Spymaster and Highlord, various weapons, sculptures, depictions of great battles my family fought in and other heroic deeds, even some shattered siphons from when my friends were youthful and untrained, a replica of the mirror the General used to capture the death god Lanthys, then a replica of the sword used to slain him. -the real thing had been given to their daughter- great paintings depicting the Battle of Hybern and the Three Sister’s once human in all their glory. Each piece a living reminder of the legends that were my family until eventually I paused in front of my greatest torment.

Feyre’s last unfinished piece was sitting in a storage unit a few blocks away, sometimes I’d sit there wondering what it was meant to be, my sneaky little mate having kept it a secret until she meant to reveal it on our anniversary, it tortured me for years after their deaths knowing she’d never finished it and never would, yet this canvas in front of me…

Feyre and I were sitting on lavish chairs facing forward as Rhysand stood behind us with an arm on each of our shoulders, a coy smile playing on his lips. Even though I was starting to forget a lot of things with my age, I remember that day like it was yesterday.

“Stop trying to make me laugh!” I scolded Rhys mentally. His laughter echoed down the bond and I whirled around in my seat to face him, still keeping my hand firmly intertwined with Feyre’s. A reprimand on my tongue even as I struggled to control my giddy smile.

The painter gently reminded me to sit still and Rhysand smirked. “Yes darling sit still we’re trying to get our portrait taken after all.” I rolled my eyes, sending a harsh wave of annoyance down the bond. “You’re the one distracting me!” I protested even as I faced the painter once more.

“I. am. not.” Rhysand objected, his smooth voice falling on my ears, the sound of it a balm to my soul even though he was getting on my last nerve. Three seconds passed before another image of the three of us flashed in front of my eyes, my lovely wife was all wrapped up in pretty silk tied to our bed while I had the pleasure of tasting her, my tongue circling her clit as my husband kissed up her thighs before reaching her breasts. Her soft moans filled the room and- the image dissolved with a brush of Feyre’s magic and she glared at both of us and huffed slightly. “That is enough!” She snapped angrily, a faint blush crept up her cheeks and she adjusted herself on her chair.

“The both of you are behaving like children! We wouldn’t even be in this position if you” She sent me a pointed glare. “hadn’t insisted on a live portrait.”

The artist gave us a confused glance at our conversation flowing in and out of mental or verbal speaking but returned to their canvas quickly not wanting to somehow upset the powerful leaders of the Night Court.

“I thought it would be fun!” I whispered back and Rhysand chuckled softly leaning down to give Feyre and I a quick peck on the cheek. “She truly had no idea how boring these things are. I'm just trying to liven it up a little.”

“Well quit it. Because you’re distracting me, our mate, the artist and making this whole ordeal last longer than it needs to.”

Rhysand winced as her harsh words dug into his mental walls and I threw a look over my shoulder sticking my tongue out at him before returning my gaze forward. Feyre gave my hand a warning squeeze accompanied with her signature glare and I muttered an apology.

Another few agonizing minutes passed before another image flashed before my eyes. I was slowly removing the silk dress from my body, stepping out from the expensive fabric in nothing but lingerie, Feyre trailed her hands up my spine from behind me a dark look in her eyes watching as Rhys leaned down to hungrily claim my lips with his own. Soft manicured nails tugged at my hair harshly eliciting a soft moan from my lips and she turned my head to the side to give our mate more access and Rhys trailed those kisses down to the side of my neck–

“That is it!” I hissed. Standing up from my chair and storming out of the room as I fought to get my arousal under control.

Rhysand just leaned down to Feyre’s ear. “I told you I could get her to break.” She just rubbed a tattooed hand over her temples, a small -annoyed- smirk playing on her lips as she stood as well.

The memory faded and I brushed the tears away with an aged hand. Feyre ultimately finished the painting by taking the reference photo from the memory of the artist we hired, and reimbursed the poor girl for wasting her time.

A wave of anger rose within me, I would never not be mad at them for leaving me to raise our child alone with that stupid fucking pact. Sure I had our family’s help but they had their own children and spouses to attend to as well and eventually old age or injury picked them all off until it was just me. The shattered bond in my chest ached at the thought refusing the anger and sadness that suffocated me so strongly a wave of pain almost had me doubling over in the exhibit.

I knew I was starting to go, forgetting things and losing time. I had to start walking with a cane and my hair turned fully white ages ago. Even my hearing was almost nonexistent. Not a lot of fae got to be this age but I was stubborn, refusing to go until I was sure my son, nieces and nephews, and court were ok.

Sometimes I could feel my mates, brushing their hand with mine as I hobbled down the streets of Velaris, whispering things to me in the wind that I could not decipher. Sometimes I could feel one of my friends, urging me to relax or even teasing me from realms apart.

It was getting more frequent and I knew my loves would be coming to collect me from this realm soon.

When they did I would never, ever stop yelling at them for what they did to me. They broke their promises leaving me with a temperamental and newly made High Lord who was just a little too young to rule and a grieving court. I sat down on one of the museum’s benches as a cluster of people entered the exhibit, the clock striking one fifteen.

My favorite part of the day.

The tour guide spoke softly as the fae walked around the room, awe lining their faces. No one recognized me from the paintings and they were all too young to realize anyways, I hadn’t ventured to any political or public events in years, not ever since I broke my hip on some stairs in the Hewn City and my son all but banned me. Just as protective as his father.

The guide spoke about my family with quiet reverence, telling stories about countless battles and wars won, treaty’s built. She talked about victory over Koschei and the Illyrians unrest. She talked about the political wins of my mates, she talked of the Lady of Death and her Valkyries.

She then spoke of me, telling the love story of my mates and I, put together from long dead witness statements, letters, and even stories spilled from the old Inner Circle.

The guests moved about the room excitedly, pointing at old artifacts and statues. It was always strange to hear my life and my family’s lives from another person, one who wasn’t there but had studied us. My nieces and nephew’s loved to hear the stories I told when they were young, but sometimes…it was nice to hear about it from someone else, I was the only one left who truly remembered what happened after all and even those were slowly going.

It helped me remember. Remember Cassian’s booming laugh long faded, Azriels quiet reassurance, chess games between Nesta and Amren, Elain’s garden long untouched by her own loving hands.

The perspective shift was amusing to me and war and peace raged in my heart at the memories the tour guide returned to me with her intricately weaved tales. I missed my family, missed the way our home came alive with their presence.

Every fiber in my body ached and a stray tear slipped as the guide eventually moved onto my mate's demise and the betrayal of our ‘allies’

There wasn’t time, even if we spent eons together it would have never been enough.

Eventually the crowd cleared as she concluded this part of her tour and moved to another exhibit. Leaving only one person in the room with me. Nyx strode across the room in just a few steps sitting on the bench beside me. “I nearly had a heart attack when Simone told me she lost you. Again.”

“Why must you torture yourself like this Mother?” He asked, placing a comforting hand on my wobbled knee as he took a pained glance at the room. I didn’t respond, just took a chance to study his face doing my best to commit it to my weathered mind.. He was getting old, stress lines making him seem even older and being a High Lord and a new father certainly didn’t help.

Gods he looked so much like them. With his soft freckles and violet eyes. He most certainly had Feyre’s nose.

I smiled, another ghostly wisp of a warm touch running along my spine and I knew it would be soon. I could feel that knowledge all the way down to my weary and ancient bones. Just as I knew Nyx would be fine, him and his cousin’s had been ruling for quite some time and I’d never been prouder of them and I would finally get the chance to confront my mates for I had hundreds of years of grievances to settle with them. But I would also get to hold them close once more, press kisses to their shoulders and tell them stories of the male our son had become.

I would be able to cherish them once more, to hold them close once again, to hear their voices and see their smiles.

I would be able to see my family once again and that peace would settle my soul for eternity.

#poly+sjmweek2025 #polyweek #angst #feysand x reader #feyre x reader #rhysand x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #a lot of angst #poly+sjmweek2025d5 #brief smut

182 notes · View notes

kupidachillea · 7 months ago

Note

Hello, I really like your yandere Olympians with a reader. You can make a yandere Poseidon with a reader separately, if it’s not difficult for you, of course Sorry if there are mistakes here, I’m just making mistakes with the translator😅 I just recently found out about Tumbl and you are the first one I write to and ask for something.

Poseidon x Reader (Hcs or imagines)

Author note: Eeeee Poseidon requests! I actually had some fun with this. Also thank you for requesting.

TW (Trigger Warning): Mentions of kidnapping, light stalking, mainly fluff.

CW (Content warning): I had this imagine set in the modern day because I wanted to explore more of how the gods would handle modern day lovers. Again- this isn’t accurate to the actual lore but some pieces are taken from it and inspired some of the things I put in here.

🌊- You had just moved to the seaside, wanting to get away from the busy city and just relax for a while.

🔱- You had found a nice home to purchase by the beach and took full advantage of it, collecting shells and sea glass, playing in the water and just sitting and enjoying the Greek sun.

🌊- Though, at times you can’t help but feel watched, however you can never tell where it’s coming from. At first you thought you were being paranoid since there were some people that occasionally came to the beach too but over time, the longer you lived by the water you felt eyes on you.

🔱- Turns out you weren’t being paranoid. A certain sea god was watching you, ever since you moved in. You had caught his eye..

🌊- He just couldn’t take his eyes off of you, it’s been quite some time since he’s had a mortal lover..it’s been a bit difficult as times have changed. You can’t simply kidnap someone without it being noticed.

🔱- “How bothersome..” He would think to himself. He was seriously considering snatching you up every time you came to the beach, after all- who wouldn’t want to spend the night with the god of the sea? So he thought you wouldn’t mind…

🌊- However, something held him back. He wanted to do things differently, believe it or not. He looked back on his memories and most times he acted rashly he ended up almost always chasing his ‘lovers’…he didn’t want to repeat history..maybe he should try human courtship for once.

🔱- And so- with that thought in mind he assumed a human form and decided to meet you on the beach.

🌊- Today was one such day, you were relaxing as usual, sorting out some shells before you felt the presence of another being looming over you. You looked up and your brows rose as you caught glimpse of the handsome man before you.

🔱- A smile tugged on Poseidon’s lips..he could already tell that his human form impressed you, however he can sense your suspicion. He pushed back a few strands of his long dark hair and greeted you.

🌊- Introducing himself by a different name to hid his identity and you answered back, greeting him and telling him about yourself.

🔱- At first you had a weird feeling about this strange man but you ended up brushing it off. Mentally telling yourself that you were just being paranoid.

🌊- Eventually you warm up to the stranger as days go by. You both kept meeting at the beach and somehow he always knew when you were there. You decided to jokingly bring that up in your next conversation with him.

🔱- “Hey, you know it’s kinda odd, right? How you know exactly when and where I’m going to be on the beach.” You chuckled softly as sat on the sand next to the dark haired man. Poseidon in human disguise hummed in acknowledgment.

🌊- “Oh is it?” He would ask in response. If only you knew that he was somewhat stalking you..waiting and watching for when you’d be out here. He was honestly getting very antsy waiting so long to have you but he somehow managed to mentally will himself to be more patient.

🔱- You nodded before continuing. “Yeah..you wouldn’t happen to be stalking me, would you?” You would laugh. Clearly joking about the entire thing though Poseidon just cocked a brow at you and smirked which in turn made your smile drop and your brows furrow.

🌊- “Wait..I was joking..I’m not serious..” You said quickly, hoping he’d take the hint and admit to not stalking you but of course that’s not how things went.

🔱- “I know you were joking, dear…but I have to be honest..I have been ‘stalking’ you..only a little.” Poseidon admitted and you pressed your lips into a thin line. Should you excuse yourself and leave? Or just stay put..you don’t know why but you felt oddly compelled to stay seated for a moment longer and hear him out. “Why..?”

🌊- “Why?” Poseidon replied back, his brows raising curiously before he smiled. “Why not? You interest me, little mortal. After you appeared on my beach I just had to have a closer look.” After he said that you felt your confusion only grow. ‘Little mortal’?… ‘His beach’?. Something wasn’t adding up.

🔱- “Wait- who are you…?” You finally spoke and it was as if you were seeing who he truly was for the first time. Because you were. You watched as his smirk formed into a grin and his appearance shifted. Causing you to backpedal away on instinct.

🌊- Now with his human form dropped he could finally be at ease. Poseidon let out a deep sigh. “Oh how I was waiting for this moment, for me to reveal my true self to you..I am Poseidon..god of the sea.” He would utter, his gaze falling back to you as he knelt down and took your hand. “Come now..don’t be afraid of me, dear one…” he cooed.

🔱- You weren’t sure what was happening anymore. You would’ve laughed at him and assumed he was joking if it weren’t for the fact he was kneeling in front of you after a short transformation. You took a deep breath before answering.

🌊- “Okay..um..Poseidon..what do you want with me?” You would ask as his thumb gently glided over your knuckles. A soothing gesture on his part, probably trying to get you to relax. The lord of the sea smiled softly.

🔱- “What I want with you? Isn’t it obvious? I want you to be my partner..my lover.” He would say, his voice as calm and as comforting as the soft sounds of the sea.

🌊- You looked at him in slight surprise and disbelief. Lover? You weren’t too sure how to take this. On one hand it was sweet and you were curious to see where this relationship would go- but on the other hand you were still skeptical of the god. Poseidon noticed your hesitancy and smiled a little as he moved his hands to caress your cheek. “We can go slow if you want…I’ve been patient and waited this long..so I think I can handle it if we take things one step at a time..” The sea god uttered with a slight sigh.

🔱-You relaxed at his words and nodded a bit. You supposed you could give this relationship a shot. Who knows, maybe having a deity as a boyfriend won’t be so bad. “I-…Okay..I accept your offer Poseidon.”

🌊- He would grin as the words left your mouth. This was perfect- exactly what he wanted. He was about to speak but you cut him off. “But! But- we go slow, like you promised. No rushing into anything serious at the moment…please?” You would spoke softly, your browns furrowed as you waited to hear the sea god’s response.

🔱- Poseidon would chuckle and nod. “Of course, my dear..We go slow.” He answered before placing a small kiss on the back of your hand. Finally he had you’re in his grasp, it was just a matter of time before he’d have you completely falling for him..and he intended to make that happen. You were his darling mortal after all..

Author note: Oof- this took way too long for me to do. I apologise for that. A lot of things were happening in November and I’m still sick lol. But on another note- I might do a part 2 to this if someone asks but all in all thank you for the request, Anon. I’m still working to finish the others too.

#greek mythology au #greek mythology #mythology #greek epic #olympians x reader #poseidon x reader #poseidon #ancient greek mythology #greek gods x reader #x reader #mythology x reader #greek mythology x reader #x reader imagine #modern au #crushing on greek mythology characters #gn reader #fem reader

376 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 1 year ago

Note

Hiiii!! I saw that you were asking for camp counselor! James and I got an idea, what if reader and him weren’t yet together but they were both pinning on one another and he was just telling the kids how adorable the reader is and the kids thought that they would be so good together and were so happy when they finally got together!!!

Thanks for requesting sweetheart!

camp counselor!James x fem!reader ♡ 751 words

You spot James before he does you, holding court among a circle of campers enjoying their free time after lunch. The sun beats down on the unshaded bit of grass in front of his cabin, but James doesn’t seem to mind. He’s all loose and smiley, skin glowing in the afternoon light and hair that hasn’t been cut since May curling just above the rims of his glasses, meanwhile you can already feel the tickle of sweat forming on your skin.

He looks up as you approach, grin widening the second before his face smooths into seriousness. “Careful, guys, we’ve got a wily one coming to join us,” he tells the kids. “Keep your cards close.”

You roll your eyes, sitting down with your legs crossed beneath you between a couple of girls from your cabin. “What are you playing?” You ask them, and yet James answers anyway.

“Blackjack.” You look up at him, and he smiles. Almost bashfully, like he’s unable to help himself. “Crazy eights,” he concedes, setting down his hand to deal you in. “Here, we’re just starting.”

“James,” one of his boys whines, “we’re halfway through.”

“What harm does it do you, Cal?” he asks. “You’re set to win anyway.”

“It’s okay,” you promise, “James is allowed to set me up for failure if he likes.”

James pretends to be appalled, making the kids laugh, but he can’t keep it up for long before he’s smiling back at you. You like doing this with him, allying together. It feels like you’re in on some sort of secret, though you’re not sure what that might be.

“It’s probably because he fancies her,” one of the other boys whispers to Cal in a not-so-low voice.

You do your best to keep your eyes on your cards and your feelings off your face, but you feel a heat that has nothing to do with the sun creeping up the back of your neck.

“Shush!” One of your campers, Mary, elbows the other boy sharply. “You’re so loud.”

You don’t dare sneak a glance up at James, but when one of the girls goes, “Wait, what?” and the circle erupts in giggles, you can’t help it. He’s grinning at you, that us-against-the-world look again, like kids, right? You hope your answering smile looks half as relaxed.

“You guys are worse gossips than my mum, you know that?” The kids’ laughter worsens as he feigns an exasperation that’s easy to see through, setting his hands on his hips. You pointedly do not notice how nicely the pose displays his biceps and forearms. “This is why I don’t tell you any real secrets.”

The boys from James’ cabin look genuinely upset. You feel a bit bad for them even as relief washes over you, tinged with a bit of disappointment.

“It wasn’t a secret?” the boy who’d spoken asks.

James gives him a sideways look. “Hate to break it to you, mate, but look at her.” Blood rushes to your face as the kids gasp and ooh conspiratorially at each other almost too loud for you to hear him saying, “I’m only human.”

You feel no better than the kids when the first response that rushes to your lips is shut up, but you choose to take your own advice, rolling your eyes like you think he’s joking despite the light and undeniable sincerity in James’ tone. Butterflies crowd your stomach.

“Y/n, are you gonna be his girlfriend?” one of the girls from your cabin asks, grinning ear to ear.

“Um, it’s not quite so simple—”

“Terrible!” James exclaims, looking around the circle with a scandalized expression. “You’re all terrible. I haven’t even asked her anything! You’re going to kill your counselor, and what then? You think the next one will let you play in her hammock?”

“We’re not allowed to do that anymore,” another of your girls says sulkily.

James looks to you, and you shrug, sheepish. “I got caught. They said it wasn’t safe.”

“Whatever,” James blazes onward, “the point is, who will I have to talk to if you kill her? Be considerate, guys. Plan ahead.”

“James,” you plead, very nearly on the brink of actual death, you’re sure.

“And that,” he says promptly, stacking three fives and holding up his hands empty, “is how you win at crazy eights.”

The kids erupt in shouts, pointing fingers and throwing down their cards, and James sends you a wink.

You think you need to take a dunk in the lake.

703 notes · View notes

yeiwo7 · 18 days ago

Text

I wanna be myself to you

Summary: Coming back from a mission, only to be swept up in a dance at the station by none other than your stupid best friend, Satoru...if only the rain swept your feelings away.

Pairings: Student Gojo Satoru x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Genre: Fluff, unrequited love (nah), silly shoko and geto, slight Geto Suguru x Reader, dancing in the rain, besties to lovers, slight jealousy ............................................................................................................

He loves you like the flowers need the rain. He needs you like the kids love the spring rain.

The four of you had agreed to meet up after one of your solo missions, since they found some cute shop and arcade in the area.

The wheather forecast did say it was to rain, but the gloomy clouds were nowhere this morning when you set off for your mission, besides it said that it will rain in the late evening.

Well, that was not on your cards for today, because it was already raining pretty badly. Watching the droplets descend onto the bus's dirty window. The skies were so dark, even though it was only the afternoon. Early afternoon, infact, which means the sun should be out, alas getting a little drenched, a little sick should be rewarding after all this training, no?

Your phoke buzzed, annoyingly, you swipe open the screen and check your one and only alive group chat.

Sigma_Chainsmoker Girl, the clouds are hella pissy

I can tell😭

Bangs be bangin' Do you have an umbrella?

ehe😅

Diabetes in human form HAH Loseerr

Bangs be bangin' Sstoru Satoru* Be nice

Sigma_Chainsmoker lmao u cant see it but hes getting s beating dw girl we got u

Thank youuu😭😭😭 im arriving in liek 5 mins

Bangs be bangin' *lik alr saotru

Diabetes in human form ITS SATORU

Bangs be bangin' WAS GONNA CORRECT MYSELF. anyways☺️

Diabetes in human form dw ill be nice🙄

thats new

Diabetes in human form HEY be nice to meee im bringing u a gift

should i be worried?

Bangs be bangin' Yes.

Sigma_Chainsmoker yeah he left

Bangs be bangin' He runs like a lanky cockroach.

Sigma_Chainsmoker FR LMAOO😭😭

Placing your phone back onto your lap. Staring out the window, you watch the people pass by, with umbrellas in hand, shoulders drenched. You dozed off, wondering what Satoru wants to give you.

Meanwhile the white haired boy ran, umbrella in hand to avoid drenching his pretty white locks, rain dripping down his face to meet with his friend.

Friend? Now that he's alone, Satoru has more than enough time to think about this situationship you guys have got going on.

It had started a few months, when he caught you in a sad mood, staring at none other than Suguru Geto. His bestfriend. Feeling generous, and heartbroken he offered himself up for you to use to get over his best friend. Gojo never had any self respect to begin with. He knew the expectations that hung over his head like a guillotine.

He's cried over the fact that you're in love with his best friend, you've vented so many times to Shoko, which he's over heard.

Which is why Shoko is in quite the pickle. On one hand, she has you spilling your heart out about one of her bestfriends, while Satoru is sobbing to her with sweets in his hands about how you like Suguru all the while Suguru has no fucking clue.

It was true, in the beginning you absolutely hated Gojo's annoying ass. Instead, Geto was the one who just charmed you, yet now that infatuation has worn off. You see Suguru as a good friend who listens to all your rants about his best friend Satoru.

The two of you have been in this situationship where the pretense was Satoru would help you forget about your feelings for Suguru. It's been half a year?

Are you in love? Yes With Suguru? No

Is the inner conversation you have everytime Satoru pouts, bringing up Suguru which killed you. Having to lie straight to his face. He's such a helpful, selfless soul. Here you were shamelessly kissing him, making him believe he's the replacement.

The rain only poured louder, dark overcast draping over the cityscape, as you arrived to your buststop, already half soaked as you got off and stood underneath the bus stand. The love you felt for Satoru was different from Suguru's. Suguru felt like deep understanding and warm hug, but you couldn't see yourself with him in the long run. Where as Satoru? Y'all either growing old together or dying together. Wanna fall asleep to his voice and waking up to those sky blue flashlight eyes.

The rain felt warm on your skin, minutes have passed yet the bus stop sat empty, feeling a little dejected you decide to walk in some random direction. Contemplating on whether to go home or not.

Meanwhile, Satoru ran through the rain in desperation, wishing he'd be faster with his long feet, watching your saddened silhouette walk away from him. He doesn't want you walking away, leaving him in the rain.

Sure, he could teleport, but that would scare the few passerby near, his white hair is already a sight to see. He thought he could give you the umbrella, and a kiss perhaps...though he knew the latter would never happen.

You didn't love him.

Only using him to forget someone. Worst of all? He can't blame you, couldn't bring himself to. He needs you. You're one of the only people who truly support his stupidity, match his vibe and is pretty. Sure he has Shoko, Suguru, perhaps the first years, but they're not you. He wants you. He finally wants something, something he has to win.

Yelling your name, he ran.

You halt, hearing footsteps approach at a fast pace you turn around, face lighting up at the sight of a half-drenched Satoru, who wasn't looking up as he ran.

He bumped right into you, dropping the umbrella, grabbing onto your hands instead and swirling you around. The two of your twirl around in the rain, drenching your clothes. Yet, the radient smile on both your faces blur the worries away. Spinning and dancing like fools on a blue spring.

Then, once your legs tired out, you fall into his arms as he squeezes you tight. Both of you heaving and giggling like little children playing tag.

He breathed, eyes focused onto your ethereal face. He wanted to kiss you so bad. "I can't do this anymore."

Tilting your head to the side, you ask. "Hm? Can't do...what?"

"Y'know, our, uhm, situationship."

"Ah, no...no, that...that's understandable. " Slowly processing his words you felt your heart shatter, hugging him harder. "I...I-"

The both of your voices mix and swirl in the rain.

"I need to tell you something!"

"I have to tell you something."

You couldn't read his eyes, yet he held you close, so tight you though he'd die if he let go.

Averting his gaze you ramble. "Say it, 'Toru, what's wrong? I understand if you don't want to do this anymore. It'stotally okay, if anything jt was very mean of me to ask this of you, but I don't want to give up whatever we have-" He cupped your cheek, signaling for you to look up at him. Rendering you shocked and quiet he whispered with a new found softness in his voice.

"I want to be your boyfriend. Not my bestfriend's replacement. I wanna be yours, I want to be Satoru to you. Please?"

You hugged him. Snuggling your head into his chest, feeling the water on your skin, you look up to feel his soft lips kissing your forehead. "You always have been Satoru to me. Not Gojo, the strongest, not Suguru's replacement. You are the one I've fallen for, the love I felt for Suguru was different, it was more brotherly. I can'tsee myself with him, but you?"

Standing on your tippy toes, you kissed the bottom of his jaw. Leaving a lip stain there.

"I wanna be yours, will you accept me?"

"Yes, Toru, I always will. In any lifetime, I would fall in love with you."

102 notes · View notes

alpaca-clouds · 10 months ago

Text

Solarpunk Autumns. Solarpunk Winters.

Solarpunk as a genre exists in a state of a permanent summer. Both as a genre, and an aesthetic. Solarpunk pictures usually show us worlds that have everything in so many shades of green. Green bushes. Green trees. Green everything. Fields in Solarpunk are always filled with ripe corn and wheat. And trees in Solarpunk are full of ripe fruit.

But if we look into Solarpunk worldbuilding there is also the fact that of course at some point at many places of the world it will become autumn, and winter.

I mean, I am feeling it right now, sitting here in my bed with three blankets and shivering, as the summer has very suddenly ended.

Sure, Solarpunk originated from Brazil. And while I do not know a whole lot about Brazillian climate, I do understand that it is close enough to the equator to be fairly warm yearround.

But I honestly would love to see more stories and artworks set in Solarpunk worlds during the autumn and winter. Especially because it is a very interesting topic when it comes to both the renewable energies and the food systems of Solarpunk worlds.

Now, admittedly, the renewable energy is less interesting to me, but we still should talk about it. In winter and autumn a lot of the renewable energy sources are a bit less viable. The sun has less energy and the further north (or south) you go, the less sun you get during the winter. Wind turbines also often struggle because there is in fact too much wind - and some older turbines do not do too well during harsh winter conditions. Water usually has less of a problem, unless the water energy is created in shallow conditions where the water freezes. But of course, there is nuclear energy to take care of most issues, even if everything else fails - even though some people still do not want to hear about it.

The food aspect is a lot more interesting though, especially from a modern point of view.

Because we people today are very used to eating the same stuff year around. Like potatoes, carrots, bellpeppers, tomatoes, cabbage, oranges, apples, pears, and bananas are usually available in the supermarket no matter when you go there. But of course we also know that those only are there because of the rather destructive ways we use to cultivate food and bring it to us. These things usually are grown somewhere closer to the equator and then are brought to Europe/North America via plane, emitting a lot more CO2.

Of course, this is a fairly new development. For the most of human history, nobody - or only the very richest people - had access to imported food like that. So instead they would only eat was either was available in their own country and their own fields right now, or that they could conserve in some way or form.

And frankly... I think that is something I would like to see some more off in Solarpunk media. In people not needing everything to be available all the time. And people also working to conserve food in one way or another to make it last longer.

Also I do want to bring it up again: There were a lot of well known "winter vegetables" in Europe during most of our history there. Stuff that would get ripe in late autumn and would keep rather well. And a lot of those vegetables have been forgotten.

So... Yeah, I really would see that issue discussed a bit more.

And sure, we might be able to worldbuild around the issue in some degree with greenhouses and stuff. But I think it would be nice to just question our relation with the always available foods.

#solarpunk #lunarpunk #food culture #food #vegetables #fruits #renewables #renewable energy #history #scifi #clifi #climate fiction

262 notes · View notes

redeemingvillains · 9 months ago

Text

obliviate - mattheo riddle

the prologue

summary: when voldemort finds out about you and mattheo, he devises the perfect way to keep you apart.

word count: 800

a/n: this is the first part of the fic i'm working on and i'm simply too excited to wait to share the whole thing until i'm done editing, so voila!! it’s angsty, it’s fluffy and i’m kicking my feet in the air over it- enjoy!! ♡

OBLIVIATE (v.) -- To forget, to wipe from existence.

You noticed before he did.

It was early; the morning sun was just barely sneaking past the curtains in the window that fluttered gently in the autumn breeze, his bedroom set in a deep golden hue. Your limbs were heavy with sleep and you were settled warmly in Mattheo’s arms, you could feel the rise and fall of his chest at your back, his warm breath on your neck. Normally this was your very favorite way to wake up, but something was off, something had made your eyelids flutter open, a feeling, a foreboding.

You didn’t want to wake him, gods knew he needed his sleep, so you squinted slowly around the room until your eyes rested on the very arms that were wrapped around you.

It was his dark mark, writhing against his skin.

“Matty” you whispered, turning to face him and reaching out for him, but he was already up and out bed, pulling his clothes on haphazardly.

He turned at the sound of your voice, looking longingly at you for the briefest moment, tangled in his sheets, perfect in the morning glow, your eyes begging him not to leave.

“Stay?” you asked quietly, and his stomach lurched. Fuck if you didn’t have the ability to bring him to his knees with just one word; but his arm burned and ached with impatience... He wouldn’t be kept waiting much longer and Mattheo could only come up with so many excuses as to why he was always late without exposing the truth, desperate to protect you.

“I have to…” he started, but he didn’t finish the statement, didn’t want to say what exactly he’d have to do and thank the gods you never asked.

“I know” you sighed.

“I love you” he said, leaning forward to kiss you sincerely, his fingers brushing your jawline, taking one last piece of humanity and goodness with him.

“I love you more” you whispered as his form disappeared in front of you, leaving you alone.

Mattheo knew the moment he arrived that something was deeply deeply wrong.

“Twelve minutes” he said by way of greeting, avoiding Mattheo’s eyes as he approached him like a predator would its prey, circling, evaluating.

“Twelve minutes. From the time I summoned you, until now. What, pray tell, was so pressing, so urgent as to cause your delay?”

Mattheo’s mind swept quickly over the image of you in his bed, your hair splayed on his pillow, the smile on your lips and your soft whisper as he'd apparated, but he quickly dismissed the thought.

“S’early” he said, kicking himself for how his voice waivered in its reply.

Voldemort nodded in mock understanding, like he was considering this, drawing out the silence between them, painfully so.

“Do you remember what happened to Alexei Donovan when he lied to me?” he asked.

Mattheo’s eyes shifted between his fathers, swallowing, vividly remembering watching Nagini devour Donovan limb from limb as they'd all watched.

“ANSWER ME!” his voice boomed.

“Y-y-yeah” he stuttered.

“Yes, my Lord” Voldemort corrected him.

“Yes, my Lord” Mattheo repeated.

And then Voldemort’s tone changed completely, as he took a step back and a smile spread across his inhuman face, which was somehow more disturbing than the alternative.

“But I am a merciful Lord, aren’t I?” he asked, his head cocked, daring Mattheo to disagree.

“Yes, my Lord” he said.

Voldemort nodded in approval. “Yes, I am. And what a relief that must be to Ms. YLN at this very moment, hmm?” he asked, his eyes clocking Mattheo’s every reaction as the blood drained from his face, his eyes blew wide and his shaking hand reached for his wand.

[UPDATE: full fic here!]

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey, @mattiesgf, @sleepiibunniiii

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle angst

194 notes · View notes

kyokutsu-sama · 16 days ago

Text

Little Secret

Michikatsu x f!maid reader

A/n: As I've mentioned before, Kokushibo is my favorite Upper Moon and in his human form he's absolutely handsome. And since he's someone who likes power, I liked the scenario between him and his personal maid with a dom/sub dynamic. He's a "D" for Dom and I'm a "D" but for Down bad for him😭🤭

Tw: Smut (Shibari mentions)

Your heart trembled for a moment as you saw the door at the end of the hallway where you were. It was the bedroom where Michikatsu Tsugikuni was, the second place where he spent the most time after the outside of the house where he spent his days training.

He had ordered you to come to meet him, you should already be used to the situation since you were the one who was in charge of his needs as his father had ordered you to, but still, you always felt nervous when you were around him. Not out of fear but out of respect, and especially because of the serious look he always had on his face and his calm and observant posture.

He was a quiet man but that didn't mean he didn't notice the small details around him, even those that often went unnoticed by the others. Which was one of the many reasons to be nervous, afraid that some action or gesture would be misinterpreted and that he would criticize you for it. Not that he had done that before but even so you always preferred to do your best. Unlike him, his younger brother, Yoriichi made you feel more at ease and you also felt freer to express yourself with him. He was kind and unlike his older brother, he was almost always seen with a smile. Michikatsu wasn't arrogant to you but his serious look often confused you and you ended up never knowing what he was thinking.

You were now standing in front of the door, a small drop of sweat ran down your forehead and you wiped it away. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath so as not to show nervousness in front of the man on the other side. Controlling your breathing and trying to maintain a good appearance were the two main things you paid the most attention to before appearing in front of him. You opened your eyes and knocked on the door.

"Come in."

The serious and manly voice that made your skin crawl was heard from the other side. You then slid the shoji door open to see the man kneeled on the floor, his back to you as he looked outside. You entered and closed the door, taking short steps towards him but kept a certain distance from him, standing still and silent for a good while.

You didn't want to be the first to speak but seeing that he hadn't said anything since you entered or even turned to see you, you then prepared to break the silence.

"My lord... do you need something from me?"

"Come closer."He ordered

You then closed the distance between the two of you and stood next to him, waiting for the next order.

"Sit."

You knelt down next to him and looked down. Even though you wanted to see his face at that moment, the long strands of his bangs covered the sides of his face and didn't allow it.

He stood up and closed the shoji door between the bedroom and the engawa, lowering the light in the space. The sun was already starting to set outside and this only helped the room to get darker, but not completely. You could still see the things around you and him, who came closer again and sat right where he was before. You still kept your eyes on the floor, but you could feel his eyes watching you, causing you to shiver once again.

"Is everything okay?" He asked and you nodded slightly

"Yes, sir."

"Lift your head, let me see your face." He asked and you did

You tried not to take your eyes off of his so as not to look scared, but he was quick to notice that you were struggling to maintain your posture. He was too good at reading people, which made things difficult for you.

"You look pale, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, yes. Thank you for your concern, sir."You assured with a smile but quickly hid it when you saw his usual serious eyes looking at you in silence. "I'm sorry."

"No problem."

He wasn't mad or bothered by you being there, quite the opposite. He even admired the way you did everything to respect him.

"My lord, and...how are you? Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes, that's why I sent you here." He said, shifting his position on his knees to sit on the floor now. "I needed to talk to you for a moment, do you mind?"

A wave of anxiety ran through you, what did he want to talk about? Had you done something wrong without realizing it?

You quickly started asking yourself a lot of questions but without reaching a conclusion.

"Of course not. What do you have to talk to me about?"

"I've been watching you since you came here, I've been analyzing every movement, every expression on your face and I see that you're sometimes a nervous girl, aren't you? Your hands seem to be shaking now, look." He pointed and you looked down at your hands in your lap and realized that he was right, which was a little embarrassing for you

"I'm sorry about that, Tsugikuni-sama." You looked away

"Are you afraid of me?"

"No, It's just that I have great respect for you and your presence makes me nervous because you're... you're someone I admire a lot and hold in high regard." You explained, being as honest as possible with your feelings and he noticed

"I see, I'm flattered by that." He said and you could see his gaze soften for a moment. "Then, tell me... What is your life like outside this house? Do you have any family out there? Parents, siblings... fiancé, children?"His eyes seemed to have become serious again after the last two words for some reason you couldn't explain

"My parents unfortunately passed away when I was younger and I didn't have any siblings."

"I'm sorry about that, my condolences."

"Thank you."

"And what about the rest?"

"The rest?" You were a little confused

"Do you have a fiancé or children?" He asked again, still maintaining eye contact with you

"No, sir, neither." You said, still not realizing his interest in that. But as your superior, you simply obeyed him.

"And you still don't have anyone in mind? Someone you like?"

"No, but I believe they will come with time."You said and he just nodded

You had to admit that you didn't really understand where he was going with that conversation or why he was so interested in knowing about your family or if you were married. For a moment, you felt your heart tremble again, thinking that he might suspect the feelings you had for him since the first day you saw him.

That majestic face, his tall and strong build, the way he looked at you, his voice, his hair, so many attractive things for just one person.

You also used to look at him and adore him when you caught him off guard, especially when he was training and not wearing the kimono, sweat running down his bare torso, his face panting, his bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead, a sight that made certain scenarios run through your head but that he could never know. Neither he nor anyone else in that house, what would the other maids, his family, his brother say if they found out? You respected him too much and were too loyal and that was what kept you from this happening. It was like a forbidden love.

At least that's what you thought.

"Alright, and do you see yourself here in this house for a few more years or do you think of doing something better than serving me?"

"I never thought about it but... I guess I wouldn't mind staying here and serving your needs. I really enjoy working here and I hope you'll be honored with my service here as well."

"You've never caused any problem inside this house, you've always shown yourself to be competent and know how to do things properly, and surprisingly, you've also never seemed to mistake me with my brother or accidentally swap our clothes. Other maids who've been here always ended up doing that."

"Well, I've learned to tell you apart, but I also admit that sometimes I get confused. I mean, don't get me wrong, but you two have similar faces and are the same height, and your hair is both long, although your bangs are longer than your younger brother's." You pointed and he raised his eyebrows, a little surprised

"You learned to tell us apart like that?"

"Yes, and also, I spend more time with you than with your brother, since he has another maid, and I already know a little more about you than about him."

"You surprised me now, you are someone who pays attention to the smallest details, I see."

"It depends, sometimes there are things that go unnoticed by me."

"Well, I saw it right away." He said and you frowned

"What do you mean, Tsugikuni-sama?"

Maybe he was referring to the fact that he knew you were looking at him all those times you thought he was distracted. Maybe he could also be referring to the fact that you hadn't realized yet that he was dying to have you and you couldn't even imagine it.

But you would find out...

There was a moment of tense silence inside the room, he got up and started walking around you in slow steps and looking at you as if you were his prey, making you feel so fragile and shrunken.

"Dear Y/n..." He kneeled right next to you and you looked up to meet his gaze

"Yes, sir?" Your voice came out lower than you would have liked, due to the nervousness of having him right next to you

"Can I take this off for a moment?" He asked, holding the pin that held your hair and you nodded

"Yes."

He then pulled it out slowly and carefully so as not to pull your hair, watching the strands fall along your back. You didn't understood his gesture but found something soft in it.

"You have a beautiful hair." He complimented you and you felt a slight blush on your cheeks. He wasn't the type to give compliments.

"T-thank you, sir." You stuttered a little

"Do you like it when I praise you?" His deep voice tickled the shell of your ear and you nodded

"Yes, sir."

You were increasingly confused by the whole situation, but at the same time you couldn't help but feel a certain heat between your thighs due to the way his voice sounded near your ear. He put the pin aside and turned his attention to you, seeing the way your cheeks were red. He found your fragile way around him cute.

"Are you comfortable?" He asked, caressing your hair

"Yes." You nodded

He then brought his hand to hold your thigh exposed by the short kimono and when his hand began to rise you closed your eyes and held your breath for a moment. He noticed your expression and decided to stop before his hand went under the fabric.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes, but... I don't think we should... I'm just your maid and other people wouldn't like to know that." You lowered your gaze, but his other hand lifted your face to meet his

"The others don't need to know. The people on the other side of these doors don't need to know about this. About the way I've been looking at you all this time, how much I craved you and the way you also craved me, looking at me when I'm training, or do you think I didn't notice?"And at that moment you felt a certain embarrassment for having been caught."Don't worry, It'll be our little secret."He whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ear. "You'll be mine alone and you'll only receive my orders. No one will tell you what you have to do or not but me, got it?"

"Yes, sir."

Deep down, you knew that. You didn't like having other people giving you orders without him being aware of things. He had to always be present and you also only did something when he gave the permission.

"Now tell me, do you want me to continue? You can leave now if you want. I won't stop you." He assured you but you shook your head

"I wanna stay," You murmured. "I want this

...I want you, Tsugikuni-sama" You agreed and he nodded

He then stood up, took off his kimono and put it aside, sitting on the futon and leaning against the headboard, patting his thigh for you to sit there. You approached him slowly and sat on his lap, resting your hands on his broad, bare shoulders. Your eyes wandered over his torso for a moment, seeing the scars he had from the battles he had already been in, spread over the muscles that made you bite your bottom lip. He held your face, looking at you before kissing your lips. You felt the heat in your body increase with the collision of his lips with yours, he was intense and fiery, you simply let yourself be carried away by it and delighted in his tongue swirled around yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck and his hands now went to your waist, keeping you stable and close to his body. You broke the kiss for a moment to catch your breath. That would have been your first kiss and it was truly something to remember for many years.

"Turn around." He ordered in a whisper and you followed the order

You sat with your back against his chest and that was when you felt his mouth now slide down to your neck to kiss all that exposed area and leave some marks.

If you wanted it to really be a secret between both of you, then you would have some work to do trying to hide those marks.

His hands undid the obi belt that held your kimono and slid the fabric over your shoulders until he removed it completely and threw it aside, leaving your breasts exposed to him. His hands went towards them to knead them while his mouth nibbled and sucked the skin of your neck, your mouth opened releasing low moans and your back arched against him. Your hands were resting on the mattress, your fingers lightly pulling the fabric of the sheet as he touched you. His thumbs played with the sensitive nipples and rolled them between his fingers, an action that made the heat between your thighs increase even more.

"Please, Tsugikuni-sama, I..."Your voice was starting to get slightly breathless

"Michikatsu, call me by my first name when we're alone, got it?" He said with a light bite on your earlobe

"Yes."

"What do you want?"

"Here." You brought one of his hands to the middle of your legs. "Touch me here, please." You begged

"For someone who always seemed so innocent and shy, you're being very needy right now." He teased, caressing your clothed slit with two fingers and you whimpered

He grabbed your panties and pulled them down, you lifted your hips to help him remove the last piece of clothing that remained from you, becoming completely exposed and at his mercy. You leaned back against him, feeling the clothed bulge beneath you and arousing you even more. His fingers found your sensitive clit and rubbed it with slow movements, making you squirm a little at the new sensation. You weren't completely unaware of what it was like, but you had never experienced it before with anyone, so it was all new to you.

Your body felt like it was burning with heat and melting in his arms that hold you, his fingers that touched you and marked your skin, his lips that kissed along your neck and shoulders and that occasionally whispered dirty things in your ear that turned you on. You were so submissive now and his fingers working on you were only making you surrender to him even more. He then used his thumb to circle around your clit and two fingers to spread the moisture along your slit. You tilted your head against his shoulder letting out a moan, he leaned forward capturing your lips in a kiss and muffling your sounds.

"If you don't want others to hear, then be quieter."He whispered against your lips and you nodded

He took his other hand from your breast to your neck to keep your head up to kiss you. You took one of your hands to the wrist of his hand between your legs, after feeling him put two fingers inside you. Because of how wet you already were, it wasn't uncomfortable for you. Your walls pulsed and tightened around the digits that slowly entered and left you.

That new sensation was making your eyes roll and your lips open to release the sounds he was loving to hear and that deep down he wanted to be louder.

He wanted to know everything about you and your body, all the points of pleasure, how to stimulate you and make you delirious.

He never thought he would feel this way about his maid, but every time you approached him with your gentle air and eyes full of admiration, he felt he had power over you, especially when you were so obedient that you carried out his every order without question or hesitation. But when he saw someone else looking at you, that was when he got more serious, his jealousy was on the surface. And to make matters worse, he felt even more jealous when he saw his younger brother talking to you, he immediately felt like dragging you out of there and bending you over the nearest surface to show you that he was much better than his twin. His brother would forever be his biggest rival.

Just remembering the scene of seeing you two talking made his fingers go faster and deeper in and out of you, a sudden gesture that made your thighs tremble and your hips grind on top of his lap, riding his fingers.

You felt your walls throb and tighten more and more indicating that you were close, he felt it and decided to add another finger, now using three fingers to give you even more pleasure.

"No one has ever touched you like this before?" He asked in a hoarse voice, close to your ear

"N-no...I never...I never done this before."You confessed and hissed right after feeling his fingers deeper

"And you've never tried it yourself?" He asked and you shook your head in denial. "I see... maybe that's why you're too sensitive, you're already crying." He said seeing the tears, resulting from the pleasure he was giving you, running down your face

"You... are making me feel good."

"Yeah? Want more?" He asked, moving his fingers even faster in and out

"Yes!" You moaned, your free hand pulling the sheet beneath you even tighter

You arched your back, moaning and whimpering as you felt your high coming. He could notice that when he looked down and saw the mess you had made on his fingers and his pants. He pulled out his fingers, seeing them full of your juices and dripping, and brought them to his mouth, tasting you, delighting in the sweet taste.

You looked up and couldn't help but find the sight of him licking his fingers hot. He moved his hand up from your neck to grab your jaw and you looked at his eyes, seeing his gaze full of desire now.

"Open your mouth." He ordered and you opened it

He brought his fingers to your mouth and you sucked them, feeling your own taste mixed with his saliva.

"Can you feel how good you taste?" He asked and you hummed

He removed his fingers from your mouth and wiped them on the bed sheets before setting you aside and standing up. You looked at him a little intrigued, wondering what his next move would be, what he was thinking of doing to you next. Whatever it was, you trusted him, after all, you were his maid, you had to obey.

"Have you ever heard of shibari?" He asked, opening one of the drawers of the dresser in front of the bed and your eyes widened

You already had a vague idea of what it was but you never thought he would be into it. But for some reason, the thought of having ropes restraining you turned you on a little more than you thought.

"Y-yes...but I've never tried it." You stuttered a little after you saw him take a rope out of the drawer

"I know, you said before that you'd never been touched." He said, coiling the rope and closing the drawer. "But you'd be open to a new experience, right?"

"Yes, I will do whatever you orders me to do." You assured, kneeling on the mattress, swearing you saw a tiny smile on his face after your words

How he liked to be in control, that made him feel so good.

He approached the edge of the futon and knelt down, coming face to face with you, making you shiver with his presence once again.

"Turn around." He ordered and you follow it."Arms behind your back."

It took some time until everything was as he wanted, they were long ropes and many knots had to be tied. The ropes held your arms together behind your back and not only that, they also passed over your shoulders, waist and around your breasts. They weren't completely tight so as not to cause rashes on your skin, but there would certainly be marks after that. You never thought a man like him would have that kind of kink, but he was simply surprising you. You couldn't explain it, but being so surrendered to him and so submissive made you feel your wetness dripping down your thighs. You seemed more wetter than ever.

He laid you down and stood between your legs. You looked down and saw him take off his pants and underwear and put them aside, giving you the sight of his huge, hard cock in his hand. How you wanted to touch it, but with your hands tied behind your back it would be difficult. He pulled you towards him, spreading your legs and rubbing his tip along your slit a few times.

"I'll stop if you feel uncomfortable, okay?"He said, looking at you and you nodded

Undoubtedly, his length would be a little harder to take than your fingers, but you would find a way to take him.

He then placed the tip next to your slippery entrance and slowly pushed it inside. You arched your back, your mouth opened in a moan that soon sounded like a whimper. You weren't used to that new sensation, it was all new to you. You had never even thought about experiencing that in your life, much less from someone you always thought you would never have, even though you silently desired him. It seemed that now everything you thought was wrong.

You felt a slight burning sensation after he tore your seal and reaching all the pleasure points inside you. Your walls pulsed around him, your legs tried to close but the strong hands of the man in front of you prevented that. He stopped for a moment, enjoying the feeling of your walls tightening around him. He couldn't deny that he was loving how excited you seemed, so tight and wet around him.

"Do you feel good?" He asked, watching a few tears stream down your face

"Yeah... Ohh it's just..." You said, breathing heavily. "It's just a slight discomfort, but please don't stop." You begged

He then decided to continue after your consent and to make sure you were okay, besides he didn't want to hurt his beloved. His hips began to move slowly against yours, you were gradually getting used to the sensation that was becoming more and more pleasurable and that took over every nerve in your body.

You felt so fragile, so exposed, your body tied and your legs wide open so that he could fit in between while he thrust into you. Even though you were tied, you had never felt so free as in that moment, you felt that you could free yourself there, that you could release your emotions, your deepest desires that he was part of, your expressions of pleasure stamped on your face and that he watched with pride for making you feel like that.

His hands went down your thighs and went towards your waist, holding you as he increased the pace of his thrusts. Your eyes rolled back at the same time that your mouth opened to release a moan after feeling him reach that deep toothy spot inside you. You were trying not to be too loud but with him going so deep you didn't know if you could.

"I can see your face painted with pleasure. I bet you're loving this, am I wrong? You're enjoying this, aren't you?" He brought a hand to your jaw so you both maintained eye contact. "Tell me, are you enjoying this?" He ordered and you nodded frantically but that only made the grip in your jaw increase. "Use your words." He said, increasing the pace of his thrusts just to see you struggle to form a simple sentence

"Y-yes... You're going deep and... Fuck, I love you, I love of this." Your confession was like music to his ears and made him go even faster

"I knew it, I bet this scenario went through your head every time you looked at me or watched me training. Confess it."

"Yes, it's true." You gasped as he meet your cervix again with a hard thrust."I thought... ever since I met you." You admitted and he released your jaw.

"You have a very dirty mind for such an innocent face. You surprised me, Y/n." He said with a tiny smile."That's why I love you. You're so unique, so mine."

His hands roamed your sides, reaching your breasts, whose ropes surrounded them and made them more prominent, and he played with them, running his thumbs over the buds and making you arch towards his touch. He then brought one hand back to your neck and the other between your legs, rubbing your sensitive clit in quick circles, making you clenched around him inside you with the sensation of stimulation.

You could already feel that sensation again, your leg muscles were getting tense, your hips lifted a little from the mattress, meeting his thrusts, you could feel your walls pulsing around him especially as he increased the pace and that made your eyes roll back.

He didn't have enough, it would never be enough for him. The way he disappeared inside you, savoring the way you took him, the heat that enveloped him and that made his head tilt back.

His fingers were getting faster and faster, driving you to overstimulation once again. Your fingers gripped the sheets beneath you, the only thing you had to hold on to and try to calm that growing tension. You felt more tears fall, tears of pleasure but also of frustration, wanting to grab him, wanting to touch him, digging your nails deep into his broad back or shoulders.

"I'm... cumming. Michikatsu, I'm so close." You hissed, your breathing more uneven than before

"Come on, be a good girl and come for me. Come on, I'm ordering you, obey." He said, holding your legs around his waist and going deeper

Your vision was blurry, your knuckles were probably white from holding the sheets so tight, your legs were weak and your body was slowly softening, feeling the peak coming and hitting you hard. He continued moving inside you, although now his movements were slower. When he felt close, he pulled out and came on your thighs, also painting the outside of your slit with his cum. He sat for a moment trying to catch his breath as he admired your body at that moment.

Naked, sensitive and tied, your skin sweaty, your cheeks rosy and your eyes half-closed and red from crying, your legs still trembling and your slit decorated with his seed. He found it the perfect view.

"Are you feeling good?" He asked and you turned your gaze to him

"Yes..." You gasped. "It was one of the best things I've ever experienced. Thank you." He nodded and felt good too, knowing that you had enjoyed it as much as he had.

He then turned you around and you thought he was starting another round, but no. He placed a knee on each side of your body so he could remove the ropes that tied your arms. The feeling of his member still hard rubbing against your ass made you let out a soft moan that he could hear. He stopped for a moment and bent over you, placing a hand on your neck and lifting your face from the mattress.

"Do you want to go again?" He murmured close to your ear

"I would really like to, but my body is sore, maybe next time, please." You said and he nodded.

He knew you couldn't handle another round in that moment, you were too tired and besides, it was your first time. You should rest.

"There, you're free now." He said after removing all the ropes and put them aside

You turned to see him kneeling in front of you, looking at you, and that was when you sat on his lap, hugging him tightly.

You couldn't tell if it was because of your feelings for him, if it was because of the feeling of warmth and protection of being in his arms, or if it was just because you were still sensitive after what you had just done and needed some comfort.

He didn't protest either, he just stayed there, while your hands ran over his back and shoulders. He hugged you back, and the feeling of having his strong arms around your tired body made you feel so welcomed, so protected.

"Thank you, Tsugikuni-sama." You whispered, holding his face and looking into his eyes. "I love you." You kissed him

He kissed you back, his hand holding the back of your neck, pressing his lips against yours and deepening the kiss.

"I think I should go now," you said, breaking the kiss for a moment. "I'm afraid they'll suspect something."

"I don't think anyone will and I also don't believe they would have the courage to confront me with the subject, but if they do, I'll take care of it, don't worry."He said, pecking your lips, and you smiled

"Yes, sir."

He then helped you clean yourself up and get dressed. You were still a little unsteady, so you had to lean on him a few times.

"Y/n?" He called you before you left

"Yes?" You turned to him

"Tomorrow morning come and see me, we'll take a walk to my onsen." He said, and you nodded with a smile, already knowing what he wanted

"Yes, sir."

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba fandom #demon slayer fandom #kimetsu no yaiba anime #demon slayer anime #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x you #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kimetsu no yaiba fic #demon slayer fic #kokushibo #kokushibo x reader #michikatsu tsugikuni #kny michikatsu #michikatsu x reader #smut writing

66 notes · View notes