#light soothing sound of mist

[faith-forgxtten-land]

You haven't written anything NSFW for TMNT so its okay if its not something you're comfortable writing but do you think you could write something for Bay Donnie? I don't really have any preferences of requests other than squirting

Soaked | Donatello

okay, fair warning, i haven't written anything explicitly nsfw for like two years so be nice; i was hesitant in posting this because i have no faith in my writing, especially nsfw, but i hope you like it! bayverse!!

warnings: NSFW, squirting? swearing, mentions of cunt etc., not much else i don't think. everyone is 18+!! awful titles, never proofread

summary: donatello likes it when you soak his sheets

word count: 1691

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The world is bathed in darkness when you finally manage to open your eyes. The lair is quiet, and your head feels heavy as you squint. A hand is trailing your torso softly despite innumerable callouses, fingers sweeping delicately along the length of your spine in some silent rhythm. Your skin is warm, the cool touch of his palms soothing the heated flesh, and you giggle quietly as you imagine puffs of mist rising from where your bodies and their contrasting temperatures meet.

“You awake?”

With a humming reply and languid grace, you raise your head and try to make out his face in the dim light. You can’t see much, just a pair of soft eyes that make you feel more embraced than the blankets piled on top of you, as his other hand cups your cheek and you melt into him. He makes you feel like that a lot; like molten gold, pliant under his assured touches, burning and boneless and so, so precious.

“You fell asleep in the middle of movie night,” he says softly, lips brushing against your forehead in a gesture so tender it makes your heart clench. He traces his mouth down the swell of your cheek, caressing the lines of your face until he reaches your jaw. His kisses are indulgent and full, and you feel gluttonous as your hands seek his plastron eagerly. Even half-asleep, you want him wholly and desperately and you feel him huff a fond laugh, smiling knowingly against your throat.

“So needy,” he teases affectionately, the hand that had been mapping your back now beginning to move further downwards until the flesh of your thigh is in his grip. He squeezes it once, twice, and parts your legs. His beak presses harder into the delicate skin of your neck, and he inhales deeply before biting sharply. The contrast of his gentle hands and the sudden sting of his teeth causes your hips to stutter, and you can’t hold back a whine.

“I can smell you.” His voice is low and you shudder at the rasp in his tone. He pulls back to look into your eyes, and you swallow thickly; his irises have disappeared into blackness, as if they’re drowning in ink with pupils blown wide, and you feel yourself grow wetter at the wild look. You still can’t make out his face, but you know he looks wrecked, and a smug satisfaction settles deep within you.

The thought that your scent alone can ruin him, make primal need overwhelm him, make him look wanton, causes your toes to curl. His large hand, so huge on your body, grasps your thigh tightly again and you gasp as he squeezes hard enough to bruise this time. “You’re soaking already,” he groans, and you buck your hips, silently begging him to pull your sleep shorts down and feel it for himself.

Despite his teasing, he must feel as desperate as you because he’s quick to do exactly that and rub his finger against your folds. He curses loudly, the sound echoing in the quiet, and you spread your legs wider. “So fucking wet,” he chokes out, rubbing your swollen clit as he pushes his first finger inside of you. You’re so warm and tight and you feel yourself flutter around him.

“Donnie,” you gasp as he curls his finger just right. It’s the first word you’ve uttered, and he groans darkly at the desperation that coats the sound. He fucks you faster, his finger stretching you, drawing the most obscene sounds, wet slaps reverberating so loudly you’re sure everyone can hear them. You’re panting and flushed, hips grinding as he pumps in and out, and you moan loudly as he slips another digit inside.

He’s back to pressing open-mouthed kisses against your throat, lapping up the sweat that trickles down. “That’s it,” he murmurs reverently, sucking purple marks into your sensitive flesh and scissoring his fingers faster and harder, forceful pumps bordering on brutal. Your name is a growl on his tongue as he hits that perfect spot over and over, and you can’t stop yourself from mewling as he presses harshly against your sensitive nub, pleasure and pain blending in a way that makes you dizzy.

His pace is unrelenting and unforgiving, and you can feel the thrumming of your pulse, a delirious concoction of sensual agony shooting through your veins as you babble senselessly. “Donnie, please, please—”

He fixes his teeth over an especially delicate part of your throat and bites so hard you see stars, chest heaving and unable catch your breath as your walls clamp around his fingers. There’s going to be an outrageous mark, dark violet bruises and blatant indents of teeth in a place you have no hope of covering up, and the thought only makes you cry louder.

You think you might pass out for a minute or two as Donnie continues to finger-fuck you through your orgasm. You’re shaking and sensitive and sore, but he doesn’t let up even as you shiver and whine. “You can take it,” he tells you simply, and you nod quickly because you can, you’ll take whatever he gives you.

It doesn’t take long for you to reach the edge again, little gasps and whimpers slipping through your lips with every pump. He’s toying with you, a teasing grin pressed against the column of your throat that turns into a low laugh as you curse him for slowing whenever your thighs begin to tremble. Just as you think he’s about to slow again, he pinches your clit harshly and you can’t stop the wail that wrenches itself from your burning lungs.

His fingers fuck you through this orgasm too, spreading your legs wider as they spasm and weakly attempt to shut without his permission. Only when you fall still does he pull out, and you whimper more at the aching emptiness. He makes sure you’re watching as he brings his fingers to his mouth and tastes them; his tongue is playful, thick and flicking, and you feel the muscles of your stomach contract.

“Tease,” you croak, and his eyes somehow darken even further at just how wrecked you sound, your voice rasping and slurred.

“You’re right,” he agrees, brushing your folds again, digits stroking your puffy slit. You gasp as he pushes two fingers back in, squirming at the satisfying and sensitive discomfort shooting along your spine. “You’ve been so good.” He’s making those perfect curling motions inside of you and your back arches, tears gathering on your lashes as that agonising pleasure sparks, lighting up your blood and forcing your eyes to roll back.

“Donnie—”

There’s a pressure building, somehow more intense than before, and your thighs quiver as his fingers continue to fuck you without faltering, even as your legs threaten to snap closed at the unbearable sensitivity when he finds your clit once more.

You’re not sure if the sounds coming out of your mouth are words and you’re pretty sure you’re drooling, tongue lolling, but whatever noises escape your parted lips have Donnie pressing that spot inside you harder and harder, churring darkly. It's a sound that clatters through you as he returns his teeth to your throat like they belong there, like your neck is meant to be a canvas for his marks. “You can do it,” he groans. "You’re always so good for me.”

His fingers curl even more, and you choke on a moan as you realise what he’s asking for, what he’s building towards with every pump. Your own hand desperately grasps his forearm, not sure if you’re begging him to stop or urging him to keep going as you pant and whine, body writhing as he tears a sob from you that rattles your bones. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” He’s tense, the muscles of his arm flexed and hard under your touch, and you can feel his sweat on your damp skin as he presses impossibly closer, almost lovingly nuzzling your neck now even as his fingers fuck you stupid.

You feel like you’re about to explode, the pressure agonising and tipping over into pain, blood boiling under your skin, and you can do nothing but cry wildly, screaming loud enough for everyone to hear, when you feel that tension inside you shatter like glass.

Donnie holds you as you convulse, shudders racking every inch of you, soft praises rushing from his lips as he presses gentle kisses along your jaw. He groans feeling your wetness gushing against him, soaking his plastron and his bedding, knowing your scent will cling to him and his bed for hours even after he showers and changes his sheets.

It's his favourite part, he thinks privately. It soothes something primal and animal within him, something he didn't even recognise until he had you writhing and coming undone under him for the first time. Making you lose control, satisfying you so good you can't help but squirt… He swallows the thought and scissors his fingers in you, watching the way you whimper with your eyes closed as he glides in and out of your pretty cunt with ease, your body always so responsive for him no matter what state you're in.

You’re certain you passed out this time, and when you come-to, Donnie still has his fingers inside of you, still pressing those feather-light kisses to your skin. You feel heavy and weightless all at once, eyelids fluttering, unsure whether to whine in relief or displeasure when his fingers retreat slowly and he brings them to his mouth again.

It takes you another minute to realise just how wet you are, your thighs glistening even in the low light, and the bed beneath you is completely drenched. You can’t muster any shame, only satisfaction coiling deep in your gut when you see just how soaked Donnie is too.

“Next time,” he breathes, voice guttural and promising, still sucking his fingers clean, “I want you on my face so I can drink every drop.”

You clench your thighs together, sore and aching and still so needy, and lick your lips. “That can be arranged.”

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Steamy Situations 18+ (Alastor x reader)

Alastor x reader Rated: Adults only Warnings: Smut. It's shower smut. Female bodied reader. Careful with your shower sex.

Summary: You're hot and bored and your husband is busy working. If only there was a way you could distract him, get some of his attention and cool off.

Interested in a Audio version of this fic? Part 1 Part 2 PS: https://discord.gg/q8kqx7ss is an Alastor server a friend of mine started and https://discord.gg/HeEbAHju is a vox server another friend of mine started. More friends are always nice to have <3

~~~~~<3 He had been slouched over his fucking desk for hours, working away at scripts for the next week’s broadcasts. They were perfect, probably had been for a while but when he was stressed, the perfectionist came out in full force. 

The summer heat and humidity had sweat sticking to your skin. Though the curtains were closed all day to keep the harsh sun from warming the house any more than possible, it was hot. 

The silk of your slip clung to your back as you crossed the room, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. If you were hot and grimy feeling, he had to be too. 

He huffed at the interruption, making you roll your eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he mumbled, not looking up from the pages in his hands. 

“I didn’t-” 

“Don’t lie to me,” he set the papers down with a huff. “Can I do something for you?”

“I need a shower,” you said, running your palm up the back of his neck, threading your fingers into the short curls that had grown wild with the humidity.

“Take one?” He leaned back into your touch as tension slipped from his shoulders. 

“You need one as well.” Your thumb rubbed at the drop of sweat rolling down the side of his neck.

“It would appear so,” He said with a laugh, shifting to face you. “Do you have something in mind, my dear?” 

“Well,” you slipped into the space between his torso and the desk that had been newly opened up, “If you need a shower and I need a shower, we should both take a shower.”

“Good thing we have two showers!” Alastor’s grin was wide as you struggled against the urge to roll your eyes again. 

“Or,” you drew out the word as you ran your hand up his chest, “We could take one together.” 

“How scandalous.” He sounded anything but scandalized as he patted your thigh, light reflecting off the simple gold wedding band. “Let’s get on with it then.” 

~~~~~<3

You had innocent intentions, stepping into the bathroom. Honest. 

It’s just, when you saw his warm tan skin under the running water, sending the shampoo down the valleys and dips between his strong muscles, you found yourself feeling rather jealous. 

You hadn’t even intended for this to happen. One moment his shampoo was running down his chest and the next it was your hands. Soft, water cooled skin over firm muscles that spoke of how hard her worked to maintain the property jumped and twitched under your touch. 

The water wasn’t hot but it wasn’t cold either, being somewhere comfortably between to soothe away the heat. It did nothing to cool the heat quickly building between you as his hands went to rest on your hips. His frame blocked the spray of the water, mist fanning out around him, catching the light in a way that made it look like he was glowing. 

“What?” 

“You’re so handsome,” you whisper, hands running up his water cooled skin to pull him to you. 

Standing on your tip toes, you trusted him to hold you steady as you slotted your lips over his. Strong hands wrapped around your hips, thumbs tracing circles over wet skin as your naked front pressed against his. Water running over his shoulder filled what little gaps there were between you. 

With a sigh, he pulled his lips from yours only to leave a trail of kisses along your jaw, “Thank you, my Dear. I am but nothing in the face of the beauty you possess.” 

“You flirt,” you tease, softly slapping his wet shoulder. 

“Hardly,” his chuckle seemed to bounce off the walls of the small room, wrapping you up in it as much as you were wrapped in his arms as Alastor croons, “Your beauty transcends even the brightest of flowers” Alastor croons. 

Your protest died on your lips as his warm tongue ran along your neck, dragging higher until his lips pulled your ear lobe between his teeth. You arch in his arms, trying to put space between you. His thighs were pressed against yours, member twitching to life against you as you half heartedly tried to wiggle out of your husbands arms.

“You’re not slippery enough to get away from me yet,” Alastor teased, arms tightening around you and holding you flush against him.

“Alastor,” you whined as one hand run lower, grabbing a palmful of your ass, “We’re in the shower, stop it’s-”

“Indecent?” Alastor teased, pushing her against the cold wet tile of the wall. “Scandalous, even?” 

“Yes,” your voice was weak as he looked down at you, cock pressing up against your thigh.

“Was it not you,” Alastor’s fingers slipped over wet skin, running up your ribs to cup a breast. Skilled fingers pinched and pulled at your nipple, “who disturbed me at my work with this indecent idea? Wishing to shower together?” 

“Yes?” 

Whimpering, you struggled to keep yourself from sliding down the wall. Alastor’s strong thigh pressed between your knees, pushing until they parted under the pressure. You had no choice but to yield until his thigh pressed tightly against your core, ensuring you would remain standing.

“And now? HA! Now you expect me to keep my mind on something other than having my wife’s wet,” He kissed your shoulder as he pressed his thigh against your slit with every word that followed, “naked, soft, inviting body on full display?” 

“Alastor, I didn’t-” 

“Don’t lie to me,” Alastor pulled your hips forward, grinding your cunt against his thigh. “You think I can’t feel your slick? I know that’s not water. I’m going to give you exactly what you wanted.” 

The dark promise in his voice had your core clinching against nothing. Delicate muscles twitched as a soft moan fell from your lips. Blunt nails ran down your sides as he smiled down at you. Fingers dug into the fat at your thighs as he simultaneously lifted you off your feet and pinned your hips against the wall. 

On reflex, you wrapped your legs around him. Shower spray pelted your legs as you struggled to grip his wet body. His hands seemed to have no issue holding onto you though. 

He ran his cock through your folds, gathering the slick and lubricating himself. Each pass over your clit had you arching, gasping and rocking into him as you sought more friction. There wasn’t much you could do though, pinned to the shower wall as you were. It was just how he wanted you, at his mercy. 

“Alastor,” you whined his name. 

“Just hold onto me,” he said as he lined the head of his cock up with your entrance. You tensed in his arms. “Just relax, this is what you wanted.” 

He breached your entrance slowly. You spread around the fat head of his cock little by little as the unrelenting pressure left your body no choice. Pleasurable pain spread through you as he sank deeper and deeper within you. He was large and your body struggled to accommodate him without preparations. 

A shuddering ran up his spine as he bottomed out, forcing you to take all of him in one long slow thrust. Unstretched and unprepared, your body gripped him, walls fluttering around his cock as they strained to accommodate his considerable size.

You clung to him, arching in his arms as he chuckled against your shoulder. His body was burning against yours in contrast with the cold wet tile. It felt good. 

Rocking his hips, he worked his cock through your walls, ensuing you were spread over ever bit of him, taking all he had inside your walls as if there had been any doubt before. You gasped and twitched with ever shift of him inside you. Once he felt you had relaxed enough, he upped slowly from your body, holding you in place with his hands. 

Though his entrance and withdraw had been slow, what followed was anything but. He plunged inside you with such speed and force that your lower back slammed against the tile. He held you in place as his hips slammed into you again and again. 

You could do nothing but hold onto him and hope the water didn’t cause his feet to slip or you to slide out of his grip. Again and again, the head of his cock kissed your cervix with each thrust. 

Gasps turned into moans as he shifted your hips and his, letting the head of his cock rub against the spongy nerves that caused your cunt to flood with slick anew. Your fingers slipped over his shoulders, nails struggling to find grip before winding into his hair. Numb fingers pulled at his wet hair, his broken name all you can say as the coil inside you begins to tighten under his expert touch. 

“So tight,” you can feel his lips move against your neck as he fucks into you savagely. 

“Alas… Alastor,” your head falls back against the tile with a thump that you don’t feel. You’re so close now, so very close. No longer can you feel the cooling spray of the water or the tile. The sound of the shower is lost to you.

All you can feel is your husband’s body pressed against you, the grip he has on your thighs and his cock slamming into you again and again. All you can hear is his breath washing over you, soft praises whispered between moans and the music of his wet body meeting yours. 

With each powerful thrust, you could feel the twitch of his cock against your cervix. He was as close as you were. Knowing that you had the power to reduce the great radio host to rutting into you in the shower sent a thrill through you that was enough to push you over.

Your body clamped down around him as you came undone in his arms. The pull of your cunt trying to suck his cock deeper inside drew a long deep moan from him as his pace grew sloppy. A handful of thrusts later and he slammed himself inside, teeth latching onto your shoulder painfully tight as he tried to stifle moan that always came with his release. 

Rutting his hips into your twitching cunt to continue to stimulate himself, he refused to separate as his cock twitched and spasmed inside, seed shooting to paint your cervix with his essence and claim. 

As both your breathing calmed and he slowly began to soften, you unhooked your ankles from behind his back. His grip went slack, letting you stand on weak legs as his cock slipped out of you, leaving you feeling empty and sore but satisfied. At least for now. 

Alastor hummed as you settled against his chest, arms holding him in a light embrace. There was comfort in the sound of the popular tune and the sound of the shower spray. His strong hands rubbed suds into your body, lulling you further into relaxation. He washed your hair with tender care before allowing you to assist him with his own cleaning. 

Sitting you on the edge of the tub, he dried you with the same tender care. No one would believe he was the same man that so roughly, so quickly took you in the shower. As he rubbed the water from your hair, he tilted your head up and placed a soft chase kiss upon your sleepy lips. 

“I love you,” he said, smile as soft as his words. 

“I love you, too.” 

“Let’s get you to bed my Dear, so I can get back to work.” 

~~~~~<3 TagList: @catticora, @alastor-simp

[yourmomsawh0r3]

expecting

pairing: benedict bridgerton x f! wife reader

The soft morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a warm glow across the grand bedchamber. Y/N stirred beneath the covers, her mind slowly rousing from the depths of sleep. She stretched her hand to the other side of the bed, expecting to find the familiar warmth of her husband, but instead, her fingers brushed against cold, empty sheets. Benedict had already risen, most likely absorbed in his work within the confines of his study.

She lingered in bed, her thoughts muddled by the lingering remnants of slumber, until a sharp pang of anxiety tightened in her chest. For several days now, a persistent worry had taken root within her, growing with each passing hour. She hesitated before throwing back the covers, her heart heavy with apprehension. Y/N’s gaze fell upon the bed linens, scrutinizing them with bated breath.

The sheets were immaculate, untouched by the crimson hue she had half-expected, half-dreaded to see. Her heart sank, frustration welling within her as she realized the implications. Another morning, another check, and still no sign of her monthly course. The absence of blood was both a blessing and a curse, for she knew what it likely meant.

They were still newlyweds, just months into their marriage, and while they had spoken of starting a family, Y/N had envisioned more time to enjoy their youthful union before the responsibilities of parenthood descended upon them. The thought of carrying Benedict’s child filled her with equal parts joy and trepidation. Was it too soon? Would he be ready for such a change, for the duties and demands that would come with fatherhood?

She rose from the bed, her movements languid as she wrapped her robe around herself. The silk fabric felt cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the warmth she yearned to feel. Y/N padded down the long hallway, her feet silent on the plush carpet as she made her way to Benedict’s study. She could hear the familiar sound of his pencil scratching against parchment, the melody of his creative process.

She paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of her husband. Benedict was bent over his work, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sketched, utterly absorbed in his task. Despite the seriousness of his expression, there was an undeniable gentleness about him that made her heart swell with love.

For a moment, Y/N considered turning away, letting him remain in his world of art and imagination, but she knew she couldn’t delay the conversation any longer. The uncertainty gnawed at her, and she needed to confide in him, to share her fears and hopes.

“Benedict,” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up immediately, his features softening the moment his eyes met hers. A warm smile spread across his face, and he set his pencil aside, rising from his chair to greet her.

“Good morrow, my love,” he said, his voice filled with affection as he crossed the room to her. “I did not intend to wake you so early.”

“You did not wake me,” Y/N replied, attempting a smile as she stepped closer to him. “I simply found myself alone in our bed and wondered where you might be.”

Benedict wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his embrace. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin. “My mind was alight with ideas,” he explained, his tone light and teasing. “I had to capture them before they faded away like the morning mist.”

Y/N rested her head against his chest, her ear pressed to his heart. The steady rhythm soothed her, but the anxiety in her own chest remained. She knew she couldn’t keep her secret any longer. “Benedict, I must speak with you about something of great importance.”

He pulled back slightly, concern flickering in his blue eyes. “What is it, dearest? You seem troubled.”

Y/N took a deep breath, her hands gripping the lapels of his dressing gown as she gathered the courage to speak. “I have missed my monthly course,” she confessed, her voice trembling. “It has been late for several days now, and I believe I may be with child.”

The words hung in the air, a delicate truth that had the power to alter their lives forever. Y/N braced herself for Benedict’s reaction, her heart pounding in her chest. She feared he might be taken aback, that the prospect of fatherhood might overwhelm him, especially so soon after their marriage.

But to her surprise, Benedict’s expression changed not to one of shock or apprehension, but to one of pure, unadulterated joy. His eyes widened, and a broad smile broke across his face as he processed her words.

“You think…?” he stammered, his voice laced with wonder. “You believe you carry our child?”

Y/N nodded, tears welling in her eyes as she watched the happiness unfold across his face. “I did not know how to tell you… I feared it might be too soon, that you would be unprepared…”

Benedict’s hands cupped her face, his touch tender as he gazed down at her with all the love in his heart. “Too soon?” he echoed, his voice filled with emotion. “My love, there could be no greater news in the world. You have just given me the most precious gift I could ever receive.”

Before she could respond, Benedict swept her up into his arms, spinning her around in a joyful circle. Y/N’s laughter mingled with his, the sound of their happiness filling the room. When he finally set her down, he held her close, his forehead resting against hers as he whispered, “We are to be parents, Y/N. I can scarcely believe it.”

Y/N’s tears spilled over, but they were tears of relief, of joy, of overwhelming love. She pulled him into a deep kiss, pouring all of her emotions into the tender embrace. When they finally parted, she looked up at him, her heart full to bursting. “I love you, Benedict,” she whispered. “And I am so grateful that we will embark on this journey together.”

Benedict’s arms tightened around her, his voice a soft murmur in her ear. “I love you more than words can express. You will be the most wonderful mother, and I will strive every day to be the father our child deserves.”

As they stood there in the warmth of the study, wrapped in each other’s embrace, Y/N knew that whatever fears she had harbored had been unfounded. Benedict’s love for her was unwavering.

A few weeks had passed since Y/N had first shared the news with Benedict, and their excitement had only grown with each day. Though they had reveled in the secret together, they both knew it was time to share the joy with their families. The Bridgerton clan was nothing if not close-knit, and such news was sure to be met with elation.

The day was sunny, with a pleasant breeze that made the leaves rustle in the grand trees lining the estate. The entire Bridgerton family was gathered in the drawing room of Aubrey Hall, the laughter and chatter filling the air as the siblings exchanged stories and playful jests. It was a rare occasion when they were all together, and Benedict couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth as he looked around the room.

Y/N sat beside him, her hand resting in his, their fingers intertwined. She was calm on the surface, but he could sense the slight tremor in her hand, the only sign of her nerves. He gave her a reassuring squeeze, meeting her eyes with a smile that spoke of all the love and support he had for her.

Finally, when there was a lull in the conversation, Benedict cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the room. “If I may have your attention, everyone,” he began, his voice carrying a note of seriousness that was unusual in their light-hearted gatherings.

The room quieted, all eyes turning to Benedict and Y/N. There was a mixture of curiosity and concern in their expressions, each sibling wondering what news might be so important.

“We have something we would like to share with you all,” Benedict continued, his voice steady but filled with emotion. He glanced at Y/N, his gaze filled with encouragement. She nodded, and together, they turned back to the family.

“We are with child,” Y/N announced, her voice soft but clear.

For a moment, there was silence as the words sank in. Then, as if on cue, the room erupted in a chorus of exclamations, cheers, and laughter. Daphne, ever the nurturing one, was the first to rush forward, her face alight with joy as she embraced Y/N.

“Oh, Y/N! That is the most wonderful news!” Daphne exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine happiness. “You are going to make such a wonderful mother.”

The rest of the siblings quickly followed suit, surrounding the couple with congratulations and hugs. Even Anthony, who often took on the role of the stern eldest brother, couldn’t hide the smile that spread across his face.

“Well done, brother,” he said, clapping Benedict on the shoulder. “You’ve managed to outdo yourself this time.”

“Thank you, Anthony,” Benedict replied with a grin, knowing that beneath his brother’s teasing exterior, there was deep affection.

Violet, their mother, had tears in her eyes as she enveloped Y/N in a warm embrace. “My dear, I am so happy for you both,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You are bringing such joy to this family.”

Y/N felt overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support. She had known that the Bridgertons would be thrilled, but the reality of it was even more touching than she had imagined. Benedict stood beside her, his arm around her waist, his pride and happiness evident in every gesture.

The rest of the day was filled with celebration. The family insisted on toasting the couple’s happiness, and there was much talk of the future, of names and nurseries, of the roles each sibling would play in the life of the new addition. Colin, ever the joker, made a grand show of predicting whether it would be a boy or a girl, while Eloise teased that she would teach the child all the ways of mischief.

As the evening drew to a close and the family began to disperse, Benedict and Y/N found themselves alone in the garden, the quiet night a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere of earlier. The stars were beginning to twinkle in the sky, and the soft rustle of the leaves provided a gentle melody to their solitude.

Benedict turned to Y/N, his expression tender as he took her hands in his. “Are you pleased, my love?” he asked, his voice low and intimate.

“More than I could ever put into words,” she replied, her heart full to bursting with the love she felt for him and for the family they were building together.

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “We are going to be wonderful parents, Y/N,” he murmured against her skin. “And our child will be surrounded by so much love. I cannot wait to begin this new chapter with you.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, not of sadness but of overwhelming joy. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close as she whispered, “Nor can I, Benedict. Nor can I.”

And so, beneath the canopy of stars, they stood together, holding each other close as they looked forward to the future, their hearts filled with the promise of the life they would share a life of love, of family, and of unbreakable bonds.

[moonstruckme]

Hello! First I wanted to tell you how much I love your work, I think I almost read them all ! Second, I wanted to request, if that’s ok, a poly!marauders or any marauder with a reader insecure about her small chest. I thank you for the time you’ll take reading my request, and hope you’ll continue writing !

Thank you lovely :)

cw: smut mdni, reader has insecurities around breast size and makes a joke about looking like a boy

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 797 words

The sky outside is a pale gray, and droplets of rain cling dearly to leaves and flower petals. You’ve left the bedroom window open, letting in the cool breeze that smells of green and freshness. It licks over your skin like a fine mist, sweet and earthy. 

But you like Remus’ licks better. 

His mouth is warm on your breast, both of your books turned over and forgotten at the end of the bed. You have one hand burrowed in his hair, extra fluffy from the damp air, while your other runs up and down his back, beseeching. Remus kisses and sucks at you so gently you don’t even suspect the hickey he’s leaving behind until he moves to a different spot and you see the mark. You don’t let him get very far on his next project. 

“Rem,” you plead, giving his hair another little tug. 

He chuckles but complies, stretching up for a syrupy, lingering kiss. You sigh into his mouth. He devours it happily, slipping a hand around to the small of your back and starting to press you downwards onto the pillows. But that’s a position you haven’t taken for a reason, and you push back, covering your resistance with the guise of kissing Remus harder, forcing you both upright. 

Remus’ mouth curves against yours. He goes along with you, nipping playfully at your lip and gripping you tighter, rougher. 

But it’s not long before he tries again, urging you horizontal so he can get on top of you properly. This time, when you don’t go, he takes notice. 

“Something wrong?” he asks casually, still tending to the corner of your mouth with soft, sweet kisses.

You hum a denial and go for the distraction, clutching at the muscles of his back and trying to maneuver yourself into his lap. Not particularly easy, since he’s currently in your lap, his body spread over you with his legs on either side of your hips. 

Remus sets a hand on your shoulder. A restraint. “Sure you don’t want to tell me?” he asks softly. “I can tell something’s bothering you.” 

Your lips still on his. For a few moments, the only sounds are bird calls and the tinkling of raindrops falling from trees like silver coins. Remus doesn’t pull away. He waits for you. 

“I don’t really want to lie down like this,” you admit. 

“That’s fine.” Remus’ hand slopes down your shoulder, thumb beginning to draw circles into your arm. He’s always had a sense for when you might need soothing. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah.” You laugh at yourself, a light little puff of air that sounds as forced as it feels. “I’m being vain.” 

His eyebrow twitches upward. “How’s that?”

It’s an effort not to look down at your chest. “I’m just not really feeling my boobs lately,” you say simply, trying once more for insouciance. “I don’t even want to think about how they’d look concaving back into me, so I’d rather avoid having to see it.” 

Remus grins, a small, crooked thing that lets you know he’s playing along with your levity even if he doesn’t buy into it. “They do not concave,” he sneers teasingly. “And you don’t have to be the one feeling them, dovey. I’ve been feeling them for about a half hour now, and I’d say they feel excellent.” 

“Ha ha.” You direct your smile just over his shoulder. 

Remus hums and plants a hand in the middle of your chest. “Now, that didn’t sound very sincere,” he says, pushing downward. 

There’s a bit more force to the motion this time, and you can’t resist for long. You go down giggling, even as unease twists peskily in your gut. 

“See?” Remus bends over you, laying a kiss on your cheek before creeping downwards. “Still lovely.” 

“I’ve become a young boy,” you lament jokingly, but squeak when Remus nips admonishingly at your neck. 

“They’re perfect,” he says, mouth marking a trail down into the valley of your chest. He presses his lips to the inside of one breast. Lets them linger there, emanating a tenderness you can feel seeping into your core. When he lifts them, it’s with a soft suctioning sound. “Perfect.” 

“Remus,” you whisper. 

His eyes flick up to yours, eyelashes nearly brushing his eyebrows from the angle. “Yes?” 

“You…you don’t have to.” 

He looks back down, tsking. He sets another kiss on the same breast, moving slowly closer to the stiff peak of your nipple. “Still doesn’t believe me,” he mutters as if to himself. Another press of his lips, this one almost directly on the bud. 

Remus sighs, and goosebumps skitter over your skin. You shiver.

“I think you may have to get comfortable, darling. I’m going to be busy here for a while.”

[utterlyotterlyx]

The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Eight

Summary - Eris and your court grapple with the realisation that you left in order to protect them, whilst in Velaris, it becomes clear that you aren't as clueless as you seem.

Warnings - angst, depression, slight fluff, mentions of wing clipping, manipulation, slightly possessive Eris, unhinged Rhys, soft Az and Cass.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

The morning light drifting through the pulled back curtains was the catalyst of Eris' groan, he threw an arm over his face to shield himself from the pale yellow light fluttering through the room, a room that felt off somehow.

Frowning, Eris removed his arm from his face, squinting through his sleep-ridden eyes to peer at the person who was supposed to be curled into his side, head resting on his chest, and palms idly drifting over his skin. No one was there.

Had the night before been a dream?

Had he not basically confessed his love for you whilst you confessed that despite the distance that separated you, that you had knowingly chosen to soothe him Under The Mountain despite your own pain?

Eris tugged on that golden thread in his chest, wincing as it withered back to him, shivering in pain within his soul. Rubbing the spot over his heart, Eris realised that the bond hadn't snapped for you like it should have, like he thought it had.

Throwing the sheets from his frame, Eris' gaze darted about his former chambers, searching for any sign of you. He inhaled deeply, expecting your scent to flood him, but found his heart in his hands when only the faintest of trances of you lingered in the air.

Before Eris could truly lose his mind, he glanced toward the vanity, to where a singed square of parchment lay propped up against a bottle of perfume with his name delicately inscribed on the face.

He didn't need to read it to know what it said, but he had to, he had to see it for himself.

I can't let him hurt you. I'm sorry.

The page had wrinkled and darkened in places, and droplets of your tears stained the parchment in his fingers. The words on the page told him the answer to his previous thought, that the bond hadn't fallen into place for you, which in a way was better, it meant that everything you had felt and admitted was because you wanted it, not because you felt like you had to accept something.

Shuffling sounded from below, a smash of glass and a screech for Nesta, he moved to the noise, quickly fixing his briefs from the night before around his waist, his bare feet padding against the wood as he headed toward the commotion.

He heard Elain's words, he heard her mutter something about her vision, about snow-capped mountains and the dress that had vanished from its place draped over the mirror in your room. Red shrouded his vision like thick mist, his entire soul was threatening to rip itself apart, hating itself for not only letting you get away, but for also for not being able to feel you.

Every single fibre of his essence was searching for you, holding onto any speck of your scent that lingered in the air. He didn't even see Lucien through his haze, he only focused on the one person who knew for certain where you had gone.

Eris knew, but he needed to hear someone else say it.

The fox prowled ahead, fists clenched and eyes low, his molten bronze pools swimming with tamed fury as his soul remembered the touch of your lips against his, how you tasted of midnight skies and honey, it was peaceful. It was perfectly you. Dark but beautiful.

Nesta had frozen in place, the eldest Archeron surprisingly void of any words. Apparently you hadn't told a soul, that much was clear from the shock and hurt on their faces.

“Where is my mate?”

Eris’ palms lay flat against the countertop, the same one where he had held you only hours before, kissing you and telling you how badly he wanted to be worthy of you. It dawned on him that throughout that entire conversation, from your joint confessions to the kiss that confirmed everything he already knew, to sleeping in the same bed, you had already known that you were leaving.

Pain and sadness radiated on Elain’s features, her bottom lids pooled with unshed tears, and she fell back into Lucien who had crossed the room after Eris had brushed past him, “Wait, your mate?” Nesta took a step forward, her eyes growing wider as her mind span with the news.

Eris hummed softly, his eyes still cold and stoic, “I thought it had snapped for her last night, after we spoke, after the kiss,” his gaze softened slightly, “She’s gone back, hasn’t she?”

Nodding, Elain answered, “Yes. In the night,” after Eris had fallen asleep with you wrapped up in his arms, leaving him to wake up alone with a spot beside him void of life.

"Hold up. Your mate? Since when?"

Eris rolled his eyes at Nesta, running his hand over his face, "I think I've always known, but it was Under The Mountain when I accepted it. When she was walking the halls singing to herself," when in actuality you had been singing to him.

None of them could be angry or upset with you, you had done it to protect them, to make sure that they stayed alive and safe, away from any form of war or conflict.

“I can invoke the Blood Duel.”

It wasn’t an act that was taken lightly. The Blood Duel was a rarity, but it was also made for situations just like the one they found themselves in. Rhys thought that you were unmated, it was his main argument of focus, but he had no idea that your mate was itching to tear him apart. Eris could invoke it, and maybe, just maybe, Rhys would have no choice but to honour the bond and set you free before it was too late.

Lucien inhaled sharply, “She wouldn’t want that.”

“I can’t leave her there, Lucien.”

“We won’t,” Nesta moved to stand before the arched window, peering out at the pond which was shimmering in the sunlight, glittering even, “If I know her well, which I do, she wouldn’t have gone back without some kind of plan in place. That woman is the best tactician that Prythian has ever seen.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell us?”

Nesta turned to Elain who was equally as confused, they had left Velaris to follow you blindly, they were devoted to you, “She didn’t want us to get caught up in it,” a guess, but probably true. Nesta turned to Eris, “Don’t invoke the Blood Duel yet. I know it’s not ideal but maybe she knows what she’s doing.”

They could only hope that Rhys’ greed would glamour his senses, “And if she doesn’t?”

Eris couldn’t imagine it, what they’d do to you in that prison of a city. That other part of you had retreated each day, the darkness bowing to the warmth and light of him.

Nesta felt Ataraxia call to her and she flexed her digits in return as if she was holding it, “Then we go to war.”

“It’s for your own good, y/n.”

Rhys was waiting with open arms the moment you had stepped up to where Autumn met Winter, Azriel must have told him of your movements.

Your heart ached in your chest, everything was screaming at you to turn back and find another way, but you had to protect them from the monster stood before you.

The winter chill caused you to shiver, the skirt of your dress tugging you backward, willing you to move away, to go back to where you were safe and loved, “Promise me that you won’t hurt them.”

Smiling, Rhys extended a hand toward you, “If you cross that line, they will be spared.”

“Promise me. Promise me that you won’t hurt them, and if you do, the price will be your life.”

Rhys wasn’t stupid, he knew what you were doing, “I promise,” a familiar burning coiled up your right forearm and you glanced down to see a fresh tattoo inked on your skin, “Now, come.”

A shuddering breath moved through you, you stepped over the threshold into Winter and his hands were on you immediately. They were cold and calloused, there was no softness or love in his touch, just pride to have won.

“I apologise,” you frowned slightly, “I had to take some precautions.” Before you could ask about what he had done, you felt cold rings lock around your wrists and neck, you felt the power evaporate from your body, and you fell to your knees.

Clawing at the collar moulding with your flesh, you whimpered, “What is this?”

“A gift from a friend,” Rhys crouched down to your level, taking your chin on his fingers, “I told you that your power was unnatural, now you can’t use it at all.”

The voices in your mind had wailed, they screamed in protest as the power of the collar consumed them, the air fell still and you felt weak, almost mundane as Rhys’ power pulsed around you, relishing in being the strongest thing to now walk the earth.

“It’s a blessing,” he cooed to you, ignoring the cries coming from your lips, you tried to hook your fingers under it, to rip it off of you, but you had no strength, and the collar was already embedded into your flesh, “We can be happy,” his eyes shimmered and yours dimmed, “No more fighting.”

Drowning. You were drowning and no amount of air that you were gulping down was saving you. You were lifted from the ground and cradled to a cold chest, and all you could do was glance backward at the border, at where Autumn called to you before the world before your eyes vanished in a swirl of colour and you found yourself looking upward at a sky full of stars.

Nothing felt real.

Every step he took filled you with dread, you recognised the incline of the path, you’d know it with your eyes screwed shut. Shuffling entered your ear shot as well as the sound of gasps, you were sure you must have looked tiny in his arms, your face was stained with tears, your skin had gone pale, your eyes had darkened and stared blankly downward to your hands bundled in your lap.

Black veins snaked from the stone cuffs melted into your wrists, angry and poisonous, devouring you with each passing moment.

“Az. Take her will you?”

The room stiffened, but the Shadowsinger moved to you, he slid you from Rhys’ grip and held you delicately. The change of your scent was undeniable, and Azriel was sure that Rhys commanded that he take you so that he didn’t have to smell Eris for one moment longer than he had to.

Velaris could do nothing to soothe you, the looming mountains could only watch sadly as Azriel carried you to your room at the River House, the stars blinkered away entirely at the solemn atmosphere that coated the city in your silent fury. The princess had returned, but she was powerless, a lone bunny stalked by wolves.

Cedar used to be your favourite smell, but all it did was make your stomach churn and twist in agony, everything inside of you wanted that scent to be one of pine and cinnamon, they wanted it to belong to the person who had never been afraid of you even when you had given him every reason to be.

The knots in your shoulders writhed, your scars screamed as your power depleted, but you couldn’t bare to soothe it, it was the only thing you could feel aside from nothing.

“It’s alright, y/n. Everything is going to be okay,” Azriel kicked your door open as softly as he could, and his heart shattered into a million pieces when a single look inside sent you struggling against his embrace.

Nothing had changed, it looked the exact same as it had the night you had left, like it was waiting to you.

“Please, don’t do this. Take me back to him. Please.”

You knew that he couldn’t defy Rhys so openly, so foolishly. Azriel set you down on the comforter and knelt before you, his fingers drifted along the edge of the black stone collar, where the stone met the newly marred flesh beneath it, “I didn’t know that he was going to do this, I swear.”

So that explained the gasps. It wasn’t due to just seeing you in the flesh again, it was because of the collar and cuffs burnt into your skin. None of them knew of what Rhys had planned to do, that being to drain the life from you bit by bit, starting with your power, until you bent to his will and became his submissive monster.

Hazel connected with your own, and Azriel saw nothing but a wilting rose inside of you, broken with no chance of springing back to full bloom. Sat before him was a shell of the woman he used to know, and he had dealt a hand in your state, contributed to it, and it disgusted him.

“Get away from me,” your words struck him like Truthteller had become lodged in his heart, you had never asked Azriel to go away, you had always welcomed him with open arms and soothing words.

But the captured animal in front of him wasn’t y/n anymore, it was the frightened creature that Rhys had plucked from the forest and condemned to a life of solitude.

“Please, y/n-“

“Don’t say my name,” your eyes welled, “You don’t ever get to say my name. You’re not him, you don’t get to call me that.”

Hold on.

A shudder flew up your spine, the first bit of comfort you had experienced in what felt like a millennia, “Get out.”

Sighing, Azriel rose to his feet, he knew that there was no consoling you, no words that he could muster to make the situation better. As soon as Azriel left the room, closing the door with a soundless click, you found yourself staring out of the window at the stars that used to lull you to sleep but were now glowering in warning.

The valley sang with golden light, it drifted along the streets where childish laughter blossomed, it should have been comforting, but nothing about the moment was good. Nothing about Velaris felt safe. Gone were the days where you would stroll along the Sidra with Azriel by your side, gone were the days of harmony.

Hugging your knees to your chest, your mind floated elsewhere, wondering how Nesta, Elain, and Lucien would react once they realised that you had left. How hurt they would be by your abandonment. And Eris, you were sure that he would be feeling the worst out of them all, wondering why his words and admissions weren't able to convince you to stay.

All that mattered was that they were safe, protected by the bargain inked upon your flesh.

The reflection in the window wasn't of anyone that you recognised, she was pale, her eyes a shade of almost onyx bar the circle of wildfire in the irises, black veins protruded from the collar embedded into the flesh of her neck, her hair was loosely strewn over her shoulder. The life had been sucked from her soul and she had been left empty.

"Don't think about it," a shaky whisper racked through your body and you hugged yourself tighter. You couldn't allow yourself to crumble at the pain and grief, "You can do this. They're safe. You can do this, for them."

For Eris and the Autumn Court, for your friends, for the continent, you could confine yourself to Velaris if it meant sparing them all.

Time passed, time where the world beyond the window darkened and the golden hue of the valley evaporated into the night air, and it was during that time when another soul deemed itself worthy enough to find you.

You didn't feel him at first, for you were too dumb to feel anything, all of your fae senses had depleted, you couldn't feel anything. It was as though Rhys had locked you in a prison of darkness, where no feeling resided, where there was no knowing of who was coming to see you or what was coming next. A prison of solitude that even the fire couldn't touch.

Cassian sucked in a harsh beath as he stepped into the room, the entire space was freezing, soft whisps of air flew from your lips, and you shivered on the bed as you held yourself tightly in your arms. The Lord of Bloodshed crossed the room, perching on the edge of the bed, wincing when you angled your body away from him.

In that moment, Cassian knew that Rhys had lost his gods damned mind.

"I'm sorry," he wasn't looking to you, no, he was peering out of the window, wondering at what point life had gotten so fucked up. Anger bubbled inside of him as the stone collar around your neck sang with the power it had trapped inside of it. A monumental act that proved exactly how far Rhys would go to contain you.

"Is this how it's going to go? Rhys sends you in one by one to apologise, do you think that's going to wash away everything that's happened?"

Heavy eyelids greeted him just as the scent of you mixed with another had the moment he had stepped foot into the room. "Rhys doesn't know that I'm here."

Interest piqued, you glanced to him, noting the slouch in his shoulders, the messily thrown together low bun on his head, how his wings drooped lower than they had before, you noted the paled hue to his skin and how he sat with his elbows resting on his knees and staring at the floor, "Nesta misses you. She says she doesn't but I know that she does."

"Is she alright?"

"She's safe. I made sure of that."

Unlike you, you seemed to say, and your eyes confirmed the message.

"If it helps, none of us knew that Rhys was going to do this. Feyre is horrified."

"It doesn't help me at all actually, but thank you for wasting your breath."

It was astounding how a voice could be so vacant, like the last of the autumn breeze before the winter pierced through it. Cassian wanted to know more, he wanted you to tell him about Nesta, about everything you had found, but he knew that you wouldn't tell him, because you no longer trusted him or saw him as anything but one of your captors.

"Did you know that he threatened to kill her? All of them?"

A low growl emitted from him, "He told me of the others," and left out the threat on his own mates life, "That's why you came back. To protect them from him."

"When are you going to realise that the real monster is the one that lurks under your own roof and not the one who ran away to be free of it?"

The silence was enough, Cassian wasn't blind to the information, his hard gaze softened and he tentatively placed a hand on yours, his rough fingers coiling around trembling bone. You wouldn't survive whatever Rhys had planned for you, you were going to die in Velaris and Cassian would have to stand there as Rhys explained to the world how the darkness had consumed you.

It would be Cassian who would have to stand across from his mate and the people you had come to recognise as your true family whilst Rhys told them of your demise. He could see their faces in the forefront of his mind.

"I think I already am," no one could deny how the ways of the Night Court had shifted since you had chosen to leave. Rhys had become a feral beast prowling in the night on his hind legs, obsessing over the thing that had run away from him. "I'll find a way to get you out of this."

Cassian rose from his perch without another word, his calloused fingers slid from your own, and he left. Silence fell on you, but you looked back to the reflection in the window, to the woman that was undeniably you, and smirked.

Playing too many games might get you in trouble, Fawn.

Rising from the comforter, you drifted over to the glass, lifting the latch and opening it a few inches, allowing the songs of crickets and rippling waters to flow to you.

The rich tone of the voice made you shudder, and you could have sobbed at the sound, at how close it felt to the shell of your ear, so close that the ghost of his breath fanned over your shoulder.

I wondered how long it was going to take you to figure it out.

You could hear his smirk through his words, Nesta. A pause. Are you alright?

Swallowing hard, you replied, I'm holding on.

You're not going to tell me what he's done, are you?

No.

The stone of the collar shone in the moonlight, the shrillness of the night air brushed along it and cowered at the ward placed on its surface.

Has he hurt you?

Finding your reflection, you exhaled shakily, struggling to find the mask you had become so accustomed to wearing, Yes.

The place that you had folded Eris into began to unwind, Y/N.

I can do this, Eris. I can survive one last performance.

Eris was no doubt pacing the length of his bedroom, hair wild and eyes simmering with leashed violence. It was a blessing that Rhys was clueless to the carranam bond between you and Eris, a bond that not even his collars could touch or absorb, it was other-worldly and transcendent, something moulded to your very soul, not your power.

Pushing the rumbling pain back inside of you, channelling it to be something much more monstrous, you felt the talons of your other mind rise from the well inside of you, water sloshing over the edges and flowing through your veins like a disease.

It was the only way to do what you needed to do, what had been so masterfully done before. The mask settled onto your features and you rolled your shoulders, welcoming the monster back to the forefront of your essence, grinning at the demon that had come to say hello once again.

The kindred spirit. The one who pitied you enough to instead harmonise with you rather than take over entirely. The one who gave her power to you to wield, who was now shaking angrily inside of you by the mere act of having such power stripped away.

You have set the stage so well, my pure thing. The talons scraped against your mind, breaking through the cracks and seeping into the emptiness inside of you. Let me take it from here, let me tuck you away into the brightest part of us where no one can hurt you.

Did they really believe that you had no idea what Amarantha had done to you all those years ago Under The Mountain?

It had been your greatest kept secret.

Smiling, you let the Queen take control, you let her guide you to the warmest place of you, where the people you loved most rested and you watched on as a bystander as she got to work.

The monster wasn't just you and never had been. You shared your body and consciousness with a queen of sorts, a demon contained in a small onyx stone that had been sewn into you whilst your body had tried to heal itself from the clipping of your wings. And instead of taking over completely like it should have, instead of devouring you, the demon sought to mould with you, it sought to become one with you, and you had let it.

And all you could do was hope that there would be enough of you left to bring back once you were both done.

Authors Note

Also realised that I really need to update my master list oops xo

Enjoy! Love you all 🫶🏻

Taglist

@mybestfriendmademe @jesskidding3 @rosewood-cafe @fandomarchiveilyd @brujitafantomatico @crazylokonugget @mai-adaptive-dreams@magicstrengthandcourage @acourtofmoonlightandstars @ysmttty @lilah-asteria @circe143 @xyzmeh @paleidiot @namelesssav @amberlynn98 @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielsmate3 @ivy-34 @mp-littlebit @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @ifonlyiwerefiction @pirana10 @donttellthecats @padbaeamidla @oucereeng @andreperez11 @demonicbusiness @megscabinetofcurios @superspideyparker @usernamesarelies

[midnightarcheress]

you panic.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader cw: reader's pov. panic attack, simon in protective mode, hurt/comfort ig? 6 | gold rush masterlist.

you couldn’t breathe. the room seemed small, walls closing in and trapping your limp figure inside of an endless nightmare, compressing your lungs until no air reached your alveolus. the mirror reflected the terror stamped on your face, bloodshot eyes staring at the terrifying warning that froze your blood flow and the trembling hands clutching to your arms, wrapping your torso like a straightjacket, desperately trying to pressure your body into disappearing from that reality.

up to this point, you’ve managed to control your fear. shove your worries aside, trust that nothing would trespass your walls and infinite security measures, promise yourself that it would never infest your brain, but that was the last straw. it was your home. you weren’t safe anywhere and it was just a matter of time until you’d be ripped to shreds in your own garden, crimson painting the destroyed flower beds and a golden crown placed on your head like a perfect corpse-bride.

your knees dropped to the frigid floor with a thud, dreadful mist clouding your vision as tears rolled down your cheeks. you couldn’t think, you couldn’t speak, and the alcohol in your veins only managed to heighten the panic. your soul was floating out of your form, knocking on the bars of the prison, looking for a way out of the ordeal and hoping that it was just a hallucination. the loud thumps of your heart ringed in your ears, muffling Ghost’s attempts to get your attention.

the knot in your throat kept tightening, constricting your vocal cords until the only sounds that could be heard were your strained sobs. being in your own skin was overwhelming and you’d give it all to escape the well you were stranded in, but the water was rising quickly, covering your head and drowning any attempt at tranquillity.

“hey, i’m here,” Ghost said, trying to coax you back to the present, “just focus on my voice, can you take a deep breath for me?” 

your dilated pupils take the sight of him crouched on the floor and follow the movement of his chest, letting his low timbre pierce your eardrum and soothe your heartbeat. you mimic him, feeling the crisp air cursing through your nostrils, down your trachea and bronchi, finally having enough oxygen in your system. 

“can i touch you?” he asks, and you notice the concern behind his hazel irises. you can’t ignore the shame that came with your panicked state, breaking down in front of someone you barely know and who must’ve endured so much worse in his life. you hate feeling weak, frail, like you’d crumble by just one look, but you need comfort. need it so badly that you nod, allowing him to take your quivering hand in his.

his grip is firm, and despite the roughness of his palm, the touch is delicate, tender, enveloping you in gentle heat. you melt in his arms, pitiful sobs leaving your lips when you turn in nothing more than putty in that moment. “shh, i got you, everything will be alright,” he coos, doing his best to calm you, but you couldn’t believe him.

how could everything be alright? the last ounce of safety you had was just taken from you. “it’s my– it’s my home, Ghost,” you stutter, lifting your head to look at him, “i’m not safe in my own home anymore, i can’t–” another wave of tears flood your waterline, and you stop before finishing your sentence. the anxiety was still bubbling in your stomach, it was still too much to handle at once. 

“i know, love, i’ll get you out of here, trust me. nothing will harm you. now just breathe, okay? slow and steady.” his tone is light, almost ethereal, but unmistakably determined. it sounded more than just a phrase to pacify you. it was a promise. a vow. one made with his whole heart and he wouldn’t die before making sure you’re safe.

it takes a while before your brain settles back, slipping out of the hysteria. Ghost lifts you to your feet, taking a step back to give you some space. you sense him studying your expressions, wanting a hint of how to proceed. “what do you need?” he questions softly.

what do i need? the query lingers on your mind while he gazes at you. you're not sure. you never had an attack like this, never had an emotional collapse, never needed so much comfort. “i... don't know,” you gulp, glancing around the room and viewing the bathroom door, “i guess i could go for, uhm, a bath? it might help, right?”

he nods, pacing past you and walking through the door. you faintly hear the running water filling the bathtub and you strip off your heels, your clothes, let your hair fall down and your skin feel the cool air of the room. you shiver, but the tingling of the cold reminds you that you’re still alive, so there’s still a flimsy hope of peace in your future. 

you put on a robe and head to the bathroom, tip-toeing on the chilling tiles. Ghost moves to the exit, allowing you privacy in your vulnerable state, but your meek request makes him freeze on the spot. “can you... stay?” you sigh, “i’m scared of being alone right now.”

he pauses, not knowing how to answer, and you shift your weight from one leg to another, fingers fidgeting with the fluffy belt that holds your covering in place, regretting even asking for such a thing. “sure.” he clears his throat, taking a seat in the tiny wooden ottoman in the corner. the image is quite comical, the bulky man slowly leaning down to the stool as if one glance from him would crack the material, and a timid chuckle escapes your mouth.

his face turns to the side when you undo the knot of your robe and you feel the heat coming to your cheeks when you come to your senses. what the fuck did i ask? you’re bare, slipping into the warm water that was supposed to relieve your anxious mood, but that mainly swells your chest with embarrassment. 

you don’t know if you should be grateful that he’s not making a big deal of it, or sink in the tub due to the quiet – too quiet – atmosphere. Ghost is nothing but a gentleman at that moment, maintaining his head down and eyes away from your blurred naked body, so different from every man you’ve been near. they all seem to think that because you’re known, famous, whatever, you’re merely a doll on display for public use. it’s nice to not feel like an object.

after a long hour of letting the water purge your anguishes, you find yourself draped on a blanket on the sofa, sipping on a cup of chamomile tea that he, so heartily, prepared. he’s on the phone in the next room, and you don’t want to pry, but your ears unconsciously perk up to catch some of his words. he’s talking to someone named Price? something about a safe house? 

a few minutes later, he’s back, sitting on the coffee table in front of you. “so, we’re gonna move,” your brows raised, confused by his statement, “talked to an old friend and i got you a safe place, you can stay there as long as you need, the bastard won’t find you. and i’ll be there with you all the time, okay?” he’s gonna stay with me?

rationally, you know it’s a good idea. you don’t feel protected in your house anymore, and having him constantly by your side would probably give your heart a rest and unburden your shoulders. but moving is a big thing for a life so regulated. “Dan–” 

“i’ll talk to him tomorrow, don’t worry,” he assures, putting a hand on your knee and giving you a small smile. your vision was so hazy before that you didn’t even notice that he had his mask down, and you find yourself musing on the curve of his lips. 

“thank you, Ghost.”

[moonlightazriel]

Prologue /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: Y/N Blackbeak keep dreaming about the same male for decade’s now, she wonders what this all could mean.

Word Count: 751

Warnings: None for this part.

Notes: Welcome to my new series, i hope you guys enjoy it just as much as i do. I was so excited to share this with you all.

Main Masterlist

Worlds Apart Masterlist

The sound of leathery wings sounded above her head, she looked up expecting to see the black wyvern hovering over her head. She blinked a couple of times, landing in front of her was the male, he had onyx hair, brown skin and the prettiest hazel eyes she had ever seen. His sharp jaw and plush lips were forming a smile, he was smiling at her. 

She tried to touch his face, retrieving her hand quickly before her iron claws could do any damage to his smooth skin. The male shook his head, marred fingers grasping her wrist. He lifted her hand, pink warm lips ghosting over her cold skin, a kiss of midnight on the back of her hand.

She closed her eyes, feeling warmth spread across her chest, that thing skipping a few beats as he pulled her closer by the waist, still holding her hand. She waited for the kiss, feeling his breath fanning over her face, he smelled like night chilled mist and cedar. The scent wrapping itself around her and calming her wild heart.

“You have plagued my dreams for centuries.” She spoke, her voice hoarse like she had been silent for so very long. “Will I ever see you one day?” Her eyes watered. 

The same dream, the same male, but she never found him, and she had spent so long looking for him. She knew he was different from her lovers, from anyone she had ever met. She knew she had to find him, see him at least once, to bring peace to her tortured mind. 

With all the gentleness in the world, he cradled her face in between his hands, the rough skin brushing against the sides of her jaw. Those beautiful hazel eyes, tinted with specs of gold looked into hers, like they could see the fractured soul underneath the brave facade she tried so hard to keep together.

“Don’t wrap your pretty head around it.” His lips touched her forehead, and she leaned into that feeling, the only time she actually had peace was in the arms of the stranger that walked on her dreams. “You won’t have to wait much longer, but please..” She watched as worry laced his features.

She wanted to soothe the furrow of his eyebrows, with a cold hand, she brushed the tip of her finger against his cheek, slowly going upwards until she traced his eyebrows, the left one and then the right one.

“Whatever you want to say, do not worry, please.” She begged and the male nodded.

“Do not be hurt if I don't remember you, I'm not even sure you will remember me.” He chuckled, the sound lighting something within her heart.

“Like I could ever forget you.” She traced his lips.

“The Mother works in mysterious ways, all I know is that our time is coming soon.” He warned and her heart filled with hope, would she finally be able to feel his arms around her waist and his hard chest against her for real? No more play pretend, just reality.

“I can’t wait to meet you.” She allowed herself to feel that love, slowly taking roots in her heart, taking her by surprise.

“Soon, my love, soon.” He promised, his lips capturing hers in a delicate kiss.

She woke up, sweat coated her forehead and her heart hammered against her ribcage knocking the air out of her lungs. She felt dizzy, her fingers touching her tingly lips. The early rays of sunshine invading her room, forcing her to shut her eyes tightly together, the image of him burning bright as she did so. 

Y/N got up, her body protesting but she had things to tend to. She was able to relax under the scalding water of her bath, but the dark circles still marked her eyes, giving her a tired aspect. She inspected the bumpy scar on the left side of her face, two smaller ones marred her eyebrow, missing the eye for an inch, and the biggest one was from the beginning of her hairline to her cheek, irregular skin patched together forming that monstrosity on her once beautiful face.

But just like her, the male also had his scars, and he never seemed disgusted by hers, he always looked at her with love and admiration, she was sure that when they found each other for the first time, he wouldn’t judge her. Nothing would be different between them, her heart just wondered when that meeting would happen.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Taglist: @fieldofdaisiies @blackgirlmagicforever @a-frog-with-a-laptop @going-through-shit @asweetblueberry2

@roses-r-red54330 @mis-lil-red @sheblogs @hibye02 @impossibelle

@glitterypirateduck @zeroangelo13 @sekiro1310

[rebelliousmuse]

Reassurance – C. S.

Warnings: cute at first, smut at the end; insecurities, "cheating", unprotected p in v (don’t do that), oral.

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

A sudden shake went through the mattress. Chris muttered something incoherent. The room was silent except for the rhythmic hum of the air conditioner and the sharp gasps escaping his lips. In the dim light filtering through the blinds, you could see him twist and turn, his brow furrowed in distress. He must be having a horrific nightmare. With a soft sigh, you reached out and gently ran your fingers through his long hair, whispering soothing words you hoped would reach him in the depths of his sleep.

Chris nightmare:

The familiar warmth of their living room bathed in the soft glow of the nightlight. Chris's heart skipped a beat as he saw you sitting on the couch, a radiant smile illuminating your face. But his joy dissolved faster than mist as he saw who you were talking to. Matt. He lounged comfortably across from you; his arm casually draped over the back of the couch. The air crackled with intimacy that made Chris clench his fists.

Memories flickered through Chris's mind like a slideshow. The way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you genuinely laughed at his jokes, not the way they did now at a throwaway comment from Matt. The warmth of your hand slipping into his as you watched movies on this very couch. A wave of nausea washed over him as he saw you lean in, your eyes sparkling with a happiness that used to be reserved for him.

Chris tried to call out to you, a desperate plea stuck in his throat. He was a ghost in his own home, unseen and unheard. The scent of your lavender shampoo, a scent that used to fill him with comfort, now felt like a cruel mockery. The sound of your laughter, a sound that once filled their house with joy, now scraped against his raw nerves. As Matt closed the distance and your lips met, a sob escaped Chris's lips. The pain was so intense it felt real, a physical ache in his chest.

Chris woke with a gasp that ripped through the quiet room. His eyes snapped open, wide and unseeing, as he stared at the wall opposite the bed. His body trembled slightly, and he threw the covers off in a single, jerky motion. Fragments of the nightmare flickered through his mind - the kiss, the way you looked at Matt, the feeling of being invisible. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision. "Not again," he thought, his throat constricting. "Why do I always come second to Matt?" Remembering the times he was used by other girls just to get his brother. Just then, a gentle hand began to caress his back, a soft movement that slowly brought him back to the present. “y/n?" he whispered; his voice raspy. You leaned closer, your voice laced with concern as you asked, “What's wrong, Chris?”

Chris shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flitting away from yours. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again with a sigh. A flicker of vulnerability crossed his face, quickly masked by a strained smile. "It was just a bad dream," he finally mumbled, the words barely audible.

You watched him closely. "I can tell," you said softly, with empathy. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head, his jaw clenching slightly. The thought of revealing his nightmare, of you even considering Matt in that way, was unbearable. He couldn't bear the thought of you questioning his worth, of even entertaining the idea of Matt. "No," he said definitively, his voice a touch sharper than he intended.

You squeezed his hand gently, acknowledging his distress. "Okay," you murmured, leaning against his shoulder. With a soft sigh, Chris allowed himself to be pulled back into bed. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as if sheltering him from the storm raging inside. Your fingers began to thread through his long, brown hair.

The dream's images flickered behind his eyelids, the sting of Matt's imagined presence still fresh. He winced at the thought of voicing his insecurities. Were they even valid concerns, or just the echoes of the past? A fierce protectiveness for this newfound happiness welled up within him. He couldn't risk putting it in danger with insecurities. He loved you too much, the thought of losing you was too terrifying.

The internal fight had finally drained him. With a shaky breath, Chris blurted out, "You kissed Matt… you loved him." His voice was barely a whisper.

You cupped his face in your hands, making him look at you. "Oh Chris, no," you whispered, brushing a tear from his cheek with your thumb. "That will never happen. It was just a horrible nightmare, but it’s not real, never. I love you, Chris. You, with your infectious laugh. You, with your thoughtful nature. You, with those captivating blue eyes that seem to hold a whole summer sky within them."

With each declaration, you leaned in and placed kisses on him. A soft kiss landed on his forehead for his laugh, another one on his cheek for his thoughtfulness, and a final, passionate kiss on his lips for his eyes.

As your love washed over him, you felt him relax in your embrace. His shaky breaths calmed, replaced by a slow, steady rhythm. A smile, genuine and relieved, spread across his face. His captivating blue eyes, no longer filled with worry, locked onto yours with a depth of love that mirrored your own.

You stayed tangled in bed, the warmth of your bodies chasing away the chill of the nightmare. A low rumble from his stomach made you both chuckle.

"Sounds like someone's ready for breakfast," you teased, brushing a kiss against his temple.

Chris cracked a tired smile. "Maybe," he mumbled, his eyes still closed.

"Pancakes sound good?" you suggested.

He finally opened his eyes, a spark of gratitude flickering within them. "Perfect," he rasped, his voice thick with sleep.

As you spent the day together, you marveled at the way the sunlight danced in his captivating blue eyes, a silent compliment that brought a blush to his cheeks. Later, during a playful game of mini-golf, you cheered him on, genuinely impressed by his unexpected trick shot. "You're such a natural!" you exclaimed, squeezing his hand. With each compliment, each touch, you felt a wall crumble within him, replacing the insecurity with the reassurance of your love.

At night, laughter still lingered in the air from shared stories over a delicious dinner you'd prepared together. With full bellies and empty plates, you decided to set the mood for a night of cozy intimacy. You browsed through a playlist on your phone, familiar tunes filled the air as you sang and danced with your boyfriend. Elvis Presley's "Can't Help Falling in Love" started playing, Chris smiled, he knew how much you liked old songs.

Chris cleared his throat, a nervous flutter in his eyes that instantly melted your heart. He hesitantly extended a hand towards you. A smile bloomed on your face as you slipped your hand into his. He pulled you close, swaying gently to the rhythm.

Lost in the world of Elvis's melody, you swayed gently, your foreheads joined. Your eyes were locked. A universe of emotions swirled within – gratitude, love, a newfound sense of security.

The final notes of "Can't Help Falling in Love" faded into silence, replaced by the unmistakable sound of a Lil Skies song. You blinked, pulled back slightly, the warmth of his touch still lingering on your hand.

Chris's gaze followed yours, a playful glint in his eyes. "Should we watch a movie?" he suggested, his voice a husky murmur. Though the mood had shifted slightly, there was an unspoken tenderness that hung in the air.

Nestled comfortably on the bed, you scrolled through movie options with a playful smile. "How about this one?" Chris suggested, pointing at a sci-fi thriller.

"Hmm," you hummed, reading the synopsis. "Not sure I'm in the mood for aliens tonight."

"Okay, how about this action one?"

You snorted, shaking your head. "We watched that one last month, remember?"

The laughter lines crinkled around Chris's eyes as he continued browsing. Finally, he landed on a film you both recognized – a comedy you'd both enjoyed in trailers. "This one?"

"Perfect!" you exclaimed, snuggling closer to him as he pressed play.

You curled up against him, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder. As the movie unfolded, a comfortable silence settled between you, broken only by the occasional laugh. At some point, you felt his eyes on you. You turned your head, meeting Chris's eyes. His gaze held an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. There was a depth of emotion in them, a look that spoke volumes about his feelings.

A smile spread across his face, warm and genuine. He leaned in, and you met him halfway. The kiss was soft, filled with a tenderness that sent a wave of warmth through you. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. "You're incredible," he murmured.

With a contented sigh, you snuggled back into his embrace, the glow of the movie screen painting a warm light on your faces. The movie continued, but your focus had shifted.

The movie became a mere backdrop, the sound muffled by the growing hum of desire within you. You stole a glance at Chris, his profile bathed in the soft light of the screen. You bit your lower lip as your gaze lingered on the curve of his jaw, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. Unconsciously, you traced a finger along his arm, the warmth of his skin sending a jolt through you.

Suddenly, a loud laugh erupted from Chris. The scene on the screen displayed a character in a hilarious situation, but you barely registered it. Your attention was solely on him, on the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the joy radiating from his smile.

He turned to you, expecting you to share his amusement. But your serious expression made his playful glint falter. "What's wrong?" he started to ask, but the question died on his lips.

Before he could finish, you captured his lips in a kiss. It was a hungry kiss, fuelled by a yearning that had been building throughout the night. Chris melted into your touch, a surprised gasp escaping his lips before he responded with equal fervour. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your bodies pressed together in a silent plea for more.

Suddenly, you feel his playful smile against your lips as your fingers gently tugged the hem of his shirt. Chris understood instantly. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he lifted himself slightly from the bed, allowing you better access.

His shirt slipped away easily, breaking the kiss, revealing the expanse of his torso bathed in the moonlight streaming through the window. You started kissing again, your hands moved with a newfound confidence, tracing the defined lines of his muscles. Your fingertips lingered on the smooth skin of his chest, sending a sigh escaping his lips as you explored every delicious inch.

He stopped kissing you to take your shirt off as well, revealing no bra on you, letting him see your tits as he bit his lower lip, bringing his hands up to grab your right boob, playing with your nipple. Meanwhile, his lips trailed a path of fire down your neck, lingering on the sensitive skin just behind your ear. A gasp escaped your lips, half a moan, half a laugh. His hands, cool against your heated skin, skimmed down your arms, sending shivers chasing each other. They reached the edge of your shorts, gently grazing the exposed skin before dipping teasingly beneath the fabric.

A surge of heat shot through him as he shifted, taking control and positioning himself above you. With practiced ease, one hand went to take your shots and underwear off, slowly teasing it downwards, revealing a glimpse of creamy skin before discarding it entirely. His gaze swept over you, lingering on the curve of your hip, a flicker of possessiveness crossing his features before settling into a smug smirk. His own breath hitched in his throat, mirroring the quickening pace of yours. He licked his lips, a slow, sensual sweep of his tongue.

A smile spread across his face as his gaze drifted down your figure. "Fuck, babe," he murmured, his voice a low and raspy, "you are perfect." His eyes devoured you.

The words were barely out before you were yanking him in for another kiss. It was urgent, a collision of lips fuelled by a desperation that left you breathless. Tongues tangled fiercely, a battle for dominance that left you both lightheaded.

With a low groan, you surged forward, instinctively throwing yourself on top of him. His playful facade faltered for a moment, replaced by surprise that quickly morphed into amusement as he raised an eyebrow playfully.

Dipping your head, your lips brushed the sensitive skin of his neck, sending a shiver through him. A playful bite, the sharp press of your teeth, drew a gasp from his lips, the sound swallowed by a moan that vibrated against your ear.

His hand shot up, tangled in your hair, anchoring you to him as you continued your descent. Each kiss was a spark, a deliberate exploration down his torso, his muscles hardening beneath your touch. You lingered on the sharp angles of his hip bones, feeling the heat radiating through your fingertips and lips. A choked moan escaped his lips, his voice husky when he finally spoke.

"Don't tease," he pleaded, his eyes meeting yours, a mixture of desperation and amusement. With agonizing slowness, you moved a fraction closer, the anticipation hanging heavy in the air.

You took his dick in your mouth, tracing circles with your tongue, feeling the heat on his skin. His head tilted back, exposing his throat. His eyes fluttered shut, then squeezed tight, lines crinkling at the corners. A low groan rumbled from his chest, growing deeper and more urgent with each stroke. As you shifted your movements, a gasp escaped his lips, his breathing heavy. "I-I'm about to..." he stammered, his voice thick with desire. You could feel his muscles tense beneath you, a response to the increasing intensity. You welcomed his release in your mouth, swallowing his cum, and started leaving a trail of wet kisses, you moved upwards, your tongue lingering on the taut skin of his torso.

Your voice dipped low, a husky whisper against his ear. "You taste so sweet, baby," you said with desire. Your hand trailed down his spine, fingers digging lightly into the heated muscles beneath. He met your gaze, a flicker of hunger danced there before he leaned in, his lips brushing yours tentatively at first. Then, as if a dam had broken, the kiss deepened, his mouth hot and demanding against yours.

With a groan, Chris shifted, his weight settling possessively on top of me. Your breath hitched, a choked plea escaping your lips. "I need you, please," You whispered, your body arching up instinctively. He met your gaze, a dark fire burning in his eyes. "My needy girl, don't you want me to..." he began, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. You cut him off, your voice trembling with urgency. "No, please Chris, I really really need you, please." His smirk widened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Begging for me? Damn baby, you know what it does to me," he said, his voice a low rumble. He moved with deliberate slowness, positioning himself between your legs, drawing out the anticipation before finally claiming what you both craved.

Chris began to move slowly, you could feel the heat radiating off his body. "Faster, Chris, please," you gasped, the words tumbling out in a desperate plea. His response was immediate. He surged forward, his jaw clenching tight, a low growl escaping his throat. Your nails dug into his back, carving lines that you knew would turn red later. He didn't flinch, his grip on your thighs sending a delicious shiver down your spine as he thrusted deep and fast into you. "God, you're doing so good for me, babe," he rasped into your ear, his voice thick with desire “So fucking good”.

A wildfire appeared in your stomach as Chris's dick grazed your g spot, sending shivers cascading down your spine. His voice, usually deep and steady, was now a husky rasp that sent goosebumps erupting over your skin. "Damn, love," he breathed, pulling you impossibly closer. "You're so tight," he finished in a strangled whisper, his body tensing on top of yours.

"C-Chris," You stammered, your voice barely above a whimper. "I'm g-gonna…" The words caught in your throat as the feeling intensified. A smirk played on his lips, his eyes burning with desire.

"Cum for me, pretty girl," he commanded in a husky growl. The world dissolved around you in a wave of pure pleasure, sending you soaring to your peak, wetting the bedsheets.

A shudder racked Chris's body as he released, followed by a sigh of contentment. He rolled onto his side, pulling you close so you could feel the warmth of his skin against you. Drowsily, you traced lazy circles on his chest.

"You were incredible, my love," You mumbled, your voice thick with sleep and satisfaction. A sleepy smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he looked down at you.

"I love you, honey," he murmured, his voice husky but tender.

"I love you too," You whispered back, snuggling closer, content to simply exist in the comfortable silence that had settled between you.

[kingdom-of-sins]

Sihtric Kjartansson x Reader

Sihtric is badly injured and Uhtred and his gang of bastards takes him to the nearest healer available

The sky is overcast, and a light drizzle falls over the small village as Uhtred, Finan, and Osferth lead a barely conscious Sihtric through the narrow, muddy streets. His injuries are severe, and the urgency to find a healer weighs heavily on them. The village is quiet, with only a few villagers braving the rain, and they quickly direct the group to the healer’s house at the edge of the settlement.

You’re in the middle of preparing herbs when you hear a knock on the door. The soft murmur of voices tells you it’s urgent. You open the door to find the three men, soaked from the rain, with one of them slumped between the other two, barely able to stand.

“He’s hurt bad,” Uhtred says, his voice thick with worry. “Can you help him?”

Your eyes quickly assess Sihtric, noting the blood and the deep cuts that need tending. Without hesitation, you nod. “Bring him inside.”

They carry him into your home, gently laying him down on the bed. Sihtric’s eyes flutter open as you begin your work, though his gaze is unfocused, and he’s only semi-conscious. He catches a glimpse of you—your dark hair framing your face, your soft eyes filled with concern as you move with practiced care—and even in his pain, he feels a strange warmth spread through him.

You work swiftly, cleaning his wounds, applying poultices, and wrapping bandages around his torso. The other three watch with bated breath, their trust in your skill evident in their silence. As you work, Sihtric mumbles incoherently, his words slurred and soft, but his eyes never leave your face. You glance at him, noting the odd mix of pain and something else—something like awe—in his gaze, but you dismiss it, focusing on your task.

“He’ll need to rest,” you say, turning to Uhtred. “The wounds are deep, but with proper care, he’ll recover. You can leave him here. I’ll make sure he’s looked after.”

Uhtred, Finan, and Osferth exchange glances, clearly reluctant to leave their friend behind, but they trust your expertise. “We’ll return in the morning,” Uhtred says, his voice firm yet grateful. “Thank you.”

Once they’ve left, you make sure Sihtric is comfortable, adjusting the blankets around him. The rain outside intensifies, pattering against the roof in a rough rhythm. You sit by his bedside, watching him drift in and out of consciousness. His mumbling continues, and though you can’t make out his words, the sound of his voice is strangely soothing.

As the night deepens, you light a small fire in the hearth, its warmth filling the room. Sihtric’s breathing steadies, and you finally allow yourself to relax, watching the flames dance. You remain by his side until your eyelids grow heavy, eventually drifting off in the chair beside him.

Morning comes with a gentle light filtering through the window. The rain has lessened to a fine mist, and the air is fresh with the scent of wet earth. You wake to the soft sound of rustling and see that Sihtric has woken up, his eyes slowly focusing on his surroundings. He looks down at the bandages wrapped around his chest, then up at you, watching you as you prepare a fresh batch of herbs at a small table nearby.

You feel his gaze on you and turn with a soft smile. “Good morning,” you say, walking over to him with the prepared herbs. “How do you feel?”

He blinks, as if unsure whether he’s still dreaming. His voice is rough with sleep and pain as he answers, “Better… I think.”

You smile at him, a warm, genuine smile that makes his heart skip a beat. “You will be,” you assure him. “I’ve made something to help with the pain and to aid your healing. You should rest for a few more days.”

As you sit on the edge of the bed to apply the fresh herbs, Sihtric can’t take his eyes off you. He’s still weak, but the pain seems distant now, overshadowed by the softness in your eyes and the care in your touch.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

“You’re welcome,” you reply, looking at him with a mixture of kindness and amusement. “It’s my duty to help, but I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

He watches you work in silence, his heart swelling with something he can’t quite name. It’s as though he’s known you forever, as though he’s been searching for you his whole life without realizing it. In that moment, he vows that once he’s healed, he’ll find a way to express what he’s feeling.

As you finish applying the herbs and stand to leave, he reaches out, gently catching your hand. You pause, looking down at him in surprise.

“Stay… please,” he whispers, his eyes pleading.

You hesitate, then sit back down, your hand still in his. “I’m not going anywhere,” you assure him, your voice soft.

Sihtric smiles faintly, his grip on your hand loosening as sleep begins to pull him under again. His heart is full, and even in his weakened state, he knows he’s found something special, something worth fighting for.

As he drifts off, he whispers something so quietly that you barely catch it—a word, maybe a name, lost to the sound of the rain and the steady rhythm of his breathing. You stay by his side, watching over him as he sleeps, and wonder what it was that made him hold on to you so tightly, what it was that made him look at you as if you were the most important thing in his world.

And as the day wears on, you realize that you, too, are looking at him in a way you never expected to look at a patient—with hope, with warmth, and perhaps with the beginnings of something more.

[freakassfemme]

(Smut) Captain's Quarters - Yara Greyjoy x CisF!Reader

Summary: Princess Y/N, sibling of Queen Daenerys, has returned with her sister for a visit to the Iron Islands. These visits used to be more commonplace, but the two have not visited the islands since before the Battle of Winterfell. Y/N has a strong attachment to the islands, but finds her attachment has extended to its reigning monarch in a new, unfamiliar way.

Word Count: 4.2K

Warnings: loss of virginity, oral sex, fingering, praise kink (kinda), the works

A/N: Long time no see! I got so sick and tired of there being no reader insert for Yara that I arose from the dead with 4.2K words of yara-posting. Yara-yearning, if you will.

NO MINORS BEYOND THIS POINT

The night was surprisingly warm for the Iron Islands, and the salty mist of the beaches hung heavy in the air and clung to the sway of your hips and undone hair. Your hands clutched your silken robe shut as you leisured through the sand, a soothing waft of lavender from your recent bubble bath hitting your nose with a gentle breeze.

You paused at the base of the shore, where the brine nipped at your toes and you tilted your head back, deeply inhaling into your chest. Your eyes slipped shut.

It wasn't often you and your sister were able to visit the islands, but gods above, you had missed it. Queen Yara had earned a special place in Daeneyrs's heart after her proven loyalty to the Dragon Queen, and thus routine visits were necessary to uphold the alliance between the Greyjoys and the remaining Targaryens. Sometimes it felt like you had grown up here, and sometimes the coldness of Pyke felt more familiar to you than anything back home, despite how long it had been since you had returned.

You would never admit it, but something about the sea and the people on this particular side of the world had consumed you during all these years of visits. Something about the people's wildness and the way it mimicked the ocean that mothered the island spoke to you and whispered to you at night and danced on your eyelids in spirals and swirls.

Some other nights, when the whispers never came, you would hold a large shell up to your ear and pray. The beloved gift had always answered you with the melodic pounding of waves against rocks, against ships, and lured you to sleep. In your dreams, you would sink into your deepest desires.

In this realm, much below the surface level of what was true and probable, you would find yourself standing beside an iron throne. This was not unusual for you -- you had been born to stand behind your brother, and then readjusted to beside your sister. Your duty had always been protecting the honor of this seat and whomever presides in it, and yet this integral piece of your mind, heart, body and soul vanished in these moments, and instead, you found yourself for once atop of the throne.

Well, atop of its monarch.

Clawing at the throne, which was not particularly jagged and sharp like the one your sister sat upon, and clawing at the crowned, whose calloused hands curled inside you and rough lips whispered filthy promises to you in a voice that sounded an awful lot like

"Yara!"

You stumbled away from the shore, whose once soothing pulls had now gone ice cold and stabbed at your feet and at hem of your robe. Your hand readjusted the collar of your robe out of instinct, as your sense slowly settled, though your burning cheeks lingered a bit too long.

Turning towards the disturbance, your eyes caught on the closest (and largest) docked ship, whose windows and deck harbored light and celebration. A group of sailors and soldiers drank merrily and called for a straggling participant, who marched towards the boat and waved them off, enjoying the attention in her own way. In this moment, you were grateful that the shadows of the cliffs behind you hid your so very clearly out of place figure.

Your attention followed Yara as she boarded the ship, and despite the distance, you could make out the way they all greeted her with a clasp on the shoulder, pat on the back, or smack on the bottom. The corners of your mouth turned up at the raw, unabashed display of admiration.

Shudders ran down your back and you ignored the way your stomach turned. For a moment, you thought about heading back to the castle. Nauseatingly, you thought about knocking on your sister's door and spilling these secrets to her and beg for direction, a command, anything.

Daenerys was the closest thing you had to a mother, and the urge to crawl into her arms and wait for guidance on this troubling issue consumed you as it always had, but you were a woman now, a delicate one, but blossomed and bled nonetheless, and you had witnessed your own sister's call to these womanly urges, and it was incredibly reminiscent of this pull you felt to the Ironborn Queen.

Your mind wandered back to your arrival this morning.

"It has been so long since I've returned," you said to Daenerys as you marveled over the aged walls of Pyke. Your hand danced across the slotted stone, digging your finger into chipped areas and rubbing your thumb against the in-between space.

Daenerys smiled knowingly, hands clasped softly in front of her. Missendei, Tyrion, and Greyworm trailed closely behind.

"How long has it been?" You murmured, mostly to yourself.

"Not since before the war, my lady," Tyrion added, and you turned to him, nodding with a solemn smile.

"It has been nearly that long since I have seen the rest of the Greyjoys, as well. Not since Theon."

Tyrion and Daenerys nod respectfully, reminiscing on Theon's death and the bravery that presumed it. A small silence ensued.

"I never understood how you have adapted so well to this cold, my lady," Missendei said, sweetly cutting the silence.

"She is a dragon," Daenerys replied, reaching out to brush a bit of her sister's hair back into place. "She provides her own warmth."

The throne room was modest in size but exuberant in its carvings, luxurious enough to suggest status but rugged enough to represent the people it ruled. You couldn't help but admire it all, it being so vastly different from the outright lushness of Mereen or even Dragonstone.

Of course, the architecture was not the only thing you were interested in. You turned your attention to the throne, and immediately stopped. Your sister continued for only a few steps more, taking her place in front of you.

"Yara," Daeneyrs greeted with a warm smile.

Yara strutted forward with an unmatched level of confidence, and you couldn't help but stare at the way her leather tunic hugged her strong shoulders. You were used to Yara not dressing like any other lady you had known, but couldn't help but always think the natural defiance in her pants and boots exuded power and self-assurance. Yara looked somehow more bold and stronger than you had ever seen her, and it was admirable in an unfamiliar, indescribable way.

"My queen," Yara bowed in her own way, a half-smirk ever-present, "It is an honor."

The two clasped arms, and Daenerys smiled before turning to you.

"I'm sure you remember my little sister, Princess Y/N."

Yara's attention followed, and you couldn't help the way you held your breath and stared up at her with widened eyes. It was like you were seeing her for the first time.

"Princess Y/N."

Yara said your name like she was trying it on, but in truth she had always used formalities in this way, especially towards you. In your aw-stricken mind, you'd like to think that her gaze softened a bit. She had never looked at you like this before.

"Your return has been long-awaited."

She outstretched her hand, and you took it with both of your hands, feeling yourself relax into it. Your eyes watered a bit, and you squeezed, unable to avoid the way you beamed up at her.

"I have missed the islands dearly."

Your sister had given in to her own desires, and she had lived to tell the tale. Perhaps you would too.

The ground seemed to push you towards the ship, and by the time your eyes unglossed and you regained clarity, you found yourself standing at the base of the footway. You of course had been on many vessels that belonged to the Iron Fleet, and you knew the people on board rather well, but you couldn't help but feel nervous now. These men were rather drunk, and you knew you probably should have an escort this late. Not even status could always safeguard a lady from the hands of depravity and sin. Stupidly, you grabbed on to the ropes of the ramp and pulled yourself aboard.

Immediately the overwhelming stench of ale and piss cause you to wrinkle your nose.

"Gods above," you whispered to yourself. Though you had been quiet, the sailors very quickly took notice of your presence.

"Princess!" one called, waving at you with his mug of ale. It sloshed over the sides and splashed, narrowly missing you. The men around him jokingly scolded him.

"Come on Ravos, you don't want to ruin her dress," a dark haired, stout man called Yohn slurred.

"Don't look like she's wearing much of a dress to me."

The men turned to you once more, and your ears burned, now with a much more uncomfortable feeling as they eyed you. One coughed and shifted on his feet.

You wrapped your robe tighter, straightening yourself up like you had been taught. You narrowed your eyes slightly, and responded directly to Ravos.

"Where can I find Yara?" You asked, hoping you exuded more authority than the piece of meat you felt like.

Reacting much more appropriately, he turned and pointing towards the North end of the ship.

"Captain's quarters," he grunted, avoiding eye contact.

You nodded, and the fifteen or so men stumbled backwards to allow for a path.

Carefully you stepped over puddles of questionable substances and shards of glass, maintaining as much grace and fierceness as you could muster. Behind you, the men resumed their activities, seemingly already over the drunken encounter. You knocked once on the Captain's door, before hurriedly slipping inside, eager to escape the sailors.

As you shut the door and turned to face her, you had to carefully force out a normal respiration rate. Yara was propped up in her chair with her boots resting on the desk, holding her own stein, though her sobriety seemed much more intact.

"Hello, princess."

Yara didn't bother hiding her surprise. She set her stein down and dropped her arms to the ends of her arm rest. A smirk creeped across her face, and she leaned her head back as she very obviously eyed you up and down, legs spreading a bit for a better view. Despite her brute persona, she did seem to try to hide the way she stuttered over the V of your robe.

You noticed anyways.

"A little far from the dressing room, are we?" She nodded at your outfit. You blushed and nodded with a smile. She smiled back and sat up. "You should know better than to walk around alone at night like that, especially here."

"I'm not alone now," you replied softly. Here in the candlelight, she was able to see you fully.

Yara took notice of the way you wrung your hands together, the way your eyes were glued to the loose laces of her tunic, the rose hue of your cheeks and ears, and your long, snow-white hair falling in loose curls around you.

Yara had known you for half a decade at this point. When she first met you, you were a scrawny, timid little girl who watched from Daeneyrs's shadow. To be fair, you were still quite shy, but you were a woman now, not nearly the little bird of a lady that you used to be. Now, in the warm lighting, she could see that these days you were more of a snow leopard than a cub, and you looked almost regal.

For a moment, Yara wondered what you would look like on the throne instead of your sister. Her hands squeezed at her chair at the idea, and she concluded that that was an image that would inspire millions.

Yara's eyes returned to your face, recomposing her commanding demeanor. She shrugged and stood, traipsing leisurely towards you.

Your eyes' followed each other, studying the other until they met. Yara had never looked at you this way, not that you could recall, and the curiosity in her face sent a thrill down your spine and fueled your ego.

"Oh, but I am as much as of a predator as any man out there, princess," Yara countered.

Peculiarly, you stepped forward, taking Yara by surprise at this newfound confidence. She watched you, and noticed something lurking behind your irises, something Yara was very familiar with and could feel exuding off of your body, but ten fold. She knew why you had come.

"And I am a dragon," You murmured, meeting her eyes without hesitation. Up close, you looked even more feral than before, with the sea spray making a wild mess of your hair, and each rock of the boat interrupting your breaths.

Yara backed up to sit on the edge of her desk, and you followed, keeping the distance small but not yet close enough. Yara waited for you to make a move with unusual patience. You raised your hand to caress the open area of her shirt with your palm, then push it aside just a few inches to trace her collarbone with your index and middle finger.

"Are you scared of dragons, Yara?"

"Anyone in their bloody right mind is scared of dragons," she replied, watching your hand as her breathing grew heavy. You giggled, reaching your hand around to cup the space between her ear and neck, letting your thumb rub her jaw.

"Are you scared of me?" You spoke quietly, like it was a secret meant to be kept safe between the two of you.

"I'm hungry for you," she growled, eyes heavy with desire. You felt your core throb in an entirely new way, letting out a small whimper at the feeling.

Finally, Yara reached out, hand splaying across your lower back, where she could finally feel that the robe was the only thing preserving your modesty, and she could've fainted at the realization.

"I've never been with a dragon before," Yara confessed, halfway a joke, yet halfway entirely all too true. You brought up her other hand to truly cup her face, bring her attention to you.

"I've never been with anyone before," You whispered, and for a second Yara could see that familiar timidness she knew of you flicker between the lust clouding your vision. "You are the only person I've ever wanted."

Yara let out a small noise at this. "Then you must be starved."

You nodded, eyes falling to her lips.

"Can I?"

"Please."

The first thing Yara noticed was how warm you are. Your lips against hers were like fire, and your soft whimpers made her want to crawl inside the flames and be burnt alive. You practically fell against her, knees going week, but she grasped you with both hands and held you up.

This alone was like nothing you had ever experienced. Your ears rung from the intensity and your nails dug into Yara's skin ever so slightly, illiciting a gasp from her that you greedily swallowed.

Yara reached back with one hand, pushing herself off to stand, keeping you slotted between her legs. She turned you both, pushing you against the desk until you were sitting atop it now. You raked your hands over her shirt, grasping at it and pulling her as close as you could. Yara put her hands between you and undid the tie to your robe, hurriedly pulling it off your shoulders. She reached under your thighs, lifting you up by them and letting the robe fall on to the floor.

As Yara angled you on to the desk, you propped your arms behind yourself, baring your legs to her. She paused, staring at your bare form and licked her lips.

"Gods below," she growled, running her hands up your body. You shivered as they danced over your thighs and ghosted over your breasts. "You're fucking stunning."

Yara pushed back between your legs. The warmth of her skin against yours and the cold leather of her pants pressing against your bare sex made you moan. Yara shoved her hand back behind your back and laid you down flat.

"Such a pretty cunt," she whispered, tracing her thumb over you. You gasped at the touch, and watched as she brought it up.

"Do you know what this is, sweet girl?" Yara watched the way the wetness glistened on her finger, and you nodded your head.

She grinned, then brought her thumb to her mouth and sucked it clean. You whimpered at the sight, nearly panting now in desperation.

She leaned down to kiss to you and forced her tongue into your mouth. You moaned at the feeling and at the taste, grabbing on to the back of her head and pushing back with your own tongue. Yara groaned into your mouth and grabbed you by the neck, deepening the kiss, if that was even possible.

Yara's scent and touch and taste consumed you, feeding into every one of your senses and bleaching them until all that was left was her.

Finally, Yara put her hand against your chest and pushed you back against the desk.

"Be a good girl and open your legs a bit more for me," she commanded, and without a single underlying thought, you obeyed, gasping at the way your stomach turned at the petname. You watched with slightly parted lips, panting, as Yara sunk to her knees, staring into your eyes so intensely that you couldn't even think about looking away.

She settled between your legs and brought her hands to rest up on your thighs, just in case. You pushed up on your elbows, trying to see what she was going to do, when she pressed a firm kiss to your sex. You groaned, cheeks going pink, and Yara reacted similarly.

She kissed again, this time open mouthed, and gently sucked on your growing bud. You could feel your cunt pulsing, and your thighs quivered around Yara's head, but she held firm.

She licked stripes around your clit, teasing you before giving it a direct swipe that had you balling your fists and curling your toes.

"Yara!" You gasped, perhaps a little too loudly, because the voices outside of the room suddenly quieted. You froze, looking down at her in panic, but she didn't share the same concern.

Instead, Yara chuckled, murmured your own name against your cunt almost tauntingly, and without any warning, eased her tongue inside of you. Your whole body stuttered, and you slammed your hand against the desk. Yara gripped your legs even tighter and repeated the motion, and you couldn't find it in you to keep quiet, not with the way Yara was working you like she was eating her last meal.

"Fuck," you groaned, back arching. You head fell back, curls falling with it, and Yara swore she had never seen anything more stunning or satisfying. Yara's own cunt throbbed impossibly hard, but she continued her merciless assault, drawing curse after curse from you, until Yara was certain the men outside knew exactly what was going on and with whom.

Yara stood and pulled your hips closer to the edge of the desk. Holding you by your hips, she rocked her hips against your core, and you gasped at the new sensation. You grabbed her shoulder, holding yourself up.

Yara cradled your face with one hand, and you buried yourself in her arm, ear pressed against her chest, whining and whimpering. She pressed kisses into your neck, nipping at it and bruising it. Slowly, Yara stopped her hips, and just as you started to get question it, she spoke.

"You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?" She teased, and you cried out, nodding desperately into her arm. Yara laughed, and then when you felt her middle and ring finger prodded at your entrance, you clenched down, gasping.

"Relax, sweetheart," she whispered, kissing right behind your ear. "I'm going to take good care of you."

You shuddered against her, but tried your best to settle down. Yara started pushing in again, and you clenched again out of instinct, this time clamping down on her fingers. She groaned into your ear.

"You're so tight," she whispered, and you pulsed around her fingers, whining. Once she was entirely inside, Yara curled her fingers, and your whole body reacted.

Your legs wrapped around her, holding her in place, and your fingers dug into her lower back while you saw stars. You bit down on her arm, at least still attempting to keep quiet, and Yara moaned loudly. When you finally loosened you grip on her arm, she pulled your face back by your hair.

"Does that feel good?" She whispered against your lips, and you panted, pressing kisses between each breath.

"Yes, y-yes," You cried out, and she pressed a knowing kiss to your temple.

"I'm going to move them," she warned, and you nodded, eyes glassed over and lips parted. She kissed your fiercely, then held eye contact as she started pumping her fingers. You groaned loudly, then started moving your hips to meet her hand. As your body adjusted to the foreign feeling, you grew confident.

The sound coming from it was obscene, and you pulled Yara down to sloppily kiss her. Yara pushed harder, and so did you. Soon, you developed a rythym, and you could feel a pressure building up in your stomach. Yara glanced down at her hand, then back up at you, eyes unbelievably filled with even more lust. You followed her gaze and practically melted at the sight.

Thick, hot cream spilled out of you and on to Yara's hand, and gods above, her hand was huge. Her palm practically framed your whole cunt, and the sight made you dizzy.

Yara flicked her thumb over your clit, and you choked, grabbing her neck to hold you up from falling backwards. Your whole spine tingled, and your vision started to blur.

"Y-Yara, I'm," you gasped, but you weren't entirely sure what was going on. "I'm, I think I'm gonna -"

"Cum, sweetheart," Yara groaned. "You're going to cum for me." She pumped her fingers harder, and you sobbed into her arms, feeling your stomach ball up tighter, tighter, tighter, and then burst.

You screamed into her shoulder as your cunt gushed over her hand, and Yara moaned your name into your ear at the feeling. Your hips stuttered, but Yara kept pumping until you were shaking uncontrollably and babbling nonsense. Then, she eased out of you.

She tilted your head up with one hand, then brought the other soiled one between the two of you. You looked up with watery eyes and red cheeks, and watched as Yara licked your cum off of a few of her fingers. Then, she prodded your lips with the remaining two, and you opened your mouth, accepting it gratefully.

You pushed her fingers farther and farther down your throat, chasing that high and letting the bittersweet flavor swirl and cloud your taste and mind. You looked up at Yara through wet lashes, and she swore she could've creamed herself.

"Fucking hell," she groaned, and pulled her fingers out of your mouth, worried you'd probably suffocate yourself on them if she let you work at them any more.

You coughed and gasped, and regained your breath just before she pressed a firm kiss against your mouth. When she pulled away, you stared at her with wide eyes and she panted down at you. You couldn't pull a single word to say off your tongue.

She kissed your temple, then the side of your head, and rested her forehead against yours. "Gods below, are you sure that was your first time?"

You nodded breathlessly, swallowing thickly.

"You fuck like a-"

"- I want to do it again."

Yara pulled back, studying your face. Her face was expressionless, and for a moment during the silence, you were worried you had angered her, or somehow shamed her skill. Then, the corners of her mouth curved into a smirk.

"You want to do it again?" She asked, tilting her head until her lips were almost slotted against yours. You nodded your head.

"Is that okay?" You asked, no shyness left to spare.

Yara laughed loudly and kissed you. She stepped away, running her hands through her hair.

"Yes, fucking absolutely," she assured. She reached down and grabbed your robe. "But not in here, I have other things to show you."

You quickly got dressed. Your body shook, so Yara helped you with it extensively, and kept you steady. You looked up at her quizzically. "Other things like what?"

She grinned wickedly before pulling you up into her arms, one arm under yours and the other under your knees.

"You'll see, princess," she assured.

In her brutish style, Yara kicked open the door to her quarter's. The soldiers remaining on deck went absolutely silent, staring at the two of you with both terrified and amused expressions.

Yara coughed loudly and you buried your face into her shoulder to hide your embarrassment.

"If you gentleman will excuse me, me and the lady are going to retire for the night."

[writingsbychlo]

let’s mix this song with azriel.

as you’re listening, it’s playing in the background to one of his epic fight scenes. his mate has been taken, tied to a chair and grinning through the pain because oh, my mate is coming, he’s not going to be happy with you…

and then as it falls silent after that first verse, you can picture the shadows slowly leaking across the floor like dark mist. looking around the feet of the men who dared lay a hand on the shadowsinger’s girl. panic for them is a cool touch to your cheek as the dark clouds grow, it’s the anger so palpable in the room it thrums in steady bursts as his shadows touch the small cuts, bruises and wounds they gave you.

with the lights out, it’s less dangerous…

the shadows grow, lights sputtering out until nothing but cold, silent darkness remains. a shiver along your body.

and that’s when the screaming starts. flashes of blue through the swirling clouds of onyx, spatters of blood and the thumps of bodies hitting the ground. the sleek sound of metal as swords and daggers are drawn and the sounds they make as they bury into their owners rather than their target.

the steady, soothing, relaxed bumps of your mates heart down the tether between you both.

then it’s silent again.

and a warm hand is cupping your cheek as the shadows recede.

it’s all so neat and tidy, piles of swirling darkness over every body in the room, concealing the extent of the massacre even as trails of red pooled out and escaped across the concrete.

his sweet eyes. his soft smile.

“I hope you weren’t too scared, my love.” his thumb, dragging a single droplet of blood from your cheek, despite the rivers of it marking him.

“I wasn’t scared at all, I knew you’d come.”

[wheeboo]

ukiyo | xu minghao

SYNOPSIS. in which you and minghao spend the day together. PAIRING. xu minghao x gn!reader GENRE. angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship  WARNINGS. language alluding to death, reader is in a wheelchair, mentions of an unnamed terminal disease that causes reader to have weakened limbs n feel very weak in general, vague mention of nudity (hao takes off reader’s clothes and gives them a bath) but nothing is explicitly described, descriptions of a hospital, terms of endearment (love), one curse word WORD COUNT. 4.3k

ukiyo ( 浮世 ) 𑁋 “the floating world”; living in the moment; detached from the bothers of life.

notes: there’s not really a plot to this. it’s just brainrot because i love torturing myself and my heart. i saw pics of the beach of hai cheng mv and immediately wanted to write something sad for no reason. 

The late morning sunlight pours in through the small window of the bathroom as you hold a steady, blank gaze at the running water gushing out from the faucet. The sounds bounce off the walls of the bathroom, and you bring your eyes down to your legs. 

You can hardly move them. 

It’s been this way for the past two years. It had started with the muscles of your legs slowly succumbing to the weakness stemming from the terminal illness you had been diagnosed with. And as time continues to routinely pass, that certain weakness had set out to invade other parts of your body like a dumb and relentless parasite.

Over the years, the disease had been slowly nearing its peak. The countless visits to the hospital had laggardly dissipated every bit of hope to a possible recovery, and you’ve gotten used to the sentences being said of There’s no cure for the disease, or Sooner or later, it can spread to your brain. You’re only growing weaker and weaker each passing day. Every day tasks were already strenuous. Opening your eyes in the morning took too much strength. Nothing but tiredness and exhaustion plagued your body. Headaches have been becoming more prevalent. Sometimes you just want all this pain to cease to exist. You didn’t want to put this burden on the people you love. 

You didn’t want to put this burden on Minghao.

“So... cherry blossom, lavender, or coconut chamomile?”

You slowly bring your gaze up to the sight of your boyfriend holding up three different scents of bubble bath in the doorway. The sight makes you giggle as you look between the different scents with curiosity, before looking back up at Minghao. 

Even after being together the past four years, just the fleeting sight of him lights you up. Your body may be growing weaker each day, but your unwavering love for the man holding up bottles of bubble bath scents has never faltered. Not one bit. 

But if you weren’t sick, he would be able to live the long, happy life that he wanted, right?

Minghao knows that you are tired𑁋it’s your default answer every day. He wishes he can be able to take away the exhaustion that you feel. He wishes to put all of that pain onto his shoulders and carry it for you so you could experience the freedom away from the constraints of your illness. 

But he also knows that life doesn't always grant such wishes.

“Will you... surprise me?” You ask instead. 

All he does is smile. It’s that soft, fond nose-scrunching smile that you’ve grown to love over the years. Minghao places the bottles on the counter of the sink, putting his body in front so you wouldn’t be able to see what he selects. Covering the bottle with his arms, he playfully walks backward towards the bathtub, causing you to elicit a weak laugh at his dorky antics.

As he reaches the tub, he leans over and carefully pours the bubble bath into the warm water, And as you watch, a gentle purple hue of bubbles begin to form and spread sporadically throughout the tub like a magical mist. It's the soothing and enchanting aroma of lavender.

“You... always know what I like, hm?” You ask him as he closes the container to the bottle and sets it back on the sink counter.

The corners of Minghao’s lips curl amusedly. "I may have learned a thing or two about you over the years.”

The sincerity in his words never fails to relax your heart and push away the clouds of your bittersweet thoughts. Minghao waits a minute or two before turning off the faucet and directing his attention back to you.

“Now,” He leans in front of you, letting his hands caress over yours on the handle of the wheelchair and landing at the hems of your shirt. “can I help you out of these clothes?”

A blush grows on your cheeks at his request despite him doing this for years. You heave out a nervous breath and nod as Minghao's hands begin to move over you with practiced ease, aware of your weakened limbs and exhausted state. He keeps his touch gentle and respectful, and starts with unbuttoning your shirt, his delicate fingers gliding effortlessly along the fabric to reveal the vulnerability the lies underneath. He doesn’t rush or hurry anything, simply setting his focus on you and only you. The warmth of his hands against your skin sends shivers running down your spine.

Though he has seen you bare for him many times, Minghao can’t help the faint smirk to his face. As the last button is undone, he lets your shirt fall to the tile floor below, his gaze travelling over you with adoration. The all-too familiar intimacy between you two has never diminished the admiration he holds for you. Treasuring you is something he has always been devoted to do. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he mutters, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your knuckle, and you feel the surge of warmth and love run marathons to your heart.

With his hands now free from the task of your shirt, he continues his journey downwards, the tips of his fingers ghosting tenderly over your fragile skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You can barely feel the way he touches you, but the thought of him doing so brings you comfort. He takes his precious time, savouring each second that passes between as he loosens the clasps of your pants and helps bring them down your legs with utmost caution.

As each layer of clothing is finally peeled off, a wave of relief and peace washes over you. Minghao sets your clothing neatly away before returning to your side and bringing you closer to the tub. He lets his arms wrap around you, carefully lifting you from the wheelchair and guiding you towards the edge of the bathtub. Sticking a hand in the water to ensure its a good temperature, he slowly but surely eases you into the bath, the water and lavender aroma embracing your body as you sink deeper inside the tub. 

“Does it feel good?” he asks you while lathering the bubbles onto your shoulders.

A sigh escapes your lips as you lean your back against the tub with the bubbles tickling against your skin.

“Mhm,” You let out quietly. “Thank... thank you.” Thank you for taking care of me; I wish I could give you all the care back.

Minghao hums softly, planting a kiss to the top of your head, and retrieves a nearby sponge. Sitting himself down at the edge of the tub, he dips the sponge into the water before lightly caressing over your skin. He starts with your shoulders, washing your skin with a smooth pace and various patterns, helping to gradually ease away the tension to your body.

“Relax, love,” he tells you. “Let me take care of you.”

And so you let your eyes flutter to a close. It felt relaxing to do so𑁋to let go. It almost makes the pain in your head go away. 

You watch the steam rise from the untouched bowl of rice porridge in front of you. It takes Minghao a few minutes later to come back with his own bowl, along with a few side dishes in hand. He glances towards you and notices your empty expression, a tinge of sadness to your eyes that brings a heavy weight to his chest, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. Reaching over, he takes your metal spoon in his hand and dips it in the bowl, grabbing a spoonful of the porridge.

“It’s important for you to eat, love.” Minghao blows on the spoon, cooling down the porridge before bringing it to your lips. The illness hasn’t been much cooperative to your appetite, and eating has been a daunting task for the past few months. He prepares you light foods that doesn’t take much strength to swallow, but enough to nourish you at the same time.

Parting your lips slightly, Minghao feeds you the spoonful of porridge, and you immediately relish in the warmth coursing through you. A small smile crosses your face at the familiar taste of comfort, and it even makes Minghao’s worried face soften. He continues to feed you, spoonful by spoonful, his eyes never leaving yours while taking in every detail𑁋the way your eyes flutter close after each bite, the way the faint smile to your face grows every so slightly, but enough for him to notice. It’s a big change to see, according to him. 

“Tastes good.” You murmur under your breath, looking up at him.

The weariness fades off your face just minisculely. Minghao manages a gentle smile, barely noticing his own food going cold as he continues to feed you. 

There’s a certain silence that you love with him𑁋it’s a domestic silence, especially after being together for four years, where you love observing him doing his everyday routine. But gosh, you miss the times when you were able to hold him in your own arms, or when you could wrap your arms around him in a tight back hug while he cooked, or sneak kisses to his cheek and run away before he would tackle you back into the bed. You miss the times when he’d let you hold him so he could listen to you read, or when you both sat across from each other having your late night doodling sessions. 

You miss all those times, and there’s no way to get them back.

“I was thinking...” Minghao comes back to sit down after setting the dishes away. “...if you wanted to go on a little getaway for the day?”

You look up at him dazedly. “A... getaway?”

“You’ve mentioned wanting to go the beach before,” he inputs, and you see his face up to your idea. “and I think it would be nice to get some fresh air, would you say so?”

He really does remember all the things about you. 

A flicker of hesitation crosses your mind, yet the longing for a change of scenery, a temporary escape from the walls that confine you, helps to wash away any doubts.

You used to dream about running through the white sand beach, feeling the heat of the sun on your skin and the cool breeze caress your face while listening to the calming sound of the waves crashing against the shore. You dreamed of you and Minghao’s laughter mingling into the fresh, afternoon air, your hands intertwined together as you dash down the shoreline together. 

Ever since you were a kid, you dreamed of the beach being the place where you would marry the love of your life, because the sight of the sun setting in the horizon, the soft sand beneath your feet, and the vastness of the ocean waters as you kissed your partner was a fairytale you wanted to experience.

And ever since before your diagnosis and still to this day, you dream of the beach being the place where you would marry Minghao.

Now, it entirely feels like a distant memory now, something beyond unattainable, but the thought of simply seeing it with your eyes brings some form of hope back to your tired heart. 

So you look back up at Minghao as a very faint sparkle of eagerness passes through your eyes. 

The winter season paints the world with a palette of muted colours. The once vibrancy of the ocean waters fades into a pale blue-grey like the cloudy skies above, and the emptiness allows the beach to unfold in its truest form. The waves aren’t too strong or too weak, but roll in gently onto the shoreline with their white foam brushing against the sand before receding back into the vast waters. 

As you and Minghao stroll down towards the beach, you find small patches of snow in the grass and bushes. The air is crisp and chilly, but you don't mind the cold. You find yourself dressed in a comfortable and cozy turtleneck, along with a snug coat to protect you from the winter chill. Minghao had insisted on picking an outfit since dressing you up𑁋and making sure all the colours work well with each other𑁋has always been one of his favourite activities to do. 

There’s a ramp that you go down before finally arriving onto the sandy grounds. The wheels of the wheelchair sinks into the slightly damp sand as Minghao pushes you closer towards the water. He's used to assisting you with mobility the past two years, and he does it with such grace and care that it has practically become a second nature for him.

The beach appears desolate, but seeing it so untouched and undisturbed makes the experience far more peaceful.

Minghao stops the wheelchair at a comfortable distance from the water's edge before kneeling beside you. His ears are slightly reddened from the cold, even with the protection of his own turtle neck and long scarf, but his gaze in the direction of the water is filled with warmth and pure awe. 

He turns to reach for your hand on your lap and intertwines his fingers with yours, before turning back to the sight of the sky meeting the sea. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks.

“It’s...” If you could, if your body gave you the benefit of the doubt for one single moment, you would say everything coming from your heart𑁋how the word beautiful is just a small word compared to the real floating feeling that it gives you. “...beautiful.”

The word feels lackluster, but it's all you can manage to say, and Minghao's warm smile is all that you need to back you up.

He turns back towards you, hesitation in his words. “Do you want to stand closer to the water?”

You peer at Minghao with hesitation and uncertainty. Standing now took... more strength than usual as of lately, and it pains you to admit it. But the thought of being able to stand near the water, to be able to stand on the world that fills your dreams at night was more than tempting. You can barely remember the last time you were able to go to the beach; it was more than possible that it was way before the diagnosis of your illness.

But what if this could be your only opportunity?

And so you muster a small nod towards Minghao. “Help... me stand?”

Minghao only nods. He moves behind the wheelchair and locks the brakes so that it won't move while he helps you stand. With nothing but caution, he wraps an arm around your waist and one under your knees as you slowly rise from the wheelchair, your legs trembling from the use of all your strength as you lean against Minghao for balance. It felt... strange to be able to stand like this again, even if it was just for a few short minutes, almost like a sensation you have nearly forgotten. 

His arm tightens around your waist as he guides you to take your first step, leading you closer to the shore. Each step felt like an ardous journey. You basically can hear the loud protests of your own body telling you to stop. 

“You’re doing great,” he tells you, and his words bring you some heightened determination.

Even with each passing moment and your body slowly but surely taking all its effort to remain you upright, you don’t let the thought dampen your persistence. 

When you finally reach the line where the tip of your shoe reaches the edge, the ocean stretches out before you as if holding countless stories of joy, sadness, and everything in between within its deep, mysterious depths.

Minghao still has an arm wrapped around you, but his eyes are directed into yours, both tenderly and admiringly. 

"You did it," he assures you. "You're standing by the ocean.”

A bittersweet smile crosses your lips, a smile warm but with a hint of sadness. You feel the heat growing in your eyelids as you let a few streams of tears to flow down your face, never thinking that such a vast space would become your safe haven. Minghao leans in to press a loving kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment.

You feel like you’re floating in that moment, suspended between that of reality and a dream. The weariness that lingers in your bones is briefly forgotten about, and you relish in the feeling of standing tall after so much time. 

But as you continue standing, you feel the weakness descend upon you. The exhaustion surrounds you like a dense fog, clouding your mind and eating away at your energy. You try to keep your focus on the calmness of the ocean ahead, but you feel a certain heaviness to your eyes, making it difficult for you to keep them open. 

And the world around you starts to blur.

Minghao is speaking. He’s speaking but you can’t make out any words because of the ringing in your ears that was growing louder each second and drowning out his voice which was the only thing fucking powerful enough to keep you even remotely grounded𑁋

“Y/N, stay with me. Can you... hear...”

No, I can’t hear you. You’re fading away... I’m the one who is fading away.

“Hao...” is all you manage to mumble out in a hushed, weak whisper.

The last thing you remember is the feeling of his arms around you and his voice desperately calling out your name before all you could see is black.

It takes a lot for Minghao to break.

But seeing you in this hospital bed right next to him, with your skin more fragile than ever and your body laying unconsciously still, he feels each individual piece of his heart shatter by the passing minute and his chest grow heavy. The doctors predicted for you to have woken up two hours ago, but... you haven’t done so.

He doesn’t know what to feel, and it almost feels like each breath he takes only suffocates him even more, and being confined in the walls of the hospital room had been no help. Maybe it’s anguish, fear, guilt, or even anger. Perhaps it was all of the above.

Minghao's hands tremble as he clenches them into fists, tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. He wants to scream, but he restrains himself, and he’s been oddly good at doing so.

If only you knew all the times he had desperately tried to fight back tears knowing that one day, you won’t be waking up next to him anymore𑁋that you won’t wake up at all. Or the times he had fought back anger to hide away just how much he wants to yell at the universe for cursing you with such a damned illness. 

As he continues to anxiously pace around the room, a soft knock to the door makes him halt. A man enters into the room𑁋the doctor𑁋with a solemn expression to his face. He glances towards your unconscious body on the bed, before turning back towards Minghao.

“Comparing the results of some tests and a previous medical check-up,” The man takes a noticeable deep breath. “I’m afraid that the disease has progressed its way into their brain, and it’s hard to tell as of now when they will regain consciousness.”

Minghao's body freezes at the doctor's words, and he feels something in his chest tugging painfully at the strings of his heart. The room grows silent aside for the sound of his racing heartbeat pounding in his ears, and the rhythmic beating of the heart monitor. 

He means... that you knew all along?

The weight of it all crashes over him like a wave at high tide, and he loosens the grip he has to his fists. He swears that the ground beneath him was crumbling now as he gets himself to run back to your side and bring the hands of your lifeless form into his trembling ones. 

“Why didn't you tell me?" he whispers shakily, but his question hangs unanswered in the air. “Dammit, Y/N, why didn’t you tell me?”

He feels the anger inside of him now, but he isn’t angry at you. He’s angry at himself. He clutches at your hands tightly, his grip almost desperate with his fingers running over your knuckles. Minghao's eyes scan frantically over your face, pleading for some type of response, for any sign that you can hear him. But the silence in the room remains unchanged.

Minghao presses his quivering lips against your hand, a river of tears spilling down his face. He blames himself for not seeing the signs. He blames himself for the pain you’ve went through. All he wanted to do was bring you to a place of happiness for just a single day, but it all went downhill, and he blames no one else but himself. 

It takes a lot for Minghao to break, but not when it comes to you.

“I’ll beat you to it, Hao!”

Minghao doesn’t race after you, instead he watches with a grin to his face as you dash excitedly in the direction of the ocean water, nearly tripping in the sand in the process. The waves were calm as they crash lightly against the shoreline.  It wasn’t much cloudy than before, and the air was still as chilly as the previous days, but for some reason it felt refreshing as ever to breathe in the wintry air and a perfect time to take a stroll near the waters. 

He slowly makes his way down to the beach, hands in his pockets as he watches you stop at the edge of where the water rolls into the sand. You turn around to face him, a pout to your face that makes him chuckle to himself. 

“You’re such a slowpoke!” You exclaim to him.

When he finally makes his way right next to you, you both look out at the waters together.

“We both know I would’ve beaten you anyways.” Minghao mutters, and he hears you release an annoyed scoff. 

You turn towards him, a teasing smirk to your face. “Care to prove it?”

He raises an eyebrow as if contemplating your words for a moment. But with a sudden burst of energy, he takes off running, leaving you behind in the sand. Nothing but laughter leaves you as you follow after him, calling out his name for him to slow the heck down with your feet sinking into the softened sand with each step you took. 

It takes some time of more chasing before Minghao finally stops in front of the water. When you arrive next to him, breaths shallow and unsteady from all the running, he quickly circles his arms around your waist like a tender cocoon, pulling you into a loving back hug. 

Minghao rests his head comfortingly on your shoulder, his warm breath tickling against the skin of your neck. His touch immediately makes you lean into him, both of your gazes looking straight in the direction of the endless ocean waters. Time seems to stand still, where all the worries of the outside world melt away with each wave that comes in. It's just the two of you together, and no one else.

“I love you.” The words leave his lips like a hushed promise, even though it was only the two of you standing together. “You know that, right?”

"I know," You reply, voice barely above a whisper. “I love you too, Hao.”

As the words suspend quietly in the chilly air, a wistful breeze sweeps over the beach.

“You know I’ve always wanted to get married at the beach?”

Minghao tilts his head slightly, a soft, somewhat playful smile playing on his lips as he gazes into your eyes wonderingly.

“Is that so?” he hums. “Guess this is where we’re going to get married, then.”

You couldn’t tell if it was excitement or surprise that was raging through you. He said it so casually that it nearly makes your entire body go limp in his arms, your heart fluttering and swelling out of your chest. 

“Wow, I... I didn’t expect you to say that so easily.” You stammer out your words.

Minghao just chuckles, placing a kiss to the temple of your head. “If that’s what you want, then I promise to make it happen, love.”

You feel the smile bloom onto your face as you bring your eyes back out to the waters again. You feel him rocking you back and forth in his hold, swaying your bodies aside the small waves that come washing onto the shore. But as he continues to hold you and you notice the waves coming in heavier, the smile to your face slowly begins to fade away.

Turning around to face him, you get yourself to light up your face once more.

“Close your eyes,” You tell him, letting your fingers play with his hair flying in the breeze. “Can you do that for me?”

Minghao gives you an odd look, before complying and letting his eyes fall to a close. He feels you release yourself from his grasp until he was holding nothing, which he brings his arms back down to his side. He shivers from a sudden breeze running past him as the anticipation courses through his veins.

Seconds turn into minutes, and all Minghao can hear is the waves beginning to crash louder against the sand. But amidst the sound of nature taking its course, there's silence from you. He doesn’t hear any signs of movement, any noise that can indicate that it was you. He hears nothing.

“Y/N?” he calls out once, twice, three times. “Y/N!”

And when he finally prys open his eyes, he’s met with nothing. All he could see was the seemingly endless beach and ocean stretching out before him in all directions possible. He calls out your name again in desperation, panic, fear, but he doesn’t earn any response, feeling the tears brim in his eyes once more as he sinks to his knees in the sand.

You’re gone.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen​ @haowrld​ @ylliris-hanniehae​ @icyminghao @slytherinshua​

[honorarysimp]

Chapter 4: Dangerous Hands

series masterlist

photo credits: @ortegalvr

“The storms in your head will lay ruin to the gardens of your soul.”

Your eyes are closed, and you feel enveloped in warmth. Soft, delicate fingers run lightly through your hair, like a gentle caress. The only sound you hear is the velvety smooth voice that seems to wrap around you like a comforting blanket.

“What goes too long unchanged, will destroy itself—”

The moment is tranquil, the sensations soothing and somehow familiar. You could almost fall asleep like this, lulled by the tender touch and the gentle sound of Lorraine's voice.

“— the forest is forever, because it dies and dies, and thus lives”.

Lorraine continues to run her fingers through your hair with tender affection as she continues to read aloud.

"Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.”

Her voice is soft and melodic, the words flowing from her lips like a gentle song. The intimacy of the moment is almost palpable, a quiet understanding passing between the two of you.

“One of these will be harder than the other, there is no reward without risk”.

You hear the muted thump of a book closing above you, and immediately, the loss of Lorraine's fingers in your hair is noticed. Your eyes remain closed, but the absence of her touch is palpable, like the sudden chill of a cold gust of wind.

Despite the sudden longing you feel, you remain still, relishing the memory of the moment, the sensation of her touch etched in your mind.

Suddenly, you feel Lorraine's presence, as if she's hovering over you. Her warm breath against your face sends a delightful tingle down your spine.

You can sense the proximity of her body, the warmth of her skin near yours. It's as if the world has shrunk to just this moment.

The two of you suspended in time, connected by nothing but the energy that flows between you.

You feel a soft brush of Lorraine's lips against the shell of your ear, sending a jolt of electricity down your spine. Her touch is light, almost like a whisper, yet it's enough to make your mind fog over even more.

The sweetness of her breath against your skin mingled with the subtle scent of her perfume is intoxicating, and you can almost feel your thoughts melting away.

Lorraine's voice is a gentle whisper in your ear, a soft murmur that cuts through the hazy mist of your sleepy mind.

"Someone's in the manor," she says gently.

"Wake up."

The words are a soft command, a quiet warning that jolts you back to the present. Your eyes flutter open as you bolt upright, the warm cocoon of comfort around you replaced by a sense of alertness.

You're suddenly aware of your surroundings, your heavy breathing echoing in the silent manor. It's your first night staying here, and although you planned to sleep, your mind is restless.

Despite the tiredness, you remain awake, your thoughts swirling like leaves caught in a breeze. You try to remember the dream you had, but all you can recall is a vague sense of unease, as if some forgotten memory is gnawing at the back of your mind.

You lasted a week on the park bench before you called it, your back was begging you for a surface not so harsh to it.

So, after exhaustion took over night after a long day of packing, you let it.

You rub your eyes, blinking away the remnants of sleep as you lean over yourself. The blanket slides off your legs and slips to the floor in a soft pile.

You sit there for a moment, the silence of the manor wrapping around you like a heavy fog. You shift in your seat, the leather couch creaking softly under your weight.

You suddenly hear another creak, the sound of it unexpected and out of place. It's not the creak of the leather couch, but rather, it comes from somewhere upstairs.

You freeze, your muscles tensing as you listen intently, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. The silence seems to thicken around you, the unknown making the air feel heavier.

The creaking sound comes again, the soft thump of footsteps on a wooden floor. They're slow, deliberate, as if whoever or whatever is making the sound is taking their time.

Something or someone is definitely present, and they're upstairs doing god knows what.

You can feel the hair on the back of your neck rising, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of your stomach, like a coiled snake waiting to strike.

The silence between the creaks only seems to heighten your tension, each moment passing like an eternity before another sound reaches your ears.

Is that… scraping? Almost like someone is rearranging furniture.

You shake your head, clenching your teeth and taking a deep breath. This isn't the first time you've heard strange noises at night, you try to convince yourself.

It's not the first time the manor has seemed menacing, and it won't be the last. The air feels cold around you, but you force yourself to remain calm, your hand absently reaching for a loose thread on the couch cushion and toying with it.

You sit there for a moment, the minutes ticking by with agonizing slowness. Every rustle of the wind against the windows, every distant creak of the house settling seems to set your nerves on edge.

You almost jump out of your skin when a soft thump comes from upstairs again, this time a bit louder. Your mind begins to toy with your imagination, creating the worst possible scenarios.

You open your eyes and let your gaze wander to the doorway leading into the foyer. Darkness swallows the corridor beyond, the shadows blending together in an endless pool of obscurity.

You contemplate the stairwell, wondering if you should investigate further. Another thump comes again, the sound like a sharp knock to your nervous system, and your breathing becomes shallower as you listen intently.

Another few minutes pass, each second feeling like an hour as you wait in the unnerving silence. Nothing seems to stir within the manor, and the only sound is your own labored breathing.

You try to convince yourself that it was just your imagination, that the sounds were simply the house settling or a stray animal. But the stillness that follows only seems to increase your unease rather than alleviate it.

Your legs feel shaky as you stand up, and you reach for where your phone has fallen off the couch and on to the floor before you head for the kitchen. The cold floorboards beneath your feet send a chill through your body, the air feeling as if it could crawl under your skin.

You step onto the tile flooring of the spacious kitchen, the sudden change of texture somehow jarring and unfamiliar. The silence in the kitchen is almost oppressive, the shadows in the corners seeming to grow as you move through the room, your eyes adjusting to the darkness.

You reach out to flick the light switch, and the old lights flicker in protest before they turn on, casting an artificial glow over the empty kitchen. The sight of the room in front of you offers some comfort, and you feel a small weight lift from your shoulders.

The space is open and familiar, the counters littered with various appliances and the kitchen table occupying the center of the room. The cold tiles beneath your feet feel less eerie now that the kitchen is fully illuminated.

You move through the room, careful to avoid tripping over the half-packed boxes that are scattered everywhere.

You reach over to one near the sink and reach into it, sifting through the clutter until your fingers brush against a cool, smooth surface.

With a soft accidental clink against another, you pull out a glass, the sound echoing in the silent kitchen.

You step in front of the sink, turning on the faucet and letting the frigid water fill the glass. The sound of the water seems almost obnoxiously loud in the silence, the gentle gurgle of the faucet like a symphony to your ears.

Once the glass is filled, you lift it to your lips and take a few greedy gulps, the cold liquid refreshing and soothing.

You finish the glass of water and lean back against the cool counter, resigning yourself to the fact that sleeping seems like a distant dream for now. You check the time on your phone, the digital numbers glaring back at you with an almost mocking tone.

3:00 AM.

The hours of sleep you had hoped to get seem to slip further and further away as the seconds tick by.

You set the glass in the sink and ponder whether to start packing more things. But before you can even decide, that same scraping sound from upstairs interrupts your thoughts like a sharp shock to the system.

Your heartbeat quickens as the unexpected noise sends a shiver down your spine, the silence that follows somehow even more menacing than before.

Your instincts kick into high gear, and you reach for another box, fingers ripping through the packing material and shoving it aside.

Your mind races, your heart hammering in your chest as you scramble through the content of the box, desperate for something — anything — that could serve as a weapon.

Your fingers grip a kitchen knife, the cold steel a stark contrast against your trembling hand. A realization hits you like a ton of bricks.

You’re definitely not imagining things this time.

The sound that came from upstairs was real, and someone or something is definitely inside the manor with you.

Your heart hammers in your chest, the sudden adrenaline coursing through your veins like a potent drug.

You begin moving through the kitchen, your body in a state of heightened alertness. Every muscle seems to twitch, ready to pounce at a moment's notice.

You move forward with caution, each step calculated and deliberate, your eyes darting around every corner and shadowed space.

Every little sound seems amplified — the creak of the floorboards, the soft hum of the refrigerator, the distant moan of the wind outside. Your mind races, but your resolve does not waver.

You approach the doorway leading to the foyer, the corridor beyond shrouded in shadows. Your eyes strain against the darkness, as if trying to force the shadows into solid form.

You stand at the threshold for a moment, every fiber of your being urging you to turn and flee out of the manor all together. But instead, you grit your teeth and cautiously step out into the foyer.

When you see nor hear anything, you take a deep breath to steel your nerves, and begin the ascent up the staircase.

Each step creaks under your weight, the old wood protesting noisily with every inch you climb. Your heart pounds in your ears, the sound deafening as you continue your slow progress towards the upper floor.

Finally, you reach the top of the stairs. The hallway stretches in front of you, long and narrow, with several closed doors lining each side.

The darkness seems more intimidating as you stand at the top, the shadows consuming the spaces in between each closed door.

You know you have to continue forward, but that doesn’t make it any less nerve-wracking.

You shake your head at your own actions, muttering under your breath, “this is so stupid.”

Despite the fear coursing through your veins, you take a deep breath and start flipping on the light switches. The old lights flicker for a brief moment before illuminating the hallway, casting a warm glow on the surroundings and driving back some of the shadows.

You continue to move through the hallway, checking each room with trepidation. As you go from room to room, you find nothing out of the ordinary, the shadows in each space receding as soon as the lights go on.

You’re getting more confused and frustrated as you search, wondering if you’re just chasing ghosts.

You reach the last room in the hallway, your Pops’ study. With a flick of the light switch, the room is illuminated, casting a warm, soft glow over the space.

God, even now with your time here after him being gone, you still feel anxiety walking in here. He’d bite your head off any time you even tried to peak inside.

Shadows scurry away from the light, revealing the familiar study. The bookshelves lining the walls, each one meticulously organized. A large oak desk dominates the center of the room, the surface scattered with papers and various office supplies.

Nothing out of place.

You step further into the room, your hand still holding the knife at your side. After a moment, you exhale a tired sigh, the adrenaline slowly starting to leave your body.

The study looks just as you remember it, the smell of old ink and paper hanging in the air, the sound of the clock on the wall ticking away the seconds like a soft metronome.

You shake your head slightly, rubbing your temple with your free hand as you’re about to turn to leave.

But something snags your attention suddenly, making you freeze in your tracks. Your eyes lock onto a spot in the corner of the room, a spot on the floor that seems odd, out of place.

Your eyes spot scrapes on the nearly flawless wooden floor, just next to one of the bookcases. You take a step closer to inspect it, your heart beginning to race again as the realization slowly sinks in.

The wooden floorboards are marred with scratches, as if something heavy has been dragged across the surface.

You're wide awake now, your eyebrow furrowed as you turn your gaze back to the bookshelf. The scratches on the floorboards lead to the bookshelf, the wooden stand towering over you like a silent sentinel.

You set the knife down on the desk, the cold steel making a soft thump on the wood. Then, you approach the bookshelf, your hands gripping the corner and giving it an experimental tug.

At first, the bookshelf doesn't budge, as if it's stuck in place. But with a bit more effort, you manage to move it an inch out from the wall.

You continue to pull at the bookshelf, inch by inch until you've made enough space for yourself to slip through.

As soon as you manage to make a small opening, a cloud of dust bunnies falls from the shelf, causing you to cough and wave away the particles that swarm up from the ground.

You step behind the bookshelf, your eyes scanning the area beyond. The space is tight and cramped, and you have to bend over slightly to avoid bumping your head on the ceiling.

The light from the room behind you fades quickly as you move in, replaced by the dark shadows of the unknown space ahead.

You pull out your phone and turn on the flashlight, the bright light from the device lighting up the cramped space around you.

As the flashlight illuminates the hidden area, horror and disbelief grips your heart. What you see in front of you is straight out of a nightmare.

As your phone's flashlight illuminates the space, your worst fears come to life. Your stomach sours, and your body goes cold as you take in the sight before you.

Dark symbols are painted on each wall surrounding you, their ominous presence adding to the dread that fills your mind. In the center of the room, an altar has been erected, the polished surface covered with various items — candles, a knife, a bowl, a bundle of dried herbs.

It's clear that this hidden chamber is devoted to some twisted form of worship, its shadowy presence filling the void of the darkened space.

You mutter under your breath, "Pop... what the hell were you up to?" The sight of the ominous symbols and the altar in front of you sends chills down your spine.

Despite the sense of terror, you force yourself to venture further into the room, tentatively moving forward to investigate the disturbing display before you.

As you cautiously step closer to the altar, the metallic scent in the air growing stronger, the smell of copper fills your nostrils. It makes your stomach turn, and you force yourself to take a deep breath, steadying your own nerves.

You come to a stop in front of the altar, your eyes taking in the collection of items laid out across its surface.

You examine the items on the altar, but one thing in particular catches your eye, standing out the most out of everything physical presented.

There is a square-shaped area of dust in the middle of the altar, as if a large book had been sitting there for some time but recently removed.

You take a moment to look around at the sigils painted on the walls, your eyes tracing the unfamiliar symbols sketched there.

Some of the sigils seem more like ancient runes, while others are more reminiscent of demonic script, all of them in a language you don't recognize.

The sight of them sends a chill down your spine, the symbols somehow increasing the sense of dread in the air.

You shake your head, trying to banish the unease that has settled in your gut, and begin to head back towards the exit that was hidden behind the bookshelf.

"Yeah, no, fuck this," you mutter under your breath, wanting nothing more than to be out of this creepy room with its sinister symbols and altar.

You practically sprint out of the room, feeling relieved to be away from the disturbing space.

You quickly shut the bookshelf door behind you, the sound of it clicking into place echoing in the otherwise silent study. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart.

You step back from the bookshelf, your mind whirling as you try to process everything you just saw.

The room you just discovered was clearly used for some dark, twisted rituals, and the knowledge that your Pop had something to do with it all leaves you feeling sick to your stomach.

As you process all the events that have happened, another thought suddenly occurs to you — Maxine's mention of your Pop having secrets.

The realization hits you like a thunderclap, connecting the dots in a chilling way. You remember Maxine's subtle reference to your Pop's mysterious secrets.

And now, with what you just discovered hidden behind the bookshelf, those secrets take on a whole new meaning.

You contemplate this as you digest the revelations that have come to light. Maxine's knowledge of your Pop's secrets is a curious thing.

There’s no way. How could she have known about such a thing?

The thought gnaws at your mind, adding yet another layer to the already tangled puzzle you've stumbled upon.

Was she the one here? No, she’s a shitty person, but she’s not a ‘break into your house to steal a copy of “How to Black Magic for Beginners” your Pop was apparently hiding’ type person.

Your thoughts shift gears, and your mind wanders back to the weird pouch you'd discovered in Bobby-Lynn's room. The memory of the unsettling pouch surfaces in your mind, the items within and possible meaning etched forever in your memory.

The confusion mounts in your mind as you try to reconcile the knowledge of your Pops’ religious nature with the disturbing, dark room you just discovered.

It doesn't make sense that someone who was so devoted to his faith would have a hidden chamber dedicated to what appeared to be witchcraft and dark magic.

Is it all connected? Your Pop, Maxine, Bobby-Lynn, the strange way they’ve been with Lorraine? Maybe RJ is involved, hell, maybe Wayne and Jackson are in on it —

You catch yourself mid-thought, denial wrapping its bony fingers around your throat, shaking your head firmly. You tell yourself that there is no way you're about to become entangled in whatever messed up scheme is going on here.

You just wanted to take handle on the manor, grieve for your Pop, and then get out of town. Getting involved in this mess is the last thing you need.

Your mind is racing, the urgency of the situation increasing with each passing second. You know you need to get out of this place, to put some distance between yourself and the disturbing secrets hidden within the walls of the old manor. Staying any longer is a risk you can't afford to take.

You exit the room quickly, your mind already planning ahead. First things first, you need to finish packing everything and get the fuck out of the manor.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

You start to mentally go over a list of moving companies that you could call. As you walk back down the stairs and towards the kitchen, your thoughts also turn to the need for coffee, knowing you'll need to be caffeinated to stay focused throughout the day.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

The hours tick by quickly as you focus on packing everything from the manor, working diligently from room to room.

You manage to make a lot of progress, packing up most of your belongings and listing several pieces of furniture for sale online.

Despite the progress, however, the lingering sense of unease never quite leaves you.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

You make a conscious effort to push the disturbing image of the ritual room out of your mind, forcing yourself to ignore its existence.

Denial becomes your defense mechanism, a safe haven you retreat to in order to avoid facing the unsettling truth.

As you take a break from packing to have some lunch a little after noon, your mind drifts to another topic that's been gnawing at the back of your mind — Lorraine.

Despite your best efforts to ignore it, memories of your past with Lorraine linger in your thoughts.

You feel an undeniable pull towards Lorraine, an unconscious need to be near her. It's like she has her hooks deeply embedded in you, drawing you in despite your best efforts to resist.

You try to convince yourself that you need to leave, that staying here is a mistake, but every time you find yourself around her your resolve weakens.

Your mind wars with itself as you consider the possibility of getting emotionally invested in Lorraine.

You know that the smart thing to do is to keep your distance, to preserve the detachment you've maintained since coming back.

But something in you pauses, holding you back from making the logical choice.

You’re pretty sure she’s the last human interaction you had before hiding yourself away here in this godforsaken manor.

You push your half-eaten sandwich away, the food suddenly unappealing to you. You take a step back, sighing as you grapple with the conflicting emotions swirling inside of you.

The pull you feel towards Lorraine is strong, but your common sense and self-preservation instinct are whispering warnings in your ear.

The sound of a soft tap on the kitchen window behind you jolts you out of your thoughts. You turn around and notice a crow perched on the windowsill, its dark eyes peering at you with an almost knowing expression.

Frustration sparks within you as you move forward, yanking the window open forcefully. You expect the bird to fly away at your aggressive actions, but it remains unflinching, perched calmly on the windowsill.

You regard the bird for a moment, skepticism flooding your mind. You can almost hear your Pop's voice in your head, ingrained from years of conditioning to doubt the things you do and don’t see.

You gesture towards the bird, trying to scare it off.

"Shoo, go on, fuck off," you tell it firmly, waving your arms in a shooing motion.

The bird lets out a loud caw, its wings flapping defiantly as it remains perched on the windowsill, refusing to budge.

It seems almost like it's trying to tell you something, its eyes fixed on you intently.

You lean against the counter and stare at the bird, your voice firm as you try to convince yourself that it isn’t real.

"You're not real," you insist. "You never were. You're just a figment of my imagination."

With your gaze locked onto it, the bird caws once more, the harsh sound echoing in the kitchen. Its wings flutter against the windowsill, as if demanding your attention.

Your gaze is drawn away from the bird as the sound of thunder rumbles in the distance, a bolt of lightning lighting up the dark clouds forming in the sky. Even the bird takes notice, its head tilting up toward the sky.

The change in weather seems to send a shiver up your spine, the storm brewing outside reflecting the turmoil within you.

You can’t help but feel a sense of unease as you look at the bird, its presence now feeling more ominous than before.

You hesitate for a moment, feeling a bit silly for talking to a bird, but the words still come out in a low whisper.

"Somethin’ is wrong here," you murmur, "this place... it's not right, never has been”.

As you speak, the bird cocks its head slightly, almost as if it's listening intently. Its dark eyes seem to gleam for a moment, and a quiet caw escapes its beak.

It doesn't fly away, but it flutters its wings restlessly, almost as if it understands the gravity of what you just said.

Your emotions boil over, the anger and frustration you've been holding in for so long finally bubbling to the surface.

You turn back to the bird and speak firmly, your voice holding a hint of venom. "You made my whole life a living hell, y’know that?" you stare at the bird, waiting for some sort of response.

The bird suddenly launches itself off the windowsill, its wings flapping wildly as it takes flight.

As it does, a loud rumble carries through the air, almost drowning out the bird's caw.

The sound of rolling thunder and the flash of lightning outside create a stark contrast to the tension inside the kitchen.

Your thoughts rage in your mind, anger and frustration fueling your actions. You snap the window shut, the sound of it slamming closed echoing in the kitchen.

You shake your head firmly, trying to convince yourself that it was all a coincidence, bullshit.

After the strange encounter with the bird, you force yourself to focus back on packing.

The last few days have been a blur, with exhaustion and stress building up as you work nonstop. Despite the fatigue, you don't allow yourself to rest much, pushing yourself to finish packing up the manor’s belongings.

The sound of thunder booming loudly outside makes you pause for a moment, signaling the arrival of the full force of the storm. The rain pours down, pounding against the windows and roof, creating a loud rumble of sound throughout the manor.

Your progress has been steady as you've nearly finished packing the entire bottom floor, the rooms now mostly bare and cleared out.

As you take a moment to catch your breath, a loud and forceful knock at the front door breaks the relative silence of the manor. The sound jolts you out of your thoughts, causing you to freeze in surprise.

Your hands pat down your pockets, searching for your phone, but you realize you can't seem to find it anywhere.

Frustrated, you scan the room, looking for something to tell the time. Spotting a clock nearby, you glance at it to check the time.

Jesus, it’s eight already? Where did the time go.

As you read the time, the knocking at the door continues, growing more persistent and urgent.

You navigate carefully around the scattered boxes, moving slowly as your socks slide against the smooth hardwood floor. Your steps are measured and cautious as you try to avoid tripping and falling in the cluttered space.

You make your way towards the front door, cautiously avoiding running into any obstacles as you go. The knocking at the door grows louder and more impatient, the sound echoing through the nearly empty halls of the manor.

You finally reach the front door, your footsteps echoing softly in the empty room. You stand up on tippy toes to peer through the tiny peephole, squinting slightly to see who's on the other side.

You see who's standing on the other side, and a mix of confusion and surprise fill you. Without a second delay, you swiftly unlock and swing the door open. The storm outside rages on fiercely, rain pelting down and wind howling as you confront the unexpected visitor.

Lorraine stands there, soaked to the bone by the heavy rain. Strands of her hair cling to her face, and her eyes are rimmed red, indicating some sort of emotional disturbance. She shivers slightly, clearly uncomfortable in her wet clothes.

"Jesus Christ — Lorraine?" you begin, quickly ushering her inside to escape the stormy weather. You close the door behind her, sealing out the pounding rain.

You're surprised by her sudden appearance at your doorstep, especially in such a state.

Seeing Lorraine's drenched appearance, you swiftly grab a folded towel from a nearby box. Then, you follow up with your questions.

"What’re you doing here, Lorraine? And in this storm?"

You gently wrap the towel around her shivering body, noticing the way her teeth chatter softly as she seems to absently glance around the foyer.

Her voice is barely above a whisper as she utters her apology, “I'm sorry. I didn't know where else to go," she mutters, her words tinged with helplessness and vulnerability.

Your instinct kicks in, and you begin gently rubbing her arms, attempting to warm her up.

“What do you mean?” you ask, your concern growing. As you do so, you reach up to brush her wet hair gently away from her face unconsciously.

"RJ showed up at my place, completely drunk and actin’ a fool," she says, her voice filled with a mix of frustration and exhaustion as she continues “he knows all the other places I'd usually go to, but he doesn't know about your place. I didn’t know where else to go."

Lorraine's bottom lip quivers as she clutches the towel tighter around her shivering body. Her eyes downcast, she continues to apologize. "I'm so sorry for imposin’ like this," she mumbles, her voice shaky as she repeats herself yet again "I had nowhere else to turn, and I didn't know what else to do—“

You interrupt her by gently cupping her face, the warmth of your palms a comforting contrast against her cold cheeks.

Her eyes meet yours as you ask the critical question, "did he hurt you?", your voice is firm yet concerned, a cocktail of anger and a need to bring her justice bubbling up within you.

Lorraine shakes her head softly between your hands, her eyes filled with tears as she attempts to speak. Her words come out with a slight stutter, the emotional turmoil within her clear.

"N-no, he didn’t hurt me… physically," she manages to say, her voice trembling “but he... he was belligerent, shoutin’ and... he broke some things…"

A wave of anger washes over you upon hearing Lorraine’s words. The urge to go and confront RJ, to make him pay for whatever emotional pain he’s caused, burns within you.

However, the thought of leaving Lorraine alone in her current state immediately nixed that idea. Your sense of duty to be there for her takes precedence over your anger towards RJ.

You take a moment to gather yourself, mentally shelving your anger for later. Then, with a determined expression, you gently pull Lorraine into your arms, silencing her apologies. A sense of protectiveness fills you as you hold her against your chest, your jaw still slightly clenched with suppressed anger.

Lorraine melts into your embrace, her slender form shivering slightly despite the towel wrapped around her. Her delicate fingers find their way to grasp the front of your shirt, holding onto you tightly. You feel the dampness from her wet clothing against you, but you don’t mind.

Your embrace becomes a cocoon of warmth, a sanctuary for Lorraine as your body heat gradually subsides her shivering. The proximity between you feels intimate, as if you two are the only ones in the world, shutting out the storm raging outside.

“It’s alright, you know you’re safe here, you’re okay”.

You can practically feel the tension leaving her body as she clings to you, the tautness in her muscles slowly releasing.

The silence that hangs in the air feels intimate, the only sounds filling the room being the soft sound of your breathing and the patter of rain against the windows.

Despite the storm outside, a sense of calm settles around the two of you.

After an almost uncomfortable moment of close proximity, you find yourself clearing your throat as you reluctantly part.

Your voice is gentle yet firm as you suggest, "c’mon, let's get you in a hot shower. I’ll get you some dry clothes." The air is still thick with unsaid emotions, but you steer her towards the bathroom and she follows without protest.

You lead Lorraine towards the bathroom, her wet clothing clinging to her petite frame. As you walk, you take note of the water droplets cascading down her hair and the way her eyes are still puffy from tears.

Once inside the bathroom, you turn on the shower, testing the water until it runs warm. You then turn back to Lorraine, a soft smile on your face.

"I'll grab you some clothes and a fresh towel while you shower, just shout if you need me" you say gently.

Lorraine nods in acknowledgement, her gratitude apparent as she murmurs, "thank you”.

You take it as your cue to give her privacy, so you quietly exit the bathroom, closing the door softly behind you.

You leave the bathroom and walk over to the boxes nearby, rummaging through it to find a fresh clean towel.

Once you find one, you head for the living room to rummage through your bag. It’s the only clothing in the house you know of, other than your Pops’ and that’s out of the question.

You pull out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, simple but warm and comfortable. The fabric of the items is soft against your fingers, and you can't help but think how they'll feel against Lorraine's cool skin.

As you shake the thoughts from your head, you mentally chide yourself for the intimate thoughts that flit through your mind.

You focus on the real task at hand, which is to get Lorraine out of her cold, wet clothes and into warm ones. So, you take a deep breath and knock on the bathroom door.

You hear Lorraine's voice calling out from inside the bathroom, informing you that it's safe to come back into the room.

The sound of the running shower and the gentle rustling of the shower curtain reach your ears, confirming that she's already in the shower.

With a mix of concern and care, you push open the door and slowly enter the steamy room.

As you enter the bathroom, the heat from the shower already creating a warm, misty atmosphere.

Setting the clean clothes and towel down on the counter, you keep your eyes away from the shower curtain, giving Lorraine the privacy she deserves.

"I set the clothes and towel out on the counter for you," you say, your voice clear but soft.

You remain facing away from the shower, giving Lorraine her moment of solitude in the shower.

You're acutely aware of her presence behind the curtain, the sound of water spraying and her movements reaching your ears. Your heart beats slightly faster in your chest, and you mentally will yourself not to imagine what lies behind the thin barrier.

The room is filled with a warm, misty air, and for a moment, the only sound is the steady drumming of water against the shower floor.

Lorraine's voice, soft and shy, drifts toward you through the shower curtain.

"Thank you," she murmurs, her words barely above a whisper amidst the sound of the running water.

You nod silently, your mind momentarily distracted by the sound of her voice.

Then, you clear your throat once more, trying to regain your composure. "I'll be in the other room," you manage to say, "if you need anythin’, I'll be just outside… or whatever”.

A sense of awkwardness washes over you for a moment as you berate yourself internally for sounding so stiff and awkward.

But then, through the shower curtain, Lorraine's voice drifts out, her words sounding amused. "Thanks," she says, her voice softer than before,"I won’t be long."

You quickly exit the bathroom, closing the door behind you in your haste to escape the situation. You smack yourself on the forehead as you walk away, muttering to yourself, "stupid, stupid, what the fuck was that?“

The sound of the rain outside seems to be mocking your inner turmoil, as if nature itself was laughing at your discomfort.

Shaking off the self-deprecating thoughts, you make your way to the living room, hoping to find something to distract yourself from the chaotic storm of feelings swirling in your mind.

You grab extra blankets and pillows, setting them on both leather couches within the living room.

Your gaze then rakes over the room, taking in the familiar surroundings, before settling on the old television set in the corner.

You head over to the old television set and reach down to switch it on, hoping to have some mindless noise to distract you from your inner turmoils.

However, as you switch it on, the screen remains dark and lifeless. You're not surprised; that old thing hasn't worked in years.

With a sigh, you abandon the idea of turning on the TV. Looking around the room, you search for other objects or activities that might help distract you from your inner conflict.

The room seems to have frozen in time since the last time you were here, even when a large majority of everything is packed away, the faint scent of musty air fills your nostrils.

You decide that simply sitting around is not going to help you relax. Instead, you start searching through the boxes around the room, knowing that somewhere among them should be some candles.

After a few moments of rummaging, you find a few boxes of unlit candles. The sight brings a faint smile to your face; yes, these will help with the smell.

You place the candles strategically around the living room, positioning them in such a way that their light casts a warm, subtle glow over the space.

Once you're satisfied with their placement, you find a lighter and proceed to light each candle, watching the wicks ignite and the flames dance in the dim room.

The sound of footsteps reaches your ears, and you turn to see Lorraine standing in the doorway, her eyebrows raised as she takes in the ambiance of the room.

The flicker of candlelight dances across her features, adding an almost bewitching effect to her appearance.

She gives the room a once-over before her gaze lands on you, an unspoken question in her eyes.

As you sense Lorraine's confusion and the implications of the candle-lit room, you hold up your hands in a defensive gesture, muttering quickly, "it's not what it looks like, I swear."

You're suddenly aware of the romantic aspect of the candlelit room and the potential misunderstanding it might create.

Lorraine crosses her arms, a soft flush on her cheeks hinting at her inner thoughts, though a hint of amusement flickers across her face.

She rubs her arms absentmindedly in a self-soothing manner before raising an eyebrow and asking with a hint of mock suspicion, "well, exactly what’s it supposed to look like then?"

You open your mouth to respond, but the words seem to catch in your throat. Frustration furrows your brow as you struggle to find the right thing to say.

It's a feeling that's all too familiar when it comes to Lorraine - it seems like whatever brain function you have to form coherent speech fails you whenever she's around.

Why does this always happen with her?

After a moment of internal struggle, you manage to force the words out, your voice slightly hoarse. "I just... I wanted it to be cozy, you know? The storm and the dark and there was a weird smell... just thought the candles would help”.

Your words are sincere even as you ramble, but there's a hint of defensiveness in your tone, as if you're trying to justify the atmosphere you've created.

Lorraine cocks her head slightly at your response, her expression still somewhat amused, yet contemplative. She studies you for a moment, her eyes roaming over your face, as if trying to analyze the true reason behind your actions.

Finally, she responds. "Cozy, huh?" she repeats, her tone lightly questioning. Her gaze flicks around the room again, taking in the soft glow of the candlelight.

You backtrack slightly, a sheepish expression on your face. You rub the back of your neck as you say, "well, considering how bad that storm is out there, we might end up losing electricity. So, you know, I was kind of thinkin’ you'd be staying here”.

You pause, a hint of uncertainty in your voice before continuing, "if that's alright with you, I mean”.

Lorraine as always, shyly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her movements almost unconsciously graceful even when wearing just your sweatpants and tshirt that’s slightly oversized on her.

She seems to be considering your statement, her gaze flickering to the door behind her where the storm is still raging outside.

After a moment of contemplation, she nods, her voice soft. "I suppose you're right... might not be safe to drive out there in this”.

You nod, and with a sense of purpose, you both begin to settle in the large living room.

You claim a spot on one of the couches, settling into the familiar embrace of the plush leather that you hate to admit is comfortable.

Across from you, Lorraine chooses her spot on the other couch, arranging pillows and a blanket to her liking.

The only sound in the room is the sound of the two of you moving around, the faint crackling of the candles, and the downpour outside.

The atmosphere is cozy and intimate, the flicker of the candles casting a warm glow over the room.

You steal a glance at Lorraine, seeing her curl up on her couch, a blanket wrapped around her legs and her eyes focused on the dancing flames of the nearest candle.

As you glance over at her, your eyes meet her gaze. In the soft light of the candle, you can see the flicker of flame reflected in the depths of her warm brown eyes.

She regards you quietly, her gaze holding a hint of intimacy that mingles with the cozy atmosphere of the room. With the soft candlelight, she almost appears ethereal, like a creature from a dream.

Her damp hair is slightly tousled, having been disturbed when she settled on the couch, and it frames her face in an almost halo-like fashion.

You can't help but notice how the candlelight casts shadows and highlights across her features, accentuating her delicate beauty.

Why on earth is she with a guy like RJ?

The question escapes your lips before you can stop it, fueled by a mixture of genuine concern and a hint of possessiveness that you're not quite ready to acknowledge.

You ask her softly, but bluntly, "why are you with a guy like RJ, anyway?"

Lorraine is quiet and still for a moment, her eyes taking on a contemplative look as she ponders over your question.

You can practically see the wheels turning in her head as she deliberates over her response. Her fingers pick at the blanket resting on her lap, a nervous habit, as she finally opens her mouth to speak.

Lorraine wets her lips, her voice soft and a bit uncertain. "RJ..." she starts, her gaze focused on her hands absently smoothing out the blanket. "Well, he's nice, for starters. He treats me well”.

Your snort echoes loudly in the quiet room, your skepticism evident. You retort is curt, "if he's so nice, then why are you here tonight, trying to get away from him?"

The words come out slightly harsher than you intended, fueled by your dislike for RJ and your growing protectiveness over Lorraine.

Lorraine jumps slightly at your tone before quickly defending her choice to be with RJ, her voice quiet and pleading.

"He's not always like this, y’know," she says, a hint of defensiveness in her tone “he’s only like that when he's had too much to drink”.

Your irritation builds within you, and you have to physically bite your tongue to keep yourself from blurting out your frustrations about RJ's treatment of her.

You can't help but ask her, your voice soft again but still laced with disbelief, "you just... accept that behavior? Runnin’ away from him every time he has too much to drink? Is that really what you want?"

Lorraine rises quickly from her position on the couch, her hair falling around her like a dark curtain. Her eyes flash with uncharacteristic anger, and her usually gentle voice is sharp and biting as she snaps back at you. "And who are you to have a say in my life? You think you know what’s good for me?”

The sound of thunder is loud and booming outside, its roar drowning out the crackling of the candles for a moment.

A flash of lightning illuminates the room, casting ghostly shadows across the walls as it bathes the room in a stark, white light for an instant.

You find yourself momentarily stunned into silence, the unexpected fury in Lorraine's voice leaving you speechless.

In the aftermath of Lorraine's outburst, you take a moment to collect yourself. You can feel the tension in the air, the charged atmosphere created by the storm outside and the argument within.

You finally speak, your voice steady despite the inner turmoil. "I..." your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, the words caught in your throat for a moment before you continue.

"I just don't like seeing you with him, especially when he acts like that. It's not right, not how someone should treat you”.

Her soft voice breaks the tension in the air, the sharp edge from before replaced with a hint of vulnerability.

She looks at you with a hint of defiance in her eyes, her stance tense as she repeats her words, "I'm the only one who knows what's good for me”.

You regard her for a moment, your mind racing at her comment. After a few moments of contemplation, you deliver a gentle yet firm response.

"You may be the only one who knows what's good for you, but that don’t mean you should settle for anythin’ less than what you deserve”.

Both of you fall silent as your gazes are locked. The air is thick and charged with an intensity that feels almost tangible. There's a palpable weight to the moment, a shared understanding that the conversation has delved into deeper waters.

Neither of you speak for a moment, each caught in the gravity of the words unspoken but understood.

Lorraine breaks the silence first, her voice quiet but laced with a hint of defensiveness. "You think you know what I deserve?" she echoes, her gaze unwavering as it holds yours.

"You've been gone for five years," her voice tinged with a hint of hurt, “you said it yourself, we weren't exactly the best of friends back then”.

Your lack of filter, coupled with your own intense emotions, causes your response to burst forth, unfiltered and unfiltered.

"Maybe not the best of friends," you concede, your voice laced with a soft firmness, “but that don't mean I can't tell when someone's being mistreated. Especially when it's you”.

The silence returns, heavy and palpable. You watch as Lorraine breaks eye contact, her delicate fingers coming up to rest against her lips as she gets lost in thought.

Her expression is unreadable, but there's a hint of vulnerability in her mannerisms. You can almost see the wheels of her mind turning, processing your words and perhaps, your feelings.

Feeling like you may have spoken too much in your moment of honesty, you settle back on the couch, your gaze shifting upwards to the ceiling.

Another flash of light from outside briefly illuminates the room, casting shadows and emphasizing the silence between the two of you. The only sounds are the soft crackle of the candles and the fading roll of thunder from the storm outside.

You fix your gaze on the ceiling, contemplating your own words. Your emotions are a tangled mess inside you, and you can't help but wonder if you've crossed a line, exposed too much of yourself in your moment of raw honesty.

Do you even know your own truth? Considering the turmoil and the tangled web of emotions you’ve suffocated with denial?

The room is filled with an awkward silence, and you can almost feel Lorraine's presence across from you, processing your words. Perhaps you should have held your tongue, kept your true feelings to yourself.

You're startled from your thoughts by the soft shuffling sound, followed by the hesitant steps padding their way across the room towards you. Your heartbeat quickens, a hint of anticipation and curiosity filling the air.

Your eyes shift to the side, and you see Lorraine's slender figure moving towards you, her movements hesitant and uncertain against the backdrop of the flickering candlelight.

Your heart skips as she shifts her weight, she hesitates for a moment before her knee raises and sinks into the couch cushion right beside you, your body automatically moving to the side to make space for her.

The motion brings her closer, and without thinking, you find yourself scooting over to make room for her.

The action is instinctual, automatic, as if this moment was always meant to happen, her by your side with only a few inches of distance between the two of you.

It’s almost surreal, the moment enveloped in the intimate warmth of the blanket. The proximity is undeniable, her slender form mere inches away, close enough that you can almost feel the heat radiating off her body.

Your closeness brings a strange sort of comfort, a quiet stillness in the midst of the turmoil of your thoughts. Your arms are draped across your stomach, eyes fixed on the ceiling above.

Despite the racing of your heart, you can't help but find a certain level of peace in this shared space beneath the blanket.

Time seems to slow, dragging out the moment with a strange sort of intensity. Each second feels like an eternity, filled with anticipation and an electric sort of tension in the air.

Finally, Lorraine's fingers venture across the surface of the leather couch, her touch timid and tentative as they brush against the bare skin of your arm.

That touch is a spark, igniting a tingle of electricity that dances along your skin where her hand grazes you.

Your response is instantaneous, a natural instinct you can't help but follow. The arm she touched is raised, a silent invitation that she immediately accepts.

She glides seamlessly across the space between you, molding herself against your side, fitting herself effortlessly against you.

Selfishly, you begin to berate yourself for the fact that this is the first time you’ve ever held her like this.

The sound of thunder rolling outside mingles with the pounding of your heart, the two creating a discordant beat in your ears.

Without a word, you wrap that arm around her slender frame, pulling her close in a protective embrace.

The warmth from her body seeps into yours, and you can feel her fingers bunching up the fabric of your shirt as she nestles closer against you.

The air in your lungs seems to lodge itself firmly in your throat, your heart racing as you feel her seeking safe shelter in your presence, a haven she has always longed for.

Lorraine's voice is soft as a whisper, her breath warm against your skin as she speaks the words that linger in the air.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, her voice wavering slightly, barely audible over the soft pitter patter of rain outside.

She readjusts herself against you, snuggling closer, seeking more comfort in the safety of your embrace. Her slender frame seems to fit perfectly against you, as if this very moment was destined to happen, the two of you intertwined in this cozy sanctuary.

Your heart pounds in your chest, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. You’re not quite sure what it is she’s apologizing for now, but you don’t let your mind linger on it.

Holding her close, you reply, voice filled with tenderness and understanding, "I know”.

You pause for a moment, taking in the feeling of her body pressed against yours, the softness of her skin against your own, the warmth that radiates from her form.

You’re fucked now, you know without a doubt.

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. Holding her in your arms, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against yours, it all becomes so clear.

Leaving now, leaving her here, is not an option. Not anymore.

You are bound to her now, your heart and mind tethered to this moment, to this woman who has become a part of your being. Maybe she always was.

You can't leave her. Not now. Not ever.

No more running, no more denial, no more avoiding the dark truth that intertwined and held bound all the secrets that your Pop left behind.

If something sinister is going on, you won’t leave Lorraine to fall victim in a ploy she’s unaware of.

You finally reply, your words coming out more confident now, "and you don’t need to be. I'm not goin’ anywhere”.

previous, next

————————————————————————

Tag List: @thatshyboy1998

[novlr]

Hi, can you write a paragraph about rain? Can you also give tips on describing nature? Thank you.

Rain can evoke a range of emotions and associations, from the childlike joy of splashing in puddles to the melancholy of grey skies mirroring a character’s mood. But while we’ve all experienced stormy weather, capturing its essence on the page can be surprisingly tricky. Here are some tips to help you write about rain in a way that will make a splash with your readers. (You can also adapt this advice to almost any nature description, but we will try to put out a separate post on more general nature advice at a later date.)

How does it look?

Use vivid adjectives to describe how the rain looks at different times of day and in different conditions.

Mention the angle the rain is falling at. Is it falling straight down? Angled? or even sideways?

Describe the size and shape of the raindrops – are they small and needle-like or large and heavy?

Note if the rain is clear or if it’s tinged grey or yellow from pollution.

Does the rain form puddles, streams, or mini-rivers as it flows?

Describe any ripples, splashes, or concentric circles the rain makes when hitting surfaces.

How does it sound?

Use onomatopoeia like “pitter-patter,” “tapping,” “drumming,” “plinking,” or “hissing” to mimic the sound.

Show the surfaces the rain hits and how that changes the noise — a “clattering” on windows, a “thumping” on the roof, a “plopping” in puddles

Describe the overall volume, from a soft “murmuring” or “whispering” to a loud “pounding” or “roaring”.

Note any variations or patterns in the sound, like a steady drone vs. syncopated rhythms.

How does the sound fill a space? Does it echo? Reverberate? Or is it dampened and muffled?

Describe how the noise of the rain interacts with other ambient sounds in the scene.

How does it feel and smell?

Describe the temperature of the rain and how it feels on the skin. Is it cool and refreshing or shockingly cold?

Describe the tactile sensations, like wetness, dripping, soaking, or chilly dampness.

Note how the rain changes the air, making it humid, misty, or heavy and saturated.

Describe the smell of the rain, which can be clean and fresh, dusty, earthy, or laden with ozone.

Describe how it feels to be out in the rain — are characters getting drenched to the bone or finding shelter?

Use metaphors to compare the feeling to other sensations, like tears on the face or a massage.

What mood and atmosphere does it evoke?

Use the rain to set the overall tone and mood you want to evoke, from gloomy and sad to peaceful and cleansing.

Show how the rain affects the setting, like making colours more vivid or obscuring things with mist.

Describe how the lighting changes, with skies darkening or a glistening sheen over everything.

Describe how the rain makes characters feel emotionally as well as physically.

Use the rain as a symbol or metaphor to mirror the characters’ mental states or the themes of the story.

Show how the rain transforms the world, slowing things down or washing things away, and how characters react to that.

Positive story descriptions

Rain can bring a sense of renewal, growth, and life to the world.

There is a cosy feeling of being inside looking out at the rain, safe and warm.

Rain can make everything glisten and gleam in the light, looking fresh and new.

Show the soothing, hypnotic quality of the rhythmic patter of raindrops.

Rain can be invigorating, energising, and joyful.

Rain can symbolise a fresh start, washing away the old to begin a new chapter.

Negative story descriptions

Rain can create a sense of melancholy, isolation, or loneliness

Rain can be an obstacle or hindrance, slowing characters down or forcing them to change plans.

There is a chilling, bone-deep cold that comes from being soaked in the rain.

Describe the bleak, colourless world that seems to exist when the sky is endlessly grey and stormy.

Show how the rain can feel oppressive, like a heavy weight pushing down on everything.

Describe how the rain can make the world feel dreary, soggy, and depressing, sapping energy and vitality.

Helpful vocabulary

Use words like deluge, downpour, torrent, cloudburst, hammering, lashing, pelting, battering, or thrumming to describe heavy, intense rain.

Try terms like drizzle, mist, sprinkle, shower for lighter rain.

Describe rain-soaked things as drenched, saturated, sodden, waterlogged.

Describe how rain dimples or stipples surfaces.

Gutters may babble, gush, trickle or overflow with rain.

Puddles can slosh, ripple, or reflect like mirrors.

Raindrops may bead up, roll, or slide down windows, leaves and other surfaces.

Adjectives like windswept, blustery, driving, relentless, or unceasing can evoke a storm.

The air may feel close, clammy, sticky, or muggy from humidity.

Petrichor is the earthy scent released when rain falls on dry soil.

Slickers, macs, wellies, brollies, and goloshes are rain gear that can add character details.

After a storm, the world may seem scoured, quenched, drenched, or newly baptised.

[sas-soulwriter]

Fantasy place (which you can use for your story)

Some fantasy places you can use for your next story .

Luminoth Hollow: A subterranean cavern filled with glowing crystals that emit soothing light. Luminoth Hollow is home to a race of peaceful, bioluminescent creatures who communicate through light patterns.

Zephyria: A floating archipelago of lush, skyborne islands, tethered together by colossal, living vines. Each island has its unique ecosystem and is inhabited by winged creatures who navigate the skies between them.

Aurora Glade: A tranquil meadow hidden within a giant, sentient tree. The glade is bathed in eternal twilight and inhabited by gentle, dreamweaving creatures who protect the dreams of those who visit.

The Obsidian Spire: A towering, black monolith that pierces the heavens. It's said that at its peak lies a portal to another realm, guarded by enigmatic sentinels who test the worth of those who seek passage.

Eldertide Marsh: A mystical swamp where ancient, sentient trees rise from the waters, and luminous fireflies lead travelers along phosphorescent pathways. It's rumored that the marsh holds the key to unlocking forgotten knowledge.

Clockwork Citadel: A colossal, mechanical fortress powered by intricate gears and steam. Clockwork automatons serve as both guardians and caretakers, and the citadel houses a library containing the accumulated wisdom of the ages.

Whispering Sands: A desert where the dunes are constantly shifting, and the winds carry the whispers of long-forgotten spirits. At its heart stands an oasis of liquid crystal that reveals glimpses of the past and future.

The Eternal Library: A massive, floating island covered in towering bookshelves. Each book contains the life story of an individual, and the library is said to grant the power to rewrite destinies.

Gloomwood Thicket: A dense, enchanted forest perpetually cloaked in twilight. Within its shadows reside shadowy creatures that can manipulate time, making it a place of both wonder and danger.

Abyssal Abyss: An underwater realm where bioluminescent flora and fauna thrive. Merfolk and other aquatic beings have built stunning, glowing cities within deep-sea caves.

Sylvan Skylines: An archipelago of floating islands inhabited by tree-dwelling, bird-like beings who harness the power of wind and weather. They craft intricate bridges and pathways connecting their aerial homes.

Whispering Peaks: Towering, mist-shrouded mountains said to hold the knowledge of the cosmos. Monasteries and meditation chambers dot the landscape, where monks seek enlightenment through quiet contemplation.

The Emberforge: An underground forge where skilled blacksmiths craft legendary weapons and armor imbued with the essence of fallen stars. The air is filled with the sound of hammers on metal and the crackling of celestial flames.

The Crystal Canyons: A network of canyons adorned with enormous, glowing crystals that resonate with hauntingly beautiful melodies when touched. Nomadic crystal herders roam the canyons, taming the living crystals.

The Dreamer's Archipelago: A series of islands, each representing different dreams and nightmares. Travelers can enter these dreamscapes and interact with the inhabitants, who are manifestations of dreams themselves.