#image: the mirror’s shattered but it’s still my reflection

[bl00dysavior]

Tried my hand at drawing her while waiting around at work

[lilacs-stars]

shattered reflections

pairing: morgie le fay x fem!reader (requested) (note: reader is merlin's daughter) SUMMARY: you, the perfect child and student, have always been the epitome of righteousness. but what happens when you encounter a particularly annoying VK one night, when you're out doing something you're not supposed to? GENRE: pure, unbridled, heart-wrenching angst (I recommend a box of tissues), action scenes, some light humor, a bit of comfort, flirty banter CW: absent mother, neglectful father, family troubles, cursing, magical fighting, a bit of blood, threats, mentions of violence and stealing, heavy emotions WC: 15.2k (to those of you hungry for morgie fics…you have been fed) BACKGROUND: the mirror of ytirev is pronounced yih-tur-ev, the spells are all in latin (for anyone wondering)

A/N: this got a loooot longer and deeper than I thought it would...seriously how did we get here. I had fun adding some touches of light humor to offset the angst, and experimenting with different pov's was nice too. sooo go get comfy and settle down, and have fun reading this! (the ending is worth it I swear). thank you to the anon who requested this for all the details, I hope you enjoy! all feedback is highly appreciated, I'd love to know your thoughts and reactions!

A piercing clatter sounds from somewhere behind you. You whip around, eyes locking with snake-like slits glowing in the dark.

Shit, you think. 

They finally discovered my secret.

“…can anyone explain to me the properties of goblin mucus?” the teacher of your Magical Artifacts and Antiquities class asks.

A hand shoots up, causing a smile to spread on her face as she calls on the student—only to be met with the reply, “Miss, it says in our textbook that there’s a highly powerful and dangerous artifact stored here, in Merlin Academy. What’s that all about?”

The teacher’s smile falters for a brief second, but she answers the question regardless. “Yes, every class today has asked me about that. It seems like it’s only the dangerous objects that attract students’ attention. Class, turn to page two hundred seventy-five, where there is a more detailed explanation.”

Everyone flips through the pages of their books, more eager to learn than they’ve been for the entire lesson. Your teacher waits a moment before continuing.

“As it says in your textbooks, the Mirror of Ytirev is indeed kept in this school, although it is locked away in a very safe and secure place. For everyone’s safety, and the Mirror’s security. Now, can anyone tell me how it was created?”

You raise your hand swiftly, already knowing the answer from having read this chapter before it was even covered in class, along with the next three chapters. “After the creator of the Evil Queen’s magic mirror originally made it, he accidentally dropped it on the floor, causing it to shatter. He reconstructed the mirror using the larger shards, which became the famed mirror that eventually ended up in the hands of the Evil Queen. But there were still many miniscule fragments left from the first mirror, so he melted them again and made a smaller, weaker version of the Evil Queen's mirror. The small mirror is known today as the Mirror of Ytirev.” 

Your teacher beams again at your perfect recitation. “That is precisely correct, Y/N. Although I don’t expect anything less from the headmaster’s daughter, of course.

“This mirror has the ability to show its user exactly one truth, an answer to any question. But since its original form was shattered, its magic is no longer stable. That’s why it is covered in this chapter,” she continues to the class. “As you can see in the image in your textbook, it is a portable artifact, putting it in Category D, Type Three.”

You look down at your textbook, studying the picture of the mirror, despite having looked at it before. It depicts a vintage handheld mirror, encased in a detailed and ornate silver frame that surrounds the glass itself. The intricate carvings of the metal create symmetrical twin arches at the top of the mirror, ending in fancy loops. In these arches two bright red gemstones are set, their edges cleanly cut and shining brilliantly. The glass of the mirror looks almost cracked, although you know it isn't really.

Just as the thought passes through your mind, someone calls out, “Why is the mirror cracked? I thought the creator fixed it.”

The answer pops up in your brain before the teacher even opens her mouth, but you still patiently listen to her as she explains to the rest of the class. “It’s not really cracked, it just appears that way to anyone who looks at it. The only time someone can see the mirror’s smooth surface is if they’re staring directly in the eyes of their own reflection. When someone does this, it is rumored they will see the truest form of themselves, the truth they desire the most.”

Someone else raises their hand, and the teacher calls on them this time. “So,” they ask, “you can get the answer to anything from that? Like how to become rich or live forever?”

The teacher masks what you can tell is a rather displeased look with yet another—fake—smile. She turns to face the entire class, a telltale sign that the student said something wrong. “Now, as we all know, there’s always a price to magic. When it comes to this mirror, due to its unstable powers, there are many prices.”

She continues her lecture, one that provides you with absolutely no new information, but being the ever-diligent student you are, you continue to listen intently. “If you look at the next page, it explains that anyone who wishes to use the Mirror must first present an offering that is very dear to them. If the Mirror accepts the offering, it allows the person to ask their question.” “And if it doesn’t?” your classmate asked.

“Does anyone know the answer to that?” The teacher looks around the class, before her eyes land on you. “Y/N?”

You brighten up at being called on, before rattling off the information as if it was common knowledge. “If the Mirror doesn’t accept the offering, or if it becomes displeased for any other reason, it will drag the person’s soul not to enlightenment, but to eternal torment. They will end up losing their mind and going crazy, with any form of intelligent life getting absorbed by the Mirror.”

“Correct again,” your teacher praises, and you beam. “And if that's not enough to ward any of you off, keep in mind that everyone who has ever used the Mirror has gone completely mad. No one has ever obtained the answer they sought; instead, they were all lost to its evil spirit. And let me assure you, many people throughout history have attempted to use the Mirror, only to fail. Therefore, it was voted as too dangerous for any beneficial uses by the Department of Magical Security. That is why it is contained here, under the watchful eye of our very own Headmaster Merlin.” 

At the mention of your father, everyone turns to stare at you, as if you’re somehow the reason the Mirror is locked up. Despite the stifling moment of silence, you shrug off the unwanted attention. After all, you’re used to this. Used to the looks that other kids give you when you receive special attention from teachers for being the smartest one, for always raising your hand, for answering questions perfectly, for acing every test and having every homework assignment completed—yet refusing to share your answers (“But if I tell you the answers, how will you ever learn?”). 

Used to the whispers that follow you everywhere you go, rumors of your family life; how your mother must have left because of your father’s bad habits, or neglect, or because she was having an affair with another man. Constant reminders of the past.

Used to how everyone walks on eggshells around you, how they all put you on a ledge far away from them. How people’s conversations quiet as you pass by, afraid you’ll go and report them to your father at the slightest whiff of mischief. How they always eye you when they pass notes in class or plan a prank—as if you weren't already aware of what they were doing—sometimes even begging you not to tell on them.

Used to how teachers and adults in your life expect the absolute best of you. Even when there’s no more left of yourself to give. 

How they expect you to be the absolute best, a paragon of righteousness. You always have to determine the right decision, make the right call, be the epitome of morality and virtue. This is your burden to bear, all by yourself; instead of worries over bad grades or boys, you suffer under the crushing weight of the expectations of everyone around you. The expectations of society.

Briiiiiiingg! The sound of the bell marking the end of class snaps you out of your musings. “Um, Miss?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the sounds of everyone packing their bags.

“You didn’t tell us what our homework assignment is for tonight.”

“Oh, that’s right! Thank you for reminding me, Y/N,” the teacher exclaims amidst a chorus of groans, along with a few colorful words directed your way. “Everyone, please finish up chapter three and be prepared to turn in your report on seventh century runes by the start of tomorrow’s class.”

After all, you’re used to how right they are about you.

…Or so they think.

“Oh good, Y/N! I was looking for you all over, you know,” a panting, all-too familiar voice calls out from behind you. You freeze in your tracks, grimacing. After a deep breath, you paint a smile on your face, before turning around.

A tall man, although much shorter due to his slouched posture, hurries towards you animatedly. His short, dark brown hair is matted against the top of his head, and a thick, bushy beard trails down from his chin, rounding above his mouth in a matching mustache. He dons a pair of thin spectacles that hang low on his large nose, dressed in a dark blue robe with faint golden embroidery and a waistcoat to match. A little brown stick juts out from a hidden pocket inside his robe, an object you can only assume to be his wand—which you are quite shocked he hadn’t lost today yet.

“Dad!” you say as enthusiastically as you can muster, but if anyone had been looking closely, they would have seen the way you ever so slightly cringe as he stumbles towards you. You silently thank the heavens that this man doesn’t pay much attention to anything. Not even to his own family.

Merlin clambers towards you, gripping one of your shoulders once you’re within arm’s length. He pants, leaning his weight on you as he catches his breath.

“Dad, what is it?” you ask him, trying your best not to fall over from supporting him.

“I-I…k-keys,” he wheezes.

“You lost your keys?” This certainly isn't the first time he’s come to you with this problem, and you definitely won't bet it'll be his last.

He nods, clutching his chest as his breathing finally evens out. “Phew,” he says, letting go of your shoulder. “My spare keys to my office…I can’t seem to find where I’ve put them.”

“You mean that big ring that has a copy of about every single key needed to unlock absolutely anything in this school?” you ask, incredulous at the way he nods feverishly. Honestly, how he doesn’t see the issue with what you just plainly pointed out is beyond you.

“Nope, haven’t seen them,” you reply. “Have you checked under the counter? Inside your desk drawers? In the little pockets sewn in the other pockets in all of your robes? On top of a clothing rack? Under the vase of orchids? In the fish bowl? In the left sock from your pair that has those reindeers on them?”

He nods at each one, sometimes hesitating as if recalling something deep in his memory , but then continuing to fervently nod nonetheless. You sigh again. “Well, I don’t know then. I suppose you’ve found someplace new to hide them this time.”

“Hmm…” he mutters, scratching his beard.

“Well, Dad, I don’t know if you heard, but I, uh, I made top student of my year last quarter. For the fifth consecutive time,” you mention, trying to ease into the conversation, albeit very tentatively and with great unease. Most people’s parents would applaud them and give them a prize for merely getting an A. Yours, on the other hand, barely remembers which grade you’re in.

Your father snaps his head up, staring at you with an eccentric haze in his eyes. You feel a small glimmer of hope; maybe he’s going to give you a pat on the back this time, or perhaps offer to take you out for a celebratory dinner. You wait for his response, completely still as if frozen in time, anticipation buzzing throughout every nerve.

“Wait…I believe I put it in the mouth of that owl statue…” He freezes erratically, brow furrowed in deep concentration, before releasing the tension in his body and going back to slumping. “No, I think I already checked there.”

You take a nice, long, deep breath, using up every last ounce of your carefully practiced self-control, which you had perfected through years of deploying in stifling social situations that made you want to crawl out of your own skin, to remain calm in this moment. “Well, I hope you find it.” Giving him one last attempt at even a semblance of a smile, you sharply turn back around on your heel, continuing down the hall to your first class of the day.

Watching the early morning rays of sunshine through the tall windows of the corridor, you think back to the discussion you had yesterday in your Artifacts class. You had answered every question correctly, every fact written in ink not only committed to memory but etched into the very foundation of your brain. 

You wonder if he knows of all the hard work you put into school. All the grueling hours you spend studying, all the sleepless nights you spend fighting against your body’s very nature to stay awake and keep your eyes open just enough to read the page. Heck, you wonder if he even remembers that your birthday is coming up next month—or that you gave him your wish list ages ago to ensure that he gets at least one present you asked for, unlike other years.

No, of course he doesn’t remember, you remind yourself. He doesn’t care about me. He never did.

Just like he didn’t care about Mom when she disappeared.

“Ugh, my nail chipped again. I should find the girl who did these and squeeze her to death.”

A tentacle floating in midair tightens and coils around nothingness, miming the strangulation of an innocent soul with a disturbing nonchalance. A girl with dark skin and long locks in colors such as blue, teal, and yellow, done up in a small bunch on top of her head, checks the painted nails on her left hand with a scowl on her face. 

“Come on, Uli, you’re getting your nails done like, every week,” the god of the Underworld replies, indifference practically seeping through his spiked leather jacket as he chews gum and gives the sea witch a look. “At least find yourself someone better.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Uliana snaps, dropping her hand exasperatedly as she huffs.

A sorceress with purple eyeshadow and two sleek, black horns protruding from the sides of her head rolls her eyes as she complains, “This is so boring.” 

“Well, what do you suggest we do then, love?” a crisply accented voice asks, sounding from a boy with neatly parted brown hair and a golden hook that ends in a sharp, gleaming point.

“Did you hear that there’s a, like, super dangerous magical object being kept here?” Maleficent asks, somehow keeping her voice incredibly monotonous and deathly uninterested, even as her words themselves convey enthusiasm. 

“Yeah, apparently it can tell anyone anything they want to know,” Hades replies. “I don’t know why they’re keeping it here, though.”

Uliana turns back to the group, a malicious glint in her eye. Even before she opens her mouth, the boy with powers rather similar to those of a snake can already guess what she’s going to say.

“How about we go steal it?” she asks, a wicked grin already twisting onto her features.

“You do realize that everyone who’s ever used it has gone mad, right?” Hook asks, raising his eyebrows incredulously as he gives Uliana a look of disbelief.

“We won’t use it ourselves, idiot,” she snaps. “But it’ll be fun to steal it and cause a panic. Right, Morgie?”

Morgie swallows, looking up at Uliana with wide eyes. “Of course! C’mon, you guys. Think of the mischief we can cause with it! We can make people think some kids used it and went crazy”—he leans in, excitement growing as he speaks, making wide gestures with his hands—“and everyone would be so scared! They’d probably cancel school, too!”

Uliana grins diabolically again. “Morgie, honey,” she starts, slipping one of her tentacles under his chin, lifting his face up towards her. “How about you do this one?”

“I-I, uh…” he stammers, uncertainty laced in his voice. He definitely wasn't expecting this turn of events.

“Come on, please,” Uliana pouts. “Do it for me? After all, you’re only stealing a little mirror. How hard can that be?”

Morgie glances up at her again, before tugging uncomfortably on the black scarf wrapped around his neck. “But…it’s super dangerous…”

“Don’t you want to be evil? Don't you want to wreak havoc and cause pain?” Uliana taunts. “Or, are you”—she lets out a faux gasp—“afraid?”

“N-no, not at all!" Morgie exclaims, trying to sound more courageous than he feels. “I’ll do it!”

“Perfect,” the sea witch coos, removing her tentacle arm. “You’ll do it tonight.” She turns back to the group, adding, “I hear that old troll keeps the most dangerous and evil artifacts locked up in a room off the east wing, on the third level.”

Morgie gulps, already trying to wrap his head around the fact that he’d be doing the heist tonight. Hook, jumping off a ledge, asks, “You mean the one guarded by different spells and magical alarms?”

Uliana grins wickedly. “Nothing a little bit of Kraken Powder can’t fix.” She holds up a small vial hanging from a string around her neck like a necklace. It's common knowledge how incredibly rare Kraken Powder is, which makes sense, given how potent its anti-magic properties are.

Everyone catches on to what Uliana's implying, causing the group to all laugh together at their evil plan. Morgie tries his best to join along, but he can’t quite seem to get rid of the uneasy knot already forming in the pit of his stomach.

“You remember the plan?”

Uliana’s slippery tentacles glisten under the moonlight, flailing around behind her in midair. Morgie nods, attempting to still his quivering hands before Uliana notices them. He tries, with a miserable sense of impending doom, to swallow the lump in his throat, but to no avail.

“Here, I stole these from Merlin’s office,” Uliana explains as one of her tentacles drops a large ring filled with probably around two dozen keys, each in various shapes and colors, straight into Morgie's open palm. “One of these has to fit the door. You didn’t forget what you need to do, right?”

Morgie clears his throat, choking out a meager, “Yep.” He pockets the keys, seriously hoping they don’t clink together and make too much noise while he moves. As Uliana already repeated a hundred times, “It’s crucial you don’t get caught.”

Morgie reaches up to touch the vial hanging from his neck yet again, making sure it’s still there—after all, better safe than sorry. Once more, he glances at the large grandfather clock in the common area where he and Uliana lurk in the shadows, waiting. Finally, its bells chime midnight, and Uliana turns back to him as the ringing reverberates around them.

“Go, hurry!” the sea witch urges, pushing him toward the door with a tentacle. 

Morgie nods, hurriedly rushing to the exit. The first part of the plan—a plan he so diligently committed to memory—is for him to sneak out while the bells are still ringing, to mask the sound of the door opening and closing. Thankfully, he makes it out by the tenth chime, carefully closing the door to make sure the latch doesn’t sound by the eleventh.

Okay, I’m really doing this, Morgie thinks as he stares into the deserted corridor. He tiptoes around silently, but still as quickly as possible. Time is, obviously, of utmost importance in missions like this.

At last, he reaches his destination. The unassuming—and misleadingly so—wooden door looms over him, ominous through the lens of his knowledge of what lies beyond it. 

An amateur villain would simply pick the lock and open the door, but Morgie is too experienced in such endeavors to make a rookie mistake like that (Uliana told him what to do, step-by-step).

He hovers his hand above the lock, taking a steadying breath as he summons the powers that reside within him. His pupils shrink into the tiniest slivers of blackness as a dark, magical smoke emits from his palm. He makes a faint hissing noise, reciting an old incantation in a tongue far different from what normal humans use, and the lock softly clicks as the door creaks open. Practically inviting him inside.

Morgie pushes it open the rest of the way, making sure to shut it behind him so as to not raise the suspicion of any night guards roaming the halls.

He turns back around, now faced with a dark, menacing hallway. Walking slowly down it, he looks around with a chilling captivation. Old suits of armor leer down at him, rustic and each coated with a thick layer of dust. Large spiderwebs cover every visible nook and cranny, which makes Morgie exceedingly grateful that the actual spiders aren't in his line of sight.

At the end of the corridor stands yet another large door, matching the first. This one, according to Uliana, has even more security than the other. Time to use my secret weapon, Morgie thinks, reaching to pull the vial of Kraken Powder out from under his shirt. He opens the cap and sprinkles a little of the finely grained dust into his palm, then blows it over the lock of the door.

At first glance, it appears the powder didn’t work, as nothing seem to change. But anyone with an affinity for magical energy can feel the spells placed on the lock of the door melt away without a trace. After the door is unarmed, Morgie fishes in his pocket for the keys. They clang horribly as he pulls them out, echoing up into the tall ceiling of the hallway. He freezes, listening intently for footsteps somewhere outside. When he hears none, Morgie begins the task of figuring out which key fits the lock.

He goes through nearly half the ring (Seriously, who keeps all their keys in one place?) before finding the one that fits perfectly. Twisting it with a swift movement, the door unlocks, and he creeps inside. 

To his immense shock, there isn't a room behind the door filled with evil objects or piled with gold coins. Instead, there’s a…

…library?

Morgie walks inside, utterly confused. Had Uliana gotten the location wrong? No, there's no way. The doors were too guarded for a normal library.

He continues down one of the aisles, wondering why he's never seen this place before. It is extremely large, with arched ceilings meters and meters above his head. Tall bookshelves tower over him, so tall that he can barely see the highest shelves.

Lined against the walls and placed on the shelves are also glass jars and containers filled with seemingly normal items: a seashell necklace, a deck of playing cards, a cane with the head of a snake. But there's something sinister about them; some strange aura that hovers above each object. In fact, it fills the entire expanse of the library. 

Morgie stops by one of the shelves, reading the titles. He brushes his fingers along one of the spines—and that’s when he feels it. An ominous energy rushes through his fingertips, electrifying his every nerve at it travels through him, causing him to realize that this is no normal book. It’s a book of dark magic.

He spins around in a circle, eyeing the entirety of the library. Now that he thinks about it, the whole place has the heavy atmosphere of dark magic. And that’s when it hits him: this is no normal library, and neither are the books. This is the room of forbidden artifacts. It just so happens that most of those artifacts are books, probably containing content deemed too dangerous for normal people to learn.

Morgie briefly considers taking a few of the books off the shelves and perusing through them, or maybe even slipping a couple in his jacket and taking them back with him. After all, all these forbidden books must have countless evil spells and potions. If he and the rest of his group got their hands on these…

However, after a moment of serious consideration, he decides the better of it. He's here for another purpose, and Uliana would be outraged if he only came back with a few meager books, no matter the contents.

Continuing through the labyrinth of shelves, Morgie looks around meticulously, trying to figure out a rhyme or reason to the order of things. No student has ever been in here, and he doubts many of the teachers have, either. Therefore, there were no references or guides to help him and his friends figure out where in the room the Mirror is located. Plus, he doesn’t think any of them had expected the place to be so colossal—he surely hadn't.

After a few minutes of stumbling around in the near darkness, he finally comes across a ladder leaning against one of the shelves. It’s so tall he can’t see the top of it, but deciding it’s his best chance at finding his bearings, Morgie begins the long climb up.

He isn’t really afraid of heights. Not in the way that some people refuse to go on anything more than a few feet off the ground. But he honestly doesn’t see how anyone couldn’t feel at least a little queasy at the high altitude. I must be a dozen meters off the ground, Morgie realizes as he glances down. I wonder what would happen if I fell—

He cuts the thought off before he can imagine the gruesome details. Instead, he looks back up and around the library. From all the way up here, he can see the top of the shelves, and he really was right: this place was designed to be a maze.

On the far side of the area, his eyes spot lots of glass cases reflecting the soft moonlight and flames of enchanted candles. That must be where most of the objects are kept. Chances are, the Mirror’s there too.

He mentally charts out a course through the labyrinth, trying to remember the directions for more than two seconds. Right, left, left again, forward, right, right again, left, forward—or wait, was it right? After a few minutes, he climbs back down the ladder, praying to the demons of the Underworld that he remembers the path correctly and doesn’t get lost.

Morgie makes his way through the maze, growing more and more fascinated by the creepy and wonderful objects around him. He can’t stop thinking about how nice—and useful—it would be to pocket some of them, or maybe come back here and spend more time studying them. Every time he passes by something that intrigues him, his mind immediately wonders if it would fit inside his clothes.

Despite this, he resists the urge to steal things, as he can’t have anything weighing him down in case there are more challenges or enchantments he has to disarm before getting the Mirror. But perhaps on the way back…

His train of thought drifts away as he finally reaches a large area that is surrounded by glass cases, on tables and lining the shelves set into the walls. He never imagined there would be so many forbidden artifacts in total, much less in one place, although maybe that's because he's never really paid attention in class.

From the top of a shelf a few meters away, something catches his eye. A mysterious, eerie white fog pours from one of the highest shelves, dissipating as it cascades down the front of the bookcase. He remembers hearing something about mist related to the Mirror, and deciding it’s worth a shot, he moves closer to check it out.

And that’s when he sees it.

A dark flurry of movement from another one of the top shelves catches his attention. Morgie snaps his head up, brows furrowing as he squints, eyes trailing the structures above him. But he can’t quite make out anything, at least not in the faint light, so he hesitantly shrugs it off and continues towards the mysterious fog—albeit not being able to shake off the strange feeling he has that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He takes a few more steps, and just as he's nearly convinced himself he’s only being paranoid, it happens again. Now that he’s closer, he can see there’s another tall ladder reaching up to around where the movement is happening, close to the Mirror. This time, his eyes register the shape. 

A dark, human figure moves up the ladder, blending in and out of the shadows. 

Morgie’s eyes grow wide, pupils shrinking back into snake-like slits as a reptilian hiss escapes his mouth. There shouldn't be anyone else here.

The figure freezes in place before turning around to face him, hanging halfway up the ladder. Although Morgie can’t see their face, concealed by a thick black hood, he can tell they saw him. 

He stretches out his arms, summoning black magic that swirls around his hands and up to his elbows again. After but a second of him and the hooded figure staring at each other—which somehow felt like an hour—Morgie throws his arm forward, aimed for the figure.

A ball of twisting dark energy shoots from his hand and towards the hooded face. The figure ducks down, dodging the attack. Undeterred, Morgie hurls more swirls of dark magic. The figure dodges the first few of them, but they must have realized that merely ducking down won't be enough to win this fight, because they summon a shield of buzzing yellow electricity to block the next few attacks.

Morgie quickly becomes aware that he isn’t winning the fight like this; he needs a new strategy. And that’s when he spots it.

He puts his hands close together in front of his chest, gathering a potent sphere of black magic between his palms. The figure stands there, motionless, still hanging onto the ladder.

If you can’t knock them down, pull the carpet out from under their feet.

He thrusts both of his hands forward, sending the ball of magic not at the figure, but at the base of the ladder instead. By the time they realize what he's doing, it’s too late.

Morgie’s magic collides with the bottom rungs, exploding the material and sending wooden splinters flying everywhere. He watches as the figure falls, swiftly summoning a flash of lightning below them as they plummet, easing the crash as they hit the ground. 

The aftermath of the explosion has Morgie ducking down and covering his face with his arm, barely being able to make out what happened to the hooded person. As the dust finally settles, Morgie spots the figure get up, gripping their head as if in pain. They stumble a little, then bush off their black robe as they check for other injuries.

As if abruptly remembering why they had fallen, they spin around to face Morgie. He stares, wide-eyed in pure disbelief, as the figure comes face-to-face with him. Even though they don’t seem to be too hurt, and definitely still alive, the force of the impact caused their hood to be knocked off their head.

Morgie’s mouth drops open as he registers the figure’s face.

There, in front of him, in the forbidden archive harboring some of the world's most dangerously powerful magical objects during the dead of night, stands the headmaster’s daughter.

Your grimace grows as you lock eyes with a boy with light brown hair, hazel eyes shrunk into slits resembling a snake’s, causing your head to throb even worse.

You watch as the realization dawns upon the boy’s face, cursing the skies for this little issue that you now have to deal with.

He knows your secret.

“Y-you, you, you’re the headmaster’s daughter,” he sputters out, disbelief still painted on his face, as clear as day. Seriously, if he keeps his jaw open like that, it’ll fall off.

“Yeah, no shit,” you spit back, not paying much attention to his stunned little face. Your mind is overwhelmed with a swirling whirlwind of thoughts and ideas on how to get rid of this new liability, each plan vying for your attention, each one crueler than the last.

After all, now that he knows who you really are, how you're not a rule-abiding goody-goody, there’s no point in keeping up your sweet, innocent facade. You finally let your mask slip off, the mask that you wear constantly in the presence of others. The mask that you only relieve yourself of when you’re all alone, with no one to see your callous, vindictive, cynical side. Your true side.

Ever since that day, at least. The day that forever changed your life.

“What are you doing here?” the boy stammers, as if it isn't already dreadfully obvious.

“The same thing you’re doing here.” “How do you know what I’m doing here?”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. Honestly, this kid could not be more of a dunderhead. “Look, I don’t have time for this. Either get out of my way, or I’ll make you get out of my way.”

At your threat, the boy, whose name you happen to remember from a class you took with him last year, changes his stance. Morgie widens his legs, arms fanned out besides him whilst summoning dark energy that clings to his skin, alive and breathing, yet submissive to its master’s will.

“Aren’t you like, a goody-goody?” he asks, face still scrunched in confusion. “I’ve heard teachers go on and on about how good your grades are, how polite you are, how you’re the perfect student.”

You roll your eyes, annoyed at his relentless questions. It 's already bad enough that he knows this much. You don't need him finding out more.

“Well, looks can be deceiving,” you respond as vaguely as possible, hoping that it’ll shut him up. Instead, he cocks his head to the side, shooting back, “I don’t really think so.”

You try your best to not encourage him and his irritating questions, but you can’t help but begrudgingly ask, “How so?”

Morgie looks at you for a beat with an intent gaze, before replying, “I always thought you were too pretty for a hero.”

Uh, excuse me, what? you think. Now it’s your turn to be shocked. “You don’t find me scary?” You had always assumed that people would be terrified if they saw your real, unfiltered side.

“No, not really. I mean, I’m evil too. If anything, I find you even hotter now that I know you’re not a goody-goody.”

Blinking hard, your eyebrows shoot into the air. There is no way he just said that. Your mind is uncontrollably reeling at his words, but only for a brief moment. Before you can read too deeply into it, your attention is quickly snapped back to the black magic still swirling around him, growing by the second. Ah, a ploy to distract me. Maybe he is more clever than he lets on.

“Listen, Morgie,” you snarl threateningly. “That mirror is mine.”

“Wait, you’re here for the Mirror too?” he asks, with far too light a tone for a situation such as this.

“Th-that was obvious the whole time!” you exclaim, unbelievably irritated. “What did you think I was here for?” “I dunno, a book or something.” He shrugs casually, before narrowing his eyes. “Wait, what do you want the Mirror for?”

“That’s none of your business,” you snap back, fingers thrumming with the rush of energy as you summon your own magic. Letting your curiosity get the better of you yet again, you add, “Why do you want it?”

“I’m a villain. I steal things for fun,” he replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “What does a goody-two-shoes hero want to do with a forbidden artifact?”

Barely listening to his words, you study him carefully, needing to know the extent of his powers if you’re going to win the inevitable fight that you can sense coming. You see how his ever-growing dark magic stalls temporarily as he talks, probably from getting distracted while speaking. That’s it. Deciding to buy yourself some time, you use this little weakness to your advantage.

“I want the Mirror because I want to use it.” Even though you’re planning on entertaining his pointless questions, you definitely aren’t going to give him information for free.

“Use it? To get an answer?” His magic hesitates again.

“No, to look at myself.” You see the way his eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you’re pretty sure you’re about to implode. “Of course to get an answer, you dumbass! Unlike you, I don’t go risking my life ‘for fun.’”

“What are you even going to use as an offering? You have to give it something, you know.”

You sigh, reaching underneath your shirt to pull out a small silver locket, its chain blackened from the trials of time. Dangling it from your fingers, you show it to Morgie.

“A locket?” he asks incredulously. “The offering's supposed to be something really special or precious.”

“It is really precious,” you hiss, tucking it back into your shirt. “It’s the most precious thing I own. If anything’s going to make the Mirror work, it’s this.”

“Well, you’re not going to get the Mirror anyways. It’s mine.” He widens his stance again, his magic continuing to grow around him. No, I need a little more time, you think, masking your growing panic with an insouciant eye roll.

“Why?” you question. “You’re not even going to use it.”

“I still need it.” “But why?”

“I won’t tell you if you won’t tell me!” he exclaims. Despite his little outburst, you can tell there’s something he’s hiding. After all, you are a master of concealing the truth yourself. “Plus, you know that everyone who's ever used the mirror has gone crazy, right? You’re literally sentencing yourself to a life of madness.” You give him an unamused look. “I’m the top of our year. Obviously I know everything there is to know about the Mirror of Ytirev.”

He gazes at you in a way you can’t decipher, but it’s softer, more sympathetic than his former glare. You notice that his snake eyes have disappeared as well, despite the magical energy still surrounding him. “Then why are you still doing this, despite the risks?”

You falter, for just a second, letting a sliver of emotion slip through. But as quickly as it happened, you patch it back up, returning to your cold, glowering face. “It’s a price I’m willing to pay.” You expect him to drop it after that, but he continues to press you. “You’re prepared to give up your morals? Your status as a hero? You’re willing to lose all your integrity for one answer?”

God, he talks too much. With a sniff, you throw your hands out in front of you, releasing a bright flash of crackling electricity that had been building up as you cry out, “I don’t care how evil I have to become, I will find the truth, one way or another!”

The lightning shoots forward without warning, hot as an inferno, piercing straight through his chest and flinging him backwards into a shelf like a ragdoll. He falls down to his knees, and for a split second, you wonder if he’s going to get up again. Clutching his chest, he wheezes yet still manages to stand up, summoning wispy black tendrils that shoot at you like arrows.

You tuck and roll, dodging them, whilst building up more crackling lightning between your fingers. The last tendril hits far too close to you for comfort, burning a hole in your robe. That would have been my flesh, had it hit me, you realize in sudden horror.

Seeing as how your opponent is summoning even more dark magic to hit you with, now engulfing his entire body, you break into a sprint. Black spears collide with the shelves behind you one after another, barely missing you, as you run past glass cases, each containing a different artifact that glistens in the silver moonlight. Something across the arena seizes your attention, and a plan begins to piece itself together in your head. You continue your dash towards the shelves behind Morgie. Once you reach a section with books instead of random magical objects, you slow your pace. Amidst Morgie's unrelenting attacks, you create a golden shield of electricity that sparks and crackles, almost alive, and which reaches as tall as you. You jog past the shelves, head craned as you scan the book titles as quickly as possible.

Morgie persists in launching balls of dark magic directly at you, smashing into your shield. Your panic rises as cracks begin to form, at first only small fissures, but growing larger and larger with each sphere that pummels your way.

You run parallel to the shelf, which boxes in the rest of the area in a rectangular shape, eyes frantically darting over words with barely enough time for your brain to comprehend them.

Glancing up as a whorl of blackness blasts the books resting directly in front of you, you duck down, yet continue to run. That’s when you see a thick tome, larger than the others and bearing a dark red cover, jutting out from a shelf a few meters in front of you. With your magical shield barely staying intact, you lunge towards it, snatching the book as you fall towards the ground and somersault behind a desk-sized wooden stand to hide. On top of it stands a glass display case, with faint candlelight illuminating the rustic, yet enchanted, metal shield contained inside it.

You crouch down, flipping through the pages of the book desperately, trying to find the incantation you know has to be in there. One time, on one of your random visits to the library—the normal one, not this hell of the most cursed items in the land—you had picked up a text that talked about the history of spellcasting. Detailed inside was a description of one of the first books of curses ever written, which had been banned from production shortly after its release due to the nature of its contents. There had been a small sketch next to the explanation, which just so happens to match the tome now weighing in your hands.

Morgie’s blasts of magic don’t stop, pounding the wooden stand and the glass case alike. You think he yells something, but you can’t tell; you’re too focused on squinting at the fine print on the page, eyes wildly scanning the names of the spells. The desk quakes with every attack, causing your hands to tremble as you rifle through the pages hastily, pointer finger trailing down the lists of incantations. 

Finally, your eyes lock onto the one you want. “Obiectum impedit semitam,” you recite, gaze darting between the page and the glass case above you. It quivers vigorously, yet remains unscathed due to its magic-bulletproof nature.

“Evanescet a lumine irae meae!” As soon as the last syllable leaves your tongue, the glass case dissipates into thin air. Your hand darts up, clutching the shield and shoving it in front of you. Just in time, as the wooden stand protecting you explodes from the force of Morgie’s dark magic, blasting into a shower of mere splinters that rain down around you. The shockwave causes you to recoil, even as the shield absorbs the brunt of the impact.

Quickly regaining your bearings, you crouch even lower behind the metal. Thumbing through the book pages briskly, your eyes skim the ink, trying to find the first spell that can help you now. 

“Inimicus meus, caveto tibi,” you mutter the incantation rapidly, trying your best not to stumble over the archaic words—who knows what sort of havoc that would make. “Transi me et in carcere gelido capieris.”

You peek your head over the shield as you say the last line, locking in on your target. He stands there, panting, worn from his latest, potent attack. Morgie barely has enough time to widen his eyes as the final word escapes your mouth, instantly creating ice stalagmites that burst forth from the ground, crisscrossing as they trap him in a prison of ice. They tower high all around while entrapping him in a circle, frost coating their sleek outsides, which narrow into dangerously sharp tips.

The air turns frigid, and you can see flurries of movement as Morgie thrashes within his glacial cell. Already, he’s trying to break out. Through the cracks between the icicles, you can see a swirling vortex of black magic fighting the freezingly cold charm. Even though it is a strong spell, you know it won’t last for long. Especially not with the dark energy that is slowly, yet surely, thawing out the ice.

Springing up again, you bolt to the shelves on the other side, jumping over small puddles forming on the floor. The book is still open in your hands as you wildly tear through one page after another, the minuscule words shaking and blurring together as you run. Honestly, what kind of asshole decides to print in such a tiny font? you internally rage. Flipping through the large sheets of paper filled with small text reminds you of reading a dictionary. In a way, the spellbook is a dictionary of sorts, with the way every curse is listed alphabetically, in a neat and orderly manner—much unlike your current frenzied state, with how your heart pounds against your chest as if trying to break free, and the adrenaline coursing through your veins cuts off any semblance of a coherent thought forming in your brain.

Twisting sharply to your right, you dart towards the shelf that the Mirror stands on. You stare up at it as you continue to run, eyes practically sending a silent plea while it sits on its throne undisturbed, watching the scenes before it unfold as if viewing a play from the highest seat in the opera house; somehow mildly amused, yet still condescendingly blasé at the same time.

Flipping to the L section of the spellbook, you scan the page for a spell that can help you reach it at last. Finally finish the last stretch of your journey. 

The icicle prison behind you makes a dreadfully loud crack. Your heart only races even faster with a jolt, your breathing coming out only in sharp, erratic gulps that make you feel light-headed, as if you’re not getting enough oxygen no matter how much you gasp for air. 

As you scan the page, this time with a renewed fervor that has your eyes darting across the words, too panicked to even finish a sentence before leaping to the next, you make a very interesting revelation indeed. For whatever reason, the genius who wrote this book decided not to add levitation to the list of spells, but instead included lignum pullelare, which roughly translates to “sprouting a tree”.

Another thunderous boom sounds again from the constantly fracturing icicles, a violent reminder of the ticking clock. You decide that this spell, no matter how absurd, is the best shot you have. Inhaling another sharp breath that burns your lungs, you cry, “Surge, virens gigas, de terra immunda,” your eyes glued to the page. “Ascendunt ad lunam et super caelos!”

A branch smashes into your chest, knocking the wind out of you—you really need to get used to how quickly these spells take effect—lifting you up as a colossal tree ascends from the ground, growing much more rapidly than even a beanstalk, much less a normal tree. The metal shield slips out of your grasp from the impact, your fingers desperately flailing in its direction futile as it falls and hits the floor with a dull thud.  

Your get snapped back to the present from the momentary distraction as your body starts slipping off the branch, with how it's quickly growing into a thick, strong limb with no end in sight. You slide off the ever-stretching wood, scratches cutting into your arms as you frantically try to wrap them around the branch, until only your hands are still hanging on. Using the book, which remains gripped firmly in one hand, you fling it open and cling to each cover. The book's pages spread wide around the wood as you hold on for dear life.

You continue shooting upwards along with the tree, the bookcase racing past you, when a realization hits you like a strike of lightning. This tree won’t stop growing anytime soon, and when it does, you’ll be too high up—if you're still alive, that is.

Glancing above you, you spot the Mirror and the shelf it sits on getting closer, and getting closer fast. Making up your mind, or rather, making a brash decision fueled by your skyrocketing panic, you wait until the shelf you need to reach comes into view. Then, you jump off. 

Flinging yourself towards the bookcase, you manage to latch on to a shelf, fingers wrapping around the ledge while your feet find purchase on another ridge a few feet below. The book remains clutched in one hand, your iron grip refusing to let it go. Realizing you can't do anything while holding it, you risk letting go with one hand. Gripping onto the shelf with your other hand, you tuck the book under your chin, angling your head down as you struggle to hold it between your neck and body. 

You peer up at your grasp on the shelf, the unforgiving ridges digging into your skin, carving painful lines into your fingers. Your feet barely remain balanced, the ledge not jutting out as far as you’d like it to. Turning your heels in to stay on the little shelf space there is in front of the books, you wince as the ridges between your arms and legs bite into your body. The sweat coating your palms causes your grip to start slipping off, your eyes wide in sheer terror as you let go for a brief second, thrusting your hands further back and hooking onto the edge again.

Glimpsing back down, you see the Mirror resting in its glass cage a few shelves below you, the strange white mist slithering underneath the glass and pouring out over the bookcase like a waterfall. With your chin still uncomfortably positioned as to not lose the book, you release on hand and leg from the shelf, leaving you hanging in between life and death itself.

You move your free hand down one ledge below, then the corresponding foot, haltingly scaling your way down the bookcase. Each time precariously letting go of your grip or footing to blindly feel below yourself for another ledge to stay on. After a few iterations, your feet finally stand on the same shelf as the Mirror, right next to the glass case.

Another piercing boom echoes behind you, making you squeeze your eyes shut as you flinch against the bookcase, quivering breaths sending your heartbeat shooting through the roof. Your eyes dart down to the book you squeeze with your neck, then to where your hands are barely clinging on to the shelf. There’s no chance of using the book to make the glass disappear again. Cursing yourself for not memorizing the incantation earlier, your mind swarms with thoughts, each one so loud they drown out each other.

An idea forms in your head—or rather, slams itself into the sides of your brain like a wave crashing in a bottle while it screams for attention—as you warily lift one foot on top of the heel of the other shoe, maneuvering it off your foot.

Now with only a sock left, you press your toes against the glass container. Inhaling a sharp breath, causing your lungs to ache as they scream for more, you muster enough energy to summon a bolt of lightning, focusing all your attention on passing electrical current through your body and to your foot.

The hotness of the electricity heats up the glass, melting it until there’s a decent-sized hole the size of your foot there. Shuffling to the side and raising your shoeless foot to the ledge above, you draw back your other leg and smash it into the glass, causing the compromised structure to shatter everywhere.

Climbing down the bookcase farther, you come face-to-face with the Mirror of Yteriv at last. It looks exactly like it was depicted in that textbook, sporting an elegant silver frame and seemingly shattered surface, with the two rubies staring at you like glowing eyes. 

A loud explosion rings behind you, resounding throughout the entire library. You snatch the Mirror with one hand, turning your head to the side as far as you can without letting the book slip, just in time to see Morgie demolish the ice prison as he breaks free.

It's clear that since now he's no longer bound by frozen spikes of ice, you’re his next target. Taking in an abrupt gasp of air—the only preparation you have—you let go of the shelf.

You plummet towards the ground for only a second before creating small thunderbolts beneath each of your feet, suspending you in midair. Already, you can see Morgie charging up another attack, aiming it straight at you. Book in one hand, Mirror in the other, you take off into a run through the air. Small platforms of electricity form beneath your feet with every step, dissipating again as soon as your foot lifts.

Balls of dark magic hurl towards you, and you already know you have no chance of winning this fight—not like this. But you don’t need to win. Glancing down at the Mirror clutched in your palm as you jump off a thunderbolt, right as it gets blasted by a black orb, you realize that you’ve already completed your mission. Now, all that’s left is to get out of here.

Your mind scrambles for a way out that doesn’t involve getting blasted into smithereens, eyes still fixed on the Mirror as you continue to dash around in midair. Watching the wispy tendrils of white smoke pour out of the artifact, a previous memory from something you read in a book hits you like a flash.

As the Mirror of Ytirev connects to its wielder’s soul, so do its properties, the book had said. The mist emitted by the Mirror fluctuates with the wielder’s emotions; the more powerfully one feels their emotions, negative ones in particular, the more smoke it produces.

A room filled with smoke? You can’t think of a more perfect cover to help you escape.

Grip tightening even further around the Mirror as you leap to another lightning platform, dodging a new attack, you rack your brain for every negative emotion you have—which turns out to be a lot. The adrenaline pumping through your veins as your life flashes before your very eyes from every near-death experience. The way your heart shatters a little more every time your father overlooks your accomplishments, not paying any mind to how hard you strive to please him. Just to get a single smile, a pat on the back, a meager look of pride in your direction. One simple “That’s my daughter!” sent your way.

The anger deep inside you starts to bubble, pure rage sizzling and growing hotter every second you spend lost in your emotions. A fury that is always there, making every breath a little shorter, every happy moment a little duller. A dormant feeling that is usually left undisturbed, except for when it's triggered. Then it becomes a fire that burns hotter than any flame in the depths of hell.

The emotions and thoughts and memories that you keep suppressed in a corner of your heart all coming flooding out, like a dam finally bursting free. How could everyone strand you like that? Leave you all alone to suffer through your grief, while always expecting you to be kind and cheerful. They know what happened, and they have to know how badly it hurts. Yet not a single one cares. Not your dad, not your teachers, not your friends. No one in the entire world ever so much as offered a shoulder for you to cry on or gave you a comforting smile. Not one “I’m here for you” or “It’s all right, take your time.” No, all they did was raise their expectations, setting the bar so high until you’re barely clinging to it, trying to pull yourself up despite your weary arms. Lifting it to such heights that losing your grip and falling would mean certain death.

You think of the snarling, twisted animal that resides deep inside you, embedded into your very being, clawing at the aching hole in your heart left by the absence of your mother. Finally letting it break free after being caged for so long, you feel, oh-so agonizingly, how it scratches its way up your throat and escapes you in a wretched sob.

Why did she leave me? How could she leave me? I’m her daughter, for fuck’s sake. Who can abandon their child like that? Does she not care about me? 

Did she ever even love me?

Painful thoughts consume your head as a few stray tears run down your cheek. You grit your teeth, sucking in shaky gasps of breaths. Smothered by your anguish, submerged in emotion.

Yet, despite all this, it works. Remembering the entire point of your self-inflicted despair, your head snaps down to the Mirror. Although your legs burn and throb from all the incessant running, you can’t stop. At least not yet.

Thick fog exudes from the Mirror, rapidly engulfing the whole of the arena. Within a few moments, everything is covered in the dense whiteness, so heavy you can barely see your hand, even if you hold it directly in front of your face.

Morgie disappears in the fog as well, to the point where you can no longer see nor hear him. Assuming that he’s no longer a threat for now—if you can’t see him, he can’t see you, and if he can’t see you, he can’t attack you—you summon a staircase of thunderbolts and walk down it until you safely step onto solid ground.

Your legs practically give way at the first touch of hard floor, the urge to collapse and lie on the ground excruciatingly strong. Mustering up the last of your strength and willpower, you force your feet to step one after another, desperately trying to distract yourself from the fire burning in your muscles at even the strain of supporting your own weight. 

Almost done. Almost.

Practically rendered blind by the all-encompassing mist, you keep one hand outstretched, making sure you won’t collide with anything—especially Morgie. Pocketing the Mirror, you continue through the fog. You had made sure to note your direction in relation to the exit before everything became completely invisible as to help you easily find your way out without getting lost. But after a few minutes in the overwhelming whiteness, you start to doubt yourself. 

What’s even worse is that there’s no sign of Morgie. You’re not foolish enough to expect him to pop up right in front of you, but you don’t hear him making any sounds either. No footsteps, no breathing, nothing. Your strides are far more muffled as you take your other shoe off too, annoyed at the limping effect the difference in heights causes. But nothing from him.

Your mind starts wandering to what happened to him, refusing to admit that the smallest part of you feels the tiniest bit concerned. Does he need help? Is he still alive? Your intentions were to steal the Mirror and disarm him, not kill him. You’re not evil enough for that.

Not yet, anyway.

After stumbling through the murky fog for a bit longer, you start to notice that now, you can see your hand extended in front of you. The fog is thinning, you think, which means I must be nearing the edge of this area and heading towards the bookcases.

A little bit further, and the fog disperses to all but a thin mist. The bookshelves in front of you come into view, the rows and rows of them finally visible as they expand into the distance. Follow those, and you’ll find the door you came in through. 

So, so close…

You take a few more steps, the heavy spellbook still in hand as you reach into your pocket with an unusual, yet profound, sense of paranoia, ensuring the Mirror is still there. Out of nowhere, you feel a strange sort of chill cover your feet. You chalk it up to your lack of shoes, but, not being able to resist the urge, you glance down.

That’s when you see strange feathery tendrils of black smoke on the floor, in stark contrast to the thin mist that hangs in the air. They slither and wrap around your feet as they move, condensing together in front of you and rising up a meter off the ground in the shape of a hissing black cobra.

The cobra flares out its hood whilst flicking its tongue at you, swaying side to side as it stretches to its full height. You stumble backwards, hesitating for only a second too long before it dawns on you where the snake came from.

Behind you, a brooding voice sounds. “Going somewhere?” Morgie asks.

You spin around sharply, dismay and a special breed of horror painted on your face as you turn to face him. “I don’t care what you do, the Mirror is mine,” you growl, shooting him a lethal glare that truly could kill.

“I don’t think so.” He gathers more black magic around his palm, creating an orb that whirls around like a dark, spherical tornado. You both stare into each other’s eyes for a moment, a fracture in time, trying to decide your next move—when he suddenly throws his hand forward.

You flinch away, yanking the book in front of your face as a shield. After a second, when you don’t feel anything, you open your eyes, turning back in his direction in confusion.

And that’s when you see that you weren't the target of his attack.

The book in front of you was.

The dark magic gnaws at it from the back cover, where it hit on impact, eating away at the pages. “No!” you scream, desperately flipping through the paper as the magic destroys it. Your own magic may be quite strong, but since you're barely allowed to practice it, it’s nowhere near the son of Morgana’s abilities or prowess. This book was your only chance at defeating him.

Frantically rifling through the pages, a look of pure horror on your face, you try to scan the spells for something to save you. Teleportation is soon gone, as well as fireball. As soon as you catch a glimpse of a spell name that could be helpful, the incantation is instantly obliterated.

Panic building faster than even the speed of the dark magic, you flip to the front of the book, trying to find a spell at the beginning of the alphabet so you have enough time to actually read the incantation.

But apple is of no use, and neither is bridge. Morgie stands there, gaze transfixed on your struggling form, wickedly smiling with an amused raise of his eyebrows. Guess he really is a villain after all.

The black energy eroding the book spreads across both covers, demolishing the tome as you hold it in your feverishly trembling hands. Your eyes race across the letters, desperate to find one that could even have a chance at saving you.

Dragon, no.

Claws, not that.

Chasm, not that either.

None of these will help me! your internal voice screeches, the book dissipating as you hold it. Then, your eyes snag along a word.

Chains. The perfect spell. 

“Ut qui inritat, catenas sentiat iras,” you wildly spit out, heart racing, tongue unable to move fast enough. Your eyes dart frenziedly ahead of your mouth, running on sheer panic as you try to memorize the words in case the book does disappear. “Pati in compedibus, ut solvas pretium peccatorum tuorum,” you continue to cry out.

As the last fibers of the pages evaporate in black fumes, you thrust a hand in Morgie’s direction, yelling the last few words. “Eris enim sine fuga ligatus!”

Nothing.

Then, boom.

The residual magic from the demolished book, no longer contained in a physical form, explodes, the force sending you flying backwards. You soar for a couple feet before colliding with a shelf behind you, your head slamming against a sharp edge.

You crumple to the floor, body bruised, beaten, and bloody. The world spins, your head throbs, and you feel so generally shitty that you want to crawl out of your body and leave this physical hindrance behind.

Your head feels too heavy to lift up, and so it falls forward, swaying back and forth. A warm sensation on the back of your skull draws your senses back to the present, and you lift one weary hand to the spot. Bringing it back down in front of your face, you see a whole lot of red smothered on it, just as more trickles down onto the base of your head and neck.

Groaning, you lift your face to scan your surroundings as the dust settles yet again. The fog is now almost completely gone, allowing you to see rather clearly. Sight still blurry, you barely make out the figure a few meters in front of you as heavy chains whip up from the floor, wrapping around his arms.

More spring up around his legs, dragging him down and causing his knees to buckle. He fights against the metal, but they only tighten as even more encircle his torso, tethering him to the ground. He leans forwards, now kneeling before you, arms spread out and chained to the floor on either side.

In front of him, halfway between you two, lies the Mirror of Yteriv, face-up on the floor.

Scrambling to get up, you slowly manage to stand, leaning your weight on the bookcase behind you. The ground sways underneath your feet, but you don’t collapse. One shaky step after another, you make your way over to the mirror.

You practically crumple to the floor as you lean down to snatch it up, the sounds of chains rattling against each other echoing through your head as their prisoner resists his bonds.

You straighten again, running your fingers over every millimeter of the Mirror’s surface to ensure that the cracks reflected on it are only part of its usual appearance and not actual damage caused during the explosion. Once you're sure of its safety, you look down at the figure shackled in front of you.

Morgie looks up at you, hair disheveled and face bruised, a few drops of blood spattered on his cheek. His eyes are a storm of anguish and a wounded kind of sorrow, his jaw clenched tight. You’d like to think that he isn’t peering up at you, body tied and bound, with resentment etched into his features, but you know you’d be lying to yourself.

He gives another violent tug against the chains, but to no avail. Neither of you speak a word, remaining in complete silence, yet somehow saying a thousand things through your eyes. You stare down at him, at the way he can barely lift his head due to his restraints, the agony swirling in his eyes tugging at your heartstrings in ways that make you ache through your core. 

But you’ve already come this far. You can’t turn back now.

The deafening silence remains as you raise the Mirror up in front of yourself, the white mist wrapping around you as if beckoning you closer. The red eyes glow even brighter, their judgment intensifying as your reflection begins to appear in the glass. The cracks on the surface slowly fade away as you come into view, until finally revealing a completely smooth and unmarred image as you gaze into your own eyes.

Except they aren’t yours.

Your reflection in the mirror is not of yourself, but of a younger version of you. She smiles effulgently, a pure, innocent sparkle of wonder in her eyes. A look of untainted bliss painted on her face as she beams. 

A look you haven’t seen in your own reflection for a long time.

“Mommy?” her young, high-pitched voice calls out. “Mommy? Moooommy? Where are you?”

A sob gets caught in your throat as you gasp, tears framing your vision. As if the memory finally gets uncovered in your mind, after being hidden away all these years from your brain deeming it too painful, you realize when this is—or rather, what this is.

“Mommy?” she calls again, her smile faltering as her little brow furrows in confusion, her face scrunching ever so slightly. “Mommy?” She turns her head to the side, looking at something out of view before asking, “Daddy, where’s Mommy?”

Your chest heaves as a sharp cry escapes you, the pain taking a physical form in the tears streaking your cheeks, your face contorting as you weep. In the background, a man’s faint, shaky sobs sound.

The mirror slips from your fingers, landing on the ground with an echoing thud. You whimper, uncontrollably trembling breaths causing your chest to jolt back and forth. You don’t move, can’t move, empty hand still suspended in midair.

You feel numb, yet like you're experiencing every emotion all at once. Your brain can’t wrap around this, around any of this, can’t comprehend your own thoughts. Can’t process what you feel. You’ve shoved your emotion down for so long, that now that they’re no longer bottled up, you don’t know how to deal with them.

“I’m sorry.” The voice cuts through the thick silence, snapping you out of the raging war inside your head.

You glance over at Morgie, still wrapped in chains. His eyes no longer hold the same animosity and misery, but instead a soft sort of sympathy, an underlying look of understanding as he peers up at you, head slightly raised.

“I don’t want your pity,” you sniff indignantly.

“I’m not pitying you.”

You look down at him, your chest heaving, eyes bloodshot. Taking shaky gasps of breath through your mouth, your body quivers as you wait for him to continue.

“I didn’t know about your mom, and you’re totally justified for wanting to know what happened to her,” Morgie continues. “You can take that Mirror and walk out of here if you want.” You keep on staring at him, not saying anything, frozen with anticipation as he carries on. “But are you really going to risk your future for knowledge of the past?”

You gulp before responding, voice hoarse and eyes half-lidded, voice cold and numb. “Would you still hesitate to take that risk, even when it means it could make your future finally be one worth living?”

“Your future is already one worth living,” Morgie replies. “You may not see it, but you’re talented, and smart, and pretty, and you’re a good person. You have a bright future ahead of you.” He shakes his head, eyes still boring into you. “Don’t ruin it like this. Blinded by your pain.”

Sniffling, you inhale a shuddering breath. “And how do you know my pain is blinding me, and not making me see clearer? Clearer than I have in my entire life. Clearer than she did.” You jut your chin towards the mirror lying on the floor.

“I don’t. But what I do know, from seeing my own mother, is that pain like this gets you nowhere. Letting the people who were supposed to love you instead turn you bitter and cynical never fixes things. You may think that becoming evil is the solution, but it’s not. It’s not worth it. You’re not worth it.”

You stare at him intensely, a raw kind of pain displayed on your face, one that no one has ever seen before. A thousand emotions flicker through your eyes, your lips twisting into a whimpering attempt at a smile as you cry again, the sob wracking through your body. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

Hope flashes in your eyes, reflected in his. Your gaze softens, looking at him as if he’s the beacon of light at the end of the tunnel. A small grin breaks his steady demeanor, looking at you with optimism shining through the glimmer in his eyes.

You reach down, picking up the Mirror again. You stare at it, although not directly at your reflection this time. He peers up at you, still shackled to the floor, eyes wide with anticipation.

You slip the Mirror into the pocket of your cloak once again before turning around, your back to him. Twisting your head to the side so he hears you, you say, “The chains will disappear in an hour.”

Turning your head back, you walk away and leave him behind, black cape flickering in the dark night.

Unclasping the back, you slip off the locket, placing it in front of you. The rusty metal is reflected in the mirror in front of it, along with the tears that splatter on its surface.

It had belonged to your mother, the only thing you had left of her. She had given it to you when you were a little kid, not too long before she left. It was old and weathered, the silver having tarnished over time. Still, you religiously wore it every single day, never taking it off as if it's a part of your body. And sometimes, if you stare at it hard enough, you can almost trick yourself into believing she's still there.

Safely back in your dorm, all alone, you had set the Mirror down, flipping to the notebook page where you had transcribed the incantations for the ritual, without a second thought.

Now, sitting on the ground, the Mirror leaning against a leg of your desk with your locket as an offering in front of it, you start to hesitate. Your face twists in pure agony, features scrunched up, lips quivering uncontrollably as a waterfall of tears splatter onto your hands and lap.

It’s too late to turn back now.

Taking another shaky breath, you extend your hands forward to the Mirror, placing one thumb on each red gemstone embedded in the intricate silver design. The jewels watch you, scorning your every action. Just like everyone else.

Your eyes flutter closed, letting out the steadiest exhale you’ve had all night. “Speculum, speculum, in conspectu oculorum meorum,” you whisper, feeling the way the rubies press into the flesh of your thumbs. Already, the Mirror starts discharging more fog, enveloping you as it grows denser with each syllable. “Accipe donum meum et veritas libera me.”

You open your eyes as the last words leave your tongue, staring straight into the eyes of your own reflection.

The red gems glow radiantly, emitting a bright light that nearly blinds you. You squint, yet still unrelentingly stare into your eyes—or rather, your younger self's eyes. The fog swirls around you, swallowing you whole. You can’t see anything anymore, can’t even tell where you are. You feel as though your soul, your life’s very essence, gets sucked out of your body and into the Mirror.

You have the sensation of being shoved forward, but you don’t fall. In fact, you don't have a body anymore, no physical vessel to hold you. You try to look down, but you're greeted by the absence of your legs, sheer nothingness filling the space beneath you. You can’t really move around either, not in the way you’re used to. All you can do is simply float, your existence diminished to an untethered life force, with some semblance of what you once were.

Looking around, everything around you is white like before, but not in the suffocating way the fog was. Instead, you stand in a wide expanse of whiteness, a vast field of empty space. It stretches on forever, with no end in sight. It’s as if you’re stuck in a blank canvas, waiting for a painter to bring you to life.

The sound of wind whistles all around you, but not so much as a breeze actually comes. In fact, everything is completely unmoving. Despite the stifling stillness, you remain listening to the sound of the wind. If you strain hard enough, you can hear something almost like faint whispers filling your senses.

You look around again, ignoring the eerie voices. According to all the texts you read, after the Mirror accepts the wielder’s offering, they can ask for their answer. You’re not quite sure if this field of emptiness means your offering’s been accepted, but seeing as how you don’t feel insane yet, you think it’s safe to presume so. Still, your brain can’t help but point out that crazy people probably don’t feel like they’re crazy either.

Shaking off your doubts, you decide to continue with the process. After all, it is the only shot you have. You had memorized all the incantations for this particular spell earlier, repeating them over and over again until every word was engraved into your mind.

“Scire volo verum,” you recite. “I wish to know a truth.” Nothing happens.

You take a deep breath. “I wish to know why my mom left.”

The wind around you grows louder, howling even in the still air. The whispers increase in volume, once seemingly non-threatening and benign, now forming a cacophony of overlapping, chaotic voices. They grow distorted and grating, pushing in from every side, wrapping around you and slithering into your brain. You can’t block them out, no matter how hard you try; can’t swat them away, can’t make them leave, leaving you trying to tear them out of your head, despite not having hands anymore.

Suddenly, the white vastness turns a dark gray, and you start getting pulled downward towards something, like moving towards the center of a black hole. The whispers grow claws and fangs, clawing and scratching at your chest as they drag you down, making it hard for you to breathe. 

You try to fight back, but the voices now in your head keep pulling you down. They’ve taken over you, consuming you whole, and it’s impossible not to succumb to their will.

As they continue to drag you down into the abyss, you turn around—or rather, focus on the other side of your vague form of spiritual energy—and notice a tiny black dot very far down, but steadily growing bigger as you move towards it.

The whispers are screaming now, cries of agony of those who came before you, encompassing you whole and forcing you to the depths of this dark chasm.

And that’s when it hits you.

The others who used the Mirror did all end up getting the truths they sought.

And the truth was what drove them to madness.

You panic, trying to shake off the invisible hands of the whisperers, but they only tighten their hold around you. No matter how hard you fight them, they don’t relent in their endeavor of pulling you towards damnation.

“Are you really going to risk your future for knowledge of the past?” Morgie’s words echo in your head out of nowhere, haunting you with regret. You absolutely despise admitting it, but fuck, he was right.

Your last conversation with him replays in your mind, reminding you of your foolishness and idiocy. You had been so focused on getting what you wanted that you were indeed blinded to the truth that had been right in front of you this whole time.

“Your future is one worth living.”

His voice swirls around in your brain, drawing your attention away a little from the screaming voices in your head.

“You’re talented, and smart, and pretty, and you’re a good person.”

You realize these are probably the last words you’ll ever hear.

“You have a bright future ahead of you.”

You feel like crying again, the despair that’s taken root in you fighting to escape. Still, you don’t have an actual body in this dreamscape, so crying is impossible.

“It’s not worth it. You’re not worth it.”

You look back up the other direction and away from the black dot, resigned to your fate as you get dragged down into the chasm, deeper, deeper, deeper. At first, you think you’re imagining it; a mirage created by your mind to distract you from your pain. But as the descent continues, you begin to realize that it may not be an illusion after all.

In front of you, from the direction you came, a faint golden thread, seemingly made of pure light, stretches from your form of consciousness and ascends, up, up, up, all the way to the never-ending sky. With each of Morgie’s words you repeat in your head, the string of light grows stronger, brighter.

“You’re talented.”

The thread becomes thicker and more luminous, and you begin to realize that your descent has slowed down as well.

“And smart.”

The thread grows again, and you slow down a little more.

“And pretty.”

Your eyes follow the string upwards, and now, you see there’s a faint patch of white amidst the murky gray surrounding you.

“You’re a good person.”

The thread, still shooting out straight from your form, gleams with a shimmering golden light now. You notice that you’re no longer getting dragged downwards, but instead up, towards the whiteness. The screaming voices aren’t as insufferably loud anymore, either.

“You have a bright future ahead of you.”

You keep ascending, getting drawn faster and faster up. Morgie’s words serve as your lifeline, saving you from insanity.

“You’re not worth it.”

Now, you see that the white patch is actually an opening, an escape from this hell. The thread leads to it, its blinding brightness concealing whatever lies beyond.

“I know so.”

The last of his words give you the final push you need, sending you straight into the white light.

Your head snaps up with a sharp, terrified exhale. You look down, taking a moment to register that you’re back in your room. The locket dangles from one of your hands, the Mirror clutched in the other.

Fresh tears replacing the dried ones on your cheeks as you let out a sob of excruciating heartache, a sound of pure agony. The kind that no one should have to go through.

You look down at the cracked surface of the Mirror—a feeling of raw, unbridled anger set in the way you clench your jaw, and the way your face contorts with your cries—staring straight at the evil red eyes still gleaming at you.

With a swift motion, you lift your hand above your head, still grasping tight. Mustering together all your might, you hurl the Mirror towards the ground, watching as it shatters into a sea of glittering pieces.

“You’re late.”

You lean against the rough brick wall of an empty corridor, arms crossed, your figure partially obscured in shadows.

“And I’m surprised you’re still here,” Morgie quips, walking towards you. “Why’d you even want to talk with me? Especially through leaving that threatening note next to my nightstand for me to find when I woke up.”

He stops in front of you, leaving you to glower at him. Suddenly, with no warning, you lunge towards him, seizing the collar of his shirt and pushing him against the wall, your other hand summoning a rod of crackling lightning. 

His eyes widen with a startled gaze, but he doesn’t look quite as fearful as you want him to be. “Now, listen here.” You press the tip of the lightning bolt against his neck. “If you say a word of what happened last night to anyone—especially my father—I will kill you.”

Although you try to sound as menacing as possible, Morgie is unfazed. An amused smirk spreads across his face as he replies, “Alright, relax. I wasn’t planning on telling anyone anyways.”

His eyes trail down from your gaze to the locket dangling from your neck. He reaches out a hand, brushing his thumb along the tarnished metal as he softly says, “You didn’t go through with it, huh?”

You pull away, frustrated at his compassionate tone. “No. I decided…it was too risky. After all, what’s the point of figuring out the past if I can’t ever use that information, right?” A small smile spreads across Morgie’s face, that sympathetic, delicate look in his eyes again. Your irritation rising at this, you add, with a growl, “Although I will find a way to get my answer. I don’t care how bad I have to become, if you, or my father, or anyone stands in my way, you’ll truly see how evil I can be!”

Morgie keeps his unfettered appearance up. God, he’s so annoying! you mentally scream in frustration.

“Why are you so fixed on this?” he asks, tilting his head sideways and furrowing his brow as if trying to look past your cold, vengeful, rancorous mask and figure out the scarred little girl buried underneath.

You roll your eyes instead of answering. Never one to express emotions, the thought of opening up now about your years of pain feels terrifyingly vulnerable. It’s so much easier to just build walls around your heart and shut everyone out.

“Tell me this, and I promise I won’t tell a word of what happened last night to anyone,” Morgie bargains.

You narrow your eyes. “You already said you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Well, now I’m having second thoughts.”

You raise your arm again to summon another bolt of electricity, and Morgie lifts his hands, palms facing forward, in a gesture of surrender. “Relax, I won’t say anything, fine. But I just want you to talk to me. Bottling up your emotions like this isn’t healthy. Last night should be a good example of that.”

You shoot another glare at him, but can’t deny the fact that he’s right. Still, you hate the idea of how exposed and weak you'd be if you actually told someone how you feel.

“I’m not going to leave you, you know.”

You peer up at him, eyes wide in shock, as he continues. “I’ll stay by your side. You don’t have to worry about me abandoning you.”

Gulping, you nod, averting his gaze. Instead, you choose to look down at your shoes, studying the laces as you speak. “I…when my mom left, it was so sudden. No goodbyes, nothing. It was like one day, she just vanished.”

Your voice cracks, and Morgie places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, unknowingly pulling you closer to him. You swallow, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “My dad didn’t even care. It was as if she never existed. And everyone else…they all knew what happened. But they paid no attention whatsoever. They expected me to act normal, be all nice and sweet as if nothing changed. It made me hate them, hate all of them.”

“Do you hate me?”  

Morgie’s voice rings in the empty corridor, quiet yet speaking louder than a thousand shouts. You look up at him again, his image slightly blurred by the tears welling at the bottom of your eyes. You look up and you see the boy that stood by your side at your worst, who didn’t get scared or run away when you showed him your true colors.

The boy who said things no one’s ever said to you, whose words saved you from destroying yourself.

The boy who stands here, a concerned crinkle on his forehead as he awaits your answer. He doesn’t have to be here, listening to your problems. He doesn’t have to care.

But he does.

“No,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “No, I don’t hate you.”

In the suffocating sea of fake smiles and stifling pressures, Morgie is like a breath of fresh air. The first gulp of oxygen that you take as your head breaks free from the water.

“That’s a relief,” he responds, a trace of a smirk ghosting his features.

You give a small, bittersweet laugh. “Ever since my mom left and my dad stopped caring about me, I’ve never had anyone to talk to. No one seems to care about my emotions, or ask me how I’m doing. It’s as if I’m not a real person who has actual feelings.”

You’re on the verge of tears again, and Morgie must realize this, because he tries to lighten the mood by attempting—and failing—to inconspicuously wrap an arm around your shoulder as he says, “So, what I’m hearing from all this, is that you need a strong, reliable figure in your life to lean on, right? Like…a boyfriend or something?”

You duck under his arm, moving a good few feet away from him while fixing him with another glare. “Yeah no, I’m good.”

“Come on, that was smooth! You’ve got to admit it,” he whines, drawing out a small giggle from you. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve laughed like this: a true, heartfelt laugh, not the fake one that you do to appease other people under the pressure of society's expectations. It feels nice, like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. 

All because of him.

“I don’t know, maybe I'll consider it with some time, if you treat me well,” you joke as you turn your head away with faux indifference. 

“Hey, a slim chance is better than no chance at all, right?” Morgie moves closer to you again, as if he can’t stand having so much space between the two of you. “I can see I’ve made some progress since last night, when you tried to kill me.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes at him.

“Oh yeah? Tell that to the bruises on my body.”

“It’s not my fault you’re so weak and sensitive,” you retort with a grin.

He nudges you playfully and you laugh again, shaking your head with an amused look. “Hey, I was wondering,” he asks, locking eyes with you, “what did you end up doing with the Mirror?”

You give a knowing grin, masking the undercurrent of what’s left unsaid. You vaguely respond, “It’s in a better place now.”

“If you say so,” Morgie replies, his smile returning to his face and lighting up his features once again. He continues to tease you, and you oblige him, keeping up the friendly banter as he walks you to class.

The Enchanted Lake glistens, reflecting the sun’s gentle rays with a bright shimmer. Deep down, under feet of clear blue water and various forms of aquatic life, in a far corner of the lake, lies a bag of glass shards. Next to it floats an ornate metal carving with a hollow center, reminiscent of something once set there. And at the top, two glowing red gemstones briefly flicker and die out, like watchful eyes finally closing.

end x

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Five | Enchanted | Aemond Targaryen

Word count - 3595

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

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The moon hung high in the velvet sky, casting a silvery sheen across the hidden pool, turning the water into a shimmering mirror of the stars. 

The lush gardens that surrounded me were cloaked in shadow, their vibrant colours muted by the night, yet somehow more alive under the moonlight. 

I sat at the pool's edge, my feet submerged in the cool water, toes gently stirring the surface as I soaked in the rare stillness. 

My dress was gathered carelessly at my thighs, the delicate fabric spilling in soft folds as I leaned back on my palms, savouring the serenity of the moment.

Towering trees loomed above, their branches swaying in the light breeze, leaves whispering secrets to the night. 

The soft trickle of water from a nearby fountain created a melody, the only sound to break the silence—until it was shattered by a voice. 

A voice I knew too well, sharp and unmistakably familiar.

"You are rather cruel."

Aemond's words sliced through the quiet, laced with accusation, though softened by a reluctant hint of amusement. 

I didn't need to turn to know it was him—his presence was as recognizable as the tension that always simmered between us. 

It was the same tension that made every encounter feel like a delicate dance, each word a step, each glance a move in a game neither of us was willing to lose.

I glanced over my shoulder, a small smile playing on my lips, teasing. "I just enjoy having fun."

I made no attempt to hide the mischief in my tone. Innocence had long ceased to be a pretence I could afford, especially with Aemond. 

He approached with his usual grace, a fluidity that belied the lingering effects of the sweets we had indulged in earlier. 

Even with his composure compromised, he moved as if every step was calculated, precise.

He settled beside me on the stone ledge, his proximity a quiet intrusion into my solitude. 

Despite the night's peace, his posture was tense, his presence a storm contained just beneath the surface. 

I could feel the weight of his gaze, the heat of it as he watched my feet stir the water, the ripples distorting the moon's reflection with every playful kick.

"Fun at our expense?" he challenged, his voice low, his singular eye narrowing as annoyance flickered across his face, though it did little to dull the magnetism of his presence. 

His pride had taken a beating earlier in the day—an image of him stumbling, flushed and flustered, still fresh in my mind. The memory brought a fresh wave of amusement that I couldn't hide.

I met his gaze, defiant, a smirk curling at the edges of my lips. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat if only to watch you stumble like a fool once more."

For a moment, something passed across his face, the faintest twitch of his lips, as though he might laugh. But it vanished as quickly as it came, his features hardening, though not before I caught a glimpse of something almost human beneath his stoic mask. 

He turned away, staring at the water, the moonlight painting him in silver, highlighting the sharp angles of his face.

"You delight in chaos," he mused, his tone quieter now, almost contemplative. "You toy with people's pride and revel in their missteps. Is that what gives you pleasure?"

I let my fingers trail lazily along the water's surface, watching the ripples disrupt the moon's reflection once again. 

"I find pleasure in reminding those who think they're untouchable that they're not," I said, my voice soft but edged with steel. "Especially those who come into my home with their arrogance, believing they already know everything."

His jaw tightened at my words, a flicker of tension tightening his shoulders. 

"You think so little of us, don't you?" His voice was low, almost a growl. "The Targaryens. The dragons. You see us as invaders, don't you? Unwanted strangers in your precious Dorne."

A laugh bubbled up from my chest, soft but genuine, echoing in the night air. 

"Not invaders," I corrected, turning my gaze to him, sharp and unyielding. 

"Just strangers in a place you don't understand. You believe strength and bloodlines make you superior, but here? Here, you're like everyone else—vulnerable. Fallible."

His expression darkened, though there was a flicker of something deeper in his eye, a shadow of doubt perhaps. He leaned in, the space between us narrowing until I could feel the heat of his breath on my skin. 

His voice dropped lower, cutting through the night air like a blade. 

"And what about you? You, so high and mighty in your own domain. I see through it. You wear defiance like armour, but what are you hiding behind all that bravado?"

The thrill of his challenge sent a jolt through me, his words like a spark in the air between us. 

I turned my head slowly, meeting his gaze head-on, refusing to let him see even a hint of hesitation. 

"You think you know me, Aemond?" My voice was steady, unwavering. "You don't. You see what I allow you to see. Just like I see you. The proud prince who hides his insecurities behind a cold mask and a sharpened tongue."

I let my voice soften, leaning in just enough to let my words slip through the cracks in his composure. "Or maybe you're just angry because, for once, you weren't the one in control."

His fists clenched, tension rippling through him, but it wasn't anger that flashed in his eye—it was frustration, laced with something dangerously close to admiration. 

His voice was rough when he spoke, his control slipping just enough to let the edge of it show. "You're impossible."

But there was no venom in his words. If anything, they held a grudging respect, a hint of something more. "No one else dares to speak to me like this."

"Maybe you need it," I replied, my voice softer now, but no less sure. "Someone to remind you that even the mighty fall. That you're not invincible."

With a flick of my foot, I splashed water in his direction, catching him by surprise. 

He flinched, more out of instinct than annoyance, and for a moment, there was silence between us, the tension giving way to something lighter.

Aemond's lips quirked, the barest hint of a smile breaking through the walls he had so carefully constructed. 

"You're insufferable," he muttered, though the words lacked their usual bite. His gaze lingered on me, softer now, his defences momentarily lowered. "But perhaps... that's what makes you interesting."

I arched a brow, my smirk widening at his unexpected admission. "Careful, Aemond. You almost sound like you're complimenting me."

He rolled his eye, leaning back on his hands, his gaze shifting to the sky. "Don't get used to it," he shot back, though his tone had lost its edge, replaced by a quiet camaraderie. 

The night seemed to fold around us then, the silence not heavy, but comfortable, as if some unspoken understanding had been reached, if only for the moment.

The silence between us stretched on, thick and electric, as if the very air held its breath, anticipating what would come next. 

I turned to face Aemond once more, only to find his eye already fixed on me, darker and more intense than I had ever seen.

There was something unguarded in the way he looked at me now—a hunger that simmered just beneath the surface, raw and undisguised. 

His gaze trailed down my body, lingering on the bare skin exposed by my bunched-up dress, and the weight of his stare sent a pulse of heat through me. 

It was a silent confession—his control, the icy demeanour he held so tightly, was slipping. 

And with it, the sharp words and cold mask he wore so often were falling away, revealing something primal.

"See something you like?" I teased, my voice cutting through the quiet, carrying the taunting lilt that I knew would make him bristle.

For a fleeting moment, Aemond's gaze snapped away, the annoyance flickering in his features as if he had been caught in a moment of weakness. But he couldn't hide it for long. 

His eye returned to mine, burning with a smouldering intensity that both challenged and enticed me.

"Bold of you, dragon prince, to ogle so openly," I continued, pushing the edge of the game, testing the limits of his restraint. 

With deliberate ease, I slid off the stone ledge and into the water, the cool liquid enveloping me in a contrast to the heat building between us.

I swam backwards, my body weightless in the pool, my movements slow and languid as I watched him from beneath my lashes. 

The wet fabric of my dress clung to my skin, outlining every curve, and I saw the way his jaw tightened, his breath hitching as the moonlight illuminated the now-transparent gown.

My fingers found the neckline of the dress, and with excruciating slowness, I began to peel it away, inch by inch, exposing more of my bare skin to the night air and his ravenous gaze. 

The coolness of the water did little to temper the heat I felt from the way he watched me. 

It was as if the world had shrunk down to just us, the moon, and the water—everything else had ceased to exist.

Aemond's eye darkened and his tongue darted out to wet his lips, betraying the war that raged within him. 

His pride and control fought against the undeniable desire burning in his gaze, but I could see which side was winning.

"Don't be shy now... dragon," I whispered, my voice dripping with invitation, the words a silken caress in the quiet night. 

I drifted closer to him, my movements deliberate, taunting. 

When I reached the edge where he sat, my hands found his thighs, and I felt the tension in his muscles, coiled tight like a predator waiting to strike. "Come join me."

That was all it took. 

Aemond's resolve snapped, and with a swift, fluid motion, he began shedding his clothes, the practised ease of each movement betraying the urgency simmering beneath his calm exterior. 

His tunic hit the stone floor, followed by the rest, until he stood before me, bathed in moonlight—his lean, chiselled form a masterpiece of strength and control.

The sight of him sent a surge of heat low in my belly, a pulsing need that made my breath catch in my throat. 

He was all hard lines and taut muscle, every inch of him perfectly defined, and yet it was the look in his eye—the way he regarded me with a predatory focus—that stirred something primal deep within me.

He stepped into the water, his grace unnerving, and each stroke brought him closer to me, his movements slow, deliberate, until he reached me. 

His arms snaked around my waist, pulling me against him, our bodies flush, the cool water lapping at our skin a futile barrier against the fire building between us.

"Will your generosity extend to the likes of me tonight?" he murmured, his voice low and rough with anticipation. 

His breath was hot against my ear, his words a mix of taunt and plea, thick with the desire that we both knew was inevitable.

I leaned in closer, my lips brushing his ear as I whispered back, "Maybe... just for the night."

The heat of him was intoxicating, overwhelming, and I couldn't resist the pull of it any longer.

My teeth grazed his earlobe, a soft nip that sent a shiver through his body, and a low, rumbling sigh escaped his throat.

Aemond's grip tightened, his fingers digging into the flesh of my hips as he pulled me even closer, his touch possessive and demanding. 

"Good," he growled, his lips finding the sensitive skin of my neck, trailing heated kisses down its length. 

Each kiss was searing, a branding of fire on my skin, and I tilted my head back, lost in the sensations.

The water rippled around us, his movements rougher now, insistent, and his hands slid lower, gripping my ass as he lifted me effortlessly. 

My legs wrapped around his waist, and I gasped as he pressed me against the pool's edge, the stone cool against my back while his body burned against mine.

I moaned, soft and breathless, as his lips trailed down to the swell of my breasts, biting and kissing with a fervour that made my head spin. 

"Wait until you feel the touch of a dragon," he growled against my skin, his voice thick with promise.

I gasped as he pressed into me slowly, stretching and filling me in a way that made my mind go blank, the sharp edge of my usual defiance dulled by the overwhelming sensation of him. 

My nails dug into his shoulders as I moved against him, our bodies finding a rhythm that was desperate and frantic, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge. 

Aemond's hands gripped my thighs, his movements growing rougher, his own control fraying with every ragged breath and low groan that escaped his lips. 

I clung to him, lost in the sensation, the line between hatred and desire blurring as we moved together, each seeking something from the other that went beyond words.

He groaned, the sound vibrating against my skin as his mouth found mine, his kiss searing and demanding, tasting of need and defiance. His hips snapped up, and I cried out, my back arching as he drove deeper, every movement stoking the fire between us. 

The water churned around us, the night air filled with the sounds of our mingled breaths and the quiet splash of water as we lost ourselves in the heat of the moment.

With every thrust, every desperate pull and push, it became impossible to think of anything but the way he felt—the way he consumed me, body and soul.

I moaned against his lips, my fingers tangling in his hair as he buried his face in my neck, biting down softly as he held me close.

For a moment, we were not rivals, not enemies bound by the weight of our families, but two people lost in the chaos of the night and each other.

The intensity of the moment slowly began to ebb as we both caught our breath, the water around us still rippling with the aftermath of our frenzied movements.

 Aemond's grip on me loosened, though he didn't pull away, his forehead resting against mine as we lingered in the quiet aftermath of what had just happened. 

My heart pounded in my chest, each beat loud in the stillness of the night, and I could feel the subtle shiver of his breaths mingling with mine, the heat between us refusing to fade.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched out, thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions so tangled that neither of us dared to unravel them. 

Aemond's hands remained firm on my hips, grounding me with a possessiveness that wasn't harsh but tethered us to this fleeting moment. 

His touch was a silent claim—one not rooted in ownership but in a raw, desperate connection that both of us seemed to crave, even if we wouldn't admit it.

Slowly, he pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his eye searching mine with an intensity that went beyond the heat of our earlier passion. 

This was something different, something deeper. 

The sharp edges of lust were gone, replaced by a need for understanding, a desire to make sense of what had just passed between us. 

I could see it in the way his gaze softened, as though he was trying to decipher the parts of me that lay beneath the surface, the fragments of my soul that I had kept hidden, even from myself.

"So," he murmured, his voice huskier now, edged with something I hadn't expected—uncertainty. 

It was a vulnerability I had never seen in him before, a crack in the armour he always wore so fiercely. "What does this mean? For us?"

The question hung in the air like a fragile thread, delicate and dangerous. 

It was the kind of question that could shift everything, could tip the scales and send us spiralling into something neither of us had planned for. 

His gaze held mine, and I saw the flicker of something that wasn't just desire. There was hope in his eyes, a tentative curiosity, but it was laced with a fear of what my answer might be.

My fingers found their way into his damp hair, sliding through the strands with a gentle firmness as I kept my gaze steady on his. 

I had anticipated this, the need to define whatever this was, to give it a name that made sense in a world where alliances, betrayals, and expectations ruled us both. 

But this? This couldn't be explained away with a neat label. It wasn't something that could be easily understood or categorized. This was chaos. 

It was defiance wrapped in desire, two beings who didn't belong anywhere finding solace in the reckless heat of the night.

"This?" I said softly, my voice steady, but carrying a weight that matched the gravity of his question. "This is nothing more than two equally fierce souls finding a moment of reckless indulgence."

My thumb traced the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the tension in the muscle there, a stubbornness that mirrored my own. 

"Two people letting their guards down, just for one night, and taking what they want."

Aemond's jaw clenched beneath my touch, his frustration flickering across his face, but he didn't look away. His expression was torn between disbelief and reluctant acceptance. 

I could see him grappling with my words, wanting to push back, to challenge my answer, but something held him back.

"Is that all it is to you?" he asked, his voice low, a hint of bitterness laced in his tone, but there was something else too—resignation. As though he had expected nothing more from me.

I nodded, my gaze unwavering, refusing to give him anything more than the truth he didn't want to hear. "Yes. That's all it is. No promises. No expectations. No regrets."

I leaned in, brushing my lips against his in a brief, teasing kiss, savouring the lingering taste of him, the heat that still simmered between us. 

"Just two ferocious beings colliding in the dark, enjoying each other without the weight of who we're supposed to be."

For a moment, Aemond's eye narrowed, a spark of defiance flaring within him. I could sense the disappointment there, hidden beneath the surface, but it was quickly swallowed by the fire that never seemed to dim when we were together.

"So when the sun rises, we go back to what we were?" His voice was a low growl now, a challenge as though daring me to change my mind.

I smirked, pulling back just enough to maintain the delicate balance between us—the fragile distance between desire and the reality of who we were. 

"Exactly," I replied. "When the sun rises, we go back to being what we were."

I tilted my head, letting the smirk curve into something more playful, though my tone remained serious. "But tonight... tonight, we're just two people who don't fit neatly into anyone else's plans."

Aemond exhaled sharply, his breath warm against my skin as he processed my words. His fingers loosened their hold on me, though he didn't let go entirely. 

The tension between us shifted, not easing but settling into a different kind of understanding.

"You make it sound so simple," he muttered, his voice lacking any real anger, just a reluctant acceptance of the truth we both already knew.

"Simple?" I let out a soft laugh, the sound low and edged with something more. 

"Hardly. But it's the truth. We both have our roles to play. And this?" I gestured between us, my hand brushing against his chest, where I could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm. "This is just a stolen moment that doesn't change anything."

I met his gaze again, my hand lingering on his chest, feeling the warmth of him beneath my touch. "No one needs to know. No one needs to make sense of it."

He stared at me for a long moment, his eye tracing the contours of my face as though he were memorizing every detail, every line, every curve. 

There was something almost tender in the way he looked at me, something that made my chest tighten.

"I've never met anyone like you," he admitted quietly, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. 

It was a rare glimpse of the man beneath the dragon prince, the one who had never known the simplicity of feeling something without the burden of consequence.

"And you never will," I replied, my tone light but laced with a finality that couldn't be ignored. "Because I am not meant to be figured out or tamed. Just like you."

I pressed a lingering kiss to his lips, savouring the warmth of him one last time before pulling away, the distance between us more symbolic now than physical. "But tonight, we get to be free. That's all it needs to be."

Aemond nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, though it was laced with a sadness that neither of us acknowledged. 

"Tonight," he repeated, the word carrying the weight of everything left unsaid.

And with that, he pulled me closer once more, his hands moving over my skin as if committing every touch to memory. 

For this brief, stolen moment, we were just two fierce, untamed souls lost in each other, knowing that come morning, everything would return to what it was. 

Except for the memory of this night—one neither of us would ever fully forget.

A/n - She really said good enough to fuck not good enough to love 😔

Enchanted tag list - @mamawiggers1980 @shilphy87 @esposadomd @targaryendestiel @deepeststarlightmoon

@thebirdandthebee @queen-of-elves @believeinthefireflies95

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Reunited 3

Part 3

Pairing: modern!Sihtric x reader with a side story of modern!Sigtryggr x reader

Authors note: it's been over a year since I wrote modern!Sihtric so please be gentle with me. I actually never wanted abandon this story, but somehow, I just couldn’t find the motivation to continue. Writing modern!Sihtric isn’t as close to my heart; I always worry that putting him in a new setting might make him lose his true character. But after all the messages and asks about it, I decided it’s time to finish this story. And honestly, I’ve missed them—my reckless photographer Sihtric and the strong yet love-starved designer reader. They deserve their story told to the end. And guess what? This isn’t the end… not just yet.

Warnings: heartbreak, use of alcohol

Summary: It was supposed to be a short two week trip that turned into five long years apart, just because your best friend couldn't keep her mouth shut. Will the reader and Sihtric manage to repair their broken relationship and find their way back to each other?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Word Count: 3,4 K

Sihtric jumped out of bed the moment the first pale morning light slipped through the curtains—not that he’d gotten much sleep anyway. He’d spent most of the night tossing and turning as pieces of your brief exchange from the day before replayed in a relentless loop. Every attempt to find sleep was met with fleeting, fragmented memories—torn images of the time you had shared together flashing behind his closed eyes..

With a tired sigh, he rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in his bones. He got dressed quickly, pulling on his old jeans and a black shirt, mind already spinning on how to approach you today. What would you even think? Would you let him get a word in, or would you just...shut him out?

He wandered down the hallway and stopped, catching sight of himself in the mirror. Dark circles under his eyes, hair a complete disaster—he looked like he’d just survived a brawl with his own bed. He huffed at his reflection, running a hand through his hair as if that might help.

"What are you even doing, Sihtric?" he muttered under his breath. "Trying to put together a life that looks whole, but you know it's a mess. She just had to show up and—" He stopped himself, eyes narrowing. "Yeah, like that’s her fault."

He took a deep breath, looking himself straight in the eyes. "You’re just running," he admitted softly. "All this time, just running from what’s right in front of you." But seeing you again had shattered his illusion—the little world he’d built up piece by piece to distract himself from the truth. Now, there was no denying it: nothing he’d done, no walls he’d put up, could fill the void you’d left behind.

Grabbing his camera bag, Sihtric slung it over his shoulder and headed out the door. The crisp morning air hit him the second he stepped outside, but it did nothing to cool his mind, still swirling with frustration and a pang of something he didn’t want to name. Longing, maybe.

By the time he got to the set, the usual hustle was already in full swing. Assistants darted around setting up lights, models shuffled in with their stylists, and the low hum of chatter filled the space. Sihtric made his way to his station, eyes scanning the room without even meaning to—searching for you. And when he finally spotted you across the room, his heart stumbled.

You looked so focused, completely locked in, like the rest of the world didn’t even exist. He remembered that look so well—your intensity, your ability to tune out everything and just create. It was one of the things he’d always admired about you, what had pulled him in from the start. But now? Now it just reminded him how far he felt from the person you’d once cared about.

Taking a shaky breath, Sihtric made up his mind to walk over. His heart hammered as he crossed the room, not sure what he’d even say—but knowing he couldn’t just keep quiet.

—---------------------------------

The soft hum of equipment, the chatter of the crew, and the droning voice of the girl responsible for the outfits—the so-called "wardrobe manager" these days—all blended into an indistinct background noise as you tried to focus on the day ahead. Every sound seemed distant, almost muffled, as if you were underwater, your mind too preoccupied with the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

“I would suggest pairing this silk blouse with the high-waisted trousers for the first look,” the wardrobe manager continued, her voice lacking enthusiasm, as if she had said it a hundred times before. “It has a timeless feel. Or we could go for something more daring—maybe this leather jacket and skirt combo for the edgier shots?”

You barely registered her words, absentmindedly flipping through the wardrobe selections as though you were deeply engaged, but in truth, you were just stalling. Anything to keep your hands busy, to avoid the inevitable confrontation that seemed to hang in the air like a storm cloud. You nodded vaguely, hoping your disinterest wasn’t too obvious.

You had barely slept. The events from the day before played in a loop in your mind, each thought swirling with fragments of Sihtric's face, his voice, and the burning resentment you felt towards him. The way he had casually greeted you after all these years, like nothing had happened—like he hadn’t broken you into pieces. It was infuriating.

As you examined a sequined gown, you heard footsteps approaching. There was no need to look up to know who it was. Sihtric's presence had a weight, a pull that you used to find comforting, but now it felt suffocating. Your posture stiffened, and your expression instantly hardened.

“Hey,” Sihtric’s voice was soft, tentative, as though testing the waters. “Can we talk?” he asked quietly, careful not to attract too much attention from the others.

You gave the wardrobe manager a soft, halfhearted smile, hoping she'd catch the hint, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. She was too busy batting her lashes, her gaze locked on Sihtric with flushed cheeks and a little lip-bite, practically radiating a crush.

You couldn’t help the smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth as you watched her, caught in that painfully familiar moment as a humiliating flashback hit you—he’d had the same effect on you the first time you met…and, well, he still did. It was maddening, really. You sighed inwardly, silently cursing yourself for being just as foolish.

Clearing your throat a bit too deliberately, you broke the silence, snapping her back to reality.

The girl’s blush deepened, spreading across her face like wildfire. "Oh, um—sorry," she mumbled, eyes dropping to the floor as she scrambled to grab her things. She gave a quick, flustered nod and practically bolted, nearly tripping over her own feet in her rush to escape.

You didn’t even bother to turn around. “I’m busy,” you said flatly, flipping to the next outfit on the rack.

“I know,” he replied, tension lacing his voice, “but we need to talk. Yesterday—”

“Yesterday was nothing,” you cut him off, finally turning to face him with a cold, distant stare. You saw the hurt flicker across his face. “You don’t get to pretend we’re still friends or that there’s anything left between us.”

Sihtric’s gaze dropped for a second, and he ran a hand through his tousled hair, clearly searching for the right words. “I didn’t expect to see you, okay? I was… surprised.”

You crossed your arms, trying to build a barrier, anything to shield yourself from the vulnerability that crept up when you saw him yesterday. “Surprised? That’s your excuse? After everything you did? You threw me away like I was nothing.”

His head snapped up, a flash of guilt flickering over his face. “I didn’t— It wasn’t like that,” he said quickly, taking a step closer, but you backed away on instinct. “You don’t know the whole story.”

Your laugh was sharp, humorless. “I know enough. I know you moved on. Fast.”

Your gazes finally met, and for a moment, Sihtric caught a glimpse of something in your eyes—pain, anger, maybe even something else—but whatever it was vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I never stopped thinking about you. I just didn’t know how to—”

“Stop.” You held up a hand, cutting him off. “I don’t care what you did or didn’t think about. You made your choice. Believe it or not, I’ve moved on too.”

Sihtric clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of your words like a punch in the chest. The distance between you felt insurmountable, like a chasm that had opened long ago and now couldn’t be bridged.

“I get that you’re angry,” he said quietly, one last attempt to break through the wall you’d put up. “I would be too. But please, I owe you an explanation for why I—”

“Enough!” Your voice came out sharper than you’d intended, drawing a few curious glances from nearby crew members. Taking a deep breath, you tried to pull yourself back to calm.

“Whatever you think you owe me, I don’t want it,” you replied, fighting to keep your tone steady and unaffected. “It’s been five years, Sihtric. There’s nothing left to say.”

Sihtric shifted uncomfortably, like he wanted to protest. His mouth opened, but no words came out. You watched him struggle for some excuse or explanation, but you didn’t care. Not anymore.

"Sihtric," you said, voice cold like a bucket of ice water, “we have work to do. We’re not friends; we’re not anything. So let’s just keep this professional and do what we’re here to do.”

His jaw tightened, frustration and regret clouding his expression. “I didn’t want it to end up like this,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You shook your head, reinforcing the walls around your heart with every second that passed. “It’s too late for that.” Not waiting for his response, you turned back to the wardrobe rack, hands busy sorting through hangers, making it clear the conversation was over.

Sihtric stood there, lingering longer than he probably should have, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other and running a hand through his hair, as if that might somehow bring the right words to mind. He stole one last glance at you, hoping you’d change your mind or give him a sign, any sign, that there was still a chance. But when nothing came, he let out a quiet sigh and started to make his way back to his station.

His steps were slow, reluctant, and every few paces he glanced back, his eyes searching for you among the bustling set. Even as he reached his spot by the cameras, he couldn’t stop himself from casting a look in your direction, hoping for even the smallest hint of softness in your expression. But there was nothing—nada, zip. Just your back, straight and unyielding, radiating a chill that could’ve kept an ice rink frozen solid.

The tension lingered in the air, but you forced yourself to push through it. Work came first, and you weren’t about to let Sihtric’s sudden reappearance unravel everything you’d built in the past five years. You had built a new life—one that didn’t include him. Letting him back in wasn’t an option.

But as you sifted through the outfits, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

—-----------------------------------

Sihtric sat at the bar, shadows casting across his face in the dim light. It was one of those fancy, expensive places that tried too hard to look casual—exposed brick walls, soft jazz in the background, and bartenders in tailored vests who looked like they’d just stepped out of an old movie.

He was a regular here now, the kind of guest who turned heads the moment he walked in. In the last five years, Sihtric had become something of a celebrity in the fashion world—a photographer whose bold, daring shoots pushed boundaries and set trends. 

He stared blankly at his half-empty glass of whiskey, swirling the amber liquid as if it held any answers. This was his routine now—numbing himself in fancy bars that felt as cold and empty as he did inside. The photoshoot earlier had been brutal; each moment you ignored him twisted the knife in his chest a little deeper.

Another drink. Another night.

The bartender shot him a questioning glance, and Sihtric nodded for another round before he even had to ask. As the glass refilled, his thoughts circled back to you—how easily you’d shut him out, the distance in your eyes. His mind fought to make sense of it, but his heart knew the truth. You were done with him. He’d clung to some small hope for a sign, even an argument, anything but the indifference you showed him.

But you didn’t care anymore, and that truth gnawed at him like an open wound.

A hand slid over his shoulder, fingers trailing down his arm. At first, he barely noticed, his attention locked on the empty space where his heart used to be. A woman leaned in, her perfume cutting through the haze, whispering something playful in his ear. He turned to look at her—tall, brunette, model-like features.

Sihtric forced a smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Buy you a drink?” he asked, his voice rough from the whiskey and everything he was holding back.

She giggled, fingers tracing circles on his arm, but he barely felt it. This was all mechanical now. He knew where this was going—a few more drinks, some empty flirting, a messy, fleeting distraction that would only leave him feeling emptier by morning. The same hollow routine.

A few hours later, they ended up in his apartment, just like he’d predicted. She lay sprawled on his bed, dark hair spilling over the pillows, murmuring soft words he wasn’t really listening to.

He moved against her, but his mind was miles away, lost somewhere far from the woman beneath him. Each motion felt mechanical, his body on autopilot, no real connection—no spark, no passion. Every touch, every thrust felt like an echo of something he used to feel, now reduced to emptiness. Sihtric barely registered the soft sounds she made, her murmurs fading into the background as his thoughts drifted back to you.

Even here you were haunting him like a ghost he couldn’t shake. He tried to push the memories away, but they clung to him—the way you laughed, how your eyes softened when they met his, the way your body felt under his fingers when you were close. None of this was the same. Each fleeting distraction only reminded him of what he’d lost, of what he’d ruined.

As she wrapped her arms around Sihtric’s neck, pulling him closer, he closed his eyes, trying to focus, to lose himself in the moment. But all he saw was you and all he felt was the aching emptiness in his chest.

When it was over, he rolled off her, breathing heavily as he stared up at the ceiling. The silence between them stretched on, pressing down like a weight. She snuggled into his side, her head on his shoulder, but her warmth only made him feel colder inside.

“That was amazing,” she whispered, soft and content.

Sihtric didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The words just wouldn’t come, because nothing about this felt amazing. It felt like another mistake—a mistake he kept making, hoping it would fill the emptiness, even though he knew it never would.

He waited until she drifted off to sleep, her breath slow and even against his chest. Then, carefully, he untangled himself from her, slipping out of bed and pulling on his jeans. The room was dark, save for the sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting shadows across the floor.

As he stood there, staring down at the woman who had become just another face in a long line of temporary distractions, Sihtric felt a wave of disgust wash over him—not at her, but at himself. This wasn’t who he used to be. This wasn’t the man you had fallen in love with.

—----------------------------------

The art gallery buzzed with excitement as you walked in, Gisela right by your side. You’d been to openings like this before, but tonight felt different—there was an electric vibe in the air, like everyone knew they were about to see something incredible. Gisela had been hyping up this exhibition for weeks, raving about the young, talented painter she’d discovered: Sigtryggr.

“You’re going to love his work,” Gisela said with a grin, leading you through the crowd. “He’s brilliant. And I have a feeling you two will get along. There’s just something about him…” She gave you a teasing look, but you brushed it off, not really sure what she meant.

As you made your way through the gallery, you couldn’t help but get drawn into the paintings. Bold, vibrant strokes blended with softer, more intimate details, each piece telling a story. Sigtryggr’s art was captivating—a perfect mix of emotion and precision that made it hard to look away. There was a rawness in his work that hit close to home, stirring up feelings you hadn’t let yourself feel in a long time.

“Do you like it?” a voice broke through your thoughts.

You turned to find a man standing beside you, his features soft yet undeniably striking. His long, light hair framed his face almost ethereally, and his deep blue eyes held a warmth mixed with intensity. His gentle smile put you instantly at ease.

“Yeah, it’s... breathtaking,” you said, glancing back at the painting. “There’s so much emotion in it. It feels personal.”

Sigtryggr smiled, his eyes softening. “I’m glad you think so. It is personal, in a way. Each piece is a part of me—things I’ve seen, felt, or imagined. Sometimes, painting’s the only way I know to get those feelings out.”

His voice was soft but sincere, and something about him took you by surprise—a calmness and sweetness that felt rare. In the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but feel faint echoes of someone else, someone who had once stirred your heart just as deeply.

The next hour slipped by as you talked with Sigtryggr, his presence unexpectedly comforting. He was charming without being over the top, and his quiet humor reminded you of simpler times. As you shared stories, you found yourself laughing more freely than you had in a long time. His quiet confidence and the way he really listened drew you in.

From across the room, you kept catching Gisela’s amused glances, her knowing smile hard to miss. You knew she’d set this up, but for once, you didn’t mind. As the evening wore on, Sigtryggr’s sweetness and his genuine interest in you started chipping away at the walls you’d built around your heart.

As the crowd began to thin, Sigtryggr turned to you with a soft smile. “I’d love to see you again if you’re interested. Maybe we could grab a coffee, or check out another gallery sometime?”

You hesitated, but the warmth in his eyes and the ease you felt around him made it impossible to refuse. “I’d like that.”

—---------------------------------------

A few weeks later, you found yourself spending more time with Sigtryggr, getting to know him better. Each time you met, you couldn’t help but notice how much he reminded you of Sihtric—the quiet intensity, the focus he poured into his work, the way he always held a little something back. But unlike Sihtric, there was no darkness in his eyes, no heaviness or regret. Sigtryggr was just... calm, confident, kind.

Your dates were simple and easy—strolls through art districts, cozy coffee shop stops, gallery visits, all filled with comfortable conversation. Sigtryggr had this natural way of making you feel at ease, giving you closeness without any pressure. He never pushed, never asked about your past, though you could tell he sensed something was holding you back.

Still, no matter how good things felt, you often caught yourself comparing him to Sihtric. The way Sigtryggr laughed, the thoughtful pauses he took—little things kept bringing Sihtric to mind, as if his shadow lingered over every new connection you tried to build.

One evening, after a particularly sweet date, Sigtryggr walked you home. Standing at your doorstep, you looked at him, emotions swirling. He held your gaze, eyes soft, as if he could see what you were feeling but didn’t need to hear it. Slowly, he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering gently at your cheek. His gaze dipped to your lips, and he took a careful breath before leaning in.

When he kissed you, it was soft, unhurried, like he wanted to savor every moment. One hand rested at the curve of your jaw, the other slipped to the small of your back, drawing you a bit closer. He tasted faintly of coffee, his touch steady and grounding, and as his thumb brushed gently against your cheek, a warmth spread through you, melting away the lingering shadows of doubt.

The world around you faded as the kiss deepened, his lips exploring yours with a slow, tender intensity that felt both comforting and thrilling. You found yourself relaxing, melting into him, letting go of the weight you’d been carrying. For a moment, all that mattered was him, here, now.

When he finally pulled back, he searched your face with those gentle eyes of his, his thumb still tracing small circles on your cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice low and full of concern.

You took a shaky breath, feeling the old memories tugging at you again. “It’s not you,” you said, unsure how to explain the tangled mess inside you. “It’s… someone from my past.”

Sigtryggr’s expression remained calm, though you caught a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “You don’t have to explain,” he said gently, his voice soothing. “I know it’s hard to move on from someone who meant so much to you.”

You blinked, surprised by his perceptiveness. “How did you…?”

He gave a faint smile, a small shrug. “You wear it on your face sometimes, the way you get that distant look when something reminds you of him. But I’m not here to rush you. I just want to spend time with you, however you need.”

His words touched you deeply, and for the first time in a long time, you felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, it was possible to let go of the past and let someone else in.

As you said goodnight, something inside you shifted. Sigtryggr wasn’t Sihtric—he was his own person, with his own gentle sweetness, one that felt like it could help you heal. And for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to believe in a future worth exploring, not centered on what you’d lost but on what you might still find.

[m00nsbaby]

Sleepwalking. (Already over II)

Steven Grant ( + Marc Spector) x F! Reader.

First part: Already Over.

Next part: Clumsy.

Tags & warnings. Angst, like, just angst. Steven hurts his hand at the beggining so there's blood involved, Marc is kind of a... jerk.

Word count. 3.8k

Summary.

What a shame, what a shame, what a shame, It's all fun and games 'til you don't wanna play now. Run away, run away, run away, It's easy to say but it's harder to say now. You're onto something else, I'm a picture left on your shelf. The dream's a lie I tell myself Feel like I'm sleepwalking when you're gone. 

The moment the bomb detonated was more horrible than Marc had imagined. Not only because of Steven, who in his mind was the worst of his problems, but because the moment you closed the door behind you, it felt as if you had taken his heart with you.

Marc collapsed on the floor, unable to cry, even if he wanted to. He wasn't like Steven; he couldn't just let it flow, but at this moment, it seemed more like he was in shock.

He wondered, did that really happen or am I just dreaming?

His body tensed for a few seconds; he closed his eyes tightly, and before he could protest, Steven had taken control of the body. He had struggled so hard to keep him in the shadows that his body felt exhausted, with a horrible burning sensation in his muscles.

"Marc?" he questioned out loud, still on the floor. "Marc? What did you do?"

There was no response, and he could only swallow hard as if it would help wash away the bad taste in his mouth.

"What did you do, Marc?" Sometimes the best part of having Steven was having a way to express his pain. By the third time he asked, his voice was already broken, his vision blurred by the tears that threatened to come out at any moment.

Finally, the other one had the courage to respond.

"L-Layla knows," was the only thing that sounded in the headspace.

"How am I going to fix this, Marc?" Memories of what happened just a few minutes ago came to him in flashes; he didn't have the whole conversation because Marc had forced him to stay in the shadows.

The mere image of your heartbroken gaze was enough to cause nightmares for the rest of his life, whether he managed to fix Marc's mistake or not.

"I don't care; I don't care about her!" He sobbed with anger coursing through him from head to toe. At this point, his pain seemed more physical than emotional. He felt exactly like that time when he was impaled multiple times in Cairo.

But worse. At that time, he had a suit to protect him. How would he deal with this now without anything to shield him?

"You can't go on like this, Steven, we can't…"

As if his body moved automatically, he headed for the nearest mirror, the one where you had sought him out for help. His hands stopped on the edge of the sink, and he stared fixedly at himself in the mirror.

Tears flowed freely, seeking to heal a wound the size of his chest.

"I hate you," he whispered with a voice shattered, Marc looked back at him trying to maintain his composure. The pain of a broken heart combined with his constant battle with pride; he would never admit that he might be wrong. "You ruined it, Marc, you ruined everything."

"I did? I ruined everything?" Marc's ironic laughter made his blood boil. "I told you a damn million times, Steven!" The screams made him startle, but he was determined to hide his weakness. He was finally ready to face him. "I told you to stay away from her; was it fair to snatch away the one thing I have?"

Steven's fist went straight to the mirror. He didn't break it, but he shattered the reflection of Marc into many small pieces, and his knuckles were bleeding in a matter of seconds.

"My life is made to support yours." When Steven's fixed gaze met his, Marc had time to question how they had come to this after supposedly fixing things. Was this also his entire fault? "And I understood it, I swear to God I did." Sometimes he had to pause to sniff through his nose. "All I've done is give everything for you, and you took away everything I had."

There was only silence from the other side of the mirror.

"You took her away from me, Marc." His voice gradually lowered; suddenly, he reverted to the old Steven, with a broken heart and his guard down. The one that made him think so much of his younger brother. "What do I have in life if it's not her?"

More silence. Of course, Steven was in the same predicament as him, clinging to something that brought them happiness.

The difference was that for him, it wasn't exactly Layla.

"We were happy with Layla." His broken voice was barely perceptible.

"You were happy." He looked at his fingers, as the blood continued to run through them. "You were happy with stability, happy hiding from problems with stupid adventures that make you forget how bad your life is outside of there."

The amount of resentment in his voice was terrifying. Painful.

"You were happy pretending to be someone you're not." He closed his eyes, letting the tears flow freely. "You were happy pretending I didn't exist."

"S-Steven, I, I, don't…"

There was no more conversation at that moment. Not for the rest of the day. Or the night. Marc was a silent witness to how Steven cried until his throat was raw, how his entire body trembled, and how an nauseating knot formed in his stomach, paralyzing all his muscles.

The next day was a nightmare worse than the previous one. For the first time in a long while, Steven was able to sleep the hours that a normal human needed to function, but the problem was that, of course, these hours had been filled with nightmares and dreams where only you were present. Waking up to the reality where everything was worse was an emotional burden that filled his eyes with tears in the first minutes of regaining consciousness.

Well, he had to start trying. He picked up his phone, the one you always teased him about because it was the oldest phone you had ever seen.

First call, first voicemail.

"Love? Could you answer the calls? I really need to talk to you, I'm so sorry for the things Marc said yesterday."

Second call, second voicemail.

"I'm so sorry, really, please, please answer, okay? I need you."

Third call, third voicemail.

"It was never my intention to hurt you," and yes, for a change, Steven was taking responsibility for Marc's mistakes. "And I know it wasn't his either, he's just… damaged and scared. Please, love, please, let's talk."

Fourth call, fourth voicemail.

"We can't throw away all our plans, love." He didn't fear that you could hear his sobs or the way he struggled for breath between sentences. "I want to be with you. I want to be with you until the last day of my life, please, please."

The fifth call didn't go through. It seemed like you had turned off your phone. Fifth voicemail.

"I know you don't want to see me right now." He had to clear his throat before speaking again. "I just want to talk to you. It's all I'm asking for, it doesn't have to be now, just give me a sign that I can come closer, I'm begging you."

He didn't give up. If it were up to his anxiety, his love, or his fear of abandonment, he would have called you a total of 20 times per hour. But he knew you wanted and needed space. All that was left was to pray that you would hear his messages and give him the slightest sign of life.

In the end, he returned to bed, laying face down, and closed his eyes for just a few seconds.

"Steven?"

"What?"

"The body."

"Huh?"

"Give me the body."

"What do you mean…?"

"I need to go talk to Layla."

"You must be kidding." Steven barely lifted his head to see the mirror resting on one of the furniture next to his bed.

The one he never touched because it had a lipstick mark from you in one corner. A perfectly formed kiss. There was Marc.

"Tell me you're joking."

"Give me the body or I will take it from you."

Steven had no strength to fight, he relented and hoped for a little peace in the darkness of his mind.

That afternoon, Marc apologized tirelessly, and yes, he preferred a million times to falsely accept that he had had an affair than to confess Steven's existence.

"Forgive me, okay? I made a mistake." His hands cradled Layla's face between them. Of course, he had made a mistake, although he didn't specify what kind.

"You're an idiot, Marc." And he couldn't help but think that yes, indeed, he was. There weren't many more words exchanged between them, but unfortunately, this relationship was an imbalanced scale.

It was about two people who simply didn't know how to deal with their emotions, didn't know how to communicate with each other, and undoubtedly had never dealt with their emotional baggage separately to understand that they needed to work to become better.

He couldn't help but notice the parallel. He doesn't remember the romantic part of your relationship with Steven because Steven himself took great care to hide it perfectly, but Marc is aware of every aspect of what your friendship was.

He remembers every argument, if they could even be called that. You two never raised your voices, never.

And you, as the apparent best friend, knew Marc's story inside out, you were never one to raise your voice, but you were always careful not to trigger a bad memory in Steven.

On his part, Steven was incredible at listening. He listened attentively, didn't interrupt, and when you finished talking, he would explain his perspective. You didn't always reach an agreement, that was obvious, but you always knew that you both were much more important to each other than any silly disagreement.

Marc thought about how he would have liked to be as honest as Steven was when Layla's lips were on him. When his way of clarifying things was to have the grossest sex of both their lives.

Usually, the best part of spending these kinds of nights with her was that it meant a mental break with you in exactly two days. Although Steven never understood why you refused to see him the next day, Marc always knew why you felt disgusted. In fact, he understood perfectly, but he never had the courage to tell you that he was sorry.

Thinking that not only were you in love with Steven but that you were also a couple fueled his self-disgust even more.

"I love you, Marc." That was the last thing he heard before leaving his wife's house, which at every moment felt more like a stranger to him.

He didn't respond, and like everyone else around him, she settled for it because everyone always accommodates themselves to Marc Spector's wishes.

Each passing hour, you were crumbling in a worse way. Probably "dead inside" was one of the best ways to describe your current state.

The stages of grief were starting to attack you, very slowly, but you didn't want to be rational because calling it "grief" would mean that you had lost Steven forever.

And you had, but you didn't want to think about that. After all, you were still in the first stage, denial.

It took you a few hours to decide to listen to his voicemails.

"My baby." You whispered to yourself as your arms clung to one of the many garments you had stolen from him. His navy blue sweater that was too long on the sleeves.

You felt ridiculous.

You sobbed forcefully, your cheek had been tingling for a while from the warmth and moisture of your tears on the pillow. Did the breakup hurt? Of course, it hurt to the core, but after hearing his broken voice on the other end of the line, what was probably hurting you the most was knowing that Steven was suffering.

It felt like they were being forcibly torn apart, although it had felt that way from the moment their relationship began. The rope had been tightening around each of you, pulling you apart at the cost of permanently hurting them.

You were sure you would never love anyone the way you loved and still love Steven. Steven would rather vanish than even imagine a life with someone else.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." You whispered as the fabric of his sweater covered part of your face, with the sole purpose of sniffing and recapturing a bit of his scent. The garment had been in your possession for so long that you could barely perceive Steven in it anymore.

You apologized for not being more discreet, for, in your opinion, ruining your perfect relationship, maybe for not knowing how to keep your distance when there was still time. You apologized for being so deeply in love that you felt like you couldn't live without him, for choosing to look out for yourself instead of running into his arms, and for any inconveniences you might have caused Marc one day.

Steven and you were on autopilot. Barely eating, barely breathing, barely existing.

You somehow managed to get up and shower after receiving the call from the pet adoption center confirming that the form you and Steven had filled out had been approved, and now you just had to go for 3 days, 2 hours to visit your future pet.

A part of you momentarily thought about ignoring the call, you were so broken that the mere thought of that visit together ended up squeezing your heart painfully, not to mention that the whole plan from the beginning was for the cat to belong to both of you.

Your rational side was always stronger than you, you couldn't leave the little one without a home. Besides, maybe you needed the company.

Perhaps he would do you good, and you would do everything possible to do right by him.

Needless to say, on the first day of bonding, you cried until your lungs hurt, with the little kitten in your arms. He was so affectionate, providing excellent comfort, but you didn't stop crying for a single moment during the 2 hours.

Then you cried more on the way back home because you had to say goodbye to him.

On the second day, you only cried half of the visit because when the cat started playing in front of you, it drew a small laugh from you for the way he twirled around.

On the last day, you found him waiting for you, ready to settle on your lap. It was as if he understood that you were exhausted, and his purring felt like receiving a hug. You were a perfect match.

Meanwhile, Marc was living days that were going from bad to worse. Steven refused to speak to him more than necessary, but everything hurt twice as much when the breakdowns started coming back. As he took another sip of his whiskey, he realized that this time he had nowhere to go, that he would probably never hear you say "I'm here" again to keep him sane, that your arms wouldn't surround him, and you wouldn't leave him a space in your bed that was a million times more comfortable than his. Accepting that he missed you churned his stomach. Because, of course, it wasn't the first time he had thought of you since you left, but it was the first time he lowered his guard enough to digest that all of this was his fault. That he had hurt you in a permanent way while you had only given him peace whenever you could. Steven understood that both of them were fucked up when he finally saw Marc cry. When Marc finally cracked.

Steven almost had a heart attack when he received a message from you. There was no text, just a photo of the kitten he recognized perfectly.

He wasn't aware of the smile that appeared on his face. One, he could see that the background of the photo was your apartment, which meant the kitten was already with you. Two, perhaps this meant that not everything was lost.

"Can I come see him?" He was biting his nails while waiting for your response. "Sure."

Steven left his apartment so quickly that his curls were still damp from the shower he took in a matter of seconds. He didn't care about being on the most crowded bus if it meant getting to your apartment faster.

Exactly 22 minutes after your message, he was standing at your door.

The smile on his face vanished when you opened the door. Both of you looked like a mess, in pain, and by this point, you had accepted that your eyes would be swollen and irritated for the rest of your days.

You didn't approach him for a hug like he thought would happen. You also took a few seconds to analyze him from head to toe.

He was as beautiful as ever. His messy curls made him look even more adorable. A meow echoed behind you, snapping you back to the present.

"Do you want to come in?"

"Please."

Everything was so… awkward. You stepped aside to let him in and closed the door behind him.

"Sekhmet?"

"Yes."

"I told you that's the name of a goddess, not a god," he said as he crouched down to pet the kitten, who seemed to recognize Steven. The little one rubbed against him, purring loudly, audible to both of you.

"And I told you I didn't care."

A nostalgic laugh escaped both of you. Why was all of this so difficult?

"Hello, Sekhmet." His pronunciation was perfect. You couldn't believe you had the love of your life in front of you after everything that happened.

And worse, you couldn't believe you were about to let him go, for the second time.

"He likes you." You whispered, watching them get to know each other with a lump in your throat. This was nothing like what you had imagined at first; this wasn't how things were supposed to go.

Everything was wrong.

"Steven?"

"Yes, love?" It rolled so casually off his tongue. You didn't remember Steven calling you by your name much, it was always "love" or "lovey" for him, and you were content with that.

This time, you felt a pang in your heart when he used the nickname.

"We have to do this." Your voice broke, and when he noticed your teary eyes, he understood the purpose of the visit. There was no way out of this.

"No, please." He looked up at you from the floor, still on his knees because the kitten refused to leave him. "Please, don't do this."

He broke down quickly too.

"I love you, Steven." Your hand went to his chin, holding him in a way that he couldn't look away from you. "And because I love you, it's only fair that we do this, you and I. Okay?"

He kept denying and denying. Ignoring the insistent meows, he stood up. Now you were the one who had to look up due to the difference in height.

Your heart rate increased with the closeness between you two.

"I don't want to say goodbye." The lump in his throat could be heard in his voice. "I don't want to be alone. I can't do it without you." You couldn't bear to tell him otherwise when you knew you were in the same position.

You stood on tiptoes and, without letting him continue, kissed his lips.

Even his kisses tasted like pain. They were desperate, almost violent in the way he clung to your waist and you to his neck.

You remained like that for a few minutes, tasting each other's tears on your lips until your lungs gave up. It felt like an eternity during which you exchanged kisses and embraced each other between sobs. It genuinely felt like you were tearing a part of yourselves away.

An eternity was not enough for either of you.

"Steven." Your hands on his chest pulled him away just a few centimeters from you to face him. His forehead rested against yours while he hiccuped from crying.

He was your little one. He always had been. Your sweet, sweet Steven. He deserved more than everything life was giving him, and in some way, you and Marc knew it.

"You have to go, okay?" He didn't respond, you just felt his fingers tighten their grip on your waist. "You will be fine, I know you will be." Your fingers roamed through his curls, messing them up even more, and you enjoyed their softness one last time.

"I won't be able to. L-Lovey, I w-won't…"

"Shhh. You will be able to, okay?" The tip of your nose gently brushed against his in an affectionate and intimate gesture. "You will get through this, and you will have the beautiful life that I've always known you deserve."

"I don't want it if it's not with you." His fingers crumpled your clothes from the force of holding onto you.

You lowered your hands to his and slowly made him let go, he shook his head again.

"You have to do this for Marc, okay?" You swallowed hard when his hands finally relented and let go of your waist. "And maybe, if it's meant to be, fate will let us know in the future. Okay?"

Bullshit.

You wanted to be with him now, and he wanted to be with you now, but you were grasping at every possible resource to try to make him understand.

"I need to be alone, okay?" You knew he wouldn't leave unless you hinted that you were uncomfortable with the situation.

Always so respectful, he took a step back and nodded, even though his hands were trembling. He didn't say anything, just looked at you as he stepped back again.

"I love you," you whispered, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.

"I love you." It was the only thing he could say. He was about to leave when his legs gave an awkward twitch.

Marc.

Steven looked down, frowning slightly at the momentary loss of control over his body. If Marc was going to object, now was the perfect time because Steven knew he was the only one who could fix this.

His stubbornness was the only obstacle preventing you from being happy.

And yes, Marc wanted to talk. But when he saw you, he knew he would never find the words to fix what he did.

His fear of change hit him again. Why was he regretting this when apparently this was what he wanted from the beginning?

He parted his lips and tried to say something that never came out of his throat. He gave up in seconds and basically fled your apartment, closing the probably happiest chapter of his life in a long time.

[khristie16]

The fast and forbidden

Charles is a famous F1 driver with everything one could want: fame, fortune, and fans. But he is missing one thing. Being his new personal assistant changes everything for both of them.

— chapter 4 Both are conflicted after their intimate experience. What Charles’s jealousy makes him act in a way is wasn't recognized even from his friends

warnings: 18+, masturbating, jealousy, angst

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

That night was wild. As i went back to my room I felt embarrassment linger on my insides and I pushed my back to the right apartment door as I shut them behind me as if that would stop me from being hunted just by what happened. It never ever crossed my mind that literally my boss would have seen me naked under any circumstances. The cold shower did not help me from overthinking practically anything, it felt like I’m not even in control of my thoughts. I groaned in displeasure and went to my bedroom. Staying quiet to perhaps hear something from his room and cursing myself for even doing that after what has happened. Getting in my bed didn’t quite help me, it made my feelings for Charles even worse.

The next day I wake up with sweat covering my body, I hold my chest as if something has convinced me this body is no longer mine because it wasn’t when was Charles touching me. His fingers laced on my hot skin and my legs trembling as if he is the owner of my body and my body is no longer mine. His sinful eyes full of uncertainty of what’s to come and I believe I’m going to shatter right at the spot I was sitting on my bed here in a hotel. His touch was getting lost in my soft skin, and I swear I felt something inside of me, something that was growing and when I looked down it was him, entering me again and again until I screamed and woke up from this dream.

I thought I’m going to be sick. This is a lot to take, and I cannot function like that on daily basis. If there is one thing that I’d love, is to be able leave this dream pass but it feels like I took the most out of the dream. And I seem to cannot go back.

A sound coming from my phone startled me till I jumped on the seat still covered in sheets. I stand up with a hold of breath to look of who is it. Part of me was scared it might be Charles and I would have to approach him. But instead, a little disappointment filled my body when I saw the guy from yesterday has messaged me. What was his name again? Ah yes, Patrick.

His comforting questions about my well being made me pause for a sec and made my body to relax. But it was soon replaced with anxiety. What am I supposed to do with this man now? I cannot shake the feeling of the..., dream, perhaps nightmare, I cannot say. I still have the perfect image of Charles on top of me doing all of those…. In and out movements. It makes me sick, and ashamed. God damn, I shouldn’t be dreaming about such things. But I shouldn’t be hard on myself that much, it’s enough that Charles was hard on me…literally.

I shake my head to somewhat shake the thought off and I finally saw clearly the words typed down on my phone again.

Hey! Yeah, I slept well.

I toss the phone on the couch again and make my way to a bathroom. In the mirror reflection I see flushed cheeks and dirty hair. How can someone have passionate sex and look good meanwhile? It was just a dream and yet I look like if I had truly experienced that. Maybe it is because it felt like that.

Charles’s POV

Charles couldn’t sleep immediately after YN has left. He didn’t understand why he was wide awake, but he caught himself afterwards he is still going back to the image of YN being naked in front of him in his bedroom. It made him feel some shivers running down his spine and he couldn’t judge if it is good or not. All his awareness was filled with her and after staring blanky on the ceiling he gave up on sleeping and went to bathroom to jerk himself off. He tried hard to not make it obvious to him that he had a certain image in front of his eyes in his mind, but he couldn’t hide it that well. He knew this delusional act and pretending wouldn’t last long. So, as he fell to his bed again, he felt a sudden emptiness in his body, and he fell asleep with the last thought of YN in the blank space he fell in his stomach.

Charles now has found himself in a cafeteria lobby with his friend Joris. As they were casually talking about tonight’s upcoming night out, he finally felt good about being able to think just about anything else but her. But it didn’t stay that long. As if Joris knew since the beginning there is something of with Charles related to YN, he took a good look at Charles before speaking up. Joris knew Charles has changed and that is why he even offered for a personal assistant position to take place, but his cold demeanor to her was something everyone saw. Either if it was Carla or Andrea. Everyone saw through him that it was a weird thing to watch at. And as so for Joris as one of his best friends, he wanted to push Charles to his limits.

‘I saw YN yesterday.’

Charles stuck a little in his movement before trying to smooth his behavior to a more relaxed one. Good for Joris he has and excellent eye for a detail and it didn’t run from his attention.

‘Okay. So what?’

Joris chuckled rather quietly and liked this game already. Pushing your best friend about a topic his friend is clearly passionate about was something thrilling. To be honest, there is a very fine line between passion and hate. And with hate there comes anger or resentment.

‘She was with a man. A fine man, luxurious car and stuff’

Charles stuck in his movement again but swiftly get back to his previous position. Now the chuckle left Joris’s lips. He was met with a furious gaze from his best friend as he asked.

‘What?!’

Joris laughed and tried so hard to hide it but failed. He put his fist in front of his mouth to mask it with a cough, but his eyes couldn’t lie.

‘Nothing, just nothing’

Charles didn’t like what was Joris doing. He is not dumb, he knew. But he wasn’t mad at Joris, he was frustrated with himself.

‘Well, she can do whatever she wants.’

Joris eyes went high on his forehead as he couldn’t believe Charles let himself be this obvious.

‘Something happened Charles?’

An awkward silence filled the space as a waitress approached their table to refill their drinks. Both acted as if nothing happened and Joris was getting curious if there was something more in this situation between those two. As the waiter left their table Joris made it clear what his intentions are with a loud cough and gesturing for Charles to talk.

Charles refused to give in and acted like a little bitch.

‘Nothing happened!’

He reached for his refilled drink just to spill it on his jeans and grunted in pure discomfort. Not just about jeans, but about his best friend pushing him. He took his mobile phone and went upstairs, leaving Joris in awe.

During the day Charles focused on trainings and both acted like the other didn’t exist. But as much as Charles has tried to forget about what is happening inside of him, the more he lingered back in thoughts to her.

YN POV

It made me sad to be in such a position. The last thing I thought was that Charles would be acting so cold towards me. On one side I get it that it’s for the best, because of what had happened, but I remember fondly his remark from the evening. What a shame you’re leaving. I really don’t know what to make out of that. It looked like he was toying with me. And I don’t like that. But at the same time, I am the ‘victim in here’. I was put in a vulnerable position and even though Charles has nothing to do with how badly I took this experience, he didn’t have to be so cold towards me. Not more then before. I wasn’t well aware why I feel this way, but I definitely didn’t like it. That is why I shift my focus on Patrick. I deducted since Charles is completely ignoring me, I will be free tonight, as the same as yesterday, what won’t be the same is my naïve brain leading me to his apartment.

I’ll pick you up at seven;)

As I was preparing the beautiful dress for tonight’s event with Patrick, I added some light blush on my cheeks that matched with my red lipstick going well with long gown dress, perfect for a night out in a luxurious restaurant with a handsome man. For the first time this day, I smiled softly to myself and put on high heels. With all the pain conflicting inside of me I forgot the pain of wearing heals. At least I gained something from this fiasco with Charles. Or whatever it is.

I reach for the door to head out and with the swift of air brushing my hair I see Charles with his fist in the eye level to knock, I suppose. I stay still and watch him in confusion.

‘Hi’

He made an awkward presence with his greeting; this was another level of confusion. How can one act to cold and then when they open their mouth, they sound like a lost tad?

‘You’re heading somewhere?’

I stopped the thinking cycle happening again in my head and composure well.

‘Well… yes? I was planning to head out, I assumed you don’t need me today.’

He titled his head and furrowed his eyebrows as If I had said the dumbest thing ever. I scoff internally.

‘And why did you assume that?’

That’s where he got me. I didn’t ask, He didn’t tell me. I was naïve again to think that. Or more of so it was his fault he did not say a thing. But I am under him and If I want to pursue my dreams, I need to have this job. At least to keep it for a month or two.

‘I’m sorry, I interpreted the message wrong. You need me for today’s evening I suppose?’

He just nodded and start with his eyes looking at me closely from head to toe. It was hot suddenly. *gulp*

‘I see you are ready already. Let me change and we can go,’

‘Where?’

He gave me a wink and left me speechless on the mid way from my room to the corridor. I was getting more and more mad at him. I gritted through my teeth and went inside to sit down and write a message to Patrick. I was sad at one point that I’m going to miss on this date.

Hey Patrick, I’m sorry, but work came into my plan for this evening. I would love to dismiss such obligation, but I cannot unfortunately:( xoxo.

Left with my thoughts, Charles opened his door and came out in full tux. He looked hot. And my mouth agreed since I had to fight it hard to not gape. Put yourself together.

‘Let’s go’

That’s all he said and there was just silence between us. I didn’t know where he is taking me, but I really didn't have much of a choice so instead I stayed silent till the full ride to the destination.

Another boring event. A lot of people, too many champagnes and too much obnoxious talk. Or am I just hateful? I couldn’t care less right now. All I wanted to be spared of this, but I guess I have some job to do here as Charles’s personal assistant, which I couldn’t quite put the finger on the reason for bringing me here.

As we stayed by side and observing what’s happening around us, some old man approached us. The next thing boiled my blood. Charles’s hand landed on my waist on the back and pushed me closer to him, just a little but it was known to me. I was too lost in confusion to say anything about it, plus I didn’t want to make a scene. Not because of Charles, but because of me. I prefer peace rather than conflicts. So, I obeyed and acted however I was supposed to do in this moment. It is not like anyone expected me to talk so I wandered around the room to see a familiar face. Patrick.

My eyes almost fell out and the anxiety that numbed my limbs was almost too much to bear. Patrick was clearly confused and did not understand. I started shaking my head as a try to tell him it is not what it looks like. He stayed looking at me but then took his focus on Charles. He eyed him up and down. I don’t’ know what I wanted in that moment, but I was clearly just stuck. My mind and my body.

‘Hey YN’

I turn my head around to see Joris. The anxiety level rose high, and I scarred looked on Patrick again, but he was fortunately not looking at my direction now.

‘Are you alright?’

I turned again to talk to Joris. Charles was aware Joris came in and he left the embrace on my back. I took this opportunity to escape to Joris instead.

‘Hi, sorry. I’m just overwhelmed.’

His eyes went straight to my back, looking straight through my middle and right back up.

‘I can see that.’

I shook my head and excused myself to go to the lady’s room.

*inhale* *exhale* again and again

Did it help? Temporarily. I escaped now but I cannot keep running from myself. I should have said something before. In the car on our way here. I should have said more to Patrick so this situation wouldn’t escalate to something bigger than it is. But what I know? I don’t know what Patrick thinks.

‘Whatever’

I got fed up with the same second and opened the doors to walk back, yet again, the same pair of green eyes hunting me everywhere.

‘What happened YN?’

At this moment I was feeling sorry for Charles. Because I was furious. And I raised my voice. At my boss.

‘What happened? You are asking me?’ I scoffed so hard it was visible for anyone to know how furious I am, ‘You’re the one who should be answering that question! What was that about huh? The touching? Holding my waist?’

Charles’s eyes showed conflict and fear as he didn’t know how to react. This was the first time I saw him not knowing what to do or say, his confidence far away from him now.

‘I- ‘

‘WHAT’

He shut his mouth immediately and looked mad. I exhaled and let my shoulders to fall to relax.

‘I’m sorry for raising my voice at you.’

Charles was still silent, but no in his mind. There was clearly something happening. He opened his mouth but shut it again.

‘YN?’

We both turned our gaze to the right to see Patrick. In the field of my eyes, I saw Charles’s composure to stiffen, and his face hardened.

‘And you are doing what exactly?’

A visible mockery in his voice lingered its way to Patrick who stopped walking towards me, confusion transformed to disgust and took a defensive composure.

God help me.

[jakesaverse]

ECHOES OF YESTERDAY | JAKE SIM CH.3

Synopsis: On her 21st birthday, Y/n wakes up overwhelmed by guilt and sorrow. It’s not just her birthday; it’s also the third anniversary of her high school boyfriend Jake’s tragic death. Surviving the accident that took Jake’s life, Y/n is haunted by memories of their love and the future they lost. In a moment of desperate longing, she makes a wish to see Jake again and is miraculously transported back in time to when Jake was alive. However, she finds that Jake now hates her, adding a new layer of pain and confusion. Determined to change his fate and earn his tolerance, she resolves to do everything in her power to ensure he escapes death this time.

Reader: Jake x reader

Authors note: Hello! I know it’s been awhile since I’ve uploaded or really updated about my process and I am SOOOO sorry 😭. I’ve had a pretty rough writers block right after I posted my second chapter. And I’m still having it but it’s slowly getting better ❤️‍🩹. This chapter is more on the emotional side ( all of them have been but yk what I mean I hope). Also, this is meant to be slow burn so please keep that in mind. Anyways, thank you for your patience and hopefully it was worth the wait 🥰! Thank you for your support 🫶🫶!!

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Jake jolted awake, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. The remnants of the nightmare clung to his mind, vivid and tormenting. He could still see the shadows closing in, suffocating him, and the echo of Y/N's words, "I’m trying to save you," haunting his every thought.

He sat up, gasping for air, and looked around his dimly lit room. The broken mirror on the wall caught his eye, a cruel reminder of his earlier outburst. Anger and despair had driven him to punch it, shattering both the glass and a piece of himself.

Jake's hand trembled as he reached for the first aid kit on his bedside table. His wrist was still bleeding, the pain sharp and relentless. He wrapped the bandage around it, each twist of the fabric feeling like a futile attempt to hold himself together.

As he tightened the bandage, tears welled up in his eyes. He couldn't escape the image of the man in the mirror—so lost, so alone. The reflection was a stark contrast to the facade he showed the world. In truth, he was drowning in his own isolation, burdened by the weight of his past and the guilt that gnawed at his soul.

Y/N's words echoed louder now, cutting through the silence of the room. "I’m trying to save you ." At first, he had dismissed her as crazy, but now those words felt like a lifeline. Why did he need to be saved? What did she see in him that he couldn't see in himself?

Jake's thoughts spiraled as he tried to make sense of it all. He thought about his life, the constant feeling of not being enough, and the relentless self-blame. He had pushed everyone away, convinced that he didn't deserve their love or friendship. The loneliness was suffocating.

And yet, Y/N's words had pierced through his defenses. Despite everything, they had reached him. Maybe, just maybe, she was right. Maybe he did need saving—from his anger, his guilt, and the darkness that consumed him.

As he looked at the shattered mirror, Jake made a silent vow. He would find out what Y/N meant. He would confront his demons and try to understand why he needed to be saved. It was a small glimmer of hope in an otherwise bleak existence, but it was enough to keep him going.

Sunghoon arrived at Jake's apartment early in the morning, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. He had been worried about Jake ever since their last conversation. Jake had seemed distant, lost in his thoughts, and Sunghoon knew all too well how his friend tended to shut down if he didn't talk about what was bothering him.

Quietly, Sunghoon pulled out the spare key Jake had given him for emergencies and let himself in. He carried a bag of food, hoping that a warm meal might help lift Jake's spirits. As he stepped inside, he was struck by the silence and the disarray. The broken mirror, the scattered shards of glass, and the overall mess painted a clear picture of Jake's turmoil.

Sunghoon found Jake slumped on the couch, looking disheveled and exhausted. His eyes immediately went to the bandaged wrist, the blood seeping through the white fabric. Sunghoon's heart sank.

"Jake, what the hell happened?" Sunghoon's voice was a mix of concern and frustration as he set the bag of food on the table and rushed to his friend's side.

Jake looked up, startled. "Sunghoon? How did you—"

"I used the spare key. I was worried about you." Sunghoon gestured to the bandage. "You hurt yourself again. You can't keep doing this, Jake."

Jake sighed, his head in his hands. "It's nothing, Sunghoon. Just had a rough night."

"Nothing? This is not nothing!" Sunghoon's voice softened as he sat beside Jake. "Talk to me. What's going on? You can't keep bottling this up. It's eating you alive."

For a moment, there was silence. Jake struggled to find the words, his emotions a tangled mess. Finally, he looked up, his eyes filled with pain. "I had a nightmare. It felt so real, and I woke up feeling... broken. I can't shake this feeling, Sunghoon. I feel like I'm drowning in my own thoughts, and I don't know how to stop it."

Sunghoon placed a reassuring hand on Jake's shoulder. "You don't have to go through this alone, Jake. I'm here for you. We all are. But you need to let us in. You need to talk about what's going on inside your head."

Jake nodded slowly, tears brimming in his eyes. "I know. It's just so hard. I feel like I'm not enough, like I'm always failing."

"You're not failing, Jake. You're human. We all have our struggles, but we face them together. You don't have to carry this burden by yourself."

Jake took a deep breath, the weight on his chest feeling a little lighter. "Thanks, Sunghoon. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Sunghoon smiled, giving Jake's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You'll never have to find out. Now, let's get that wrist properly cleaned up, and then we'll figure this out together. One step at a time."

As Sunghoon helped Jake with his bandage and then unpacked the food, a sense of hope began to bloom in the room. It wasn't a solution to all of Jake's problems, but it was a start. And sometimes, that's all you need to begin healing.

Sunghoon sat across from Jake, he was talking about their plans for the upcoming weekend, but he noticed Jake's eyes drifting away, staring blankly out the window. Sunghoon knew this look all too well. Jake often spaced out like this when he was really struggling with something heavy on his mind.

Sunghoon's voice softened, careful not to startle Jake out of his thoughts. "You know, Jake, it's been a while since we went to the beach. How about we get some fresh air?"

Jake blinked, his focus slowly returning to the present. "The beach?"

"Yeah," Sunghoon said with a gentle smile. "It could be good for you. We can invite Jay too. Just the three of us, like old times."

Jake's lips curved into a small, grateful smile. "That sounds nice."

Sunghoon pulled out his phone and quickly sent a text to Jay. Within moments, Jay replied with an enthusiastic "I'm in!"

"Jay's on board," Sunghoon said, standing up and offering his hand to Jake. "Let's go."

They gathered their things and headed out the door. The drive to the beach was filled with light chatter, mostly led by Sunghoon, with Jake giving occasional nods or short responses. Sunghoon didn't mind; he was just glad to see a hint of relaxation in Jake's demeanor.

When they arrived at the beach, Jay was already there, waving at them with a big grin. "Hey, guys!"

"Hey, Jay!" Sunghoon called back, returning the wave.

Jake managed a small smile as they joined Jay by the water. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the salty breeze seemed to lift some of the weight off Jake's shoulders. For a moment, he felt a sense of peace.

They walked along the shore, the sand cool beneath their feet. Jay, always the joker, started telling funny stories about their school days, trying to coax a laugh out of Jake. Sunghoon watched as a small spark of amusement flickered in Jake's eyes.

"Remember that time we tried to build the biggest sandcastle and ended up with more sand on ourselves than on the castle?" Jay said, laughing.

Jake chuckled softly, the sound like music to Sunghoon's ears. "Yeah, and we were so proud of that lopsided thing."

Sunghoon joined in the laughter, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. "We should try building another one today. What do you say, Jake?"

Jake looked at his friends, feeling a swell of gratitude. "Yeah, let's do it."

They spent the afternoon building a sandcastle, their laughter mingling with the sound of the waves. For a while, Jake forgot about his troubles, lost in the simple joy of being with his friends. As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, they sat down on the sand, watching the horizon.

"Thanks, guys," Jake said quietly, his voice filled with emotion. "I really needed this."

Sunghoon wrapped an arm around Jake's shoulders. "We're always here for you, Jake. No matter what."

Jay nodded, his expression serious for once. "Yeah, man. We're a trio. We stick together."

Jake felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he didn't try to hide them. He let them fall, feeling the warmth of his friends' presence. In that moment, he knew he wasn't alone. He had Sunghoon and Jay by his side, and that made all the difference.

You stood motionless in front of the bridge, the biting wind whispering secrets of the past as it brushed against your skin. The bridge held a profound significance, a silent witness to a night that had changed everything. You could still feel the weight of that evening, the crushing despair that had driven you to the edge.

It was late, the kind of late where the world seems to hold its breath. You had been ready to let go, to escape the relentless pain that had become your constant companion. You had stepped onto the bridge, your heart pounding, your mind a chaotic storm. The darkness below had seemed inviting, a final respite from your suffering.

But then, out of the shadows, Jake had appeared. His presence had been like a beacon, a light cutting through your darkest hour.

"Y/N, please don't," he had called out, his voice trembling with fear and love. He had approached you slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. "You don't have to do this. You're not alone. I'm here with you."

Jake had wrapped you in his arms, holding you with a strength that belied his own fears. His embrace had been warm, a sanctuary where your broken pieces could find solace. He had whispered words of comfort, of hope, convincing you that your life was worth living. That night, he had saved you, pulling you back from the brink.

But now, as you stood before the bridge once more, Jake was gone. He had died, leaving a void that nothing could fill. The memory of his sacrifice haunted you, a constant reminder of your guilt. You had never wanted to live, yet Jake had fought so hard for your life. And now, he was dead, and you were still here, drowning in a sea of remorse.

The tears began to fall, slowly at first, then in an uncontrollable torrent. You sank to your knees, your sobs echoing in the emptiness around you. The guilt was overwhelming, the pain unbearable. It felt as if your heart was shattering into a thousand pieces, each one cutting deeper than the last.

"Jake, I'm so sorry," you whispered through your tears. "I miss you so much. Why did you save me?"

The wind continued to blow, carrying your words into the void. You clutched at your chest, the ache of loss and regret consuming you. You remembered his smile, the way his eyes had sparkled with life, and the way he had always known just what to say to make you feel better. But now, those memories were all you had left.

You cried until you had no more tears to shed, your body trembling with the force of your grief. In the stillness that followed, you felt a faint sense of release, as if your tears had washed away a part of the burden you carried. You knew that Jake would never truly be gone, that he lived on in your heart and in the memories you had shared.

As you stood up, you took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill your lungs. You looked out over the bridge, the place where Jake had saved your life, and you made a silent promise to him. You would try to live, not just for yourself, but for him. You would carry his memory with you, letting it guide you through the darkness.

Jake stepped out of Sunghoon's car, waving a tired goodbye to his friends. The night air was cool against his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the car's interior. Despite his exhaustion, he felt a restless energy coursing through him. He knew he needed to clear his head, so he decided to take a walk, even though it was pretty late.

The streets were eerily quiet, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hum of traffic. Jake walked aimlessly, his thoughts a jumbled mess of regrets and what-ifs. He found himself heading towards the bridge, a place he often went to when he needed to think, to escape, to breathe.

As he approached, he noticed a figure standing by the railing. It took him a moment to realize it was Y/N. She was crying, her shoulders shaking with each sob, the sound barely audible but piercing through the night. Jake's first instinct was to turn around and leave her to her privacy, but something stopped him. He saw himself in her—broken and lost. The raw emotion on her face mirrored the turmoil he felt inside.

Despite everything she had done to get under his skin, he couldn't just leave her there, struggling alone. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to her, his footsteps soft against the pavement. Each step felt like a mile, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.

"Y/N," he called out gently, his voice almost a whisper.

She looked up, startled, and quickly tried to recompose herself, wiping away her tears with trembling hands. But as soon as she saw him, the facade crumbled. Her eyes, red and swollen, filled with fresh tears. Without thinking, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him in a desperate hug. Jake stood still for a moment, surprised, but then he felt her body shaking against his, her sobs muffled against his chest.

He hesitated, then slowly brought his arms around her, holding her as she broke down. They stood there for what felt like an eternity, the night wrapping around them like a comforting blanket. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in their shared pain.

Jake could feel her tears soaking through his shirt, her grip on him tightening as if she was afraid he would disappear. He gently rested his chin on top of her head, his own eyes stinging with unshed tears. He didn't know what to say, didn't know if there were any words that could ease her pain. So he just held her, letting her cry, letting her release the torrent of emotions that had been building up inside her.

"You're not alone," he whispered finally, his voice breaking. "I'm here."

Y/N's sobs grew louder, more anguished, as if his words had opened a floodgate. She clung to him, her body shaking with the force of her crying. Jake tightened his hold on her, his heart aching for her, for them both. In that moment, all the resentment, all the anger he had harbored towards her seemed to dissolve, replaced by a deep, aching empathy.

They stood there for what felt like hours, the night growing colder around them. Eventually, Y/N's sobs began to subside, her breathing becoming more even. She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Jake nodded, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Anytime," he replied softly.

They stood there in silence, the bridge their silent witness, the night their only companion. For the first time in a long while, Jake felt a sense of purpose. He didn't have the answers, didn't know what the future held, but for now, being there for Y/N was enough.

You and Jake walked side by side, the dim streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. The silence between you was thick, but not uncomfortable. You reached the nearest shop that was still open, a small convenience store with a flickering neon sign that buzzed faintly in the cool night air.

"I'm going to get something to drink. Do you want anything?" Jake asked, his voice breaking the silence. There was a softness in his tone that made your heart ache.

You shook your head. "No, I'm good."

Jake raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. He disappeared into the store, leaving you standing outside, your thoughts racing. You couldn't tell him the truth—that you had traveled back in time to save him. How could you explain something so unbelievable?

As you waited, memories of the accident flooded your mind. The screeching tires, the shattering glass, and the overwhelming sense of helplessness. You squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push the images away, but they clung to you like shadows.

A few minutes later, Jake emerged with a bottle of water and a small bag of chips. He handed the chips to you. "I know you said you didn't want anything, but I got these for you anyway."

You took the bag hesitantly, your fingers brushing against his. "Thanks," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

You started walking back, the crunch of gravel under your feet the only sound. Jake glanced at you sideways, his brow furrowed with concern. "So, why did you say I needed to be saved?"

Your heart skipped a beat. You had to think fast. "Oh, I was just... you know, being dramatic. I didn't mean anything by it."

Jake stopped walking and turned to face you, his eyes searching yours. "You don't have to lie to me, Y/N. I can tell something's been bothering you."

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away. "It's nothing, really. Just... a lot on my mind."

Jake reached out and gently touched your arm, his expression softening. He wasn't your biggest fan, mainly because it always seemed like you had your life together, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. He knew it was wrong to assume and dislike you for that, but those feelings had lingered for so long.

However, when he saw you a couple of minutes ago, with that same look and feeling he had been battling his whole life, something inside him shifted. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks—how much of a jerk he had been. Jake's heart ached with regret as he looked at you, finally understanding the weight of his misguided resentment.

"You can talk to me, you know. I'm here for you."

You felt a lump in your throat. You wanted to tell him everything, to unburden yourself of the secret that weighed so heavily on your heart. But you couldn't. Not yet. Instead, you forced a smile. "Thanks, Jake. That means a lot."

You continued walking in silence, the tension between you palpable. As you guys neared the corner where you would part ways, Jake stopped and turned to you, his expression serious.

"We should probably figure out when to meet up for the project," he said, breaking the moment you had shared.

You nodded, grateful for the change in topic. "Yeah, how about tomorrow after school?"

"Sounds good," Jake replied. He hesitated for a moment, then added, "And if you ever need to talk, I'm here. Anytime."

Your heart ached at his kindness. At the kindness you haven’t been able to witness for a couple of years now. “Thanks, Jake. I'll remember that."

As you went your separate ways, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. You wanted to tell him the truth, but you knew you couldn't. Not yet. For now, you would have to carry the weight of your secret alone.

Jake sat alone in his room, the weight of his actions crashing down on him with unbearable force. He had always prided himself on being strong, on keeping his emotions in check, but now he felt like he was unraveling. He had misjudged Y/N so badly, and the realization of how much he had hurt her was like a punch to the gut.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he thought about all the times he had let his resentment and jealousy guide his actions. He had been so blinded by his own insecurities that he failed to see the pain he was causing someone else. Y/N didn't deserve any of it. She was just trying to navigate her own struggles, and he had made it so much harder for her.

Jake's heart ached as he remembered the look on her face, the vulnerability he had overlooked. He had always managed to hurt people, even when he didn't mean to. It was like a curse he couldn't escape. The guilt was suffocating, and he couldn't hold back the tears any longer. He broke down, sobbing quietly in the darkness of his room.

He glanced at his injured hand, which he had managed to hide earlier. The pain was a constant reminder of his own mistakes. Tomorrow, he would have to figure out how to hide it at school. He didn't want anyone to see his weakness, especially not Y/N. He had already caused her enough pain.

But as he sat there, crying and clutching his injured hand, Jake realized that hiding his pain wasn't the answer. He needed to make things right, to show Y/N that he was truly sorry. It wouldn't be easy, and he knew it would take time, but he was determined to change. He couldn't keep hurting the people around him, especially not Y/N.

With a heavy heart, Jake wiped away his tears and made a silent promise to himself. Tomorrow, he would start making amends. He didn't know how, but he would find a way to show Y/N that he was sorry, that he wanted to be better. For her, and for himself.

taglist: @belovedsthings @en-chantedtomeetyou @syazzzlisa @k1ttylvr @jaeyunpinkyring-deactivated2024 @dreamiestay @soobs-things @capri-cuntz @beomgyusimp @heelariously @thinkinboutbin @jyunsgf @lwavander @chaewonshoney @maliakealoha @addictedtohobi @likeemilia @shaniandme @chocminteu @lilyuwon @kgneptun @dojaejunging @binniesbabe @asteria-wood

[minhosbitterriver]

─── ⋆⋅☆ STEADY LOVE ( xdinary heroes )

❛ A collection of heartfelt stories where love finds its strength in gentle understanding, as partners navigate the world together with unwavering support and care for each other's unique needs.

𝐱𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐞𝐬 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.4k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 29 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This was so self-indulgent to write, so a very big thank you to my lovely 🍀 Anon for this request! Reblogs and feedbacks are always appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Y/N has AuDHD in each member's piece, mentions of bees as a special interest, descriptions of being burned out and struggling with change, some very slight ableism mentioned (not from any of the members), descriptions of overstimulation, mentions of stimming, terrible flirting, overall this is very much hurt + comfort, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚��𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐣𝐚𝐫 )

구건일 ── GOO GUNIL.

The day felt like it had conspired against Gunil, stretching itself out into an agonizing eternity, as if determined to sap every last bit of energy from him. Each second dragged on, the clock's hands moving at a snail's pace, mirroring the heaviness in his limbs. Finally, after what seemed like an endless rehearsal, an exhausted sigh escaped his lips, the sound barely noticeable amidst the hum of tired voices from his bandmates. With a practiced, almost mechanical motion, Gunil returned his well-worn drumsticks to their designated holder, a small nook on the wall that had become as familiar to him as his own reflection. The drumsticks settled into place with a soft click, the only sound in the practice room that had served as their second home. 

As his bandmates began to shuffle out, their movements sluggish, weighed down by the day’s efforts, Gunil barely registered the chorus of goodbyes. Jungsu’s voice cut through the haze, a final “see you tomorrow” accompanied by a wave before disappearing into the hallway. Gunil mustered a lazy half-smile, lifting his hand in a farewell that felt more like a reflex than a conscious action. The room, once alive with the pulse of their music, now felt eerily quiet, the silence amplifying the fatigue settling deep into his bones. He reached for his backpack, its weight pulling down on his tired shoulders, just as the sharp ring of his phone shattered the stillness.

The sudden sound jolted him, but when he saw your name on the screen, a genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, chasing away the exhaustion, even if just a little. “I’m done rehearsing, love, I’ll be—” Gunil’s greeting was cut short by the unmistakable sound of your excited squeal. He couldn’t help but chuckle, his heart swelling with affection at the image of you practically vibrating with energy on the other end of the line.

“Goo, you have to come home as soon as you can!” Your voice was bright, almost bursting with excitement, and Gunil could easily imagine you doing your little wiggles of joy, the ones that always made his heart melt. 

“Yes, baby,” he replied, his tone gentle, hiding the weariness in his bones so as not to dampen your spirits. “I’ll be home in no time. What’s got you so excited?” 

As he turned off the lights in the now-quiet practice room, the faint clicking of your keyboard reached his ears. He pictured you perched at your desk, your laptop open before you, eyes wide with curiosity. The image made him smile. 

“I found this new video, and Goo, it is so cool! It's a swarm of Japanese honeybees defending their nest by slapping ants with their wings, but this one is honestly so fascinating because apparently, this colony got infected by the Varroa Destructor Mite — but they were still so aggressive against the ants and they won! Isn't that so cool? Oh, Goo, please hurry, you have to watch it!” 

Your words tumbled out in a rush, barely pausing for breath, your excitement making the details spill over each other in a joyous cascade. Gunil found himself chuckling softly, warmth blooming in his chest as he listened to your passionate rambling. There was something so endearing about the way you got lost in your own world, especially when it came to bees. He could listen to you talk for hours, your voice animated and full of life, a stark contrast to the weariness that had settled over him.

He thought back to the early days of your relationship, when you had nervously explained your autism to him, worried that it might be too much, too different. But to Gunil, it was simply another beautiful facet of who you were, something that made him love you even more deeply. “That does sound very interesting, my love,” he said, trying to match your energy despite the exhaustion tugging at him. “I really can’t wait to watch it!”

The promise of coming home to you, to your bright, infectious enthusiasm, gave him the strength to push through the final stretch of his journey. “I’ll be home in about ten minutes, so hang tight,” he added, a smile in his voice as he ended the call. As he neared the apartment you shared, the sight of a family-owned flower shop caught his eye. 

Even through the fatigue, his gaze lingered on the blooms in the window, your favorite flowers standing out like a beacon. The thought of surprising you with them, especially when you were already so happy, sent a thrill through him. Without hesitation, he ducked into the shop, the sweet scent of fresh flowers wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. He selected a bouquet with care, imagining the way your eyes would light up when he walked through the door with them in hand.

The weight of the day began to lift as he paid for the flowers, the simple act of thinking about you bringing a renewed sense of energy. The thrill of coming home to you, your voice still echoing in his mind, made each step lighter. As he walked out of the shop, the bouquet cradled carefully in his arms, he felt the anticipation build, knowing that soon, he would be by your side, sharing in the simple, beautiful joy of being together.

김정수 ── KIM JUNGSU.

The corners of Jungsu’s lips tightened into a worried frown as he gently rapped on the door of your shared bedroom. Not waiting for an invitation, he nudged the door open just enough to peer inside. The sight that greeted him was one of persistent discomfort. There you were, lying on your side of the bed, your expression etched with visible distress. Your laptop, casting a soft glow in the dim room, played the familiar episodes of your favorite show—one you had practically memorized through countless viewings meant to soothe your troubled emotions.

Jungsu let out a soft sigh, his concern growing with each passing moment. He stepped into the room, the plush carpet muffling his footsteps as he moved towards your side of the bed. Perching himself on the edge, he settled into the space beside you, his presence both reassuring and tender. You kept your gaze fixed on the screen, as though it were the only refuge from the turmoil roiling within.

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words and unshared burdens. After a few moments, you finally turned your head to meet his gaze, a weary sigh escaping your lips. Jungsu’s heart ached at the sight of your frustration and weariness. “I ordered takeout,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper as if afraid to shatter the fragile calm. “It’s your favorite.”

He noticed the fleeting flicker of interest in your eyes, a brief spark that was quickly extinguished as you turned back to the screen with a frown. “I don’t want to eat right now,” you murmured, your tone resolute and final, leaving no room for negotiation. The firmness of your refusal stung, and Jungsu could only nod in resignation. He sighed once more, his shoulders slumping slightly as he retreated from the room, leaving you to your solitude.

For nearly a week now, this had been your reality—an ongoing struggle that Jungsu could only partially grasp. Despite the year you had been together, he had never seen you like this before. He understood that adapting to sudden changes was particularly challenging for you, especially when they disrupted the routines that provided a semblance of stability. The day you had called him from work, sobbing uncontrollably while locked in the bathroom, was seared into his memory. You had told him about your old manager’s abrupt departure and the arrival of a new, unfamiliar face. The sudden shift was more than you could handle, especially when your new manager refused to accommodate the adjustments necessary to make your work environment bearable.

As the days went on, the pressure became insurmountable. Each day, you returned home to face the aftermath of panic attacks you had kept at bay and to collapse into bed, seeking solace in the comfort of a show that could no longer ease the heaviness you carried. The joy and relief it once brought you were now overshadowed by a pervasive numbness, a stark reminder of the emotional toll that had become all too familiar.

Jungsu’s heart ached with the weight of your struggle, and though he sympathized deeply with your plight, it did little to quell his worry. He remained steadfast in his resolve to support you through this storm, even as he grappled with the helplessness of seeing you so diminished. Each day, he hoped for a glimmer of recovery, a sign that the storm within you might begin to abate. But for now, he could only offer his silent presence and unwavering support, waiting for the day when you would once again find your way back to the light.

Jungsu was grappling with uncertainty about how to pull you from the depths of your distress, but a sudden spark of inspiration ignited within him as his gaze fell upon the television in the living room. Resolute to offer you a sliver of comfort, he began a frenzied quest to transform your shared space into a sanctuary of solace. For the next half hour, he darted around the apartment, arms laden with an assortment of blankets, comforters, and pillows—each one a small testament to his unwavering determination.

With every trip in and out of the bedroom, his expression was a mixture of earnest concentration and quiet determination. You watched with a blend of curiosity and amusement as he repeatedly entered the room, his movements a flurry of purposeful activity. At one point, he even attempted to gather your collection of stuffed animals, struggling under the weight of their collective softness as he staggered out, his focus unbroken by your gaze.

The sounds of his labor—the shuffling of furniture, the occasional grunt of exertion—filled the space, drawing your attention away from the show you had paused. You listened intently, your curiosity piqued by the rhythmic clamor of activity. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of bustling, Jungsu reappeared in the doorway of your bedroom, his face illuminated with a blend of triumph and excitement. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, catching the soft light of the nightstand lamp as he panted, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

“Baby,” he called out, his voice breathless but laced with an infectious enthusiasm. His hands rested on his hips, a gesture of pride and anticipation. “Can you please come out? I made something for you, and I think you’re really going to like it!”

Despite the storm of emotions swirling within you, the sight of Jungsu’s eager, childlike gleam in his eyes tugged at your heartstrings. Intrigued and touched by his effort, you pushed yourself up from the bed, the pull of his unwavering support more compelling than the urge to remain cocooned in your sanctuary. He extended a hand towards you, which you accepted with a grateful smile, allowing him to guide you toward the living room.

The transformation that greeted your eyes as you entered the living room took your breath away. The coffee table, once a fixture in the center of the room, had been pushed to the far wall. In its place stood a grand fortress, a whimsical creation of mismatched blankets and comforters meticulously draped and layered into a cozy haven. Strings of Christmas lights peeked through the folds, their gentle glow casting a warm, ethereal light that danced across the room. The television, positioned just in front of the fortress’s entrance, was primed to play your favorite show, a comforting familiarity in its soft glow.

As you inhaled deeply, the fragrant aroma of your favorite meal wafted towards you, a final touch to the heartwarming scene. Overwhelmed by a wave of gratitude, tears threatened to spill as you turned to embrace Jungsu. Your arms wrapped around him tightly, your body shaking slightly with the emotion you struggled to contain.

Jungsu chuckled softly, his arms enveloping you in a hug that was both firm and reassuring—just the way you liked it. “Is this okay?” he asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper as you pulled back to look at him. The tears in your eyes glistened with a profound appreciation as you nodded vigorously, your voice wavering with emotion. “This is perfect, Jun,” you managed to say, your voice cracking slightly. “It looks exactly like how my grandmother used to do it when I was upset as a child.”

Jungsu’s smile widened, his satisfaction evident in the warmth that radiated from him. As you turned and practically bounded towards the fortress, a trail of contented giggles followed in your wake, each sound a balm to his worried heart. The sight of your joy, so vividly reflected in your laughter, made his heart flutter with a tender affection that seemed to encompass the entire room.

곽지석 ── KWAK JISEOK.

The outdoor market was a vibrant tapestry of colors and sounds, alive with the energy of families and couples weaving through stalls brimming with fresh produce and handcrafted jewelry. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spices, flowers, and street food, a cacophony of sensory delights that usually set your heart racing with excitement. But today, the thrumming pulse of the market felt more like a storm brewing on the horizon. 

You had been standing in front of a stall, fingers lightly tracing the delicate patterns of handmade trinkets when a sudden influx of noisy tourists swarmed around you. The once-open space now felt suffocating as their loud voices clashed against one another, creating a wall of sound that made it impossible to think clearly. The proximity of strangers pressed too close, stealing the breath from your lungs and sending your heart into a frantic rhythm. You glanced around, searching desperately for Jiseok, who had been right beside you only moments ago, but the crowd swallowed him up, leaving you feeling isolated and vulnerable.

As your anxiety began to claw its way to the surface, your body responded in familiar, desperate ways. Your fingers found their way to your hair, twisting and pulling at the strands as if they might tether you to something solid. Your leg bounced uncontrollably, tapping out an erratic rhythm on the cobblestones beneath you. The sharp sting of your nails digging into your palms became the only thing anchoring you, yet it also edged you closer to a breaking point that felt terrifyingly near.

It felt like an eternity, but finally, Jiseok emerged from the crowd, his eyes immediately locking onto you with a mix of relief and concern. He didn’t need to ask what was wrong—he could see it in the way your body had tensed, in the rapid, shallow breaths you struggled to control. Without a word, he reached out, gently but firmly taking your hands in his, halting the destructive cycle of pulling at your hair and digging into your skin. He interlaced your fingers with his, grounding you with the warmth of his touch.

"Hey, let's get out of here for a bit," Jiseok's voice broke through the chaos, a soothing melody that cut through the overwhelming noise around you. He didn’t wait for a response; instead, he drew you close, wrapping his arms around you and pressing your head against his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat against your ear was a familiar comfort, a lifeline in the middle of the storm.

Guiding you through the press of bodies, Jiseok kept you close, his arms a protective barrier against the world that had become too much to bear. His grip tightened slightly, applying the firm pressure that always seemed to calm your racing thoughts. "Look, we can go there for a little bit," he murmured, nodding towards a small park that sat like a hidden gem amidst the market’s frenzy. The greenery promised a respite, a quiet place to breathe again.

But it wasn’t the park that brought you solace—it was Jiseok himself. The vibration of his voice against your back as he spoke, the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat, and the warmth of his embrace all worked together to gently pull you out of the whirlpool of anxiety that threatened to drag you under. As he continued to speak, his words becoming a soft, mindless ramble meant only to distract, you could feel the storm inside you begin to subside. Your heartbeat, once wild and erratic, slowly began to sync with his, finding a steadier, calmer pace.

As Jiseok gently guided you through the bustling market, his hand remained a steady presence on your shoulder. Every so often, he would give a gentle squeeze, three soft pulses of reassurance—a silent code you both had established for moments like these, where words seemed to dissolve into the fog of your anxiety. It was his quiet way of asking, "Are you okay?" The simple gesture, familiar and comforting, anchored you amidst the swirling chaos. 

In response, you reached up to grasp his forearm, fingers curling around his warmth as you squeezed twice, signaling back, "I'm better." The exchange was small, but it spoke volumes—a tender conversation held in silence, where no words were necessary, just the understanding between two souls who had learned to navigate these storms together.

The noise of the market gradually faded into the background as Jiseok led you to the park. Here, the world softened, with the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze and the distant murmur of others who had also sought sanctuary from the market's overwhelming energy. The park felt like a refuge, a place where the intensity of the outside world couldn't quite reach you. Jiseok spotted a secluded bench beneath the shade of a large, ancient tree, its branches stretching out like a protective canopy. The dappled sunlight danced through the leaves, casting a soothing pattern on the ground, and the bench offered a quiet place to rest, away from prying eyes and the relentless pace of the market.

Once seated, Jiseok remained close, his presence a calming force beside you. Your breath, which had been shallow and quick, began to slow as you settled into the quiet of the park. Jiseok's fingers found their way to your hair, gently playing with the strands in a tender contrast to the earlier harsh tugging you had subjected them to. The soft rhythm of his touch was a balm, easing the lingering tension in your body. His other hand rested on your thigh, grounding you with its comforting weight.

He spoke in a low, soothing tone, his words a gentle caress to your frayed nerves. "We can leave whenever you're ready," he suggested, his gaze drifting out to the serene view of the park, "Maybe we can grab some food and cuddle at the dorm. I'm sure the members won’t mind. I’ll kick Seungmin out of our room if I have to; he’ll just have to suck it up."

As the tension within you began to melt away, you found yourself repeating the last few words of his sentence—a familiar and comforting habit, a happy stim that signaled your return to a place of calm. "...have to suck it up," you echoed, your voice lighter now, carrying the trace of a smile that tugged at the corners of your lips.

Jiseok chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm, wrapping around you like a blanket of comfort. He squeezed your hand gently, checking to ensure your nails were no longer digging into your palm. "That's my favorite sound," he teased, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he grinned at you, his love evident in the gentle curve of his smile.

This shared moment of lightness, of humor, further dispelled the remnants of your anxiety. In his presence, you were reminded that you didn’t have to face these moments alone—that even in your most vulnerable states, Jiseok was there, offering his unwavering support and love. The park, with its serene beauty and the quiet strength of your bond, became a haven where you could breathe again, surrounded by the safety of his embrace.

오승민 ── OH SEUNGMIN.

JYP Entertainment hosted an exclusive and lavish party at a luxury hotel, where the atmosphere blended the grandeur of celebration with the intimacy of a private gathering. Unlike the typical public events, this one was strictly by invitation, creating a sanctuary for idols to bring their partners, friends, and families without the constant pressure of cameras. The setting was resplendent, with elegant decor that reflected the significance of the occasion.

The entertainment options catered to a variety of tastes. In one corner, a live band played soft jazz, filling the room with soothing melodies. Nearby, a DJ spun upbeat tracks, enticing those who wanted to dance. For the more playful guests, a karaoke setup allowed for uninhibited fun, and a photobooth adorned with glittering lights stood ready to capture the night’s memories. A gourmet buffet stretched along one side of the room, offering an array of international cuisines, the rich aromas mingling with the laughter and chatter that filled the air.

Despite the festive atmosphere, the constant flashing of lights and the relentless pulse of the music began to overwhelm you. This was your first time attending an event of this magnitude, and though you had agreed to come because of the way Seungmin’s eyes sparkled with excitement at the thought of sharing this moment with you, the environment soon proved too much. Even as you admired him, his figure so striking in the finely tailored suit that accentuated his lean, muscular build, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the grand room was closing in on you. Your hands trembled despite your best efforts to maintain composure, and a cold sweat began to form along your hairline.

You stole a glance at Seungmin, who stood a short distance away, his face illuminated with genuine joy as he engaged in animated conversation with his bandmates and senior idols from the company. They were discussing the future direction of their music, reminiscing about their journey since debuting, and Seungmin’s laughter rang out, a clear sign that he was fully immersed in the moment. For a brief second, you hoped that his distraction would allow you to slip away unnoticed, just for a moment, to calm the rising tide of anxiety within you.

The party, though well-intentioned, was far beyond your comfort zone, and the sensory overload was beginning to take its toll. You needed to escape, to find a quiet space where you could breathe without the weight of the world pressing down on you. But as you discreetly made your way to the bathroom, seeking refuge from the overwhelming stimuli, Seungmin caught sight of your retreating figure. 

Unbeknownst to you, Seungmin had anticipated the possibility of you feeling overwhelmed in such a busy atmosphere. Understanding how easily you could be overstimulated, he had made sure to pack your well-loved noise-canceling headphones in the expensive messenger bag his stylist had provided. As soon as he saw you slipping away, his concern for you took precedence over the conversation, and he politely excused himself, following you to the bathroom.

Upon entering the lavish bathroom, Seungmin offered a polite bow and murmured apologies to the few occupants before your shallow breathing caught his attention. He quickly moved to stand outside the stall where you had taken refuge. 

"Love? It's me," he called softly, his voice gentle and soothing, careful not to startle you in your vulnerable state. Inside the stall, your hands clenched in a futile attempt to stop their violent trembling as you struggled to steady your breathing. 

Seungmin reached over the door, his hand holding the familiar headphones — a lifeline in the storm of your frenzied thoughts. "I thought you might need this," he murmured. 

You reached up and snatched the headphones, the urgency in your movements reflecting the desperation you felt. As you placed them over your ears, the chaotic world outside was mercifully muted. The overwhelming cacophony faded, replaced by the comforting silence you had so desperately needed. Finally, you could breathe again, the noise-canceling barrier providing a sanctuary where you could begin to reclaim your peace.

You were immensely grateful for Seungmin’s patience, relishing the brief respite as you took a few moments to catch your breath. The bustling noise of the party seemed to fade into the background, creating a cocoon of calm around you. Just as you began to steady yourself, your phone vibrated in your hand — a text from Seungmin, despite him standing right outside the bathroom stall. His name illuminated the screen, and a calming wave of relief washed over you, your erratic heartbeat finding a more measured rhythm.

Seungmin understood that in moments like these, communication through text would be the most comforting method. The message on your screen read, Feeling any better? 

Your fingers, still slightly trembling, moved to reply. A lot better, thanks to you. Everything just became a little too much for me. 

The reply came almost instantaneously, and you noticed how the tight, claustrophobic feeling had dissipated. I’m glad I thought of bringing the headphones. Why didn’t you tell me though? The words on the screen seemed to convey a trace of concern, as though you could almost see the frown forming on his lips as he awaited your response.

A pang of guilt pierced your heart. You knew Seungmin would have dropped everything to help you if only you had spoken up. But you didn’t want him to worry or to spoil such a significant night. I didn’t want to ruin such a big night. I thought I would be able to handle it...until I couldn’t anymore. You sent the message with a sigh, already anticipating the comforting words that would follow. 

Baby, these parties mean nothing compared to your well-being. You didn’t ruin anything, I promise. A warm smile tugged at your lips as you read his soothing words. 

Moments later, another text from him appeared. Do you want to stay here for a bit, or would you like me to take you somewhere quieter? 

Relief flooded over you as you replied, Can we stay here for now? I don’t want to go back out yet. 

Of course. Do you want to let me in? The offer was genuine and well-intentioned, but it made you feel uneasy. 

You texted back, No. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can handle being touched or having anyone at close proximity right now...sorry. 

Hey, I get it. I’ll just stay here until you’re ready to come out.

Seungmin settled in by the door of your stall, his presence a reassuring anchor in your storm of anxiety. Leaning against the door, he continued to text you intermittently, checking in without overwhelming you. Despite the guilt that gnawed at you for keeping him away from the main event, you found solace in the sight of his polished shoes peeking out from beneath the stall door. His calm and patient demeanor provided a sense of security, a reminder that he was there for you while respecting your need for space.

To lift your spirits, Seungmin sent small jokes and snippets of gossip from the party, aiming to lighten the mood without pushing you too far. His thoughtful gestures made the wait more bearable. When you finally felt ready to emerge, you texted him, signaling that you were prepared to leave the bathroom. Seungmin maintained a respectful distance as he guided you out, his focus on ensuring your comfort. He stood by your side, a steady presence as you stood by the bathroom sinks, allowing you to regain your composure.

As you began to feel more at ease, your heart soared when Seungmin gently pulled you closer, swaying with you to the rhythm of a slow song that was apparently playing at the main party. The music and his embrace melded together in a soothing harmony, offering a sense of peace and connection that made the night’s earlier chaos feel like a distant memory.

한형준 ── HAN HYEONGJUN.

You and Hyeongjun had been together long enough to know that your bond was more than just a fleeting connection—it was a deeply rooted love, a steadfast commitment that had withstood the test of time. The idea of moving in together had always felt like the natural progression of your relationship, a step that would solidify the foundation you had built together. The thought of creating a home, a sanctuary where your love could continue to blossom, was a dream you both held close to your hearts. 

After months of searching, of walking through countless doorways in hopes of finding the one that felt right, you finally discovered a small, charming apartment nestled in a quiet neighborhood. It was perfect in its simplicity, a place that felt like it could become your own little haven away from the world. The moment you stepped inside, hand in hand with Hyeongjun, you could almost see the future unfolding before your eyes—a future filled with love, laughter, and the simple joy of being together.

However, as thrilling as this new chapter was, the journey to get there was anything but easy. The excitement that buzzed in your chest was often tempered by the looming dread of packing up your lives and making the transition into this new space. Despite the weeks you had spent mentally preparing, gathering boxes, and organizing your belongings, the reality of the task ahead felt overwhelming once the packing began in earnest. The room that had once been your sanctuary, a place of comfort and familiarity, now looked as though it had been ravaged by a chaotic whirlwind. The bed, once a cozy nest of warmth, was buried beneath a patchwork of clothes—some folded neatly, others discarded haphazardly in the frenzy of sorting. Your once-tidy shelves had succumbed to disorder, with books that had been carefully arranged now lying in disarray, their pages splayed open as if they, too, were crying out for the order that had been lost.

Boxes were strewn across the floor, some half-packed, others overflowing with belongings that seemed to resist categorization. Trinkets and mementos from your relationship and childhood, tokens of memories that had shaped you, were scattered across every available surface. The room had become a chaotic testament to your inability to start a task and see it through to completion, the once-organized process now devolved into a mess that mirrored the storm of emotions brewing within you.

As you stood in the center of the chaos, trying to take it all in, the room seemed to close in on you. The sheer magnitude of the task at hand made your head spin, and the weight of the change—of leaving behind the familiar to step into the unknown—pressed down on you like a heavy blanket, smothering you with a growing sense of panic. Your breaths came in shallow gasps, your chest tightening as the reality of what lay ahead threatened to overwhelm you entirely. You felt frozen, trapped between the urge to curl up on the floor and the fear of succumbing to the full-blown panic attack that you could feel building inside you.

In that moment, the dream of a shared home, of a future filled with love and laughter, felt impossibly distant, overshadowed by the immediate reality of the overwhelming chaos that surrounded you.

Hyeongjun had been meticulously packing utensils in the kitchen, each clang and clatter a small, careful note in the symphony of your impending move. The rhythm was comforting in its predictability, a soundscape of progress amidst the chaos. But it was the sudden, uneven hitch in your breathing that cut through his focus like a knife. The familiar, faint tremor in your breath sent his instincts into overdrive. He abandoned the half-filled box without a second thought, his concern drawing him swiftly to the doorway where he paused, eyes immediately searching for you. The room’s disarray only served to heighten his worry, but it was the look on your face—pale, strained, eyes wide with the first signs of panic—that sent him rushing to your side.

His presence was immediate, solid, a tether in the storm of your thoughts. His hands hovered just above your trembling frame, a question in the tension of his fingers, as if even the act of touching needed your permission in this fragile moment. His voice, calm and steady despite the urgency he felt, broke the silence, "Touch or no touch?" It was the question he always asked, a gentle reminder that he was there, ready to offer exactly what you needed.

Your throat tightened, the pressure of unspoken fears constricting your ability to breathe freely. It took a moment, but you managed to force the words past the lump of anxiety, your voice barely above a whisper yet laced with raw desperation. "Touch, please. Hard." The plea was met with immediate action. Hyeongjun closed the distance between you in an instant, his arms wrapping around you with a firm, reassuring pressure that felt like a lifeline. He pulled you close, your face pressed into the warm, solid comfort of his chest, as if he could shield you from the overwhelming chaos that threatened to consume you.

His embrace was everything you needed—strong, grounding, enveloping you in a cocoon of safety. His hands moved over your back, each squeeze purposeful, designed to remind you that you weren’t alone in this moment. The weight of his arms anchored you, offering a physical connection that countered the spinning in your mind. As you struggled to sync your breathing with his, he guided you gently, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, coaxing your frantic gasps to slow. The familiar scent of him—warm, comforting, like home—began to permeate your senses, grounding you further with each breath.

Hyeongjun understood you in a way no one else did. He knew how deeply change unsettled you, how even the most exciting transitions could unearth old anxieties that clung like shadows. This move, this beautiful step into a shared future, was something you had both yearned for, yet the enormity of it was daunting, and he recognized that. 

Still holding you close, he gently guided you to the edge of the bed, never loosening his protective grip. His voice, soft and steady, filled the space between your breaths. He began to speak, his words a soothing balm, painting a picture of the memories he hoped to create with you in your new home. 

He spoke softly of lazy Saturday mornings, where the two of you would linger in bed, wrapped in each other’s warmth as the world outside moved on without you. He painted a picture of sunlight streaming through the windows, casting golden hues across the room as the smell of fresh coffee filled the air, mingling with the comforting scent of your shared space. He imagined those moments when you would shuffle into the kitchen, still half-asleep, to find him waiting with a mug in hand and a soft smile on his lips. The day would stretch out before you, unhurried and serene, a canvas for whatever simple joys you decided to indulge in. 

He envisioned quiet evenings in the living room, where the two of you would sit side by side, your legs tangled together as you watched movies, your laughter or quiet conversations filling the room. Or perhaps, he mused, there would be nights where no words were needed—where you’d simply sway to the rhythm of music only the two of you could hear, dancing slowly in the dim light of your cozy space. Those were the moments he looked forward to, where nothing else mattered but the gentle pulse of your love, a steady, comforting presence that would fill the apartment with a sense of belonging.

He spoke of the laughter that would echo through the kitchen as you experimented with new recipes, each attempt a delightful adventure, whether it ended in culinary success or a flour-covered mess. The thought of you animatedly talking about bees, your special interest, brought a tender smile to his face. He was excited to hear you ramble on about your latest findings, to listen to your voice light up with passion as you shared the intricacies of something you loved so dearly. For him, the simple joy of coming home to you after a long day, of seeing your face light up when you saw him, was a treasure beyond words. It was in these everyday moments, he believed, that the true beauty of life together would unfold.

Each word he spoke was a delicate thread, weaving a tapestry of the life you would build together—a life rich in love, comfort, and endless moments of shared happiness. As he continued to paint this picture with his words, you felt the tightness in your chest begin to ease, the panic that had gripped you slowly loosening its hold. The overwhelming mess that surrounded you, while still daunting, no longer felt like an insurmountable mountain. 

When he offered to help you pack your bedroom, it wasn’t just the task at hand he was addressing—it was the unspoken promise that you wouldn’t have to face any of it alone. With Hyeongjun by your side, you knew that no matter how overwhelming the process might seem, you would get through it together. The future you were moving toward, though filled with uncertainties, was also brimming with the promise of love, and that was more than enough to keep you going.

이주연 ── LEE JOOYEON.

Since childhood, Saturdays had been your sacred ritual, a cherished time when you sought refuge in the comforting embrace of your favorite internet cafe. Nestled on a tranquil street near your home, this digital sanctuary had become your second haven. The space was a dimly lit enclave, bathed in warm amber hues that softly illuminated rows of screens and keyboards. The gentle hum of cooling fans and the rhythmic clatter of keys created a soothing symphony of focused activity. The walls were adorned with neon posters of popular games and vibrant advertisements for energy drinks, their colors shimmering and pulsing with the memories of countless gaming sessions. Each desk bore the marks of countless hours spent in virtual worlds, with personal touches and signs of frequent use that told stories of dedicated gamers. The chairs, worn and comfortable, had molded to fit their occupants perfectly.

The employees, who had long grown accustomed to your weekly visits, had come to appreciate your presence. They reserved a specific PC for you, tucked away in a semi-secluded corner you had claimed as your own years ago. This desk, bathed in the soft, reassuring glow of your screen, was where you felt most at ease, completely immersed in the digital adventures you embarked upon. The ritual of arriving, settling in, and losing yourself in your chosen game was a comforting certainty, a bubble of predictability in a world that often felt overwhelming.

However, recently, this cherished routine had been disrupted by a new and vibrant presence. Jooyeon, as you would eventually learn, was the boy whose frequent visits began to unsettle the calm monotony of your Saturdays. His arrival was like a burst of vivid color and exuberant energy crashing into your serene haven. The air would come alive with his boisterous laughter and animated conversations with friends, his presence a dynamic contrast to the quiet you had grown accustomed to.

Despite this disruption, you found yourself surprisingly receptive to the change. Jooyeon, with his strikingly handsome features, was impossible to overlook. His mischievous grin, ever-present and wide, seemed to illuminate the room as if he were the very essence of playful charm. Dressed in soft, well-worn hoodies paired with relaxed jeans, and with his shoulder-length hair cascading like a dark, flowing waterfall, he exuded an effortlessly cool demeanor. His interactions with friends and his choice of games created a vivid contrast against the backdrop of your reserved routine, adding an unexpected layer of excitement to your once predictable Saturdays.

There were moments when, despite your best efforts to stay focused on your own game, you would catch fleeting glimpses of him from the corner of your eye. You tried to remain unobtrusive, but Jooyeon's unabashed enjoyment of the popular games he was engrossed in was impossible to ignore. The occasional flicker of movement or the burst of his distinctive laughter would effortlessly draw your gaze, breaking through the veil of your concentration.

On one particular Saturday, Jooyeon’s frustration had reached its zenith. After what felt like the hundredth defeat in his solo game, he dramatically slumped back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head in a gesture of surrender. His eyes, alight with a mixture of defiance and amusement, wandered towards your screen, where you were deeply immersed in a particularly demanding quest. As you navigated through the game with meticulous keystrokes, Jooyeon’s gaze lingered on you, an unspoken challenge mingling with curiosity that sent a flutter through your heart.

Despite the distraction of his intense scrutiny, you managed to achieve a hard-fought victory, leveling up with a triumphant flourish on your screen. The soft hum of intrigue that escaped Jooyeon’s lips prompted you to finally look up, your heart racing as you became acutely aware of the flush warming your cheeks. Jooyeon’s grin remained undiminished, his eyes sparkling with an affectionate, teasing light. After a moment of shy silence, his laughter bubbled forth, a soft, infectious sound that seemed to fill the space between you. His amusement wrapped around you like a playful embrace, acknowledging the unspoken connection that had quietly woven itself into the fabric of your Saturday rituals.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a low murmur, meant only for you to hear. “I heard that game is pretty good. Do you mind if I join?” The simple invitation opened the door to a new, intimate connection. From that moment on, Saturdays transformed into a shared adventure, where you and Jooyeon would indulge in games together, swapping playful jabs and cracking jokes. The hours spent with him became the highlight of your week, and the growing affection you felt for him added a layer of significance to each interaction. You found yourself seeking ways to show him how much he meant to you.

Noticing his habit of picking at his skin whenever he was stressed or anxious, you returned the following week with a thoughtful gift: a textured, silicone stress ball from your own collection, designed to help him redirect his nervous energy without damaging his skin. On another occasion, as you patiently waited for him to clear a level in a game you were both playing, you couldn’t help but be charmed by the expression of concentration on his face. Without fully thinking through your words, you blurted out, “You have this cute habit of pouting when you’re really focused. It’s kind of distracting, but in a way that makes me want to keep watching.” The sudden boldness of your words left you both blushing, but Jooyeon’s shy attempt to hide his wide smile made the moment feel worth the slight embarrassment.

When Jooyeon revealed that he was an idol, the bassist for the rock band Xdinary Heroes, you found yourself spending the entire week immersed in his music and learning everything you could about him. By the time Saturday rolled around again, you were eager to confess your newfound knowledge. As he settled into his usual seat beside you, you said with a grin, “I was thinking about you so much that I ended up reading every article, watching every video, and listening to every song from your band. I have so many questions about you guys!” The sight of Jooyeon’s typically casual demeanor giving way to shyness, while his grin widened, was heartwarming. He eagerly entertained each of your questions, his enthusiasm is infectious as ever.

Finally, on one late evening, as the employees of the internet cafe gently nudged you both towards the exit, you lingered outside, a smile playing on your lips. Turning to Jooyeon, you said softly, “I really like spending time with you. You make my brain feel all fizzy, like I’ve had too much caffeine, but in a really good way.” 

To your surprise, he chuckled lightly and replied, “Okay, so, I don’t usually say stuff like this, but...whenever I’m with you, it’s like my brain gets all tangled up in butterflies and excitement. I really like spending time with you, too.”

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[sarawritestories]

Starfall with the General (Bonus Part)

Cassian X Fem Reader

Summary: 5 years later Starfall looks a little different for the members of the Night Court, especially for The General and his mate.

Part 1 Part 2

A/N: this was simply an idea that struck me in the shower so enjoy the final installment of Starfall with the General

Warnings: none, this is as fluffy as it can get. It's not proofread.

Word Count:1885

Standing in front of the mirror you smile at your reflection. The dress you wore still fits even years later. Mor comes into your room and smiles, “I haven't seen that dress in ages.” The hairpin and necklaces deigning your neck made her smirk. “He's going to swoon.” Mor kissed your cheek as little feet padded from the bathroom causing you both to look in that direction.

“Auntie!” Violet, your 4 year old jumped into Mor's awaited arms. Spinning her around causing the young Illyrian to giggle. You smile at the sight your daughter wore a red dress with tulle and sequins that complimented her little wings and matched Mor’s signature red look. “I look just like you.”

Mor’s eyes beamed, “You sure do Vi, I am going to see what Uncle Az is doing we’ll see you soon okay?” the young girl nodded and Mor tapped her cheek as Violet kissed her and set her down to exit the room.

Having Violet was a blessing for you and Cassian, Nesta who in the midst of saving Feyre when she was in Labor with Nyx had also adjusted your anatomy to accommodate wings. You had tightly embraced the eldest Archeron sister for her wonderful gift. Cassian followed it up by scooping us both in his arms. Only a few months after that did Madja provide you with the good news you were with child. The pregnancy went smoothly and Cassian was with you every step of the way.

Cassian was a fierce warrior, a wonderful friend, and the most attentive mate, however, all that pales in comparison to how exquisite he was at being a father. The first time she had cried in the middle of the night he forced you to lay back down, whispering in your ear, “Let me.” With that he sat on the chair skin-to skin with your babe, telling the story of how he had met you for the first time and how he fell in love with you. The sight brought tears to your eyes and you awoke the next morning to the two of them in the chair. An image you shared with Feyre and had her paint to give to Cassian as a solstice gift that year.

The first time Violet had a nightmare Cassian stormed into her room you in tow and saw her tear-stained eyes and Cassian’s heart shattered. He spent an hour fighting off imaginary monsters causing the little one to giggle and you saw his face light up at the sound. Then the 3 of you padded back to your and Cassian’s shared room where he held on to both of you tightly wings shielding the night breeze.

“Well doesn’t my niece look beautiful,” Rhys’ voice pulled you from your thoughts as Violet’s face lit up to see her favorite Uncle. Nyx in tow behind him. Rhys bent down arms ready as Violet ran to hug him. The high lord stood still holding your child his eyes met yours and he eyed the outfit his gaze lingering on the necklace he got you all those years ago. He took in the dress and smiled.

“Mommy, looks pretty doesn’t she Uncle Rhysie.” Rhys’ gaze turned to the small child in his arms his violet eyes meeting her Hazel ones and lightly flicked her nose another giggle erupting.

“She does, I think your Daddy is also going to agree.” Rhys set her down and she immediately ran to Nyx as the two began to play. Rhys held out his arm, you walked over and you looped yours through his and you all made you way to the ballroom.

You giggled as Nyx tried to mimic his father and loop his arms with Violet’s but before he could she would run off and he would chase after her. “In the forest that day you found me,” Rhys stiffened but remained quiet, “I thought I was destined to be miserable that I would never get the chance at happiness and peace.”

Rhys with his free hand gripped yours and gave it a comforting squeeze. You continued, “I wish I could go back and tell her how happy I am now. I have that peace and a loving family that my life has been nothing short of amazing.”

The four of you reach the doors of the ballroom, Rhys releases your arm and turns to you pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. “I am so happy you joined our family, Y/N, I love you.”

You return the embrace, “I love you too, now lets not keep the loves of our lives waiting shall we?” you pull away and swipe the stray tears from the High Lord’s eyes.

“Kids, you want to open the doors?” Rhys asks looking over to the two small children. Their eyes light up and Nyx picks up Violet so she can reach the handles and they open the door revealing the party in full swing.

Nyx sets Violet down and it doesn’t take her long to find the one person she is looking for in the crowd. She sprints into the ballroom, “Daddy!”

The sound of his name causes Cassian to stop his conversation with Feyre to find his daughter in the crowd. In the perfect moment bends down as she tackles into him almost pushing him off balance. The way he holds her makes your heart swell. He has his wings tucked comfortably his hair in a half up bun you always enjoy and in his signature black dress shirt and pants. He whispers in your daughters ear as he looks up no doubt looking for you. His eyes meet yours and his smile gives you butterflies.

You and Rhys walk towards your mates as Nyx already was at his mother’s hip. Feyre took sight of your dress and her eyes gleamed with mischief. Cassian still holding your daughter planted a kiss to your cheek. His breath grazed over the shell of your ear, “Well don’t you look beautiful, Sweetheart. I have very fond memories of this dress.”

You giggle as you do a twirl the black lace twirling with you, the red rubies in your hair and around your neck shining in the fae light. Cassian’s eyes gleamed as he watched you showcase the same dress and accessories you wore on the Starfall you found out you were mates.

“Mommy looks like a princess,” Violet nodded her head in approval.

Cassian looked at her, “I agree, but so do you,” the music changed to a slower song and Cassian put Violet down and held out his hand, “May I have the honor of a dance, Your Highness,” Violet smiled wide and nodded her head excitedly. Taking her father’s hand and running to the dance floor. Cassian gripped both of her hands in his and lifted her up so her feet were on his and the two began to sway.

Watching your mate dance with his little girl made you smile wide, tears glistening in your eyes. To watch them both laugh and his big smile, he must have noticed you staring because he looked up and gave you a wink that made your heart skip a beat. There was a tug on the bond urging you to come toward them. You walk to them and Violet squeals, “Mommy, dance with us!”

Cassian scoops Violet into his one arm and slips his free one around your waist pulling you closer. His scent of cedar and leather infiltrating your nose. You wrap one arm around his neck and one around Violet as the 3 of you sway to the musicians and you dance for the majority of the evening. The music shifts back to a slower song as he brings the two of you close once more, Cassian hummed in content, “My sweet Girls.” He whispered as Violet’s head laid on his shoulder as she yawned, ever the daddy’s girl. He kissed Violet’s forehead followed by yours, “How did I get so lucky?”

You smile, “I ask myself that everyday.” You lay your head on Cassian’s chest and you 3 remain like that until the music shifts into an upbeat tempo.

You pull away as everyone begins making their way to the balconies. Cassian leans closer to you, “Let’s go back to our room,” You nod in agreement and you sneak away and make your way back to the bedroom.

“Did you have fun, Princess?” Cassian asked Violet.

Violet yawned again and her eyes beginning to close, as she gave a soft, “Yeah,”

His hand was interlaced with yours as you reached your bedroom, “What about you, Sweetheart?”

You press a finger to your chin in mock thought, “I had fun but not really my favorite Starfall not yet anyway.” Cassian quirked a brow at the statement, as the three of you enter the room. As if on cue the house opens the balcony doors. You slip of your heels and wiggle your feet in the cushy carpet and you three walk outside right as the first star makes its way across the sky.

You lightly shake Violet, “Sweetie, Look up,”

Violet opens her eyes and when she sees the colors painting the sky they widened, “Wow,” she whispered.

You take a moment to look at Cassian as he looks up with Violet and your hands grip the balcony and your gaze moves to the sky above. “Out of curiosity,” You could feel Cassian’s gaze on you. “How would you feel about Violet having a sibling?” Your eyes meet his Hazel ones.

Cassian grins, “I would be happy if we could, but if we weren’t able to have a second child, I have everything I could have ever asked for right here.” Cassian kissed the side of your head, “Why do you ask?”

You give him a shy smile and drop the shield revealing your scent and his eyes go wide his wings ruffle in shock. “Really?” he whispered as Violet had fallen back asleep.

You nod and he cups your face with his free hand and kisses you tenderly. He sends wave after wave of love down the bond. He presses his forehead against yours, “Happy Starfall, Cassian. I love you.” You whisper closing your eyes at his warmth.

He lightly kisses your nose, “Happy Starfall, Y/N. I love you too.”

~few hours later~

Cassian sat in bed watching the rise and fall of his wife and daughters chest. The duo spooned together, drifting off into a soundless sleep. He took a moment to look at you the small smile that graced her features. He tucked a hair from your face and put it behind your ears. In his 500 years he never thought he would find a mate and when he found you, he thought that was the happiest he was ever going to get. Then Violet came in the picture. His gaze moved over to his daughter, she may have gotten all of Cassian’s physical features but her personality was all Mommy. Now there will be a new babe on the way and Cassian smiled as he laid down grabbing his girls and cocooning them in his wings. He whispered, “I love you three so much,” even to the babe in the womb and drifted into peaceful sleep.

[lagunapoint]

1,500 sad words about Lavellan's last day in Skyhold, filled with tears and pain, inspired by the beginning of the rainy season💔

At the end, as usual, there's audio if you love the atmosphere

Skyhold roared in the evening haze. Former soldiers of the Inquisition were packing their belongings, noisily bidding farewell and pouring ale for each other. In the tavern, voices never ceased. Everyone wanted to pay their respects to their comrades and to the Inquisitor, who had united them, inspired them, and kept order. This battle was over, and Lavellan had let them all go to live their happy lives, allowing them at least a few years to simply enjoy their work, their families, and their love, far from service, war, and death. She knew all too well about the healing power of love, as well as the hopelessness and selfishness of war.

Lavellan slowly ascended the main staircase and looked into the empty hall, where only shadows and ghosts of her allies remained. Once, the hall had been full of noise, guests laughing and gossiping, messengers darting back and forth, but now only workers were taking down the heavy curtain. The fabric fell to the floor with a terrifying crash, sending clouds of dust into the air. Lavellan smiled sadly. Her life collapsed in much the same way, created by the people around her and destroyed by their hands. But in this chaos, she had found her true self and... him.

She took a few unhurried steps, paused by the extinguished fireplace, and cast a quick glance to her left. Emptiness. Varric would have certainly said something ridiculously amusing, seeing her weakness and tired gaze. He would have immediately tried to stop her from entering the rotunda, and she could hear his warnings and advice to move on in her thoughts. Perhaps he could have been right, but Lavellan had delayed it for too long. She dispelled the images and entered the dark and empty rotunda.

The click of her heels echoed, rising up to the library, where only a few candles flickered like distant beacons, before dissolving among the empty cages of the ravens. The lights that had once illuminated the frescoes with a warm glow had gone out, and there was no one left to rekindle them. The door leading to the connecting bridge to the commander’s tower stood wide open, and an icy wind blew in from there. Out of habit, Lavellan wrapped her arms around herself, bracing against the biting cold, and a painful spasm gripped her consciousness when only one hand performed the motion and touched the still aching stump. Darkness engulfed her like a blanket as she closed her eyes, and hot tears rolled down her cheeks. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

“Don’t do it, my friend,” the low voice of the mage came from above, shaking the rising panic that gripped Lavellan. She swallowed the lump with a slight sob, but instead of it, chains of pain constricted her throat, forbidding her to speak and trying to choke her.

“Listen, if it helps, I’ve done some checking. The decision to disband the Inquisition has calmed many people here, in Orlais, even in Tevinter. Some had begun asking too many questions about you, but now... it’s all quiet.”

Silence. Stillness. The mage stepped back from the railing he had been leaning on.

“Why am I even saying all this?” he muttered to himself, turning his gaze aside. “This isn’t what you want to hear.”

“I have to do this,” the elf whispered, ignoring the familiar voice, and waved her hand. The entire rotunda ignited with light, illuminating the vibrant frescoes that depicted her path. Once, they told the story of her victories, her strength. Now, they reflected only emptiness. She looked around desperately, quickly, on the edge of panic and hope.

Her breathing quickened, and she felt reality crashing down on her, as her hopes shattered into tiny fragments, just like the mirrored surface of the eluvian in the distant room, unable to withstand the force of her magic. A few days ago, in a fit of rage, she had destroyed what could have once brought him back, leaving her not even a sliver of hope. Swiftly, precisely, and irreversibly just as the void of the rotunda now screamed in her face that everything was over. Lavellan froze and covered her eyes with her hand. Her shoulders shook with uncontrollable sobs, twisting her insides, turning her inside out, making the air around her vibrate, thinning the veil, and drawing in demons from the Fade, eager to feed on her suffering. Perfect. Perhaps the danger would bring him back? A distant rumble of thunder reached her ears, low, mournful, deep. It was the same sound the Breach had made before it was sealed, trembling with waves of magic, electricity, and death. Breathing was unbearably painful, as if with every breath, she inhaled shards of broken glass, cutting into her lungs and tearing her heart apart.

He wasn’t here. On the table, his unfinished work and letters remained. The ink in his inkwell hadn’t dried, and the quill lay on the parchment. She lowered her hand from her face and looked at the mess on his desk. Could she read what he had left unfinished? Did she even want to? With trembling fingers, she reached for the parchment, when suddenly, her hand was covered by another. Warm, gentle, and always soothingly tender. Lavellan glanced up, and the brief flash of hope that lit up her face quickly faded.

"Dorian," she stumbled over the name, accepting his kind gesture. A gesture meant to save her from even more pain. A gesture meant to protect her already shattered heart. Her thin, icy fingers found support in his hand, and she turned to him, pressing herself against his shoulder. Her body ignited. It ignited with the terrible pain of despair and acceptance.

"He's gone, Dorian. I…" she panicked and tried to pull away, but with a gentle motion, Dorian placed his other hand on her back, not denying her the refuge of their friendship.

"Yes, my friend. He acted like a true idiot. I don’t care about his godhood, he condemns everyone he touches to suffering." Dorian paused and cast a quick glance at the vibrant frescoes on the walls. "Ah, damn fool. I miss him too. Not like you do, of course, but he helped us. Helped us a lot. He was almost killed twice, and yet he still stayed with us until the end. I’ve almost gotten used to his choice of clothes."

Lavellan barely listened to what Dorian was saying. She remembered how Solas used to be jealous of him. How his gaze would flicker, and his brow would arch slightly when she mentioned that Dorian had shared new information and that this information could be trusted. It was so funny, so ridiculous, so beautifully romantic, given that Solas knew Dorian’s preferences, yet it never stopped him. And in a cruel twist of irony, it was Dorian who remained with her in the very end, leaving a crystal to be there for her when she needed it most, and now he sacrificed the silk fabric of his robe to offer comfort for her tears.

"Thank you for staying, even if only for a little while," Lavellan stepped back, no longer daring to make use of his care, and wiped away the remaining tears.

"Don’t mention it. I know, I’m an amazing friend, and you’ve never met anyone like me," Dorian’s feigned half-smile lit up his face for a brief moment before fading just as quickly. "Are you all right?"

"Me? No, I’m not all right. I came here to say goodbye. Tomorrow I’m leaving Skyhold. And I think… for good," Lavellan’s voice cracked, and Dorian looked into her eyes with concern. He saw nothing but emptiness, where once joyful sparks had danced in her green irises.

“In Minrathous, you’ll always be welcome, you know that? I’ll prepare an entire basket of sweet fruits for you and a room with a view of the sea. I miss the warmth and the ocean so much, I’m sick of this cold and endless mountains.”

“You’ll prepare it yourself?” Lavellan raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Well, you don’t know all my secrets yet,” Dorian quipped sarcastically. “And... if you ever need me, just say the word. This was the most important journey of my life. It changed me. You and the Inquisition changed me. I’ll always be there for you. I promise.”

“Stop, Dorian,” Lavellan felt her breath catch again, and she quickly wiped away the foolish tears from her cheeks. “Don’t say goodbye to me. I hate goodbyes now.”

“All right, lady Lavellan. In that case, goodnight,” Dorian gave a polite bow, with a feigned smile, though his eyes betrayed a growing worry and concern. It was hard to say whether it was the reluctance to leave his friend at such a moment or the weight of everything they'd been through together.

“Goodnight, Magister Pavus.”

“Ugh, how pompous that sounds!” Dorian began, leaving Lavellan behind, “I’ll never get used to that tone. Though… I suppose I already have.”

Lavellan followed him with her gaze, watching as he left the rotunda, and as the door closed behind him with a soft creak. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. If tomorrow she was to leave Skyhold for good, tonight she would spend here, in the rotunda, surrounded by the living reminders of him. Here, where she always found solace. Here, where she rushed on her darkest nights and her brightest days. Here, where her heart beat and her love lived.

[bl00dysavior]

featuring Roze (right) because, well, quite frankly I couldn't help myself.

picrew link

[daddy-issues-99]

Bane x GN!reader

You're very self conscious about your body and think that Bane wants and deserves so much better than you

600 words

SFW-Body image issues, crying, hurt/comfort, fluff

All you saw were imperfections: stretch marks, blemishes, scars, nothing beautiful to you in the slightest. You stood in front of the mirror staring at your figure. Nothing was perfect. Not for you. Not for him.

You wanted to cry. Most people felt at least decent about their bodies and here you were, standing in front of a mirror, sucking in your stomach, pulling at your skin, just staring at everything you hated.

You felt defeated. All you wanted to do was feel confident, feel beautiful. Not necessarily for you, but for him.

You could feel the tears about to fall from your eyes when the door opened and you quickly brushed them away. "What are you doing?" He asked, setting his stuff down next to the bed and turning to look at you standing next to the mirror.

You took a breath, trying to hold back your tears "Bane, am I ugly...?" You asked quietly, bringing your hands up to cover your face, unable to hold back your tears.

As you stood there crying you felt two large arms wrap around your waist pulling you into a tight hug. He rested his head on your shoulder looking into the mirror. The scene of you crying making his heart shatter.

"How could you even ask something like that?" He asked, his voice quiet and sorrowful. You let out a sob hearing the tone of his voice: heartbreak.

"I'm sorry" You said quietly. "Don't apologize." He said soft but sternly. "I just...I don't know what to do." He looked at you with a confused expression. "About what?"

"Look at you and look at me; you're so perfect and I'm just...me. Why do you love me?" You asked quietly, looking at yourself in the mirror before you. You looked up to see the reflection of his eyes: sorrow.

"Is that what you really think?" He asked, still holding you close against him. All you could do was nod. He turned you so you were facing him, slowly bringing his hand up to wipe away your tears. You didn't want to look at him, fearing if you did you'd only cry harder.

"Look at me. Please." He said, lifting your chin up to look at him. You slowly opened your eyes to meet his gaze. His eyes filling with tears. "You are everything I could ever want. You are my everything, my muse, my life. Never doubt that, my love. You're perfect" You let out a small sob, a mix of happiness and anguish.

He pulled you into a hug as you rested your head on his shoulder. "What did I ever do to make you think of yourself this way?" He askes, gently caressing your back. "You did nothing, you never have. I just...why me? You could have anyone on this earth. Why someone like me?" You asked, looking up into his eyes searching for a response.

He stood there silently for a moment before placing his hands on your hips. "Turn around." "What?" You asked, visibly confused. "Go on. Turn around."

You hesitantly turned around to face the mirror once more. "You want to know why you're perfect?" Before you could respond he gently wrapped his arms around your waist once more, placing his head on your shoulder. "My arms wrap perfectly around your beautiful figure. I get the privilege of resting my head on your shoulder. To be able to look in the mirror and see those mesmerizing eyes of yours. You're my perfect fit, in every possible way, my love."

A tear fell from your eye, not from sorrow but from happiness. He held you tighter as you placed your arms on his, taking in the moment. He loved you. Every imperfection, every flaw, everything you hated. All you could do was savor the moment, turning to give him a proper hug. "I would give the world to see you; every part of you."

"I love you so much." You said, holding him tightly. "I would trade the stars for you my love. Don't you ever forget that."

[bestworstcase]

Took a look at the image organizer you linked the other day, and MY OH MY is there so much to unpack there. While I think I understand most of it, there's still some stuff I'm unclear about. What are those quotations from? What's Jaune doing here (and I think I remember you mentioning him as the Oz stand-in for the Ever After)? What about those scattered extra panels in the Jaune column, like Bumbleby-Adam and the maple leaf? What're the entire bottom three rows doing, what is the truth, and who is the "she" who knows it? I really need to do a rewatch...

By all means, go as overboard as you want to (or not), I just love hearing what you have to say.

the quotations are all heraclitus (there’s a link to the fragments at the bottom – the Bn tag on each quote is the fragment number) – heraclitus being a pre-socratic philosopher who had a significant influence on plato, and rwby being a story that draws heavily from plato (see also: atlas/atlantis). the philosophical ideas articulated in v9 regarding balance and creation/destruction get at concepts like flux (everything rests by changing; equilibrium is a state of constant motion and transformation, like a top which stays upright only while it spins) and strife (not conflict, but the push-and-pull between opposite forces, like the tension on a string which creates music).

i get very exited about this because it is the basis for rwby’s destruction-is-not-bad thesis; true equilibrium cannot be found without destruction because creation must have its counterweight. conflict is antithetical to balance specifically because it is a rejection of strife—it’s, to continue the metaphors, creation smashing the top because it doesn’t like that destruction causes it to spin instead of standing perfectly upright, or destruction cutting the string to free itself from destruction.

the OP specifically is about my thesis that rwby’s narrative is fractal—reflected aspects of the ozlem story repeating over and over again as this shattered fairytale strives to get it right this time. jaune (like cinder, like ruby) is a mirror held up to salem—the girl in the tower refracted in the “lovable idiot stuck in the tree”—but he’s a funhouse mirror. he’s a salem without her faith in humanity; a salem who is fundamentally cynical (he cheats his way into beacon, he wanted to be the hero to prove himself worthy to his family, he is ultimately corrupted by his rejection of change—which twists him into a reflection of ozpin instead) and thus repeatedly puts himself in the tower. and the point of him with respect to the fractal narrative is that being Good and Kind did not save him from his cynicism, and that the essential difference between salem and ozma is that she truly believes in her cause (that the gods are unjust and humanity must live free) whereas his commitment is hollow and borne of fear.

(likewise cinder is a salem whose tower is her faith, because what cinder believes in is the innate cruelty and injustice of the world and her destiny to be crushed beneath it, and she is in want of something true to believe instead; and ruby is… more or less literally who salem was when she was young)

jaune is also specifically paralleled with cinder in this regard – his time in the ever after mirrors her exile after haven, and both reflect salem’s isolation after the moonfall; he gives into despair and stagnates (like oz), cinder angrily drags herself out of the pit and keeps clawing her way forward (like salem).

(yang and blake killing adam are just there because i didn’t have a better place to note the echoed framing when cinder kills rhodes – different camera angle, but there is a striking visual comparison drawn here. the narrative does not smile on rhodes)

and then the last three rows are my unhinged mumbling about salem having met the blacksmith before in picture form. Ma’am Why Is Your Illustration Of The Human Soul A Blacksmith. What Do You Know.

like the thing is. heraclitus again: fire is arche. it is the beginning. the transformations of fire, first into sea, and of the sea half becomes earth, half whirlwind. from the outside, the tree is earth and air (the holes in the ground, the leaves on the wind) – on the inside, it’s an ethereal cosmic ‘river’ of souls flowing to their next life; and in the center, it is a forge. and this rhymes also with ‘for it is death to souls to become water, and death to water to become earth, but water comes from earth, and from water, souls’ – like

???

before she’s drowned in the fountain, salem is engulfed in dark’s flame – the flame he once used to restore jabber to life. and then she drowns and returns, with aura, now immortal. salem leaps into the pool of grimm seeking change and is transformed – the faunus in the myth she quotes immerse themselves in magical waters and are transformed. and then we have this recurring motif of a character (or symbol thereof) engulfed by flame, trees, katabasis, drownings, spiritual or physical rebirth. and salem waving the blacksmith under our noses since 2014. maple leaf carved into the frame of her family portrait – maple leafs shed by the tree – the maple leaf guiding jaune to pyrrha’s statue. it’s very

it sure is pointing in a direction!

[galaxysupreme17]

Specter in the Night (part 2 of 2)

Y/n = Your Name

AgathaRio x daughter!reader!

The night was eerily still, the usual hum of Westview's nocturnal life unnaturally muted. In their cozy home, Y/n sat at the kitchen table, flipping through one of Agatha's spellbooks under the soft glow of the overhead light. The day's warmth at the market felt like a distant memory, replaced by an unsettling chill that had settled over them since Magnus's sudden reappearance.

Rio entered the kitchen, her sharp features softened by concern as she poured herself a cup of tea. "You okay, cariño?"

Y/n nodded slowly but didn't look up from the book. "Just... trying to understand why he was so interested in me. And what he meant by 'what I'm capable of.'" She glanced at Rio, her dark eyes clouded with questions. "Do you think he's going to come back?"

Rio placed her mug on the table and sat beside Y/n. "I don't think. I know." Her voice was steady, her resolve unshakable. "But if he does, we'll be ready."

A loud crash shattered the moment. Both women shot to their feet, the sound reverberating through the house.

"Agatha?" Rio called out, her voice tight with urgency.

Y/n followed as Rio bolted toward the source of the noise: the study. The door was ajar, and the usual organized chaos had been replaced with a strange, suffocating silence. Books were scattered across the floor, papers fluttering as if caught in an invisible wind.

In the center of the room stood an ornate, full-length mirror that hadn't been there before. Its frame gleamed with dark, twisted metal, and runes etched along its edges glowed faintly.

"Mama?" Y/n called out, stepping closer to the mirror.

Her reflection stared back at her, but something was off. The surface of the glass shimmered, rippling like water. And then Y/n saw her. Agatha's face appeared in the mirror, her hands pressed against the other side of the glass, her mouth moving soundlessly as she pounded against the barrier.

"Agatha!" Rio shouted, rushing forward, but she stopped short as a forcefield crackled to life around the mirror, sparking with dark magic.

Y/n's breath hitched as Agatha's panicked eyes locked onto hers. "She's trapped," Y/n whispered, her voice trembling.

Rio's fists clenched, her jaw tight. "It's him. Magnus."

As if summoned by his name, the shadows in the room deepened, pooling together until they formed the specter himself. Magnus stepped forward, his figure half-solid, half-ethereal, his dark eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

"Rio, Y/n," he drawled, his voice smooth and mocking. "I see you've found my little gift."

"Let her go," Rio demanded, her voice low and dangerous.

Magnus tilted his head, a mocking smile on his lips. "Oh, but why would I do that? Agatha and I have unfinished business. I thought I'd take her somewhere... reflective. Let her think about her choices."

Y/n's heart pounded as she stepped before Rio, her voice sharp. "What do you want?"

Magnus's eyes narrowed as he regarded her. "You, little one, are full of potential. So much untapped magic. It's almost a shame to leave it unclaimed." His gaze flicked to Rio. "But your mother would rather keep you hidden, untrained, unprepared. How selfish."

"Enough," Rio growled, stepping in front of Y/n. "You want to settle something. You settle it with me."

Magnus smirked. "Oh, I intend to. But first..." He gestured toward the mirror, and Agatha's image flickered, her form fading in and out. "Let's see how far you will go for her."

Without thinking, Y/n raised her hands, magic crackling at her fingertips. "Let. Her. Go!" She hurled a bolt of energy at Magnus, but it passed through him harmlessly, dissipating in the air.

He laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally. "Fiery, indeed. But reckless."

Before he could retaliate, Rio lunged, grabbing a nearby artifact—a dagger imbued with protective magic—and swiped it through Magnus's form. The specter recoiled, momentarily destabilized, but his dark energy coalesced again almost instantly.

"Y/n, the mirror!" Rio shouted.

Y/n turned her focus to the enchanted mirror, her mind racing. She could feel the dark magic pulsing from it, like a heartbeat. If she could disrupt the spell...

She approached cautiously, her hands hovering over the frame, the runes glowing brighter as she drew near. But as soon as her fingers brushed the surface, a surge of energy knocked her backward.

"Y/n!" Agatha's faint but audible voice rang out, her reflection clearer now. "Don't touch it—it's booby-trapped!"

Y/n scrambled to her feet, determination burning in her chest. "Then how do I break it?"

Agatha's reflection looked to Rio. "The artifact—the one on the mantle. Use it to dispel the runes!"

Rio didn't hesitate. She dashed to the fireplace, grabbing a small, glowing orb. She returned to Y/n's side, holding the orb aloft.

"Cover me," Rio said firmly.

Y/n nodded, stepping between Rio and Magnus, who was already reforming. She threw up a shield, her magic crackling as she blocked his attempts to reach them.

"Impressive," Magnus said, his voice laced with disdain. "But you're out of your depth, child."

Y/n gritted her teeth, holding her ground as Rio chanted a spell rapidly. The orb glowed brighter, and the runes around the mirror began to dim.

Magnus snarled, his form shifting as he lunged toward Y/n. She ducked just in time, narrowly avoiding his attack, but her shield faltered.

"Hold on, Y/n!" Rio shouted, her voice strained as she poured energy into the orb.

Just as Magnus prepared to strike again, a burst of light erupted from the mirror. Agatha's reflection shattered into fragments, and in an instant, she was there—whole, alive, and furious.

"Enough!" Agatha's voice boomed as she raised her hands, casting a protective barrier around Y/n and Rio. The magic surged outward, forcing Magnus to retreat with a guttural growl.

"You'll regret this," he hissed before vanishing into the shadows.

The room fell silent, the tension finally breaking as Agatha collapsed into Rio's arms.

Y/n rushed to their side, her eyes wide with relief. "Mom... are you okay?"

Agatha nodded weakly, brushing a strand of hair from Y/n's face. "Thanks to you two."

Rio held Agatha tightly, her voice steady but filled with emotion. "We're not letting him take you. Ever."

Agatha smiled faintly, her strength returning. "And I'm not letting him take us. Not now, not ever."

That night, the three of them curled together in the living room, too shaken to retreat to their separate spaces. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting warm light over their huddled forms.

Y/n lay with her head on Agatha's lap, her mother's fingers gently combing through her curls. Rio sat beside them, her arm draped protectively around Agatha's shoulders.

"You were brave today," Agatha said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "Both of you."

Rio smirked, leaning her head against Agatha's. "We're a package deal. You knew that."

Y/n turned her head slightly to look up at them. "Do you think he'll come back?"

Agatha's hand stilled for a moment before she resumed stroking Y/n's hair. "If he does, we'll be ready. We've faced worse and come out stronger. Together."

Rio reached over, squeezing Y/n's hand. "And if he so much as thinks about trying to hurt you again, he'll have to answer to us."

A soft smile tugged at Y/n's lips. "I love you guys."

Agatha leaned down, pressing a kiss to Y/n's forehead. "We love you more."

They stayed like that for hours, sharing memories and quiet reassurances, drawing strength from the unbreakable bond they had built. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they knew they would face them as a family—united, unwavering, and unafraid.

[recklessramos]

Blissful

Will Ramos x plus size fem reader

18+!!

So the other day I had a thought about Will that just wouldn’t shift from my mind so I decided to take it to my blessed notes app, which made the thought turn into a writing idea. Suddenly I have almost 10,000 words and if I don’t post this I think I’ll go crazy. I’ve put my whole pussy into this (lmao) and it’s ma cursed baby however this is the first smut I’ve written since 2021 so be kind:))))

Warnings-

9,692 words of absolutely feral smut I am disgraceful!!, mentions of negative body image and reader being on a healing journey, sickening fluff, mentions usage of weed, PIV sex, unprotected sex (all together now ‘wrap it before you tap it!’) oral (male and female rec), Will is PACKING, soft dom(?) Will, use of ‘slut’, lots of dirty talk, flirting, hair pulling, cum play, clit spanking, light choking, spanking, spit, edging (fem rec), overstimulation, pet names, use of ‘y/n’ I think that’s everything but let me know if I’ve forgot anything!

This is completely self fulfilling lmao😭😭 Also the whole writing process of this felt so blissful(ly frustrating😭😭) so ofc I had to call it blissful. Also because it’s Will duh.

Even though this was written with a curvy reader in mind, this is for everyone!!! We all deserve love and appreciation (and earth shattering pleasure)!!!!

Also please excuse the low quality collage I made, I tried my best💀 Anyway I’m going straight to hell and I’m going there happy and horny🤍

GIF credits: julien-mayfair and all the pics in the collage are from Pinterest so dm me for removal!

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You’d been struggling with your body image recently and even though you persevered with your affirmations, vigorous self-care and weekly therapy the thoughts still clouded your mind throughout the day. Will was aware of the fact you were on a healing journey and you couldn’t ask for more from him.

He was there with you on the easier days when you flaunt all your curves and see no issue on having your stretch marks peeking through your crop tops, or how your back rolls are hugged by your shirt. He loved seeing how your outfit hugged your curves, how you smile at yourself while repeating your affirmations in the mirror. He would even repeat them back to you, ‘you are so worthy, so loveable and so fucking beautiful’ he’ll say to you as his hands sneak from your waist to cup your stomach with soft fingers and his adoring grin that never failed to make your stomach flutter.

On the days like today when the thought of standing in front of a mirror causes your stomach to spin with anxiety, eyes brimming with tears, he’d wrap his arms around you so you could hide your face in his chest as he spoke your affirmations to you. It may take five or ten minutes of staying with your back to the mirror and your face in his chest before you can turn to face your reflection but when you do the bright, warm smile Will showcases is enough to make your chest swell in love and appreciation.

He whispers gentle words of unconditional love in your ear as your eyes scan over your body, you breathe through the discomfort and focus on staying calm and centred. At first the affirmations you repeat feel ridiculous, but after five minutes your shoulders have released their tension and you're beginning to ease into your body.

There’s gentle music playing in the background of your conversation with Will, which only consists of sweet words and soft laughter as he tickles over the sides of your torso. You move from standing in front of the mirror to sitting on the floor, crossed legged with Will behind you. His legs are out on either side of you giving you easy access to lean back into his body, his clothed chest pressing into your back. You can sit comfortably like this for hours, just you and him and the reflection of you you're learning to become acquaintances with. Luckily for you this was both your day off from work, so it can be spent with just you two in your home, smoking weed, cooking your favourite meals while singing along to some of your favourite songs together.

With a full belly and a blissfully cloudy mind from the joint you shared after the time spent in front of your mirror, you end up on the couch cuddled under a blanket watching one of Will’s favourite movies. Your bodies are intertwined, your mind at ease from any negativity. When you’re together like this, nothing else matters.

After a couple hours you start to fidget through boredom, tapping your foot to the sound of nothing and letting out exaggerated sighs every now and again. It’s not that the movie that Will chose for you to watch was boring, it was just that you couldn’t stop thinking about all the other things you could be doing together. You saw yourself on your knees, arms pulled back and pinned to your back by Will, face pushed into the sofa while Will rammed into you at a torturously slow and hard pace. You picture how your ass will slap into the ending dip of his v lines, how deep the tip of his cock will land in your throbbing pussy.

‘What- why can’t you keep still?’ you freeze in reaction to Will’s question, not even realising you’d been shifting your hips around in an unknowing effort for some relief from the ache on your clit. ‘Uh- I’m not even moving!’ you try to argue back but he drops his eyebrows, slightly squinting his eyes suspiciously. ‘I’m just trying to get comfy.’ You try in hopes that he doesn’t figure out that the movie he’d chose just wasn’t keeping you distracted from the lustful thoughts that burned into your mind, but to no avail as a smirk pulled at his lips. Will could read you like an open book, there was no hiding when you were sad or feeling insecure or so horny you were about to start grinding the couch cushions.

‘Hmm is that true?’ his tone dropped, he knew you were lying and that you were really aching for him to touch you, but it’s Will- of course he’s not going to give you what you want right away. You only replied by slightly nodding, you could either give in and tell him what you want, or you could be the stubborn brat you often chose to be in these situations just to find out what could happen on the other end of things; the grass is greener on the other side after all.

Right?

‘Yeah, we might have to think about getting some new cushions for the couch. These ones are awfully uncomfortable.’ you mutter back, jutting your hips around at the end of your sentence just to back up your case. Also so you can try and ease the throbbing that was making your stomach ache and pussy clench around nothing. You needed to be filled up by his cock right now.

For a long moment you both stare at each other, waiting for the other to say something. The air was becoming heavy, your body was curving into him as a reaction to the thought of having his cock in you. He noticed this change in your body, chuckling slightly and shaking his head.

‘We could always go to bed if it’s that much of an issue that you can’t focus on the movie.’ He nodded his head towards the stairs, you manage to hide the raise in your eyebrows as the idea makes you press your thighs together.

‘It’s only eight.’ You glance down at his lips as you continue your exploration on how far you can take it till you give in. Will could never give in, he’d happily tease you for the rest of the night if you choose to go along with it, he had before and he’d do it again, so it all came down to how long you could hold out for.

‘I can think of a few things that’ll keep us busy for the next couple hours.’ His fingers trace your jawline ever so slightly, your lips parted and he took the opportunity to slip the tip of his thumb between them. By automatic reaction, you sucked it gently as your tongue skimmed against the pad of his thumb and as quick as it was there, it was gone with a pop of your lips. Any chance of you holding out was thrown right out the window when his lips part in a shit eating grin and you take in a hurried breath as you act on pure impulse and slam your lips against his, catching him off guard for a mere second before he gains composure again. His lips move against yours, matching your rhythm and your tongues are quickly passing over one another.

He grabs your hips and pulls you onto his lap so you’re straddling him, your lips never disconnecting. You don’t waste a moment as you begin to grind against his crotch furiously, letting your soft whimpers get lost in the kiss that had your chest burning and your panties soaked.

With one of your hands on the side of his head and the other threaded into his curls, your chests pushed together so he could feel your hardening nipples through the thin layers that separate you from him, you thought you couldn’t be closer to him. You were proven wrong when he grips your body closer to his, easily flipping you over so you were laid on the couch with him above you. The kiss broke for a moment so you could both take a breath, and you took the opportunity to wrap your legs around his hips, his crotch meeting your centre as his lips meet yours again.

Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling at it desperate to lose the fabric from his body. He noticed immediately and leant back onto his knees, pulling his shirt from his tatted body. He tries to lean back down but you place a hand on his chest to stop him, his eyebrows twitch in confusion. You take your time as you scan your eyes from his neck, down his chest and toned torso, his deep v lines (oh my god don’t get me started on the v lines) to where his waistband sits lowly. You try to squeeze your legs shut because of how his Godly body makes your pussy ache desperately for attention, only pulling him closer to you in the process and finding no relief. When you meet his eyes again, they’re darkened, so much so that his dilated pupils blend with his usually brown eyes and that same shit eating grin is plastered on his face.

Although Will could be shy at times that didn’t change the fact he was aware of how hot he was, how the sharpness of his jaw line, the movement of his Adams apple when he swallows, the toned exterior of his abs all make you weak in the knees and immediately desperate to feel every inch of him deep in your guts.

One of his hands move from your hips to cup your jaw, your gaze faltering under your eyelashes. Your breaths both pick up when your soft, pleading gaze meets his dark, lustful one. His thumb softly pets over your bottom lip, you wait impatiently for it to pass into your warm mouth. When he doesn’t give you what he knows you want, you wrap your lips of the pad of it and begin to suck down onto his thumb wishing it was his cock. Your eyes plead and he knows exactly what for.

His mouth is agape and his hair is slightly dishevelled from your tugs at it, all you can think about is the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat, his hands in your hair as he fucks your mouth mercilessly. ‘Just like that angel, suck it like you would my cock.’ you let out a whimper from his dirty words, words that make you lift your hips up to him in hopes he’ll listen and give you what you want. When instead he chuckles, you begin to whimper again but he cuts you off.

‘As pretty as those noises are, they aren’t gonna get you what you want.’ your eyes look up at him with pleading and desperation, your hips trying to shift closer to his. Just as you graze his crotch with your clothed centre, he pulls his thumb from your mouth and pushes your hips down to meet the couch. ‘Look at how desperate you are, I bet your panties are soaked aren’t they?’

‘Will-’ you begin but are cut off by your own gasp as he places the ball of his palm over your clit, pushing with barely any pressure but it’s enough to earn an ‘oh my’ from you. ‘I bet you could cum in seconds just like this, when I'm barely even touching you.’ he mumbles lowly, eyes locked between your legs as you begin to grind your hips into his touch.

Soft moans tumble from your lips, your head rocks back making your chest pop up slightly, welcoming Will in when he twists your nipples between his fingers over your shirt.

‘How about we see if you really are that desperate? Hmm?’ his tone is slightly cruel and completely unhinged, but you’re so focused on how you’re finally getting some relief after what feels like hours of yearning that you don’t even acknowledge his words.

His hand begins to grind against you in circles and your hips match his rhythm in all directions against his palm. Up, down, side to side, in circles and random jolts. You don’t care how desperate it is, the fact Will is letting you get off this soon is enough of a shock for you to grab it before it may be taken from you. You flick your eyes open to see Will readjusting his crotch just as your orgasm begins to threaten to take over. ‘Fuck, you don’t know what you’re doing to me, baby.’ His nearly breathless words are enough to knock you over the edge, but just as your eyes become cloudy and your clit is throbbing so hard it feels like your pussy is going to explode his touch is lost and you literally cry out in frustration.

‘Fuck Will! Why’d you-’

‘Shhhh, don’t worry angel imma give you what you want you’ve just gotta wait a minute, okay?’ his tone is soothing and genuine, but you’re raging from the lost orgasm and your pussy is throbbing harder than ever.

‘No Will it’s never just a minute, it’s hours and I'm fucking desperate. Please I need to cum so bad.’ you’re begging for anything and Will feels the tension in your body, so he leans down to kiss you in an effort to calm you down. At first, you’re stiff and pulsing with anger, but you can’t stay too angry at him when his lips are so soft against your mouth, and his warm tongue gets you thinking about its wetness soaking your clit in languid strokes. Your body softness and you ease into the kiss before pulling back to speak.

‘Please, Will, I need it so bad.’ you beg again, hoping your soft tone and puppy eyes will get you what you want.

‘I know and I'm gonna give you what you want, just not yet okay? When have I ever left you hanging?’ at first you pout at his words, but you know he’s right. Even on nights where he’s edged you for what feels like hours, he always gives you back every orgasm he denies and sometimes more if you ask him to.

He begins to kiss down your neck, his hands tracing the hem of your shirt. His lips are soft and gentle, his tongue kitten licking over the warm skin he litters with soft pecks. His hands find their way under your shirt passing over your tummy and to the curve of your breast.

‘Can I take this off?’ he questions while tugging the fabric of your shirt, you nod in response and lean up to help him and the cool air hits your chest immediately making your nipples become harder than they already were. You return to your prior positions, his kisses finding their way down your collar bones to your chest. His eyes are closed as he savours the feeling of your soft flesh against his lips which have begun to follow over the top of your breasts.

He begins to suck on your breast and create light hickies on the skin, you feel his hand move from your hip up to your other breast and his fingers begin to twist and pull your nipple. He begins gently tugging on the tight bud causing you to gasp from the sensation. Your nipples are sensitive from the cold air and his tugs become sharper, creating goosebumps over your skin. One of your hands thread into his hair to keep it from falling into his face and the other rests on his shoulder, tracing small circles over his tattoos.

Suddenly his mouth is on your nipple, sucking and flicking his warm tongue over the cold, tight bud and your back curves, making him suck harder. Your other nipple is beginning to burn blissfully from the tugs and pinches that never end, your thighs squeeze around his waist. He hums on your nipple, releasing it with a pop but not giving you a moment to breath when he moves over to your other nipple. His fingers are now tugging at the wet, puffy nipple that’s covered in his spit, he mimics the same pinching, tugging and swiping that once accompanied the nipple that his soft tongue is working on to ease its soreness.

His name falls angelically from your lips, you begin to think you could cum just from this. Almost as if he knew your thoughts, all of his touch retreats and you whimper as the cold air hits your bare skin. His lips continue down your stomach, kissing over your stretch marks with so much love and care. He stops when he reaches your waistband, and you cut him off as he begins to speak.

‘Yes Will,’ he smirks at your impatience, knowing just how desperate you are for his mouth to devour the pool that's been created between your legs. You lift your hips as his warm hands pull off your shorts, leaving your panties on.

You feel like crying through relief when instead of teasing you anymore, he finds his place lying on his front with his head between your legs and arms wrapped around your thighs.

He kisses up the inside of your thighs, getting further away from where you need him most. One of your hands rests on the back of his head, your other squeezes one of your breasts. Will doesn’t notice this until you tug on your nipple, causing you to gasp and his eyes shoot open.

‘There you go baby; you keep making yourself feel good, okay?’ his dark eyes burn into you, making your cheeks flush but you nod in response and continue to play with your swollen bud. ‘Fuck you’re so hot, y/n.’ now it’s his turn to blush just from the sight of your eyes rolling to the back of your head from an especially hard tug on your puffy nipple.

His fingers hook under your panties to pull them to the side and the anticipation is killing you as, finally, he licks a small stripe along each of your folds- still avoiding your swollen clit that is burning for attention.

As you open your mouth to begin to beg for him to give you what you want, a heavy heave leaves your chest as he sucks your clit into his mouth. Your back curves, head digging into the couch. Both of your hands hold his head in place as his mouth begins to work on the swollen, pulsing bud in small, soft sucks and kitten licks barely on the tip of it. Moans escape your mouth endlessly, his eyes open to see yours already on him.

Will is very aware of the fact that eye contact while he eats you out drives you insane, and he uses this to his own advantage. Just a slight darkening to his eyes can push you right over the edge and with how dark his eyes already are you don’t see how they could get darker. You close your eyes, not wanting the feeling to end just yet.

He begins to move his head to meet the movement from his tongue that have become longer and harder, this sends a spark down your legs making them jolt shut on his head. He pry's your legs open and releases your clit from his mouth so he can speak with his face still stuffed between your legs.

‘Wanna hear your beautiful moans, angel.’ his words are muffled but you try your best to keep your legs open as he begins to flatten his tongue against your clit, adding a new sensation into the mix.

You moan his name over and over again with a mix of curses and ‘oh mys’, his arms now having to hold your legs open because you couldn’t stop your body as your legs begin to kick out and attempt to close on his head.

His tongue slips down between your folds to meet your pussy with a soft stroke before slipping it into your hole, collecting your sopping wetness onto his tongue and carrying it up onto your clit.

‘Fuck baby, you’re so wet for me.’ his mouth doesn’t leave your skin, so his words vibrate against your clit, you gasp out at the feeling and your orgasm begins to build in your stomach.

‘Fuck, Will I’m so close. Please don’t stop’ your words get lost through the never-ending chant of his name and the gasps you can’t hold back when he slips his tongue into your pussy again and begins to fuck you with his tongue.

His thumb finds its place on your clit in small, tight circles as his tongue begins to fuck you faster, curving up and swirling around in your dripping pussy. His eyes open to meet yours, looking up at you with complete focus on making you feel as good as you possibly can and he flashes you a slightly playful, completely smug wink. The coil in your stomach broke and with a scream of his name you come all over his tongue, mouth and chin, your legs shaking and thrashing as your nails dig into his hair. Your head is thrown so far back it aches your neck, your eyes screwed shut as flashes of white and an array of colours fill your mind. Your moans are strained and sound almost pained, the way his tongue slips in and out of you makes you come so hard it feels like you’ll never come back down.

But alas, your vision unblurs and your legs flop onto the couch, your hands unclutching his hair. His thumb moves from your clit and his hand slips up to stroke over your tummy lovingly. His tongue finally slips out of your pussy after pulling you down from your orgasm and it begins to ever so slightly lick your clit.

Your chest heaves up and down when he finally pulls his mouth from your pussy, kissing up your body until you’re face to face while his hands work to pull your underwear down your legs. You finally open your eyes to meet his heavy gaze, his beautiful (and rather fucking magical) lips are pulled up in a smile that makes your stomach flip again.

‘I love you so much.’ you manage to force your words out between your heavy breaths, your lips connect for a small kiss. ‘I was beginning to think you may hate me after the look you gave me when I didn’t let you come.’ he laughs slightly as you begin to kiss down his neck, you feel his chest rise sharply when you suck on his pulse point. ‘I could never hate you.’ your words mumble against his neck.

‘I know. I’m not done making it up to you yet, though.’ his words are daring, if you were smart you’d take the opportunity to get out while you still can. You’re too fucked to consider that though, especially when Will begins to palm himself through his jeans that he must’ve unbuttoned without you realising. He grins down at you from his knees when your eyebrows raise at the change in tone.

‘On your knees.’ his sharp words go straight to your core and you know you’re making a mess of the couch; you immediately find your place on the floor where his head nodded toward. The hardwood is cold against your skin, making you hiss through your teeth. Will notices this and directs you up so he can place a pillow below your knees. You appreciate his kindness, especially knowing what’s coming next.

‘Listen closely babe,’ you nod attentively and he continues ��tap my leg twice and I’ll slow down, three times for me to stop completely. Okay?’ his hand cups your face, softly stroking your cheek.

‘Twice to slow down and three times to stop.’ you nod along with your words; he smiles down at you while tucking your hair behind your ears. ‘I’m ready.’ you eagerly flutter your eyes at him, the anticipation eating away at you.

‘You’re such a good girl, you want me to fuck your mouth that much?’ his tone is slightly teasing, but you’re not embarrassed. You love having his cock in your mouth, you love it even more when he cums on your tongue and directs you to stick it out so he can see the mess he made before you swallow every drop down. Maybe if you’re good enough he’ll give you exactly what he knows you want.

You nod in response to his question, your hands pulling at his jeans. He pushes them away while talking ‘Keep them behind your back, only patient girls get what they want.’ you huff in response which makes him shake his head and smirk to himself. ‘You never have been very patient, have you? Maybe I should teach you a lesson, make you wait all night just to have my cock in your mouth. Maybe make you wait all week to have it stuffed in your pussy. Make you so cock starved that you never get greedy again, you just appreciate anything that I give you.’ The idea terrifies you, literally. The thought of having none of him for one night, let alone a week makes you want to cry. It also ignites a fire in you that you didn’t know existed.

‘Or maybe I’ll be nice, give you what you want.’ he pulls his jeans and boxers down, letting his cock fling up and nearly hit his stomach while he kicks his clothes to the side. Your mouth immediately begins to water from the sight of it, your thighs squeezing together as tight as possible. His cock is long and thick and heavy, so thick that the sight of it already makes your jaw ache. It used to scare you, how big it is, but now you love the fact that you’re left with a sore jaw for days after he’s fucked your mouth; a constant reminder of the feeling of his length slipping down your throat.

‘Please Will.’ your eyelashes flutter as you plead, desperate to have his beautifully shaped cock slip into your mouth and down your throat. You want to feel the veins that line his length slip against your tongue with every thrust he delivers deep in your mouth. ‘Such a good girl begging for my cock in your mouth.’ his words send a rush to your core as his hand cups your jaw, tapping your bottom lip and you quickly open your mouth.

Your jaw loosens as the swollen, leaking tip of his cock slips between your lips. You both hum in satisfaction, his salty precum lathers your tongue deliciously. Slowly, torturously so, he begins to slowly fill your mouth. The heaviness of his cock weighs down on your tongue, your lips stretching to fit around the thickness of it. Your hands are balled in fists behind your back, your thighs squeezed together as your knees dig into the pillow below them.

‘Good girl,’ he speaks in a low raspy tone as a deep grunt escapes his mouth. His hips shift and tense, sharpening his gorgeous v lines even more. You’re completely mesmerised, even through blurry and teary eyes as you feel the tip of him hit the back of your throat. ‘Now I need you to open up for me, angel.’ he taps your throat and your blink a tear away as your throat opens for him, giving him complete access to do as he pleases to you.

His chest is tight as he pulls out of your mouth till just the tip is left between your lips before slowly pushing back in, only this time he slips down into your throat. His hands hold onto the back of your head to steady himself as he begins to gently fuck your mouth. You're grateful that he eases you into it, but so eager for more. His strokes are so slow and soft, your stomach flips with butterflies.

After a few strokes in your warm mouth his breathing is heavy and his hands clutch onto your head.

‘God, you look so good with my cock in your mouth.’ you hum as your cheeks blush from his sweet words about such a dirty thing. ‘Blushing with my cock in your mouth? You really are an angel, aren’t you?’ he chuckles at the irony and the obscenity of his words causes your cheeks to flush harder, you manage to stop the laugh that was about to escape his chest again and it's replaced with an animalistic moan when you take initiative and push his cock further down your throat. It tickles deep in your throat, your eyes burn and you gag painfully, but it’s enough to make him begin his sharp thrusts down your throat.

You try your best to keep your hands behind your back, but you end up with them gripped onto your thighs to keep yourself stable as his thrusts become faster. His cock is heavy and warm down your throat; the stretch burns and aches, but blissfully so.

Your name falls from his lips through a mix of grunts, curses, moans and gasps as your tongue pushes up against his shaft and your cheeks hollow. You finally take a breath when he pulls out of your mouth completely, both of your chest rising rapidly.

‘Come on baby, gonna fill you up now. You've earnt it.’ he grips your hands and pulls you to your feet, pressing a kiss on your forehead before guiding you over to the couch. He directs you to sit on your knees facing the arm of the couch before finding his way behind you.

‘You did so well for me, angel.’ his hands begin to stroke over your back, round to cup your breasts and gently upward to ease over your neck. ‘You took me so well.’ His praises earn a soft whimper from you, his hands now pinching your nipples again in the same torturous way as earlier. You clutch the arm rest in front of you, making your back curve and your ass pop out. You gasp as you feel his hard shaft slide against the inside of your thighs, head tilting back as the thought of having him stretching you out sends a hotness across your body.

His hands move back around to stroke up and down the length of your back lovingly, even massaging your shoulders for a moment or two. You feel his hand meet the centre of your back applying enough pressure to guide you down, so you are now leaning with your fore arms holding you up and your ass is perched up- giving Will a delicious view.

‘Fuck you’re so gorgeous.’ his words are accentuated as his fingertips graze up your curved back gently, passing over all your dips and curves. Rose tinted stretch marks litter your skin and as his slightly coarse fingertips pass over them you let out a deep breath that you’d held in, curving your back and sticking your ass out even more in the process. This slight action earns you a satisfied groan from Will and you feel his length slip between your folds teasingly, as you try to push onto the feeling his length is gone and you feel it tap against the inside of your thigh.

As his fingertips continue their passing over your flesh, back and forth over the middle of your back, dipping down onto your hips where your curves accentuate, he hums to himself while his fingers spread over the soft flesh and squeeze slightly. Your head rocks down, a warm breath slipping past your lips, the soft squeeze on your flesh is filled with so much love and affection. You can feel the passion pass from his fingertips into your body- sending another warm, wet rush to your core.

Every touch from Will causes a shudder in your stomach that sends your head nearly spinning, your pussy dripping with a mix of your wetness and his saliva. Just his fingers gently digging into your hip is making you desperate for more of him.

All of him.

‘Please, Will.’ slips past your lips in a near whisper, a light shudder spreads over your body as your core clenches on nothing again. You feel the loss of one of his hands, only for it to return to your flesh in a sharp, quick spank on your cheek. You gasp slightly, letting out a breathy moan as his hand grips the now reddened flesh, soothing the skin with his gentle caress.

‘You like that, Angel?’

His voice is quieter than usual as if he was lost in the sight of you, lust spewing from his raspy tone. You hum in response but gasp again when his hand returns in a harsher spank to the same spot that only just began to cool after the last hit. ‘You know you need to use your words, angel. Try again.’

‘Yes Will, I like it.’ Your chest is heavy, you feel your wetness slick against your inner thighs, especially after the last spank.

‘Hmm, good girl.’ He mumbles, almost to himself as he works his thumb over the sore flesh of your cheek, admiring his work.

Finally, you feel his tip slip through your folds, collecting your wetness onto his shaft and swirling his hot tip around your clit. You hold your breath tight in your chest as his tip finds your aching pussy gently, teasing your entrance cruelly.

Just when you thought he’d fill you up, another spank arrives harshly against your flesh. This time you can’t hold back the deep, guttural moan that escapes you.

You gasp out in a mix of shock and pleasure when his tip pushes into you and he eagerly fills you up, giving you no time to prepare for the stretch. It burns you deep, aching when his tip finds the deepest spot in you. ‘God, Will. Fuck, it’s so tight.’ You cry out as your eyes fill with tears from the pressure of the stretch.

‘So fucking perfect.’ you mumble, mostly to yourself as he adjusts his position so you feel his thighs against your own. ‘Jesus christ,’ he grunts breathlessly as you try to squeeze around him but fail from how much he’s already stretching you out.

The first stroke is painful, his hips slowly drawing back only halfway before filling you up again just as slowly, and you feel like you could cum already from how blissful it is. Both of your moans intertwine as he repeats the action, this time pushing into you harder. Your hands grip the couch cushion so hard your knuckles ache, his hands still digging into the flesh of your hips.

He circles his hips, the swollen tip of his cock pushing against you deeply while one of his hands retreats from your hip to slide up into your hair roughly. You feel him adjust his position again and you grip the cushion as hard as you can, preparing for what comes next.

‘Please Will, I want it. I need it.’ Your words are faint; he’d have to listen closely to hear them. Luckily for you, there’s not a day that goes by where Will never fails to listen to you as attentively as possible.

‘Angel always gets what she wants, doesn’t she?’

With one last soft stroke, his hand grips your hair roughly, his fingernails nearly piercing your skin and his cock retreats almost fully before slamming back into you. Your gasps get caught in your throat as he creates a rapid, rough pace that makes your ass slap against his v lines sharply. The sting of his cock as he pulls out, the pressure as he rips back into you- his hand gripping the roots of your hair so tight it feels as if your hair might rip out, his nails digging into your hip as his grip bruises your flesh.

All of it sends your head spinning, eyes pinched shut as his thrusts become harsher with every one that passes by, his deep groans get caught between your own gasps for air and the lewd noises of your flesh slapping together.

You can’t think of anything else as the feeling of his cock ripping into you overwhelms all your senses, your mind zoned in on how his length drags so perfectly against the deepest parts of you. You feel it in your gut when his hips meet your ass, hitting the reddened flesh creating obscene noises that make your pussy gush around him.

‘Fuck you’re taking me so well, angel- so fucking well.’ his words blur together with the sensation that builds throughout your whole body as you mutter out incoherent words and pornographic noises that you have no control over.

The earth-shattering pleasure Will is giving you makes your body burn all over, your thighs shake every time his tip meets a space deeper than your g spot, past your cervix into what feels like is in your guts.

‘Imma make you cum over and over again, baby, give my girl what she deserves. How's that sound to you?’ you moan in response, nodding your head as best as you can. He pulls at your hair harshly making your head tilt upwards.

‘I can’t give you what you want if you don’t use your words, angel. You should know this by now.’ his tone is arrogant and it makes you whimper as he leans over your body to grab your arms from under your head. He drags them behind you, pinning them against your back with the hand that was just in your hair, his other hand leaving your hip to grip the sofa to steady himself.

His thrusts transition from fast and long to short and sharp, drilling into the part of you that he knows you love the most. Your thighs tremor, it’s becoming harder to hold yourself up from how the aching in your pussy spreads over your whole body, leaving it weak. A thin layer of sweat coats both your bodies, beads slipping down the back of your thighs from where your bodies connect.

You feel your orgasm begin to approach, crying out from the sensation that tightens in your stomach.

‘Let it happen, baby. I've got you.’ Will’s words almost get lost in the feeling of your stomach bursting, but the reassurance lets you slip over the edge completely. You gasp as your head spins and your thighs shake ruthlessly as they try to hold you up through the intensity. Your ears ring, your vision blurs, your moans come to a momentary halt before a cross between a wail and cry breaks in your throat. Will fucks you through the whole thing, his grip on your wrists that he pins against your back grounding you back to the moment as you come down from your high.

You're left a breathless, teary mess as he pulls out slowly to ease any discomfort.

Your minds still so blurry that you don’t realise Will has laid you onto your back until a couple minutes later, which is also when you finally take a deep breath that cleanses your lungs from the restriction your gasping created.

When you open your eyes, Will is kissing down your neck, face flush and a bead of sweat is rolling down his forehead.

‘You okay my love?’ his words are tender, a contradictory from the orgasm that just crashed down on you. You mumble a reply, smiling to him as a gentle wave of joy rushes over you. ‘You okay to keep going?’ he asks, you mumble another yes as you connect your lips with his.

The kiss is sweet and as tender as his concern, but when you slip your hand down to wrap around his pulsing cock he bites down onto your bottom lip with a groan. You feel your release slick around his cock, collecting it on the pads of your fingertips with a mix of his own juices, breaking the kiss to slip your fingers into your mouth while still holding eye contact with Will.

His eyes are wide, lips swollen and parted in shock at your dirty action. You suck your fingers clean of both of your juices before connecting your lips again, Will’s tongue pressing against your own to get a taste of your sweetness. Your hand returns to stroke his cock painfully slow, flicking your thumb over the tip that furiously leaks his juices.

‘You sure you can handle it again, babe?’ his tone is slightly smug but filled with so much sincerity, not wanting to push you past your limits. ‘Wanna feel you in me again, Will. I miss it.’ your words merge into the kiss and you feel his fingers trace gently over your swollen clit. You part from his lips to release a soft, airy moan when he circles the bud in tightly and his forehead meets yours.

‘You sound so beautiful, y/n. So fucking beautiful.’ your eyes flutter shut when his fingers push harder, the same airy moans slipping past your lips softly and his compliment sends your cheeks pink. He kisses along your exposed jawline, sucking gently on the skin.

‘Is it all for me, baby?’ his words vibrate against your throat, his fingers exploring down through your folds to collect your wetness and swipe it over your pulsing clit again. You feel another orgasm approaching, the floodgates already open from your last orgasm, and you struggle to form a reply from the pressure that’s building.

‘Fu- yes, Will- it's- ah- it's all for you.’ you force the words out between moans, your eyes fluttering open to meet his that swallow you completely in admiration. He kisses down your chest and sucks your nipple into his mouth, your hand finds its way into his hair as to ground yourself in the feeling that’s threatening to push you over the edge again.

He hums against your nipple causing you to gasp, his teeth grazing the bud deliciously as you finally muster up the strength to talk.

‘I’m gonna cum, fuck I'm gonna cum.’ your words are rushed as you grip his hair, pulling his mouth harder against your nipple as your orgasm washes over you, your head rocking back into the pillow beneath you. Your back arches up, pushing your nipple against his teeth daringly and he bites down causing another shudder to travel down your legs.

This orgasm isn’t as intense as your last but it’s just as beautiful, hitting you in multiple waves, each earning a louder gasp and a toothy smile to appear on your face. Your eyes are rolled into the back of your head, your legs tremoring on either side of his hips as you begin to come down with a heavy gasp and a whimper that pulls Will’s lips away from you with a smile.

It dawns on you that he hasn’t came yet and you begin to feel guilty, not being able to hide the worry from your face.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asks concerned and you ease his worry with a smile and shake of your head, still catching your breath as your play with his curls that hang messily from his head. ‘You haven’t came yet, babe.’ you try to hide your guilt but he catches on immediately.

‘I’m waiting, baby, wanna give you as much as possible before I come. Don’t worry about it my love.’ you may have over thought it any other day, but his genuine smile and tone makes you nod and let go of that stress.

His lips are on yours again before they trail across your jaw, under your ear to suck the sensitive skin between his lips. His tongue laps over the skin, his teeth grazing so gently it sends a shudder up your spine. He moves across to find your pulse point, humming against the skin to send a wave of vibration through your body. He mimics the same sucking as before, only this time his teeth dig into your skin to send your head rocking back into the couch.

All your senses are heightened. Suddenly you can smell traces of weed in the air from earlier, coconut in his locks and his musky cologne along his collar bones. Goosebumps cover your arms, your nipples peaking and poking into his warm chest. The TV glows, a low lamp keeping the rest of the room lit. A mix of your and his juices tingle on your tongue, your thighs clench at the taste; a reminder of the orgasms that leave your body flushed and aching perfectly.

You don't realise one of his hands had moved until you feel a finger slip into your cunt, a pool of warmth coating his finger and palm slick. Your breaths flow mindlessly through your soft, plump lips when he curves his finger into your g spot, your chest becomes tight from the repetitive action.

His finger leaves you, his mouth disconnects from your neck and he positions himself between your legs. He holds his soaked palm up between you both, grinning proudly to himself.

‘Making such a beautiful mess, angel.’ his raspy tone alone makes you desperate, burning with anticipation when you feel is swollen tip poking at your entrance teasingly, and when he slips his finger into his mouth, your juices pushing up to his knuckles in a ring before collecting on his lips you genuinely think you’re going to hyperventilate from the sight alone.

He finger slips from his mouth and before you can react his lips are pushed against yours, lathering them in your own juices. He pulls back, your tongue pokes out to collect the mess from your lips but his hand quickly catches you before you can, his fingers on either side of your face pushing your lips open and out in a pouting motion. His tongue licks your lips clean of your juices, not letting one drop go to waste.

Your chest is so tight it aches your ribs, you don’t think you’ll ever let your breath go until you feel his tip slowly slip into you. Will groans and even though you’re dripping wet, it still stings slightly from the stretch; but you wouldn’t have it any other way, the feeling of just the tip of him alone makes you suck another long breath in.

His hips continue forward, his cock slipping halfway in all at once making Will let out another deep groan and you wince. Not only is his size already a stretch, but you’re also still sore from being filled by him and fucked into the couch.

‘I know it’s so much angel,’ his hand rests on your throat without applying any pressure yet, your eyes flutter open to meet his. You must force your eyes to stay open, you’d be stupid not to watch how his face contorts as his tip finally rests against the deepest part of you. His girth stretches and fills you up sublimely, you moan deeply at the feeling that you can never get enough of.

Before moving his hips, he hooks an arm under your leg closest to the back of the couch and directs it to hang over the top of the couch. This sends your hips upwards, giving him perfect access to fill your guts.

‘Keep your leg up here for me, okay?’ you nod at his request, still so zoned in on how he fills you up. His body is inches away from yours again, his cock slipping against your sweet spot just from his readjusting.

He plants a small kiss on your forehead before pulling his hips away slowly, your chest rises with his stroke when he guides himself back into you. Both of you moan out together, your hand latching onto the back of his neck. Curses slip from both of you as he creates a slow, deep pace; drawing his hips back almost completely before pushing back into you at an agonising speed. When he fucks you like this, slow and deep, you can feel the veins on his cock as he pulls out, the slit on his tip grazing your upper wall as he pushes back into you. Both of you are already a panting mess, his hand beginning to add the slightest bit of pressure on your neck that makes your mind soft and cloudy.

‘Fuck, you’re taking me so well, y/n.’ his words nearly get caught in his chest when you squeeze around him, his tip edging against your cervix gorgeously. ‘Shit baby, you wrap around my cock perfectly. It's like your pussy was made for me.’ Your cheeks flush at his words, also because he adds more restriction to your throat, the tips of his fingers digging into the skin softly.

His thrusts start to become harder, dragging along your tight walls in languid strokes that send your head tilting back into the pillow beneath you and your other leg to hike up at the side of his hip.

He leans up onto his knees, pushing your leg that is folded up against your side out and gripping your knee that rests on the top of the couch, watching his cock as it stretches your cunt that squeezes its thickness every time he hits your sweet spot.

‘Jesus- fuck-’ he can’t form a coherent sentence, his eyes still shamelessly gawking at the sight of him fucking you as he mumbles something to himself that you can’t make out. His hand leaves your knee and begins to stroke over your folds, staring intently as his fingers slip across your swollen clit and his fingertips graze over your folds intently. Your breathing is becoming heavy, feeling another orgasm approaching you at a rapid rate.

Will notices this and pushes against your clit, only flicking his eyes up from between your legs for a moment to glance at your face as a you whimper; the pleasure nearly becoming too much.

He knows that if you don’t cum soon, you’ll become a whimpering, crying mess and that thought makes his cock twitch in you. His finger strums your clit slowly before switching up completely, flicking over the pulsing bud with his thumb frantically making you shout his name in shock. Your orgasm begins to shake your legs and just like that his thumb is gone and you cry out, sounding pained and awfully hot; Will lets out an animalistic moan as he leans down and uses his arms to cage you in and keep you in place.

If he didn’t do that you’d be thrashing around, which your body still tries to do when he begins to fuck your harder, picking his pace up ever so slightly but it’s enough to make you cry out again.

‘Take it, angel,’ his words drill into your ears, his hips rocking into you harder with every word ‘take it like the good girl you are.’ Your moans become high pitched and strained, having no control of the curses and chants of his name that leave your chapped lips. You gave up trying to keep your eyes open, letting them pinch shut as the pleasure sends your mind spinning.

‘Eyes open.’ he demands, to which you quickly comply and open them as much as you can. You take in the sight of him; his dishevelled hair that brushes against your forehead with his thrusts, his agape mouth, those fucking lips that can make you crumble in moments. You can’t stop yourself when your eyes find his defined jawline, leaning up to peck it before grazing your teeth across it, earning you a low groan from Will. His dark, deep eyes bore into you and you squeeze tightly on his cock again, this time mainly so you can see how his eyes roll into the back of his head.

When his eyes open again, your hand finds its way onto his back, your nails digging into his skin and dragging across his flesh. Just as you do this, you squeeze on his cock again, wanting to push him to the edge; hoping you’ll get a raise out of him. His eyes roll to the back of his head again, he groans deeply- sounding slightly pissed off.

‘I know what you’re doing, y/n.’ his tone is sharp, making your heart jump for a moment and your pussy drip along his cock. His eyes pierce into yours, you bite your lip nervously. ‘If you want me to fuck you, you should’ve just asked instead of being a slut about it.’ His words make you smirk through excitement, he chuckles to himself and shakes his head while speaking.

‘You really are a dirty slut, aren’t you?’ his words send another wave of pleasure through you and before you can stop it you let out an ear-splitting pornographic moan, maybe you should be ashamed of how this turns you on- but you couldn’t care less about shame when his cock hits you in the place that makes you giddy with satisfaction.

‘Eyes open, y/n’ his words are sharp, scolding you with a light spank to your clit making your eyes shoot open and the same shameless moan erupts from you- this time somehow louder. Your legs begin to tremor slightly, this warning both of you that you’re going to cum soon.

‘You just want to be treated like the dirty girl you are, don’t you?’ his words make your stomach twist, his hips now beginning to pick up their speed- giving you exactly what you need to take you over the edge again. ‘Say it.’ his demand makes your eyebrows twist in shock, feeling your cheeks flush in embarrassment.

‘Come on baby, if you can say it, I’ll give you exactly what you want- what you need.’ he teases you, knowing that you’ll do anything to cum all over his cock will he fills you up and fucks your juices together.

‘I- fuck, Will!’ you begin but cut yourself off when his speed picks up rapidly, still drilling into you at a torturously hard rate. ‘I just-’ your words are cut off again, this time by a whimper you can’t stop. Your tits bounce against Will’s chest every time he fills you up to the brim, it’s becoming a ridiculously hard task to keep your eyes open too. His moans make you clench on him over and over again, desperate for him to take you past the edge.

‘If you wanna cum I’m gonna need to hear the words come from your mouth, angel, so get to talking.’ he torments, his hips drilling into you. Just when you think he couldn’t get any obscener, he leans back to spit onto your tits, his hips never stopping their beautiful torture; he’s doing this not only because it drives him crazy, but because it’s always the last straw before your pussy explodes around his cock.

You know if you don’t get the words out ASAP he’ll deny you of your orgasm again and you wouldn’t be able to take it, so you hurry and manage to force the words out.

‘I just wanna be treated like the dirty slut I am! Will- please- I can’t-’ a tear rolls down your face, the pleasure overwhelming you. His fingers find your clit in slow, smooth strokes in contrast to his cock and finally he lets you crash over the edge.

‘There we go angel, let it all out. Cum all over my cock, doll.’ is the last thing you hear, his pleased grin being the last thing you see before ringing fills your ears, your eyes pierce shut and your head digs into the pillow below you. Your legs shake rapidly, your pussy convulsing on Will’s cock as you squirt on him, not hearing the obscene strangled moans that never stop leaving you or the noises of your juices that fill the room as he fucks you through the whole thing.

Will can’t hold back anymore and with a deep, guttural moan he slams his hips into you, his forehead resting against your own as his orgasm crashes through him in reckless, violent waves- just as yours did to you. Your pussy pulses on his cock, milking every drop of cum from him as you’re still encapsulated by your orgasm, practically screaming through the whole thing.

You both come down, thrown from the heights of your orgasms back to reality. Your breathing is rapid, trying to catch up with the lost breaths due to how much you were moaning, you’re unable to force your eyes open just yet. Will is in the same state as you, wrapped up in the blissful after math of such an intense orgasm.

You stay with his cock in you for a minute or two, coming back to your mind and opening your eyes tiredly. Will lifts his head from your neck to meet your loving gaze, both of you staring in complete awe and love for each other.

Slowly you both begin to untangle your limbs, him pulling out from you gently. Still lying on your back, so fucked out you don’t think you’ll be able to move for another hour, he kneels between your legs and watches as his cum drips out of your puffy pussy. He collects the fallen juices and gently, as to not hurt your sore entrance, fingers it back into your pussy; not letting a drop escape you.

Finally, you catch your breath, pulling Will down into a soft, slow kiss.

After a while of cuddling on the couch, talking about the events that just took place, Will convinces you to make your way upstairs so you can share a bath. When he helps you up to your feet, you gasp at the puddle of your juices that has sunk into the couch, Will widening his eyes with a devilish glint and proud grin.

‘Look at all the mess we made.’

————————————-

Thanks for reading💋💋💋

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

In Every Reflection I Hope You Wish Me A Sweet Birthday

MY QUEEN MY LOVE MY -screams in reine qui danse playing for the 100th time-

Rated T | Warnings: None its gay

You smiled when she left you. In every reflection peering into infinite lives branching from broken shards of her perfect kingdom, you always smile when she lives.

Always days after her birthday, when she is young enough to have her beauty but old enough to be sent away to be married. You are by her side from the beginning to the end when she leaves you brokenhearted but smiling for her.

The False Hope, is what they call it when she shifts the mirrors to create her ideal kingdom. They will try to shatter her image but will only make her stronger, a broken mirror is still useful in pieces. They can reflect and cut.

In another world, she dies and you are married, you still smile when she breaks your heart and steps on it while announcing her engagement at a party you planned for her all month. When you are alone, Mary sees you crying as you cling to your chest as the heart is often fragile as glass. Mary once more leaves, and you move on to survive.

She must find you! Find you at the right moment and take you into this perfect forever paradise!

On a rainy day, you stand over her grave in the pouring rain. You have a pile of letters in your hand, unsent letters, and flowers in your other hand.

“Happy birthday, Mary. I'm sorry I… We couldn't see each other. These aren't much but… I wanted to send these… But… you know why I couldn't.”

Because it makes her face the reality she loved only you, and will only love you. There is never a world, a reflection, where she does not give you her honest brightest smile. When you would find her alone and entertain her with idle chatter of gossip or your latest painting always showing your improvement.

The unfinished masterpiece of a sculpture… Destroyed always before you could finish it. It is always a connection to her destroyed when you let go of the hope of seeing her, waiting for later, praying to see her walk through the doors of your atelier.

She finds the reflection, the long mirror you keep to the side of the room, it is used for reflecting light, making self-portraits, or using yourself as a reference for a pose.

Covered in paints, you are hard at work on a large canvas.

The commission from her husband. It had been salt upon a wound he had no idea about, though if he did he would still have you create the piece.

It is her birthday, you just now finish the piece on a grand scale, and it will be picked up to be taken to the palace. And Mary will cry over it, it becomes the only piece of art she will ever care about. Her emotional attachment to it will spark a rumor of her narcissism, few will say the artist was her past lover but none put weight to those words.

She loves you. Loves you more than you know.

It is nighttime and you are drinking cheap wine, you are sitting by the open window, the fall breeze is warm, and the sound of celebration for the queen. You have two glasses out on the small table you use to place your paints, both glasses full of cheap wine with hints of strawberry, your glass is almost as empty as your broken heart.

I found you, my love.

You rub your swollen eyes from crying, the atelier empty without the canvas of her. Your first love— True love— She stole your heart with her smile and sweet voice. Mary never once allowed you a moment to not be in the same room as her, to have her perfume linger; she was your Helen of Troy, and you the fool Paris. To be loved by a star, a muse to paint or sculpt a thousand pieces, and to be adored the way she deserved.

Look upon me once more, my love.

You laugh humorously as you swear you can hear her, the sweet voice of your Helen of Troy, God, you only have drank a glass. Looking at the bottle, you reach out for—

Name!

You stand up knocking over the bottle and spilling it all over the table and floor, in a state of shock, you stand there frozen. The voice was louder, you swore you saw her image in the glass bottle! No, you are simply delusional… You should not have taken that commission! Now you are once more miserable! Fresh tears spill, streaming down your face, you turn your head away as your lips press together to try to stop the whimper of agony from turning into an angsty scream.

My love, your fragile heart. Give me the pieces, this time I shall now shatter them.

“You are cruel,” Shaking your head, “Will you not allow me to be a broken-hearted fool in peace!” You had not meant to shout your pain, “Go away! Haunt me when you're dead!” You snap open your eyes ready to throw your glass at the mirror then stop mid-motion of your swing.

“My artist.” There she is dressed in a gown of spectacular beauty with a crown upon her head, you rub your eyes with your free hand and then blink. Her smile widened, “Come to me, allow me to free you of this pain I caused.”

You take a step forward, then another, her hand stretched out towards you. In dazzling lights you see her hand coming out of your mirror. “Are you… Please be real. If this is a dream then let death claim me now for I do not wish to wake up.”

“I am real. If you come with me now, only my love will claim you.”

Her love is like the fresh strawberries, lace stocking; her eyes locked on you as modeled for you wearing nothing but a strawberry in her mouth and lace stocking, her finger beckoning you to join her on a nest of sheets. Never has a woman charmed you to the point of enslaving your heart, her every word had you on your knees to please her.

You quickly go to her and take her hand, “Mary!” Once more you give her your heart with the pieces. She pulls you into the mirror, pulls you into her arms where you are meant to be.

Later days after the party, in the newspapers, there will be a report about an artist gone missing. There is only a shattered mirror in your atelier.