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novaursa · 3 months ago

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Between the Flames (Part 2)

- Summary: Gwayne and you rekindle your flame as a celebratory hunt proceeds.

- Paring: Gwayne Hightower/targ!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N and is younger sister of Rhaenyra. If you want to read all the parts in chronological order visit my blog, the list is pinned to the top. The timeframe of events in both parts 1 and 2 is unspecified, place the plot wherever you wish it in your imagination.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 812

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The first light of dawn creeps into the camp as you step out of your tent. The air is crisp with the chill of morning, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and pine. You pull your cloak tighter around your shoulders, taking in the stillness that clings to this early hour. The fires from last night’s revelries are mere embers now, and the camp is draped in a quiet so deep it feels like the world holds its breath.

Your eyes sweep over the clearing, searching for a familiar face, but Rhaenyra is nowhere to be found. Of course she’s not. Your sister has likely slipped away with Ser Criston Cole, her sworn shield, to chase whatever solitude she can grasp in this suffocating charade. Rhaenyra has always despised these hunts, the feasts, the endless parade of lords fawning over her as if she’s a prize mare. You sympathize with her distaste, but unlike her, you’ve remained tethered to these duties out of some misguided sense of loyalty to your father and the memory of your late mother, Queen Aemma.

A flutter of resentment stirs in your chest. You’ve followed the rules for so long, always the dutiful daughter, watching as your sister rides free while you remain in the gilded cage of expectations. Yet yesterday, when Gwayne Hightower had found you in the crowd of nobles and knights, that sense of duty had wavered for the first time in years. His presence had unraveled something in you, a thread of emotions carefully tucked away since your father denied him your hand. His smile was the same, a little boyish even after all this time, and his eyes held that familiar warmth as they met yours.

The memories from years ago flood back, his hand brushing against yours, the quiet exchanges between dances, lingers in your mind like the aftertaste of wine. You had long buried those feelings, or so you thought. Yet now, in the stillness of dawn, all you can think about is how his presence stirs a longing you’ve tried to forget.

For once, you allow yourself to act on impulse.

You move with a sudden resolve, heading towards the small paddock where the horses are tethered. Your chest tightens as you glance around, half-expecting someone to stop you. You see Ser Harrold Westerling, his gray hair wild with sleep, standing at the edge of the camp. He’s too far away to notice you yet, still groggy and unconcerned as he yawns and stretches.

Before he can spot you, you make your way to your mare, a beautiful dappled chestnut with a silky black mane. She snorts softly in greeting, stamping the ground with her hoof. You pat her neck, her coat warm and smooth beneath your gloved hand. "We’re going to do something foolish, my sweet girl," you whisper, a half-smile playing on your lips.

With practiced ease, you mount the mare, settling into the saddle. The forest looms ahead, its dark arms open and inviting, promising the kind of freedom you’ve denied yourself for too long. A breathless excitement quickens in your chest as you lean forward, giving your mare a gentle nudge. She responds instantly, trotting lightly across the camp, her hooves barely making a sound on the soft earth.

"Princess!" Ser Harrold’s voice rings out, sharp with alarm, but you’re already gone. The wind rushes against your face as you break into a gallop, the camp shrinking behind you as the trees blur past. The thrill of disobedience courses through your veins, each beat of your heart in time with the rhythm of your mare’s stride.

The forest is alive with the songs of morning birds and the rustling of leaves. Sunlight dapples through the canopy above, casting golden patterns on the forest floor. For a moment, you let out a breathless laugh, the sheer joy of riding unbound filling you with a wild sense of elation. You understand now, at least in part, why Rhaenyra flees these events; there’s something liberating in leaving behind expectations, even if only for a short while.

You slow your pace once you’re deep within the woods, guiding your mare along a familiar narrow trail framed by ferns and moss-covered stones until you reach an edge of a small brook. The peace of the forest wraps around you like a soothing balm. Here, away from prying eyes, from duties and titles, you can simply be.

But your thoughts inevitably return to Gwayne. You remember the way he looked at you last night, the warmth in his eyes tinged with something deeper. You can still hear his voice in your head, low and intimate as he leaned in close during the dance.

“It has been too long, Y/N,” he had said softly, his hand resting lightly on your waist. “I barely recognized you the day before… though you’ve grown only more beautiful.”

A faint blush warms your cheeks at the memory. For years, you had pushed thoughts of him aside, thinking them childish fancies, a promise he couldn't keep, but his presence has reignited a spark that refuses to be smothered.

Lost in thought, you nearly miss the sound of hooves approaching from another direction. Your mare’s ears prick forward, alert, and you turn your head just in time to see a rider emerging from between the trees. The sunlight catches on silver armor trimmed with green—Gwayne.

Gwayne Hightower woke with the first rays of dawn creeping through the canvas of his tent, the dim light casting long shadows across his face. Sleep had been restless and fleeting; the events of the previous night still clung to his mind like a shroud. He could still feel the weight of Daemon Targaryen’s gaze—a sharp, cutting thing that held a silent promise of retribution. Daemon had watched them dance, his eyes like twin embers, waiting for any excuse to ignite into something more dangerous.

But Gwayne hadn’t cared. Not then, and certainly not now.

All that mattered was you.

He could still feel the ghost of your hand in his, the way your touch sent a spark straight through him. You had tried to maintain a careful distance, the practiced grace of a princess who had long learned to hide her heart behind a veil of propriety. But Gwayne knew you better than that. He knew the way your eyes softened when you looked at him, the way your voice dropped ever so slightly when you said his name. You could hide your emotions from most, but never from him.

He’d known you since you were both children, and in all those years, nothing had truly changed between you. Even now, after all the time and distance, after the layers of courtly masks, you were still the same girl who had stolen his heart. And he would not—could not—let anyone take you away from him. Not Daemon, not even your father. The King could deny him the match all he wished, but it was a hollow decree. He knew, deep down, that you were his. You always had been, from the moment you’d shared your secrets and desires with him years ago, in the quiet, hidden corners of the Red Keep.

And when he had seen Daemon’s eyes on you, the dragon’s possessiveness simmering beneath the surface, Gwayne had only felt his resolve harden. Daemon could try to intimidate him all he liked, but he would never understand that what bound you to Gwayne was deeper than mere attraction or lust. It was years of unspoken promises, of shared dreams and whispered hopes, of a love that had grown in the shadows of duty and expectation.

Gwayne exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face as he pushed himself out of bed. The air was crisp, the early morning dew clinging to the grass as he dressed quickly in his riding leathers. His mind drifted back to the last time he had truly held you, before politics and power had pushed you both into your separate roles. Back then, you’d been freer, more open, before the weight of a princess’s crown settled on your brow. And yet, last night, in those fleeting moments when your eyes met his, he saw a glimpse of that girl again. The one who had wanted more than what was being offered to her.

He knew you would not remain at camp long today. You despised these hunts as much as Rhaenyra did, though you bore it more quietly. And as if the gods themselves sought to reward his patience, his instincts proved correct when he caught sight of you slipping away, mounting your horse with a grace and ease born of years of practice. Ser Harrold’s groggy warning echoed across the clearing, but you were already gone, disappearing into the forest with the wind in your hair.

Gwayne’s heart leapt in his chest, a sense of urgency and determination driving him into motion. He wasted no time, striding swiftly toward his own horse, a powerful black stallion bred for speed and endurance. He swung into the saddle with practiced ease, feeling the familiar weight of the reins in his hands. Without hesitation, he urged his horse forward, following the path you had taken into the woods.

The morning sun filtered through the trees, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the forest floor. Gwayne’s focus narrowed, his gaze trained on the faint trail you left behind—hoofprints in the soft earth, the occasional disturbed branch. He knew where you were headed; it was the same place you always sought when you needed to escape the world, a secluded glade hidden deep within these woods.

The sound of rushing wind and the rhythmic thudding of hooves filled his ears as he pushed his stallion harder, driven by a mixture of anticipation and longing. Every beat of his heart felt in tune with the ride, each breath drawing him closer to you. He couldn’t help but smile as he imagined the look on your face when he found you—the mix of surprise and exasperation that you could never fully hide, tinged with that unmistakable affection that lingered in your eyes whenever you looked at him.

Finally, the trees parted, revealing a clearing bathed in soft morning light. And there you were, seated on your mare at the edge of a small brook, the sound of trickling water a soothing backdrop to the scene. The sight of you, framed by the dappled sunlight, took his breath away for a moment. You were like a vision from a dream, your hair catching the golden rays as you gazed thoughtfully at the water. The serenity of the moment only heightened his determination to be by your side.

You must have sensed him approaching, for you turned just as he entered the clearing. The surprise in your eyes was quickly replaced by a familiar warmth, though you tried to maintain a composed expression. “And here I thought I’d managed to escape everyone,” you said with a hint of teasing in your voice.

Gwayne brought his horse to a stop beside yours, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Did you truly think you could slip away from me so easily, Y/N?” he asked, his voice low and edged with amusement. “You should know by now that I would follow you anywhere.”

Your expression softened at that, and for a moment, the carefully maintained walls you kept around yourself faltered. “And what brings you chasing after me, Ser Gwayne?” you asked quietly, your gaze locking onto his with an intensity that made his pulse quicken. “Surely you have other duties to attend to, other places to be.”

He leaned forward slightly in the saddle, his eyes never leaving yours. “I have no duty more important than being where you are,” he replied, the words simple but weighted with meaning. “No place I would rather be than at your side.”

You looked away, as if trying to hide the emotions that flickered across your face, but Gwayne knew you too well. He could see the struggle within you, the war between obligation and the desires you kept buried. He reached out, his hand brushing lightly against yours where it rested on the reins. “You don’t have to hide from me, Y/N,” he said softly. “Not here. Not now.”

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tightening around the reins as if grounding yourself. “And what if hiding is all I have left?” you whispered, a note of vulnerability slipping into your voice. “What if it’s the only way I can survive this game we’re all trapped in?”

Gwayne’s expression hardened with resolve. “You’re more than what they want to make you. More than a pawn in this endless game of power. You’re you—the woman I’ve loved since we were children, the one I would fight for, no matter the cost.”

You met his gaze then, something in your eyes softening. The walls you’d built around yourself cracked, if only for a moment, and Gwayne saw the woman beneath—the one who wanted more than duty and expectation, the one who longed for freedom, for love, for something real.

“Maybe you’re right,” you murmured, a faint smile touching your lips. “Maybe I’m tired of hiding.”

Gwayne’s heart swelled with hope, with the belief that maybe, just maybe, you were ready to stop running from what you both knew had always been there between you. He leaned closer, his voice a gentle whisper. “Then let’s take this moment for ourselves. Forget the world outside, forget the dragons and the thrones and the knives hidden in every smile. Let’s just… be.”

For a long moment, the world held its breath as you considered his words. Then, slowly, you nodded, the tension easing from your shoulders. “For a little while,” you agreed, your voice soft, a hint of relief in your tone.

And so, you rode together through the sun-dappled forest, leaving behind the weight of duty and the ever-watchful eyes of the court. In this fleeting moment, there was no war of crowns or claims, no dragons or scheming lords—only the two of you, and the promise of something that could be, if only you dared to reach for it.

In the quiet sanctuary of the forest, with nothing but the rustling leaves and distant birdsong to bear witness, you and Gwayne finally dismount from your horses. The sun has climbed higher in the sky, casting a warm, golden light across the clearing. There’s a silence between you—charged, electric—heavy with all the unspoken words and emotions you’ve held back for years. The bond you thought had frayed with time is alive once more, vibrant and undeniable.

You both step closer, drawn together by a force that feels as natural as breathing. Gwayne’s eyes are locked on yours, his gaze intense, full of longing and a possessive tenderness that makes your pulse quicken. You can feel the heat radiating from him, the tension in the small space between your bodies crackling like a fire about to be kindled.

His hand comes up, gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip with a reverence that sends shivers down your spine. “I’ve missed this,” he whispers, his voice low and hoarse with emotion. “I’ve missed you.”

You close your eyes briefly, savoring the feel of his touch, the way it melts away the years of separation, the walls you’ve built to protect yourself. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” you murmur, though there’s no conviction in your words, only a breathless longing. The ache in your chest is one you’ve carried for so long, buried deep beneath the layers of duty and decorum. But now, with Gwayne so close, it’s impossible to deny how much you want this—want him.

His thumb tilts your chin up, and you meet his gaze once more. “Perhaps we shouldn’t,” he agrees, his voice soft but edged with determination. “But I won’t let that stop me. Not anymore. I won’t let anything keep us apart again.”

And with that, the dam finally breaks. Your lips crash together in a kiss that’s searing, urgent, full of years’ worth of pent-up desire and emotions. There’s no hesitation, no holding back. The kiss is fierce, almost desperate, as if you’re both trying to make up for every lost moment, every day you spent apart. His hands are on you, one tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist with a possessiveness that makes you gasp against his mouth.

Your hands roam over his chest, fingers fumbling with the ties of his tunic, the urgency mirrored in the way he pulls at the laces of your dress. Every touch is fevered, every caress driven by the need to feel skin against skin. Clothes are shed with haste, your lips barely parting even as you struggle to rid yourselves of the barriers between you. His breath is hot against your neck, lips trailing down your throat as he shrugs off the last of his garments. Your own dress falls away, pooling at your feet, leaving you both exposed to the cool morning air—but the heat between your bodies is enough to chase away the chill.

There’s no room for words now, only the rhythm of your breaths, the thrum of your heartbeats in perfect harmony. He draws you close, lifting you with ease as your legs wrap around his waist, your bodies fitting together as if they were made to do so. The first touch of him inside you is a heady rush, a mix of pleasure and familiarity that sends a shudder through you both. He moves with a gentle haste, his grip firm on your hips as he sinks into you fully, a low groan rumbling in his chest.

You cling to him, fingers digging into the muscles of his back as your lips find his again in a kiss that’s all heat and hunger. The rhythm comes naturally, an instinctive dance that’s both achingly familiar and exhilaratingly new. Even after all the time that has passed, your bodies remember each other, falling into a perfect sync that leaves no space for doubt or regret.

His movements are steady but urgent, each thrust a declaration of the need that has burned between you for so long. Your moans mix with his, the sound of your shared pleasure filling the secluded clearing. There’s a raw intimacy in the way your bodies move together, every touch, every gasp a reaffirmation of what you’ve both held onto all these years. You can feel his heart pounding against yours, his breath ragged as he whispers your name, the sound of it like a prayer.

“Y/N,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

You don’t respond with words—there’s no need. The way your body arches into his, the way you tighten around him as pleasure builds in your core, says everything. You’re his, just as he’s yours, bound by a love that neither time nor distance could ever truly break.

The tension coils tighter with every thrust, every brush of his lips against your skin, until it’s too much to hold back. Your release washes over you in a wave of bliss, pulling a cry from your lips as you cling to him, every nerve alight with sensation. Gwayne follows you over the edge, a low groan escaping him as he buries his face in your neck, his body shuddering with the force of his climax.

For a moment, the world seems to hold still. The forest fades away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s embrace. Your breathing slows, and you feel Gwayne’s grip on you soften, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your back as he holds you close.

When he finally pulls back to look at you, there’s a tenderness in his gaze that makes your chest ache. “I’m never letting you go again,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a fierce kind of love. “Not for anything. Not for anyone.”

You reach up to cup his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “I never wanted to be let go,” you confess, your voice a whisper. “I’ve only ever wanted this… us.”

In the silence that follows, there’s a peace that settles between you—an unspoken understanding that whatever lies ahead, you’ll face it together. For now, in this stolen moment, the world beyond the forest doesn’t matter. All that matters is the way your hearts beat in time, the bond between you rekindled and stronger than ever.

And in that quiet, sunlit clearing, you both allow yourselves to believe—if only for a little while—that the future might hold more than just duty and sacrifice. That it might hold a chance for the love you’ve both fought so long to protect.

Daemon Targaryen stood near the edge of the camp, eyes narrowed into slits as he watched you and Gwayne ride back into the clearing. The sight of you both—your hair disheveled, lips still slightly swollen from hurried kisses—made his blood boil. He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles whitened, his jaw tightening as a cold fury settled into his bones. Gwayne’s smug look didn’t help; the Hightower knight sent him a knowing, defiant smirk as he rode past, one hand resting possessively on your waist. The message in his gaze was clear: I’ve won, and you know it.

Daemon’s lips curled into a sneer. Foolish boy, he thought darkly. You’ve no idea what you’re inviting.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what had transpired in the woods. He recognized the flushed skin, the barely concealed satisfaction on both your faces, the way your eyes avoided his as you dismounted. You carried yourself with that fire he adored—back straight, chin held high—but he could see through it. He could always see through you. There was anger beneath your proud exterior, frustration burning just as fiercely as his own.

As you handed the reins to a stable hand, Daemon moved with predatory grace, intercepting you before you could disappear into your tent. He grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not bruising, his eyes burning into yours.

“What were you doing?” he hissed, though it was more accusation than question. His voice was low, dangerously controlled, a seething threat simmering just below the surface.

You jerked your arm free, glaring up at him with barely concealed fury. “I could ask you the same, Uncle. Spying on me as if I’m one of your lackeys?” Your tone was sharp, dripping with defiance. You took a step closer, your voice lowering to a venomous whisper. “What right do you have to question me? You’ve made it clear what I am to you.”

The words cut him, though he’d never admit it. His eyes darkened further as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “You were gone longer than a mere ride warrants, Princess. And you return with that Hightower pup, wearing a look that tells me everything I need to know.”

You bristled, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “And why do you care, Daemon? What difference does it make to you what I do or with whom?” Your voice wavered with barely restrained emotion—anger, frustration, and something more, something raw and wounded. “You never wanted me, not really. Not as anything more than a consolation prize because you couldn’t have her.”

Daemon’s gaze sharpened, the accusation hitting too close to home. He reached out, grabbing your chin roughly, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Watch your tongue,” he growled, his voice laced with barely suppressed fury. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh, don’t I?” You yanked your chin from his grasp, your eyes flashing with contempt. “You think I haven’t noticed? You think I don’t see the way you look at her—my sister? The way you’ve always craved what you can’t have? You wanted Rhaenyra, not me. But Viserys wouldn’t allow it, wouldn’t let his precious heir fall into your clutches. So you settled for me instead, the lesser prize.”

The truth in your words stung more than Daemon cared to admit. His mind raced, fury and something far more dangerous swirling within him. You had never been lesser to him—never. But he had to grit his teeth against the admission. For a heartbeat, his anger faltered, replaced by a flicker of something deeper, something that threatened to expose him in a way he despised.

His grip loosened, but his gaze remained intense, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. “Is that what you think? That you’re second to her?” His voice was lower now, softer but no less dangerous. “You’ve always seen yourself as Rhaenyra’s shadow, haven’t you? But let me tell you something, Y/N—you have just as much fire as she does. Maybe more.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Words, Daemon. Just more of your pretty words. You think they’ll work on me after all this time?” Your tone was bitter, but there was a note of pain beneath it that you couldn’t quite hide.

His eyes hardened again, his intensity returning full force. “You are not some replacement,” he snapped, each word deliberate, almost vicious in its conviction. “You’re mine just as much as she could ever be. Perhaps Viserys keeps me from her because he fears what we could be together—but he gave me you because he thinks you’ll be easier to control. And perhaps, for once, he’s right.” His eyes bore into yours, daring you to deny it. “But don’t ever think that makes you lesser, Y/N. You’re every bit as valuable as she is—to me and to this cursed family.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of unspoken truths and old wounds. The tension was nearly unbearable, a volatile mixture of rage, passion, and something neither of you wanted to acknowledge aloud.

You glared at him, chest heaving as you fought to control your breathing. “You claim I’m yours, yet you push me away every time I get too close, every time I try to see beyond that mask of arrogance you wear. You want me just enough to keep me tethered, but never enough to make me truly believe it.”

Daemon’s expression softened just a fraction, the cruel edges giving way to something almost tender. He stepped closer, his thumb brushing your bottom lip, and his gaze softened, the fierceness replaced with an intensity that was somehow even more dangerous. “You’ve always seen through me, haven’t you?” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s why you’re the one thing I can never let go of, no matter how much I try.”

You felt your breath hitch, the admission hanging in the air between you. For a moment, the storm in your chest subsided, replaced by the ache of knowing that no matter what you said, no matter how much you tried to fight it, a part of you would always be drawn to him—like a moth to a flame, even if it meant getting burned.

But the moment passed as quickly as it had come, and the anger returned, raw and unfiltered. You pulled back from his touch, your voice tight with resolve. “I may be yours in your eyes, Daemon, but I refuse to be something you settle for. I’ll be more than just a placeholder for your desires.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned and stormed toward your tent, leaving Daemon staring after you, a storm of conflicting emotions raging behind his eyes. He clenched his fists, every muscle in his body tense as he fought to rein in his temper. He had always believed he could control everything, bend the world to his will—but in this moment, watching you walk away, he was reminded that some things, some desires, were far beyond his grasp.

But as he stood there, alone in the clearing, a dark, determined smile tugged at the corners of his lips. If Gwayne Hightower thought he could claim you so easily, he was sorely mistaken. Daemon had lost too much already—he wouldn’t lose you too.

One way or another, you would see the truth: that no one could ever truly have you but him.

The final day of the hunt dawned with an oppressive sense of inevitability. The skies were overcast, a muted gray that reflected the tension simmering beneath the surface of the festivities. Lords and knights milled about the camp, preparing for the last chase, but the air was thick with unspoken rivalries and hidden agendas. For Daemon, it was more than just another hunt—it was the culmination of days of mounting frustration and a terror he refused to name, all centered around one person: you.

He had prided himself on control—control over his ambitions, his desires, his enemies. But you were slipping through his fingers, and it clawed at something primal within him. The sight of you laughing, exchanging warm smiles with Gwayne Hightower, had become unbearable. It wasn’t just anger that churned in his chest; it was fear. The fear of losing the one person who had managed to burrow past his defenses, the one thing he had convinced himself was his.

As the sun climbed higher, the hounds were readied, and the nobles began mounting their horses. Daemon’s eyes never left Gwayne, who was exchanging pleasantries with his sister, Alicent. The Hightower knight held himself with the same confident ease as always, his armor gleaming, his expression serene. But beneath that polished exterior, Daemon could sense a defiant edge, a silent challenge that sent a pulse of fury through him.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. He swung himself onto his horse, cutting through the throng with a focused determination. The murmured conversations around the camp fell away as he approached Gwayne, who turned to meet him with a calm gaze, as if he had been expecting this confrontation.

“Ser Gwayne,” Daemon drawled, his tone laced with a false cordiality that didn’t reach his eyes. “It seems we find ourselves in each other’s company once more. How fortuitous.”

Gwayne’s expression didn’t waver. “Prince Daemon,” he replied smoothly, inclining his head in a respectful nod. “It’s always a pleasure to be in such esteemed company.”

The formalities hung in the air like a blade waiting to drop. Daemon leaned forward slightly in the saddle, his eyes narrowing, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Let’s not pretend, Hightower. You’ve been playing a dangerous game, and I can see right through it. You think you can steal away what belongs to me?”

Gwayne’s smile was subtle, infuriatingly calm. “I’ve stolen nothing, Your Grace. But perhaps what you think you own was never truly yours to begin with.”

Daemon’s hand clenched around the reins, his knuckles white. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed. “You’ve never understood what binds us—what we share. You think you can walk in, flash a few smiles, and she’ll forget everything?”

Gwayne’s expression hardened, the mask of politeness slipping away to reveal a fierceness that matched Daemon’s. “What binds you?” he echoed, his voice low and firm. “Do you mean the way you push her away, yet cling to her when it suits your pride? Or the way you try to control her, hoping that she’ll never see she deserves more than to be someone’s second choice?”

Daemon’s heart pounded in his chest, a mix of rage and fear twisting inside him. Gwayne’s words cut too close to the truth, exposing the very thing he feared most. He had convinced himself that he was the one who understood you, who could offer you what no one else could. But the thought that he had lost you, that you had found something in Gwayne that he couldn’t offer, was a poison he couldn’t swallow.

His voice was a growl, low and venomous. “You think you’re so righteous, don’t you? Like you’re the hero in some ballad. But you’re nothing more than a lovesick fool, blinded by a girl who’s outgrown you. Do you really think she’ll choose you when all is said and done? You’re a Hightower—nothing more than a tool for your family’s ambitions.”

Gwayne’s eyes flashed with anger, his composure cracking just enough for Daemon to see the fire beneath. “And what are you, Daemon? The rogue prince, the discarded brother who can’t win his brother’s favor, who takes whatever scraps he’s offered because he’s too afraid to admit what he really wants?”

The words hit like a hammer. Daemon’s control snapped, and before he could stop himself, he spurred his horse forward, closing the distance between them until they were nearly nose to nose. His voice was a low snarl. “You know nothing about fear, Gwayne. You don’t know what it’s like to feel something slipping from your grasp, to see the one thing that keeps you from losing yourself slipping away. I would burn the world to keep her, and you’d be the first I’d cast into the fire.”

Gwayne’s gaze didn’t falter, but there was a flash of sympathy in his eyes that stoked Daemon’s fury even more. “That’s where you and I differ, Daemon,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with pity. “You believe in owning, controlling. But I believe in letting her be free, even if it means losing her. Because what she needs isn’t chains or possessive declarations. It’s someone who sees her as an equal, not a prize to be won.”

Daemon’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, Dark Sister, fingers twitching with the urge to draw it and end this insufferable man’s righteous speeches once and for all. But he held back, knowing that doing so would only prove Gwayne’s point. Instead, he leaned in, his voice icy and full of dark promise. “You may have her now, but don’t mistake this for the end. She is mine, whether you—or even she—realize it yet. And one day, when you’re just a memory, she’ll see that.”

With that, Daemon yanked his horse’s reins and rode away, his heart a tempest of emotions he couldn’t fully name—anger, fear, desperation. It terrified him, this loss of control, the realization that he was losing his grip not just on you, but on himself. But he would not give in, would not let you slip away without a fight.

As he rode toward the front of the hunting party, his mind raced with dark thoughts and unspoken plans. He had lost control once, but he would not let it happen again. Whatever it took, whoever he had to destroy, he would make sure that when all was said and done, you would see that you were his and his alone.

And in the distance, Gwayne watched him go, his jaw clenched, his own heart heavy with the knowledge that this confrontation was only the beginning of the battle to come.

#house of the dragon #alicent hightower #viserys targaryen #daemon targaryen #gwayne x you #gwayne x y/n #gwayne x reader #gwayne hightower #ser gwayne #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd daemon #hotd gwayne #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon x y/n #daemon x you #daemon x reader #house targaryen #house hightower

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dewdropdinosaur · 2 months ago

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Kinktober Day 3: Public Sex

Summary: A night of revelry is almost too tempting for your vampire companion...so tempting he may just not be able to wait to indulge himself. Warnings: Public sex, making out, fingering, reader is female, mentions of a vagina, etc. MDNI, 18+. I am not responsible for your own media consumption. Kinktober Mention of the Day: @fraugwinska. Go check out their joint Kinktober list with a few other amazing authors!

In the dimly lit corner of the Elfsong tavern, laughter mingled with the smell of roasting meat and spilled ale. The flickering candles cast dancing shadows on the wooden beams, creating a warm, inviting atmosphere; perfect after a long journey for the group. While the East End of Baldur’s Gate was by no means pristene, since the defeat of Netherbrain, a good relaxing night on the town is what the party needed.

Astarion sat at a table, his striking features accentuated by the golden glow of the firelight. His usual air of nonchalance was tinged with something different tonight: intrigue. Across the room, you twirled in a graceful dance, laughter ringing like silver bells as you swung around the room with Karlach. Your eyes sparkled, catching the light as you spun; emerald garb shimmering with each movement. The other patrons watched, entranced by your jubilant smile, but none could compete with the way Astarion looked at you. While you and he had traveled together since the beginning and even spurred on a possible romance, you had not yet crossed the constantly toed line between frienship and something more. He leaned back in his chair, a bemused smile playing at the corners of his lips. You had a way of lighting up the room, transforming the mundane into something magical; an uninhibited spirit that made even the hardest of hearts feel lighter. As you danced, eyes sparkling with mirth, it was drawing him in like a moth to flame.

Beside him, Shadowheart raised an eyebrow, sipping her drink. “You seem rather taken, Astarion,” she teased, a smirk on her lips.

“Can you blame me?” he replied, “She’s captivating.”

As if sensing his gaze, you paused your dance with Karlach and locked eyes with Astarion. A soft smile spread across your face, and you beckoned him to join in the revelry with a wave. The moment hung in the air, charged with an electric tension that sent a thrill through him. He rose, adjusting his collar with a practiced elegance, and made his way to the dance floor, the warmth of the tavern wrapping around him like a cloak. When he reached you, a wide grin spread across your features, eyes alight with excitement.

“I was wondering when you’d join me,” you quipped, pulling him into the dance. The rhythm of the music pulsed through the tavern, filling the air with a joyous melody. Astarion found himself lost in the moment, his usual reservations melting away as he moved with you.

He was surprised by how easily he joined in, his body swaying to the beat. You led him with a playful confidence and he couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly you drew everyone’s attention, how you seemed to thrive in the spotlight. Made sense since you were now the Hero of Baldur’s Gate. Every twirl, every step was filled with a grace that both captivated and inspired him.

“See? Not so hard, is it?” you teased, her voice rising just above the music.

“Hardly,” he replied, smirking. “I am an expert dancer. I merely needed the right partner.”

With a playful tug, you spun him around, and for a fleeting moment, the world outside the tavern faded away. He was no longer a vampire spawn hiding in the shadows, no longer a companion on a long and harrowing journey; he was simply Astarion, swept up in the exhilaration of the dance and the warmth of your presence.

As the music reached a crescendo, you pull him closer, faces mere inches apart; as your hot breath fans his face. A warmth forgein to his long dead body. “You know,” voice low and inviting, “there’s something charming about seeing you let loose.”

Astarion raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Charming? Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Absolutely,” you reply with a wink.

And that is how the both of you ended up in the back corner of the tavern, you perched on Astarions lap as you relentlessly continued his assualt on your neck and collarbone. Perfect little dark purple marks now covered your neck, surely not disappearing anytime soon. Growling lowly against your neck, the vampire couldn’t help but inhale the sweet aroma of your blood and arousal blending, blinding his senses.

“You smell so perfect for me, pet. Utterly divine…”

Slowly trailing his fingers down the seams of your dress, Astarion is pleasently surpised to find a wet spot forming on your undergarments. Teasingly rubbing against the offending material, you can’t help but let out soft moans of appreciation at his ministrations. Grip tightening on his shoulders, you rock subtley into his hand; wanting to garner any amount of friction that you were so desperate for.

“Hush now my sweet…we don’t want to alert the masses to our little escapade do you? No, no…this is only for me.”

Quieting your noises, you whimper softly as he slips his fingers past your underwear to slip two fingers into your drenched hole. He could feel how tight you were, how desperately you squeezed him; so needy for his touch and affection that he could swear that your cunt was made solely for his enjoyment. Pumping in and out, soft squelching noises hidden by the continued music and dancing around the tavern, no one paid the two of you any mind; turning a blind eye to your activities.

Smirking, Astarion sped up, his fingers now curling and hitting that delicious spot inside you that nearly had you screaming; as a result, you slam your lips onto his as a way to quiet yourself. Pulling back and resting your head on his shoulder, panting wildly as your squirmed ontop of him; the coil in your stomach became taught as he continued his relentless pace.

“That’s it, pet…let me see how pretty you are when you cum.”

The coil in your stomach snapped as you felt a blinding hot flash of liquid pour out of your overstimulated pussy, soaking Astarion’s hand in your release as he continues to pump into you; working you through your high. After a moment, letting you catch your breath, Astarion removes his fingers and wipes them inconspicously on his trousers.

“Want to get out of here love?”

Let’s just say you came four times that night and couldn’t walk the next day…not that you minded of course.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x female tav #baldurs gate smut #astarion smut #astarion fanfic #astarion romance #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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thedensworld · 11 months ago

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What a Fate | Y.Jh

Pairing: Jeonghan x Reader

Genre: humor, suggestive, smut

Words Count: 3k

Summary: Who would have thought your next meeting after having a one-night stand would be this unexpected?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Jeonghan's frustration lingered from the recent board meeting where his cousin, Seungcheol, secured the position of vice president in their grandfather's company. Despite Jeonghan's tireless efforts for the company's 60th anniversary celebration, his ambitions were shattered due to a scandal that befell him just weeks before the crucial vote.

As the CEO of their food and beverage company, Jeonghan has been diligently working towards the success of the family business. However, a sudden scandal arose when a former secretary from four years ago accused him of verbal bullying during their professional association. The accusation, given his prominent familial ties, tarnished the company's image.

Jeonghan, disheartened by the false accusations, found himself grappling with the fallout of the scandal. The situation escalated as the woman, who had once served as his secretary, admitted to fabricating the allegations. It was revealed that she had been nursing an unrequited love for Jeonghan, leading her to concoct the damaging story.

The relief of the truth emerging was accompanied by the bitter taste of betrayal. Jeonghan couldn't help but feel the weight of the injustice that had cost him the chance to inherit the family business. The emotional toll of the scandal, compounded by the familial dynamics at play, cast a shadow over what should have been a moment of celebration for Jeonghan and the company.

Jeonghan, guided by Joshua's advice, surrendered to the allure of the night and found himself embracing the spontaneity that the club offered. In the dimly lit space, fueled by the rhythm of the music, he discovered a fleeting connection with you. The chemistry between them escalated, and in the heat of the moment, they succumbed to the passion of a one-night stand.

The club's pulsating beats seemed to echo the heartbeat of the impulsive decision, and for a brief moment, Jeonghan let go of the burdens that had weighed him down. The physical connection became a temporary escape, a way to numb the lingering frustrations and disappointments.

As dawn approached, reality set in. The night, once filled with liberation, now carried the weight of consequences. Jeonghan, caught between the thrill of the moment and the complexities of his personal and professional life, grappled with the aftermath of the impulsive choice.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Jeonghan muttered, the weight of realization hitting him as he hastily gathered his clothes. The consequences of the alcohol-fueled night began to sink in, and regret cast a shadow over him.

A sudden groan from you interrupted his frantic activity, causing Jeonghan to freeze. Relief washed over him as he realized you were still blissfully unaware, providing a temporary shield from the aftermath of their impulsive actions.

Stepping out of the hotel room, Jeonghan's first instinct was to call Joshua for a quick escape. The clock stubbornly displayed 2 a.m., an hour that should have deterred most people. However, Joshua, known for his penchant for late-night revelry, was the chosen confidant in this moment of crisis.

"My friend!" Joshua's voice, brimming with excitement, greeted Jeonghan as he opened the car door. In the midst of his own turmoil, Jeonghan found himself trapped with an exuberant Joshua. After directing Joshua's driver to head towards his home, Jeonghan couldn't escape the barrage of questions.

"I was looking for you, Jeonghan. Where have you been?" Joshua's enthusiasm clashed with Jeonghan's drained energy. Rolling his eyes, Jeonghan turned away, seeking a reprieve from the relentless inquiries.

"That's mean!" Joshua's protest echoed before giving way to the unexpected sounds of snoring. A chuckle escaped Jeonghan as he realized Joshua had succumbed to sleep, leaving the impending conversation for a more conscious moment.

The car ride became a surreal blend of exhaustion and Joshua's snores. Jeonghan, lost in his thoughts, braced himself for the inevitable talk he would have with Joshua once the overly-energetic friend returned to full consciousness. The night's events had left Jeonghan grappling with a mix of emotions, from regret to amusement at the unpredictable turns his life had taken.

The shrill ring of Jeonghan's phone pierced through the haze of his extended slumber, rousing him from a deep sleep. His body, oddly resistant to the routine of heading to work, had lingered in the realm of dreams, perhaps still grappling with the disappointment from the previous day's board meeting.

"Hm..." Jeonghan's response was a simple murmur, his voice carrying the remnants of a dizzy head after indulging in an unusually prolonged sleep—almost 12 hours of it.

As he reluctantly confronted the reality of the waking world, his secretary's voice permeated through the fog. Apologies were offered before the revelation struck like a sudden storm. "Your nephew, Mingyu, got into a fight and is now in a detention center."

Jeonghan's eyes snapped wide open, the abrupt news shattering the remnants of his grogginess. "What?!" The word escaped his lips, a mix of shock and frustration evident in his tone.

"He was bullied and made a defensive move, but they were captured by the cops as they fought behind a convenience store building," the secretary explained, weaving a narrative that only added to Jeonghan's growing list of familial challenges. Mingyu, his sister's son, seemed to have an uncanny ability to find trouble at the most inconvenient times, leaving Jeonghan to grapple with the repercussions once again. The responsibility he shouldered for his nephew intensified, adding another layer of complexity to an already tumultuous day.

A curse escaped Jeonghan's lips, a frustrated response to the recurrent challenges posed by his nephew, Kim Mingyu. The young troublemaker seemed to have a knack for causing chaos at the most inconvenient moments, leaving Jeonghan to bear the consequences.

Reflecting on recent incidents, Jeonghan's frustration intensified. Two weeks prior, he found himself reluctantly purchasing an expensive painting after Mingyu 'innocently' sneezed in front of it. A month ago, an expensive plate was shattered at a family gathering, forcing Jeonghan into the heart-wrenching position of apologizing to his grandfather for Mingyu's actions.

Sighing deeply, Jeonghan ended the call after obtaining the address of the police station where Mingyu was detained. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders once again. Determined to impart a lesson, Jeonghan knew he had to handle the situation personally.

A decade had passed since the tragic accident that claimed Jeonghan's sister and her husband, thrusting him into the role of responsibility for their son, Mingyu. Initially, the burden was shared with his parents, a delicate balancing act of familial obligations. However, as Mingyu navigated through his teenage years, his penchant for trouble escalated, prompting Jeonghan to shoulder the responsibility more exclusively.

Considering the high schooler's propensity for getting into mischief, Jeonghan made a conscious decision not to burden his aging parents further. He chose to bear the weight of guardianship alone, shielding his elderly parents from the additional stress.

As he prepared to confront Mingyu's latest misadventure at the police station, Jeonghan couldn't help but ponder the alternate scenario. Imagining what would happen if his father received this distressing information brought a shiver down his spine. The elderly patriarch, already burdened with the weight of years, would likely find the news overwhelming.

Jeonghan entered the police station, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he spotted Mingyu in the detention room, anxiously calling out his name. However, his heartbeat skipped a fraction when his eyes fell upon you, seated in front of the officer. The stark contrast in your attire from the previous night caught him off guard, and confusion clouded his features. The officer introduced you as Mingyu's homeroom teacher, and Jeonghan's mind raced to piece together the unfolding situation.

Jeonghan, torn between frustration and the need to understand the circumstances, addressed the officer, "I'm Jeonghan, Mingyu's guardian. What's going on?"

The officer explained the situation, detailing the fight and emphasizing the need for the guardian's presence before Mingyu could be released. Jeonghan's gaze shifted between you and Mingyu, sensing an air of complexity in the dynamics at play.

Other students had already been released and gone home, but Mingyu remained in captivity. You, as the homeroom teacher, withheld the crucial signature needed for his release until Mingyu's guardian arrived.

"Do you have time to talk after this, sir?" Your polite inquiry caught Jeonghan off guard as you both made your way to the parking lot. His eyes briefly flickered at Mingyu, who observed the peculiar atmosphere between his uncle and his homeroom teacher.

Jeonghan, his curiosity piqued, nodded in agreement, and motioned for Mingyu to wait in the car. As Mingyu stepped out of earshot, Jeonghan's heart raced in anticipation. What could you possibly want to discuss? Was it about the events of last night? Did you remember him as vividly as he remembered you?

The memory of the night played in Jeonghan's mind like a vivid reel. Your tight black dress accentuating every curve, flawless makeup adorned with a bold red lipstick, had captivated him. Yet, it was the sweet and unexpectedly addictive scent of caramel popcorn from your cologne that lingered in his thoughts. What a twisted charm you have.

Standing before him in your teaching attire—a baby blue blouse paired with white wide pants—your natural beauty surpassed Jeonghan's expectations. The sudden shift in his breath caught him off guard as he momentarily lost himself in the understated grace you exuded.

"Mr. Yoon?" Your voice broke through his reverie, bringing him back to the present moment.

"I'm so sorry to cause you trouble. I know Mingyu's family is very busy, but your presence was rather important for him and also for me as his homeroom teacher," you explained, and Jeonghan couldn't help but feel a sense of confusion lingering. The events of last night loomed in the background, and he wondered if they would be addressed.

As he waited for an explanation, you continued, "If you have time tomorrow morning, I would like to have a discussion about Mingyu's future education and career. Here's my contact information: Just in case you couldn't be present tomorrow, please inform me."

Jeonghan found himself in the counseling room of Mingyu's high school, bewildered by an inexplicable impulse that led him to cancel a crucial meeting. Outside, he waited with a strange mix of patience and nervous anticipation, uncertain of the forthcoming conversation. The memory of the recent hotel encounter lingered—an unspoken chapter between you two.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Yoon. I just finished a class. Thank you for coming. Do you need anything? Tea? Coffee?" Your unexpected presence disrupted Jeonghan's thoughts, prompting him to swiftly adjust his posture as he graciously declined your offer.

Seated across from him, technically in front of the table that acted as a silent mediator, you handed Jeonghan Mingyu's academic report. As he immersed himself in its contents, a narrative of Mingyu's scholastic journey unfolded, a canvas painted with both struggles and untapped potential.

The room held tension, an unspoken dialogue brewing beneath the surface. Jeonghan's eyes moved meticulously over the report, absorbing the nuances of Mingyu's academic challenges juxtaposed with his aspirations.

"As you can discern, Mingyu faces academic challenges. However, he stands as our school's basketball captain with tremendous potential for a professional career," you began, extending another paper containing Mingyu's career aspirations.

The weight of Mingyu's familial background as a businessperson hung in the air. "But, Mr. Yoon, Mingyu himself expressed zero interest in the business industry; his heart is set on pursuing a career in sports."

Jeonghan gently placed the report on the table, his hand following suit. His eyes, now directed at you, betrayed a mix of surprise and realization. "I never knew about this," he confessed, the admission carrying a layer of contemplation.

Jeonghan's mouth grew dry as he spoke, gratitude laced in his words. "Thank you so much for telling me this. Mingyu and I never really had a conversation about his school or his hobby."

You nodded empathetically, acknowledging the complexities of understanding a high schooler. "I understand, Mr. Yoon. Mingyu might seem like a very happy teenager, but we never truly know what's inside his head. I recommend you have a talk with him regarding his future; it'll be a good approach in case you two have different perspectives, and I believe both perspectives are important."

Jeonghan, appreciating the advice, nodded in agreement. "Thank you so much for the suggestion. Ms...?"

You gasped, covering your mouth, in a moment of realization. "Oh my goodness, I haven't introduced myself. Y/n, Ji Y/n. I'm a Korean teacher and also Mingyu's homeroom teacher."

As Jeonghan smiled, he expressed gratitude for Mingyu having a kind and attentive teacher. The mention of considering private school after the last incident hinted at the complexities of Mingyu's situation. "Ms. Ji, I am glad to know that Mingyu has a very kind and attentive teacher in his school. My family has considered sending him to a private school since the last incident. But I don't think we have to."

Jeonghan swore he noticed a faint blush on your cheeks as a soft chuckle escaped you. "It was such a big compliment for a teacher like me, Mr. Yoon," you responded, your tone carrying a modest grace. The unexpected exchange left a subtle warmth in the air, a departure from the serious tone of their earlier conversation.

As the discussion concluded, both of you walked out of the counseling room. Jeonghan nodded appreciatively as you motioned the way to the school entrance, a tacit agreement to walk together. The rhythmic tap of your shoes against the hallway floor echoed the unspoken tension lingering between you two.

Upon reaching the entrance, Jeonghan felt an itch to address the elephant in the room. Did you recognize him from the recent one-night stand just two days ago? "Ms. Ji..." he began, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

You turned to him, your attention fully on him, a smile gracing your face. Jeonghan, in that moment, found himself captivated by your smile, his gaze unconsciously drawn to your lips. Memories of the recent encounter flickered in his mind, an unexpected longing surfacing.

"Perhaps..." Jeonghan hesitated, his mind wrestling with the question he was about to pose. "Have we ever met before?"

He shook his head hastily, answering his own question before you had the chance. "No," he said, the denial leaving a lingering tension in the air.

"Perhaps you remember me?"

Your eyes widened at his inquiry, and the sudden realization flickered in your gaze. Jeonghan's unspoken question had found its answer.

Your walls were clenching as Jeonghan thrust into you passionately. The way you moan around the room made Jeonghan's head go dizzy. You whisperedly asked him to speed up the pace before your lips met each other, craving the moistness caused by lust.

"You're so tight, baby." Jeonghan's sigh escaped from his mouth as his pelvis moved harder than before, earning your climax. He swore that the way you clenched him had sent him into heaven. Your sinful moans are Beethoven's masterpiece. The way your lips flushed, your cheeks stained red, and your hair stuck to your forehead were magical sights for him.

His left hand roamed your body. Praise them like you are such a goddess of beauty. His finger has met your nerves, and playing it has made your walls clench him even more, making it harder to thrust.

A moan slipped out of his mouth as he could feel your walls tighten and you hit your climax. The thrust became slopier, and it was the moment he felt that he was ready to burst because of you.

"Where do you want it, baby?" Jeonghan whispered in your ear. Thrusting you harder is a sign for you to answer him immediately, or he might burst inside you.

"My mouth, my mouth, please."

Shit, you'll be the death of him.

"Argh.."

Jeonghan's eyes are wide open. He just cummed on his bed while sleeping. Jeonghan blinked, his surroundings shifting from the intimate scene to the familiar sight of his bedroom. The remnants of the dream lingered, leaving him disoriented. He sighed, realizing it was all just a vivid fantasy playing in his subconscious mind. The sensations, the passion—all evaporated as he woke up to the reality of his empty room.

Jeonghan shook his head, trying to dispel the lingering heat of the dream. The intensity of the emotions felt so real, yet he was alone in his bed, his body untouched by the events that had unfolded in his mind.

Jeonghan, dressed in his work attire, couldn't help but notice Mingyu having breakfast at the table. Reflecting on yourr conversation from the previous day, he decided to break his usual routine and take a seat across from his nephew. It had been quite some time since Jeonghan had the chance to grab a morning meal.

As Mingyu chewed his food, his uncle's unexpected presence halted the motion of his jaw. The helper, accustomed to preparing breakfast for Mingyu alone, observed the unusual scene with curiosity. Confusion knitted Mingyu's brow as he wondered about Jeonghan's sudden change in behavior.

Jeonghan broke the silence, "How's school, Mingyu?" Mingyu, caught off guard, stammered a bit before replying, "Great, I have a lot of fun in this school."

Jeonghan nodded, deciding to share his own surprise. He casually mentioned that he had visited Mingyu's school the day before. Mingyu's reaction was unexpected, a slight protest evident on his face. Jeonghan, raising an amused eyebrow, asked, "Why are you so worked up?"

Mingyu confessed, "I don't want to be transferred to another school. What happened last time was a mistake of mine; I failed to control myself." He dropped his head, a mix of guilt and apprehension clouding his expression.

Jeonghan's brow rose, and he clarified, "Who said you're going to be transferred?" Mingyu, bewildered, tried to explain, "I heard that—"

Cutting him off, Jeonghan interjected, "I met your homeroom teacher. She told me you're a really good basketball player in school. Is that true?" A hint of pride and curiosity danced in Jeonghan's eyes, dispelling any misunderstanding that Mingyu might have had.

Mingyu's cheeks colored with embarrassment as he shrugged, "I don't know. She's praising me so much by saying that to you."

Jeonghan chuckled softly, a playful glint in his eyes. "Do you want to go to a sports school in the future?" he asked, curious about Mingyu's aspirations, although he already had a good idea of the answer.

Mingyu shrugged back, asking tentatively, "Would you let me?"

Mirroring Mingyu's movement, Jeonghan replied, "Of course, why not?"

A wide smile lit up Mingyu's face upon hearing his uncle's supportive words. His laughter bubbled with excitement as he processed what had just transpired. "No way! Is Ms. Ji behind this?" Mingyu shook his head in disbelief. "Woah, Ms. Ji... Woah! I can't believe this."

Jeonghan observed his nephew's elation with amusement, his mind already brewing with a mischievous idea. "With one condition," he added, immediately causing Mingyu's smile to drop.

"What is it?" Mingyu asked impatiently.

Jeonghan rose from his seat, finishing his breakfast and preparing to leave for work. Just as he was about to go, he turned his head toward Mingyu and dropped a bombshell, "Set me up with Ms. Ji."

He walked away, leaving Mingyu stunned and taken aback by his uncle's unexpected request. The air hung with a mix of surprise and anticipation as Mingyu processed the playful twist his uncle had added to the morning conversation.

#densworld🌼#seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen angst #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagine #seventeen series #seventeen fic #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #svt smut #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan smut #jeonghan x reader

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pxnsneverland · 7 months ago

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Something Immortal | Biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 1)

plot summary: In the gritty underbelly of a city ruled by werewolf biker gangs, Austin Butler reigned supreme as the ruthless leader of his pack. A man of unwavering ferocity, he lied, killed, and stole without remorse, living by a code of violence that defined his kind. Yet, even Austin harbored a secret weakness – his childhood friend Bonnie Barlow, the one woman he had loved in silence for years. Bonnie's father had once been part of Austin's gang, but after his death, she fled the treacherous world of the werewolves, unable to stomach the endless cycle of crime and brutality. For five years, she remained a fugitive from her own nature, until a fateful night when her life took an irreversible turn. Freshly released from a two-year prison stint, Austin returned to his pack, reveling in the debauchery of their den. But his revelry was cut short by a frantic call from Bonnie, pleading for his aid. Rushing to her side, he uncovered a grim truth – in a desperate act of self-defense against her abusive boyfriend, Bonnie had taken a life, awakening the dormant werewolf within her. As the next full moon loomed, she would undergo her first agonizing transformation, a fate she had always dreaded. Defying the pack's ruthless code, Austin sheltered Bonnie, guiding her through the excruciating metamorphosis that tore through her body each lunar cycle. In the depths of her torment, their bond rekindled, blossoming into a love they had long suppressed. Nights of shared laughter and reminiscence gave way to stolen moments of tenderness, their connection deepening with every passing moon. Yet, their newfound bliss was a fragile thing, forever threatened by the harsh realities that governed their world. For Bonnie was branded a deserter, her very existence a betrayal in the eyes of the pack. If Austin's treachery was uncovered, retribution would be swift and merciless.

pairings: biker!austin butler x oc

word count: 2746

warnings/notes: violence, mentions of murder, gang activity

Chapter 1: The Alpha's Return

As Austin pushed open the heavy oak door, the overwhelming cacophony of sound hit him like a physical force. The deep bass of the music thrummed through his chest and reverberated in his ears. The mixture of sweat, alcohol, and cigarette smoke assaulted his senses as he made his way into the dimly lit bar. Flickering lights hung haphazardly above the scattered tables and stools, casting shadows that seemed to dance with the rhythm of the music. In one corner of the bar, a group of men gathered around a pool table, their voices loud and boisterous as they cheered on their game. In another corner, a couple was engaged in a heated argument, their voices rising above the din of the bar.

Jerry Thompson, known as 'The Butcher' for his towering stature and imposing presence, immediately spotted Austin from his perch at the bar. Jerry's muscular arms were adorned with intricate tattoos that seemed to come alive with each movement as he stood up to greet Austin. His leather jacket emitted a low creaking sound as he moved, adding to his intimidating aura. With sharp eyes constantly scanning the room, he appeared to be assessing every person and potential threat.

"Austin!" Jerry bellowed with a wide grin, revealing his crooked teeth. Austin returned the gesture with equal enthusiasm and they met in a brief but firm hug, both happy to see each other after so long apart.

"Ace of Spades!" Jerry exclaimed, slapping Austin's back with a hearty laugh. The impact sent vibrations through Austin's body and he couldn't help but grin at his friend's exuberance. His booming voice echoed throughout the dimly-lit bar, drawing the attention of the other patrons. Heads turned, conversations paused, and eyes widened as they caught sight of the alpha in their midst.

"Still got your sense of humor, I see," Austin replied with a smirk. Despite the weariness in his voice, his piercing blue eyes sparkled with a fierce determination that radiated authority. He let his gaze wander around the room, taking in the familiar faces of his pack members and noting the new ones who had joined in his absence. The gang had clearly grown in numbers'.

"The pack's missed you," Jerry said, his deep voice barely audible over the pounding bass of the music. He motioned towards a back booth where a few burly men sat hunched over their drinks, their eyes gleaming under the dim lights. Jerry's eyes darted around the dimly lit room, his body tense with unease. He leaned in closer to Austin, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Things haven't been easy since you've been gone; a few of the newer guys, they don't respect the code... or you."

Austin straightened up, his gaze sweeping over the assembled group. The tension in his posture was palpable as he issued a silent challenge. "Name them," he demanded, his voice laced with authority and steel.

Jerry seemed to hesitate for a moment, his gaze trailing away from Austin’s intense stare. He let out a deep sigh, the weight of the situation evident on his weathered face. Finally, with a heavy hand he pointed towards the corner of the bar where two young bikers were shooting pool. Their boisterous laughter filled the room, oblivious to the fact that they were being talked about.

“Those two. Dal and Jimmy.” Jerry’s voice was rough and gruff, barely audible above the rowdy crowd. “Think they can run things their way. They’ve been challenging your rules ever since you left.”

Austin’s piercing gaze followed Jerry’s finger and then slowly moved to focus on the two men in question. They seemed hardly more than boys really, their matching leather jackets and cocky attitudes giving off the impression of overgrown pups trying to mark their territory. The sight of them sparked something in his chest - a cold, calculated anger that had him clenching his fists at his sides. “I see.” His words were sharp and clipped, void of any emotion except for a simmering rage that only those who knew him well could detect. With a determined stride, he pushed past Jerry and made a beeline towards Dal and Jimmy who were still engrossed in their game of pool. The tension in the room felt palpable as all eyes turned to watch Austin approach the group of challengers. Austin's body visibly trembles with a mix of rage and anticipation as he approaches the oblivious duo. His broad shoulders square up, ready for a fight, while his icy gaze pierces through them like a sharp blade. The laughter dies down around them as they finally notice the Alpha's approach.

Dal, a lanky man with a scar running down the side of his face, meets Austin's stare with a smug smirk that exudes defiance. Jimmy, shorter and stockier with a wild mop of red hair, takes an instinctive step back in fear and quickly averts his gaze under Austin's intense stare.

With a voice full of authority and malice, Austin addresses them. "You got a problem with my rules?”

Dal's smirk twists into a snarl as he leans back against the pool table, crossing his arms over his chest in challenge. "Our problem ain't with your damn rules, Butler," he spits out Austin's title with contempt. "Our problem is with you.”

The pool stick falls from Dal's grip with a loud clatter as he stands, his eyes blazing with anger. "You've been locked up for two years and now you think you can just waltz back in here and reclaim your throne as alpha?" He takes a threatening step forward, his voice dripping with disdain. "We've managed just fine without you, Butler. Who's to say you're still the strongest?"

"Is that a challenge, Dal?" Austin's voice pierced through the dim bar like a shard of ice, freezing the air around them. His crystal blue eyes glinted with a dangerous intensity as they locked onto Dal, who could feel his heart rate quicken under the alpha’s unwavering stare. The muscles in Austin's arms bulged as he stood tall, crossing them over his broad chest in a show of dominance

Dal shifted uneasily, almost feeling physically pinned under the weight of Austin's intense glare. The smirk on his face vanished, replaced by a fierce determination that hardened his features. Meeting Austin's gaze head-on, he squared his shoulders and spoke with a steely resolve, “Yeah, Butler. It is."

Without warning, Austin lunged at Dal with such ferocious speed that he was nothing but a blur. The crowd's hushed gasps were drowned out by the sickening thud of Austin's fist connecting with Dal's face. A fresh cut on his lip oozed blood as he lay sprawled on the ground, his body trembling with pain and shock.The air in the room seemed to thicken with tension as Dal slowly rose to his feet, wiping the blood away with a shaking hand. His gaze locked onto Austin's, filled with a fiery defiance. Without hesitation, he launched himself at Austin, their bodies colliding in a flurry of fists and grunts. But Austin was a force to be reckoned with, easily overpowering Dal with his brute strength and merciless blows. Each punch landed like a sledgehammer, causing bones to crack and skin to split. The smell of iron permeated the air as blood spilled, staining the floor beneath them. Dal was no match for Austin's relentless assault. A thunderous left hook knocked him off balance, leaving him dazed and stumbling. Before he could regain his bearings, Austin charged at him like a raging animal, slamming him back against the pool table.

Pain exploded through Dal's body as he hit the hard surface, gasping for air as if his lungs had been crushed. He struggled to focus through blurred vision, gazing up at Austin who loomed over him like a giant. With one final burst of strength, Dal tried to push himself up off the table, only to receive a brutal kick to the gut that sent him crashing back down. As he lay there, helpless and defeated, all he could taste was blood and defeat in his mouth.

Austin stood over him, chest heaving and fists clenched. His ice-blue eyes were alight with a victorious glint as he looked down at his conquest. The crowd parted in silence, every pair of eyes glued to the spectacle. Austin’s gaze shifted from Dal to the onlookers, his expression stern and unwavering. His voice rang out clear and commanding through the silence, “Let this be a lesson to all of you - I am your alpha, your leader...and I will not tolerate disloyalty or disrespect in my pack.”

He cast a final glance at Dal, then turned towards Jerry who had been watching the scene unfold from the sidelines. The Butcher's face bore a grimace of satisfaction; he approved of what Austin had done. Austin slowly walked back to him, the crowd parting to make way for their leader.

"Painful but necessary," Jerry muttered as he draped an arm around Austin's shoulder, "hopefully this little display of power will keep them in line."

Austin simply nodded his agreement, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. However, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. He knew that he had needed to assert his authority but the violent encounter left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hoped that no other member would dare to challenge him; he didn't want to shed any more blood of his own pack. But he would stand his ground and uphold order, no matter the cost.

"Well, that was a helluva welcome back party," Jerry chuckled and slapped Austin on the back. The two walked to the exit, their imposing figures outlined by the dimly lit bar behind them. Austin didn’t respond; his thoughts were elsewhere – on Bonnie Barlow. How would she react to tonight's events? Would she be afraid of him...or for him? As Austin sat in his cell, thoughts of Bonnie consumed his mind. She had been his only source of comfort during his time in jail, and now that he was out, she still lingered in his thoughts. It had been five long years since he last saw her, and he couldn't help but wonder how she had been and what she was up to now. Memories of her petite figure and expressive eyes flooded his mind, stirring a mix of emotions within him. Remorse for the mistakes he made and an intense yearning to see her again. His heart clenched at the reality of his situation. He wasn't just a man – he was an alpha, a werewolf. And Bonnie? She was the quiet beauty who had found her way into his heart, and then fled from the violent world he inhabited. Even as he craved to have her back in his life, Austin couldn’t help but acknowledge the bitter truth. The world he ruled with an iron fist was no place for someone as delicate and empathetic as Bonnie.

With a troubling thought gnawing at his mind, Austin abruptly shrugged off Jerry's arm and strode out into the cool, crisp night air. His heavy boots crunched with each step on the gravel path as he made his way to his motorcycle. The machine stood there like a ferocious animal lying in wait, its metallic body glinting in the moonlight.

"Hey, where you off to?" Jerry called after him, but Austin did not even spare a glance as he pulled on his leather gloves and climbed onto his ride. His mind was too cluttered with thoughts of Bonnie, bittersweet memories that brought both solace and a haunting pain.

The engine roared to life beneath him, a low growl that reverberated through the peaceful night. With one last look at the bar where his pack was still celebrating their leader's victorious return, he revved the engine and tore off into the darkness. The wind whipped against his face as he raced down the deserted roads, slicing through the quiet stillness of the night. He welcomed the chilling gusts, hoping they would blow away the weight of remorse weighing on him. But no amount of speed or distance could erase Bonnie's image from his mind or ease the ache in his heart. His thoughts kept returning to that fateful day five years ago when Bonnie had left.

She had vanished into the ether, leaving behind a void in Austin's life that he couldn't fill. No call, no text, no warning. One day, they were holding each other at her father's funeral - her tears staining his shoulder and his arms wrapped tightly around her. The next day, she was gone, taking all traces of herself with her. Austin searched high and low, calling every number he had for her and knocking on every door he could think of. But she had disappeared without a trace, leaving him feeling lost and alone. Weeks turned into months, which turned into years. The uncertainty of not knowing where Bonnie had gone or even if she was still alive weighed heavily on Austin's mind and heart. He would wake up from nightmares, drenched in sweat and trembling, his thoughts consumed by visions of Bonnie being hurt or in danger. As much as he wanted to protect her like he did when they were younger, he couldn't do anything if he didn't even know where she was.

The soft purr of his motorbike echoed through the stillness, offering him a strange sense of tranquility as he veered down onto the dirt path that led home. Austin’s cabin, nestled in the secluded wilderness away from town, was as rugged and unyielding as he was. A shabby structure with weathered timber walls and a roof so worn it seemed to blend into the overcast night sky. Sliding off his bike, Austin crossed the threshold, stepping into the austere living space. Minimalistic and practical just like him. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, its hearth filled with charred logs from a fire long gone. The rest of the furniture was plain and functional - a worn-out couch, a small dining table, and his bed tucked into an alcove.

He shrugged off his leather jacket and made his way to the worn-out armchair by the fireplace, sinking into its familiar comfort. Pouring himself a glass of whiskey from a dusty bottle, he stared at the golden liquid swirling within. Each drop mirrored years of torment and solitude that had gradually gnawed away at his soul. Drinking was not his means to drown the pain; instead, it was more of a ritual – an acknowledgement of his broken spirit and an attempt to numb the hurt festering within. The air around him crackled as he struck a match and brought it close to the dry logs in the hearth. The fire leaped up instantly, hungry flames lapping at the wood while releasing whispers of smoke into the air. Austin watched the dance of the fire, his mind lost in the glowing depths as he sipped from his glass. The warmth of the Scotch spread through him, a perfect foil to the cold emptiness he had grown accustomed to. The silence of his cabin was only broken by the sporadic crackle of the flames and the quiet hum of woodland creatures outside. This solitude was his sanctuary and yet it was also his prison cell.

The tranquil silence was broken in an instant by a shrill ring that made Austin jump. He quickly realized it was his cell phone, a device he hadn't heard from in what seemed like ages. His fingers fumbled for the familiar weight in his pocket, almost forgetting it had been there this whole time. The screen displayed ‘Unknown’ as the call persisted, daring him to answer and reveal the identity of the caller. Who could be reaching out to him, someone he had not seen at the bar? With a deep breath, Austin pressed accept and brought the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?" His voice came out rough and hesitant.

"Austin," said a soft voice on the other end.

Instantly recognizing the voice that had haunted his thoughts for years, Austin's heart began to race in his chest. The drink in his hand suddenly felt like a lead weight, and he carefully set it down on the small wooden table beside him. His fingers trembled slightly as he tightened his grip on the phone, as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

"Bonnie..."

Stay tuned for part 2!! Click HERE to view!

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luvrseung · 1 year ago

Text

𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬

## pairing(s)! motorcycle driver heeseung! x yn!

## synopsis! yn's life takes an unexpected turn when she catches her boyfriend cheating on her and she meets the mysterious Heeseung, a captivating man on a motorcycle. After a brief yet memorable encounter, he vanishes, leaving her longing for more. Months later, they cross paths again. Yn's mixed emotions and Heeseung's determination do they have a happy ending?

## genre! not too bad angst, fluff at the end ! Idk dude I just work here

## wc! 8.9k

## warning(s)! cursing, and not much else?? but if u feel like there should be a warning for anything else, please let me know asap!!

## a/n! THIS IS MY LONGEST FIC EVER EVERRRRR. its currently 4:15 am as i post this and i have class at 11! hahaha.. anyways. inspo hit me like a truck... well, like a motorcycle HEHEHE. ahem.. okay. i hope you guys like this i really enjoyed writing it! please send me any feedback! mwah mwah i love uu i go sleep now! also pls don't mind any typos or errors im so delirious rn thank u bye bye

You step out of the dimly lit restroom, returning to the bar, only to find an empty seat beside you, where your boyfriend was seated just moments ago. His jacket remains draped over the backrest, a silent testament to his brief absence. Curiosity piques your interest as you assume he must have also ventured to the restroom. Settling in, you rest your head on your hand, elbow propped against the sleek bar, and survey the vibrant club that surrounds you. The music's thunderous pulse reverberates through your chest, infusing the air with almost a tangible energy. A sensual blend of alcohol and alluring perfumes weaves a heavy tapestry which fills your senses. In this tantalizing environment, the crowd is a dynamic kaleidoscope of movement and emotion—dancers, laughter, clinking glasses, tendrils of smoke swirling upward—each contributing to the sensory feast. Among the sea of passion and revelry, a singular couple draws your unwavering attention. Their fervent embrace seems to defy the boundaries of time and space, an intense kiss that hangs on the precipice of necessity. In an instant, your heart plummets, and the couple reluctantly disentangles from each other. As your gaze locks onto their faces, the unfolding revelation leaves you breathless.

As you rise from your barstool, your steps carry a mix of uncertainty and disbelief, drawing you inexorably toward the pulsating heart of the dance floor. The scene before your eyes demands confirmation, and what you find shatters your world in an instant. There, under the chaotic spell of the music's relentless rhythm, stands your boyfriend, now a stranger, locked in a passionate embrace with another woman. Her arms are a seductive snakily coil around the back of his neck, and their laughter mingles with the infectious beats of the music, now assaulting your ears as you reach the realization of betrayal. A concoction of emotions—upset, betrayal, and the intoxicating fumes of alcohol—swirl within you, drawing you forward as the heat crawls up your face and flows into the rest of your body. Your feet guide you through the trembling beat, and, with a burst of fiery rage, you confront the pair. In an act of defiance and heartbreak, your open palm collides with your now ex-boyfriend's cheek in a resounding slap, the sound lost in the under the booming music that fills the club. The mysterious girl, who moments ago was dancing with him, stumbles back, her face etched with shock and disbelief. With your wounded pride, you retreat to the sanctuary of the bar. A final shot materializes before you, its amber contents beckoning with an illusory promise of numbness. You down the drink with the recklessness and no caution, the burn in your throat eclipsed by the feeling of your shattered heart.

You inform the bartender with a casual wave that the responsibility for the bill rests with the man you arrived with, an excuse that offers a semblance of dignity as you navigate your unsteady exit from the bar's confines. The city's nightlife swirls around you, a vivid blanket of neon lights and indistinct conversations. Perched on the curb outside the bar, you release a heavy, audible sigh that seems to resonate with the depth of your emotions. The exasperated "pfft" escapes your lips as you dismissively mutter, "What a waste." you recline, propping yourself up on your arms behind you, while your gaze ascends towards the night sky. It's as if you're summoning the attention of a god you don't even believe in, the stars and the moon bearing witness to your turmoil. Unbidden tears begin to well in your eyes, forming glistening pools that threaten to overflow. Yet, in a strange paradox, laughter bubbles up from within your heavy chest, as if mocking the absurdity of the situation. "He made a mistake… losing me? How stupid," you whisper to yourself, the words a bittersweet blend of self-affirmation and ironic amusement. Your tears, now fallen, trace glittering paths down your cheeks, their journey reflecting the city's glimmering lights. You cast your gaze downward, scrutinizing your ensemble—a striking red dress that billows around you, paired with towering, sleek black heels. In that moment of reflection, you realize that it was not you who was lost; it was him. Your attire serves as a poignant reminder that you are a treasure to be cherished, a realization that strengthens your resolve even as tears continue to fall.

Amid the quiet solace of your unspoken sorrows, the sudden roar of a motorcycle's powerful engine reverberates through the air, and your attention is instinctively drawn to the source. With a magnetic allure, the motorcycle glides to a stop not far from your lonesome, commanding your undivided focus. You study the machine as if decoding a riddle; its lustrous body gleams in pristine white, a stark contrast to the glinting silver rims of the wheels. The interior and seats, ensconced in shadowy allure, exude an air of enigmatic sophistication, cloaked in inky blackness. Seated astride this mechanical masterpiece is a man who embodies a paradox of rugged elegance. He possesses a commanding yet lean figure, an epitome of grace and strength that defies the bounds of convention. Draped in a formidable, protective black jacket, his attire is sending your brain into a frenzy. Fitting black jeans encase his legs, while black gloves envelope his hands with a subtle promise of concealed purpose. Each step echoing an aura of intrigue, he dons a pair of black Doc Marten boots, their resolute presence amplifying his enigmatic appeal. Atop the mysterious man’s figure sits a gloss-black helmet, its contours hinting at the mysteries that lie beneath.

With deliberate grace, he lifts the helmet from his head, revealing a crown of luxurious, dark purple locks. Your astonishment lingers in the air, and you can't help but be drawn to the allure of this captivating stranger. To call your fascination mere curiosity would be a gross understatement. Each of his features appears meticulously crafted, from his silver-clad ears adorned with earrings, to a proud and tall nose, and his eyes—those big beguiling orbs that seem to harbor a pool of secrets within. It's a visage that commands attention, the embodiment of an elusive charm that ignites your every sense. In a moment of serendipity, your eyes meet, the spark of connection bridging the gap between strangers. He saunters toward the store adjacent to the bar, a fleeting look of mischief dancing in his eyes. A playful wink and an enigmatic smile are cast in your direction, a wordless invitation that beckons with a magnetic pull. He dismounts from his motorcycle with an elegance that mirrors the grace of a dancer, setting the helmet upon the seat . As he disappears into the depths of the store, the intoxicating combination of your inebriation and the fragile state of your emotions conspire to form a whimsical yet irresistible decision. It's a gravitational force that leaves you with no choice but to step into the store and follow the purple-haired enigma, your heart beating in time with the uncharted journey that awaits.

As the convenience store door chimes melodically with your entry, a tingle of excitement courses through the air. The purple-haired enigma, the pull of destiny that brought you here, stands before you, a magnetic presence that seems to command every aisle. His striking figure exudes an aura that is both electrifying and tantalizing, and you can't help but gravitate toward him. With fluid grace, he reaches into the fridge to retrieve a drink, his movements a mesmerizing dance of confidence. You approach, and behind the cool, glass refrigerator door, your eyes lock in a seductive connection. He acknowledges your presence with a sultry smile that ignites the room. With an air of unshakable self-assuredness, you compliment his sleek motorcycle, your words laced with a smoldering charm. His response is a flirtatious grin, and as he rises to his full, towering height, he gazes down upon you, a titillating hint of promise in his eyes. "Thanks, ever been on a bike before, pretty girl?" he inquires, the huskiness of his voice sending electric shivers down your spine. Butterflies flutter wildly in your stomach as his words hang in the air. You return the provocative banter, testing the waters of this intriguing encounter. “Is this an invitation mr……?.”

“Heeseung. Lee Heeseung.” He introduces himself with a name that rolls off his tongue like a forbidden secret—Lee Heeseung. His playful response drips with allure, and you find yourself ensnared in the the moment. "And maybe it is an invitation… if you're willing to accept, Miss …..”? Your own name tastes sweeter than ever on your lips as you tease him with a hint of coyness, “Yn. Y/ln Yn. And why should I Lee?” Heeseung's perceptive eyes dart to the mascara-stained traces of tears on your face, his gaze tracing the invisible scars etched upon your soul. He tenderly points to your head, his words laden with a quiet understanding. "Judging by the mascara-stained tears on your face, I think a ride would fix whatever troubled that pretty little head of yours." A shy smile dances upon your lips, your heart pounding with a mixture of vulnerability and courage. "Got an extra helmet, then?" You say as acceptance to his offer. Heeseung's smirk deepens, his voice dripping with a seductive promise. "Good girl. Of course I do. You never know who needs a good ride." The air crackles with the electrifying energy of an adventure about to unfurl, as you and Lee Heeseung step into the thrilling unknown, united by the allure of the night.

In one hand, he clutches a tall, foreboding can of Monster energy drink, its vibrant, neon label a stark contrast to the other hand, which cradles a diminutive yellow box adorned with the endearing label "banana milk." The curious combination of his selections hints at the multifaceted personality of the man who has now become your enigmatic companion. With the transaction complete, the two of you emerge from the convenience store, and Heeseung extends a seemingly casual but unmistakably thoughtful gesture—offering you the little yellow box of banana milk. You accept it with a raised eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. "How'd you know I liked this, Lee?" you inquire, your voice touched by intrigue. A mischievous smile graces Heeseung's lips as he leans in a bit closer, and his response dances on the edges of flirtation, causing the butterflies in your stomach to stir with newfound hunger. "Pretty girls, like you, like banana milk," he teases, his words delivered with an artful charm that sends a shiver of excitement coursing through you. Grateful for his gesture, you return the enchanting smile, the air thick with an electrifying tension. As you both make your way toward the magnificent motorcycle that had initially captivated your attention, anticipation courses through your veins, setting your body aglow with excitement. You stand behind Heeseung, observing his every move with eager eyes. With practiced ease, he opens a concealed compartment at the back of the bike, revealing a second helmet that bears a striking silver star on either side. It's a unique touch that adds to the enigma of the man before you. Heeseung places your drinks within the compartment, where the second helmet once resided. With a smooth and assured motion, he secures the compartment and then offers you your designated helmet, a symbol of the adventure you're about to embark on together. As you accept the helmet from his hand, the magnetic connection between you deepens, and the night unfolds with the promise of thrilling secrets yet to be unveiled.

With the banana milk safely stowed and the helmet now snug upon your head, the night holds an air of mystery and excitement as you both approach the waiting motorcycle. Heeseung's slender frame moves with grace as he swings a leg over the sleek, white machine. He turns toward you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sends an electric pulse through your veins. "Make sure you hold on, doll," he says, his voice dipped in a heady blend of charm and raw anticipation. His words are laced with a promise of thrilling adventure, and your heart skips a beat as you grasp the significance of this moment. You eagerly position yourself behind him, forgetting all about your ex boyfriend and the events that took place before. your arms wrapping around his lean waist, fingers instinctively clutching the fabric of his black jacket. The powerful engine roars to life beneath you, its growl a primal invitation to the night. Heeseung's gloved hands deftly manipulate the handlebars, and in an exhilarating surge of acceleration, you both glide out of the convenience store's parking lot and onto the main road. The world becomes a mesmerizing blur of vibrant colors and lights as the motorcycle snakes through the city's labyrinthine streets, framed by beautifully illuminated buildings that reach skyward, a testament to humanity's creativity. The cool night air rushes over you, and the city's pulsating energy envelopes you, offering an intoxicating taste of freedom and escape. As the wind whips through your hair, and the city's mesmerizing lights create a captivating painting, you can't help but feel that you've stepped into a dream. With every twist and turn, Heeseung's driving skill reveals itself, and you're reminded of the harmony between man and machine. In this exhilarating dance through the heart of the city, you're not just a passenger; you're a partner in a thrilling adventure, bound by the allure of the night and the enigmatic man who now shares it with you.

As the motorcycle effortlessly weaves through the city's enchanting streets, Heeseung's lean frame seems to meld with the machine, and you can sense his exhilaration in the subtle movements and graceful leans. Every curve and twist of the road is navigated with a fluidity that suggests an intimate understanding between rider and ride. The city's lights create a dazzling panorama around you, and you revel in the symphony of sensations that surrounds you. After what feels like an eternity of blissful exploration, the first hints of daylight begin to break on the horizon, casting a soft, golden glow upon the cityscape. It's a bittersweet reminder that this enchanting ride must eventually come to an end. With a quiet understanding, Heeseung steers the motorcycle to a stop in front of your home, and the engine's growl reluctantly gives way to the stillness of the early morning. As you dismount the bike, you can't help but feel a mixture of gratitude and a hint of longing for the adventure that has brought you closer. Heeseung turns toward you, his eyes holding a sparkle that mirrors the city's lights. "I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did, pretty girl,” he says, his voice a blend of sincerity and allure. "I did enjoy it, lee.” Your eyes lock onto his, and you can't resist a teasing smile. "I have to admit, I'm not sure if it was the city or the company that made it so enjoyable." He chuckles softly, his gaze lingering on you. "Perhaps it's a bit of both. I hope I made you forget what you were crying about earlier.”

With an air of anticipation, Heeseung closes the enchanting gap between you, his footsteps a playful dance that mirrors the rhythm of your heart. You find yourself drawn closer to him, a mix of curiosity and desire, hoping for a kiss that promises to be electric. But Heeseung, ever the tease, surprises you by gently capturing your hand in his gloved grasp. His lips brush against your knuckles, leaving behind a soft and lingering kiss that sends a thrill down your spine. A mischievous sparkle dances in his eyes as he takes a step back, though his hold on your hand remains. A mischievous smirk plays upon his lips as he takes a step back, and your hands, still intertwined, reluctantly part as the space between you expands. but the connection between your souls remains undeniably strong. Heeseung places your helmet back into the motorcycle's compartment, his every motion a graceful symphony of closure, yet the moment is still heavy with the sweet ache of parting. He retrieves the little yellow box of banana milk, and with a look that speaks of unspoken promises and possibilities, he adds to the enchanting ambiance. As you turn away to make your way inside, your heart swells with emotions, and it's then you hear his voice, soft and filled with affectionate playfulness, "Heads up, princess!" Your head snaps around, your eyes locking onto Heeseung seated on the motorcycle, revving the engine with a fervor that mirrors the passion between you. With a flourish, he tosses the banana milk to you, and you catch it . Your heart flutters like a love-struck bird, and you're left standing there, watching the back of his retreating figure with eyes filled with longing. As the cold morning air surrounds you, you're reminded of the warmth and excitement that has filled this magical night. With a heart full of happiness, you finally turn to head inside.

In the cozy sanctuary of your home, you close the door behind you with a gentle sigh, leaning against it as you bask in the afterglow of this night. The memories of what transpired outside are like a symphony of emotions playing in your heart, each note resonating with the tender and profound love that has blossomed between you and Heeseung. The room envelops you in its intimate embrace, illuminated by the soft, warm glow of the night. As you lean against the door, the walls seem to hold the echoes of the moments shared, and you're overcome by a sense of profound romance that fills the very air you breathe. The night was a love story written in the stars, a story of two souls drawn together by destiny and fueled by a love that's destined to endure. Despite breaking every single rule of stranger danger, you wish this night couldve lasted forever.

As you ascend the stairs to your room, a sense of contentment and longing accompanies you. The banana milk, a sweet reminder of an unforgettable night, finds its place on your bedside table, a silent guardian of your dreams. The room envelops you in its cozy warmth, the atmosphere carrying the residual fragrance of romance and adventure. In the dim light, you prepare for a soothing shower, letting the cascading water wash away the remnants of the night. Your thoughts, however, remain tethered to the enigmatic Lee Heeseung. Questions and desires swirl within your mind, like a gentle storm of emotions.

After the warmth of the shower, you don your pajamas from the night before, their familiarity a source of comfort as you slip between the soft sheets of your bed. Your body, tired but satiated, yearns for rest, yet your heart and mind remain restless, still inextricably tangled in the enchantment of the night. Thoughts of him, like whispers in the night, dance through your mind. "When will I see him again?" and "I wish we had exchanged information" echo in the chambers of your thoughts. Who is this mysterious man, Lee Heeseung, who has touched your heart so deeply? The unanswered questions propel you to flip open your phone, your curiosity overriding the myriad missed calls and texts from your unfaithful ex-boyfriend. Instagram becomes your portal to seek out the enigma named Lee Heeseung.

A sense of disappointment settles over you as your search on various social media platforms yields nothing. Lee Heeseung remains a ghost, elusive and untraceable in the digital realm. It's as if he exists only in the echoes of your memories, and the absence of any digital footprint only adds to his mystique. In your moment of quiet contemplation, a yearning for his presence intensifies. The desire to see him again, to unravel the enigma that is Lee Heeseung, becomes an undeniable ache within you. The thought that he knows where you live, and the lingering memories of your night together, offer a glimmer of hope that he might return. The idea that fate might bring you two together once more fills your heart with anticipation and longing. As you close your eyes and surrender to the night's embrace, you can't help but wonder when the stars will align, and the mysterious Lee Heeseung will reappear in your life.

As days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, the longing in your heart grew stronger. Spring had arrived, heralding the return of life and the vibrant colors of the world, yet it also marked the lingering absence of Heeseung, the man who had swept into your life as quickly as a shooting star and vanished just as abruptly. Every motorcycle that whizzed past you on the bustling streets of your city drew your attention like a magnet. A spark of curiosity ignited within you, and the questions were ceaseless. "Was that him? Does he still think of me?" These thoughts had woven themselves into the very fabric of your existence, haunting your every moment. The memories of that unforgettable night had become a bittersweet symphony that played on a loop in your mind.

Despite the love and support of your incredible friends, your loving family, and a fulfilling job, the void Heeseung had left in your life persisted. The allure of "what could've been" weighed heavy on your heart, like a melody left unfinished, a dance cut short, or a love story left untold. In the midst of your everyday life, the longing for the man named Lee Heeseung never waned. Your heart carried the echoes of his touch, the memory of his gaze, and the whispers of a love story that had never fully unfurled. With every passing day, your desire for his return only intensified, like a fire that refused to be extinguished.

It was a typical Tuesday, just like any other weekday, as you made your way into the bustling work building, greeted by the friendly faces of your coworkers who had also become your cherished friends. Jake, ever the playful one, couldn't resist bringing up the topic of your elusive Heeseung. "How are you, YN? Still no luck with this Heeseung guy?" he inquired with a mischievous glint in his eye. You let out a dramatic sigh, a playful air of exasperation in your response. "Unfortunately, no, Jake. Trust me, I would've told you if I had any news," you said with a chuckle. Jay, another dear friend of yours, joined the conversation, bringing with him a delightful surprise in the form of coffee for both you and Jake. With a comforting smile, he chimed in, "Don't worry, Ynnie, maybe he lives in a different town and was just there that night for you!" You couldn't help but offer an appreciative grin in response to Jay's attempt at comfort. His words were like a warm embrace, reassuring you in your quest for answers. Then, a new proposal surfaced, and it was Jay who initiated it. "Oh, by the way, Jake and I found out that there's been underground racing events in our city. We've been meaning to check it out. Wanna come with?" At first, you hesitated, but Jay's persuasive nature quickly took hold. "C'mon, YN!" Jake chimed in, adding his own brand of playfulness. "It'll be fun! Who knows, maybe you'll find Heeseung there! … or a different cute motorcycle guy at least." You let out a laugh that admitted defeat. "Okay, okay, I'll check it out with you guys. But if it's boring, you're buying me a burger." Jay quickly agreed to the wager. "Fine. Deal. But it won't be boring!" he declared with unwavering enthusiasm. "Mhm, we'll see," you replied with a sly grin, anticipating the playful adventures that lay ahead with your close friends, all while hoping that amidst the thrills of underground racing, you might find the one you longed for – or perhaps, something equally captivating.

As the workday drew to a close, you bid your colleagues and friends farewell, exchanging a series of cheerful goodbyes and promises to reconvene tomorrow. Last in line to receive your parting words were your friends, and it was Jake who left you with a playful reminder. "We'll pick you up at 10, ynnie~,” he declared with a mischievous glint in his eye. Your response was a melodious giggle as you affectionately ruffled his hair, a signal of your confirmation.

Once home, the weight of the day's responsibilities dissipated like a passing storm. Shoes were unceremoniously discarded, your bag and jacket flung haphazardly onto the floor, and with a contented sigh, you sank into the inviting embrace of your couch. Retrieving your phone, you embarked on a determined quest to research the underground racing scene, the glimmer of hope in your chest steadily growing brighter with every tap of your fingers.

The prospect of possibly encountering Heeseung again ignited a certain spark in your eyes, a fire of desire that refused to be extinguished. Yet, much like the elusive enigma of the man himself, your online investigation yielded no information about these races. It was as though the world had conspired to keep their existence hidden, a fitting scenario for events that were undoubtedly illegal. As you set your phone aside, your thoughts began to spiral in a torrent of what-ifs. What if Heeseung is there, but his interest had always been elsewhere? What if he's not present? What if he doesn't even notice you? These unceasing questions threatened to consume your mind, and you shook your head, as if such an act could dispel these relentless thoughts. Determined to quell the storm of uncertainties that raged within you, you took a deep breath and resolved to face the night with unwavering optimism.

With the plan in place, you had agreed that the guys would hang out at your place before the big race. Jake and Jay, after their workday, rushed home, got dressed for the evening, and then made their way to your doorstep around 7:30. You swung open the door in your comfy pajamas, greeting the duo with warm hugs and bright smiles. "Alright, guys," you chimed in, "I'm going to get ready now. You said we're leaving at 10, right?" They both confirmed your question with a nod, and you headed upstairs to prepare for the night ahead. As you left the living room, the two friends made themselves at home, lounging comfortably on your couch and taking charge of the TV. The anticipation for the evening ahead filled the air, and the sense of camaraderie between the three of you was a reassuring presence, setting the tone for the exciting adventure that lay just around the corner.

Upstairs in your room, you embarked on the grand battle that is getting ready for a night out. The soft glow of your vanity mirror cast a warm light on your determined face as you transformed your appearance for the evening. Your makeup was an elegant fusion of dark and bold, with a smoky eyeliner that accentuated your eyes and a luscious dark red lip gloss that heightened the allure of your lips. The result was a striking look that suited your features beautifully. You took a few moments to curl the ends of your hair, creating soft, cascading waves that reached down to your lower back. These curls were swept up into a high, sleek ponytail, with two delicate strands left loose to elegantly frame your face. Your outfit had been meticulously selected, not only with Heeseung in mind but also with the exciting prospect of possibly meeting someone new at this enigmatic race. Dark red leather pants, designed to hug your curves in all the right ways, were paired with a lace black tank top, adding a touch of sensuality to your ensemble. To complete the look, you adorned yourself with a black and white leather jacket that draped over your shoulders like whipped cream on a tantalizing sundae. In your full-length mirror, you admired the reflection of a confident and captivating woman, well aware of her own allure. A pair of sleek black boots adorned your feet, and you accessorized with a silver necklace featuring a delicate pendant and matching earrings, adding a touch of sophistication to your ensemble. To crown your transformation, you picked up your favorite perfume bottle, and with each spritz, a beautiful aroma enveloped you like a fragrant embrace. The battle of getting ready was won, and you felt like a queen in your own right. With a final glance in the mirror, you knew you looked stunning and were ready to face whatever the night had in store. With your purse in hand, you headed downstairs, prepared to join your friends who were patiently waiting for you.

"DAMN YN!" Jay and Jake exclaimed in unison as you descended the stairs, the sight of your stunning transformation leaving them momentarily breathless. A beaming smile graced your lips as their admiration washed over you. "Thank you, boys," you replied with a gracious nod, giving them a playful twirl to showcase your meticulously chosen outfit. "Do I look good?" you asked, a hint of playful teasing in your voice. "You know you do," Jay responded with a smile, but he was eager to get going. "Now, let's get moving! It's nearly 10:15." You waved off his concern with a nonchalant chuckle. "Oh, please, there's no way these things start right on time. We're fine. Now, let's make a quick stop at the convenience store so I can get a banana milk, pretty please~" you added with a hint of irresistible charm. The two boys, who had been lounging on the couch, rose from their seats with mock exasperation. Jake couldn't help but mutter a resigned, "Yes, ma'am…" as you playfully led the way, heading into the car where you sat in the backseat.

With a refreshing banana milk tucked safely in your purse, courtesy of Jake's wallet, the three of you arrived at the underground racing event. The venue was located beneath a highway bridge in an area you never even knew existed. you were struck by the sheer scale of the place, surrounded by towering structures that seemed to stretch to the heavens. This perspective, seeing the world from a unique angle, made you feel small in the grand scheme of things, a humbling realization that added to the aura of the night. Lost in your contemplation, you were momentarily unaware that Jay and Jake had already exited the car, with Jake gallantly holding the door open for you. He playfully addressed you, "Here we are, princess," and you responded with a light, affectionate hit on his arm, chuckling, "Oh, cut it out, Jaeyun." A playful exchange of names ensued between the two friends as you headed toward the gathering crowd at the starting line, eagerly awaiting the start of the race. You surveyed the bikers as they lined up in their positions, and your attention was drawn to a particular rider who was surrounded by a group of enthusiastic women. The throng of admirers made it difficult to see his face clearly, but you couldn't help but wonder if it might be Heeseung.

The announcer's voice crackled over the radio, calling on the racers to mount their bikes and prepare for the thrilling competition. Jay and Jake signaled that it was time to find your seats, with Jake instinctively taking your hand to guide you and ensure you didn't get lost in the bustling crowd. As you were led to the front row, you couldn't help but scan the racers one last time. The colorful array of bikes and their determined riders filled the scene with an air of excitement. But then, at the far end, you spotted a white bike, and your heart skipped a beat. Could it be Heeseung's bike? The memories of him came rushing back, and you pointed it out to your friends. "Wait, guys, that might be Heeseung's bike," you mentioned, your voice tinged with both hope and anxiety. Jake and Jay exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. "You think so, YN?" Jay asked, offering a glimmer of doubt. "Maybe it's just a guy with the same motorcycle color as Heeseung, Ynnie. I mean, white bikes aren't that uncommon, right?" Jake reasoned, trying to provide a rational explanation. You shook your head, a familiar gesture you used to clear your thoughts. "Yeah, Jakey, you're probably right. I mean, I haven't seen him in months. It can't be him," you replied, trying to convince yourself as much as your friends. You felt a surge of anxiety but decided to push those thoughts aside and focus on enjoying the race. With the comforting presence of your banana milk, you took a sip and leaned back, hoping that this night would be an adventure to remember, regardless of the outcome.

As the man on the radio commenced announcing the racers' names, an air of anticipation enveloped the crowd. With each name called out, a symphony of revving engines filled the air, punctuated by cheers and applause from the spectators. The excitement was palpable, and you joined in, clapping and cheering for each racer. However, as the announcer neared the end of the line of racers and you waited with bated breath, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. The name you had been hoping to hear, "LEE HEESEUNG," didn't make an appearance. Instead, the announcer declared, "And last but not least, our reigning champion, ACE!" A sigh of regret escaped your lips, revealing your unspoken hope. You observed that the crowd cheered enthusiastically for this "Ace" character, understanding why he had garnered a legion of female admirers. The sense of anticipation still coursed through your veins, but you decided to put aside your initial disappointment and immerse yourself in the exhilarating atmosphere of the race, hopeful that the night would hold some surprises, even if Heeseung's name was absent from the list of competitors.

Snapping you out of your thoughts, Jake directed a question to both you and Jay, inquiring, "Who are you guys rooting for?" Jay was quick to respond, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. "I'm rooting for the guy named Jungwon on that bright blue bike. He seems like an underdog, you know?" Jake couldn't resist poking fun at Jay's choice. "So cheesy," he remarked, provoking Jay to playfully flip him off. Turning to you, Jake's curiosity was evident in his expression as he asked, "What about you, YN?" You pondered for a moment, a mischievous glint in your eye as you gave your answer. "Hmm, maybe that Sunghoon guy, on the black bike. He seems hot," you added, punctuating your response with a giggle. Jay shook his head in mock exasperation, but he couldn't hide a smile. "I'm not even surprised." As the three of you continued to chat and enjoy the electric atmosphere, the announcer's voice broke through, "RACERS, START YOUR ENGINES!" The crowd erupted into cheers, blending with the powerful roar of the motorcycles.

"READY…SET…GO!" The announcer's command was met with a symphony of revving engines, and in an instant, the racers sped off on the manmade track, weaving between the imposing pillars of the bridge above. The sound of the engines and the fervent cheers from the crowd captivated you, and your gaze remained fixed on the racers as they disappeared into the distance, the race now in full swing.

The race unfolded with an intoxicating blend of speed, skill, and sheer adrenaline. The racers zipped around the tight corners and weaved through the narrow gaps between the bridge's pillars, their powerful machines roaring like wild beasts. The air was filled with the intoxicating scent of gasoline and burnt rubber, adding to the sensory overload that engulfed the crowd. The race was paired with commentary by the announcer, “In the lead is ace! Are we surprised? That white bike is a godsend!”

As the racers maneuvered with lightning precision, the crowd couldn't help but be entranced by the sheer spectacle before them. Spectators cheered as their chosen favorites powered through the track, and collective gasps echoed through the audience whenever a close call or a daring move occurred. The atmosphere was electric, charged with the shared excitement of everyone in attendance. Another comment was made by the announcer, “Woah! Look at jungwon pulling through and passing ace on his left! Will this be the first race he wins?”

“I told you guys. Always root for the underdog,” Jay chimes, but your eyes are glued to sunghoon and his black bike.

Amidst the collective fervor, you found yourself mesmerized, your eyes locked onto the racers as they sped past. The world outside the race ceased to exist for those moments, and you were drawn into the raw energy of the event, feeling the vibrations of the engines in your chest and the rush of the wind in your hair. “Here come’s sunghoon! Passing jungwon on his right, and making his way towards the finish line!” Says the announcer.

The announcer's voice crackled through the speakers, adding to the electrifying atmosphere. "WOAH, WOAH!! HERE COMES ACE RIGHT BEHIND SUNGHOON! WHO WILL WIN? THE TWO ARE SIDE BY SIDE, WILL IT BE A TIE? THE FINISH LINE IS RIGHT THERE, AND… ALMOST A PHOTO FINISH! BUT THE WINNER OF THE RACE IS SUNGHOON!"

As the crowd erupted in joyous celebration, the cheers of the spectators seemed to reverberate in perfect harmony with the racing engines. You were swept up in the excitement, joining the chorus of voices, and even rising to your feet as you cheered for Sunghoon, the victor of the race. The thrill of witnessing such a close contest was invigorating, and you couldn't help but be caught up in the jubilation around you. With a playful tone and a hint of what-ifs, you turned to your two friends and exclaimed, "Damn, we should've bet on it. Missed opportunity!" The boys laughed along with you, the infectious joy of the moment drawing them into the celebration. Together, you stood and cheered for Sunghoon, basking in the shared experience of witnessing an extraordinary race and its exhilarating conclusion.

The exhilarating atmosphere of the race drew you, Jay, and Jake, along with the rest of the crowd, to approach the racers as they dismounted their bikes. The audience showered the racers with an array of cheers and encouraging words, from "good job!" to "you'll win next time!" to admiring comments about their impressive machines. As you and your friends navigated your way through the dispersing crowd, you found yourselves face to face with Jungwon, the racer who had been your friend Jay's underdog favorite. Eager to express your admiration, you initiated the conversation, addressing him with warmth, "Hey, Jungwon, right? You were so cool! I thought you were gonna win for a second there!" Jungwon's face lit up with gratitude, and he replied with a sincere smile, "Thank you so much! I thought so too, but I had nooo chance against Ace and Sunghoon." Jay, ever the enthusiast, extended a firm handshake in that classic man-to-man fashion. "Bro! I was rooting for you from the start. You'll see me at the next race," he proclaimed with enthusiasm, earning a "thank you" from Jungwon. With that, the three of you moved on to the next racer, Sunghoon, eager to share your appreciation with the winner.

Sunghoon leaned casually on his sleek black bike, a striking figure with an air of confidence that immediately caught your attention. Up close, you couldn't deny how incredibly handsome he looked, and you were taken aback by his allure. Summoning your courage, you approached the winner, introducing yourself in a soft, friendly tone, "Hi Sunghoon, I'm YN. Congrats on the win, handsome." The compliment had its intended effect, and Sunghoon's eyes focused on you. "Well, hello, Miss YN. Nice to meet you," Sunghoon responded with a smirk, revealing a sharp canine tooth and a dimple that sent a shiver down your spine. You felt yourself blushing in response to his charm. Sunghoon's flirtatious banter continued as he inquired, "You were rooting for me, pretty girl?" He leaned in a little closer, his voice dripping with playful seduction. You met his flirtatious challenge with a sly smile. "Maybe… maybe not," you replied, adding a teasing playfulness to your tone. He feigned disappointment, a twinkle in his eye as he teased, "What a shame, I was gonna offer you a ride." Playing along, you flirtatiously touched his arm, your confidence growing with every word. "Oh, come on, Hoonie, of course I was rooting for you," you confessed with a playful eye roll, a mischievous gleam in your eyes. Sunghoon rewarded your playful admission by tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and for that moment, the world seemed to narrow down to the two of you, engaged in a playful dance of flirtation amidst the post-race excitement. The nickname you garnered for him was definitely working in your favor.

You were so deeply engrossed in your conversation with Sunghoon that you remained oblivious to the intense gaze fixed upon you from the second-place racer, Ace. He watched you with something akin to jealousy, uncertain whether he should approach. Leaving you and Sunghoon in your own world, Jay and Jake made their way over to Ace to offer their congratulations. Jake, always one for humor, attempted to lighten the mood with a lighthearted comment. "Hey, man! You were so cool out there. Second place is still good. Don't be discouraged. I'm sure all these girls still want you," he quipped, though he hadn't realized that Ace's attention was on him. Ace's initial jealousy quickly transformed into a friendly demeanor as he responded, "Yo, thanks for that, haha. Almost won, but I'll win the next one for sure." Jay chimed in with an encouraging pat on Ace's shoulder before the two of them began to walk away. However, Ace couldn’t keep it to himself. He called out to Jay and Jake, nodding in your direction while still engaged in conversation with Sunghoon. "Hey, do you know that girl?" he inquired, his interest piqued. Jay answered without hesitation, a friendly tone in his voice as he looked back toward Ace. "Yeah, that’s yn! We're friends. She came here with us," he explained, his focus now shifting as he moved away from the racer, joining Jake in heading back in your direction, leaving Ace with his thoughts as you continued your conversation with Sunghoon.

As the evening wound down and Jay and Jake were ready to head home, you and Sunghoon decided to exchange numbers, creating a playful connection. Sunghoon, with a charming wink, remarked, "Call me when you wanna ride, beautiful." Your response was just as flirty, "I'll call you when I want to, Hoonie," and you playfully blew him a kiss. As you began to walk away, ready to rejoin your friends in the car, Sunghoon made his way over to Ace, eager to share his little victory. "Bro, I just got the hottest girl's number, and—" Sunghoon began, but before he could finish, Ace roared away on his bike, his jealousy simmering beneath the surface. With your two friends already in the car, you confidently made your way toward them, your spirits high. For that moment, Heeseung had slipped from your thoughts, and the excitement of connecting with Sunghoon filled your mind. However, just as you were about ten feet away from Jay's car, a white motorcycle suddenly cut in front of you, blocking your path to your friends. Startled, you took a step back, your heart racing, and realized that the rider was one of the racers. You cautiously addressed him, "Oh, Jesus Christ, you scared me. Ace, right?" His helmet obscured his face as he nodded, and he proceeded to take it off, revealing his identity.

Your heart sank as the white helmet came off, revealing the vibrant purple hair that had grown longer since you last saw him. The shock washed over you like a tidal wave, and your eyes scanned his familiar face, unable to believe that he was standing there before you, just as he had been months ago. His eyes, large and twinkling, bore into yours, the same way they had done when you first met. "H-Heeseung?" was all you could manage to stammer. The excitement you had felt only moments ago had evaporated, replaced by a rush of tears welling up in your eyes. Every emotion you had held back for months now poured out, glistening like rivers of glittering light. The overwhelming flood of feelings left you lost and unsure of how to proceed. Heeseung spoke, his voice breaking the silence, "Yn, I missed you pretty girl.” But you couldn't handle it. The anger and sadness mixed inside you, driving you to act on impulse. "I can't do this right now, Heeseung. I-I gotta go," you uttered, your voice quivering with raw emotion. You turned and ran towards Jay's car, where the two boys had witnessed the entire interaction. Climbing into the vehicle, you were met with a barrage of concerning questions from your friends. "I'll answer once you start driving. Please. Please start driving," you implored. Jay promptly obeyed your request and sped out of the lot, the car now on the road, the boys eager to ask their questions.

Jake spoke up first, his voice tinged with disbelief, "Yn, who was that?" "Heeseung…" you replied, your voice quivering. "Oh my god, what?!" Jake exclaimed. "Heeseung? Like in, Heeseung Heeseung?" Jay asked, his surprise mirroring Jake's. "Yes, Jay. Heeseung Heeseung. Oh my god, what was he doing there?" you lamented, your words spilling out in a mixture of confusion and emotion. "Wait, isn't this what you wanted, Yn? Why are you so upset?" Jake inquired, trying to make sense of your reaction. You paused, a heavy sigh escaping your lips before you responded, "…because… where has he been? I've spent months, nearly half a year wondering when he'd show up—waiting for him like some lost puppy. And now all of a sudden, I see him today, surrounded by a crowd of girls, only talking to me because I was hitting it off with Sunghoon? I just… I just don't know what's going on. And just now, he says he missed me? Bullshit. Absolute bullshit. He knows where I live; if he missed me so much, he would've visited. I waited months, guys. MONTHS. I just… I'm so—" Jay cut off your rambling rant, his voice filled with understanding and empathy. "Yn, my love, it's okay. Let's get you that burger." In your teary, emotional state, you couldn't help but let out a faint laugh, appreciating Jay's attempt to lighten the mood. Jake reached his hand to the backseat to comfort you, and you clung to it as he gently rubbed circles into your hand. As you sat there, feeling a whirlwind of emotions and confusion, you were grateful that your friends were by your side, offering their support and understanding in your time of need.

With the comforting presence of your friends and the burger in your stomach, you finally arrived home. Jay and Jake had offered to spend the night with you, but you assured them that you appreciated their support but wanted some time alone with your thoughts. Feeling too drained to remove your makeup and outfit, you flopped onto your couch, face-first, and screamed into a throw pillow. The weight of the day and the unexpected encounter with Heeseung left your mind in a tumultuous state. As you lay there, lost in your thoughts, exhaustion overcame you, and you drifted into an uneasy slumber. Some odd hours later, you were startled awake by a persistent knocking on your door. At first, you attempted to ignore it, hoping the person would go away, but the knocking persisted. Reluctantly, you dragged yourself up and went to inspect the door through the peephole. What you saw on the other side took your breath away: a head of purple hair, Heeseung, standing at your doorstep.

Anger surged through your body as you swung the door open, and a torrent of questions spilled from your lips, "What do you want? Why are you here? Why did it take you so long to see me?" The frustration that had been simmering inside you for months finally found its voice, and it was directed squarely at the person who could provide answers. Heeseung began to speak, attempting to explain himself, but you couldn't bear to let him finish. The words tumbled out of you, fueled by the emotions that had been building up over time. "No, Heeseung. Do you know how long I've been waiting for you? How much I wished every motorcycle that passed me on the street was you? I've been so…" The emotional dam broke, and tears cascaded down your cheeks as your voice quivered with pent-up pain and frustration. Heeseung, rather than offering words, brought you into a gentle embrace, his strong arms wrapping around you, and his hand softly patting your head. His voice was a soothing whisper in your ear, "Shh, shh… I'm here now, pretty girl. I'm here. I'm sorry." His comforting presence and reassuring touch allowed you to release your bottled-up emotions. You allowed yourself to cry in his arms, feeling a mixture of anger, relief, and longing all at once. Despite your anger at him in this moment, you couldn't deny that his embrace was warm and welcoming, and it offered a sense of solace that you hadn't realized you had been yearning for.

You and heeseung were now sitting on the couch, cuddling in the darkness of your living room. You decide to break the silence, “Can we talk now, hee?” He begins to play with your hair, offering you a quiet hum in response. “Where have you been? Why haven’t you visited me?” You ask the questions that plagued your mind the most. "Yn, I'm truly sorry for disappearing like that. I had my reasons, but I understand how much it hurt you. I needed some time to sort things out in my life. It's not an excuse, but I want you to know that I've missed you every day, and I regret not being there for you. I'm here now, and I want to make it right, if you'll have me" he answers. “How do I know you’re telling the truth, heeseung? I mean, the first time I saw you today, you were surrounded by all these girls, and how do I know you won’t leave again?” You ask. "I understand your doubts, baby, and I don't blame you for being cautious. The girls today were just fans, and I was trying to keep a low profile. I promise you, I won't disappear again. I want to make it up to you and prove that I'm committed to being in your life. Actions speak louder than words, and I'm willing to show you through my actions that you can trust me." You let out a quiet sigh, “I want to trust you heeseung, I really do. But Im so scared of getting hurt again. Why did you decide to help me out that one day? The day we met? Do you do that to other girls? "I completely understand your fear, Yn. I helped you that day because you seemed like someone genuinely in need, and I felt a connection with you from the start. I don't do that for other girls; our meeting was special and unique. I can't promise you won't ever get hurt, but I can promise that I'll do my best to be there for you and be honest with you. I want to make things right between us. Seriously, my pretty girl” heeseung claims, shifting his body so you guys are face to face now.

As Yn looked into Heeseung's eyes, she saw a sincerity she hadn't seen in a long time. Her heart was still cautious, but the warmth of his embrace had melted some of the ice around it. "Let's take it one step at a time, my “love Heeseung said gently. "I won't rush you, and I'll do my best to earn your trust. We can figure this out together, princess.” Yn nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She was unsure of what the future held, but for the first time in months, she felt a glimmer of hope. As the night continued, they talked, laughed, and shared stories. Yn realized that Heeseung had changed, and maybe she had too. They both had scars, but perhaps together, they could heal. The story of Yn and Heeseung wasn't over; it was just beginning. And for the first time in a long time, they both felt like they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

“Lee Heeseung, if you disappear on me again, I swear to god. Don’t forget I still have sunghoon’s number!” You playfully hit Heeseung. “Okay, okay! Message received ma’am! Now I have a question.” You respond with a hum. “Now who was that boy holding your hand earlier? At the race? Hm?” You laugh and respond teasingly, “Baby, that’s Jake. You really don’t have to worry about him. He’s like my little puppy!”

“My love, you do realize how wrong that sounds?” Heeseung laughs.

#enhypen #enhypen angst #enhypen imagines #enhypen reactions #enhypen x reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen ff #enhypen niki #park sunghoon #enhypen jake #heeseung x reader #heeseung #heeseung imagine #enhypennetwork #ficscafe #enhypen jay

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darlingchronicles · 24 hours ago

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RHYTHM & REVELRY | SEASON 1 | EP 2

pairing; TALKSHOW HOST!FEM!READER X GUITARIST!JJ MAYBANK (SMAU)

summary; as a talk show co-host, topics such as gossip, rumors and scandals pop up left and right. when reader takes a small hit at the lead guitarist of 'surfer junkies' in an episode, a whirlwind of events is gonna sweep her off her feet. that is...if the cameras don't catch it first

notes; reader goes by 'blue' (backstory stuff), reader does not have description and any photos used are just place holders (you can imagine her however you want), inspired by @zyafics and her amazing SMAU

tags; SMAU, college au, fake-dating, one-sided enemies to lovers

episodes; ep 1, ep 2, ep3

darlinglore: not gonna leave you guys on hold. things are heating up!!! (btw the spelling mistakes are intentional)

#jj maybank concept #jj maybank #obx #outer banks #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x reader #jj obx #jj maybank imagine #rhythm&revelry #SMAU #jjSMAU #jjmaybanksmau #darlingchronicles

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leejenowrld · 7 months ago

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ME I WANNA REQUEST JENO TEACHING HIS GF TO PLAY GUITAR AND IT TURNS SMUTTY BUT LIKE CUTE AND ROMANTIC SMUT CUS I FEEL LIKE TEACHING SOMEONE AN INSTRUMENT IS ROMANTIC

word count — 1.3k

smut, not proof read and written in like 10 mins so

inspo -

Backstage at the venue, the atmosphere buzzed with the electric energy typical of a night filled with music and revelry. Amidst the controlled chaos, you found a quieter space, bathed in the warm, soft glow of stage lights spilling through the side curtains. Here, you stood, bass slung low around your hips, dressed in an outfit designed to thrill—an audaciously short black leather skirt paired with a lace top that left little to the imagination, accentuating your cleavage and the smooth curve of your shoulders. Your makeup was glowing, with shimmering highlights that caught the light every time you moved, and your hair fell in loose waves that frame your face beautifully.

Jeno, dressed in a simple white fitted shirt that contrasted sharply against his dark jeans, exuded a casual, effortless charm. His hair was styled in a soft, tousled look that made him even more irresistible, especially as he flashed you a grin that spoke volumes of his adoration for you.

“So, you’re really going to teach me this time?” Jeno’s voice broke through your preparations, tinged with excitement and a hint of playfulness.

You nodded, feeling the electric tension between you two. “Yeah, but only if you promise to actually pay attention,” you teased back, meeting his playful gaze with a challenging sparkle in your own.

Jeno’s laugh was soft and inviting as he stepped closer, his hands finding your waist. “You have my full focus,” he whispered, his lips inches from yours, making your heart flutter with anticipation.

“Good,” you murmured, feeling his breath against your lips before turning your attention to the bass. “Let’s start with the basics. This is how you hold it properly,” you instructed, adjusting his hands on the guitar, your bodies brushing against each other.

Jeno nodded, his fingers awkward at first but gradually finding their rhythm under your guidance. “Like this?” he asked, looking up at you through his lashes.

“Exactly like that,” you replied, your voice softening. “You’re a natural.”

As the lesson progressed, your proximity made the air around you thick with tension. You corrected his posture, your body pressing lightly against his back, your breath hot against his ear. “You’ve got to relax more,” you whispered, and he chuckled, the sound vibrating against your chest.

“Relaxing isn’t exactly easy when you’re this close,” Jeno teased back, turning his head slightly to meet your gaze. The look in his eyes was playful yet filled with raw desire, mirroring the quickening pulse you felt within yourself.

“You think so?” you played along, letting your hands linger a bit longer on his, feeling the roughness of his palms. “Maybe this will help,” you suggested, your tone dropping to a seductive whisper as you guided his hand to strum a particularly deep note, letting the vibration ripple through both of you.

“God, I love how your hands look on this,” Jeno murmured, his gaze fixed on where your hands guided his. “But I keep imagining them elsewhere… like wrapped around my cock, squeezing tight.”

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, heat pooling low in your belly. “Imagine how distracted you’ll be when I really start to show you the good techniques,” you murmured, your lips barely grazing his earlobe as you spoke with a teasing lilt. The flirty undertone was unmistakable, inviting a more tantalizing kind of tension.

Jeno’s response was immediate, his hands tightening on the bass as he turned his head to capture your lips with his. The kiss was fiery, loaded with all the tension that had been building. His tongue swept into your mouth, dominating and exploring in equal measure.

As the kiss broke, you both were breathless. “Fuck the bass,” Jeno growled, setting the instrument aside carelessly. His hands found the hem of your skirt, fingers tracing the bare skin at your thighs as he looked into your eyes with unmasked desire. “I want you. Now.”

“Then take me,” you challenged, your own hands roaming over his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the soft fabric of his shirt.

Without another word, Jeno lifted you onto the table, your back lying amidst the scattered props. His hands were quick to push your skirt up, revealing more of your thighs, his touch scorching against your skin. “I need to taste you,” he said, voice rough with lust as he knelt before you, his breath hot against the lace of your underwear.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. “Do it,” you urged, your voice a mix of command and desperation. Jeno obeyed without hesitation, his tongue and lips worshiping you through the thin fabric before he tugged them aside. The sensation of his mouth on you was electric, his tongue skilled and knowing exactly how to make you writhe and moan his name.

The buildup of pleasure was intense, spiraling towards release under his relentless attention. When you came, it was with a loud cry, your body arching off the table, clenching around the nothingness, craving something more substantial.

Jeno rose to his full height, his lips glistening with you as he unbuckled his jeans. “Your turn,” he said, the outline of his arousal clear and promising.

Eagerly, you switched positions, pulling him to you and freeing him from his constraints. “I want to feel you inside me,” you whispered as you guided him, positioning his cock at your entrance.

He pushed into you with a groan, filling you completely, the stretch and sensation driving a gasp from your lips. The rhythm he set was punishing, each thrust deeper and harder, aimed at hitting all the right spots. Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging in, as you met him thrust for thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin mingling with your combined moans.

The edge was fast approaching again, the coil in your belly tightening. “Jeno, I’m—” you gasped, the words lost in the heat of the moment.

“I know, baby, me too,” he groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own climax. His eyes locked with yours, intense and full of an unspoken promise, as he drove into you with a ferocity that made your entire body quake. Each movement was a declaration, each moan a testament to the depth of his desire.

The room was filled with the sound of your labored breaths and the rhythmic pounding of his hips against yours. His hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you into every thrust, ensuring you felt every inch of him.

Your climax crashed over you like a wave, overwhelming and all-consuming. Jeno followed soon after, his groan deep and drawn out as he reached his peak, his grip on your hips almost bruising. The warmth of him spilled inside you, a tangible proof of your shared passion.

As you both caught your breath, Jeno leaned down to press a gentle, lingering kiss on your lips, his forehead resting against yours. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice a tender murmur that wrapped around you as securely as his arms.

You smiled, your heart swelling with the depth of your feelings, mirrored so perfectly in his eyes. “I love you more,” you replied, pulling him into another kiss, slow and sweet, the kind that said everything words never could.

He chuckled, glancing over at the bass guitar resting against the wall. "So much for my bass lesson," he said with a smirk, his voice rough from exertion.

You laughed lightly, your fingers tracing the contours of his chest, still feeling the heat from his skin under your touch. "I think you've got enough hands-on practice for today," you teased, capturing the playful glint in his eye as your hands continued their exploration. The bass might have been silent, but the night's melody was far from over.

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callsigns-haze · 8 months ago

Text

Forbidden Whispers

Pairing: Azriel x Cassian!sister reader

Summary: In the midst of Solstice festivities, Y/N, a spirited Illyrian soldier and Cassian's younger sister, finds herself entangled in a clandestine affair with Azriel, the shadowy spymaster of the Night Court. As their passion ignites, they navigate the dangers of their forbidden love, all while concealing their affair from prying eyes.

Content Warning: This story contains explicit sexual content, including scenes of intimacy and mature themes.

A/n: Thank you so much for 300 followers!

The air crackled with anticipation as Y/N strode into the bustling hall, her heart pounding in rhythm with the drums that echoed through the Illyrian camp. Solstice had arrived, bringing with it a fervour that electrified the atmosphere, igniting a spark of excitement within her that she couldn't quite contain.

Dressed in her traditional Illyrian leathers, adorned with feathers and beads that shimmered in the flickering firelight, Y/N felt a surge of pride as she joined the throngs of her fellow warriors. It was a time of revelry, of celebration, but beneath the veneer of merriment lay an undercurrent of tension, a reminder of the looming threat that hung over Prythian.

As Y/N scanned the crowd, her gaze inevitably found its way to Azriel, the shadowy spymaster of the Night Court, who stood at the edge of the gathering like a spectre cloaked in darkness. Despite the distance between them, she felt the weight of his gaze upon her, a silent exchange that sent shivers down her spine.

She had always been drawn to Azriel, captivated by the enigmatic allure that surrounded him like a cloak of shadows. There was a darkness within him, a depth of mystery that beckoned to her in ways she couldn't quite understand. And as their eyes met across the crowded hall, she knew that tonight would be different, that the boundaries between them would blur in the flickering light of Solstice.

Summoning all her courage, Y/N made her way through the throng, weaving between dancers and revellers with a grace born of years spent honing her skills on the battlefield. With each step, the anticipation grew, a fire burning in her veins as she drew closer to Azriel's side.

And then, finally, she stood before him, her breath catching in her throat as she met his gaze, dark as midnight and just as mesmerizing. There was a tension between them, a palpable electricity that crackled in the air, igniting a spark of desire that threatened to consume them both.

"Y/N," Azriel murmured, his voice a low whisper that sent shivers racing down her spine. "What brings you to the shadows on this night of celebration?"

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she leaned in closer, her pulse quickening with each passing moment. "Perhaps I simply wanted to dance with the shadows themselves," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

And with that, she extended her hand, an invitation that hung between them like a promise waiting to be fulfilled. And as Azriel took her hand in his, the world around them faded into obscurity, leaving only the two of them standing amidst the swirling chaos of Solstice.

Together, they danced, their movements fluid and graceful, a testament to the unspoken connection that bound them together. And as the night wore on, the barriers between them began to crumble, leaving nothing but raw desire and longing in their wake.

For in the shadows of Solstice, Y/N and Azriel found solace in each other's arms, their forbidden love burning bright against the backdrop of a world on the brink of war. And as the first light of dawn broke across the horizon, they knew that their love would endure, a beacon of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to consume them all.

As the music swirled around them, a hypnotic rhythm that seemed to echo the pounding of their hearts, Azriel's breath brushed against Y/N's ear as he leaned in close, his voice a low, enticing murmur that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Would you like to get out of here?" he whispered, his words laced with a potent mixture of desire and temptation.

Y/N's pulse quickened at the suggestion, her mind awash with conflicting emotions. She knew the risks of entertaining such thoughts, especially considering her status as Cassian's little sister. But in that moment, as Azriel's dark eyes bore into hers with a hunger that mirrored her own, all she could think about was the undeniable pull between them, a magnetic force that drew them together like moths to a flame.

"Yes," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper as she surrendered to the intoxicating allure of the spymaster standing before her.

With a silent understanding that transcended words, Azriel took her hand in his and led her away from the crowded hall, their footsteps falling in sync with the pulsing beat of their hearts. They moved through the camp like phantoms in the night, slipping between shadows and moonlight until they reached the relative seclusion of Y/N's quarters.

Once inside, the air crackled with tension, a palpable electricity that charged the space between them. Azriel's gaze bore into hers with an intensity that left her breathless, his desire laid bare for her to see.

"I know who you are," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper as he closed the distance between them, his hand coming to rest against her cheek with a feather-light touch. "And I know the risks of what we're doing. But I can't deny what I feel for you, Y/N. I've tried, but I can't fight it any longer."

Y/N's heart thundered in her chest at his words, her resolve crumbling beneath the weight of her own desire. She reached out, her fingers tangling in the dark strands of his hair as she pulled him closer, sealing their fate with a desperate kiss that ignited a firestorm of passion between them.

In that moment, as their bodies entwined in a dance as old as time itself, Y/N knew that she was risking everything for a love that defied the boundaries of their world. But as Azriel's lips trailed along her skin, leaving a blazing trail of heat in their wake, she also knew that some risks were worth taking, even if they led to the brink of destruction.

As their lips met in a fervent embrace, the world around them seemed to fade into oblivion, leaving only the heat of their desire and the intoxicating taste of each other's lips. Azriel's hands trailed along Y/N's curves, a feather-light touch that sent shivers racing down her spine, while her own fingers danced across the hard planes of his chest, tracing the contours of muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt.

With each passing moment, the kiss deepened, their breath mingling in a heady rush of passion and need. There was an urgency between them, a hunger that could not be denied as they sought solace in each other's arms, their bodies moving in perfect harmony as if guided by some unseen force.

As their hands roamed freely, clothes became nothing but obstacles to be discarded in their pursuit of each other. With practiced ease, they shed their garments, each movement fluid and seamless as if they had done this a thousand times before. And all the while, their lips remained locked in a desperate embrace, unwilling to break the connection even for a moment.

With each layer of clothing stripped away, the heat between them intensified, a blazing inferno that threatened to consume them whole. And as their naked bodies pressed together in a primal dance of desire, they knew that there was no turning back, no escaping the fierce passion that burned between them.

In that moment, as they surrendered to the overwhelming tide of sensation, Y/N and Azriel became lost in each other, their souls entwined in a timeless embrace that transcended the boundaries of their world. And as they fell into the depths of passion, they knew that this was only the beginning of a love that would defy the very stars themselves.

With Y/N wrapped securely in his arms, Azriel carried her to the bed with a strength born of both desire and reverence. Gently laying her down amidst a sea of silken sheets, he lowered himself to her, his eyes burning with an intensity that mirrored the flames of their passion.

As he trailed kisses along the curve of her neck, Y/N arched into his touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips as his lips brushed against her skin like a whisper of silk. With each feather-light caress, he worshipped her with a reverence that spoke of his adoration, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

But it was when his lips found purchase on her breast that a low moan tore from Y/N's throat, her fingers tangling in the dark locks of his hair as she surrendered to the exquisite pleasure coursing through her veins. With each flick of his tongue and tug of his teeth, he sent waves of sensation crashing over her, igniting a firestorm of need deep within her core.

"Azriel," she gasped, her voice a breathless plea as he teased her sensitive flesh with a delicate touch. "Oh, gods, don't stop."

His praises spurred her on, her cries of pleasure growing louder with each passing moment as he coaxed her body to new heights of ecstasy. And as their passion reached its peak, they became lost in each other, two souls bound together in a timeless dance of desire and devotion.

In that moment, as they surrendered to the overwhelming tide of sensation, Y/N and Azriel knew that they had found something truly special in each other, a love that would endure the trials of time and fate. And as they melted into each other's arms, they whispered promises of forever, knowing that together, they could conquer even the darkest of shadows.

With a hunger burning in her eyes, Y/N locked gazes with Azriel, her voice a desperate plea as she uttered those three simple words that spoke volumes of her need.

"I need you now."

The intensity in her voice matched the fire that blazed within Azriel's dark eyes, his desire mirroring her own as he gazed down at her with an unwavering gaze. Without a word, he understood her plea, her longing for a connection that transcended the physical.

With a tenderness born of both love and reverence, Azriel positioned himself above her, his powerful frame poised to fulfil her every desire. And as he entered her, inch by inch, a low moan tore from Y/N's throat, her nails digging into his shoulders as she surrendered to the exquisite pleasure that washed over her.

Azriel was everything she had ever dreamed of and more, his size and wingspan a testament to his strength and power. But it was his tenderness, his gentleness, that truly stole her breath away as he moved within her, each thrust a symphony of sensation that left her gasping for more.

As Azriel quickened his pace, driving deeper into the depths of her desire, Y/N's moans grew louder, echoing off the walls of their chamber with a fervour that bordered on ecstasy. With each thrust, she felt herself teetering on the edge of oblivion, her body trembling with a pleasure so intense it threatened to consume her whole.

Her cries of ecstasy filled the room, a symphony of passion that mingled with the sound of their ragged breaths and the rhythmic slap of their bodies colliding. And as she tugged at Azriel's hair with a desperate need, her nails digging into his skin in a delicious mix of pain and pleasure, he praised her with words that only fuelled the fire burning within her.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. "So perfect, so... exquisite."

His praises only served to drive her wilder, her cries growing louder with each passing moment as she surrendered to the overwhelming tide of sensation that threatened to consume her whole. And as Azriel urged her on with words of encouragement and adoration, she knew that she was lost, lost in a sea of pleasure and passion that knew no bounds.

Together, they soared on the wings of their love, their bodies moving in perfect harmony as they chased the fleeting moments of ecstasy that danced just beyond their grasp. And as they tumbled over the edge together, their cries of release mingling in the air like a sweet symphony of desire, they knew that this was only the beginning of a love that would burn bright for all eternity.

As Azriel delved deeper into the depths of her desire, Y/N found herself overcome with a wave of raw emotion that threatened to consume her whole. Tears spilled from her eyes, cascading down her cheeks in a torrent of sensation as pleasure mingled with pain in a bittersweet symphony that left her breathless.

Screaming his name, she begged for more, her voice raw with need as she surrendered to the overwhelming tide of sensation that threatened to pull her under. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her veins, igniting a firestorm of desire that burned hotter with each passing moment.

"Azriel!" she cried, her voice echoing off the walls of their chamber with a desperation that bordered on madness. "Oh gods, Azriel, don't stop!"

Her cries filled the room, a symphony of ecstasy that mingled with the sound of their ragged breaths and the rhythmic slap of their bodies colliding. And as Azriel urged her on with words of encouragement and adoration, she felt herself teetering on the edge of oblivion, her senses consumed by the overwhelming tide of sensation that threatened to consume her whole.

With one final, desperate cry, she tumbled over the edge, her body convulsing with the force of her release as pleasure washed over her in a tidal wave of ecstasy. And as she clung to Azriel with a fierce desperation, she knew that this was only the beginning of a love that would burn bright for all eternity, a love that transcended the boundaries of their world and soared on the wings of their passion.

As their bodies trembled with the aftershocks of their passionate encounter, Y/N and Azriel collapsed beside each other, their chests rising and falling in sync with the rhythm of their ragged breaths. In the hazy aftermath of their lovemaking, they lay entwined in a tangle of limbs, their fingers tracing lazy patterns across each other's skin as they tried to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to overwhelm them.

For Y/N, the reality of what they had just done hit her like a ton of bricks, sending shockwaves of realization coursing through her veins. She was Cassian's little sister, a warrior in her own right, and yet here she lay, tangled in the arms of the shadowy spymaster of the Night Court. It was a forbidden love, a secret liaison that could spell disaster for them both if it were ever discovered.

And yet, as she stole a glance at Azriel, his dark eyes heavy-lidded with desire, she couldn't deny the fierce longing that burned within her, a longing that whispered of a love that defied the boundaries of their world. With each passing moment, she felt herself falling deeper and deeper into the abyss of her desire, unable to resist the pull of his magnetic presence.

Beside her, Azriel panted heavily, his chest heaving with exertion as he struggled to catch his breath. His dark eyes bore into hers with a hunger that mirrored her own, a silent acknowledgment of the passion that still raged between them.

In that moment, as they lay together in the quiet stillness of the night, they both understood the gravity of what they had just done, the risks they had taken and the consequences they would face if their secret were ever revealed.

As the weight of their forbidden passion hung heavy in the air, and before Azriel could utter a single word, the tranquility of the moment shattered with a thunderous pounding at the door. Y/N's heart lurched in her chest, a cold dread creeping over her as the voice on the other side grew louder and angrier.

"YN!"

She heard, his voice like a thunderclap, reverberating through the room with a ferocity that made her blood run cold.

Azriel's expression hardened, a flicker of concern passing through his dark eyes as he moved to stand, his movements swift and purposeful. With a sense of urgency, he gathered their scattered clothing, tossing them haphazardly to Y/N as he moved to answer the door.

"Cassian!" Y/N exclaimed, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desperation. "Please, just listen—"

But before she could finish her plea, Cassian's voice thundered through the door once again, cutting her off with a ferocity that left her reeling.

"You have five seconds to explain yourself before I break down this door!" he roared, his words echoing off the walls of their chamber with a force that left no room for argument.

And as the tension between them reached a boiling point, Y/N knew that their lives would never be the same again.

Tagging some:

@callsign-magnolia

@kmc1989

@hardballoonlove

@senawashere

@hookslove1592

@marvel-molly

@lucky7rosie

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel #azriel smut #azriel shadowsinger

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nayziiz · 7 months ago

Text

Drunken Confessions | CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader (you/her/she)

Author's note: I'm trying something a little bit different with shorter form fics, so please send through any requests or feedback. These one shots will likely not have a second part unless it really speaks to me to continue with it. Thank you!

Masterlist

As Charles and his friends stepped out of the racing circuit, their spirits soared high on the wings of triumph. The air buzzed with excitement, the taste of victory still lingering on their lips. Amidst the chorus of cheers and the flash of cameras capturing his podium moment, Charles couldn't contain the surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

With his latest podium finish secured and a stellar second-place ranking in the season's standings, the world seemed to spin in kaleidoscopic hues of success. The night beckoned with promises of revelry and camaraderie, pulling them into its embrace with irresistible allure.

Their destination: a vibrant club pulsating with life, a sanctuary where jubilation knew no bounds. Stepping through the threshold, they were enveloped by a symphony of beats, the rhythm of the music mingling with the laughter of fellow celebrants. Neon lights cast a kaleidoscope of colours across the dance floor, a dazzling display that mirrored the euphoria in Charles' heart.

In the midst of the thronging crowd, Charles felt like a king among subjects, his triumph celebrated by friends and strangers alike. The air crackled with anticipation, each moment pregnant with the promise of unforgettable memories waiting to be made.

For Charles, the night was a tapestry woven with threads of exhilaration and joy. With a glass in hand, he toasted to his success, the effervescence of champagne mingling with the echoes of his laughter. In that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still, the worries of tomorrow melting away beneath the glow of the present.

As the night unfolded in a whirlwind of celebration, Charles, swept up in the euphoria of his success, found himself in the midst of a lively exchange of drinks. Glasses clinked and laughter bubbled like champagne, as friends and well-wishers toasted to his latest triumph.

Unbeknownst to Charles, amidst the flurry of activity, a fateful mistake occurred. In the dimly lit ambiance of the club, a tray of drinks made its rounds, each glass brimming with tantalising refreshment. Among them, nestled innocuously amidst the array of beverages, were vodka cranberries, their crimson hue indistinguishable from the innocuous cranberry juice that Charles favoured.

With the carefree abandon of someone riding high on the wave of success, Charles reached for a glass, the promise of refreshment beckoning like a siren's call. Oblivious to the subtle nuances that distinguished one drink from another, he took a sip, expecting the familiar tartness of cranberry juice to greet his palate.

Yet, as the liquid trickled down his throat, a jolt of recognition shot through his senses. The sharp bite of vodka cut through the sweetness, sending a shockwave of realisation coursing through his veins. In that instant, the veil of ignorance was lifted, replaced by the stark clarity of consequence.

The potent concoction worked its magic with ruthless efficiency, weaving its intoxicating spell around Charles' senses. Gradually, the walls of inhibition crumbled, and he found himself enveloped in a state of cheerful inebriation, the world spinning in a kaleidoscope of colours and laughter.

With each passing moment, Charles surrendered himself to the whims of the night, his laughter ringing out like a melody amidst the cacophony of revelry. Yet, beneath the veneer of merriment, a sense of disorientation gnawed at the edges of his consciousness, a reminder of the precarious balance between euphoria and excess.

As the night wore on, Charles danced on the precipice of intoxication, his every movement a testament to the heady cocktail of jubilation and recklessness. Unaware of the storm brewing within him, he surrendered himself to the whims of the night, a willing participant in the dance of celebration and excess.

As the night at the club reached its crescendo, Pierre, ever vigilant and attuned to his friend's well-being, noticed the subtle signs of Charles' intoxication. Concern etched lines of worry onto Pierre's face as he observed Charles' increasingly erratic behaviour. Sensing the need for intervention, Pierre sprang into action, his unwavering loyalty propelling him into motion.

With practised ease, Pierre withdrew his phone, his fingers navigating the familiar terrain of contacts until he found the number he sought: Charles' girlfriend. Aware of her decision to remain at the hotel, Pierre hesitated for a moment, his mind racing with the urgency of the situation. Despite her absence from the festivities, Pierre knew that her presence, even over the phone, could provide the grounding force needed to steer Charles away from the brink of recklessness.

With a deep breath, Pierre pressed the call button, his heart drumming a staccato rhythm of anticipation. As the phone rang, he silently prayed for her swift response, knowing that every passing second carried the risk of escalation.

Meanwhile, in the quiet confines of their hotel room, Charles' girlfriend sat in solitude, the echo of the night's festivities a distant murmur in her mind. Despite her initial plans to join Charles and his friends at the club, a wave of fatigue had washed over her, leaving her drained and in need of respite.

As the phone beside her stirred to life with Pierre's call, she hesitated for a moment, her thoughts a whirlwind of uncertainty. Yet, beneath the layers of exhaustion, a flicker of concern for Charles ignited, propelling her into action. With a sense of urgency, she answered Pierre's call, her voice a soothing balm against the chaos of the night.

In the midst of the bustling club, Pierre's relief was palpable as he heard her voice on the other end of the line. With a rush of gratitude, he relayed the situation to her, his words infused with urgency and concern. Though separated by physical distance, their shared commitment to Charles bound them together in a common purpose: to ensure his safety and well-being.

As she stepped through the doors of the club, the pulsating beat of the music washed over her, mingling with the heady mix of emotions swirling within her heart. Concern for Charles warred with anticipation, each step forward a testament to her unwavering commitment to his well-being.

Amidst the sea of faces illuminated by the neon glow of the club, her eyes sought out Charles, her heart skipping a beat as she spotted him amidst the throng. His usually composed demeanour had been replaced by a charming vulnerability, his laughter echoing like a melody in the crowded room.

As she approached him, a wave of relief washed over her at the sight of his endearing smile, despite the telltale signs of his tipsy state. Beneath the veneer of intoxication, she glimpsed the essence of the man she had come to love, his warmth and charisma shining through even in the midst of chaos.

In that fleeting moment, Charles seized a rare moment of clarity, his gaze locking with hers in a silent exchange that spoke volumes. Emotions, amplified by the alcohol coursing through his veins, danced in his eyes, a kaleidoscope of longing and affection.

“My love, you're here!” Charles exclaimed, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and delight as he caught sight of his girlfriend weaving her way through the crowd toward him. Amidst the pulsating rhythm of the music and the swirling chaos of the club, her presence was a beacon of warmth and comfort, grounding him in the midst of his intoxicated haze.

With outstretched arms, he enveloped her in a tender embrace, his heart overflowing with love and gratitude.

“I came to fetch you, Charles,” she informed him, her voice a gentle reassurance amidst the clamour of the club. With a tender smile, she reached out to him, her touch a soothing balm against the tumult of his intoxicated state.

For Charles, her words were a lifeline, grounding him in the midst of the swirling chaos. With a grateful nod, he took her hand, intertwining their fingers as they navigated through the crowd together.

“I thought you said you weren't going to be drinking?” she wondered, her voice tinged with a hint of concern as they entered their hotel room. The dim light cast a soft glow across the space, illuminating the weariness etched into her features.

Charles felt a pang of guilt tug at his heart as he met her gaze, the weight of her disappointment settling heavily upon him. With a sheepish smile, he struggled to find the right words to explain his lapse in judgement, his mind clouded by the lingering effects of alcohol.

“I... I didn't plan on it,” he began, his voice faltering as he searched for an excuse. “But, you know how it is... the celebration, the excitement... it just got away from me.”

As the words fell from his lips, Charles could see the hurt reflected in her eyes, a silent reproach that cut deeper than any words could. In that moment, he realised the gravity of his actions, the impact they had on her and their relationship.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, the weight of his remorse hanging heavy in the air. “I didn't mean to disappoint you.”

“It's not about disappointment, Charles. I just want you to be safe, and heaven knows what can happen out there,” she expressed softly, her words carrying a weight of genuine concern.

As they stood in the quiet intimacy of their hotel room, her sincerity washed over him like a gentle tide, soothing the turmoil within his heart. Charles felt a lump form in his throat as he absorbed her words, the depth of her care resonating deeply within him. In that moment, he realised the magnitude of her love, a love that transcended mere disappointment and embraced the essence of protection and security.

With a sense of humility, Charles nodded in understanding, his gaze locked with hers in silent affirmation. Her words echoed in his mind, a poignant reminder of the fragility of life and the importance of cherishing every moment they shared together.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice laced with gratitude. “And I promise, I'll do better. For you. Because I love you.”

His confession caught her off guard as he stumbled over to the bed. Did he really love her? Doubt crept into her mind, fueled by the uncertainty of the moment and the lingering effects of Charles' intoxication. However, the haze of intoxication clouded his memory, leaving him blissfully unaware of the heartfelt confession that had escaped his lips for the very first time.

As she watched him, sprawled out on the bed in a state of blissful oblivion, she couldn't help but wonder if his words had been merely a product of the alcohol-fueled euphoria, a fleeting expression of affection that would evaporate with the light of day.

Yet, amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her, a flicker of hope remained. Beneath the haze of intoxication, she had glimpsed the sincerity in Charles' eyes, the raw honesty of his confession resonating deep within her soul.

With a heavy sigh, she approached him, her heart heavy with uncertainty yet yearning for reassurance. Gently, she brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, her touch soft and tender against his skin.

As Charles awoke to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, he noticed her sitting on the edge of the bed, her demeanour distant and sombre.

“Hey,” he greeted her, his voice laced with concern, “what's wrong?”

She turned to him, her expression a mix of sadness and frustration.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" she asked, her voice tinged with disappointment. Confusion knitted Charles' brows together as he struggled to recall the events of the previous evening.

“I... I remember bits and pieces,” he admitted hesitantly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “But I'm not sure…”

“Wonderful.” She muttered as she got up and started rummaging through her suitcase.

“I must have been really drunk…” he admitted. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember, so it’s fine.” She countered.

“Baby, come on. What happened?” He implored.

“I’m confused about what to believe, Charles, honestly. I don’t know if you meant it or if you simply said it because you were drunk.” She continued.

“Baby…” He paused. His girlfriend's frustration boiled over, her words cutting through the air like a knife.

“You confessed your love for me, Charles,” she stated bluntly, her tone tinged with hurt. “And you can’t even remember it.”

“I... I didn't realise…” he stammered, at a loss for words.

“So, you didn’t mean it then?” his girlfriend retorted, her voice trembling with emotion.

“No, no, of course, I mean it,” Charles insisted, his voice tinged with desperation. “I love you, I really do. I just... I messed up, okay? I didn't mean to hurt you.”

His girlfriend's eyes softened slightly at his words, but the hurt still lingered.

“I want to believe you, Charles. But how can I trust your words when you don't even remember saying them?” she admitted softly. Charles reached out to her, his hand hovering in the air before faltering.

“I'll do better, I promise. I'll show you, every day, how much you mean to me. I do love you, so much,” he vowed earnestly. As Charles watched the tears welling up in his girlfriend's eyes, he felt a pang of remorse tighten in his chest. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, baby.”

His girlfriend's gaze softened, her defences crumbling in the face of his sincerity.

“I know you didn't. But it still hurts, Charles. It hurts a lot,” she admitted softly, her voice trembling with emotion.

“I promise, I'll do everything in my power to make it right.” Charles murmured, reaching out to gently wipe away her tears.

There was a moment of silence as they sat together, enveloped in the weight of their shared emotions. Then, with a hesitant sigh, she spoke up.

“I... I love you too, Charles” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air, charged with vulnerability and raw emotion. Charles felt his heart swell with a mixture of relief and gratitude.

“You do?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. His girlfriend nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“Yeah,” she replied, her gaze meeting his with unwavering honesty. "I do."

In that moment, the tension that had gripped them both melted away, replaced by a sense of profound connection and understanding. Charles pulled her into his arms, holding her close as if afraid she might disappear if he let go and placed several soft kisses on her forehead.

"I can be so stupid sometimes," he whispered against her hair.

"You don’t say," she whispered back, causing them both to break out in a fit of laughter.

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velarisdusk · 11 days ago

Text

Moonlit Waltz

Rhysand x Reader

word count: 414 summary: Amidst the festivities of the city, you and Rhysand share a quiet dance in the moonlight, surrounded by the magic of the night and the warmth of each other’s gaze. author's note: im putting off writing VW,MT pt.2 as well as my next series so take this (imagine me throwing this at you like a frisbee) i'll have something of substance up soon i promise

The celebration in Velaris raged on in a symphony of laughter and music, spilling over the streets and mingling with starlight. You and Rhysand slipped away, weaving through lantern-lit paths until you found yourselves in a quiet courtyard bathed in moonlight, far from the bustling crowd.

He turned to you, shadows casting his gaze in soft, inviting darkness. The moon cast silver over his shoulders, glinting in the raven sweep of his hair. He gave a roguish smile, a hint of that charm always lurking in his eyes. “One dance,” he murmured, his voice a deep, velvet promise. You hesitated—just for a breath—and then placed your fingers in his, the warmth of his touch sending a quiet thrill through you. The world stilled as he pulled you close, his other hand settling at your waist with a gentleness that felt like it was reserved only for you.

You swayed together, the night air cool but his touch igniting heat wherever he held you. The night seemed to fold around you both as you swayed, guided by an unspoken rhythm. The dance was slow, and you couldn’t look away, couldn’t tear your gaze from the way his eyes softened. Shadows clung to him like they belonged, curling around his frame, drawn by the glow of his magic—and perhaps, the magnetic pull between you.

Rhysand’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, a silent, intimate gesture. He spun you slowly, your skirts twirling around your ankles, and when you turned back to face him, his smirk had melted into an expression that sent your heart pounding. There was no High Lord here—just Rhysand, the male who looked at you as though each breath between you was sacred. With each turn, the world beyond faded, the distant laughter muffled by the electric pulse between you.

He lifted your hand, pressing a feather-light kiss to your knuckles before pulling you back into the circle of his arms. You continued moving, your bodies swaying together like waves against the shore, the soft press of his fingers against your back a silent assurance.

The sounds of celebration drifted, faint but present, while you and Rhysand moved through shadows and moonlight. His gaze never left yours, the air between you heavy with words unsaid, promises woven into every step. When he leaned close, your breaths mingling, it was as though the city and its revelry had vanished, leaving just you and him, dancing in the hidden heart of the night.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3 @acoazlove @anarchiii @feerique @inkedinshadows @lilah-asteria

@mrsjna @okaytrashpanda @serena-capella @starlightazriel @wildfloweroutlaw

#acotar #rhysand #rhysand acotar #drabble #acotar drabble #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar fluff #rhysand fluff #rhysand drabble

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 11 months ago

Text

When The Clock Strikes Midnight.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

authors note - hi, my last post of the year, i just want to wish everyone reading this a very happy new year and that everything turns out alright, tpwk and stay safe!!

this is a pretty angsty piece i would say, as it covers topics of alcoholism where reader struggles with her alcohol, so please if this sort of thing triggers you in anyway, please do not read and if you do, please proceed with caution.

word count - 3.9k

in which, you and harry broke up just over a year ago, and have not seen each other since, but when your friend invites you to a new years eve party with all your close ones there, the last person you expected to see walk through the door was him.

The last place you saw yourself tonight was here.

Your best friend Maura had practically dragged you out of the confines of your apartment when she heard that you didn’t have any plans for New Year’s Eve, and insisted that you dress up and come along to the party her boyfriend Watson was throwing.

You tried to deny her nagging and told her that you were going to order a takeaway, most likely Chinese and facetime your mum like you did last year, and that would be that.

But no…she wasn’t having any of it.

So you chucked on a jumper, which was on the nicer side and paired it with a skirt and tights and your vans before applying a tiny bit of mascara and lipgloss and brushing your hair, before you were ushered out of the house into the Uber Maura had ordered whilst you were getting ready.

So now, here you were.

You find yourself in a corner of Watson's living room at the party, nursing a glass of coke as people swirl around you in a lively dance of laughter and chatter. The pulsating music fills the room, but you, lost in your own thoughts, wonder why you agreed to come in the first place.

Maura's insistence was hard to resist, but your reluctance lingers like a shadow.

Despite the energetic atmosphere, you're content to sip your non-alcoholic beverage and observe the whirlwind of festivities. Maura and Watson seem immersed in the revelry, blissfully unaware of your desire for a more tranquil evening.

The room's vibrant energy contrasts sharply with your subdued mood, as you contemplate the impending arrival of the new year with a sense of detachment.

Watson, with a hint of tipsiness in his step, ambles over to you in the corner of the living room. His usual laid-back demeanour shines through, but the warmth in his eyes intensifies as he wraps an arm around your shoulder.

"Hey, you made it!" he exclaims, a wide grin on his face. Despite the slight wobble in his stance, you can't help but smile in response to his infectious enthusiasm.

Leaning in, Watson expresses genuine happiness that you decided to join the celebration.

"I'm so glad you're here, buddy. No one should spend New Year's Eve alone, right?" He punctuates his words with a friendly squeeze, and the camaraderie between you two, forged over the past six months since he began dating Maura, feels more like family than friendship.

In his slightly inebriated state, Watson plants a gentle kiss on the side of your head, a gesture that reflects the bond that has developed between you.

"You're like a little sister to me, you know that?" he chuckles, his words carrying a warmth that transcends the alcohol-induced haze. It's a testament to the solid foundation of your relationship, built on trust and camaraderie.

With a playful twinkle in his eyes, Watson decides it's time to shake off any lingering reservations you might have.

"Come on, let's hit the dance floor!" he declares, tugging you toward the centre of the room. The music's rhythm wraps around you both as Watson, with his signature charm, spins you into the lively dance.

Laughter and cheers surround you, and in this moment, you can't help but appreciate the unexpected joy that Watson has injected into your reluctant New Year's Eve.

As you sway to the music, Watson continues to share anecdotes and jokes, making the dance floor an extension of the bond you've formed. His boisterous laughter and the genuine joy in his expression erode any lingering doubts you had about attending. In the midst of the revelry, you realise that Watson's presence has transformed the night from an obligation into a shared celebration.

With each step and twirl, Watson's camaraderie becomes a comforting presence, and you find yourself immersed in the moment.

As you engage in conversation with Watson on the crowded dance floor, the doorbell unexpectedly rings, interrupting the lively atmosphere. Watson glances towards the entrance, a perplexed expression momentarily crossing his face.

"I'll be right back, just need to see who's at the door," he informs you, detaching from the dance momentarily.

Curiosity piqued, you nod and watch as Watson weaves through the festive crowd towards the entrance. The door swings open, and to your shock, your ex-boyfriend Harry steps into Watson's house.

They exchange greetings, and you can't help but wonder how they're connected. Watson glances your way, and you sense that he must have divulged your presence to Harry.

The room felt suffocating as you sat on Harry's sofa, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken tension. The air crackled with an impending storm, and you could sense that something was about to shatter the fragile peace that had held your relationship together.

Harry's eyes, once filled with warmth and adoration, now held a distant sadness. His fingers nervously played with the edge of his shirt, betraying the turmoil within.

"We need t’talk," he finally uttered, the weight of those words settling in the room like a leaden silence.

You looked at him, anxiety clawing at your chest.

"What's going on, H?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting yours again.

"I've been thinking a lot, and... I think we need t’take a break," he confessed, each word hanging in the air like an unspoken truth.

The room seemed to tilt, the weight of those words crashing into you.

"A break? What do you mean?" Your voice wavered, a sense of dread settling in the pit of your stomach.

Harry's eyes welled with tears as he struggled to articulate the pain that lingered in his heart. "I can't give y’what y’deserve. M’career, the constant traveling , I can't be the best boyfriend f’you. Y’deserve someone who can be there f’you, not someone who's always halfway across the world."

More like you can’t give him what he deserves, your a mess, A drunken mess who can’t be trusted around a glass of wine or a gin and tonic.

It was your fault that he had had enough of the relationship, he was sick of looking after a girlfriend who couldn’t even look after herself, you weren’t what he wanted anymore and who could blame him?

You didn’t even want yourself anymore.

Your eyes mirrored the pain in his, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"But I don't want someone else. I want you," you pleaded, your heart breaking with every passing second.

He reached out, fingers gently wiping away your tears, a tender ache etched across his features.

"M’know, and s’why this hurts so damn much. I love you, but I can't watch y’waiting f’me all the time, feeling lonely. Y’deserve more than that."

The room echoed with the silence of shattered dreams as you both sat there, wrapped in the agony of an impending separation.

"I thought we could make it work," you whispered, your voice barely audible amidst the heartache.

Harry's voice trembled as he spoke, his eyes mirroring the anguish in your own. "I thought so too, but I can't keep asking you t’wait f’a future that's uncertain. It's not fair t’you."

The weight of the impending break weighed on you both, and the room became a crucible of emotions.

"I can't believe this is happening," you uttered, your voice catching on a sob.

Harry pulled you into an embrace, holding you close as if trying to memorize the feel of your presence.

"I never wanted to hurt you," he whispered, the words a fragile admission of the pain etched across his heart.

As the room witnessed the unraveling of your shared dreams, the tears flowed freely, and the echoes of a love that once burned bright now flickered in the dimming light of heartbreak. The sofa, witness to your shared laughter and whispered confessions, now bore the weight of an anguished goodbye.

"I thought we were stronger than this," you choked out, your words a desperate plea for reassurance.

Harry's response was a strained whisper, heavy with regret. "Love isn't always enough, and that's the hardest part to accept."

Your heart skips a beat as Harry's eyes sweep the room, eventually locking onto you. The unexpected encounter catches you off guard, and you feel a lump forming in your throat. Unsure of how to react, you instinctively turn I’m away, making a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

you navigate through the crowded kitchen, the echoes of the past still haunting the recesses of your mind. The room, once a sanctuary, now pulsates with the vibrant energy of the New Year's Eve celebration. As you lean against the counter, you attempt to catch your breath, the atmosphere thick with the weight of unexpected emotions.

The room is a sea of faces, laughter, and clinking glasses, but in this moment, you feel a profound sense of isolation. The air is heavy with the unspoken tension that lingers after encountering Harry, and you find solace in the rhythmic pattern of your own breaths. Each inhale and exhale becomes a deliberate act, a quiet rebellion against the memories that threatened to resurface.

Your eyes inadvertently gravitate towards a bottle of vodka on the crowded kitchen counter, a silent temptation beckoning from its transparent confines. The memories of your past struggles with alcohol loom heavily, each incident etched into your consciousness like a haunting refrain. The room pulses with celebratory energy, yet the familiar lure of numbing the pain through a drink threatens to unravel your hard-fought sobriety.

The bottle stands as a silent witness to the battles you've waged, a tangible reminder of the coping mechanism you once clung to in moments of despair. The urge to drown the resurgence of emotions triggered by seeing Harry again intensifies, as if the vodka holds the promise of temporary relief from the tumult within. However, the echo of past hospital visits, the panicked calls from Maura during Harry's tours, and the aftermath of your own struggles remind you of the high cost that accompanies each sip.

The sterile hospital room bore witness to your feigned slumber as Harry and the doctor engaged in a conversation that would forever echo in your memory. Their voices, a discordant symphony of concern, cut through the antiseptic atmosphere.

"You need to understand the gravity of the situation, Mr. Styles. Her liver is under immense strain," the doctor explained, the weight of the diagnosis evident in their tone. "Excessive alcohol intake has brought her here before, and if it continues, we risk irreversible damage."

Harry's voice, tinged with a mixture of fear and frustration, joined the conversation. "What can we do t’make her stop? This can't be good f’her, and I can't bear to see her like this again."

The doctor, ever composed, responded with a professional calm. "Encouraging her to seek professional help is crucial. She needs intervention and support to address the root causes behind her drinking patterns. This goes beyond just a medical issue."

Your heart sank as you lay there, eavesdropping on the conversation that underscored the depth of your struggle.

"She's in a dangerous cycle, and we need to break it before it leads to irreversible consequences," the doctor continued, the gravity of their words sinking in.

Harry, struggling to comprehend the severity of the situation, pressed for guidance. "What should I say t’her? How can I help her understand the impact of her actions?"

The doctor's response held a note of empathy. "Express your concern without judgment. Encourage her to seek counseling or join support groups. It's crucial that she feels supported and understood during this process."

As the dialogue unfolded, you grappled with a mix of emotions – shame, guilt, and the daunting realization that your actions were not only affecting you but those who cared about you.

The familiar pull of an old coping mechanism clashes with the resolve you've built over the past year. Without much thought, you lift the bottle, contemplating the relief it promises, only to freeze as a voice interrupts your inner struggle.

"Don't you dare take a sip from that bottle."

The words, stern and commanding, cut through the haze of your thoughts. You recognize the voice instantly, and a mixture of surprise and apprehension washes over you. Slowly, you turn around to face him, the bottle held in your hand like a delicate secret.

Harry stands there, his expression a mixture of concern and determination.

"You've come too far t’let this be y’undoing," he states, his gaze unwavering. The air between you hangs heavy with unspoken emotions as you contemplate his unexpected intervention.

Resisting the urge to avoid his gaze, you decide to walk past him, hoping to escape the confrontation. However, his hand closes around your wrist, preventing your departure.

"Let it go," he implores, his eyes searching yours for a hint of understanding. The bottle dangles between you, a tangible symbol of the inner turmoil that threatens to resurface.

In the charged silence, Harry's grip on your wrist feels both restraining and grounding.

"Y’don't need this, and y’know it," he adds, his voice softening. The vulnerability in his eyes mirrors the complex history you share, the wounds of the past laid bare in this unexpected moment of confrontation.

Glancing at the clock, you note the relentless ticking, each second stretching out like an eternity. Twenty minutes until midnight, and the anticipation of a fresh start intensifies. The atmosphere feels stifling as you wrestle with conflicting emotions, your hand still in Harry's grip. The unspoken tension lingers, and you decide that the arrival of the new year will also signal your exit.

Jerking your hand away from Harry's hold, you feel a surge of frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

"I can't do this anymore," you mutter, the anguished words hanging in the air between you. The clock's relentless countdown amplifies the urgency of the moment.

Turning to face him, you meet Harry's gaze with a steely resolve.

"I'm not a child. I can do what I want," you assert, the words carrying a weight that transcends the immediate situation. The bitterness in your voice mirrors the tumultuous emotions churning within.

Harry's expression shifts from concern to a mix of frustration and helplessness.

"This isn't about control, it's about caring," he argues, the lines of his forehead creasing with worry. The room feels smaller, the air thick with the unresolved tension of the past.

"I don't need your care," you snap, your tone cutting through the charged atmosphere. The proximity of midnight becomes both a countdown to liberation and a reminder of the constraints that linger. The resentment that simmers beneath your words reflects a deeper struggle against the shadows of a shared history.

You walk out of the kitchen, the bottle still in your hand, its cold surface a stark reminder of the internal struggle you've been wrestling with. Glancing down at it, you contemplate the temptation it holds. However, a determined sigh escapes your lips as you decide against taking that path. In search of solace, you spot Maura near the bathroom, engrossed in conversation with a friend.

As she notices you approaching, Maura ushers you over with a warm smile. The vodka bottle clinks softly, drawing her attention.

"You didn't, did you?" she asks, her eyes widening with concern. You hand her the bottle, and she gasps when she realizes its weight.

"I almost did," you admit, the honesty heavy in your words. "Seeing Harry after a year... it's just really hard, and I thought I needed something to take the edge off."

Maura's expression shifts from shock to a compassionate understanding. She places a comforting hand on your shoulder, leading you away from the commotion.

"You don't need to have a drink to feel something, darling," she reassures, her voice a soothing balm. "Facing those emotions is tough, but numbing them won't make them disappear. You're stronger than you think."

The weight of her words resonates, and you find a sense of grounding in Maura's wisdom.

"I just... I didn't expect it to hit me this hard," you confess, the vulnerability of the moment laid bare.

Maura nods, her empathy evident. "Love has a way of lingering, especially when there's history. It's okay to feel, even if it's painful. You've come so far, and I know you can navigate this without resorting to old habits."

As the clock ticks closer to midnight, Maura's words serve as a reminder that facing the emotions head-on is a strength, not a weakness.

The night air in the back garden carries a crisp chill, providing a respite from the crowded and charged atmosphere indoors. With just five minutes until midnight, you find solace in the quietude of the outdoors. The rustling of leaves and the distant hum of laughter create a backdrop for contemplation as you seek to contain the swirl of thoughts within.

The faint glow of string lights casts a gentle illumination, revealing a mosaic of emotions etched on your face. The weight of the past, the encounter with Harry, and the echoes of previous struggles converge in this moment of reflection. The cool breeze becomes a metaphorical breath, allowing you to exhale the complexities that have unfolded throughout the night.

Despite the passage of time, you find that lingering feelings persist, stubbornly anchored in the recesses of your emotions. The garden, illuminated by the soft glow of string lights, becomes a backdrop for a bittersweet revelation – you still carry a flame for him.

However, self-awareness prevails, and you acknowledge the undeniable truth that echoes in the quiet of the night. The person you once were, entwined with Harry in a different chapter of your lives, no longer aligns with the person he seeks now. The journey of growth and self-discovery has shaped you both in divergent ways, leading to an understanding that the path forward must be traversed separately.

With a deep breath, you accept the inevitability of change and recognize that clinging to what once was will only hinder your individual paths.

A subtle clearing of the throat interrupts your contemplation in the garden, prompting you to turn. To your surprise, Harry stands there with two glasses of lemonade, his expression softening as he offers them to you.

"Been looking f’you," he says, a hint of concern in his voice.

You accept the lemonade with a nod, appreciating the gesture even as the complexity of emotions lingers in the air.

"Just needed some fresh air," you reply, your gaze momentarily dropping to the glass in your hands.

Harry takes a seat on the concrete step next to you, the night air carrying a blend of both familiarity and unspoken tension.

"Mind if I join you?" he asks, and you find yourself hesitating before reluctantly nodding. The silence that follows is palpable, laden with the echoes of a shared history.

"I never thought I'd see you again after everything," Harry admits, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. You sense a vulnerability in his tone, a shared acknowledgment of the complexities that led to your parting.

"Yeah, life takes unexpected turns," you respond, tracing the rim of your glass with your fingertips. The garden, once a haven for solitary reflection, transforms into an arena for the unspoken exchange between two people navigating the remnants of a connection.

Harry's gaze meets yours, and a soft smile plays on his lips. "I've missed this, y’know? Just talking like we used to."

The sentiment catches you off guard, and you muster a small smile in return. "Things change, Harry. We change."

Harry's admission hangs heavy in the air as he confesses,

"I've missed y’a lot. Every night before bed, you're all I think about." The vulnerability in his voice is evident, the weight of unspoken longing underscoring his words.

You take a moment, the weight of his confession settling in the quiet of the garden. With a sigh, you respond, "It was the right decision to take a break. I was a mess, and I wasn't what you wanted."

However, before you can elaborate, Harry interrupts, a furrow forming on his brow. "No, s’not why. I never once thought about breaking up with y’because of y’drinking problems. It was the constant leaving, the distance. I felt like I couldn't be the partner y’eeded."

His words catch you off guard, a mix of surprise and realization washing over you. The clarity in his confession adds a layer of complexity to the narrative you had constructed in your mind.

"I thought... I thought it was because of me," you admit, the vulnerability echoing in your own voice.

Harry reaches for your hand, a gesture that conveys both comfort and sincerity. "It wasn't about you. It was about me feeling like I couldn't be the best partner f’you. I should've communicated that better."

The garden, witness to the intimate exchange, becomes a space for newfound understanding. The dialogue unfolds, untangling the threads of misperception and unveiling the intricacies of the emotions that lingered beneath the surface. As the clock approaches midnight, the shared revelations become a poignant marker in the journey toward healing and clarity.

His thumb gently traces circles on the back of your hand as he continues, "I regret asking for that break. I didn't realize how much it would affect me, being without you. I've spent every night wondering if I made the right decision."

You meet his gaze, a mix of compassion and acceptance in your eyes. "H, it was the right decision for both of us. I was a mess back then, and I couldn't have given you what you needed. It wasn't just about the drinking; it was about me figuring myself out."

Hearing you call him by the familiar nickname of ‘H’ has his heart twitching beneath his rib cage, oh how he’s missed you calling him that.

He squeezes your hand, a silent acknowledgment of your words. "But not once did I think about ending things because of y’struggles. It was the constant coming and going, the uncertainty. I felt like I was leaving y’alone too often, and it wasn't fair t’you."

As the conversation deepens, the layers of misunderstanding peel away, revealing the raw authenticity beneath.

"I never wanted you t’feel like y’couldn't be yourself," Harry admits, a sincerity coloring his tone. "I should've communicated better, been more honest about how I was feeling."

It isn’t long before the people crowded inside the house start counting down from ten, only second away from being embraced by 2024.

“10…”

“9…”

Harry leans in close, his words a hushed confession, "I still love you."

“8…”

“7…”

Caught off guard, you turn to look at him, the sincerity in his eyes echoing the sentiments you thought were buried in the past. you find your voice, whispering amidst the cacophony, "I love you too."

“6…”

“5…”

The counting continues, a rhythmic backdrop to the shared revelation hanging in the air. In a moment of vulnerability, Harry's gaze lingers on yours.

“4…”

“3…”

And that’s when he musters up enough courage to ask for the first time in a year. "Can I kiss you?"

“2…”

“1…”

As the countdown approaches its climax, the world outside the window erupts in cheers.

In the final seconds, the clock striking midnight, Harry softly presses his lips against yours, a tender exchange that marks the inception of a new year and a rekindled connection, forged amidst the symphony of shared confessions and the promise of a fresh start.

And this all happened when the clock struck midnight.

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mrsfatu · 9 months ago

Text

Part 1: Duel Desires

Paring: Jey Uso x Jimmy Uso x Fem!Reader

Warnings: kissing, fingering, oral fem receiving, swearing, 18+

Summary: You partied really hard last night in Vegas with the bloodline as a celebration. Your memory comes back to you the following morning.

A/N: hi guysss! don't be afraid to send in any requests, also leave a note and comment if you really enjoyed this part. Enjoy!

As the dull ache pulsated through your temples, You slowly opened your eyes to the harsh sunlight seeping through the curtains of your hotel room. Squinting, you tried to piece together the fragments of memories from the night before, but they eluded you like water slipping through your fingers. The room was a disarray of half-empty bottles and scattered clothes, leaving you with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. As you groaned and struggled to sit up, the realization hit you like a ton of bricks - your underwear wasn't attached to your body.

You stumbled across the plush carpet of your hotel room and into the bathroom. As you knelt in front of the toilet, your body convulsed and you retched, emptying the remnants of the previous night's revelry. Amidst the waves of nausea, a vivid flashback from the party flooded your mind - loud music, clinking glasses, and laughter echoing around you. you winced as the memories played out like a blurry movie, pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together in your throbbing head.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you leaned against the bathroom sink, your legs spread wide as you felt his tongue delicately trace the contours of your folds. you moaned softly as he moved lower and lower until he finally reached your core. His tongue glided along your sensitive flesh, sending shivers down your spine as he explored every inch of your pussy with a slow and deliberate rhythm. you ran your fingers through his soft hair, pulling him closer as you felt yourself slipping further and further into a state of pure ecstasy. You could feel the cold metal of his grills on the inner lips of your pussy. "Fuuuuck Jeyyy pleasee!" you whimpered in a voice that was barely above a whisper as you surrendered yourself completely to the pleasure that he was delivering with his skilled tongue.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you gasped as you realized the full extent of what had happened. you had just had a sexual encounter with one of your favorite clients, something you had never done before and had always vowed never to do. your head still throbbed with the aftermath of the intense experience, but your pussy continued to tingle with a mix of pleasure and shock. you took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart and gather your thoughts. "SHIT," you whispered to yourself, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to make sense of what had just happened. "No way he actually-" you trailed off, unable to finish your thought as you struggled to come to terms with the reality of what had just occurred.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you attempted to calm yourself down in the wake of your recent sexual encounter. you turned on the sink and splashed your face with water, hoping to clear your head and wash away the memories that were still haunting you. But just as you were starting to feel a sense of calm, a loud ringing occurred in your ear, and your head began to ache more intensely. you frowned, feeling a sense of deja vu wash over you.

His fingers found their way to your wet pussy, and you moaned in anticipation as they began to explore your folds. You were desperate for his touch, begging him silently with your eyes as you pleaded for him to finger you. "Please," you whispered hoarsely as he complied, sliding his middle and ring finger deeply inside you. He pumped them harder and faster repeatedly, sending waves of pleasure through your body as you clung to the sink for support. You were so wet that the sound of your wetness filled the bathroom like the sound of macaroni cooking on the stove. "Jimmyyy!" you whined as you reached the height of your pleasure.

You almost lost your balance as the intensity of your pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. You clung to the door for support, your eyes closed as you tried to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. "This is really, really bad," you whispered to yourself, but your pussy seemed to have a mind of its own, craving the touch of Jey's mouth and Jimmy's fingers. You felt a deep sense of guilt wash over you as you surrendered to the pleasure, knowing that your actions were wrong but unable to resist the temptation.

"What's bad?" a voice asked from the other side of the door, causing you to jump in fright. You quickly opened the door to reveal your best friend Jessica, whom you had invited along on the trip. you grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the bathroom, her eyes wide with concern. "Bitch, what's wrong with you? Did you smoke my weed?" she demanded. You hesitated, unsure of how to explain what had happened the previous night. "No, I... I did some fucked up shit last night," you admitted. Jessica's eyebrows rose as she swayed her hips, "Oh yeah girl, you were up on that table, shaking that ass girl whaaat. I aint never seen you like dat but you were lit as fuck tho-" you cut her off mid sentence, "No, I'm saying, Jey-," her eyes lit up. "Girl you fucked Jey?" she whispered excitedly. "No.. he ate me out.." you corrected. Jessica's hand covered her mouth in shock as you added, "And... Jimmy... he fingered me..."

"Both???" Jessica exclaimed in disbelief as you revealed that you had engaged in sexual acts with both Jey and Jimmy. You covered your face with both hands as you felt guilty about your actions but also exhilarated by the thrill of it all. "I don't know what to do, Jessica," you whined, feeling overwhelmed. you felt the weight of the world crashing down on you. your best friend, Jessica, rushed to your side, embracing you tightly. "It's okay. You literally got a piece of the sexiest men in wwe babes,"Jessica whispered soothingly. your mascara streaked across your cheeks due to the water you splashed onto your face earlier. Jessica gently turned on the faucet, letting the warm water cascade over your face. With a soft towel, Jessica began wiping away the smeared makeup, all the while whispering words of encouragement. "You've got this shit in lock girl," Jessica repeated like a mantra, as she helped you wash away the physical and emotional remnants of your breakdown. The simple act of cleansing your face felt like a cathartic release, and you began to feel a glimmer of hope rekindle within her, knowing that you had a steadfast friend by your side.

There came a sudden, unexpected knock at the door of your hotel room, interrupting you. you cautiously approached the door and turned the knob, revealing Paul standing there with a solemn expression. His voice was low and urgent as he delivered the message, "The tribal chief wants to see you." With that, he swiftly turned on his heel and walked away, all while nonchalantly placing the phone back to his ear as if he had never stopped his conversation. Curiosity and a sense of foreboding filled the room as you wondered what the tribal chief could possibly want with you.

Jessica walked out of the bathroom and said, "Damn girl, I hope you didn't piss him off. Me? I'll piss him off on purpose because you know I like that dominant shit." Just then, she received a text on her phone, "Oh shit, I gotta go, girl, David wants to take me on a date!" She had met David the previous night at the party. As she walked past you towards the door, she exclaimed, "Good luck, girl, and tell me the tea later," blowing you a kiss. "Okay, love you, be safe," you added before she left.

You decided to get dressed. As you tugged the fitted shirt over your thick curls and down your frame, and then pulled a pair of blue jeans over your legs, the thought of whether he knew about your interactions with Jey and Jimmy made your head spin with questions. Grabbing your purse, you braced yourself for what was sure to be an awkward meeting.

#wwe fanfiction #jeysuso #jey uso smut #jey uso one shot #jey uso fanfiction #jimmy uso #the usos #jimmy uso fanfiction #jimmy uso smut #jimmy uso x reader #wwe smut

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winxanity-ii · 6 days ago

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⌜Godly Things | Chapter 08 Chapter 08 | unexpected arrival⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

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The courtyard was serene as you sat, a soft breeze whispering through the olive trees, their branches swaying gently above.

The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on the ground, and you found yourself absentmindedly playing the aulos, the dual pipes releasing a lilting melody that carried no particular tune—just notes flowing out of habit.

Your fingers moved automatically, pressing down on the holes with familiarity, though your thoughts were distant, elsewhere.

After a while, the tune drifted to a stop, leaving nothing but the rustle of leaves swaying in the breeze.

You sighed, setting the instrument aside, the hollow reeds settling on the grass beside you.

Slowly, you slouched forward, feeling the tiredness settle in your bones, and then leaned backwards until you were flat onto the soft grass, staring up at the cloudless sky above.

Closing your eyes as you exhaled deeply, trying to enjoy the calmness, but it felt impossible.

There was a lingering tension in the air—an unease that wouldn't leave your chest.

You lay there, staring up at the sky as your thoughts twisted and turned, weighed down by an uneasy sense of dread that no amount of sunshine could dispel.

It was overwhelming—how a moment of peace could feel so fragile, so precarious. Like a thin layer of ice over deep water, one wrong step and everything could shatter.

The warmth, the promise of rest, the brief hope—all of it felt so easily snatched away.

The night of the feast had felt like a dream—a moment where everything was finally right again.

It was filled with laughter and joy, music and dance. The food had been plentiful, the wine had flowed freely, and the smiles on everyone's faces had been genuine.

You could almost still hear the joyful cheers and clinking of cups, the echo of Penelope's gentle laughter, Telemachus' proud grin, and the way Odysseus' eyes glistened as he looked around the room—at everything he'd fought so hard to reclaim.

But the memory was tainted now, overshadowed by what had come next.

You remembered the feast—it had begun beautifully, like a scene straight out of one of your stories.

After the preparations were completed, the palace's great hall was filled with warmth and celebration.

It was not a large gathering—the losses and betrayals were still fresh—but those who were there made up for it with their energy.

Servants, soldiers, and the family sat together, sharing laughter and cheer.

The hall was alive with movement—dancing, smiling faces, and a lightheartedness that Ithaca hadn't known in years.

You'd even joined the musicians, playing your sistrum along with a few other musically inclined servants; the metal rattle emitted a soft, rhythmic jingle—a instrument that required no real effort so that you could lose yourself in the melody.

The sound of clapping, the stamping of feet, and the happy, vibrant music had filled every corner of the room. People spun and danced in circles, moving to the rhythm you all created.

Together, your music swirled around the dancers, the tambourine-like rattles and melodic hums weaving through the revelry.

The flames of the torches flickered in the evening air, casting golden light that made the whole room seem to glow.

It felt endless—pure joy, pure release after so many dark times.

You could still remember the moment Odysseus stood, raising his cup high, his voice strong and filled with hope as he spoke. "May Ithaca prosper in peace," he had declared, his gaze sweeping across the room, his eyes filled with determination, warmth, and promise.

And just as his words settled in the air, the doors to the dining hall had burst open.

A sudden, harsh noise in the midst of the festivities. The music stopped abruptly, and heads turned.

The messenger had stumbled in—a young man—panting, his face flushed and slick with sweat, his clothes dusty from the road. He had looked utterly spent, as though he had run the entire way to the palace without stopping.

His eyes were wide with urgency, and he clutched a bulging satchel at his side, as if it contained something too important to leave behind.

Odysseus' expression shifted in an instant, his eyes narrowing as he watched the man struggle to catch his breath. The king's jaw tightened, and he slowly set his cup down, his eyes fixed on the newcomer as silence blanketed the hall.

The crowd, once cheerful and carefree, now stood in an anxious stillness.

The messenger's steps were unsteady as he made his way toward the head table, each movement deliberate, as though he fought against exhaustion with every step.

Upon reaching the dais, he bowed deeply, his eyes lowered, his hand shaking slightly as he held out a rolled parchment.

Odysseus gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable as he signaled to a nearby soldier to retrieve it.

The soldier stepped forward, accepting the parchment with a solemn expression before handing it to the king.

As Odysseus unfurled the scroll, his eyes narrowed as they swept over the words written there.

His gaze darkened, and the tension in the room seemed to thicken, the cheerful atmosphere turning sour in an instant as everyone waited.

The messenger, still catching his breath, spoke up, his voice cracking slightly from exhaustion. "My king..." he began, his tone urgent, but loud enough to be heard throughout the hall. "...there are several... angry families of the suitors. They are furious, demanding retribution for their fallen kin. They intend to seek revenge." He swallowed hard, his face pale, the fear evident in his eyes.

As he spoke, he opened his bulging satchel, fumbling slightly as he pulled out another scroll—then another, the weight of them causing several to slip from his grasp and clatter onto the floor, parchment rolling across the polished stone.

It seemed that he had carried news from several households.

Odysseus' face was like stone, his eyes cold and calculating as he listened. He said nothing for a long moment, his gaze shifting to the fallen scrolls before he returned his attention to the parchment in his hands.

He then set the parchment down, his gaze sweeping over the people gathered, the warmth and openness from earlier now replaced with caution and calculation.

He stood silently for a long moment, his face hard as stone, before he spoke, his voice calm but commanding. "The feast is over," he declared, each word carrying weight, leaving no room for argument.

That night, the celebration was over before it had truly begun. People left quietly, their faces lined with worry.

The joyful cheer that had filled the hall just hours before was gone, replaced with the cold reality of what lay ahead.

Once again, Ithaca stood on the brink of chaos.

The thought of it gnawed at you as you lay in the grass, the sun warming your skin.

What would happen now? How would King Odysseus handle the families seeking vengeance? Would there be more bloodshed? The questions swirled endlessly, each one tugging at your mind until you could hardly stand it.

You inhaled deeply, the scent of blooming flowers filling your senses—a mix of thyme and lavender that usually soothed you but felt strangely fleeting today.

You opened your eyes slowly, squinting against the brightness, and lifted a hand to shield yourself from the blinding sun.

For a moment, you just stared at the patches of blue sky visible between your fingers, feeling the sunlight filter through, casting shadows across your face.

The courtyard was quiet, but it felt heavy, as if the air carried unspoken words, unvoiced fears.

You finally pushed yourself up, your fingers brushing against the grass, and settled into a sitting position. The sun above was unrelenting, making the world feel almost too vivid, too sharp.

Your thoughts then drifted to Telemachus.

You recalled how he had came to you early that morning, just as the first rays of sunlight were breaking over the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of pink and gold.

He had approached your room quietly, his knocks barely audible over the gentle tweeting of morning birds. His face was still lined with exhaustion, the weight of everything that had happened etched in the set of his brow and the tightness around his mouth.

His eyes, however, were kind as they met yours, and he had given you a small, tired smile.

Telemachus whispered to you in the early dawn light, his voice low and deliberate, sharing the reality of his father's restless night. He told you about his father—how Odysseus had been up all night, his mind sharp, aware of the potential danger looming on the horizon.

The possibility of retaliation from the families of the suitors was not lost on him, and he had set to work immediately, spending hours fortifying his position, preparing Ithaca for what might come.

The prince spoke of his father's resolve, his refusal to be caught unprepared, as well as the necessity of visiting his grandfather, Laertes, for guidance in the days to come.

Telemachus' presence had been brief, just a few moments shared between you before he and his father, and a few loyal servants had departed, setting off to see Laertes—to find answers, to find a way to protect Ithaca once more.

In those minutes, you had sensed not only his fatigue but also the determination that emanated from him—a drive to face whatever trials might come.

And now, here you were, sitting in the courtyard, the memory of his voice still echoing in your mind.

You sighed, the weight of it all settling heavily on your shoulders as you stared ahead, the sun warming your skin, the scent of the flowers mingling with the distant sound of birdsong.

There was a new confrontation on the horizon, one not borne of war or conquest, but of vengeance.

Ithaca was teetering, the promise of peace slipping further away—just as it had felt within reach.

The sudden crunch of leaves and the sound of hurried footsteps broke through your thoughts, snapping you back to the present. You looked up quickly, your gaze locking onto the figure sprinting towards you. It was Telemachus.

"Telemachus?" you murmured under your breath, unsure if your eyes were deceiving you.

He wasn't supposed to be back so soon.

You scrambled to your feet, your heart picking up pace as his form grew closer. The prince's face was flushed, his breathing labored as he rushed across the courtyard.

You barely had time to react before he reached you, his hands finding your shoulders just as you started to curtsy.

"Prince Telemachus—" you began, but he cut you off, his grip tightening on your shoulders. His eyes were wide, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

"The suitors' families," he said between gasps, "they... they are no longer seeking revenge."

You blinked, staring at him in confusion, the words not fully registering. "What?" you managed, your voice barely a whisper, as if you hadn't heard him correctly.

Telemachus nodded, his expression softening as he steadied himself. He could see the disbelief etched across your features, and he exhaled slowly, his voice calming as he explained.

As the prince began to recount everything, his voice wove a story so vivid that it felt as though you were right there beside him, witnessing every moment. You listened intently, the courtyard around you fading into the background as his words painted a picture that seemed almost surreal.

The prince told you how he and his father had arrived at his grandfather Laertes' farm, the land stretched out wide with fields that glistened in the early morning sun.

It had been peaceful, the breeze carrying the scent of fresh earth and ripened olives. But as soon as they had stepped into the clearing, Telemachus had noticed something amiss.

"The moment we arrived at my grandfather's farm," Telemachus began, his voice still slightly breathless, "we saw them—a mob of the suitors' families, armed and marching towards us. Their faces were filled with rage, their voices shouting for vengeance. They wanted blood, retribution for what happened to their sons and kin."

Telemachus paused, watching your reaction, and you couldn't help the sharp gasp that escaped your lips, your eyes widening in alarm.

The image of an angry mob storming the farm flashed through your mind, and you could almost hear their angry shouts, see the glint of their weapons in the sunlight.

"And you wouldn't guess who was leading them," he added, his tone bitter with a tinge of disbelief.

"Who?" you asked, your curiosity overpowering your unease. You leaned in closer, your fingers brushing against his arm.

"Eupeithes," Telemachus said, his tone carrying a bitterness that mirrored the situation. "Antinous' father. The same Antinous who led the suitors and was the last to fall."

Your gasp was louder this time, your hand flying to cover your mouth. The memory of Antinous was still fresh in your mind—his arrogance, his ambition, and his final moments.

The thought of his father leading the charge against Ithaca seemed almost poetic, yet tragic; you could almost picture Eupeithes' twisted face, anger and grief etched into his every expression.

Telemachus shook his head, trying to fight away the almost incredulous smile that tugged at his lips. "It was surreal, seeing him there, at the head of the group."

The prince's eyes then darkened, his voice growing steadier. "It looked like they were ready for another fight. A confrontation that could've thrown Ithaca back into chaos. My father, my grandfather, I, and those loyal to us were preparing for the worst, ready to defend what was ours." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.

You swallowed hard, the tension palpable. The picture he painted made your heart pound, your pulse quickening as if you were there yourself, standing at Laertes' side.

You could see the anger in those men's eyes, the rage that boiled over, the cries for vengeance that echoed through the clearing.

It was the promise of more bloodshed, more chaos.

But then, Telemachus' voice shifted, a sense of awe creeping into his tone. "And then, just as it seemed they would clash... Athena intervened." His eyes meet yours, glinting with something almost like reverence.

You reached out, grasping his arm tightly, your eyes widening. "Are you serious? Athena?" you breathed, your voice trembling slightly.

Telemachus nodded. "Yes. First, she came in the form of Mentor, but that wasn't enough to stop them. The suitors' families were still thirsty for revenge, still determined to take back something they felt they had lost." He paused, his eyes turning distant, as if reliving the scene. "It was as if they were blind to reason."

"And then?" you urged, unable to keep the excitement from your voice. You were practically vibrating, your curiosity consuming you. It was rare enough to hear of gods walking amongst mortals, let alone seeing it firsthand.

Telemachus drew in a deep breath, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Just when it looked like all hope was lost, before any fighting could begin, Zeus himself sent a thunderbolt—a sign, a warning." He looked at you, his eyes bright. "A divine sign—a command from the gods themselves that the fighting had to stop. that enough was enough, that there should be no more violence. It encouraged Athena to reveal herself."

Your jaw dropped slightly, and you shook your head in disbelief. "Two gods?" you murmured, your voice filled with awe. "How incredibly lucky... for Athena to intervene, and for Zeus to send a sign. It's... it's beyond words," you whispered, feeling a shiver run down your spine.

Telemachus smiled, his face softening. "It truly was. It was something out of legend—Athena stepping forth, no longer hidden in disguise, commanding both sides to cease, her presence both beautiful and terrifying. She spoke with such authority; she demanded that peace be restored, and it was impossible not to heed her words."

He paused, watching your reaction as your eyes sparkled with wonder, your hand still grasping his arm.

"Laertes, emboldened by Athena's intervention, was the one to end it," Telemachus continued, his voice growing softer, tinged with something more solemn. "He killed Eupeithes. It was quick, a final act of vengeance for all that had been done to our family."

You blinked, the gravity of the moment hitting you. The father of Antinous was gone, and with him, the leadership of those seeking revenge.

Telemachus nodded, as if he could see the questions forming in your eyes. "Athena didn't let the violence escalate. She stopped it, just in time. She spoke to everyone, reminding them of the destruction that would come if they continued this senseless feud. She insisted that it end there, that no more blood be spilled."

He looked down, his expression softening, the weight of everything finally seeming to lift from his shoulders. "And it worked. The families saw the will of the gods. They laid down their arms. They accepted peace, knowing they could not fight against the gods themselves."

He paused again, taking in a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of exhaustion and hope. "Athena erased the hatred from their hearts—the desire for vengeance, the anger that had festered for so long. She promised that the past would be forgiven and that we would all work together to rebuild Ithaca."

For a moment, the courtyard was silent, the only sound the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. You could feel your heart pounding, the weight of his words settling in, the realization of what had just transpired.

Athena had not only brokered a truce, she had ensured that the hatred would not linger, that peace could truly be restored.

It was as if a miracle had been gifted to Ithaca—a second chance, a chance to heal.

You looked up at Telemachus, a small, hopeful smile breaking across your face. "Thank the gods," you whispered, your heart finally beginning to calm, the weight on your chest lightening ever so slightly.

Telemachus smiled back, his hand brushing against yours gently, his touch warm and reassuring. "Yes," he said softly, his voice steady. "Thank the gods."

The peaceful moment between you and Telemachus was abruptly interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps crunching over the gravel path. You both turned just in time to see a young servant girl rushing towards you, her face flushed, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath.

"Prince Telemachus! Miss ___!" she called out, her voice breathless but urgent.

You and Telemachus exchanged a wary glance, the serenity of the courtyard shattering like fragile glass. The prince's expression instantly grew tense as he shifted his attention to the girl approaching.

The servant girl skidded to a stop in front of you, her hands resting on her knees as she tried to steady her breathing. "Ships, my lord..." she managed to say between gasps, her eyes wide with fear. "Ships are arriving at the docks."

Telemachus frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed her words. You found yourself instinctively stepping closer to him, your heart pounding as you tried to read the meaning behind the servant's frantic message.

"Ships?" Telemachus repeated, his voice low, guarded. He glanced at you, and you could see the same unease reflected in his eyes.

You swallowed, your gaze darting back to the servant. "Are they friendly? Do we know who they are?"

The servant shook her head quickly, her eyes wide with uncertainty. "No, Miss ____. I only know they bear unfamiliar colors—green and yellow—and they approach quickly. The guards are trying to discern their intentions."

Telemachus' gaze hardened, a silent determination forming as he nodded. "Thank you, Althaia. You did well to inform us."

The girl dipped into a quick, awkward curtsy before she quickly turned and rushed back toward the palace.

Telemachus exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he turned back to you.

For a moment, there was silence—just the wind rustling the leaves overhead, the tension hanging between you like a storm about to break.

You looked at him, your heart twisting in your chest. You could see the weight of the moment in his eyes, the same thoughts running through your own mind.

After everything they had just endured, after the gods themselves had intervened, could more trouble be looming on the horizon?

Reaching out, the prince took your hand in his, his grip firm, reassuring. "We should go," he said, his voice steady, though you could hear the strain beneath his calm exterior.

And with that, the two of you turned and made your way towards the palace, the promise of peace feeling more fragile than ever, slipping further from your grasp with each hurried step.

☆

The flurry of movements after the servant girl's message had led to this moment, every step since then deliberate, hurried, with an underlying sense of urgency.

Telemachus had led you through the palace corridors, stopping by your room to quickly grab your lyre, the instrument a comforting weight against your side. His expression was tense but purposeful, and you followed without hesitation.

The two of you had moved through halls filled with servants whispering nervously, the tension palpable, until you finally reached the great doors to the throne room.

Telemachus stood in his honored position, close to Odysseus' side, while the king sat in his grand chair, regal and composed, the weight of his kingdom resting on his shoulders. Beside him, Penelope sat, her eyes fixed on the doors, her expression poised but visibly anxious.

A few guards stood scattered around the room, their eyes trained on the entrance, their postures rigid. Several servants, including Althaia, stood farther back, their heads bowed, waiting quietly for whatever news would come.

The flags hanging along the walls fluttered slightly, moved by the breeze sneaking through the open windows, the sun casting beams of light across the stone floor.

It might have been a beautiful day, but the fear that clung to the air turned it cold.

Odysseus had already briefed his son on the situation—the green and yellow banners of the ships' flags belonged to Bronte, a neighboring island kingdom.

The family crest, Odysseus explained, belonged to Andros' kin—the arrogant red-haired suitor who had been among those vying for Penelope's hand. Andros was the third son, far down in the line of succession for his own kingdom, seeking to elevate his status by claiming Ithaca as his own through marriage.

The news was such a surprise to you; who knew that brute was a prince?

Odysseus' jaw clenched as he spoke, his eyes narrowing. "It seems they come seeking answers, perhaps retribution, for what has befallen their kin," he said, his gaze shifting between Telemachus and the few gathered officials and guards. "We must tread carefully. The last thing we need is another conflict before peace has even had a chance to settle." He gestured towards a nearby guard. "Fetch the envoy from the ships. They are to be escorted here for a public discussion. Let them see that Ithaca stands united, that we have nothing to hide."

The guard bowed deeply before turning on his heel, marching briskly out of the throne room to carry out the king's orders. The echo of his footsteps faded into the tense silence that followed, the air thick with anticipation.

Now, here in the present, the great hall was silent, the tension palpable, the kind that came right before a storm.

You knelt beside the steps of the throne, your eyes fixed on the polished marble floor, the lyre resting against your knees, a comforting weight against your side.

You could hear the quiet rustle of the guards shifting their stances, the occasional creak of leather as they adjusted their grips on their spears.

Telemachus stood tall beside his father, his eyes forward, his expression unreadable. You could see the way his hands were clasped behind his back, fingers flexing slightly—a small sign of the tension he carried.

Odysseus sat still, his gaze fixed on the doorway, waiting.

Penelope's eyes, however, were on her son, the worry she felt clear in the way her brow furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line.

The moments stretched on, the anticipation growing heavier with each passing second.

The servants along the sides of the room exchanged nervous glances, their postures stiff, uncertain of what was to come.

The sunlight streaming in through the high windows seemed almost too bright, the golden rays a stark contrast to the somber mood that had settled over the throne room.

Your fingers brushed against the strings of your lyre absentmindedly, the soft hum of the notes barely audible. It was a comfort, a reminder of something familiar amidst the uncertainty.

You kept your eyes lowered, focused on the instrument in your hands, but your ears were attuned to every sound—the shuffle of footsteps, the creak of the throne as Odysseus shifted, the faint murmur of voices just outside the grand doors.

Your thoughts wandered as you waited, the uncertainty gnawing at the edges of your mind.

Perhaps this kingdom—Bronte—was foolish enough to believe they could defy a goddess' will, or maybe they hadn't heard in time that the call for vengeance had already been stilled by divine decree.

How long could news travel across kingdoms? It wasn't hard to imagine that word of Athena's intervention might not have reached them, leaving them ignorant and reckless in their grief.

Or perhaps, they simply didn't care.

Just as the thought crossed your mind, the grand doors creaked open, the echo reverberating across the high ceiling of the hall.

The room seemed to collectively hold its breath, all eyes turning towards the entrance.

Your eyes flickered towards the grand doors as they creaked open, revealing the guard that had been sent to meet the visitors. Behind him, you could see the figures approaching, their outlines dark against the bright light streaming in from outside.

The guard stepped inside first, his expression serious as he turned to face Odysseus, bowing deeply. "My king," he began, his voice clear, carrying across the silent hall, "The visitors have arrived." He turned slightly, gesturing for the figures behind him to step forward.

A herald then stepped inside, his voice ringing clearly as he announced, "Princess Andreia, envoy of the Kingdom of Bronte, daughter of King Aeron."

Your breath caught at the name. Andreia. There was no mistaking the connection. She must have been related to Andros—sister, perhaps.

And then, she entered.

The sight of her took you by surprise.

Andreia was a striking figure, her beauty undeniable, but it was a beauty edged with something softer, something almost tragic in the way her eyes swept across the throne room.

Her hair, as red as her late brother's, spilled over her shoulders in waves, but where Andros' presence had been rough and full of brashness, hers held an elegance that was both captivating and disarming.

She wore a flowing gown of green and yellow, the colors of her house, the fabric catching the sunlight in a shimmering cascade that made her seem almost otherworldly. The dress was adorned with gold embroidery that traced along the bodice and sleeves, each stitch intricate and precise.

Her pale skin seemed to glow beneath the golden light filtering through the windows, and her eyes—green, like the deepest parts of a forest—were filled with something that you couldn't quite place. Sadness? Determination? Perhaps both.

Andreia moved with a grace that seemed practiced, her steps deliberate as she approached the dais.

Behind her trailed a small group of servants, each dressed in the same green and yellow livery, their expressions carefully neutral. They moved in unison, their heads bowed, carrying baskets and satchels that clinked faintly with each step.

You watched as she drew closer, her gaze briefly flicking over you where you knelt, before turning towards the throne.

There was something hauntingly familiar about her—the color of her hair, the sharpness of her features, the way her chin tilted upward with a sense of pride that echoed her brother's—but the hardness that Andros had worn like armor was missing.

Instead, there was a gentleness that made her seem almost out of place amidst the tension of the throne room.

Andreia came to a halt before the thrones, and slowly, she sank into a deep bow, her eyes lowering in deference. "King Odysseus. Queen Penelope," she said, her voice smooth, almost musical, but carrying an edge of something unspoken. "I come on behalf of my family, the royal House of Brontes, to speak for our fallen kin."

For a moment, there was silence.

You could feel the weight of her words settling over the room, the tension thickening as Odysseus leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the young woman before him.

Penelope's gaze softened as she looked upon Andreia, her fingers no longer tracing the armrest but now resting still, her eyes taking in the sight of the woman with a mixture of empathy and caution.

Odysseus spoke, his voice measured, the authority of a king evident in every word. "Lady Andreia, you are welcome in Ithaca," he said, though his tone held no warmth. "You must understand that the suitors—your brother included—took liberties that demanded consequences. They disrespected my home, my family, and my kingdom. Yet, here you are, bearing their colors. What is it that you seek?"

Andreia lifted her head, her gaze meeting Odysseus'. There was a fire there, restrained but present, as she drew in a breath. "I seek understanding, my lord," she replied, her voice steady, though there was a tremble beneath the surface, as if she were struggling to maintain her composure. "I seek to know why my brother's life was ended without a chance to answer for himself, why his ambitions were met not with words but with death."

The tension in the room grew, the silence that followed her words almost deafening. You kept your eyes on Andreia, your fingers tightening slightly around the lyre, the strings pressing into your skin.

Odysseus' gaze darkened, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the scepter, but it was Telemachus who stepped forward, his voice calm but carrying the weight of someone who had seen too much. "Lady Andreia, the actions taken were in response to the dishonor your brother and others brought upon Ithaca. Their intentions were clear—seeking to take advantage of my father's absence, to claim what was never theirs to claim."

Andreia's eyes flicked to Telemachus, her lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, she seemed to falter, her gaze lowering. You could see the pain etched in her expression, the way her fingers clenched around the folds of her dress.

"I do not deny that my little brother was ambitious," she said, her voice softer now, almost a whisper. "But he was still my brother. And I... I am here to ensure that his memory is not one of disgrace." She lifted her head again, her eyes meeting Telemachus', and then shifting to Odysseus. "I come not to seek retribution but to seek closure, to understand the choices that led to his end, and to ask that his body be returned to our family, that he may be laid to rest with our ancestors."

A hush fell over the throne room, the weight of her plea hanging in the air.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the emotions in the room almost tangible—the grief, the anger, the longing for peace. You glanced at Odysseus, who leaned back in his throne, his eyes never leaving Andreia, expression unreadable.

For a long moment, he was silent, the throne room holding its breath, waiting for his judgment.

The tension was thick, each second dragging on, the silence almost unbearable.

You watched as Penelope glanced at her husband, her lips parting slightly, as if she wished to speak, to offer some kindness to the young woman before them. But she held her silence, respecting her husband's authority in the matter.

Odysseus finally nodded, a slow, deliberate movement, his voice echoing through the hall. "You shall have your brother's body, Lady Andreia," he said, his tone still guarded but carrying a note of finality. "But understand this—what was done was not done lightly. Your brother's choices led him here, and Ithaca responded as it had to, to protect itself, to protect its queen." His gaze bore into hers, a challenge, a warning. "There will be no retribution, no further claims upon this land."

Andreia bowed her head deeply, her shoulders sagging slightly in what might have been relief or perhaps exhaustion. "Thank you, King Odysseus," she said quietly, her voice barely audible.

You watched her, the sight of her bowed figure filling you with a sense of sadness.

In her, you could see echoes of Andros—the ambition, the pride—but also something gentler, something that perhaps had been lost in him along the way. She was here not for power or revenge but for something simpler, something more human.

Odysseus turned to Telemachus, his gaze softening slightly. "Telemachus, escort Lady Andreia and her retinue to a place where they may rest and prepare. Ensure they are comfortable, and that they have all they need."

Telemachus stepped forward immediately, bowing his head in acknowledgment. "Of course, Father." He turned towards Andreia, his expression polite, though his eyes held a hint of curiosity. "Lady Andreia, if you would follow me," he said, his voice steady.

Andreia straightened, nodding once before gesturing for her servants to follow. Telemachus led them out of the throne room, a guard falling into step behind them, ensuring that the visiting party was properly escorted.

The room seemed to collectively exhale when the grand doors finally closed behind Lady Andreia and her entourage. The echo of their departure faded into the distance, and a different kind of silence filled the throne room—a silence tinged with relief rather than tension.

The guards visibly relaxed, shoulders loosening as they resumed their positions, their once rigid stances softening. They exchanged quick glances, the unspoken communication between them conveying a shared sense of cautious optimism.

A few of the servants resumed their tasks, their steps light as they moved to tidy up the room or to attend to matters elsewhere, their nervous energy now dissipating.

It wasn't long until the throne room was nearly empty, just a few trusted guards stationed near the exits, the king and queen, and you.

Penelope turned towards her husband, a gentle smile tugging at her lips, the lines of worry on her face softening. "You handled that beautifully, my love," she said, her voice tender, full of genuine admiration. "Many others in your position would have shown nothing but hostility, yet you offered her understanding." She leaned a bit closer, her gaze warm as she watched Odysseus. "It shows a strength that is rare, a wisdom that goes beyond vengeance."

Odysseus looked at her, his stern expression softening in response to her praise. He did not speak immediately, but his eyes held hers, his gaze filled with something unspoken, something tender. He gave a small nod, his lips curling just slightly in what could almost be called a smile.

Though his words were few, his attention to his wife spoke volumes—his gaze unwavering, listening to every word as though her voice alone anchored him.

"And that young princess," Penelope continued, her voice brightening, her eyes sparkling. "To travel all this way on her own... there is a strength in her that I admire. It takes courage to face what she has, to step into a kingdom that might view her as an enemy."

Odysseus hummed thoughtfully, as he nodded. His hand moved to rest over hers on the armrest of her throne, a simple gesture that conveyed more than words could in the quiet that settled between them.

Penelope's smile grew, her gaze distant for a moment, before she turned back to Odysseus, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Perhaps," she began, a hint of enthusiasm creeping into her voice, "Lady Andreia should join us for dinner tonight." She rose from her seat gracefully, her movements fluid as she stepped forward, her eyes alight with purpose. "It would be a gesture of peace, a way to make her feel welcomed."

She looked over to you, her smile widening as she beckoned you forward. "Come, dear. There is much to do—let us head to the kitchens. We must prepare the menu and find out what our guests might enjoy." Her voice was filled with a warmth that seemed to dispel the lingering tension in the room, her excitement contagious.

You blinked, startled for a moment, before quickly standing, clutching your lyre tightly as you moved towards her. You nodded, offering her a small smile as she reached for your arm, her grip gentle but insistent.

As Penelope led you out of the throne room, her demeanor was almost buoyant, her steps light, as if she had already dismissed the worries of the day.

Her presence, her warmth, brought a sense of normalcy, a reminder that even amidst uncertainty, there were still traditions to uphold, still hospitality to offer.

A/N: sorry for the lack of updates, the semester's coming to an end so im kinda swamped with exams, papers, etc. as well as trying not to fall into a hibernative-depression due to me having to start back working to fix this damn tooth 😡😡; also i took a lot of you guys advice and decided that apollo will be met last, hehe

[A/N: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐎𝐂 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 "𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐚" 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐈 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐨 𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐈 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭; 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐝 😭😭. 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫~]

andreia:

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