#it shall your heart's downfall!!

[sweet-rabbit]

perspective what's that yeah i started drawing just norway reading then once got past the head, uh, things happened

[plutotheplum]

I Only Bleed For Him

dragon!sylus x fem!reader

summary: amidst the blooming flowers in tarus city, the dragon claims his beloved.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, a smidge of fluff, angst, kissing, loss of virginity, oral sex, p in v, possessive sex, blood, claiming bites, mating, knotting, soulmates, canon compliant death

wc: 4.5k

a/n: the way the myth cards just keep getting depressing :( there will be another chapter after this fic, but it'll be in the actual timeline! also not very confident in my angst writing abilities, but hopefully y'all enjoy!! <3

also on ao3!

“You know, Tarus City can have flowers bloom everywhere, as far as the eye can see. But only for one person.”

Sylus’ voice is a soft murmur, his hands caressing your waist as he holds you tighter against him. Your heart lurches uncomfortably, fingers brushing across his cheek and the hard, black scale that lays fused to his skin.

“What if we stayed here?” you whisper, peering into his crimson eyes.

“Would you be able to sate yourself?” Sylus asks in return, his claws brushing through your hair gently.

You avert your gaze, cheek pressing against his chest as you stare at the swaying carmine flowers in the soft breeze. Sylus’ heart is steady, the soothing sound of thrumming coupled with the motions of his claws nearly enough to lull you to sleep.

His question holds value. Revenge threatens to pull you apart at the seams, the desire for chaos rearing its ugly head. You want more, you always want more and Sylus gives it to you willingly. Your selfish desires will be the downfall of the Fiend, you think, hands tightening into fists. 

Yet, there is so much more to do. So much to take from those that had taken from you. Resentment makes you tremble, the Sacred Judicator’s words ringing clear in your mind. 

The Sorceress has been judged. 

You could laugh at the thought if you weren’t so angry. Some sorceress you were, powerless and yet put before the Court of Justitia as a traitor for trying to protect the statue of a dragon. 

Angry tears prick at your eyes, teeth gritting together only to be drawn out of your wrathful thoughts by the press of Sylus’ lips against your clenched fists, his claws unfurling your clenched fingers.

“Just like the day we met,” Sylus murmurs, his gaze trained on you, “such hatred and defiance.”

You swallow the lump in your throat when he kisses your palms.

“Beauty,” he whispers against your skin, “and resentment, little sorceress. They make you my precious, most finest treasure.”

“I don’t want to think about the Legion,” you reply, voice trembling, “I want them gone, Sylus.”

“Pluck them out one by one,” Sylus says, his hand caressing your cheek, “but another will replace those gone. Their roots run deep, weeds that refuse to die, marring the world around them.”

You sigh, eyes fluttering shut as you lean into the warmth of his hand, the rough scales scratching your skin gently.

“I shall burn Justitia to the ground,” you grit out, eyes burning with determination, “I will make them all regret and spite them into contrition, bring them to their knees and- and-”

Sylus laughs, his expression soft as he peers up at you. “You speak sharply, little sorceress. Your fire and spirit matches my own.”

“Because I am your other half,” you mumble, pouting slightly as you feel your anger subside the more Sylus caresses you. 

“You are,” Sylus affirms, “bearer of my soul, my other half. Only you could be worthy enough.”

A light flush covers your cheeks before you hide again, nosing into his cheek. You can feel the warmth of his soul inside of you as your eyes shut, lungs expanding as you suck in a deep breath, the scent of the dragon clouding your senses.

Burnt embers and a soft sweetness make you whine, body squirming as you try and press yourself closer to him, your fingers caressing his horns.

“Careful,” Sylus grunts, his claws tightening around your waist when he feels the brush of your fingers against the base of his horns.

You can feel the slight jump of his hips, your gaze lifting to find his brows drawn together, eyes squeezed shut.

“Does it hurt?” you ask worriedly, fingers pausing.

“Hardly,” he replies, his eyes opening again, “I am simply… sensitive.”

You hum, head tilting to kiss his cheek as your fingers resume their stroking and caressing. Sylus makes a small noise and you relish in it, peppering kisses here and there, across his cheeks and over the large scales.

A delighted sound escapes you when you hear what you think is something akin to a purr. Sylus’ cheeks tint with a light pink and you smile against his cheek, ears straining to listen again when he rumbles gently, his head tilting as he pushes up into the caress of your hand.

“Like a mountain cat,” you tease, tracing the slope of his nose when he purrs again, feeling his claws twitch against your hips.

“Do not use my gifts against me,” Sylus grouses, despite the pleased rumble of his chest.

“I enjoyed them,” you reply, fingers running through his hair leisurely, “if only we could go back.”

“We will,” Sylus promises, his eyes flickering open, “I shall make sure of it.”

You smile wistfully. Going back to the cavern held more challenges than worth risking. Bitterness makes your smile waver, but you brush the thought away, content to at least be given this moment of reprieve.

“We will,” you repeat after him.

Neither of you mention the emptiness of the promise. The damp coldness of the chapel latches onto you and Sylus is the only one able to make it dissipate, his claws tracing over the curve of your cheek.

You cling to him, nose brushing against his gently.

“I love you.”

Sylus’ chest rumbles in response, his head tilting as he presses his lips to yours. The curl of his tail around you holds you to him, his hands kneading at your hips as you kiss him. It’s slow and syrupy, both of your souls intertwining and interlocking in the sweet musk of the flower fields. 

You can feel the pull of your soul towards him, how your body yearns for more of him, the tendrils of your very being try to claw through gaps of your ribs and pierce his chest. You’d let him hold you in the glowing stone embedded in his chest if it were possible.

“So this is what it means to love,” Sylus murmurs, his lips brushing over yours with every word he speaks, “perhaps mortals are wiser than I thought.”

You laugh, arms wrapping around his neck when he rolls you both over, your back pressing into the soft grass.

“Only some mortals,” you correct, smiling when his teeth bite onto the tips of your gloves, pulling them free from your hands, rings and all.

Sylus’ skin is warm when you touch him again, truly for the first time. His eyes flutter shut, savouring the sensation of your skin against his before he lowers his head, kissing you again.

“I wish to claim you, my beloved,” he breathes out, trailing hot kisses down your neck, “will you let me?”

“Yes,” you sigh, your own eyes slipping shut, “yes, Sylus.”

Sylus’ tail sways behind him, the pointed tip brushing across the skin of your leg before his claws join the midst, dragging down your thighs gently. You gasp, the unfamiliar sensation making you squirm as he begins to undo your dress.

You help him, sitting up as he pulls it over your head, his claws ripping through the delicate fabric despite his tentativeness. You don’t pay it any mind, cupping his cheeks to pull him down into a slow kiss, feeling his body hover over you, his tail wrapping around your waist.

The sharp spikes dig into your skin, making your body seize with discomfort until the repeated brush of Sylus’ lips over yours soothes away the nervousness.

Your panties are ripped away too, the fabric laying in tatters in Sylus’ palm. He frowns when he stares at his claws, and you reach for his hand, lips pressing against his knuckles gently.

“It doesn’t bother me,” you whisper.

“It should,” Sylus murmurs, his gaze dipping as he stares at you laying bare before him. 

He can see the mark of his fangs in your neck, the subtle scent of your blood setting his senses alight. You belong here, Sylus thinks, his eyes darkening as he sees the rise and fall of your chest, the pebbling of your nipples in the cooling breeze. 

An undying flame blooming amidst a field of lesser flowers. 

If only he could keep you here.  

The flicker of emotion in Sylus’ eyes makes you uncomfortable and you kiss his knuckles again, lips pressing against the hard scales firmly. He sighs, his hand flexing in your grip, his tail drawing you closer as he kisses your forehead.

You can hear his breath hitch when you fumble with his trousers, undoing the various buckles to have him bare before you as you are before him.

“Greedy mortal,” he murmurs, gripping your chin to plant a kiss to your lips.

“You already knew that,” you smile faintly, nipping his lower lip playfully.

Sylus rumbles, his body shifting to remove his clothing. You swallow when you see the heavy hang of his thick cock. The tip glistens and you squeeze your thighs shut, trying to quell the dull ache that has settled inside of you.

“It- it is different from mortal men,” you mumble, head tilting curiously as you stare at the base of his cock.

“I am a dragon,” Sylus supplies drily, his hand wrapping around his cock.

You watch, mesmerised as he pumps his cock with his clawed hand, brows furrowing when you see the slight swell at the base of his cock, above his heavy balls.

“A knot,” he explains, moving his cock to show you the swell of it a little better, a low hiss leaving him when you reach out to touch it hesitantly. “It- hah- it is useful for mating.”

It gives a little under your prodding, wetness pooling between your thighs at the sight of it. You try to wrap your fingers around it, but the tips of your fingers hardly touch, Sylus letting out a growl at the sight.

“I want it,” you whisper, blinking up at him, “I- I want you to mate me, and- and I want that.” You point to his knot.

Sylus lets out a hoarse laugh, his clawed hand coming up to caress your cheek. 

“And you shall have it when I claim you. Although…” he pauses for a moment, his expression becoming slightly flustered, “I have never claimed anyone before.”

“Oh,” you flush with him, averting your gaze. “I have never been claimed before.”

Sylus sucks in a sharp breath, his nose nudging against yours gently as he plants a soft kiss to your lips. “My first and my last.”

You have to blink away the tears that begin to brim in your eyes, your arms wrapping around his neck tightly. Sylus kisses the side of your head, his body descending further down your body.

Soft noises leave you as he places reverent kisses along the length of your body, his tongue flicking at your nipple experimentally, carmine eyes peering up to watch your reaction carefully. When you gasp, Sylus hums, his mouth opening wider to envelop your breast with his mouth.

Your fingers delve into his soft hair, back arching as you push your breast further into his mouth, his hot saliva making your skin shine. The flowers around you sway, unbothered by the act of intimacy, Sylus’ clawed fingers pinching at your nipple lightly.

He groans when you jerk under him, mouthing at the sides of your breast, pressing wet kisses here and there, tongue swirling over your areolas before granting each nipple a soft kiss.

“You respond well, beloved,” Sylus whispers, beginning to lave over one of your areolas again, seemingly taken with the way you twitch whenever his teeth graze your nipples.

“It- it feels good,” you whine, your thighs sticky with slick.

“Then perhaps I ought to do the same here,” he murmurs thoughtfully, pulling back to pry apart your thighs.

Translucent strings of slick cling to your thighs and the folds of your pussy, Sylus’ head lowering to get a better look.

“So delicate, little sorceress,” he whispers, his claws pulling apart your puffy folds to find your glistening pussy. “A bud,” Sylus continues, the flat of his scaled finger brushing your swollen clit tentatively, “like a flower.”

A needy whimper escapes you, hips bucking up under his exploratory touch. It’s nothing like when you used to touch yourself in the privacy of your small room within the walls of Justitia. Sylus’ touch is rough, textured, heightening the feeling that makes your clit pulse with want.

“Please,” you beg breathily, fingers reaching out to grasp his horns, “please, I- I need more.”

“But I am not yet done,” Sylus replies, peering up at you to watch the expression on your face when he rubs your clit more firmly.

“Sylus!” you whine, “the ache is too much!”

The dragon between your thighs huffs out an amused breath, the hot air making you shiver.

“So demanding,” he sighs, leaning forward to kiss your clit. “Although I do enjoy seeing you so… uninhibited, beloved.” 

You push his head towards your cunt, growing impatient, although being careful not to jostle his horns too much. Sylus groans when he tastes you for the first time, his rough tongue gliding through your wet folds.

A gasp leaves you when he flicks his tongue against your clit, a tremor settling through your bones as you writhe atop the grass. Sylus holds you in place, a pleased purr sounding as he nuzzles deeper into the wetness of your cunt, his tongue lapping and laving over the velvety flesh of your pussy.

“Oh,” you breathe out, eyes squeezing shut when you feel the dig of his claws into your flesh, coupled with his mouth on your pussy, “S- Sylus, oh yes.”

Sylus hums into your cunt, his tongue swirling around your clit, collecting your slick into his mouth, drinking it down as if it were the very essence of your soul.

“You taste sweet, my little love,” Sylus rasps, his claws pulling apart your folds so he can prod at your aching hole, feeling the needy clench of it around his tongue when he presses it in. “Sweeter than any wine I have ever tasted.”

“You- nghh- you exaggerate,” you mewl, tugging at his hair gently, your fingers stroking the base of his horns.

Sylus shudders, his head tipping forward into your touch. “I do not,” he growls, nipping at your thigh in a show of disagreement. “I would keep you on my mouth every night if you allowed me and drive you mad with pleasure.”

You smile hazily when you hear his words, hips rolling up to meet his mouth when he sucks your clit into his mouth, his tongue stroking across the swollen bud lazily.

“Are we not already mad?”

“Perhaps we are,” Sylus responds, his hips grinding into the clothes beneath him. “But I should be glad to be mad with you.”

A soft, content sigh leaves you as you lose yourself in the sensation of his tongue. It swirls through your folds, presses into your cunt every so often whenever Sylus loses interest in your clit for a brief moment.

He never strays far however, his chest rumbling with his own contentedness as he buries his face deeper into your cunt, breathing in your scent. Sylus sucks at your clit with renewed fervor when he feels the tensing of your thighs against his claws.

“I can feel you, little love,” Sylus rasps, his voice low and rumbling. “Come undone on my tongue.” He presses an affectionate kiss to your clit before latching his mouth onto it more firmly.

“Sy- Sylus,” you whimper, legs beginning to jerk as the pleasure grows.

He growls into your pussy, his mouth working faster, tongue swirling and slurping until you have no choice but to cum. You cry out, his name leaving you in disjointed syllables, heavy pants breaking your cries.

Your thighs squeeze around his head, until his tail wraps around one of your legs, pulling you open so he can drink from you until sated. Overstimulation makes you sensitive, whimpers and whines leaving you as you pull at his horns.

“It is too much,” you mewl, “I- I cannot-”

“You can,” Sylus murmurs, spreading you open wider, exposing you completely, “you will for me.”

The dragon devours you again, his fangs sinking deep into the flesh of your thigh. Your blood and slick mixes together and Sylus feels as though he is being torn apart from within, your taste heating his own blood until he can no longer hold back.

You cum again on his tongue, back arching before you writhe violently, fingers grasping for anything and everything, uprooting the flowers nearby as you attempt to gain some semblance of stability.

Sylus gives you some reprieve, his tongue lapping over your puffy pussy gently, his lips pressing against your clit and the mark his teeth have left on your inner thigh.

He rises up to find you limp, unable to stop the shudders that jerk through your body from the immense pleasure.

“Little love?” he murmurs, a claw tapping against your cheek.

A pout makes your lips jut out when you blink up at him blearily, brows furrowing into a glare. Sylus smiles, his head dipping to brush a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“You are beautiful,” Sylus says, his hand stroking over your hair soothingly, claws running through your hair.

“I want to do the same,” you whisper, your hand reaching down between your bodies to find his cock. “I want you in my mouth.”

It’s harder than before, pre-cum smeared across the tip, warm globs dripping onto your stomach. You wrap your hand around him, squirming around in an attempt to get onto your knees.

“Another time,” Sylus murmurs, stopping you from getting closer to his cock, his tongue licking into your mouth.

“Now,” you demand, blinking up at him, still a little dazed. “Now, Sylus.”

“Another time,” Sylus repeats firmly, his lips descending upon yours again.

“There- there will be no other time!” you protest, peering up at him desperately, your lower lip trembling.

You only speak the truth, and it angers you. The cruelty of fate has begun to wrap its remorseless fingers around your heart, squeezing and squeezing until you feel your heart give, clenching painfully.

“Never say that!” Sylus snaps suddenly, his hands cupping your cheeks. He presses himself against you, forehead touching yours. “There will-” there’s a tremor in his voice, “there will be another time. Always.”

How many more lies will you both tell yourselves? 

You bite back the sob building in your throat, crushing the sense of helplessness by pulling Sylus closer and pressing your lips against his feverishly. 

The dragon grips you harder, his tail winding around you tightly, holding you to him as he returns your kisses.

“Take me,” you beg when he lays you down again, “Sylus, claim me, please.”

“I will,” he hushes your cries with a kiss, “I will, little love. You will be by my side till the end of time.”

Sylus grasps his cock, breathing heavily, your panting breaths mixing together. He notches his cock against your drenched cunt, pushing in slowly. You both share a moan, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. The scales dig into your skin, his claws digging into your hips deeper, pain flaring across your skin.

It’s enough to distract you from the rampant thoughts of loss however, your mind clouding with every inch of Sylus’ cock that sinks into you.

“So- so tight,” he grunts out, his hips moving slowly.

You can feel his knot, slipping in and out of you, tugging on the edges of your cunt every now and again with how swollen it’s become. His cock splits you open, your soft moans sounding into the vast flower field as you reach up, hugging him to you.

Sylus thinks you sound as sweet as the scent of the blooming flowers.

He lowers his body, his weight almost crushing you but you need this, need him as close as possible to convince yourself that this is happening.

“More,” you whimper, pressing sloppy kisses to his jaw, “ruin me, take me apart.”

“You- hah-” Sylus’ eyes squeeze shut when he feels the tight clench of your cunt around his cock, “you mustn’t say such things.”

“And yet,” you whimper, dazed eyes finding his, “and yet, oh- I desire- ngh- it desperately.”

“If that is what you wish,” he whispers, kissing your forehead gently.

You moan loudly, the wanton sounds mixing with his low groans and growls when he swirls his hips, cock pressing into you deeper. His heavy balls slap against your ass, both of you uncaring of the lewd sounds as he thrusts his hips in and out of you, cock driving in deep.

Sylus’ knot sinks into place with each deep, rolling thrust he gives you, popping out whenever he draws his hips back. You’re slurring, hardly able to see him properly, clinging to him, legs wrapping around his waist.

He grunts, shifting your legs higher, away from the sharp, spiked scales that line his tails. 

They say the dragon is dangerous, the epitome of sin and yet he cares for you dearly, his lips trailing across your skin with such reverence that makes your body ache.

“You are mine,” Sylus growls, his carmine eyes glowing as he peers down at you. “Every inch of you, half of your soul, it is all mine.”

“Yours!” you hiccup, the pleasure making you feel numb, “always yours!”

Sylus moans deeply, and your hazy eyes catch the frantic sway of his tail behind him, his hips snapping harder and faster, your pussy struggling to accommodate and keep up with the ever-swelling knot at the base of his cock.

The sheer feral nature that seems to take over your dragon has you whining, a sharp scream leaving you when you feel his fangs bite into the still healing wound on your neck.

Blood flows freely from the bite and Sylus growls at the taste, losing his grip before tightening again. His claws prick at your thighs and hips, drawing more blood until it’s smeared across your skin. Your skin is just as red as the flowers in the field.

Your nails rake down his back, feeling driven wild by pain and ecstasy. Your own teeth sink into his shoulder, a soft whimper escaping you.

“Bite,” Sylus rasps, his hand on the back of your head, urging your teeth to sink in deeper, “harder, little love, harder.”

And you do bite. You mewl as you sink your teeth into the flesh of his shoulder, his blood wetting your tongue and lips and the taste is intoxicating. Your mind swirls as you feel the harsh thrust of his cock bullying inside of you over and over again, tongue lapping at the marks your teeth have left on his shoulder.

You can taste his blood and you can feel the searing pain and you- this- this is real.

This is real. This is real. This is real.

Your mind chants the affirmation as you tell it to yourself firmly, biting harder into him as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Take it, beloved,” Sylus whispers hoarsely, pressing his face back into the crook of your neck, “take my cock and my knot. Let me claim you.”

“W- wait,” you begin to gasp, eyes widening with panic when Sylus manages to bully his cock into your pussy enough, the knot catching finally. 

You squeak, unable to comprehend the feeling of being plugged up so full. It’s entirely too swollen to pop free, your poor pussy fluttering around the thickness of it. Sylus isn’t faring much better, his hips jerking and halting when he feels the clench of your cunt, and how his knot has practically held you both in place.

“Yes,” he snarls, low and throaty, his hips swaying a little to grind his cock into you. “Mine, finally mine, little love.”

The press of his scaled claw against your clit has you screaming again, his name leaving you hoarsely as you cum on his knot. Your orgasm is violent, the tight coil in your lower stomach snapping sharply as you come apart, thighs twitching and body shaking.

Sylus sinks his fangs into your neck again and you cry out, softer this time, holding him to your neck and letting him lap at your blood.

He shudders, the taste of your blood coupled with the feel of your fluttering walls around his knot making his cock jerk and balls clench. Sylus cums with a throaty roar, his claws landing on either side of you as he hunches over.

Pleasure racks through his body whilst hot, thick cum floods your pussy unable to leak out and instead held in place by his throbbing knot. You whimper, mind feeling syrupy when Sylus rumbles and purrs, nuzzling into your breasts and then your cheeks, another hot load of cum spilling into you when his cock kicks at the squeeze of your cunt.

You kiss him clumsily, motions clouded by the haze of intimacy. Sylus sighs into your mouth, stroking your hair gently. You both lay there, surrounded by flowers, panting and unwinding.

His knot deflates after several minutes, softening cock pulling free. His cum spills out of you and Sylus watches with a frown, wishing his cum would stay stuffed inside of you.

Sylus rolls off of you when you tap his shoulder, his tail curling around you to bring to lay atop him. You don’t say anything, face pressing into the crook of his neck.

“Your desires are cruel,” you whisper, feeling his arms tighten around you.

“As are yours, little love,” Sylus says softly.

You sniffle, pressing a kiss to the steady beat of his pulse just under his jaw before shifting to kiss the glowing stone embedded in his chest.

Sylus shudders, his claws flexing around your skin. You kiss the stone again, beginning to cry when the stone’s glow begins to dim.

There’s a strange chill that makes your skin crawl, the familiar scent of the chapel invading your lungs.

“No,” you sob, peering up at Sylus, “not yet, please, please!”

Sylus smiles down at you, his expression forlorn. “I love you,” he says quietly, brushing a kiss to your forehead, sitting up to pull you onto his lap.

“I need more time,” you whisper, kissing him despite the growing coldness in the air. “We need more time.”

Hope had made you both fools. Sylus had claimed you in a withering graveyard.

You’re weeping when you ask him the question.

“Will you make the flowers bloom for me, Sylus?”

Your dragon kisses you fiercely.

“Always.”

Sylus’ emboldened oath is the only memory your fingers can latch onto when the dank atmosphere of the chapel awakens you.

The bell of the chapel rings loudly and you sob, scrabbling at his shoulders, trying to pull Sylus closer. You scream when the Sacred Judicator tears you from Sylus, the pull of his soul tugging violently at your chest. 

A week later, the dragon’s curse rings true. 

You no longer feel the warmth of his soul, for your beloved is dead.

[amarynthian-chronicles]

Sun, looming ominously over Y/N: my sweet love, did you perchance steal the cookies I had made earlier today? You know the rules, no snacks before your official dinner. Do not make me interrogate you, I am not a merciful man.

Y/N: listen, I am innocent, I did not touch those cookies.

Sun, tilting his head, eyes glowing silver: the cadence of your heart is your downfall, little liar. Offering falsehoods to your poor old Sunny? You are playing a dangeorus game there, beloved.

Y/N: I shall proceed no further without the presence of a qualified and competent attorney.

Sun: oh? And where will you find a competent jurist now, at this very moment?

Moon, appearing from the shadows: I believe I have been summoned to assist my sweetheart. Here are my credentials, I am here to rescue this lovely Starlight from your clutches. None of us has ever seen nor heard of these "cookies" you speak of.

Sun: your whole shirt is covered in cookie crumbs, Moon. Did you steal on Y/N's behalf, perchance? Did they enchant you to take the fall for them?

Moon, leaning over to Y/N after a few moments of silence: run, the getaway car is waiting for you. I will hold him off.

Sun, cackling: you fools, I already deflated the tyres an hour ago. There is no escape, my dear. Now, I have prepared a list of your punishments, do you want to endure them all at once or are you paying in installments?

Y/N, groaning:...installments, please.

Sun: good choice.

[sansaorgana]

— DECEPTION (III)

DECEPTION MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader // Adar x fem!Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — You become Adar's wife and his Dark Lady while you're trying to adapt to your new life. On the day after the wedding, you leave Ostirith with your husband and the army of his children.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — First of all, I wanted to thank you all because I didn't expect this story to have so many people interested in it! Thank you for your comments and reblogs and wanting to be tagged in the new chapters. 💗 I have to admit, this story might get a little longer than I expected...🤪 ...but just a little. Also – I GOT THE JOB! However, don't worry because I hyperfixate on this fic at the moment so I will do everything I can to finish it. 😊 Just please, be patient with me if it takes me a bit longer to update. 😇

WARNINGS — forced/arranged marriage, Reader is NOT a good person – she is proud, greedy, fake and corrupted by Sauron, "love" triangle situationship

WORD COUNT — 5,405

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

DECEPTION (III)

When Elves got married, it was supposed to be forever. Even death could not change it. That was why you had always thought that your only marriage would be with Sauron.

He had promised you the grandest of weddings when you would rule over Middle-earth already, so everyone could witness your power and greatness as he puts the crown onto your head. That was supposed to be your forever.

However, the road went ever winding and there were paths you could not have expected. Yet, they were the ones you had to take.

In the early morning your mother visited you and she was surprised to see you already dressed in your underdress and standing by the window, staring at the holy trees you were supposed to get married under.

“I have this from your father,” she placed a golden ring in your hand. The one you were supposed to offer Adar during the ceremony. “He wanted to give it to you himself but he has a feeling you avoid him.”

“Are you surprised, mother?” You turned your head around to look at her. Her eyes widened and your heart clenched – she was so kind and pure, so innocent. And yet, her whole life was filled with grief and sadness.

You gently took the ring from her and caressed it with your fingers.

“About the dress… I was thinking of that white one that you wore when–,” she started.

“Black,” you interrupted her and looked up. “I shall wear black.”

“I understand,” she nodded and you were surprised that she wasn’t trying to fight you on this but perhaps she truly understood. “However, you were wearing your mourning dress for three days in a row already at the beginning of the week.”

“I know. I wanted to ask you if you could give me yours,” you tilted your head.

Your mother had been grieving many times in her life. Her parents and siblings were all dead. And whenever she was in mourning, she was wearing the most beautiful black dress you had ever seen – the sleeves were see-through and flowy, very long and curved. The corset and the skirt were made of velvet and silk and the thread was both silver and gold. In a few places there were gemstones of many colours stitched to the fabric, too. 

In fact, whenever Sauron had mentioned you becoming his Queen, you had always imagined yourself in that dress and no other.

“I… I can give it to you, yes,” your mother nodded. “My wedding gift. Let me get it for you,” she left your room again and you sighed, putting the golden ring on the desk so you could get dressed.

When your mother carried the dress inside, you nearly felt guilty for all the time you had been imagining yourself in it as Sauron’s lover. Your mother was so pure and you loved her so much that her presence was somehow healing your corruption a little. She was the only person who still was capable of making you feel guilty. But soon, you would leave with Adar and there would be absolutely no one to stop your downfall. You would only sink deeper and deeper.

Your mother would be in mourning again soon – after you. But this time she would have to get a new dress.

You allowed her to put the gown on you in silence. Her skilled fingers worked on all the buttons and ties as you stared at yourself in the mirror. You could see she was nervous and you knew why but you had no words of comfort for her. The only thing comforting you was the fact that Sauron might have been back. But such news would bring no comfort to her, obviously.

“It’s the dawn,” you looked out of the window when you felt the first rays of sunshine on your face. “It’s time,” you added and your mother nodded, taking a step back after fixing one last wrinkle on the dress.

“You look so beautiful,” she admitted. “Such a shame that–”

“Shush, mother,” you cracked a sad smile at her and approached the door.

“(Y/N),” she followed you and gave you the golden ring you had left on the desk. “You nearly forgot…”

“Indeed. Thank you,” you took the ring from her again and squeezed it in your hand.

You both went out of your chambers and slowly walked downstairs. The sun was lazily getting up and you expected Adar was waiting there already for you but you didn’t mind letting him get a little impatient.

To your surprise, the courtyard was nearly empty. You thought he’d invite all of his children to watch but you could only see your father – smiling at you in an encouraging way, which you ignored – and the other Elves that lived inside the fortress with you. There was no Orc in a plain sight and you looked at your mother questioningly, hoping she would know what confused you so much.

“They do not like sunlight,” she mouthed out and you nodded, taking a deep breath in at the sight of Adar turning around to see you. His face was unreadable like always but you hoped that he liked what he was seeing.

Your mother was the one who slowly walked you to him and you were grateful that it was not your father. The fact he was there and watched was enough to make you angry. He was the reason for all of this.  

“My daughter, Lord Father,” your mother stood you in front of him and her voice shivered as if she was offering him the most precious and fragile gem, begging him to not break it.

Poor mother had no idea you were already broken.

“Thank you, Lady Guardian,” Adar nodded at her and you both watched her walk away as she stood next to your father. Her cheeks were wet from tears and you smiled sadly at that before turning your head around to meet your husband-to-be’s cold eyes.

He looked you up and down but without contempt – there was mostly curiosity about him and a little uneasiness. He didn’t seem to be overjoyed with the idea of this marriage and you wondered why he had agreed to it then. You would only be a burden to him, after all.

“Have you brought it, my Lady?” He asked gently and you opened your fist to show him the ring. He opened his as well to show you the same ring and you forced a smile at the sight as your heart was growing more and more heavy when you spotted your mother approaching you again alongside your father.

Adar had no parents – as far as you were concerned – so your father had to say the phrase that the groom’s father would usually recite. But first, you had to join your hands together. You reached your hands out and you spotted them shaking slightly but it was a good thing because you wanted Adar to pity you a little in all of this, too.

When he put his hands over yours, a shiver went down your body. His hands were cold and rough but for some reason you felt somehow safe like this and you hoped it would remain this way. 

“May Varda Star-kindler hear (Y/N) and Adar’s calls, and may Eru the Father of All bless them,” your mother spoke gently, nearly in a whisper. You could just hear that she did not wish to say any of these words. You moved a little uncomfortably and Adar’s hands squeezed yours tighter.

“May Manwë Lord of Wind watch over (Y/N) and Adar, and may Eru the Father of All bless them,” your father added in a voice much more firm and confident than your mother’s one.

Selling you out to the father of the Orcs, he bought himself more power and safety in the upcoming war between Adar’s army and the rest of Middle-earth. Of course he was happy with this wedding.

Adar closed his eyes and whispered a few more things that had to be meaningful for him but you could not understand them because they were in Black Speech. You probably would have to learn this language now as well.

You also wanted to add something from yourself but all you could think of was Sauron and his face when you had been saying goodbye to each other. The last time you had seen him before his defeat. It had been so long ago – too long.

You watched your husband carefully. He opened his eyes finally and looked at you a bit less coldly than before now. He took your silver ring off of your finger and took it from you before sliding the golden ring onto the forefinger of your right hand. You swallowed thickly when you saw it rested there; a physical and visible proof of you being wed.

You put the golden ring onto Adar’s forefinger, too. You could hear your mother gasping quietly and sobbing silent tears but you were not sad anymore. In fact, you had just found a new strength deep inside of you. There was no way back now and you had to face all the consequences.

You weren’t sure what would happen now. You reached your hands out to brush Adar’s scarred cheeks with your fingertips, feeling every bump and every wrinkle. You wondered how much pain he had endured because you had met Elves who had been tortured before but none of them looked like your husband. It had to be long centuries of suffering that would leave scars like these.

Caressing his cheeks gently as if you were scared of hurting him even further, you were nervous to place a kiss upon his lips and you waited for his move. Eventually, he wrapped his hands around your wrists and leaned in to peck your lips. The kiss was short and very delicate, which surprised you but also confused you because he was kissing you like he didn’t want to kiss you at all.

When you broke the kiss and took a step back, your father began to clap his hands enthusiastically and the rest of the guests joined but hesitantly. Most of them were confused by all of this or they felt sorry for you.

Adar held your hand and walked you away from the sacred trees. Your father followed you and you flinched when he put his hand on your shoulder.

“My darling, leave us now. We shall discuss the future and you can rest with your mother. You will spend more time with your husband during the feast in the evening,” he announced but you looked at Adar to wait for his confirmation of this plan for the day. He was your husband now and you didn’t want to disrespect him a few minutes after getting married.

Not that you planned to be the most obedient wife and your heart belonged to another but you also were aware that there was no point of being mean or rebellious towards him. You wished to survive after all. And you wished for him to trust you because you had a feeling Sauron might find that useful in the future.

Adar nodded at you and you bowed your head slightly but when you were looking up again, he grabbed your chin to lift it up himself.

“My wife is my equal,” he informed you and your eyes widened slightly at that revelation.

“Bowing her head is only a sign of respect, Lord Father,” your father explained.

“Do you bow your head in front of your lady, Lord Guardian?” Adar asked him, letting go of your chin. You could see your father being taken aback by that question.

Some Elven couples you knew were both showing each other such respect but not your father. He was rarely showing it to anyone and when he was forced to – like in front of the High King – he would be angry about it for a long time later.

“Sometimes,” he answered, which was a big stretch.

“Well, then,” Adar turned around to bow his head towards you, too. “Forgive me, Dark Lady, I have not been married before and I am not familiar with the customs,” he added and you had to admit that even though his voice was cold and so were his eyes, it felt somehow nice.

You cracked a smile at him and then you felt your mother pulling you by the sleeve of your dress to drag you inside to take you back upstairs to your chambers.

“He seems to be sensitive about the idea of bowing heads,” she muttered to you as you handed her the silver ring back because you knew it had been hers most likely. “I remember him scolding one of the Orcs after they bowed their heads in front of me,” she sighed.

“It is because Sauron wanted to enslave his children,” you explained. “It is understandable.”

“How do you know?” Your mother furrowed her brows.

“He told me,” you swallowed thickly.

“I think he was very lonely. He has the… children but it is not the same,” your mother nodded and hid the silver ring away. “You will be his companion now,” she fixed your dress. “And I know it sounds dreadful but let me cheer you up a little.”

“How?” You asked and snorted at those words.

“The light is gone from his soul. He cannot follow you to Valinor, my dear daughter,” your mother looked deep into your eyes. “When he dies… Well, I have no idea if such creatures go anywhere. But you and I, we shall meet again in Valinor after our time in Middle-earth is over. He is not welcome there anymore.”

“Perhaps I am not either for marrying a man like him,” you tried to break the news to her in the gentlest way possible.

“If it is the case, I do not wish to go there either,” she whispered.

“Do not speak of such things!” You frowned. “I damned myself to save you, so do not dismiss such a gift,” you reminded her, even though you knew it was a stretch. You had damned yourself long ago and it had been a selfish act that had nothing to do with her.

“It should be mothers sacrificing themselves for their children and not the other way around,” she only pointed out.

“Love has no limitations,” you remarked with a nervous smile and looked out of the window.

In fact, the idea of Valinor was not tempting to you anymore because that was a place that Sauron could not follow you to either. 

You spent the whole day in your chambers, talking with your mother and telling each other hopeful stories. You wanted to spend as much time with her as possible now because you had no idea when you would see her again.

If ever.

When the sun was starting to go down, you began hearing the sounds of the feast thrown in the courtyard by the Orcs. You looked out of the window and there was a long table full of food prepared already and a huge fire started.

“Adar and father are there already,” you pointed out after seeing them entering the courtyard. “We should join them,” you looked at your mother.

“Yes, we should,” she sighed and you helped her to stand up from the edge of your bed where you two had been sitting. “You go alone for now. I shall prepare the room for…” She hesitated before finishing the sentence and eventually, she did not.

“The wedding night?” You asked and she nodded nervously.

You were scared of it a little bit but you knew you would be scared much more if you had been a virgin. Which you were not because of Sauron and you knew that Adar – out of all people – would most likely not be mad at you for not being pure but�� You could not tell him that his mortal enemy he was hunting was the one who had spoiled his wife. You already had a lie prepared for him if he asked.

“Will I not sleep in his chambers tonight?” You asked.

“No, you will spend the night here. I insisted on that so you can be in a familiar place,” your mother explained.

“Thank you,” you nodded at her and left her alone there to go downstairs.

The noise stopped when you entered the courtyard. All the Orcs froze and kept staring at you – looking you up and down with curiosity but you could also spot their eyes sparkling at the sight of your dress and all the gemstones on it. 

Adar was already sitting by the table with an empty seat next to him and at the sight of you, he stood up and extended his hand.

“Wife,” he greeted you officially to introduce your new role to his children.

You walked up to him slowly, feeling the eyes of many Orcs on you and they made you feel filthy. However, you had to get used to them.

“Husband,” you greeted him and allowed him to take you by your hand as you walked around the table to take a seat next to him and that was when the Orcs went back to feasting. “I hope you came to a satisfying agreement with my father,” you tried to keep the conversation going.

“Indeed,” Adar nodded with a smirk. “I already have a plan for this fortress,” he informed you.

“That pleases me, my Lord,” you nodded and watched the Orcs having something that they would probably define as fun.

“I believe your day was good, too, my Lady,” Adar seemed to be pretty awkward about this whole thing just as much as you.

“It was, my Lord,” you assured him and gave him a quick glance.

“We are leaving tomorrow in the early morning to head up north with my army,” he informed you and you weren’t happy about it but it was something you had been suspecting, so you only nodded.

“Yes, of course,” you said and smiled at the sight of your mother finally joining the party. She sat next to your father who looked even more happy now than in the morning and you wondered what things had your husband promised to him.

“We shall not feast for long for that reason,” Adar added and you agreed with him because it was not like you cared about such a party anyway. Even if it was the celebration of your wedding.

You spent another hour or two in silence, watching the Orcs feasting and all the Elves sitting by the tables while trying to hide disgust. They had to be happy that you would leave tomorrow and finally leave Ostirith be. You, however, would leave as well and the Orcs would be a part of your life now forever. because even Sauron wanted the Orcs by his side. However, Sauron would never treat them like a father so perhaps in the future you wouldn’t have to be so close to them.

“We shall go now,” Adar interrupted your train of thought and you nodded at him in silence. Your heart skipped a beat when you realised it was the time for the wedding night. Your previous confidence was slowly turning into anxiety.

Adar stood up and offered you his hand to help you leave the table as well. You took it and he walked you slowly alongside the rest of the tables until you reached the one with your parents.

“You should leave with us in the morning, my Lady,” Adar told your mother as she looked up, confused. “Just to escort your daughter down the forest path for a while. I know she will appreciate it,” he kept convincing and you found it hard to believe it was done out of pure act of kindness. You couldn’t understand what his hidden agenda was, though.

“That is a good idea. Thank you, my Lord,” your mother nodded and your husband nodded back at her before leading you inside the fortress.

“If you hurt my mother–,” you started.

“You have my word I shall not,” he interrupted you as you two entered the staircase.

“What is your word worth?” You asked him, genuinely.

“Depends,” the answer was mysterious.

“Depends on what?” You inquired and Adar opened the door leading to your bedroom, waiting for you to enter it first.

“Depends on the person I make a promise to,” he explained.

You were not satisfied with that answer but you didn’t want to keep asking him more and more annoying questions. You didn’t wish to upset him, especially tonight, so you chose to believe that he would not give false promises to his own wife.

The room was prepared by your mother. The new candles were burning and the new sheets were put onto your covers. But you had made your own preparations before already as well.

“Give me a moment,” you mumbled and went to the bathroom where you had hid a beautiful red nightgown, which had been a gift from Sauron.

And it felt extremely wrong to spoil it now with Adar but you knew the marriage had to be consummated to be valid and he didn’t seem to be very much into the idea of being your husband, so perhaps he needed a little push. That nightgown had never failed you with Sauron, who could not keep his hands off of you.

It took you some time to change from the dress without anyone’s help but you finally managed to put the nightgown on. You adjusted the corset part in the back one last time and took a deep breath in before walking out of the bathroom.

Adar was standing by the window and staring at the feast that was still taking place in the courtyard. You wondered how the Orcs would wake up so early in the morning after such a party since they actually needed much more rest than Elves did.

“Ekhem,” you cleared your throat, starting to feel silly.

Adar slowly turned around and froze at the sight of you. However, his eyes remained quite cold and that was not the reaction you wanted. Eventually, he approached you slowly and extended his hand to trace your curves and the hems of the fabric but his touch was oddly delicate as if you were made of glass. The gentleness of it was sending shivers down your spine and you even gasped when his fingers brushed your throat but instead of going further, he took his hand away and stepped back.

“We should go to bed now,” he only said but you remained still for a long moment, feeling embarrassed and humiliated as he ignored you and laid under the covers.

Finally, you moved to blow out the candles and lay on the other side of the bed, not sure if you should say anything at all.

“Goodnight,” you only mumbled out.

“Goodnight.”

The only clothes you packed were your black and red dresses and apart from that you took your horse and some jewellery. All the rest was not needed in your new life. When you woke up, Adar was no longer in your chambers so you made sure to be quick and you went downstairs where your horse was already prepared. Your mother was standing by, caressing her own horse. At the sight of you, she cracked a nervous smile.

“My darling,” she approached you to caress your cheek. “How was it?”

“Nothing happened,” you whispered because you spotted Adar approaching you two with his own horse.

Your mother was obviously surprised to hear the answer but she had no time to say anything.

“Are you ready for the departure, my Ladies?” Adar asked you.

“Yes, my Lord. Forgive me for being late,” you nodded. You weren’t sure if you were late but you showed up as the last one.

“There is nothing to forgive,” he smirked. “Have you bid farewell to your father?”

“No, my Lord. I am not planning to,” you answered and hopped onto your horse.

“(Y/N)... You should…” Your mother sighed.

“No,” you insisted. “Mother? Are you coming or not?”

You could see she was visibly trying to stop herself from saying anything and she succeeded because she simply mounted her horse without a word.

“I shall escort you to the end of the bridge only, my dear,” she informed you and you nodded although you were not happy she was planning to leave your side so soon. You had a feeling your father had forbidden her to ride away too far.

Adar hopped onto his horse as well and you allowed him to take the lead. You and your mother followed him to the gates and you spotted his children already waiting on the other side of the bridge, hiding from the sunlight in the forest.

But the closer to them you were getting, the more confused you were becoming. The Orcs that had invaded Ostirith were many and the ones waiting for you were… just a few. 

“What about the rest of your children, Lord Father?” You asked Adar when all of your horses stopped after crossing the bridge. “Have they left earlier already?”

“You can bid farewell to your mother, my Lady,” he jumped off of his horse and ignored your questions.

You and your mother dismounted your horses as well and approached each other to hold hands one last time. She squeezed yours and that was when Adar nodded his head at Glûg who was holding a war horn. You got startled slightly at the sound when the Orc blew it and the leaves of the trees around you waved in the wind in an ominous way.

“What is the meaning of this?” You asked Adar but he did not have to answer as screams from Ostirith reached your ears. 

Those were the same screams you remembered hearing from afar when you had been observing the Southlands from the watchtower; watching and listening to Adar’s army conquering the human villages.

Now, the Orcs had begun their slaughter inside your home.

You and your mother exchanged the looks of terror. You suddenly realised why Adar had asked you who would be the only person you would save from Ostirith. You had chosen your mother.

And you did not regret that choice. You only felt bad for the Elves working for your father, who were now dying because of his sickly ambitions. However, you stood there frozen, trying to imagine how betrayed he had to feel now – choking on his own pride and greed. That felt oddly nice as if you were getting your revenge.

But your mother was too pure for this sort of reaction. She screamed and yelped and tried to get back to Ostirith but you held her by her arms and kept her still with the strength of your body.

In a way, your heart grieved for her because her whole life was full of mourning and now she had to watch her home being destroyed as her husband – whom she loved despite everything – was being slaughtered.

Even for you it was quite difficult to watch and listen to and you hated your father and you hated this place. You couldn’t let it show, though. You didn’t want to humiliate yourself by showing Adar your weaknesses.

“Please, please, please! Make it stop!” Your mother sobbed and writhed as you were finding it more and more difficult to hold her. She managed to turn around in your arms and looked at you with widened eyes full of tears. “Make it stop!” She addressed you.

“I cannot,” you whispered to her. “How can I?”

“You knew, did you not?”

“I promise you, I did not know,” you answered, truthfully.

“Why are you not mourning then?” Your mother shook her head and you felt a single tear escaping your eye and streaming down your cheek.

“Do not accuse me of the lack of mourning just because you cannot see the evidence,” you took a deep breath in, trying to sniffle all the tears back in when you heard Adar approaching you.

“You are free to go, my Lady,” he looked at your mother. “Go north, as far away as possible from this place. I shall grant you a safe passing, let it be my wedding gift for your daughter,” he informed her with a hint of contempt in his emotionless voice as if he hadn’t just caused a slaughter of a whole fortress. “But if you ever come back here, you will be treated like every other intruder,” he threatened.

“Go, mother,” you squeezed her hands. “Go to Gil-galad, go to Mithlond,” you told her. “Seek your refuge there and do not tell them about me. I am dead, do you hear me?”

She nodded nervously and kept looking back at Ostirith but she knew it was a hopeless case and she knew that going back to get killed would be a mockery of your sacrifice.

“We shall see each other again one day, of that I am sure. I have a feeling,” you assured her although it was a lie. You had no idea, in fact. “Farewell, mother.”

She nodded again and jumped onto her horse with her face wet from tears. She glanced one last time at you and her burning home before she ordered the horse to gallop away as fast as possible.

You watched her disappear and you felt empty inside because you had a feeling that in those last moments she had been loving you a little less because you had remained so cold and unbothered by such a tragedy. Because you hadn’t begged Adar to stop.

Speaking of him, he stood next to you and wiped a single tear that had escaped your eye with his thumb. Then he examined it with a hint of fondness.

“Pure Elven tears,” he muttered and rubbed his fingers together, making the tear disappear.

“My mother’s were,” you only said and watched the army of Orcs running out of Ostirith while screaming their profanities and yelling in triumph. The towers behind them were tumbling down to the ground and you mounted your horse, preparing yourself to leave into the unknown and into your new life.

However, you couldn’t stop staring at the last tower of Ostirith that was slowly falling down to the ground while taking the rest of the fortress down with itself – the watchtower. The symbol of this place and the symbol of the Elven protection over the Southlands.

Now, the humans of the Southlands had no protection. Of course, considering what kind of Lord Guardian your father had been – there had been no protection at all before either. But there had been a symbol that had been giving them hope. Now, the symbol was gone as well and the Lord Guardian was dead.

“Should we blow up the bridge, Lord Father?” Glûg approached your husband to ask him.

“No,” Adar shook his head and looked deep into your eyes in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “We shall come back here soon to finish the task,” he explained mysteriously and mounted his horse. “We shall go now,” he ordered and the Orc nodded his head before running away to hurry up his kinsmen.

“Where are we heading to, my Lord?” You asked, straightening your back and trying to keep your head up despite the event that had just occurred. Perhaps it was too early to feel the weight of it fully. Perhaps you were too corrupted to be able to grieve.

“The village of Tirharad is our next stop,” Adar informed you. “Something I seek is there and soon the Southlands will be ours,” he added and ordered his horse to go.

He didn’t even look back to make sure you were following him. You had a feeling he would be a less controlling husband than you had been suspecting. On the other hand, the chains keeping you tied with him were there either way because where else would you go?

Of course you ordered your horse to follow him because you had no home to go to and no person to turn to.

Not until Sauron makes his comeback.

MASTERLIST

[wonijin]

DOWNFALL

you just wanted more budget for the soccer team. unbeknownst to you, karina wanted more. and before you know it, you were both knee-deep in a dangerous game of sweet lies and bitter emotions.

TAGS: enemies to less than enemies lovers. 3.2k words. thick juicy sexual tension. slight smut at the end.

WARNINGS: manipulation and sexual themes

the sea of students part as karina walks through. you follow her long graceful strides with your fast march.

“come on, karina. aren’t you supposed to be the president here?” you complained lowly in karina’s ear. people are already whispering because of the unusual sight of you and the student body president, you didn't dare attract more by arguing with her publicly.

“i am. that’s why you’ll regard me as president yoo.” karina replied without sparing a glance at you, her cold eyes trained forward.

“well then, president yoo. the soccer club needs more funds. as the captain, i’d like you to raise our budget just a teensy weensy more.”

this exact line has left your lips too many times these past few days. but who could blame you, the girl beside you refused over and over, leaving you no choice but to insist.

“how many times have i told you? we can't. the budget has already been decided so you’ll have to do with what you have.” you both reached an empty classroom and you closed the door behind you immediately.

“fuck that. we missed championship last time because of your shit budgeting. you think i’d stand for the same shit twice.” your hands flew up in the air in frustration, inhaling a deep breath. karina points her icy glares toward you, freezing you in place.

“if you think you can just get whatever you want, then you’re dead wrong. i’m not like my predecessors who bends to every single one of your whims.”

your brows furrow at her words. before you could reply, she had already opened her mouth.

“so i suggest you either give up or you find another way to get to championships.” with that, karina slams the door shut, leaving you fuming and glaring at her back.

karina knows you. she’d seen firsthand your effect on people. she’d watched you break peoples heart. she’d witnessed your charm work to the previous presidents. only to be reduced to tears when they realize they are but a means to an end.

in her eyes, you tarnished the student council’s reputation. they were branded as your puppets. one word from you, and the most respected students karina knew heeded. all because they found you endearing. oh, how it broke the ever so hard working girl.

but karina won’t turn out like them. she refused to be. in fact, she’s on a mission to get revenge. for her friends and for the council. a mission to restore the student council to its former glory and to destroy you.

this is either the stupidest idea you ever cooked or the cleverest.

the school parking lot was flocked with students despite the scorching weather. while cars of all shapes, color and sizes lodged aimlessly.

“everybody! thank you for coming today!” you shouted at the top of your car, holding a megaphone in one hand. “welcome to the soccer team’s sexy summer car wash! where we wash your car in ways both you and the car will enjoy!” cheers erupted through the crowd. you peer among the people gathered and you think just how much you’ve earned from the participation fee alone.

“let’s get this party started, shall we?” you put down the megaphone beside you. the crowd goes wild as you remove your shirt. your team members followed after. and the parking lot is in chaos.

the party is in full swing with more and more people appearing by the hour.

“i didn’t think washing cars would be this fun.” winter giggled beside you as you fill up buckets of water. it was safe to say winter liked the attention. after all, many are already lining up to take her home tonight.

“of course, when have i ever had a bad idea?” you grinned.

“every idea of yours is bad,” winter’s nose scrunch, remembering all those times you got the team in trouble. “speaking of, are you sure karina won’t just pop up suddenly? i mean look at how many people there is, she’s gonna find out.”

“then, let her. we’re students and this is our school.” you shrugged but both you and winter know it isn’t as simple as that. at least not when it comes to yoo jimin.

“she already thinks you’re the devil who have sex with everyone in exchange for favors. this would only make shit worse between the both of you.” winter’s words rang true to ears. unfortunately, you chose to be deaf to reason, too consumed by your hatred for the president to heed her advice.

“she can do whatever she wants and i could care less, winter.” if karina wants to paint you as the villain, so be it. those girls, her friends and the past council members, they slept with you willingly. they tried to give you what you want in hopes of winning your heart. but they didn't and so they wept.

“and would you really stop all this just because theres a chance little miss president will come?” at that, both you and winter come back to the heart of the mob.

the team didn’t really have to try to be suggestive or anything. walking around shirtless and flexing your muscles every now and then is enough for this sexy car wash to be sexy. after all, who wouldn’t be satisfied with sweaty six pack abs.

you were washing the hood of someones volvo while the owner was flirting with you.

suddenly you hear a murmur ripple through the crowd. you craned your neck to see the sea of people part.

a koenigsegg jesko pierced the population of teenagers. its engines roar over the hush whispers and its ivory skin reflecting the awe-struck faces of the students.

the luxurious car stopped behind you. everybody fell silent and you stood up, each one eager to know who is the driver.

the door opened and everybody broke out in gasps and distinct whispers. you looked at her with wide eyes as you stood frozen in place.

karina sauntered over to you. confidently and slowly, like she owned all the time in the world. strangely, there was no hint of anger in her gorgeous face. but her eyes held something you couldn’t fathom.

imaginary electricity prickle your skin. the air around you gets more charge every step she takes. you try to school your expression once more.

karina stopped in front of you.

“karina-” you started. but her gaze kept your mouth from saying anything further. she raises her hand and a slender finger met your lips delicately. “shush.”

you quietly observe as she face the car you were washing. she inspects it silently. she traced the hood with her fingers without a word. bubbles gathered at the tip of her fingers. she lifts her hand once more and in a blink of an eye she flicked it over to you. the bubbles landing on your cheek.

“what the fuck?” before your hand can wipe your cheek, her hand stopped yours. the other landed on your cheek gently. you feel your throat get clogged up as your wide eyes meet her brown ones.

you inhaled sharply, shakily as she moved her thumb to remove the white foam. her face closer to yours than before, giving you the chance to admire her features. it was nothing short of perfection.

although you were more than certain the foam had long since left you face, her soft hands stayed perched on your face.

“what are you playing here, karina?” you growled lowly. karina smirks at your frustration. how entertaining to see you crumble.

she leaned impossibly closer. expensive perfume invaded your senses. your eyes closed for a second as you gulped. “you forget. this is my parking lot you’re standing on.”

“we’re students here, we’re allowed to use this space.” as if coming back to your senses, your back straightened as your hand flew to her waist. her smile faltered for a blink of an eye but you caught it. and your lips widened at the sight.

“my, why are you so defensive?” she giggled beside your hear. melodious as it sent your bare spine shivering. if that wasn’t enough, she brought her other hand to your abdomen. “i’m not here to stop your fun. i just dropped by to say hi to my favorite student.”

her body pressed against yours. so close, you can feel her ample chest. should your hands go any lower, it would meet her ass.

“what are you playing here, karina?” you ask one more time.

“i’m playing your game. so try not to lose,” each word left her mouth with diction and it registered onto your brain slowly. just as you were about to make a comeback, her lips planted a kiss onto your ear. you feel your body go red, your mind on haywire.

and when her spell has left your system, she was already in her car revving her engine.

the student body president had declared war. and so far, she’s winning.

“watch me get the highest bid. everybody wants a piece of this, no doubt.” giselle twirled, showing off her curves.

“i doubt anyone would even bid at you. they’ll be too busy putting their money on this.” kazuha replied, flexing her muscles.

everybody lined up back stage for the team’s charity dating. in truth, you’ve raised more than enough money for the team. however, you wouldn’t let the threat by the name of yoo jimin pass so easily. and everybody knows when you cross y/n l/n, you cross the whole soccer team.

so you made the perfect stage of revenge for your humiliation. that little scene from the car wash spread like wildfire, everyone who had a mouth were talking about it. good and bad.

“thanks. i owe you and the team.” you pat winter who is fixing her makeup in front of you. you were the last ones in the line.

“what do you mean? this would’ve happened sooner or later, with or without intervention from miss president.” winter laughed. she put down her mirror and turned her body towards you.

“it’s already too late to talk you down whatever insane plan you come up with. so i wish you luck instead” she smiled at you. winter already knew it will work, there wasn’t a time it didn’t. *captain never fails*, that’s the line the team holds onto.

then you heard her name get called on stage. not soon later, loud chants filled your ears.

and you were left with your own thoughts.

you knew karina was somewhere among the crowd. she’d bid for you until she wins. the night starts with the two of you. and that’s where your game begins. your favorite game, the chasing game.

you’ve never lost at this game. and you have no plans to.

“please welcome! consecutive season MVP for three years and of course captain of the soccer team, y/n l/n” the crowd roared your name. it echoes throughout the whole venue. adrenaline pumps throughout your body.

you smile and the crowd goes wild. “okay. we’re starting off 70K WON.” not a bad start, your pride tells you.

“120K WON.” could be better. your eyes scan the crowd. a woman like karina wouldn’t be hard to miss. no matter how many people are here.

“500K WON.” a gentle voice spoke up. everybody turned turned their heads towards the source. a woman holding the number “7” with a gloved hand.

there she is. sitting elegantly, dressed in white that shows of her milky shoulders. her hair down, her eyes piercing and her lips painted red. she looked ethereal just by sitting in a chair.

the crowd murmured as they watch karina throw the highest bid of the night. you were sure another wildfire had just been brought to life.

“going, sold! a date with miss l/n for 500K WON” the announcer clapped and the audience followed.

“well, folks. this officially ends the soccer team’s charity dating. thank you for coming. for those who won a date, enjoy. for those who didn’t, there are other ways and many more chances.”

you walk down the stage to where karina is standing. she patiently waits for you to reach her, eyes never leaving your figure.

“you must like crashing our parties.” you greet. you both know there’s no need to be hostile, for now at least.

“of course. like i would pass up the chance to see your miserable face.” she links your arms together. you hummed in response. “let me buy you a drink then. for bidding 500K WON for this miserable face.”

you let her guide you to the bar where she orders an expensive drink. figuring you wouldn’t be able to go through the night this sober, you settle for a beer.

“barbaric. just like how i imagined you.” she huffs through her nose. what a priss you thought.

“its a classic” you correct.

the bartender passes you the bar. without missing a beat, you drink some and leave some on your mouth. then, you press your lips to karina and passes the beer to her mouth.

the president makes a disgusted face that makes you chuckle. you see her throat bobbed up and down.

your eyes fly back to her face, “tastes better when its from my mouth, yeah?”

you invade her space until her familiar perfume invades your senses again. “you wanna play my game, karina? sure. i don’t mind.”

“but what i don’t understand is what you’re breaking your heart for?” you say like you already know she’s the one who’s going to end up in tears.

“break my own heart? as if you can get even close” she scoffs.

“because your friends cried over me? please, they knew what they were getting into. it was their fault for not paying attention enough.” you ignore her. and while your words ring true, she still felt anger bubbling in her chest.

“or is it because the past council treated me like a queen?” you look at her in the eyes and laugh lightly in disbelief. her brows furrow in a blink of an eye, but it was gone the moment it appeared.

“i didn’t tell them to do anything. everything they did, they did on their own accord. maybe that’s precisely why it pisses you.i just butter them up a little and suddenly all my wishes come true.”

you had struck a nerve. it was why she’s in this crusade to end you. she worked hard for her seat in the council, fought for her reputation and earned people’s respect. meanwhile, you didn’t do anything and people still kiss the ground you walk on.

people fail to see you. the true you. manipulative and toxic. only she does and it frustrates her.

“but that’s why i like you. while others were blind, you saw reason. they were too busy winning my favor but you were plotting my downfall.” you tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.

suddenly, she grabbed you by your tie and crashes your lips together. her lips were soft as they looked. they contrast her aggressiveness. for a moment, both of you were list in your world full of hatred and anger for each other.

your teeth clashed and your tongues intertwine. when you pull away, a string of saliva connects both your lips.

karina takes your hand and lead you outside the venue where her expensive car is parked. both of you wastes no time getting in.

you don’t know how long the drive took but when you did arrive at her mansion, you were drowning in your own lust. in the blink of an eye, you were pinned in the door of her room.

your hands roam all over her, feeling every inch. her lips move from your lips to your jaw to your neck. while her hands reach lower and lower until she’s palming you. you throw your back.

“you think you’re so mighty.” she bites the skin beneath your ear.

“know what i like about being president?” she asks you even though shes aware you’re head is stuck in ecstasy to answer. “i get to put people like you in their place.”

karina rubs circles through your pants. your body burns at her touch, like there’s flames at her fingertips.

“why don’t i show you what your friends saw in me?”you breath out and she laughs at how stupid you sound. how could say that while you writhe under her fingertips.

“after all, you paid for a good time. let me show what your money is worth.” you you reach on to her back for the zipper of her dress. you pull it down, leaving her in her undergarments. your eyes feasts upon everything before you.

“like what you see?” she puts a finger on your chin, forcing your eyes to meet hers. she smirks before kissing you again, slowly this time. her hands quickly unbuttons your shirt and you shrugged it off, not breaking the kiss. you were about to remove your tie but she stops you. “keep it on.” she says firmly.

karina grabs you by the tie and pushes you onto her bed by your shoulders. she climbs onto top of your abdomen. her once more before she pulls away and puts hand on your chest to keep you down. with one hand, she takes off her bra. her boobs spilling for you too see. your eyes meet as her hands massages her voluptuous tits, moaning. she bit her lower lip and threw her head back, just to tease you.

unable to resist any longer, your hands reach out to touch. but her hands were faster, she removes the tie around your neck and binds your hands. “you can touch next time.”

“right now. all of you is mine.” her lips attack your neck until they’re red and purple. hands explore your body until they stop at your chest. squeezing them before removing your bra. her lips move onto them next. she pinched, sucked and you ached for more.

next, she removes your pants and your panties, leaving you bare before her. she admires and for the first time you feel your face flare from someone looking at your body.

as if testing the waters, she puts her knees between your thighs and raises them until her knees barely touch your bare core. “fuck.” you let out a breath.

“don’t worry. i won’t make you beg.” this time, the unsaid words hang on her tongue.

“i’ll give you everything you want tonight. until you’re too drunk to remember anything else but me.” your breath hitch as her hands rub circles on your thighs.

‘by the end of the night, you’re going to be wrapped around my finger’ the thought makes karina smirk.

she gives you one last kiss before diving down, disappearing between your thighs.

[marinersapartmentc0mplex]

Dangerously Yours

Ao3 Link

Summary:

You were sent to kill Damian Al Ghul, not to fall for him. Lies, deceit, and undeniable attraction leads you both down a path where loyalty is a fragile thing and love is a weapon. As secrets are laid bare, and the lines between betrayal and passion blur, you must decide if you can destroy each other—or become something more than enemies. Will love be your salvation, or will it be your downfall?

This story is inspired by the radio show Dangerously Yours (specifically the first episode, titled 'Masquerade'), and much of the dialogue in this piece is taken directly from the show.

Light angst, angst with a happy ending, love confessions, assassination plots

The firelight danced along the cold stone walls, casting Damian Wayne in shifting, shadowed relief. He was still as a predator poised for a final strike, his hands resting loosely on the carved edges of the table between you. You could feel the weight of his gaze—piercing, calculating—as if he were studying not just your face but the moves you had yet to make.

“You know nothing about me,” you said, your voice taut, pulled thin as a wire. “You’ve known me for three weeks.”

He leaned forward, the flickering light catching in the sharp lines of his jaw. “Three weeks?” His tone was soft, a murmur wrapped in a blade. “I’ve known you my whole life.”

You snorted, a bitter sound as you crossed your arms tightly over your chest. “Your whole life. That’s absurd.”

"It’s true," he said, his tone unyielding, eyes glinting like the edge of steel under moonlight. "I’ve seen you in a thousand plays. Read you in as many books. When I’ve heard beautiful music, I’ve thought, she’d like that. I've spent years painting canvases, each stroke a whisper of what I’d one day capture in you."

Your jaw tightened, his answer as infuriating as it was unreadable. “Stop this,” you said. “Whatever you think you see in me—it’s wrong. I’m not—” You faltered, then forced yourself to continue. “I’m not the person you think I am. Perhaps I could've been, but not now.”

His head tilted slightly, the movement deliberate and predatory. “You keep telling me what you’re not,” he said, his voice cool and even. “But you’ve yet to tell me what you are.”

“You cannot trust me.”

“Can’t I?” Damian’s steps were soundless as he closed the distance, the weight of his presence suffocating yet electric. “Are you trying to tell me someone sent you? Shall we say it together? Shall we name the one who pointed you to my throat and set you loose?”

Her fingers clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. “What are you saying?”

“That I’ve known since the moment you arrived,” Damian said, his voice as calm as the still surface of a poisoned lake. “I had you followed the moment your shadow crossed my halls.”

She spun to face him, the fury in her eyes masking her fear. “And it didn’t matter to you? Knowing what I am?”

“It didn’t matter.” Damian stepped closer, his towering form casting her in shadow. “Because I trust you.”

The words hit her like a blow, and for a moment, all the air fled her lungs.

“You came here to betray me,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, rougher. “To dismantle the League. To cut out its beating heart. And yet… I trust you. With my life, and far more than that—with the League itself, its purpose, its future.”

You shook your head, your throat tight. “Stop it. Just stop. You have to listen to me,” you said, each word sharper, more frantic. “I’m not who you think I am. Maybe I was once, but not anymore. You don’t see it. You’re playing the wrong game. You can’t trust me.”

Damian tilted his head, his expression so calm it was maddening, as though your words were part of a script he’d already memorized. “Are you trying to tell me you’re a pawn? Because I don’t believe you. Someone as sharp as you doesn’t settle for following orders blindly.”

“Don’t,” you snapped, your hands pressing hard against the table. “Don’t turn this into a puzzle you think you can solve. You’ve known since I arrived—don’t act like you didn’t. Someone sent me.”

His lips twitched, the faintest shadow of amusement darkening his face. “Of course I knew,” Damian said, his voice lowering into something dangerous. “The day you arrived, I had my men uncover everything there was to know about you. Your alliances. Your moves. Your purpose.”

The breath hitched in your chest, the truth of his words as sharp and cutting as the knives hidden on your body. “And it didn’t make a difference?”

“It didn’t make any difference,” he said, leaning back slightly, an air of cruel confidence radiating from him. “You came here to play a game you thought you could win. You wanted to corner me, to checkmate me. But I don’t play by your rules.”

Your voice dropped, raw and laced with anguish. “I will betray you.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed, studying you as if you were already one of his pieces. “If you do, you’ll betray yourself,” he said simply. “That’s the inevitable endgame.”

The words struck you like a blade driven deep. “You don’t understand,” you whispered, shaking your head. “If I betray you, I lose everything I’ve built. But if I betray them, I—” Your voice broke. “I betray my guild. My people. My home.”

He straightened, his composure unshaken. “And yet, you already know which path you’ll take.”

“I can’t,” you said, desperation seeping into your words. “I’ve spent years playing this game, setting every piece in motion for this moment.”

“So have I,” Damian said, his tone sharp and resolute. “Do you think I haven’t felt the weight of every decision, every move? Do you think I don’t know what it is to carry an entire war on my back? You're not the only one playing to win.”

You stared at him, your heart hammering in your chest, the lines between enemy and ally blurring with every breath. “You’re asking me to turn my back on everything I’ve ever known.”

“And I’m telling you,” Damian said, his voice cold as the mountain air outside, “that your guild has already sacrificed you. They sent you to me knowing you couldn’t succeed. They wanted you to fail.”

“Why would they do that?” you demanded, your fists clenching at your sides.

“Because they knew I’d see through you,” Damian replied, his gaze burning into yours. “Because they underestimated what I’d see in you. They thought I’d discard you, but they didn’t account for one thing.”

“What’s that?” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips.

“They didn’t know I would love you,” he said, the words like a dagger plunged straight through your defenses. “And they didn’t know you’d love me back.”

You froze, the weight of his words crashing over you. “No,” you said, shaking your head. “No, they didn’t guess that.”

His expression softened—not with kindness, but with the inevitability of someone who had already seen the end of the game. “Even so, you should know this: Tonight, my forces move against the guild that sent you. My assassins have already set the stage, and when the dust settles, there will be nothing left of your masters but whispers of defeat.”

Your breath hitched, her throat tight. “You’ll destroy them?”

“They sought to destroy me first,” Damian said simply, stepping closer. “But their greatest mistake was sending you. You, who were supposed to end me, but instead…” His hand brushed your cheek, the leather of his glove cool against your flushed skin. “You have come to love me.”

Damian’s lips curved ever so slightly, the hint of a smile laced with danger. "Are you trying to tell me that someone whose name we both know and won’t mention sent you?"

“No,” you choked out, your voice barely more than a plea. “They didn’t know I’d…” You faltered, your hand rising as if to push him away, but it lingered, trembling in the air between you both.

“Love me,” he finished for you, his green eyes piercing your soul. “You do. You can deny it, fight it, but it’s there.”

“I can’t betray my guild,” you said, the words breaking against the tide of your emotions.

“Is it dearer to you than I am?”

Your silence was answer enough.

Damian exhaled slowly, his expression softening in a way that almost undid you. “Then help me, beloved,” he murmured, the endearment rolling off his tongue like a promise. “Help me bury the past. Help me build something better. The League can be more than blood and shadow—it can be power, justice, a force for a future neither of us imagined.”

Your chest tightened, body trembling as you whispered, “You want me to betray them.”

“I want you to choose,” he said, his voice steel lined with silk. “Them, or us.”

Tears stung at the edges of your vision, but you met his gaze with the last of your strength. “You think you’ve won. That you’ve beaten me. But you haven’t. I hate you, Damian Al Ghul.”

He smiled, a faint, knowing curve of his lips. “Hate and love are two sides of the same coin. I knew I’d flip yours eventually.”

His fingers moved with practiced precision, slipping the expensive gloves from his hands, the soft fabric gliding over his skin, revealing the warmth of his touch beneath. He leaned closer, the air between you crackling with an electricity that had nothing to do with the room you were in.

He reached for your hand, his skin brushing against yours, the contact sending a ripple of warmth through you that made your breath hitch. His fingers interlaced with yours, his grip firm yet tender, as if he was already claiming you without a word. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, soft but knowing. "My heart belongs to you, my beloved," he whispered, his voice low and velvety, carrying the weight of unspoken promises. "The question is, will you allow me to keep yours?"

The proximity of his body, the heat of his touch against your skin, made your pulse quicken. The question hung between you, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid, everything you both knew but had never dared to fully admit. His thumb gently caressed the back of your hand, tracing the delicate lines of your skin, as though memorizing every inch of you.

The world outside seemed to fade, leaving nothing but the quiet, steady rhythm of your breaths, the soft flicker of firelight dancing against the walls, casting fleeting shadows in the room. Every inch of space between you had narrowed until there was nothing left but the touch of his skin against yours, his scent filling the air, warm and intoxicating, as if his very presence had become something you could breathe in.

Your heart was beating faster now, each thump louder in your chest, a mixture of fear and longing you hadn’t expected to feel. It was all so sudden, this pull between you, as if the universe had conspired to draw them together, two souls tangled by fate, only to find their own peace in the midst of chaos.

With a quiet, almost imperceptible movement, you leaned closer, your forehead resting gently against Damian’s, breath mingling with his. You closed your eyes, finding solace in the contact, the heat of him surrounding you, making everything else feel distant, insignificant. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to be vulnerable, to drop the armor you had worn for so long.

The weight of the world—the mission, the guild, the lies—had felt so suffocating, so all-consuming, that you hadn’t realized how desperate you were for something different, for someone who didn’t see you as a weapon or a tool, but as something more. Something whole. And now, with your head resting against his, the tension in your shoulders slowly unraveled, piece by piece, as though the very act of letting him hold you was enough to make the fragments of yourself you’d hidden away fall back into place.

His fingers tightened around yours, the contact small but meaningful. There was a quiet strength in his touch, a steady warmth that made you feel anchored in a way you never had before. You squeezed his hand gently, a silent affirmation of the connection between you, a promise of trust in the most intimate way.

Damian didn’t pull away, didn’t break the moment. Instead, his other hand—still warm from the gloves he’d removed—moved to your back, sliding along the smooth line of your spine, urging you to come closer. His chest rose and fell with each breath, slow and measured, but there was a tremor in his movements that belied the calm of his exterior. You could feel the shift in him, the way his body seemed to soften as he wrapped you more firmly in his embrace. He was holding you, not out of necessity, but because he wanted to. And that made all the difference.

Without a word, his arms encircled you, pulling you gently but firmly against him, the heat of his body pressing into yours. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath the layers of clothing, the rhythm grounding you, reminding you that for the first time ever, you were safe.

Your fingers slid up his arm, your palm resting against the smooth fabric of his shirt, before you reached up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing softly over the sharp line of his jaw. You could feel the faint pulse of his heartbeat in his neck, as though every inch of him was alive with something more than just the physical. It was the kind of connection that words could never capture, something that needed no explanation.

“You’re safe now,” Damian murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the words themselves were a secret meant only for your ears. “No one will touch you. Not your guild, not my enemies.” He gently squeezed your hand, his fingers brushing against your palm in a tender, possessive way. “I won’t let them.”

You closed your eyes, your breath shuddering slightly as his words sunk deep into you. There was something about the way he spoke, about the way he held you, that made the weight of the world seem lighter, more bearable. You’d never known this kind of tenderness before—not in your training, not in your battles, and certainly not in the twisted paths of your past. But here, in his arms, in the simple touch of his hand around yours, everything felt... right.

You sighed softly, the tension in her body unwinding as you let herself lean into him more, your breath mingling with his. Your fingers squeezed his hand again, a silent request for more. You needed more—more of his presence, more of his assurance, more of whatever it was he was offering. But you didn’t have the words to ask for it.

Damian, as if reading your thoughts, responded without hesitation. He reached up slowly, one hand cupping your cheek gently, the roughness of his fingertips a contrast to the softness of your skin. His touch was tender, almost reverent, as if you were something precious he was trying to hold together, something fragile he feared would slip through his fingers. His thumb traced the curve of your jaw, the touch so light it could have been a dream. But it wasn’t.

“Stay with me,” he said, the words soft and commanding in the same breath. "Let me protect you. Let me hold you."

Swallowing hard, you lean in, the tension between you crackling in the air, your lips mere inches from his. Your breath fans softly over his skin, the heat of the moment making every second feel suspended in time. His eyes, dark with intent, lock onto yours, and you feel the weight of everything—every choice, every truth—pushing against the fragile barrier between you.

Then, his hands find your waist, pulling you closer with a quiet, undeniable force. The touch of his fingers on your skin is warm, grounding, and for a moment, the world outside of this room seems to disappear. He moves, capturing your lips in a kiss that is gentle but certain, a kiss that speaks of promises unspoken and things both lost and found.

It's a kiss that lingers, slow and tender, as if savoring each moment before it can slip away. Your heart races against his, as the kiss deepens, his grip tightening around you, pulling you fully into the storm of him. Every flicker of his touch, every shift of his mouth, is a quiet confession of everything that’s been building between you—the weight of the past, the hunger of the present, and the uncertainty of the future.

But in this moment, it doesn’t matter. In this moment, there is no game, no betrayal, no mission. There is only the feeling of him, of you, together, and the soft press of his lips against yours, steady and sure, as if telling you that everything will be alright as long as you stay with him.

[kii-nami]

WHITE COMET'S DESCENT | IL CAPITANO

You never state for what reason you are holding him back, but it is already obvious. The Commander of the Khaenri’ahn army went missing with one swift strike of the starbound ice. You don’t seem to think of people as disposable yet cannot bring yourself to warm the snake’s nest willingly. Thrain shares the sentiment: he has never been a fan of holding his enemies closer than his friends. And despite your peculiar character, this is definitely something Thrain cannot fault you for. Queen [Name] Einherjar is incapable of trusting even herself. He fears that one day it can become your downfall. He accepts the position with no hesitation, yet it does not save either of you from damnation.

CW: 7K WORDS; PART ONE OF TWO; FEM!MC; MADE-UP KHAENRI'AHN LORE; OCS MENTIONED; PART OF A WIDER GENSHIN AU BY ME AND MY FRIEND; THRAIN GET BEHIND ME THEY'RE BURYING YOU ALIVE

The rightful heir is beautiful even when drowning in the blood of the usurper king.

The crimson is dripping down your fingers like holy water, just like the unstoppable streams of stars that the royal astrologers love to blabber about so much. Not that Thrain cares for things like that, at least not right now.

Irmin’s decapitated head is on the table, and you’re occupying the seat of the Vinster King with the grace of inteyvat, silks swaying with your each move akin to the petals trembling under the lukewarm currents. His wife, stars save her soul, cannot find peace even in death, following her unwilling husband into eons of non-existence. The golden-haired youth, the one Irmin cracked the red skies and split the white stones for, stands to your right with nothing but a morose distaste woven into her silence. Yet it is directed not at you, the one who is stealing her heavy crown with one slash of a sharpened blade and two shards of glowing ice, but the last supper of those who stand against you.

She seemed so eager to please the king not so long ago yet now she denounces even the remains of the usurper who granted her the reign over the nation with little wits yet all the madness put behind his reasons. Where such defiance came from is unclear, even how this alliance she has with you came to be is uncertain, but it is not something he understands. Neither is he meant to. Thrain is a simple knight, despite the strenuous burden forced upon him by those higher than him. Deciphering things like these is better suited for the likes of Surtalogi or Vedrfolnir, incapacitated as he may be.

What Thrain is truly interested in is the blade carelessly dropped on the dining table, a misplaced butter knife amidst the finest porcelain. The sword, the one that was deemed forever lost amongst the thousands winds of time, is also painted the same crimson as the silks of your sleeves. Hundreds of cheap copies of it are floating around the markets, dozens of recreations worth a small fortune are gathering dust in the collections of the rich that just get richer. None of them come even close to the sheer power of the true Blade of Fólkvangr. It cracks and buzzes, sparks of lights sizzling like electricity, responding the each and every move of your chest. Inhale. Exhale. The banquet room is silent, fallen in a deep courtesy, everyone fears for their life.

“Rise, Khaenri’ah.” Your voice is even yet soft, and somehow, a stark contrast to your appearance, nonetheless.

Nobody moves except for you, as the golden-haired youth offers you her steady hand. Thrain does not pride himself in knowing much about poetry, yet the sentiment is there. Your fingers stain her palm with red, the remnants of the crimson moon glimmer in your eyes in the shape of a star long fallen. You wish for Khaenri’ah to rise, and so you do.

“You shall not bow any longer.” His heart hurts when he lifts his heavy head. All that is left of it is rushing to win a race that simply does not exist. The Blade hums the song of frostborn starlight, the lost souls yearn for something he could never truly grant them. Yet you, whoever you are and whatever your name may be; the one made of burning shards of shattered sky and the freezing rubble of broken stone; the one in the image of the marble still polished, you can. And you will.

“This torturous eon of suffering has finally come to its end and now it’s time for you to seize the freedom that has been taken from you by the Vinster King’s rule.” The rightful heir is as well versed in the way of the word as she is in the way of the bloodshed. Next to him, a blonde Æsir woman stares up at you with a masterfully hidden horror, given away only by the tremble of her wet lashes. Tense palm on the small of her back, Surtalogi is uncharacteristically solemn. “The walls must be broken. The ties must be restored. Khaenri’ah must become whole again. The sun shall rise above our heads and drown our lands in light. For I, [Name] Einherjar, am your rightful queen.”

Well-polished marble indeed. The dull ache of his all-inviting heart never goes away even after the crowd accepts a new monarch with a bit more hope than yesterday. The king is dead, long live the queen. Or however it goes.

Maybe he should start this new chapter by reading some more poetry.

Queen [Name] of the House Einherjar, the Second of Her Name, Supreme Sovereign of Khaenri’ah, trusts no one despite appearing as if she trusts all.

Surtalogi has been staring at the parchment in his hands for a little while now. Enough for Thrain to understand that nothing good would come out of it, not that he faults the man for being apprehensive. Despite not actively participating in the conversation or being asked to voice his opinion, this meeting – the first of many tiresome discussions of the nation’s future with its greatest of minds present – has been long and taxing on both soul and body. Even the reason for acquiring a place at this table remains a little vague at best, yet he stays seated. Orders are orders and Thrain is not yet included in Khaenri’ah’s brightest constellation despite his tremendous responsibility.

“If I so may… There is a peculiar clause I cannot seem to wrap my head around.” When Surtalogi finally speaks, the tension snaps in the form of Lady Syn’s heavy sigh. The Æsir woman is not good with dealing with men having opinions, Thrain gathers easily. She is conservative in her beliefs, and you allow her to be; the thin line between reparations and indulgence is never crossed and something tells him you agree with most of her sentiments, anyway. “You titled my future wife a princess, yet you state none of her children can inherit the throne. It seems rather… discriminating… to exclude her this way, don’t you think?”

Surtalogi is careful in choosing words, especially in the presence of the leader of a rebellious faction that just happens to be that aforementioned future wife’s maternal aunt. You have gathered quite a circle around yourself, and the voices remind him that nothing in this world is a coincidence, but everything is destiny. Whether this fate leads you to ruin is another question entirely and Thrain wishes not to explore it. The new era only just began, and it seems as promising at the sunlight that a lot of god-defying refugees claim to miss. Neither you nor Syn seem perplexed by Surtalogi’s incriminating claims either, so why should someone like Thrain dwell on it any longer.

“This title is nothing but a meaningless word. Saga is a princess in the same way Lumine is.” You state firmly. The scroll in your grasp snaps closed, the golden-haired youth – Lumine – reaches to remove it from the table entirely. She still doesn’t mind being robbed of authority, if anything, she looks relieved by it being taken off her palms. “She is a princess by her good deeds and gracious nature, yet there is nothing about her or her blood that is strong enough to hold the weight of the Bough.”

“That is not what he asked, my lady.” Something about Vedrfolnir’s lack of accountability is unsettling, but Thrain can only guess that playing the role of a blinded prophet for so long strips one off their sense of self-preservation entirely. “If something were to happen, who would be the next in line to inherit your will? Should this not be a pressing matter?”

Under the sparkling rain of diamonds covering your face, you smile, “Am I expected to die soon, Vedrfolnir? Since you seem to be so worried about my ability to produce an heir.”

Thrain can never discern whether you take things seriously or not, the sheer coat of frost forbids everyone from seeing the you that is authentic. Or maybe he is simply way too guarded and is looking for something that isn’t there to begin with. Thrain is not the one for political games and the court intrigue, that is not what he signed up for entering the Khaenri’ahn military. Yet just like with poetry, with being invited here he guesses he must start learning.

“No, no, that is not what I meant.” Vedrfolnir is quick to dismiss your – however faux they may be – worries. Or smooth out a vague threat he made on your life with pleasantries; Thrain is yet to pick which one is more scandalous.

No matter that royal conspiracies, Syn’s patience is as frail as it is fleeting, so it blows up quite loudly and echoes for far too long, “Then you should stop questioning your queen. This is a matrilineal monarchy, not a democracy.”

Surtalogi has a way of speaking over his soon-to-be-wife in a style that is almost endearing, if it wasn’t for the fact that she is yet to voice her own opinion on the matter. And Khaenri’ah is indeed a matrilineal monarchy. At least it used to be before Irmin usurped the Bough from its rightful barer. And now that the crown is back home, there is nothing stopping you from reverting back to the old world if you so wish.

Despite having all the rights to, however, the newly crowned Princess doesn’t appear to mind such a transgression. And Thrain knows little of Saga Trygg. She is as cautious as she is protected; and despite finding the woman quite pleasant, something tells him it’s better to keep his distance. Nothing good can come out of mingling with the Bough and its thorns.

“Lady Syn, with all due respect, don’t you find it humiliating?” This time Surtalogi is direct and open with his accusations.

You still do not pay him any mind, the diamonds of your overly complicated headpiece glimmer with the identical glow as that of the Holy Blade. Mismatched eyes catch his gaze, your expression doesn’t change. You know something others don’t, that is what his heart tells him. And Thrain has collected too many a lost soul in the emptiness of his ribcage to doubt this premonition.

“I was the one to suggest this.” Syn spits with such ferocity, the red of her lips could be mistaken for blood. “The Bough must remain with the Einherjars, there is a million other ways to unite this nation.”

She is objectively correct, even someone like Thrain – so far removed from politics yet far too entangled in the remembrance of the past – knows that Khaenri’ah can only thrive with the blood that fertilized the soil for the inteyvat to bloom. No technological progress could save the nation from damnation of soul and corrosion of memories, as it is slowly being swallowed by the abyss.

Those unworthy can never get to the Plane of Fólkvangr. And they all have been unworthy for centuries. For so long, in fact, that even Irmin’s hopeless wife – your unfortunate mother you have slain with your own hands – could not summon the Blade and slice open the fabric of time and space to visit the land of the dead even if it was her duty to do so.

All in due time and all with due fate. Maybe under your rule there would be no need for artificial ley lines forged out of human hearts. Maybe with the Bough finally home, everyone would be able to rest in peace, and not in the hollowness of his being.

Surtalogi frowns; as always, he is playing up his true emotional state with an exaggerated furrow of his eyebrows, “Not going to lie, Lady Syn, I feel a little hurt.”

The Æsir huffs, “I do not care for the feelings of men. You are all disposable and serve no purpose outside of your dick and balls.”

Lumine stiffens an amused scoff, the pinnacle of emotional expression coming from Irmin’s chosen heir. You simply raise your hand in a polite wave, reminding the woman where she is right now, “Lady Syn, please do be more tactful.”

“No place for tact in the throne room.” Despite her words, Syn does not interfere any longer. Simply crossed her hands over her chest, a disappointed shake of her head when she noticed Saga readying herself to speak.

“[Name], please answer his question.” Thrain has no clue what exactly she’s doubting. Whether it is your faith in her or the level of care you hold for her. Whatever it is, there is something more to this conversation than just a simple debate over a hypothetical untimely death of a new queen. And you know it. Orchestrated or not, there is something brilliant in a way everything plays out in a way you seemingly expect, “What is the purpose of naming me a princess yet not allowing my children to inherit the throne?”

The air cracks with a chilling wave of buzz, you get up from your chair. Step after careful step you stop right beside Saga and kneel before her. The Blade in your arm is glistening with a sheen of starlight. You ask for her hand with a silent motion, and she opens her palm readily. The troubled wrinkle between her eyebrows deepens. Alice and Gold cannot seem to stop arguing over semantics of magic related physics, and Skirk – ever the voice of reason – doesn’t rush to separate them this time around.

“If you truly desire the crown so bad, then may I offer you my life right now?” You ask, the sword hovering over Saga’s trembling hand. “You are the only one capable of spilling my blood, after all.” When you suddenly drop it, beside Thrain, Dainsleif winces. Everyone in this room knows what is about to happen, yet somehow the tension remains impossibly strained. As if transparent, the Blade of Fólkvangr falls right through Saga’s shaky palm, right through the marble floors of the palace and then emerges back at your side, fully tangible and real in your hold. Alice remains victorious: one can never reign over a concept that is not of their creation. “Otherwise, I shall live long enough for you to never need to carry a burden that your shoulders are incapable of withstanding, my most beloved friend.”

You get up on your feet, dusting the sheer tulle of your dress and silently stroll back to your seat, deeming this discussion finally over. A firm hand on your wrist, Vedrfolnir is extremely capable of pinpointing object’s location while being completely blinded under Irmin’s crazed commands. It is then that Thrain decides that no, the line must be drawn somewhere. He can appreciate the intricate poetry of dramatic irony yet if everything about royalty is akin to this, then he wishes to stay as far away from the courtroom politics as possible. Against his better judgment, Thrain will soon find out that his endeavor has proven to be unsuccessful the second he crossed the threshold of this room.

“You have always been so cold.” Despite the blindfold covering Vedrfolnir’s missing eyes, Thrain can almost see the mischievous glimmer lighting them up when the prophet smiles at you. “Do you not trust us, my dear?”

You dismiss the insubordination, arm limp in his hold and turn to look at the man through the hundreds of diamonds obscuring your vision. “On the contrary, I have all the faith in humanity.”

You too, choose your words with the extreme expertise of someone who was born into a lie and then decided to remain living in it. You may have faith in all of humanity, but you do not trust a single person in this room; that is what the voices tell Thrain is true. He does not doubt it even for a second.

Whether Vedrfolnir catches it is a question that Thrain does not care to reveal the answer to, however. Nor does Vedrfolnir himself seem to be interested in musing over your precise choice of vocabulary, instead opting for asking something else entirely, “Should I expect my brother to be promoted then, since you have such faith in us?”

“No, Twilight Sword must remain with the Royal Guard.” You reject a question – an offer, a suggestion, a statement, an order? – rather bluntly, “I shall appoint the new Commander today. Lady Syn is correct; Khaenri’ah is not a democracy.”

“Ah, how disappointing indeed.” An exaggerated whine falls from Vedrfolnir’s lips, although the smile he’s wearing turns a tad bit too sinister for a second, “Makes me wish to call for the last payment, darling.”

“Vedrfolnir.” You utter his name with the eons of exhaustion woven into your breath, yet complain you do not, “Anything you want, as promised.”

The prophet’s hold on you tightens, “I wish for something that is a one of many, yet also something that is one of a kind.” It is suited for a tortured fortune-teller to speak in riddles, yet the overarching theme of this conversation is a bit too thick right now and Thrain has half a mind to curse the peculiar ruby-eyed witch for snatching him from the training grounds just to forcibly tangle him into shadow politics.

For a fraction of a second you are silent in your musings. Beside Thrain, Dainsleif is as stiff as a board. Then you reach for Vedrfolnir’s face, palm warming his cheek, and press your lips to his. One second. Maybe five. However long for it to remain just on the line of barely appropriate. When you pull away, the crimson hue is bleeding all over Vedrfolnir’s mouth.

“My first.” You clarify offhandedly, noticing the confusion blossoming on the prophet’s visage along with the flush of embarrassment. “One of many, yet the one I could never replicate.” Then you laugh, unrestrained and unapologetic, yet the biting cold never leaves your vocal cords, “Or did you think I was going to promise you the rights on sharing blood with my firstborn daughter, Vedrfolnir?”

Vedrfolnir says nothing. Alice cackles as if woman possessed and grants herself departure even before you offer it to her. The Royal Mage, once discarded by the Vinster King yet welcomed back into the palace by your personal wish, heaves a heavy sigh of disappointment. Thrain cannot exactly pinpoint whether it’s Vedrfolnir’s audacity, your debauchery or Red Witch’s wickedness – maybe even all three – that has the old man lose his last wits. Not that it matters much in the grand scheme of things.

“If there are no further questions, you are dismissed.” Immensely glad to be allowed to leave, Thrain holds onto the exhale of relief for when he is away from the castle walls yet has no chance to. You stop him before he can even move his chair. “Except you, Sentinel Knight. You must stay.”

You never state for what reason you are holding him back, but it is already obvious. The Commander of the Khaenri’ahn army went missing with one swift strike of the starbound ice. You don’t seem to think of people as disposable yet cannot bring yourself to warm the snake’s nest willingly. Thrain shares the sentiment: he has never been a fan of holding his enemies closer than his friends. And despite your peculiar character, this is definitely something Thrain cannot fault you for. Queen [Name] Einherjar is incapable of trusting even herself. He fears that one day it can become your downfall.

He accepts the position with no hesitation, yet it does not save either of you from damnation.

Her Majesty finds solace in a routine that would make a demon god’s teeth rot.

It is not everyone who can brag about being invited to have tea with the Queen, yet Thrain doesn’t think you care much about the honor you’re extending to him. What you do care about is what the both of you can gain from those hushed meetings.

The first time Thrain enters your study, you offer him a seat at the small, low table that can only fit four people. It’s a specific seat, not the one opposite of you but the one to your left. Lumine, the ever-haunting presence, quirks a questioning eyebrow at your action; you say nothing. Deciding to not occupy the space to you right any longer, the golden-haired outlander departs quietly, leaving only the rustle of silks in her wake. A rook moves on its own. His knees are not as reliable as Thrain thought they were, as by the time you win – or lose – the game against yourself, his legs are completely numb, and each minuscule moment sends pins and needles right into his tense muscles.

The question comes before he can even weight the pros and cons of voicing it, “Do you often play by yourself, Your Majesty?”

You shrug, a light chime of diamonds of your dress echoes through the room, “Not many are willing to face the consequences of my loss.”

Thrain can’t help but think back to your one-sided game of chess now that you admitted your defeat with the ease of someone who has tasted it fresh far too many times. Checkmate. Utter devastation for your side of the board with not much left standing. He isn’t one for overdramatic sentiments, yet something about this specific time brings a solemn dryness to his throat.

And maybe you notice it as well, reaching for a teapot, “Tea?” There must be something on his face that gives away the absurdity of your actions for your smile to peek through the shimmering veil of your headpiece, “Maybe coffee? Alice said this drink is getting quite popular above ground.”

The obscenity of a queen offering to pour tea for her subject is not lost on either of you, yet you seem to find amusement in his inability to figure you out. In his ten years in the Khaenri’ahn military, Thrain got used to carrying out royal whims with swift precision. Failure meant being disposed, and nobody wished to die knowing there would be nothing left of them to remember them by.

You seem to value human life a lot more than the Vinster King did, despite your quick action to remove those who were still hesitant to part with Irmin’s ideals. But you’re also hard to grasp; you hide your face by heaps of diamonds and stars, you wrap yourself in the finest of silks and tulles, you do anything to separate yourself from the world you clearly cherish so dearly.

Thrain guesses that it’s only fair: your wisdom may be far beyond that of an average person and the distance you are willing to cross for the prosperity of the nation seemingly has no limit, but you are still young. The same age Thrain himself was when he so foolishly gave up his life for the king. Naïve and gullible, Thrain’s twenty-year-old self thought he would be doing good by this country. Now ten years later, disillusioned and jaded, heart far too full and head far too misty, he understands how much of a fool he has been.

In hindsight, it was fairly obvious that Khaenri’ah had been exploited by Irmin long before he turned his coup d'état into the rule of tyranny. For what exactly nobody would ever know, the usurper king took this knowledge with him to his grave. Not that someone as ordinary as Thrain should be privy to such revelations.

You, Thrain is sure, still know something that nobody else does. And this is precisely why you are so distrustful of everything. Thrain may not be a prophet, or a fallen star from a foreign world, neither is he a trusted handmaiden, nor an all-knowing witch, and definitely not the master of khemikhal arts, yet the artificial ley line of his heart seems to help him see what others don’t. When those in the shadows are still following the word of the late mad king, your chess board is preoccupied with a devastation far greater than any court conspiracy. Maybe that’s why you are constantly on the lookout for people you can put even a fraction of your trust in.

For once in his life Thrain is aware of the perils lying ahead, he is even given a convoluted warning albeit with no clear sign of what kind of danger he is getting himself into. Mysterious you may be, but your soul is honest, and your intentions are pure. If death is inevitable, it’s better to die for the liege who stands side by side with you in battle than the one who only dictates whichever hand you should swing your blade with.

“Tea.” He took a little too long to answer so it sounds more like an order than a request. Someone else would have already had his head on a silver platter. Your puzzling smile under the veil of stars only keeps growing. Yet as lenient as you may be, Thrain must fix himself before the Red Witch has any more material to use against him, “If that is not too bold of a request.”

You wave him off, “Oh, never. I must warn you, however…” You pour the drink in the two matching cups, offering one to him gently. “My tea is not for the weak.”

The liquid is deep red, almost black, and the scent that fills the room is not something Thrain has ever experienced in his life. Your words of caution are taken into account, yet Thrain can’t help but doubt them. Unless it’s poison, there is little a man like him cannot stomach. And something tells him you are above working with poisons. If you were, the Vinster King would have wound up dead long before you had to battle your flesh and blood for the key to the underworld.

Legs still numb and a strange tingle in his fingers, Thrain lifts a cup to his mouth. The sweetness hits him before his body can process the pleasant aroma of this deathly concoction. You seem unfazed by this honeyed herbal water solution, however, indulging in it even. Eyebrow raised in a silent question, you’re waiting for his reaction with way too much mirth pooling in the light of your mismatched eyes.

“It’s quite…” he hesitates. Lying to you isn’t something Thrain wishes to do and disrespecting Her Majesty’s peculiar tastes does not spell a very bright future in most case scenarios. Unless, of course, you’re testing him in some convoluted way. Thrain isn’t made for court intrigues, neither is he a master of word picking. But it’s getting progressively more obvious that you wish for him to learn. “Unhealthy tasting.”

“Indeed.” You agree, satisfied and not even the slightest bit offended. Then you down the scorching liquid in one swift gulp, gaze searching for something Thrain isn’t sure you can find on his person. Yet you do, “If you come again next week, I promise to ask for less sweetener. Would you?”

Thrain nods, being difficult for the sake of doing so, “The will of the Queen is the will of the nation.”

“That is not what I asked.” You quip, placing your empty cup back on the tray and beginning to rearrange the chess board once again.

Thrain knows, but the only way to evolve is to mimic. You are a master of khemia, you should understand that better than anyone. “If some free time presents itself.”

Diamonds scatter around the floor in a heap of dying stars. Your face, not obscured by the shadows of light, is still glazed with a thin layer of ice. The white pawn moves on its own. “Care for a game then, Commander?”

Thrain never finishes the tea, but you do it for him. If there was poison in it, then it was made of your own blood, and you have bled so much over the years that it simply cannot faze you anymore. The ache in his chest won’t seem to go away, however. It must be the phantom of memories long gone from souls long lost.

What else could it possibly be?

This tradition continues as the years go by. The ice may not melt, but everyone who has grazed the warmth of your light knows that Her Majesty’s closest companions always walk the path in frosted stardust. Be it the loyal handmaiden with her glimmering delusion of your making, or the outlander from beyond with the light glowing at the tip of her blade. Even Thrain himself learns to accept the gnawing buzz of enigmatic power stored inside his modified heart.

In hindsight, he should have known that your interest in him was never all that simple. However, Thrain is yet to decide whether he is worthy of the knowledge you bestowed him with or not. It is not an easy task to use the power which was unfairly ripped away from someone far more deserving of it, after all. You, despite his doubts, make it all seem so easy; turning his soul-tearing dilemma into a simple question of do or don’t, will or won’t.

You say not using it is nothing but potential wasted, an opportunity missed. Letting the power forced upon him by Irmin’s finest khemists rot in the depth of his chest is nothing more than a memory slowly fading into obscurity. And someone like you and him have no right to forget.

The dull grey of the glaciers of his making is far kinder to the touch than Thrain anticipated, it is also quite a useful tool in mundane tasks like cooling his freshly brewed tea. It lost most of its sweetness a long time ago, and you learned to adapt by dropping copious amounts of honey into your own teacup. A big step for you, considering he found out the hard way just how unwilling you are to accept change. Two years in, and you are yet to change your seat or let Thrain occupy any other space except the one you offered him on the day he entered your study for the first time.

It is in this very spot that Thrain also learns that each and every of your presumably illogical actions guided by your whims alone, is carefully planned years ahead of time. For better or for worse.

You drop the king back on the board, breaking the rules and forfeiting the game. Thrain, startled by your sudden action throws a curious glance your way but you bring your silk-covered finger to your lips to shush whatever question is boiling in his mind. Then you put your headpiece back on and you wait. The king is floating above the board, shimmering with a transparent sheen of rime.

The door opens without a knock. Vedrfolnir, Thrain learns extremely quickly, has a peculiar habit of thinking he owns your personal space. Maybe you’re given the prophet a tad bit much hope, maybe the years of confinement have sent him spiraling into insanity. Whichever it is doesn’t really matter, it will never change the fact that Vedrfolnir allows himself things far out of his league.

“Have you been playing by yourself all this time, my dear?” Hand on your bare shoulder, Vedrfolnir stops to your right, easily avoiding the spot you reserved for Lumine as if he can see it. You do not spare the prophet even a glance, the white king takes its place on the board. A black rook catches flight. “I know my darling baby brother is not quite on par with Khaenri’ahn grandmasters, but I thought you were at least willing to count on me to keep you company.”

“Good evening, Vedrfolnir.” You murmur, palm on your chin, seemingly deep in thought. “What is it that you need this time?”

The mad fortune teller doesn’t waste any time dropping to his knees beside you. He leans closer to your side, hand sliding along your shoulders until it finds its resting place on your other forearm, and you are locked in some convoluted version of an embrace with your back pressed tightly to his chest, “Reconsider.”

Thrain isn’t sure whether Vedrfolnir is simply that shameless to act upon his whims in the presence of another person or simply does not consider the Commander of Khaenri’ahn army a man worth acknowledging. Not that Thrain would be surprised if it were to be both of those.

“No.”  You wave Vedrfolnir off like a pesky fly.

Face hidden in the crook of your neck, Vedrfolnir’s voice is muffled by the volume of your hair, “You are making a grave mistake.”

“You have exhausted your three wishes, Vedrfolnir. Should have been more careful with words.” You chastise the prophet as if he was a child. Thrain doesn’t blame you for doing so: Vedrfolnir, despite his reputation, has always been rather quick in throwing temper tantrum if something wasn’t going his way. Which wasn’t often, yet when it rains, it pours. And by the looks of it, a reminder of whatever defeat Vedrfolnir tasted the time you gifted him your first kiss hit too close to home.

“If Lady Syn wishes to have connection to the crown so bad, then why did you deny Saga the right of inheritance?” A shameless whine, strained fingers digging into the exposed skin of your forearm. You take it all in stride, the glacier star that you are. The game continues, Vedrfolnir’s patience is steadily evaporating, “Why sell yourself to a man you do not love? We both know you would live a miserable life. You need someone–”

Your laugh interrupts Vedrfolnir’s manic blabbering. He lifts his head from your shoulder, watching you with his missing eyes. You glance back at the prophet: from the blindfold to the nose to the pout on his lips. Then you sigh, the pawn finds its place on the chessboard.

“He is a man of a formidable character. Easy on the eyes too. I can learn to love him.” You press your finger to the flushed skin of Vedrfolnir’s cheek, gliding your thumb along his jaw until you reach his mouth. “We both know I do not care for the trivial matters of the firsts.”

Everyone knows you do not. That is why Vedrfolnir stills, breathless and motionless. He is so still, in fact, Thrain would have mistaken him for a statue if it wasn’t for the fact that the prophet was so easily flustered by shameless behavior as long as it is you who is being obscene. You don’t let anything escalate beyond the grasp of your control, however, so you push Vedrfolnir away with the same hand that has been holding his face so tenderly not even a second ago.

Your action wakes the prophet up, it looks like. Reevaluating his behavior and approach, Vedrfolnir gets up on his feet and steps away from your personal space, dusting some invisible particles from his clothes. “You will regret it, [Name].”

“I know.” You don’t argue, simply show him to the door with an absentminded wave of your hand. The diamonds clink when you do so, the stars keep falling along with the fabric of your long sleeve. “You should leave now. I have a game to finish.”

Vedrfolnir clears his throat awkwardly, defeated yet not a little bit ashamed, “Don’t stay up too late, darling.”

You huff, almost amused, “Be careful, Vedrfolnir. You call me that so often one might think you’re in love with me.”

The prophet turns on his heels and makes his way to the door, not even once turning to cast his empty gaze at you for the last time, “I wouldn’t dare to fight for your divine hand, my dear. It would break my poor brother’s heart in two.”

The door clicks shut. You sit in silence for a little while even after Vedrfolnir’s footsteps have long faded into nothing. Your expression, veiled by stardust and tulle, is frozen over and doesn’t truly melt away for the rest of Thrain’s stay in your study that evening. Not knowing what to do with himself, Thrain watches the tea in your cup freeze and then melt back into lukewarm concoction of herbal water and honey.

You groan, a tad bit too dramatic and out of character, but Thrain can’t ever claim to know you fully. Not when Alice is fond of saying you are prone to hysterical temper tantrums when your inventions don’t succeed in fulfilling their purpose on your first try. He isn’t sure if you know that the Red Witch is spreading what seems to be confidential information around, or whether those rumors are even true in the first place, but the annoyed huff that escapes your crimson lips says a lot about validity of Alice’s claims.

Despite your stoicism and ability to handle whatever Vedrfolnir throws his way, you are not immune to all poisons.

“He did not sense my presence.” Thrain mentions casually; a nice, easy way to switch the topic from your impending engagement to Lady Syn’s younger brother but not good enough to distract you from whatever it was that Vedrfolnir was implying by bringing up Dainsleif as his secret weapon. Not yet a master of picking and choosing words, Thrain must own up to his mistakes, “He must be quite troubled with your love life.”

“It appears so.” You shrug, the frost not fully melted but the semblance of a smile curves your lips into an oddly mysterious expression. Then you give him a good once over, from head to toe, lingering on his lap for a while. “How convenient.”

You gently pat the pillow you are sitting on, beckoning Thrain to check under his seat. There is nothing under the pillow, and Thrain finds himself almost disappointed by the revelation. You shake your head when he looks back at you, sliding the glove of your hand silently. He follows your instructions, repeating his search until the tips of his fingers graze a thin indent of missing marble, lines precise and delicate. Vedrfolnir may be blinded, yet he sees beyond the realm of what a human eye can perceive. Elemental energy, memories, the power of human will. Whatever those runes do, you found a way to do what even Irmin couldn’t accomplish and blinded the prophet once and for all. Terrifying, yet hauntingly admirable, nonetheless.

Her Majesty truly trusts no one, but the way you share this secret with him means way more to Thrain than he is willing to admit. Maybe it’s fine to cross some lines once in a while. He never truly liked staring at you just to catch the woman under the wall of glowing ice, anyway.

“The madman seemed to get under your skin at last.” Thrain cannot deduce whether his observation offended you or not, but you were never the type to get insulted by the truth.

“I love him, for I can’t see him.”  You admit casually, never specifying who you are talking about or what exactly you mean by that. That is as much as you are willing to give and Thrain isn’t even sure he should know any of that. He did ask, so he must own up to it once more.

“I am not sure you see anything behind those stones.” A clumsy joke lands surprisingly well, considering sometimes his tongue is Thrain’s greatest enemy.

Eyes closed, and shoulders less stiff, you cover your mouth with the palm of your hand. Your laugher has a tinge of sorrow to it, and it only dies when you drop your hand on your lap and gaze at him through the veil. “I am glad, Thrain.” You admit all of a sudden, a hushed whisper uttered like a secret.

“About what, Your Majesty?” Your eyebrows furrow at the mention of your title, as if you have forgotten who you are.

Thrain, for better or for worse, memorizes this knowledge to carry it with him far into the future. You were never fond of titles, or maybe everyone around you just never got used to using them. Despite it being years, Thrain cannot confidently call himself your friend just yet, neither has he dared to assume you wish for him to do so. Now, however, it seems like things are changing. They always do whenever you are involved.

“That it is you they chose.” Your eyes are focused on Thrain’s heart, or whatever is left of it after Rhinedottir finished butchering his flesh.

Somber and wistful, your gaze is full of longing. You have lost your childhood, your forgotten past, your unlived present and your possible future, all of your dreams yet to be dreamt. Thrain lost but a heart, yet gained something that, in a way, is far greater than a soul of one simple mortal man. You once mentioned how all in this life is a matter of equal exchange. To gain something you must give something up first. So what have you gained from losing the will that could rival even this world?

The glowing device on your hip doesn’t appear to come even close in terms of fair trade. And yet… “I see nobody better suited to carry out my will after I can no longer sustain the Plane of Fólkvangr.”

You always have a way of making things go as planned, choose your words carefully, treat your creations with utmost care. Yet Thrain can never forget the first time he saw you play a game of chess against yourself. Your defeat is inevitable. Whichever way you go, no hope remains for you at the end.

“This implies you plan to part with this life before I do.” Thrain voices his concern with a level of steadiness that astounds even himself.

“We can never foresee the fate that those fake stars have given us, Thrain.” You don’t dismiss him or dispel his unease. You are nothing but honest and somehow it is far worse than any lie you could have given him. “But we should know better than anyone that the winds of time are the most unpredictable.”

Your gaze shifts. Thrain follows your line of sight with the caution of a soldier thrown into the raging battlefield completely unarmed. He is right to do so.

For the first time in 2000 years, the skies of Khaenri’ah burn deep crimson once more.

[hoernypie]

Thirst-day ‿෴🦇෴‿

tags: vampire au, blasphemy, public, p+v, blood, creamp!e

wc: 3156

The full moon cast shadows through the broken stained glass windows of the old abandoned church, filling the church with a dim light. The silence was broken only by your echoing footsteps as you continued to explore the abandoned building. The believers had long forgotten the once sublime building. The church which had long ago dismissed it as nothing but a relic of a bygone era, now served a different, dark purpose—a sanctuary for the undead. Suguru, a centuries-old vampire, had made this forsaken place his home, seeking peace from the relentless world and the rotten humans.

A figure stirred from its slumber in a shadowy corner of the nave, where the great altar had once stood. Suguru's skin as pale as the marble slowly unfurled from his resting place, his eyes flickering open to reveal beautiful brown eyes. With an annoyed sigh, that sounded like a gust of wind through the ruins, he took in his surroundings, searching for the one who woke him from the slumber. As he emerged from the darkness, his lithe form moved with a fluidity that mirrored the undulating shadows. It was as though he was a predator stalking his unsuspecting prey, his every step exuding a sense of purpose and determination. The moment had arrived for him to satisfy his hunger.

You felt a cold gust of air before a figure emerged from the shadows, causing you to stumble back in shock. But instead of the monstrous snarl you expected, the figure, Suguru, gave a low chuckle that made your blood freeze. "You should see your face," he quipped with a smirk, his fangs momentarily retreating. The vampire advanced, his eyes gleaming with amusement, drawing closer with each step. "I do hope I didn't startle you too much, my dear... uninvited guest." His smile grew wider "But since I find your presence rather entertaining," he continued lightening, "I shall spare you the usual greeting and instead offer you a choice: tell me why you're here or become a midnight snack. What brings you here?"

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain a calm exterior despite the racing heart that threatened to betray your fear. "I like it...," you replied, voice quivering slightly. "Exploring abandoned places is what I like. The stories they hold, the history they keep... It's like nothing else." Suguru's smirk softened a bit, his eyes narrowing in curiosity as he studied you. "Ah, a curious cat," he murmured, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards. "How delightful. Do you know that curiosity killed the cat?" 

As your words lingered in the air, his demeanor transformed. The playful glint in his eyes gave way to a cold, calculating gaze. The corners of his lips twisted into a snarl, and as his smile faded, his sharp fangs were bared once more. "And in your case," he hissed, his eyes flashing with a predatory glint, "Your curiosity may indeed be your downfall." You felt the weight of his stare, the fear filling your body and seizing your chest like an iron fist. Seeing your reaction he let out a chilling laugh that echoed through the hollow church, sending shivers down your spine. 

With a sudden rush of adrenaline, you made the split-second decision to break free from his grasp. As you sprinted, the uneven cobblestone beneath your feet caused you to stumble, almost sending you crashing to the ground as you desperately aimed for the gaping entrance of the old church. Heart thudded violently in your chest as you weaved through the dimly lit aisles, the hollow sound of footsteps reverberating alongside the chilling echoes of Suguru's laughter. His sinister chuckles seemed to draw nearer, his movements as stealthy and graceful as the encroaching shadows. Refusing to glance back, fully aware that doing so could seal your fate, you pushed aching legs to their limit, steadfastly resisting the overwhelming fear of death. The church’s doorway loomed tantalizingly close, the promise of freedom almost within my grasp, when a cold hand grabbed my shoulder, stopping me just before I could run outside.

Suguru's icy fingers dug into your shoulder, his grip was surprisingly gentle as he turned you to face him, his amusement now replaced by a twisted affection. Leaning in closer, his breath caressed your cheek as he whispered, "Ah, how precious." He brought his hand up to your face, tenderly brushing away the tears that had escaped your eyes. His lips curled into a smile as he captured one of the tears with the tip of his tongue, savoring the salty taste. "But alas," he continued, "we vampires, are not known for our mercy." His eyes searched yours, the hunger now unmistakable. He leaned in further, just before his mouth found yours, you felt his fangs graze the tender skin beneath your ear, his breath hot against your neck.

Suguru's grip tightened, not painfully, but enough to make it clear that escape was no longer an option. His smile grew more predatory, his eyes lighting up with the thrill of the chase. "You know," he murmured against your skin, his voice being seductive, "I find your fear... rather delightful." He trailed a cold finger down your neck, watching your pulse quicken in anticipation of his bite. His eyes never leaving yours, he leaned in, allowing you to feel the sharpness of his fangs. "But before I indulge," he whispered, "I want to hear why did you dare to disturb my slumber?" His mouth hovered over yours, his breath a sweet, tantalizing promise of what was to come.

Your legs felt like jelly as Suguru effortlessly picked you up, carrying you toward the altar with an unnerving gentleness that seemed to contradict the horror of the situation. The cold marble slab felt cold and unforgiving against your ass as he sat you down. You stared up at the ceiling, the remnants of frescoes with saints watching over you in silent judgment. His touch, once terrifying, had become a strange comfort as he positioned your limbs, his eyes gleaming with a mix of fascination and hunger. "Your heart races like a rabbit’s," he murmured, his eyes tracing the veins in your neck. "Do you know how sweet fear tastes?" He paused, his breath hot and his fangs a mere inch from your skin. "But let us not rush. I want to savor every moment of this... encounter." With a surprising show of strength, he pinned you down, his body hovering over yours like a specter of the night. "Now, entertain me, little explorer," he whispered, his fingers sliding against the warm core between your thighs. The church's silence was your only witness as you took a deep, shuddering breath, knowing your answer could either grant you mercy or seal your doom.

Suguru's cold, deft fingers began to unbutton your shirt with a deliberate slowness that seemed to stretch time itself. Each button that clicked open felt like a step closer to the inevitable. With each piece of your clothing that fell away, you felt more exposed than ever before. His eyes never left yours, drinking in your every reaction. He slid the shirt off your shoulders, revealing your goosebumps, and making him chuckle. His touch was gentle as he traced the line of your collarbone with his thumb. "You're trembling," he noted, his voice a soft. "Is it fear or excitement that makes your body respond to me this way?" With a flick of his wrist, your shirt was gone, and he moved on to your skirt, his movements quick. He took his time, savoring each moment as if he were unraveling the layers of a precious gift. You held your breath, unsure if your trembling was from the cold or the exhilarating terror that wrapped around you like a second skin. His eyes roamed over your exposed flesh, a silent question hanging in the air, as the vampire's own hunger grew more palpable with each passing second.

As Suguru's gaze lingered on your heaving chest, he took notice of the hardened peaks of your nipples. His eyes darkened with a hunger that was no longer solely for your blood. He reached out, his cold fingers brushing against the sensitive flesh, causing an involuntary gasp to escape your lips. He chuckled darkly, enjoying your response. "Your body betrays you," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. He took a moment to appreciate the sight before leaning down to claim a nipple with his mouth. His fangs grazed the sensitive nub, the threat of pain a delicious counterpoint to the pleasure of his touch. You felt a jolt of arousal, despite the horror of the situation, your body responding to his dominance and the embodiment of the danger he was. Suguru's eyes gleamed with triumph as he began to suckle, the sensation both terrifying and exhilarating, his fangs never quite piercing the skin but always a tantalizing possibility.

Suguru's attention moved lower, his mouth leaving your now-sensitive nipple to travel down your chest. His fingertips traced the line of your navel before slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. The coldness of his touch sent another shiver through your body. He pulled the fabric aside, revealing your wet and swollen pussy to the moonlit that lit the church. His eyes grew dark with desire as he took in the sight of your arousal. "Ah," he murmured, "utterly divine." His thumb began to circle your clit with a gentle pressure that had you biting your lip to keep from moaning. He watched your face intently, his fangs now fully extended, as he delved further, sliding a finger inside of you with an ease that belied his centuries of experience. You felt yourself growing wetter with each stroke, your body's natural response to his touch overriding the rational fear that screamed at you to fight back. As he played with your sensitive flesh, Suguru's other hand moved to your neck, his grip firm, reminding you that he could end your life with a single bite. The tension between fear and arousal grew unbearable, your mind racing with thoughts of both the pleasure and the pain that could come next. Yet, as his finger curled within you, hitting just the right spot, you found yourself arching into his touch, silently begging for more, even as your heart hammered in your chest like a captive bird desperate to flee.

With a sudden, yet graceful movement, Suguru hooked his fingers into your panties and pulled them down in a single motion. Your legs instinctively parted wider, allowing him a full view of your pussy. His eyes shone with a mix of triumph and hunger as he took in the sight of your exposed, glistening flesh. The fabric pooled around your ankles, leaving you utterly naked before him. He leaned in, his nose flaring at the scent of your arousal, a scent that was as potent to him as the sweetest warm blood. His touch grew more demanding, his fingers delving deeper as he sought to bring you closer to the edge of ecstasy. His mouth watered at the sight of your body squirming beneath his touch, his fangs aching for a taste of what was before him. Yet, he held back, savoring the moment of dominating you.

As Suguru's fingers continued to abuse your tight pussy, he reached for the golden cross that stood on the altar, the old symbol of the very faith that once filled this building. He held it up, the moonlight glinting off the golden metal. "Tell me," he whispered, his voice a seductive while he enjoyed this moment, "Do you believe in the power of this relic to save you?" He waited for your response, his eyes gleaming with amusement. When you could only manage a weak nod, his smirk grew wider showing his fangs. "Good," he murmured, "for your sake." With surprising gentleness, he positioned the cross at your entrance, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat emanating from your core. He pushed the cross inside you, the sensation strange and unholy, as he claimed your body with the symbol of God. You felt a jolt of something primal, a blend of fear and excitement that made you moan despite the horror of the situation. Suguru's eyes never left yours as he penetrated you with the cross, watching with rapt fascination as your face contorted with each thrust, leaning in to lick tears rolling off your cheeks. The sensation was overwhelming, your body reacting in ways you never thought possible as he played with your boundaries and beliefs. His movements grew faster, his hunger for both your blood and your pleasure becoming more urgent with every passing moment. The cross, once a symbol of salvation, now was nothing but a toy in his hand. The sound of your whimpers filled the silent church, the beautiful symphony for his ears.

With the cross still nestled deep inside you, Suguru leaned in, his fangs grazing your neck, his breath hot and moist against your skin. He began to pump the cross in and out of your tight, wet pussy enjoying the wet sounds that echoed through the church. The sensation was like nothing you had ever felt before, a strange mix of pain and pleasure that sent shockwaves through your body. Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, the pressure building until you thought you would shatter under the weight of his touch. His free hand moved to your throat, his grip tightening slightly as he whispered, "Your body is a temple, and I am about to desecrate it." The words sent a shiver through you, making you tighten around the metal. You couldn’t help but push back your hips against the cross, craving to go faster, deeper, for him to claim you completely. His movements grew more fervent, the cross moving in and out of you with a force that made you tremble. The cold metal felt like it was burning you from the inside out, a stark contrast to the heat that was building within you. As the tension reached its peak, you felt your body begin to convulse, your orgasm ripping through you. Suguru's eyes widened with triumph, his grip on the cross tightening as he watched you fall apart beneath him. 

With your body still quivering from the intensity of your climax, Suguru slowly withdrew the cross from your pussy. Throwing the cross on the floor, the metal clattering against the stone floor. He positioned his big thick dick between your legs, the tip slick with pearly beads of his precum. With a wicked grin, he lined himself up against your trembling entrance. The tip of his dick nudged at your slick folds, letting his precum mix with your sweet sticky juices. He paused, relishing the moment, before he slammed into you with an animalistic growl. The force of his thrust caused your back to arch, your nails digging into the marble of the altar as you gasped for air. He filled you completely, stretching you painfully. His fangs grazed your neck once more, a reminder that despite everything he still saw you as food. As he began to move, his hips pistoning into you with a rhythm so fast that made your pain vanish quickly as it was replaced with pleasure. You felt your walls tighten around his shaft as he filled you, each stroke driving you closer to the edge of sanity. His movements grew more urgent, his breathing ragged with need, as he plunged into you with a primal force that seemed to shake the very foundations of the church. The sound of his balls slapping against your ass filled the sanctuary, a perverted echo of the moans and squelching sounds filling the walls that once heard the prayers to the saints. Suguru reached between your legs to find your clit, his thumb brushing against the sensitive bud in time with his thrusts.

Suguru's eyes locked onto your neck, his fangs gleaming in the moonlight. With a feral growl, he sank his teeth into the soft flesh, piercing through your skin with ease. The initial pain was sharp, a beacon of reality amidst the haze of pleasure. You felt your warm blood, spurt into his mouth as he began to suck, his movements becoming more sloppy with each pull. The room swirled around you, a whirlwind of pleasure and horror as he fed. Your vision grew hazy, the edges of your consciousness fading as the vampire claimed what he had longed for. Your body, still reeling from the intensity of your first orgasm, responded to the new sensation, each draw of your blood sending a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. The sound of your pulse grew faint, but the feeling of Suguru's cock pounding into you remained, a reminder that this was no gentle lover's touch, but the violent embrace of a creature of the night. His thrusts grew harder, his hunger unyielding, until you reached the precipice once more, crying loudly as your second orgasm crashed over you, melding with the very essence of fear and ecstasy that filled the air.

As the intensity of your climax began to fade, Suguru's bite loosened, and your blood continued to trickle down his chin. He pulled back, his eyes alight with a hunger that seemed to have only grown after tasting your blood. The coldness of his skin against yours was a stark contrast to the warmth that still lingered from your orgasm. He licked the blood from his lips, his gaze never leaving yours as he whispered, "Your fear and pleasure are like the finest of wines." With one final, deep thrust, he emptied himself inside of you, filling you with his thick cum. Then, with a sinister smile, he lifted you effortlessly and carried you over to a dusty pew, laying you down as if you were a sacrifice upon an altar. He bent down, his eyes never leaving yours, and whispered, "Rest now, my dear. I will not be done with you until the sun rises, and even then, your soul may not find peace." 

Suguru's eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy, savoring the taste of your blood and the feel of your trembling body beneath his. His face was filled with pure pleasure as he whispered, "This pussy is too good to let you go." He pulled out of you with a wet sound that seemed to echo through the church. You lay there, a mess of sweat, blood, and desire, feeling his cum seep out of you and trickle down your thighs, staining the dusty cushion of the pew. He licked his lips, his eyes dark with hunger as he gazed down at your vulnerable form. The vampire's smirk grew wicked as he decided that this night would be one of endless pleasure and pain, a dance of the damned that you would never forget.

[gyuswhore]

✩ em’s masterlist ✩

🤍=fluff | 🌧️= angst | ⭐️= humour | ❤️‍🔥= suggestive/smut

𝑶𝑻13

How seventeen would react to your broken nail ⭐️

How seventeen would take pictures of you ⭐️

How seventeen sleep ⭐️

How Seventeen would give you a massage ⭐️

How seventeen would react to you asking them if they'd still love you if you were a cockroach ⭐️

How seventeen would wake you up in the morning ⭐️

𝑺.𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑷𝑺

[10:58] 🤍

bf texts (texting!au) ⭐️

Pure Math 171 🤍⭐️ 2.5k  

Walking into the first class of the semester shouldn't have been as eventful as it was (not that you can complain for long)

Fifteen to Forever 🤍 🌧️❤️‍🔥 6k

Fifteen was the age you had met Choi Seungcheol at a school hockey game. Forever was the age you would find yourself spending with him. 

𝑱𝑬𝑶𝑵𝑮𝑯𝑨𝑵

[2:13] 🌧️

[2:46] 🤍⭐️

clockwork 🤍 🌧️ ⭐️ 1.4k

It all began when you noticed tiny things disappearing from your bag; notebooks, charging cables, staplers. You'd get your answer soon enough, but it seems the world enjoys watching you run around in circles. 

𝑾𝑶𝑵𝑾𝑶𝑶

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So many walls that you can't break through; except that you do. 

Grease (the tragedy) ⭐️❤️‍🔥🤍 5.8k

In which you have to sit through one of the worst dates of your life, followed by the insistent tug of fate and compulsion that lead you straight back to where you'd sworn you'd never go.

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Life has dealt Wonwoo with a very uncanny set of cards, enough to make every waking hour an uncertainty. There is one thing however, he can always count on to remain unbreaking. Well, maybe two. 

𝑯𝑶𝑺𝑯𝑰

The thing about love; 🤍 🌧️ ⭐️ 25.3k

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He looks up, eyes bloodshot and swimming with fury. There’s a hint of a smile on his face for some reason, which you realize may be out of disbelief.

You don’t register anything else other than the rage that accelerates down your own veins. There’s a part of you that wants to do it again when he utters his next words.

“That was a bad fucking idea”

Never Shall We Die |  Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 🤍 🌧️ ⭐️❤️‍🔥 48k [COMPLETE]

Deadliest pirate on the high seas or a damn fool? 

The stupid king and his men have snatched Hoshi’s precious pirate ship with their too clean, too soft hands; grounds to question his own vices. Except, when he and his crew land in the quarters of a navy ship, revenge on their roster, they stumble across a princess in its gallows.

Hoshi wonders if he’s just struck gold, or if you’d become the final tread to his downfall.

𝑾𝑶𝑶𝒁𝑰

[21:16] 🌧️❤️‍🔥

smothered 🤍

𝑫𝑶𝑲𝒀𝑬𝑶𝑴

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𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑮𝒀𝑼

[2:34] 🌧️🤍

untitled 🌧️🤍

untitled  🤍

to have someone 🤍

[3:43] 🤍

bf texts ⭐️❤️‍🔥 (texting!au) 

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And you’re a little bit in love with your client.

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Kim Mingyu was the first friend your brother had brought home for dinner. Fast forward a couple years, his toothy smile and pierced ears would wedge their way into a permanent place in your heart. Nail to a coffin, never to escape.

or;

in which you get rejected by the only boy you've ever loved; a rejection you can't quite shake off.

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It isn't your fault that you can barely go on with your day with that cursed image replaying in your mind like a broken record.

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Statistically Speaking... 🤍 🌧️ ⭐️❤️‍🔥 21k 

In all your years of academic endurance, you’ve never failed. A 100% success rate, despite you cutting it close at times. However, the line graph that is your life starts tanking somewhere around the time you began taking this hellsent Statistics in Psychological Research class. With a professor that wouldn’t know his ass from his head, and an overworked, overenthusiastic, and overcaptivating TA, it couldn't possibly get any worse than this. 

 However, statistically speaking,…it could.

𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑯𝑨𝑶

[11:35] 🤍⭐️

Untitled  🤍

Remembrance of Ice ❤️‍🔥🤍 5.3K

Xu Minghao rules over a land where the sun never rises and crops never grow, shunned by the world for their nature so ruthless it has them caged within their borders.

That is, until you land straight into the dragon's den to find the story untold.

𝑺𝑬𝑼𝑵𝑮𝑲𝑾𝑨𝑵

Tugs and Strands [1st anniversary event] 🤍

𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑵𝑶𝑵

Untitled 🌧️

Untitled 🤍

𝑫𝑰𝑵𝑶

[23:23] 🤍

[22:59] 🤍🌧️

Dahlia 🤍❤️‍🔥 4.4K

When Chan brings you a bouquet filled with promises and hope to begin your birthday, you're happy to accept them with the love they come with. Chan, however, is quick to remind you that the flowers were only the beginning. 

𝑱𝑨𝑬𝑯𝒀𝑼𝑵

[19:46]  🤍⭐️

[14:12] 🤍⭐️

reaping 🌧️🤍

𝑴𝑨𝑹𝑲

[14:57] ft. Haechan 🤍🌧️

𝑱𝑨𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑵

crystal crumbs 🤍🌧️

𝑲𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑨

[10:13]  | pt.2 🤍⭐️

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Of Sauron's Lust on Season 3

Now Sauron's lust and pride increased, until he knew no bounds, and he determined to make himself master of all things in Middle-earth, and to destroy the Elves, and to compass if he might, the downfall of Númenor. He brooked no freedom nor any rivalry, and he named himself Lord of the Earth. A mask he still could wear so that if he wished he might deceive the eyes of Men, seeming to them wise and fair. But he ruled rather by force and fear, if they might avail; and those who perceived his shadow spreading over the world called him the Dark Lord and named him the Enemy; and he gathered under his government all the evil things of the days of Morgoth that remained on earth or beneath it; and the Orcs were at his command and multiplied like flies. The Silmarillion

Oh boy, Sauron's lust will increase and know no bounds in Season 3; this is a description of the "War of the Elves and Sauron" from Tolkien.

What kind of mind palace shenanigans will happen in Season 3!? Now that Sauron has a open line of communication via bound, and has already “bore a hole” to “slither in”to Galadriel.

Let’s see another example of when “evil lusts” in Tolkien lore: 

Then Morgoth looking upon her beauty [Lúthien] conceived in his thought an evil lust, and a design more dark than any that had yet come into his heart since he fled from Valinor. Thus he was beguiled by his own malice, for he watched her, leaving her free for a while, and taking secret pleasure in his thought. The Silmarillion [Lúthien dances for Morgoth on his Dark Throne, before she puts him and all the host of Angband to sleep with her magic singing]

Tolkien comes back to this "evil lust" Morgoth felt for Lúthien on several works:

…Yet I will give a respite brief, a while to live, a little while, though purchased dear, to Lúthien the fair and clear, a pretty toy for idle hour. In slothful garden many a flower like thee the amorous gods are used honey-sweet to kiss, and cast then bruised, their fragrance loosing, under feet. … A! curse the Gods! O hunger dire,O blinding thirst’s unending fire! One moment shall ye cease, and slake your sting with morsel I here take! In his eyes the fire to flame was fanned,and forth he stretched his brazen hand.Lúthien as shadow shrank aside. ‘Not thus, O King! Not thus!’ she cried. … …And her wings she caught then deftly up, and swift as thought slipped from his grasp, and wheeling round, fluttering before his eyes, she wound a mazy-wingéd dance… The Lay of Leithian, The Lost Road and Other Writings

"Nay," saith Melkor, "such things are little to my mind; but as thou hast come thus far to dance, dance, and after we will see," and with that he leered horribly, for his dark mind pondered some evil.  Book of Lost Tales vol.2

Then Morgoth laughed, but he was moved with suspicion, and said that her accursed race would get no soft words or favour in Angband. What could she do to give him pleasure, and save herself from the lowest dungeons? He reached out his mighty brazen hand but she shrank away. He is angry but she offers to dance. Commentary to the Lay of Leithian (The Lays of Beleriand)

Celeborn was his name. We met in a glade of flowers. I was dancing and he saw me there. Rings of Power, "The Eye", 1x07

Wait, what? I’m not implying Sauron will impersonate Celeborn, mind you. Only that there is already a reference to Galadriel dancing in “Rings of Power”.

Celebrimbor’s father (who was the most evil among all sons of Fëanor) also lust after Lúthien (like Celebrimbor himself after Galadriel in Tolkien lore):

...why Curufin looked with hot desire on Lúthien [...] thereafter never near might win to Lúthien, nor touch that maid" Lay of Leithian

Apparently, Charlie is right. Sauron might ravish Galadriel, yet. Her mind, of course.

Dead dove enjoyers: come to collect your ship.

[svngof-inks]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐈𝐓.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Prior to the Dance of the Dragon, the vow between Daemon and his paramour lingered without knowing if it will last.

Inspired by the Song of Achilles, Patrochilles. Credit to Madeline Miller for the quote.

fanfiction | House of the Dragon

When Rhaenyra had received the tidings of Lucerys' demise, she crumpled at her place, unable to rein in her sorrow. The passing of her offspring, now her cherished child that she held so close to her heart. All hastened to her side, tending to her as she sought solace in her chamber.

The remnants of the young boy and his dragon washed ashore on Dragonstone.

Dread seized you as you bathed in the balmy waters. You chewed at your lower lip, grappling with the impending storm that loomed over all. None shall emerge unscathed. The dragons shall clash and waltz until one prevails and the other succumbs.

The downfall of the dragons was imminent.

Lost in reverie, you failed to perceive the door creaking open, heralding the entrance of the man. Only when his hand alighted on your shoulder did you startle with a soft gasp.

"'It is me, my love." His rich voice banished the tumultuous thoughts. You lifted your gaze to meet his, discerning the unease mirrored in his eyes; he too foresaw the looming conflict.

A hush fell upon you both as you reclined against his embrace, swallowing the lump formed in your throat. You prayed that neither of you shall meet a grim fate. The throne could fall to the Greens, yet your sole concern was your beloved.

Daemon tenderly kissed your temple. "You are tense," he observed, caressing your shoulder blade. "Tell me your worries." A gentle plea. He had never been unkind to you. Never.

You spoke, "Daemon, war is on the coming. Lucerys shall be avenged one way or another, and I dread it shall claim us both." The chamber was filled with a hushed breeze, engulfing the palpable tension and fear that gripped you so tightly. The water now felt icy to the touch, unlike its previous warmth, unlike his touch.

The Prince remained silent, pressing another kiss on your temple. After a pause, he murmured, "In the end, we all meet our demise, my love. Such fears need not consume you. War was inevitable when that drunk cunt of a king seized Rhaenyra's throne in our absence." Yet his words failed to offer solace as intended.

Turning towards him, you twisted your body to face his. Tears once concealed now brimmed in your eyes as you clasped his hands. "I care not for the Greens or the throne. Death does not faze me. It is our parting that I dread. I cannot bear to be parted from you, plagued daily by fear for our safety." Your words were a soft whisper, tinged with regret at the tremor in your voice. How could you rein in your emotions when his life hung by a thread much like yours?

The Prince knelt closer, his eyes reflecting a love unmatched. "The gods are cruel. They shall never grant you lasting joy and triumph."

Drawing nearer, relishing his words, you leaned into his gaze.

"I'll tell you a secret" he raised your chin, locking eyes with you. "I shall be the first." Boldness shimmered in his gaze, deepening your affection for him. "Swear it."

"Why me?"

"You are the reason. Swear it."

Enveloped in fervent love and unwavering devotion to him, you uttered a vow that would alter your lives forever. "I swear it."

A grin played upon his lips.

"I feel like I could eat the world raw."

[seriiousgiirl]

𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝕴𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖂𝖎𝖓𝖊.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝓛𝓸𝓻𝓭!𝓐𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝔁 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻. ⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ❛ You lied to me! I did. You poisoned me! I did. You said you loved me! I do. ❜ After the death of your father, you are thrown into the bustling town of Baldur's Gate, leaving behind the peaceful country manor you called home. Eager for a taste of freedom, you slip away one night and find yourself rescued by the enigmatic Lord Ancunin. As you spend more time with him, you learn of his links with the mysterious Duke Szarr and his own secrets. As a result, you find yourself entangled in a web of deceit and betrayal. But as the truth unfolds, amid whispers of scandal and echoes of forgotten secrets, lies the key to your salvation - or your downfall. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱. ⊹ ₊ ݁. regency!au, strangers to lovers, slow burn, tension, mutual pining, angst, smut will happen later, age difference, forced marriage, gothic setting. Hello everyone! It's been a while since I've written for the public, but I hope it'll be OK. :) After binge watching Bridgerton and rewatching Crimson Peak, I thought an AU with Astarion would be perfect. Enjoy!!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The grand oak doors of Thornfield Manor creak open for what you know will be the last time. A gust of wind, carrying the chill of an early spring morning, sweeps through the entrance hall. You clutch your mother’s hand, seeking comfort in the warmth of her touch, though her face is a mask of composure, betraying no hint of the turmoil you know brews within her.

After all, Father's sudden passing has left you in a state of shock and uncertainty. 

The estate, with its sprawling gardens and serene countryside views, is now a mere memory, a chapter of your life that has been abruptly closed. With your elder brother away on military duty and the estate debts proving insurmountable, there was no choice but to seek refuge in the city.

And for that, your mother had plans, and the most important one was to find you a husband. If you were honest with yourself, you would have preferred that your mother had died instead, but that thought was forbidden. You knew that your father who had always shown you warmth and kindness, would have never wished for that kind of marriage for his beloved daughter—but he wasn’t here anymore to contest your mother’s decision. 

As the carriage rattled down the cobblestone path leading away from your beloved Thornfield, you cast one last, lingering glance at the manor. The ivy-clad walls seem to whisper farewells, and the distant hills, where you had spent countless afternoons in joyous exploration, stand as silent sentinels of a life left behind.

Your destination is Baldur's Gate, a bustling city known for its mercantile prowess and vibrant social scene. The city looms ahead, a stark contrast to the tranquility of your rural home. You had visited Baldur's Gate but once before, as a child, and the memory of its crowded streets and imposing architecture fills you with a mix of trepidation and reluctant curiosity.

Mother squeezes your hand, pulling you from your reverie. "We must be strong, Y/n," she says, her voice steady yet tinged with a sorrow that mirrors your own. "Baldur's Gate may not hold the peace of Thornfield, but it will offer us opportunities.” By ‘opportunities,’ you knew she meant a noble man to marry. And, you also knew that you had little or no say in who it’ll be.

“We shall endure this, together."

“Yes, mother.” You nodded, though your heart ached with the weight of your loss. 

The city, with its promise of new beginnings, felt both a blessing and a burden. What awaited you in the bustling streets of Baldur's Gate, however, you could not say…

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It had been a week since you arrived at your new house in the city, and to your surprise, integrating into high society wasn't as hard as you might have imagined. Your father had left a positive impact on his Thornfield wine business, which smoothed many social pathways. Your family name carried weight, opening doors that might have otherwise remained closed.

The house itself was grand, located in a prosperous district, with wide windows that overlooked bustling streets. From the confines of your room, you observed the city’s vibrant life. Baldur's Gate was a place of diversity and wonder. Elves with their ethereal grace, dwarves bustling about their trades, drows with their mysterious allure, and even Tieflings, with their exotic and often misunderstood appearances, filled the streets below. Yet, you experienced this only as a distant observer, confined by your mother's strict rules.

Your mother, with her cold demeanor, had forbidden you to venture outside until the wedding season began. "It wouldn't do for you to be seen mingling with common folk," she had said, her tone brooking no argument. 

The days were monotonous and long—very long, filled with preparations for the social season. You spent hours with dressmakers, trying on elaborate gowns, and with tutors, brushing up on etiquette and dance. 

Perhaps if your mother had been more aware of your need to see the outside world, you would have never found yourself in this situation. Late at night, as the city slumbered, you found yourself wandering the unfamiliar streets alone, without a chaperon or a maid to accompany you. 

It was a reckless act, one born out of a desperate longing for freedom.

You had always been like that, even in the peaceful countryside surrounding Thornfield Manor. An adventurous spirit, yearning to explore beyond the familiar boundaries of home, you often found solace in wandering the forests alone and in the dappled sunlight filtering through the tree.

But the city was a different beast altogether. 

The streets of Baldur's Gate took on a different character under the cloak of darkness. Shadows danced along the cobblestones, and the faint glow of lanterns cast eerie shapes against the walls of the surrounding buildings. It was dangerous, you knew, for a young woman of your standing to venture out unaccompanied. 

You told yourself it was curiosity that led you here, a desire to explore the streets that had been forbidden to you by day. But in truth, it was something deeper, a yearning for independence…

The city was a maze of winding alleys and hidden courtyards. You passed taverns alive with music and laughter, and dimly lit shops adorned with treasures from distant lands. The air was heavy with the scent of spices and sea salt. As you turned down a narrow alleyway, you caught sight of movement in the shadows ahead.

Instinctively, you froze, your heart pounding in your chest. 

A ragtag group of drunken men emerged from the shadows, their laughter loud and lewd. They were a motley crew indeed, their clothes stained, their faces red and flushed from excessive consumption. At their head stood a particularly large man, his arms bulging with muscle, a thick beard hiding the lower half of his face.

Their eyes raked over your body, appraising you in a way that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You could almost feel their filthy thoughts, a cold shiver snaking its way down your spine.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" the large man bellowed, his voice thick with drink.

"Hey there, sweetheart,"another one of them slurred, reaching out a hand to grab at your arm. "What's a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?" The others chuckled, closing in around you, their foul breath making you recoil. 

Their hands reached for you, grasping and groping, their touch repulsive and unwanted. “No, let me go!” You tried to push them away, but they were relentless. You felt your heart sink, fear gripping you like a vice. Just as you thought all hope was lost, a shadow detached itself from the wall behind you, a tall figure emerging from the darkness.

His gaze was hard and unyielding as he surveyed the scene before him. His clothes were finely made, a stark contrast to the ragged group that surrounded you. He was handsome, his features sharp and angular, his eyes as red as ruby itself.

"Step aside, gentlemen," he said, his voice low and commanding.

The men snarled, but his demeanor was intimidating, and they reluctantly parted, allowing him to stand before you, his hands finding their place on your hips. "Are you alright, miss?" he asked, his concern dramatic but evident.

You nodded, swallowing hard, your heart still pounding in your chest. You could feel the heat of his body, the warmth of it a comforting contrast to the cold hand that had moments ago crept up your thigh.

"Thank you," you whispered, the words barely audible.

He offered you his arm, helping you to slip yours through it. "Let us take our leave from this place before further trouble arrives, it would be embarrassing for a lady like you to see more of this world of debauchery, wouldn't it?”

You nodded, grateful for his intervention and eager to put the unsettling encounter behind you. "Yes, please," you agreed, clinging to his arm as he guided you away from the shadows and back towards the safety of the main thoroughfare.

As you walked, he turned to you with a charming smile, his gaze warm and inquisitive. "Forgive me for prying, but are you new to the city?" he asked, his tone light with curiosity. "I feel certain I would have remembered such a pretty face."

You couldn't help but blush at the compliment, flustered by his attention. "Yes, we just arrived," you admitted, a hint of uncertainty in your voice. "We're staying in the...uh...West End district."

His smile widened, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Ah, the West End," he remarked. "A fine choice. It's fortunate for you that our paths crossed tonight. Allow me to see you safely home."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to trust this stranger, but the sincerity in his gaze reassured you. "Thank you," you said again, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over you. "I would appreciate that."

The walk through the quiet streets of Baldur's Gate was surprisingly calm, the tension from the alley fading with each step. As you strolled, the distinctive scent of his cologne filled the air—a mix of bergamot, brandy, and rosemary that was both intriguing and comforting. 

The gentleman beside you hummed a gentle tune, the melody soothing in the stillness of the night.

You found yourself relaxing in his presence, the fear and anxiety of earlier moments melting away. He maintained a respectful silence, his humming the only sound breaking the night's tranquility. As the familiar sight of your new home came into view, you felt a mixture of relief and disappointment—the walk had been unexpectedly pleasant.

Pausing at the gate of your residence, he turned to you with a concerned expression. "You should be more careful next time," he advised, his tone teasing but warm. He casually reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to gently wipe a smudge of dirt from your cheek. His touch was light, almost tender, and when he smiled, you thought you saw a flash of something unusual—were those fangs? You blinked, and the moment passed, leaving you to wonder if your imagination was playing tricks on you.

Then, with a gesture both casual and deliberate, he placed the handkerchief in your hand.

You felt the cool, smooth fabric of his glove brush against your skin as he pressed the handkerchief into your palm. The contact was brief, but the sensation of his fingers grazing yours sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. His touch was light yet lingering, creating a moment of intimate connection that left you breathless.

"You can keep it," he said, his voice soft but firm, the authority in his tone leaving no room for refusal.

"Thank you," you murmured, feeling a flush of embarrassment at the fuss he was making over you. Your fingers tightened around the handkerchief, the delicate fabric still warm from his touch. "For everything."

"It was my pleasure," he replied, his smile widening into a grin that was both charming and slightly unsettling. "I couldn't leave a lady in distress. Now, go inside and rest. The city can be a treacherous place after dark."

You nodded, grateful for his kindness despite the lingering mystery about him. As you turned to enter your home, you glanced back one last time. He stood there, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlamps, watching you with an unreadable expression. 

"I didn't catch your name," you said, your curiosity piqued despite the urgency to retreat indoors.

He merely smiled in response, a knowing glint in his eyes. "It won't be necessary," he replied cryptically.

With a final nod, you slipped inside, bolting the door behind you.

Safe within the familiar walls, you leaned against the door, your mind racing with the events of the night. 

Who was he?

❛ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ❜

[twstowo]

They End Up In a Universe Where The Two Of You Hate Each Other [Twst]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗SYNOPSIS: The two of are are happily dating and he couldn’t have asked for anything else, however one day he finds himself in a strange place only to find that in here the two of you are enemies.

♡︎Includes: Malleus

[AU Masterlist]

[Riddle and Leona] ☆[Azul and Jamil] ☆[Vil and Idia] ☆[Here]

⋆⋅☆Malleus

The fate of this Malleus had been written, excluded from a party, he cast a kingdom-wide sleeping spell. However, an unknown knight seeking justice would strike him down, breaking the spell.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

What a pitiful display of rage, Malleus thought, but deep down he knew that he if struck in a bad mood, he could end up doing such a thing. He got the hang of things in this universe, as the king of the Briar Valley he found himself filled with work, not having much free time. Along his days he finds himself travelling from time to time to different lands, Sebek and Silver always companioning him as his guards.

After a while, he finds himself receiving news of a party being hosted to which he hadn’t been invited. He heard the news, remaining as calm as ever, for he knew that this party would have been his downfall if he didn’t act as such. However, he questioned why the Malleus in this universe was so mad that they hadn’t invited him to this specific party. All along the year, he had been aware of others who had never even thought about sending him an invitation, so why would this one, in particular, make him lose his mind? Out of curiosity, he decided to check it for himself.

That was when he saw you for the first time in this universe. You were dressed in splendid white clothes with golden patterns, a sight blessing his tired eyes. You were the center of the party for him and everyone else. In fact, you had been the one planning the party and had been the one who didn't invite him. Oh, how bittersweet. He felt his heart clench. Did you hate him here? He found himself spacing out, almost as if heartbroken, not noticing the stares that he started to gain from the party members who had spotted him.

“Malleus Draconia, I don’t remember inviting you.” Hearing those words come out of your mouth, when the you he loved from his universe would never dare to forget him or exclude him from any party. The way you looked at him, cold eyes piercing his gaze as you slowly walked to him, everyone else at the party staring with mouths agape. “I have already stated that I’m not interested in you. Leave me alone.” He could hear the murmurs of everyone around him, some even daring to laugh at him, the audacity.

There he realized why the Malleus from this universe had cast such a spell on the entire kingdom, for he himself was having a hard time controlling his impulses in such a situation. “I had no intention of intruding. Since my presence is unwanted, I shall depart.” and with a last glance at you he left the party.

[sfehvn]

new religion part 7

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

A/N: Thank you all for being so patient! This has been sitting in my drafts half-done for a looong time. Hope you enjoy! Xx

Rating: M (18+ minors DNI)

CW: Pregnancy

Word count: 2,347

Characters: soft!ascended!Astarion x fem!au!Tav

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The agony that coursed through cold veins was not unfounded. Astarion watched on with helpless eyes as you lay in bed, your condition only worsening through the days that had passed. Skin that had previously whispered the touch of light seemed much paler than it had before this sickness befell you. Hadn’t it? Yes, he was certain of it. Deep bags kissed under your eyes like bruises of a cruel fate, hair once silken to the touch had become brittle and flat. An emaciated picture of what you had been just days prior lay curled on the bed. If Astarion hadn’t known better, he would assume you hadn’t moved at all from your position since climbing into that bed after returning from the boutique. He had been the one to force you to bathe and stroll through the garden; of course you’d moved. The pain hung deep in his stomach but he refused to let it take him prey. What you were experiencing was far worse than any discomfort he may be feeling.

Three days.

It had only been three days, yet it felt like an eternity. It felt as if he had borne witness to your undoing in such a mercilessly short amount of time. A sadistic reminder of how fragile mortals were. Of how fragile his flower was. How barbarous the outcome; Astarion finally felt so deeply for a being other than himself, only to have it ripped away from tightly grasped hands. He had restrained the urge to maim and destroy you, allowed his love for you to flourish in its haste, yet had still proved to be your inevitable downfall. The wretched thing dwelled in your womb. The disgust ebbed and flowed deep in his gut. All the while he knew the culprit of your condition; he wouldn’t dare utter a word until it had been confirmed. An unspoken battle; should he be forthright with the circumstance? No doubt you would wish to brave the godsforsaken gestation, your longing for motherhood had been made abundantly clear. Stubbornness had been one of the many traits that had made Astarion’s unbeating heart grow fonder of you; in this plight, it very well may be your undoing.

From Astarion’s peripheral, a chambermaid enters the room, awaiting permission to address him. He nods silently in approval, eyes never leaving your debilitated form. “Master, he is here. Shall I see him here?”

His eyes falter from you to glance at the thrall. “You may. Clear the halls on your way out. I expect not a single interruption from anyone while he works. I trust you’ll let the others know of the agonizing centuries to follow if my request is disobeyed.” Though his voice was firm, there was a hint of fear masked beneath the threats. Fear of what fate awaits his lover, fear of what has yet to come, fear of the unknown.

“Yes, master.” She agreed before swiftly seeing her way out. There were no games when it came to Astarion and she did not wish to be in his line of fire if the matter at hand didn’t resolve to his liking.

Astarion steps up to the bed, stroking disheveled pieces of hair from your sunken face. “He is here, my treasure.” Soft words were met with a weak nod, eyes shut in an attempt to stop the spinning you felt in your head. An unwelcome thought made its way into his mind, which he hastily pushed down as far as he could. A corpse you began to resemble.

A tall lanky man makes his entrance. Dressed in a robe that looked centuries too old, wiry hair wisped from the sides of a misshapen ignoble hat, and shoes that seemed to be worn through the soles. He looked every bit a beggar who Astarion would pay no mind to under typical circumstances. Magic radiated in powerful lulls from the stranger, an aura of importance despite his unseemly appearance. “Sir Ancunin, a pleasure.” The man regards him nasally, though his eyes are fixed on you. They seemed to scatter over your frail body in assessment. “May I?”

Edvund Luoguarde. Every piece of unbiased literature regarding dhampirs Astarion had managed to scrounge up had been written by the man in front of him. Not a stone was left unturned in search of the scholar; all the while he had been holed up in a makeshift home on the edge of Rivington. The notoriety Edvund possessed had not affected his simple way of life. It was something Astarion might have found humor in if he had come across the strange man under different conditions. The man slinks towards the bed once Astarion approves, lips pursed as he looms over your unmoving figure.

“Poor child, barely hanging by a thread.” Edvund muses out loud. While there is empathy in his words, the firmness spoke to the weight they held. Astarion eyes his hand cautiously as it comes to hover over your midsection. “I will need her on her back.” He states. “Are you able to move, dear?”

Your eyes open barely a sliver in response. You open your mouth to respond but your voice is lost to the dry ache in your throat and on your tongue. Looking to Astarion in a silent bid for help, he obliges by carefully moving your body into position.

“This will do nicely. You’re doing wonderful, dear.” Edvund reassures. He places his hand on your clothed stomach, a pale blue light illuminating from his palm. His eyes bear the same blue light as he stares distantly at the wall. “Very interesting.” He murmurs after a few minutes pass, but does not remove his hand. It shifts purposefully from your sacrum up towards your ribcage. It was a brief moment of relief, as if whatever magic he yielded offered numbing to the visceral blows you had been experiencing.

Edvund removes his hand and the light in his eyes flickers in tandem. “You would be wise to rest while you can.” He pats the hand that lay lifelessly at your side. Unsure if it was a trance or from the fleeting comfort you finally had after three days of torture, you drifted away. The man turns his attention to Astarion once he’s sure you’re asleep. “A dhampir of not one, but two.” He riddles. “To be born of fruitful womb and abject seed. To shed light as great as thee.”

“What in the hells are you saying?” Astarion’s brow creased. It seemed more likely that Edvund was reciting poetry rather than providing a diagnosis.

“A dhampire of not one but two; to be born of fruitful womb, abject seed. To shed light as great as thee. Cast darkness into light, and light into lead. A union thick as thieves.” His hands move in an unfounded performance, fingers coming to lock in front of his chin once he is finished. “A prophecy greater in age than you or I.” He clarified, bringing his hands to rest on the edge of the bed. “It was foretold a pair of dhampirs would be born to a pure soul and a heinous….” He trails, eyeing Astarion before continuing. “They will materialize to our plane of existence. The gods have willed it so and so it will be.”

“Are you suggesting there are two?” Astarion’s jaw clenched as he eyes Edvund. “Remove them.”

“I cannot.” Edvund was unphased by Astarion’s aggressive demand, instead he stared him down with the same determined look in response.

“You will. This will kill her. Are you mad?”

“She will recover.” Edvund muses, looking back down at your sleeping form; no doubt the most divine rest you’ve had in your life with the help of his own magic.

Astarion steps around the foot of the bed, making his way toward the man with a fire blazing in his red eyes. Edvund glances at him, whispering a quiet incantation that seemingly relaxed every nerve in Astarion’s body. In a daze, he sits limply in the chaise at the end of the bed. He felt powerless. For the first time in his many years, he was indeed. Completely, utterly, entirely not in control.

Edvund steps in front of him, crouching until he is eye-to-eye with him. “You’ve felt this is destiny, yes? You and the girl?”

Astarion feels that blaze return, but it is quickly simmered once more. Edvund effortlessly defies his rage, pouring his own magic into keeping Astarion sedated. “Get out of my head.” Astarion murmurs, gritting his teeth uncomfortably.

Edvund proceeds; he already knew the answer to his question. “You do not want to anger the gods, Sir Ancunin. This has been foretold. Of course, nothing is stopping you from finding someone else to get the job done; I for one will have no part of it. I’d rather not deal with the wrath of any all powerful deity, let alone all of them. I suggest you heed this warning. It will not be pretty if you interfere.” He purses his lips tightly, furrowing his fluffy brows together as he speaks.

Astarion’s mind felt convoluted as the reality of the situation weighed heavy on his shoulders. This was bigger than you or him, but he refused to stand by and watch you crumble.

The air in the room hung heavy with the weight of destiny as Astarion grappled with the revelation. Edvund's cryptic warnings and the ominous prophecy left Astarion torn between the fate dictated by higher powers and the desperate need to protect you. The clash of emotions within him mirrored the conflict that unfolded in the dimly lit chamber.

Astarion's eyes, once ablaze with defiance, now flickered with uncertainty as he considered the implications. The revelation of a dual heritage, the prophecy, and the insistence on non-interference pressed upon him. Yet, the fierce love he felt for you surged as a counterforce, compelling him to challenge the preordained path.

The room bore witness to a silent struggle—one man navigating the treacherous waters of divine prophecy, the other tethered to the mortal realm by love's unyielding grip. As Edvund continued his mystical work, Astarion's internal turmoil mirrored the external tension, a tempest brewing in the shadow of fate.

In the midst of this cosmic chess game, your frail form lay suspended, caught between realms. A pawn in a game played by unseen hands, her fate intricately woven into the fabric of prophecy. The dichotomy of despair and determination etched across Astarion's face painted a poignant picture of a soul at war with itself.

The room, once a sanctuary for quiet moments and stolen glances, now bore witness to a profound struggle that transcended the mortal and the divine. It was a clash of wills, a dance of destiny, and a tableau of emotions that would shape the course of lives entwined in a tapestry woven by forces beyond mortal comprehension.

“The gods have orchestrated this all, Astarion.” Edvund loosened the invisible grip he had on Astarion, allowing a sliver of distance between them as he stood. “I’d heard of you, you know. The ruthless vampire lord.” Edvund quirks his head. He didn’t need to say it aloud as it was unspoken; love had made Astarion soft in a lot of ways. Specifically for you, but for the way you lived life as well. The way you simply loved.

For a brief moment, Astarion wondered if you would have been anything more than a meal and quick fuck without the interference of higher powers. He couldn’t dwell on the thought, though. It made him sick to think about.

Edvund's words cut through the tangled web of Astarion's conflicted thoughts. The acknowledgment of his reputation as a ruthless vampire lord served as a stark reminder of the life he led before you entered it. The juxtaposition of his past and the vulnerability that love had brought forth in him loomed over the room.

As Astarion grappled with the unsettling realization, Edvund's gaze lingered on him, a silent understanding passing between them. The enigmatic scholar seemed to grasp the intricacies of Astarion's transformation, not just as a vampire but as a being touched by the profound force of love.

“I hope you don’t mind, I’m not really in the mood for chit chat.” Astarion replied back coldly, his eyes stone as he looked at Edvund. Edvund held his hands up in a show of understanding.

“I’d better get going. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, but see to it that she rests adequately. There will be days where she feels like she can conquer the world, but she mustn’t overexert herself.” Edvund states as he walks towards the door. He leaves with a parting reassurance. “She will live. The gods are not as cruel as you would believe them to be right now.”

With that, Astarion sat alone. The air hung thick with magic and tension.

Astarion's gaze remained fixed on your slumbering form, the delicate rise and fall of your chest a comfort amidst the tumult within him. The cold, stoic exterior he had worn for centuries cracked, revealing the vulnerability that love had etched into his undead heart.

As he sat in the quiet chamber, a myriad of emotions churned within Astarion—fear, love, defiance, and an unsettling acceptance of the cosmic forces at play. The room, once a witness to stolen moments of intimacy, now bore witness to a solitary figure grappling with the intricacies of mortality and the influence of gods.

Time seemed suspended in that moment, the force of the future pressing down on Astarion. The journey ahead, fraught with uncertainties and divine machinations, loomed large. Yet, in the hushed solitude of the room, Astarion found a quiet resolve to face the impending challenges.

The vampire lord, once driven solely by self-preservation, now stood on the precipice of a destiny entwined with love and sacrifice. As the shadows deepened and the room embraced its newfound solitude, Astarion remained a sentinel, guarding not only the frail form on the bed but also the fragile threads of a fate spun by gods themselves.

[merafanbrainthatmerafans]

Saiki. K Characters x reader

So I figured there's not enough fic about these cuties, and I should add more interesting shit to my writings cuz they're getting way boring day by day; so here ya'll go (if there's anyone like Merafan on this planet of course who actually simps for these guys and watched the show ;-;)

🧠 SAIKI KUSUO (THE RELUCTANT LOVE INTEREST™)

You somehow manage to get this man flustered despite the fact that he can literally read your thoughts. How?? He has no idea. But every time you look at him with that soft little smile, his brain just goes: "Error. Error. Malfunctioning."

He'll pretend to be unbothered, sipping his coffee jelly while you gush over something cute. But internally? He’s screaming.

You ever think about kissing him? Good luck because this man will literally TELEPORT AWAY before you even finish the thought. One time you tried to surprise him with a hug, and he just blinked out of existence. 💀

"Saiki, be honest, do you like me?" "No." "Okay, so if I start dating someone else—" "You will be vaporized."

The only reason he tolerates his friends dragging you along on their dumb adventures is that you’re the only person who doesn’t actively cause him migraines.

He swears he doesn’t get jealous, but if Teruhashi even thinks about flirting with you, this man will LITERALLY put up a psychic barrier around you. 💀

😎 KAIDO SHUN (THE CHUUNIBYOU BOYFRIEND™)

This man will write you a whole-ass love letter but disguise it as a "coded message from the Dark Reunion." 💀 "My dearest Y/N, the forces of darkness have their eyes on us… but do not fear, for as the Jet-Black Wings, I shall protect you with my very life—" Saiki, reading it telepathically: "You are so embarrassing."

If anyone flirts with you, he will literally step in front of you like: "Hmph… pathetic. Do you not realize you're talking to the lover of the great Jet-Black Wings?" Random guy: "Huh??"

If you ever praise him, his brain short-circuits. "Y/N THINKS I'M COOL. Y/N ACKNOWLEDGED MY POWER. I MUST TRAIN HARDER."

You jokingly call him your "dark knight", and this man DOES NOT SHUT UP ABOUT IT FOR A WEEK.

💪 NENDO RIKI (THE HIMBO KING™)

Nendo has exactly three brain cells, and all of them are dedicated to loving you.

He will just randomly give you gifts. A rock? A slightly squished sandwich? His left shoe? "Here ya go, babe. Thought of ya when I saw this."

Once tried to carry you everywhere like a princess. Saiki had to telepathically stop him before he threw out his back.

Calls you the goofiest nicknames like "sugar nugget" or "love muffin". You cannot stop him. Ever.

He 100% thinks holding hands = engaged and has ALREADY planned your wedding in his head.

💁 TERUHASHI KOKOMI (THE QUEEN OF "OH?!"™)

She was used to everyone falling at her feet, but when you treated her like a normal person, she was like: "HUH??? EXCUSE ME???"

But now she’s obsessed with you because you actually like her for who she is, not just her looks. She’s literally blushing and twirling her hair every time you speak.

She tries to act like the perfect "goddess," but you’ve SEEN her lose her cool, and she’s mortified. One time, she stubbed her toe and went "GAH, SON OF A—" in front of you and almost DIED from embarrassment.

Gets jealous so easily. Some rando smiles at you? She’s already plotting their downfall while keeping her angelic smile on.

"Oh?~ You like someone else?" Cute giggle *"Haha, just kidding" but she’s gripping her glass so hard it’s about to shatter.*

👓 AIURA MIKU (THE CHAOTIC BESTIE/GF™)

She LOVES teasing you. Randomly leans in all close like she’s gonna kiss you, then pulls away last second like "Oops, did I make your heart race?~"

"Babe, lemme do a fortune reading for our love life!" And then she rigs it so it says you’re soulmates. 💀

If she sees someone getting too friendly with you, she just slides in like "Hiiiii, babe~ who’s this?" and stares them down.

Random late-night dates where she just texts you: "Meet me outside in 5, don’t ask why." Then you end up at some beach looking at the stars while she cuddles you like "Told ya this would be fun~".

👔 TORITSUKA REITA (THE WALKING RED FLAG™)

This man SIMPS for you so hard but in the most CRINGE way possible.

Sends you texts like "Hey babe, wanna see me do a kickflip? 👀" and then immediately texts "nvm broke my ankle."

Tries to show off, but it backfires every time. Like, he’ll be like "Hey Y/N, watch this!" and then trip over his own feet.

If you call him handsome ONCE, he will NEVER LET IT GO. "So you think I’m hot? 👀 Don’t worry, babe, you can admit it."

The only time he’s ACTUALLY useful is when ghosts are involved. Otherwise, he’s just your dumbass fanboy boyfriend who worships the ground you walk on.

⚔️ KUBOYASU AREN (THE EX-DELINQUENT HIMBO BF™)

This man is the definition of "I am a reformed man… but I WILL still throw hands if necessary."

He tries to be a soft, chill boyfriend, but if someone so much as looks at you funny, his delinquent instincts activate. "Babe, I swear I’m different now—" "Aren, put the bat down." "…No."

Blushes SO easily. You grab his hand? Red. You kiss his cheek? Red. You call him "cute"? DEAD.

One time you joked about liking "bad boys," and he got SO TORN between staying reformed and going back to his delinquent era just to impress you. 💀

He’s the type to act all tough, but the moment you do anything remotely affectionate, he melts. "I ain’t some soft romantic guy." "You literally held my hand and skipped down the street yesterday." "…Shut up."

Protective AF. Like, he’s trying SO HARD to be a good boy, but if he ever sees someone bothering you, he has to physically restrain himself from roundhouse kicking them into next week.

Loves dumb couple stuff but refuses to admit it. Matching hoodies? "That’s lame." (He’s already wearing it.) Holding hands under the table? "Unnecessary." (His grip tightens when you try to pull away.)

He texts you the most contradictory things: "Babe, I’m a man of honor. I don’t do cute pet names." [5 minutes later] "Good morning, sunshine muffin 💖."

One time Nendo flirted with you as a joke, and you had to PHYSICALLY HOLD AREN BACK before he drop-kicked him across the classroom.

Gives you his jacket 24/7. Even if you’re not cold, even if he’s the one freezing, you’re wearing his jacket because that’s just how it is.

If you get hurt, he PANICS. "IT’S JUST A SCRATCH, AREN—" "WE’RE GOING TO THE HOSPITAL."

Dumbass delinquent love language: Will ruffle your hair aggressively as a sign of affection but then complain when you do it back.

Randomly confesses again even though you’re already dating. Like, you’ll just be chilling, and he’s like "Hey. Just so you know… I love you, alright?" as if you forgot. 😭

Secretly a huge cuddle bug. But only when no one else is around. Will literally trap you in his arms and be like "You’re mine now. No escape."

Tell me if this was good <33

[tadpolesonalgae]

Azriel x reader: please…

A/N: just me laying my heart bare, don’t worry

Summary: Set when Azriel leaves to retrieve the Veritas orb from the Hewn City. He sneaks away, only to find you to be the guard, lazing on an antique chaise, swathed in cotton covers. Utterly naked.

-Part 2- -Part 3-

“You’re moving a little too quickly for someone who supposedly has the right to be in here, Spymaster.”

You prop your chin on your forearm, peering at him from the reclined seat, stomach flat against the velvet cushioning. He slows to a stop in the large room that’s brimming with antiquities and wonders—the kind that’s kept away from the rest of the Court, by declaration of your father.

“I am here by order of the High Lord,” he speaks softly—lethal quiet.

“Indeed you are,” you murmur, settling further into your nest of covers, “but that’s not your whole truth, is it?”

Displeasure circles in his chest, but he’s careful to keep it from his face. This is bad. You shouldn’t be in here, but he supposes Kier must have been on edge with the relatively impromptu drop in.

You’re such a nasty thing to deal with. Too knowing.

He steadies his thoughts. No matter your powers, you can only tell truth from lie, not their contents. You’re hazarding a guess - an educated one - that he’s keeping something from you. Which he most certainly is.

“You doubt my truth?” Careful. He has to be so careful.

You tilt your head, as if you’re sizing him up. “Gift me another and I shall tell you whether I doubt it.” It’s unnerving to be around you. One wrong word will have you alerting the guards in the hall he’d easily slipped by. All because of your blood’s power.

“The High Lord has tasked me with retrieving something precious from these chambers.” He supplies, beginning to inch toward you, lest things fall to chaos.

Your eyes narrow, marking the movement, but for now you remain sprawled across the chaise. He realises, with concealed discomfort, there’s not a strap of fabric to be seen across your shoulders, nor around your nape. You’re bare beneath that cotton cover—you hadn’t been expecting someone.

He’s taken you by surprise.

“Something precious,” you echo, eyes sliding shut as you rest your cheek over your arm, relaxing into the warm embrace of the pillows, the velvet cushions that brush your naked skin. Good. He can work with this. Your arrogance will be your downfall. So confident in your ability to verify truth, you underestimate his skills in silence, and silencing.

“And what might this precious item be? Perhaps I can help you locate it.”

Foolish. So foolish of you to close your eyes.

When he reaches your chaise, your gaze lifts to his. “Does my father know you’re here, Spymaster?”

Dammit.

“He does.” He takes a step closer, within reaching distance. He could seal his hand over your mouth, bring his blade out to keep you silent. Get his information, then have Rhys wipe your memory.

“Does he know you’re in these chambers, searching for your precious as of this moment?” You slide the detailed question to him, waiting to find what he’ll do with it. What cunning words he’ll select—even if his mind has already given him away.

A sudden surge of violent intent is the only warning your receive before his hand is gripping your hair, lifting you from the chaise, Truth Teller poised just before you. A warning not to move, but not quite a threat.

“Where is the Veritas?”

Your eyes widen at the closeness of the cool steel, then flick to his.

“Why do you seek the Veritas?”

His fist tightens in your hair and the blade presses against your lower lip, any harder and he’ll cut into you. “That’s not an answer.” He’s already reaching for Rhys in his mind, feeling for the silent pathway his brother keeps open whenever completing missions like this. He reaches, and falls blind. His High Lord is not there.

A slight wave of panic crests him. He needs Rhys to wipe your mind, to ensure you won’t tell anyone. Shit.

He has to think on his feet. “You can answer my question - truthfully - and have your High Lord deal with you.” He wouldn’t need to even be watching you to know how you stiffen at that promise. “Or you can make a deal with me, and Rhysand will stay out of it.” Or you can scream for guards, and I’ll be knee deep in trouble, he thinks.

Hopefully you won’t pick up on the omission—he’s never had the chance, nor particularly cared to test the perimeters of your power. Never particularly felt an urge to be around you any longer than necessary.

You swallow, eyes piercing into his. “What sort of deal?”

Promising.

“Tell me the precise location of the Veritas at this moment, swear not to tell a soul that you know I came here, and I’ll release you, unharmed.” He hopes you won’t question it.

“A bit unfair, wouldn’t you say, Spymaster?”

Damn you.

You watch as his eyes gleam with something indecipherable. “Is there something you want from me?” You fight to keep your expression neutral. “I have everything I want at my fingertips.” But you’re not the only one who has a nose for lies.

He watches you silently, lowering his blade the slightest amount. “No? Nothing you can think of?” He remains still as your too-knowing eyes run over him, almost examining him, with clinical scrutiny, checking—searching for something.

It seems you don’t find whatever hitch it is you’re looking for, because when your gaze rises to his, he knows he’s got you. Now all that’s left is hearing your secret want, and fulfilling it.

Why isn’t Rhys responding? He shouldn’t be away for this long.

He shouldn’t be away full stop. Not during something so precarious.

“I…” you breathe, running your eyes over him again, searching for anything that might convince you not to trust him with this part of yourself. But the air is still around him, calm and peaceful, although a little aggravated.

“Touch me…” you whisper to the air between you. “Then I’ll reveal it to you.”

His mind goes quiet. He hadn’t thought you would ask for something like that. With how strict the laws of this court are for females… You shouldn’t even be entertaining the idea if you want to survive. Horror coils in his gut. You’re hardly into your second decade…far too young for him to—

Is this what Rhys felt like when Amarantha first…? The same writhing dread?

He can’t very well say no. Not without an alarm being raised. He’s backed himself into a corner, and he hadn’t even seen it forming.

Fine. It’s fine.

He can give another shard of himself for the Court. For his brothers. Shred one more fragment of his already worn morals. Damn just one more tiny piece of his soul to hell.

After those fifty years Rhysand sacrificed, he can manage this. Simple.

“It’s a deal.”

You both feel the sting of the bargain being struck, but only you wince, feeling the prickling sensation over your heart. Azriel isn’t as lucky. The ink appears on the palm of his hand, right in its centre.

“Where is it?”

You shake your head. “Me first, Spymaster. You made no promise to when you would fulfil your end.” He shows no signs of frustration, but the air spasms briefly around him, before settling back to its innate rhythm.

He nods, the slightest dip of his head. “Remove yourself from the covers.” His heartbeat increases, despite his will to slow it, despite the calming breathing techniques. You’re going to use him. In such a degrading way. He wonders if you truly wish for pleasure, or if it’s solely for the purpose of demeaning him.

Your cheeks warm, subconsciously shifting further beneath the cotton, shaking your head. “No…” you breathe, “not like that.” Your eyes flick away from his, regretting your decision to reveal your deepest wish to him. It was a foolish act, no matter how desperate you were.

Azriel watches as you extend your hand, for him to lay his own to.

He follows, not knowing if the bargain will punish him for refusing. Not willing to jeopardise his mission over a lack of care and concern.

“Like…this.” You bring his palm closer, hesitating, eyes watching his carefully, before you press your cheek to his hand. So softly, so reverently…almost fearfully.

It begins to click into place. The pieces slotting together. Why you were laying bare beneath those cotton covers—to feel the warmth against your skin. He doesn’t know why he hadn’t considered it before. How touch-starved a creature like you must be beneath this hewn rock, having been born to such a brutal family.

It’s all you yearn for. The gentle caress of heat. The brush of fingers over your skin, like beams of sunlight kissing your features.

Your eyes slide closed as he takes initiative, cupping your jaw lightly.

Darkness fills your vision, and for a few minutes, you allow your power to dissipate, will it to silence. To fully indulge in the decadence of his touch. Every nerve is keyed in to the feel of him, his thumb brushing the crest of your cheek.

You could weep when the pads of his scarred fingers brush hair from your face, hooking it over your pointed ear.

His free hand lifts your jaw, holding you with a care that makes your heart shudder. You follow him willingly, allowing the fingers that are touching you to trace across your skin.

You preen into him as his middle finger drags over your brow bone, trailing to the space between your eyes, meandering down the bridge of your nose. You raise your chin, urging the pad to tip over the bump and fall to your lips. He senses your direction and follows, thumb lowering to trace over your lower lip, then settle into the dip beneath it, swiping against the skin.

Again, his hand moves to cup your cheek, and you press against it, keeping your eyes closed as you memorise the feel. How cruel it is that creatures can touch each other so softly, without the harsh jab of bone or the cracking whip of leather.

He notes how calm your breathing is, and for a moment, wonders if you’re more like your sister than you let on.

When both his hands brace your jaw, you nearly melt, a desperate sound dragging from your throat as your brows curve together, memorising their warmth, the affection—even if you know it’s fake. His fingers squeeze lightly, and the noise repeats itself. You feel emotion welling behind your eyes, but refuse to let it out.

You could pass away as one hand lowers to the side of your neck, wrapping around your nape, tucking beneath your hair. His thumb rubs at a space beneath your ear, and you lift into him. He pulls back, only to thread his fingers through your hair, and a quiet, pleased sound purrs in your chest.

He watches you silently, noting how you come apart beneath the gentlest touch. How many secrets would you spill if he promised his hands to you? The possibilities sprawl before him, tripping over themselves as they fall to his feet.

When he rubs the palm of his hand across the skin of your neck, you lightly grasp him by the wrist, and he wonders if you’d fear him going further. Not that he would. The very idea makes even him want to pull away.

You’re so young, and yet he wonders how many brutalities you’ve witnessed. How normal they must be in this Court of Nightmares.

He keeps his exterior calm, and unruffled as you nose along the dip of his palm. He flinches internally when your lips press to the scarred skin with painful reverence. As if he’s the first person to not raise his hands in order to harm you.

Azriel pulls away when you make to press a second kiss to his wrist, remembering his mission.

Your eyes take a moment to open, slowly realising he’s fulfilled his side of the bargain. He observes how your gaze traces his hands as they pull back to his sides. He’d returned Truth Teller to it’s scabbard at some point, too.

“The Veritas.” His voice is as cold and emotionless as it was before, but the air is calmer…infinitely more peaceful. Your waves no longer colliding with one another.

You raise your hand, and the orb appears, dropping into your palm.

He takes it from you, and you both take care not to brush fingers. You’re not sure you could handle more. You had been so close to fracturing. After all these years, and that could have been your shattering point.

“I want you to return it to me once you’re finished with it.” You say, and even to your own ears you sound somewhat breathless. He doesn’t nod, but you get the sense he’ll follow your instructions as he turns.

“Spymaster,” you call. “I want it to be you. Not one of your shadows or wraiths.” You settle back down into the chaise, beginning to make the descent into your persona crafted for the Hewn City.

“You’re much more pleasing to the eye.” You croon, though it lacks the necessary venom for it to be believable.

You silently plead he’ll return.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020