#secrets of the darkened seas

[aphroditsdaughter]

KISS IT BETTER

kiss it, kiss it better, baby

paige bueckers x reader

fluff, sexual content, (rushed writing lol)

You barely make it to the hotel room in one piece.

Paige has been all over you from the moment you arrived hands brushing over your back, fingers dipping just beneath the hem of your dress, lips barely grazing the shell of your ear with whispers that melted like honey. Every glance she gave you tonight felt like a promise laced in fire. And you? You’ve been unraveling silently, letting it eat at you from the inside out. You couldn’t show it, not out there in the world, but your mind… your mind was wrecked the moment you laid eyes on her.

She’d walked into the room like a sin draped in satin wearing a black slip that clung to her every curve like it had been sewn onto her skin. The hem swayed with every calculated step. The bedazzled collar caught the dim club lights and refracted them like stars orbiting her throat. And beneath it? Nothing. bare, dangerous, and holy.

You wanted to fall to your knees before her, to surrender completely. You wanted to do the most sinful, blasphemous things to her devour her body in ways that would leave you both undone. But at the same time, you wanted to build an altar around her, to worship her as if she were a deity, sacred and untouchable. You wanted her all of her in ways that words couldn’t capture, couldn’t even begin to explain. It was something primal, something deep, a yearning that reached far beyond mere lust.

And now, finally, she’s here. In your hotel room. The door clicks shut behind you with a soft, final sound, locking out the rest of the world, leaving only the two of you in this space where the tension crackles in the air like static.

The room glows in low amber hues. A tall brass floor lamp stands in the corner, casting golden shadows that dance lazily across the dark wood floors. Everything is quiet — muffled, intimate like the room itself is holding its breath. The king-sized bed sits beneath a canopy of heavy drapes and soft cream linens, scattered with dark gray accent pillows. The air carries the faint scent of sandalwood and something sweeter maybe the trace of her perfume lingering in the warmth of her skin. It feels like a sacred space. Like something is about to happen that will change you.

Shes in front of you now, close enough that you can feel the heat of her skin, radiating warmth like a temple's sacred fire. Her hand rises, fingertips gliding across your cheek, tracing the curve of your jaw, dipping to your throat with a tenderness that aches, that trembles like a prayer whispered in the dark. She pauses, her touch hovering just above the zipper of your dress, an offering of unspoken desires.

“Paige…” you whisper, voice trembling, caught between the beat of your heart and the breath that stirs in your chest.

“Please,” she murmurs, her voice raw, frayed with longing, like a hymn sung with desperation. “I’ve been wanting this... wanting you... all day.”

Her hand rests at your waist, a soft and silent promise, and her gaze intense, molten burns into yours.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” she says, her words heavy, each syllable a prayer. “That dress. The way you wear it... the way you let everyone see you, showing yourself off. Do you know how hard it was for me, keeping my hands off you?” Her teeth graze her bottom lip, the slightest flash of a secret sin. “If only I didn’t have an image to protect…”

You place a finger gently against her lips, silencing her.

“Paige,” you breathe, voice low, almost reverent. “Less talking. More kissing.”

She pauses, studying you with eyes that darken like the sea before a storm. And then, she kisses you.

Hard.

Desperate.

The kind of kiss that knocks the breath from your lungs and makes time slow. Her hands grip your hips like she’s anchoring herself to something real. You kiss her back with everything you’ve been holding in the tension, the ache, the reverence.

She walks you back toward the bed, never breaking contact, and gently pushes you down onto the mattress. She climbs over you like she owns you, her legs straddling your thighs, her palms braced on either side of your head. Her mouth finds your neck, your jaw, your collarbone — planting heat, claiming you. You arch beneath her as her fingers pull the zipper down inch by agonizing inch, revealing skin she’s been dying to touch.

And then you stop her.

She blinks. Confused. Breathless. Wanting.

“Now what?” she asks, her voice rough.

“Just… let me,” you say, sitting up slowly, hands brushing her waist.

There’s a moment of hesitation. She’s used to being the one in control. Used to taking what she wants, when she wants it. But this time… you want to give her everything. You want her to receive it all.

“It’s your night,” you murmur. “Let me take care of you.”

She exhales, the tension melting from her shoulders like wax under flame. She lets you in.

She leans back, giving you room. You rise to your knees, facing her, hands slipping beneath the hem of her shirt. You lift it slowly, revealing the toned lines of her torso, the soft dip between her ribs, the curve of her breasts held in by the barest excuse of a sports bra. You slide your fingers under the elastic and peel it upward, baring her chest to the warm glow of the room.

You look at her, fully look at her and you swear you’ve never seen anything more beautiful. Her skin glows gold in the lamplight, goosebumps rising in your wake. Your fingertips graze her breasts, gentle as breath, circling her nipples until they pebble beneath your touch. She gasps a small sound, almost involuntary. You lean in, dragging your tongue lightly over one, then the other, while your hands hold her close.

She’s trembling now.

You kiss down her chest, your lips moving reverently over the space between her ribs, her stomach, her navel. You glance up at her. She looks like something out of scripture like a goddess half-undone, wild-haired and radiant, backlit by amber light. Her eyes meet yours, wide and hungry, and for a moment the world falls silent.

You take her nipple into your mouth, slowly, softly, and she moans your name like a prayer.

You release it, just to hear her gasp, and push her back against the pillows. She goes willingly, lips parted, hands tangled in the sheets. You kiss your way lower, leaving a path of fire down her belly, taking your time.

She whimpers. “Don’t stop.”

“I’m not going to,” you say, voice thick with desire. “I’m right here.”

You reach her waistband, your fingers finding the edge of her boxers. She lifts her hips in silent permission. You pull them down slow, deliberate, peeling them away like a gift unwrapped and slide them off her legs along with her panties. They land somewhere on the floor, forgotten. All that matters is her bare and waiting.

You hook your arms beneath her thighs, placing them gently over your shoulders, and pull her closer until she’s exactly where you want her.

You pull her closer, her thighs resting gently against your shoulders, and the heat of her skin against your chest makes your pulse quicken. The soft scent of her of warm skin and that intoxicating perfume swirls around you, clouding your thoughts. You take a moment, just to breathe her in, just to appreciate the way her body trembles under your touch, as if she’s both terrified and excited by what’s about to happen.

Her hands grip the sheets beside her, fingers digging in, her knuckles white with anticipation. You can feel her pulse beating wildly beneath your fingertips as you slide them up her inner thighs, moving with excruciating slowness, savoring every inch of her.

She’s breathing faster now, her chest rising and falling with each heavy inhale. You kiss her inner thighs, tenderly, reverently, feeling the heat radiate off her. Her body tenses when your lips hover just above the sweet spot she’s been holding back, and you smile against her skin, savoring her vulnerability.

“Please,” she breathes, voice barely a whisper, but you hear it desperate, pleading. Her legs tighten around your shoulders, urging you closer, needing you, wanting you to push past her restraint.

You move slowly, deliberately, kissing your way up her body, trailing soft, wet kisses from the crease of her thigh up to the sensitive skin just beneath her navel. Every inch of her is so soft, so warm, it feels like the very air is laced with desire. You pause, looking up at her once more, your gaze locking with hers.

In that moment, she’s yours completely, utterly. But something shifts. Something in the way her eyes flash no longer full of longing, but of something else… of surrender.

You dive in.

The first touch of your tongue against her is slow, languid. Her breath hitches, a soft moan escaping her lips as your mouth moves with deliberate intention, teasing, exploring. You can’t get enough of her. Every touch, every sound she makes stirs something deeper inside you, something that has nothing to do with urgency and everything to do with devotion.

Her hands slide through your hair, her grip tightening as she pulls you closer, urging you on. “Don’t stop… please don’t stop.”

You smile against her, your fingers grazing the soft curve of her hips, pulling her closer, pushing deeper, if only to feel her melt beneath you. You keep going, slow, steady, each movement a worship, each touch an offering. Her body arches against you, her breath a symphony of soft gasps, her legs trembling around you as she’s lost in sensation. You can feel the tension building in her, the way she’s holding back, clenching everything as she fights for control but tonight, it’s all about letting go.

You push her to the edge, your tongue and lips tracing the sensitive folds of her body with an intensity that makes her cry out. Her back arches as she gasps for breath, her entire body taut like a bowstring pulled to its limit.

“Please…” she begs again, her voice raw with need.

And you can feel it the moment when everything shifts. When she lets go.

Her body trembles violently beneath your touch, and she comes undone, fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer still, as though she wants you to be part of her — to consume her entirely. You hear the sound of her moans echoing in your ears, feel her hips buck against your mouth in rhythmic waves, and it’s enough to make your own heart race, a mixture of pride and deep, unspoken affection flooding you.

When she finally quiets, breathless and sated, you slowly pull away, trailing one final kiss along her inner thigh. She’s still trembling, her body slick with sweat, the glow of her skin in the dim light like a goddess fallen to earth.

You crawl back up her body, hovering above her, your hands cupping her face, gently guiding her into a kiss. It’s soft now not frantic, not hungry, but something deeper. A kiss that speaks of reverence, of care, of adoration. You pull her against you, feeling her heartbeat still unsteady beneath your touch.

“Thank you,” she whispers between kisses. Her hands glide along your back, tracing every curve, every line as though she’s memorizing the feel of you.

But you don’t answer. Instead, you kiss her again, your body pressing closer to hers, feeling her warmth radiate through every inch of your being. The sheets beneath you are forgotten now, a tangle of fabric and memories.

“I’m not done with you,” you whisper in her ear, your breath hot against her skin, your voice low and full of promise. “I’m just getting started.”

She smiles, her lips curving up in that way you know so well a smile that promises more.

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter two: Separate Worlds

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

previous | 2 | next

Series Masterlist

The first week of marriage passed like a distant blur, marked by long silences and careful avoidance. Despite the lavish quarters with gleaming marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a breathtaking view of the sea, it felt more like a prison.

You saw little of him during the day. He vanished into the depths of the complex, consumed by duties you weren’t privy to. When he did return, it was late, and he moved silently through the common area, a shadow slipping into the room.

You hadn’t known what to expect from this arrangement, but the suffocating quiet wasn’t it. Not that you wanted a connection, he was a stranger, a cog in the machine that orchestrated suffering and death.

And yet, as much as you hated it, his absence left you alone with your thoughts—thoughts that inevitably circled back to him.

One sleepless night, the storm outside rattled the windows, the wind howling like a beast at your door. You paced the length of the sitting room, the cold marble floor unforgiving under your bare feet. The hours stretched endlessly until, at last, the door creaked open.

You whirled around, your heart racing. He stepped inside, exhausted and weary, his mask still obscuring his face. He paused when he saw you.

“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice cut through the heavy silence.

You folded your arms and leveled a glare at him, willing your pulse to slow. “No. Not that it’s any of your concern.”

He said nothing, only placed the mask on a small table near the door. Then, he stepped further into the room. For the first time, his face was fully visible to you; he was pale, sharp-featured, with exhaustion etched deep into every line. He was undeniably attractive, a man forged from shadows and secrets.

“You’re human after all,” you muttered before you could stop yourself, mockery dripping from your tone.

His gaze snapped to yours, hard and unflinching. “Is that what you think?”

“I don’t know what to think,” you shot back. “You hide behind that stupid mask and expect me to pretend that this is normal.” You said quickly and before you could think, you quietly added on, “I don’t even know your name.” Not sure if he heard you, you continued staring him down until he answered you.

His eyes darkened as he exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I never asked for this either.”

“Then why agree to it?” The question hung heavy on you.

His jaw tightened. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, quietly, he said, “Because saying no wasn’t an option.”

You scoffed, he was being ridiculous, “There’s always an option. You just chose the easy way out.”

Something flickered in his eyes, perhaps anger, or maybe something far more dangerous. But he didn’t take the bait. “Get some rest,” he said as he turned away. “You’ll need it.”

“For what?”

He didn’t answer. You watched his retreating form until he disappeared into your shared bedroom, the door left slightly ajar. The silence stretched on, pressing against you like a heavy weight on your chest.

Minutes passed before you moved, your feet carrying you down the hall. The faint glow of moonlight seeped into the crack of his door. You stood there, hesitating, before finally stepping inside.

He lay on his side, his breathing steady but not quite deep enough for sleep.

“He couldn’t even be a gentleman and wait up,” you muttered under your breath.

The covers were cool as you slipped into bed, the space between you vast and heavy with things unsaid. Tomorrow, you thought bitterly, would be just another day in this bleak, soulless place.

———————

The next morning, the soft murmur of voices pulled you from sleep. You rubbed your eyes and followed the sound into the sitting room, where you found him standing by the window, speaking into a sleek black earpiece.

He ended the call abruptly when he noticed you, slipping the device into his pocket. “Good morning.”

“Is it?” you asked flatly, heading for the kitchenette.

You felt his gaze on your back as you poured yourself a cup of tea. It was a palpable thing, a fire licking at your skin. Finally, you turned, meeting his eyes with a defiant stare. “Are you going to stand there all day?”

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not used to being watched, are you?”

The question hit like a punch. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your father watches everyone. It’s how he stays in control.”

The mention of your father hit a nerve, a sharp reminder of why you were here. You bristled. “What do you know about him?”

“Enough.”

Tension crackled between you like static electricity. You clenched your jaw, anger bubbling beneath the surface. “If you think I need advice from you—”

“If you want to survive here,” he interrupted, his voice calm but firm, “you’ll need to understand how this world works. It’s not as simple as you think.”

“Survive?” You scoffed. “I’m not one of your contestants. I didn’t choose to be here.”

“Neither did I,” he said softly.

There it was again—regret, a fracture in the mask he wore even without the physical one. You stared at him, your heart beating faster than you liked. For the first time, you saw the man behind the title, the chains binding you both to this terrible place.

But understanding didn’t lessen the weight of it. And it didn’t change the truth: you were prisoners here, tethered by a fate neither of you had chosen.

———————

This was the second chapter! I hope you liked it.. :)

Tag list:

@sunny21200

@lucinda-reads

@shakysif

@whoisbriannaa

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ Family Secrets ⭑

Masterlist

A/N: (s)creaming-

Request: No

Pairing: Perv!Aemond x Niece!reader

Warnings: NFSW, +18 mdni, male mastrubation, aemond fr being a nasty perv be warned no but like fr, female mastrubation/pillow humping, making out, dirty talk in high valyrian, p in v sex and creampie.

Summary: Aemond finds it hard to control his sick desires for his niece and can't help but play with her.

Word count: 5k

The sea waves crashed against the side of the large Targaryen fleet, nerves flowed through you at every shake of the wooden planks. Usually a voyage on the sea didn’t scare you in any way but the windy and stormy morning made it a lot less pleasant. Your brothers however didn’t seem to mind, the clinging of their swords ringing through the air.

They loved to practise whenever they could, and if you didn’t feel so unnerved by the weather you would’ve joined them. You were glad to see one of the servants coming towards you with a flagon of wine. Raising your cup she swiftly filled it with the red liquid. Sipping on the strong dornish wine, you tried to focus on anything but the assault of the waves.

The dragon calls could be heard above, Caraxes, Syrax, your own dragon, Vermax and Arrax soared along the ship. The walls shielded you from the sight of them though. The amber glow from the candles filled the darkened royal cabin, secluded on the quarterdeck of the ship. 

The dark clouds shielded the sun from shining its warmth on the waves of the sea and so even on the ship it was quite chilly. But nothing ran a shiver up your spine more than your family's return to King’s Landing. You didn’t understand the need for it but you didn’t have the nerve to tell your mother that.

The future queen was filled with dread herself, you noticed. Word had reached Dragon Stone from Alicent that King Viserys was in a bad condition and even though they had their differences, she felt like a reunion between father and daughter would do her husband some good.

And so the morning after the raven arrived, you had set sail. You wondered how your family was doing, but with the likely chances of this whole visit ending badly, you wished you could only wonder. But there was no turning back now as you looked out the small window and The Red Keep came into view.

And so it was only about half an hour later when your weakened legs stepped onto the shores of King’s Landing, a coach and some members of the King’s Guard waiting for you. Following your mother and Daemon, with your brothers behind you, a hand reached out to help you inside.

The rattling coach did not help calm you as you anticipated the whole ordeal, your mother spoke softly with Daemon about sending for maester Gerardys and your brothers both silently stared out the window. Everybody was tense, the unspoken past lingered in the air. It was only six years ago that your sweet younger brother Luke, took Aemond’s eye. 

Even though a little boy like him had no idea what he had done, it was still a grave wound that cut the family in half. What only made the situation worse was the bullying Aegon had led, making it seem like Luke had done it on purpose. Your uncle and yourself were never necessarily friends either, but at the least friendly with each other.

But who could blame him for hating all of you from that moment on? No one. It was only fueled by Alicent as well, her own spite for her step-daughter and her bastards burning inside her. Alas after all these years, you would have to face each other again. 

After what seemed ages you finally arrived within the courtyard of The Red Keep, the door of the coach opened and your mother stepped out as a shrill voice announced her, Daemon followed and so did you and your brothers. There, only a few paces in front of the coach were Alicent, Aegon, Aemond, Helaena, Otto and three of the small council members. 

Your mother went first to greet them, Daemon by her side, hand on the hilt of his sword. Dragons could be heard and seen flying in circles above you, it gave you comfort that your own dragon was close, if something were to happen. You took a deep breath and followed with your brothers to greet Alicent, Otto and your uncles and aunt. It was awkward enough and thank the gods over quickly.

When you were led inside, nostalgia was the last thing you felt as you peered over your mother’s shoulder. All the Targaryen heraldry had been replaced, all with stars of the faith of the seven. You knew Alicent was quite religious but never had you thought she would dare such an insult. 

You could already hear the grumbles of Daemon in front of you, and you shared a look with Jace and Luke. You were all led to a more familiar place, the dining hall where you would share some food together at the start of the afternoon. You were glad when your place was between your brothers, it felt safer. A buffer of sorts. 

Servants filed in with various fruits, wines, breads and spreads for you to indulge in and it became a little less tense when there was some food to chew on. Since you had grown quite the appetite from the horrendous voyage here, you gathered some of your favourites on your plate and shared some quiet conversation with Jace and Luke.

It was better to keep them distracted and apart from Aemond, who sat at the other end. After a while, Alicent rose from her seat, cup in hand. “I wish to give a toast, to the Princess Rhaenyra. The circumstances of which we have gathered here are grim, but nevertheless it is a pleasure to receive you, and your family. To the princess.” She uttered, a bit too appropriate. 

Everyone raised their cups and took a sip, it was all very stale and tense. But you could tell that especially Aegon and Aemond tried to keep as quiet and ‘nice’ as possible. Helaena seemed almost out of it and Otto kept to himself. It was just Alicent who engaged in some polite conversation with your mother and Daemon, but always about the king.

It was quite dreadful, but when everyone seemed finished, the children were excused to explore their old home and get accustomed again, while the adults went to pay a visit to the king. Your heart rose when you realised there would only be guards around to keep an eye on you and your brothers.

Your mother and most importantly Daemon wouldn’t be able to defend you now, if anything happened. Both of your brothers joined your side as you strolled through the halls of the Red Keep. “Luke, I probably don’t have to say this but still, just- watch your back. He probably won’t try anything but I saw the way he looked at us, at you.” You whispered to your right. You noticed the way Luke’s shoulders tensed but he simply nodded. 

“Will you join us in the training yard?” Jace asked, a bit too chirpy. “Maybe I’ll visit you later, I need some air in the gardens, at least I can be certain I won’t bump into our uncles there.” He gave you a soft smile and then took off with Luke to the yard beyond the doors, two guards following them outside.

“Shall I escort you princess?” Ser Erryk asked, joining your side. “Has my mother asked you to keep an eye on me Ser?” He gave you an awkward smile. “Yes princess,” his next words fell to a whisper, “it would be safer.” You only gave him a nod and he stepped back a pace, making sure you still had your own space.

When you stepped outside, the sun had finally made an appearance. A quiet sigh left your lips and the smell of flowers and various plants filled your nose. It was almost the only place left untouched by Alicent and her stars. You strolled through the gardens, took in all the flowers and birds. Even the beautiful butterflies that were almost magically flying around.

A while later you stumbled across a bright ladybug resting on the leaf of a bush. You admired it for a while, having no idea someone was also admiring you... 

Aemond’s POV

He was quite grateful the strong bastards kept to themselves. As soon as he had entered the training yard, in search of Criston Cole, the both of them left as soon as they caught sight of the common louts admiring the training weapons. Only a brief look was shared and Cole joined him to turn back inside. 

“It is an insult to us, their presence alone. I can come to terms with the fact they live in my ancestors castle far away from us, but them being here now-” Aemond got cut off by Cole. “It is repulsive, them being here. But the best we can do is keep our distance, only look in their direction or even speak to them when absolutely necessary.” 

Aemond nodded, “Fucking mongrels, the girl is lucky to have silver hair or they would have her head the second her arse sat on the throne. But who knows, after my sister is dead, what will become of my niece?” He smirked, before turning towards his own chambers. His only place of safety and solitude.

Only he got distracted when he passed a window that overlooked the gardens. There she was, the lucky girl. To Aemond’s displeasure, she looked almost ethereal. The now softened wind breezing through her long silver curls, the sun making her hair almost glow. Her purple eyes inspecting a nearby bug or butterfly he would imagine. 

What made his mouth turn even more sour was where his eye almost naturally shifted to. Her body. She had rather matured and was only two years younger than him, her body now...more grown. Beautiful hips, tits that bulged slightly out of the top of her bodice. Long fingers adorned with rings, a necklace resting on her chest. 

He scolded himself for even stopping in his tracks in the first place. Her Valyrian features linger in his mind as he resumes to his chambers. Once there he tried to distract himself with some studying. He could hardly focus on the words, when her tits kept reappearing in his mind. Then it only got worse, his mind drifted off while he sat at his desk. 

Cock swelling alive at the thought of ripping that gown off her, her nipples would harden through her shift because of the breeze, her curves on better display through her smallclothes. But he would rip that off too, display her nakedness for all to see. Then he would get her on her knees, mouth open, tongue out and ready for him.

His cock was now pulsing, the outline of it extremely visible through his pants. He swiftly undid them and already found that precum stained his breeches. He palmed his cock and hissed at the sensitivity, he loved to wait a longer period between pleasuring himself, knowing that the sensation would be far better.

Even though he wanted to wait just one more day, he couldn’t help himself; he was way too aroused. He started to softly tug the skin over the head of his cock, face contorted in pleasure, a grunt left his lips. Fuck it felt good. He didn’t care what anyone would think, all that filled his mind was his pretty little niece.

Seven hells, the way she would gag and tear up around his cock as he fucked his cock in her mouth. Not giving a shit that they’d be out in public, gods she would probably touch herself too, the little whore she is. He could imagine it all too well, the way her tongue would glide over his sensitive skin. Would she know to lick his slit? Suck on his balls to give him even more pleasure? Even if she did not, he would teach her, corrupt her.

He could feel himself get closer and closer, tugging on his cock faster, his loud breathing filled his chambers, his groans bouncing off the walls. He moved his free hand to massage his stones, a whine leaving his lips at the added stimulation. Imagining it was her. With only a couple more tugs and firmer fondles on his balls, ropes of cum painted his thighs, hands and some on the cold stone floor.

He jerked himself a bit more, to fully empty his satiated balls until he got too sensitive, before fetching a rag to clean his hands and the floor up. Opting for a change of pants either way. Then an idea came to his mind, a sick and disgusting idea. He grabbed his cum covered pants and rolled them up to disguise the item.

He knew exactly what chamber she resided in, it was one of the chambers that was connected to the secluded and utmost secretive halls that Maegor created. And so he moved one of the books in the library, almost no one remained in the halls as it was already close to supper so he had free reign. 

The book allowed for a door to open, hidden as just another bookshelf and Aemond stepped inside, even just the thought of what he was about to do made excitement fill his chest. He used the torch he fetched off one off the walls in the hallways to navigate the dark secret corridors. 

His cum soiled pants still clutched tightly in his hands as he let the flame guide him, soon enough he was certain he had reached the right wall. He opened the small wooden door and entered a small and short hallway, a wooden screen blocking his way, but he discovered he could open it slightly and peer inside, only to be met with a thinner tapestry. 

And pleasantly sensed he could see through the fabric art that hung inside her chamber, and as if the gods had willed it so, she was still out. Her bed was on the opposite side of the room and his mind only filled with more perverted ideas as he realised he could watch her here at night. A new pastime he could enjoy, and she would have no idea.

Placing the torch in an empty holder in the small hallway. He moved the screen and tapestry to the side and strolled over to her bed. He could feel his cock swell alive again as he placed his pants on her bed, not fully spreading it out yet. He wanted to watch her unfold them, and question what the stickiness on it was.

Satisfied with his work, he was certain she must return soon to freshen up before supper. He knew ladies always did. So he left her chambers and waited for her behind the slightly ajar wooden screen, making sure the tapestry covered it again. His perfect little hiding spot. It seemed as if hours passed yet it was only about twenty minutes when the door opened and she entered.

Your POV

“Would you need the help of a handmaiden, your grace?” Ser Erryk politely asked. You shook your head, “That won’t be necessary, thank you. I’ll be quick.” He nodded curtly and closed the door of your chamber behind you. You walked over to the vanity against the wall and found that your household had already unpacked your jewelry, you wanted to change your earrings and necklace for a nicer pair and then would head right to supper. 

When you had finished changing them out, you felt a weird sensation. You peered around the room but of course no one was there, right? You blamed the long morning for your weird feelings but then spotted something on your bed. Has one of the servants readied something for you? You walked over to your bed to find out what it was.

It was a black fabric, leather, and looked like what seemed to be pants. Your face twisted in confusion and grabbed it to unfold them and confirm your suspicion. Further confusion washed over your face as the pants were not only for men but they were dirty. Was this some twisted joke? 

You quickly let go of it and it fell to the floor, you thought of fetching a maid to get it out but then thought against it. What if they thought you had a man in here and your innocence was ruined? It was too big a risk, then your eyes shifted to the fireplace. Filled with disgust you grabbed the leather pants by the end of the leg and dragged it to the flames, throwing in the pants.

The room filled with an uncomfortable smell of the charring leather and you hurriedly went outside, Ser Erryk trailing behind you as you made your way to the dining hall.

Aemond’s POV

His hand undid the laces of his pants as he watched you eye the black material with caution. Palming his cock as you now dropped it to the floor with disgust. His lips fell agape as he tugged on his cock, feeling more aroused and sensitive than ever before. Fuck it felt even better then the very first time he mastrubated. 

He felt his release near when you had thrown the soiled pants in the fire, the smell of burning leather somehow turning him on even more. He stifled his groans with his mouth as he jerked himself to release, his cum painted the floor and his hand, as he was careful not to stain his clean pants this time. 

He cleaned his hand up with his own mouth and left the floor for what it was. He moved his now soft cock back in his breeches. Lacing his pants up again, he started his walk to one of the hallways of the Red Keep, he kept his ear to the unassuming door and heard nothing. He found the small servants hallway empty and quickly made his way to the dining hall.

Your POV

Heads raised as Aemond walked in, a soft satisfied smile on his face. “You're late.” Otto spoke. “I had matters to attend to.” He replied coldly before taking his seat. You avoided his gaze as you could feel it on you and continued picking at the rabbit meat before you. The sticky pants had never left your mind.

Supper was not so much different from your shared meal earlier, still polite conversations and the table almost split in half. But this time your eyes kept glancing back at Aemond. Why was he so content all of a sudden? Maybe he just had a good training in the yard with Cole, as you heard they spent a lot of time training together.

You decide to ignore it and finish the remainder of your meal, before long you were excused once again, and this time decided to head straight to your chambers. A bath and a good book afterwards would calm you. And so it did, after a nice hot bath and slipping into a fresh clean nightgown, you had read a bit of your new found book and lulled into a deep sleep, but still Aemond’s eye felt like it never left you.

The following days were filled with garden visits, sowing work with Helaena and some other ladies of court and avoiding your 'green' family at all costs. But much to your surprise it seemed Alicent and your mother got along pretty well, which could only be bad for you. 

Happy memories of King’s Landing never left your mind at the cold and stormy island of Dragon Stone, but now you missed it and you missed your dragon. So on the fourth day after your arrival, you headed to the dragonpit along with Jace and Luke. You felt like you could stay on dragonback forever, with your brothers flying close to you but the sun was setting and it was time to head back.

After a meal shared with just your brothers as the three of you were too late for supper, you found yourself back in your chambers. But not without some entertainment, one of the ladies of court was a pleasant company, and you felt relief wash over you as her laughter and humorous jokes fell on your ears. 

You were the same age and shared similar personalities, her father was a member of the small council and so she had the pleasure of the Red Keep’s walls protecting her, as well as learning all the gossip and the secrets, which she gladly shares with you. And so she shared all she knew, of how horrible a marriage Helaena and Aegon had, how their children were so unhappy and of putting. 

But then she said something that really caught your attention. “I heard one of the maids the other day, she said she was certain she could hear prince Aemond, well- how do I put this, having… fun? With himself? If you catch my meaning.” She giggled. Your mouth fell open and a loud laugh left you. 

“I do catch your meaning!” You laughed, she couldn’t help but laugh too. You couldn’t believe it, you never knew men did that too. Your knowledge went as far as that they used whores when they had urges. You thought only women did it, since many men didn’t care about women’s pleasure. 

She filled you in on much and more, about how many were certain Aegon has a thing for unflowering maidens and how Larys Clubfoot had an obsession with feet. Much to your dismay, it had grown late and she sadly had to go to her own chambers. As you said your goodbyes, you couldn’t help but feel it again. Like someone was watching you. 

You shook off the feeling and called for your handmaiden to ready you for bed. She took down your hair from your beautiful braids that day, helped you undress and bathe. Then she waved your hair in a single braid and helped you into your nightgown. When she left, you slipped into bed, however tonight, sleep could not find you.

You went over the day, as you usually did when you couldn’t sleep. But your mind kept hanging on to what your new friend said, Aemond pleasuring himself. You tried to think back on your flight today but you couldn’t help it. Why was the thought so erotic to you? You shouldn’t think about your uncle this way but still, your hand snaked down between your thighs.

Your cunt throbbed with desire, and you lifted your ass a bit to lift up your nightgown, as it was a hotter day, you had nothing underneath. Your fingers caressed your folds and you couldn’t help the whimper falling from your lips. But it wasn’t enough, you craved more. Then something occurred to you, you shoved the blankets off you and grabbed your pillow. 

You knelt on the bed and placed the pillow between your thighs, nerves flowing through you as well as excitement. When you thought the pillow was well placed on the long side of it, you sank down on it and leaned forward a bit. When you felt the position was good, you experimentally grinded your clit against it.

An uncontrollable moan left your lips and you hoped Ser Erryk hadn’t heard anything, you stilled for a moment but nothing happened, so you resumed. You rolled your hips against the pillow again and you allowed for soft whines to leave your lips. The rough but soft enough fabric against your clit had your mind dazed.

You humped the pillow like a bunny in heat, your clit getting the perfect stimulation from your pillow. Soft moans left you as you chased your release and you couldn’t help but imagine your dear uncle. So you let it consume you and let your desire for him flow through you. It made you burn with arousal and you imagined you were humping his lap instead. 

It didn’t take long for your peak to overcome you, and you frantically humped the pillow as you were near. The bed creaked with your wild movements and you couldn’t help but moan his name, you were so so close. With a louder whine of ‘Aemond, I’m cumming uncle!’ Your orgasm exploded and your thighs clenched the pillow between them hard. And with a few more grinds, you let yourself fall to your side, mind completely fogged and in bliss.

Then a loud scratch of wood on stone, pulled you out of your daze. You gasped and quickly pulled your blankets over yourself to cover your nakedness. Your eyes were met with Aemond’s single one as he emerged from behind the screen, he walked over to the foot of your bed.

“W-what are you doing here? Get out, at once, get out.” You stammered. But he just smiled. “Is that what you wish? I could give you far more pleasure than your pillow ever could niece.” Your face fell at his words and you held your breath as he came over to the side of your bed. “I heard what you and your little friend talked about, and I bet that it turned you on, didn’t it.” 

It was hard to deny since you just came with his name on your lips but you couldn’t speak. Frozen in shock. “Hm. Don’t worry, I think about you too, when I’m having fun with myself.” He smiled. Realisation dawned on your face. “The pants.” Aemond grinned. “A little gift from me, did you like it?”

You couldn’t help but feel wet at the thought that they were from him, but you quickly reprimanded yourself. It was wrong, not only him being here but everything about this was wrong. “Oh come on, you moaned my name so sweetly just now. Don’t you want your Kepus to actually pleasure you?” You could only shake your head. 

“Aemond- no, no it’s wrong. We can’t.” He chuckled in response. “Are we going to ignore that your mother is married to her uncle? So how is it wrong? You are mine. And I will have you.” He then raised his knee and climbed on your bed, but you made no move to run from him. Too excited to see what he would do next. “I see you are staying put, you can say no all you want, but I know how much you want me, as much as I want you.” 

“Ivestragon nyke, gaomagon ao gīmigon īlva muña ēngos?” Tell me, do you know our mother tongue? You nodded, “Gaoman Kepus.” I do uncle. “Sȳz riña.” Good girl. Aemond smiled. Then his hand moved to the edge of your blanket which you were still using to cover yourself. He pulled it off you and let his eye roam over your naked form.

“Fuck.” He whispered, he was already wet in his pants due to the amount of precum that leaked out of him at the sight of your humping, but now he couldn’t wait. “Gaomagon ao pendagon kostā gūrogon nyke? Kostagon mazemā aōha Kepus?” Do you think you can take me? Can you take your uncle? You knew the weight of his words but desire and lust clouded your senses, your will to refuse.

“Kessa, Nyke jorrāelagon ao sīr olvie Kepus.” Yes, I need you so much uncle. He hurriedly unlaced his pants at your words and took his cock from his breeches, stroking himself at the sight of your tits. But he was a gentleman and wouldn’t treat you like a whore. So he fully undressed, and crawled on top of you. 

“Vūjigon nyke tala.” Kiss me niece. You lifted your head to meet his lips, you gave him a peck but that did not satisfy him, he pulled you back and kissed you with greed. His lips harshly moving against you, his hand then massaged your breast, making you gasp against his lips. Then his tongue invaded your mouth.

His hand moved to your cunt and he let his finger inside. He let go of your lips so that the both of you could catch your breath. “Still wet for me aren’t you, so warm and slick.” He groaned, retreating his finger to grab the base of his cock instead. “Kostilus Kepus.” Please uncle. 

He had mercy, and let the tip of his cock glide through your folds, before carefully prodding in his tip. He moved just the tip in and out of you for a while, letting you get accustomed to the new sensation. But you were never one for patience. “Sepār gūrogon nyke Kepus, gūrogon nyke. Mazverdagon nyke aōhon” Just take me uncle, take me. Make me yours. 

He shuddered at your words, and let his length fully sheath inside of you, the both of you moaning at the stretch and tightness. When he noticed you weren’t in much pain he began to move, rubbing your pearl as he thrusted up into you. You bit your lip to keep as quiet as possible, but the way you uncle was fucking you, made that quite hard.

He groaned and moaned shamelessly. The squelching of your shared juices and the creaking of your bed enveloping your chamber. Soon he sped up his movements and his balls slapped loudly against your ass. Only adding to the sensation. “Kesan mazverdagon ao ñuhon, leghagon ao, mazverdagon aōha iemny hōzigon.” I will make you mine, fill you, make your belly swell. 

You finally audibly moaned at his words and it earned you a groan from him. Your uncle was filling you up so good, who could blame you? His cock pounding into you as he rubbed your sensitive clit made you actually see stars as you squeezed your eyes shut. And for the second time tonight, you moaned his name. Your tight walls clenching around his cock making him pant louder and roll his eye back.

He didn’t stop as you came down from your peak, grinding his hips fiercely against you when he cried out your name, his warm seed filling you. He humped his high out a bit and made sure to fully empty himself. When he had calmed too, he removed his now soft cock out of you, making you wince. “Gaomagon daor zūgagon, kesā daor jikagon arlī naejot Dragon Stone.” Do not fear, you will not go back to Dragon Stone.

[diamonddaze01]

HEYYY. I read your off the record jeonghan's fic and OH MY GOD. IT WAS SOOOOOOOO AMAZING AND GOOD. CHEF'S KISS MWAH

I was wondering if you can do jeonghan 75 drabble. I would really really appreciate it. thank you and love you mwah

off the record

pairing: jeonghan x reader | wc: 1.3k prompt: "guess who's going to be a father!" au: f1 au | warnings: mentions of pregnancy a/n: hello hello nari your asks always make me smile <3 // this is a continuation of [on the record] bc ferrari!jeonghan lives in my head rent free (highly recommend you read on the record first for some context)

The atmosphere at the Australian Grand Prix was electric, the roar of the crowd still echoing as the last of the race cars pulled into the pit lane. Jeonghan had just secured yet another win, and the sea of Ferrari red flooded every corner of the paddock. The team was in chaos—cheers and hugs, champagne spraying everywhere, mechanics shaking with excitement—but Jeonghan’s gaze was fixed on something else.

You stood just outside the frenzy, leaning casually against the barrier, your camera poised as you snapped a few final shots. You’d been here before, a part of this circus. But today, you had a story of your own to deal with, one that Jeonghan was certain would find its way to his attention.

Jeonghan peeled off his helmet and flashed a grin at the crew as they crowded around him. But his eyes were still searching for you.

A few weeks ago, you'd written something that had the entire paddock talking. 

"Guess Who’s Going to be a Father!" 

Yoon Jeonghan, Ferrari’s golden boy, had been linked to a famous model, Sienna Hartley, the stunning up-and-coming fashion icon known for her work with luxury brands. A few months ago, the paparazzi had caught the two of them together at a private event. The photos were casual enough—Jeonghan with his arm around her waist, a smile that seemed too comfortable—but it was the following week’s headlines that sent the media into a frenzy.

The shots of Sienna taken at an upscale café, her baby bump unmistakable under a form-fitting dress, had people running wild with speculation. Was Jeonghan going to be a father? Had he been keeping a secret relationship? The rumors only grew when neither Jeonghan nor Sienna commented on the speculation, leaving fans and gossip columns to fill in the blanks.

The rumblings were only growing louder, and of course, you had jumped into the fray, teasing the possibility of Jeonghan becoming a father. The headline had been coy but suggested a connection between the two, leaving just enough room for interpretation. And now, here he was, stepping out of the car, knowing exactly who was responsible for the chaos.

As he walked toward you, the crowd parted around him, but his eyes stayed locked on yours. He could practically feel the mischievous energy radiating from you, even from a distance. The subtle smirk tugging at your lips was all the warning he needed.

Jeonghan approached with slow, deliberate steps, his face a mixture of amusement and challenge. "So we write fake articles now, do we, sweetheart?" he called, his voice carrying across the pit lane.

You didn’t even flinch. With a calm, collected posture, you raised an eyebrow, offering him a half-smile as you lowered your camera. "Just reporting what people are saying," you replied smoothly, voice teasing. "You know, about you possibly becoming a father this year."

"People are saying that?" Jeonghan asked, a slight chuckle escaping his lips. He stepped closer, clearly enjoying the tension building between you two. "Maybe you’ve been spending too much time with the gossip columnists, huh? Could’ve sworn the last time I checked, we were talking about race wins, not baby bumps."

You shrugged, not missing a beat. "Well, Jeonghan, it’s not my fault your personal life keeps getting more interesting than your driving. You really should be more careful with who you’re seen with."

His eyes darkened playfully. "Careful? You think I care about rumors?" he quipped, leaning in just a little bit closer, his voice dropping to a lower, more flirtatious tone. "But if you wanted to get my attention, sweetheart, there are far better ways than a headline about some fake baby."

You tilted your head, smiling in that way that always left him unsure whether you were teasing or challenging him. "Who says I want your attention?" you replied with a hint of challenge, crossing your arms as if daring him to press further.

Jeonghan’s smile only widened. "You’ve got my attention now, don't you?" he teased, his fingers brushing against the barrier you were leaning on, his proximity making it hard to ignore the way the air between you two shifted.

You glanced up at him, keeping your expression casual, but the spark in your eyes was undeniable. "Oh, I don’t know," you said nonchalantly, "maybe I’m just here to enjoy the view of a guy in red doing what he does best – reckless maneuvers that still somehow let him win, y’know?" You paused, letting that sink in. "Though if you really wanted to shut down those rumors, maybe you should take a different approach."

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

You gave him a sly smile. "I don’t know. Maybe just come out and say you’re not the father. Or, you know, get more specific about who you’re spending time with. The fans love a good love story, after all."

The way his expression shifted made it clear that he wasn’t quite ready for this conversation to take that turn. His jaw clenched, a hint of frustration appearing under the surface, but it was quickly replaced with his signature smirk. "Sweetheart, you sure talk a big game for someone who's so quiet when it counts."

You leaned in just a little, enough for your words to linger in the air between you. "I could say the same about you," you shot back, eyes glinting with mischief.

Jeonghan paused, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth, but you had him on edge in a way that he didn’t expect. "Listen," he said, his tone dipping lower, his voice now laced with more than just flirtation. "There's only one girl in the paddock I have eyes for, and it sure as hell isn’t Sienna Hartley."

The tension between you two was palpable, a spark igniting in your chest at his words. You met his gaze head-on, not backing down. "And who says I’m interested in your attention, Jeonghan?" you shot back, smirking. "Maybe I just like watching you squirm under pressure."

He leaned in a little more, his breath coming out a little sharper. "You really think you can get under my skin with a headline like that?" he murmured, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "I’m not the one with something to prove, sweetheart."

You could feel his breath on your skin, but instead of feeling intimidated, a thrill ran through you. "Then why do you look like you’re about to lose that smug grin?" you teased, lifting your chin just slightly, making sure the challenge was clear in your words.

Jeonghan grinned, his teeth flashing. "Oh, I’m not losing anything," he said, the playful tone returning. "But if you really want to get my attention, there are better ways than headlines."

You smirked, standing your ground. "Oh? Well, if you want to do something better with your mouth than argue with me, you know where to find me." You shot him a quick wink and began to turn away.

Jeonghan's eyes widened for a moment as he processed your words, and for the briefest second, he was completely thrown off. His confident swagger faltered, and it was then that you realized: you’d left him flustered.

You glanced back over your shoulder with a smug grin. "But I’ll be honest, Jeonghan," you called out, "I’d much rather see you focus on keeping your title than keeping up with rumors."

And with that, you turned and walked off, leaving Jeonghan standing there, still processing your bold departure. His pulse was racing, but not because of the race. This time, it was because of you—your words, your attitude, and the way you had him on edge in a way no one else could.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, but the smile on his face betrayed how much he appreciated the challenge. “I should’ve asked her to dinner.”

But knowing you, this was far from over. And next time? He might just have something to say about it.

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[solxamber]

Hello!

I have a request idea

Fem Yuu who is a princess- Crown Princess, in fact, of an empire far away across the sea that hasn't made contact with Twisted Wonderland's mainland for the past 200 years- and the reason the Dark Mirror pulled Princess!Yuu to NRC was to reconnect the lost magic from the Empire to the mainland because they very much need this magic to restore order to the world

Can this be with the Overblot Gang (including Malleus) + Ruggie, romantic hcs about the boys finding out Yuu's a princess after they start dating, and include the boys and Yuu finding out her mission of reuniting TW's magic with the Empire magic from the Dark Mirror? Thanks!

Overblot Gang + Ruggie x Princess! Reader

hi, i love the intricacies in your request! i made them mini fics instead of hcs. i hope that's alright! if this not what you wanted then just let me know <3

Riddle Rosehearts

The crisp autumn air wafts through the window of Heartslabyul’s dorm, and you watch Riddle pacing by the window. His usual composed demeanor is fraying at the edges, and you can feel the tension radiating from him. The letter, the one with the broken seal, sits accusingly on the desk, a constant reminder of the secret you’ve kept for far too long.

A Crown Princess. That’s who you are. Or rather, that’s who you’ve always been, but here, in Twisted Wonderland, you’d managed to push it aside. Until now.

Riddle has always prided himself on knowing everything about the people around him. Rules and order are his guiding principles, but you’ve been an exception to that. You know this must be eating him alive—how could I have missed something so important?

You take a breath, steadying yourself. You’ve faced worse than this—court intrigue, magical politics, centuries-old prophecies—but this feels heavier because it’s him. And he’s looking at you, brow furrowed, his usual clear-cut logic fraying under the weight of the revelation.

“I received a letter,” Riddle finally says, breaking the silence. His voice is sharp, but it wavers at the edges, betraying his frustration. He gestures to the letter, the Dark Mirror’s seal still visible under the broken wax. “From the Dark Mirror. It… told me everything.”

Your stomach churns, but you’ve prepared yourself for this moment. You knew you couldn’t hide your identity forever. “So, you know,” you say softly, stepping toward him.

“I do.” His words are clipped, tension taut in every syllable. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You move closer, offering a tentative smile. “It wasn’t about hiding anything, Riddle. I just… wanted to keep things simple between us. I didn’t want you to treat me differently because of my title.”

“You’re a Crown Princess,” he repeats, disbelief laced through his words. “Of an empire that hasn’t made contact with Twisted Wonderland for over two hundred years. And your magic—” His voice catches, and you see his expression darken as he recalls the moment of his overblot. “The magic you used to save me… that was your empire’s magic, wasn’t it?”

You nod, biting your lip as memories flood back. The moment you had stepped in, wielding the ancient, pure magic of your kingdom to pull him back from the brink of his overblot. You remember the desperate glow in your hands, the way his distorted form had stilled under your touch, the pure energy surging through you. No blot. Just light.

“It was,” you admit. “That magic is what our kingdom has safeguarded for centuries. Pure energy. Untainted by the corruption of blotting.”

Riddle’s brow creases. “Why didn’t you tell me before? I could have helped.”

“It’s not something I wanted to burden you with,” you say, your voice soft but firm. “You have so much on your plate already. You’re the dorm leader, managing all of Heartslabyul, and on top of that, your own studies. I didn’t want to complicate things.”

He steps closer, his posture rigid but his eyes softening as they meet yours. “You’re not a burden,” he says quietly but firmly. “I want to help you. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

Your heart tightens at his words. He’s always been so strong, so in control of everything. But here he is, offering to share the weight of a secret that could shift the balance of the world’s magic.

You take a deep breath, feeling the gravity of what you’re about to say. “There’s more to it. The reason the Dark Mirror pulled me here wasn’t just to attend NRC. It’s because the balance of magic in Twisted Wonderland has been… fractured. Our magic—the Empire’s magic—was lost to this land centuries ago, and now the Mirror believes it’s time to reunite them.”

His eyes widen, the seriousness of the situation settling in. “Reunite the magic? How?”

“I was chosen to reconnect our magic with Twisted Wonderland’s,” you explain. “My kingdom’s magic is pure and powerful, but without the balance of your world’s magic, it’s unstable. There’s an imbalance, Riddle. It’s why overblots are becoming more frequent.”

He winces at the mention of overblots. He knows that all too well. “So… the Dark Mirror sent you here as part of a prophecy? To fix the magic?”

You nod. “Yes. But I didn’t want to drag you into that. I just… wanted to be normal for a while.”

There’s silence for a moment as Riddle processes everything. His mind must be spinning—ancient kingdoms, magical prophecy, a mission that spans centuries. But then, slowly, he reaches for your hand. His fingers brush against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his touch grounding you.

“I’m in this with you,” he says, his voice steady. “We’ll figure it out together.”

You smile, relief washing over you. “Thank you.”

He straightens, his usual air of authority returning. “We need to make a plan. There’s a lot that needs to be done if we’re going to reunite the Empire’s magic with Twisted Wonderland’s.”

You chuckle softly. “You’re already thinking ahead.”

“Of course,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “This is too important to leave to chance.”

You squeeze his hand, grateful for his support. You’ve known all along that this mission was going to be a monumental task, but having him by your side makes it feel more manageable.

“No more secrets, alright?” Riddle adds, his tone softer now.

“No more secrets,” you promise, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like the weight of the world isn’t yours to bear alone.

Leona Kingscholar

You’ve always known that keeping your true identity from Leona wouldn’t last forever. He’s sharp—far too sharp to miss something as big as the fact that you’re not just any transfer student. But so far, you’ve managed to fly under the radar. Leona’s laziness and your tendency to avoid unnecessary confrontation have kept your secret under wraps. Until now.

It’s a typical sunny day in the Savanna, and Leona is lounging on his favorite spot in the botanical garden. You’re sitting beside him, staring at the letter in your hand, the seal of your empire unmistakable. The weight of the truth presses on your chest as you glance at him, knowing you can’t keep this from him any longer.

“Oi, herbivore, why you fidgetin’ like that?” Leona drawls without even opening his eyes, his voice deep and lazy, though you can sense the undercurrent of curiosity.

You hesitate for a moment, your fingers tightening around the letter. “Leona, there’s something I need to tell you.”

He cracks open one eye, barely lifting his head to look at you. “If you’re about to tell me you broke one of Ruggie’s bones or something, I really don’t care.”

You let out a small laugh despite the nerves swirling in your stomach. “No, it’s not that. It’s… bigger than that. A lot bigger.”

Leona raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t move. “Bigger than the time you saved me from my overblot with that weird magic of yours? You’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

Your breath hitches at the memory. The power you’d unleashed back then—the pure, non-blot magic that had surged from your very soul to pull him back from the edge. He’d never asked too many questions about it, which had always struck you as odd. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge how close he’d come to losing control.

“I’m not who you think I am, Leona,” you say, feeling the weight of the confession settle in. “I’m a Crown Princess. Of an empire across the sea. One that hasn’t been in contact with Twisted Wonderland for over two hundred years.”

Leona’s other eye opens now, and he shifts to sit up, his attention fully on you for the first time. “What?”

You offer a weak smile, holding up the letter. “This is from my family. They’re reminding me of the mission I was sent here for.”

“Mission?” His voice is lower now, a growl edging into his words. “What mission?”

You take a deep breath and begin to explain. “Our empire’s magic… it’s pure energy. It doesn’t generate blot like the magic here. But centuries ago, we lost contact with Twisted Wonderland, and the Dark Mirror believes that the magic of our two worlds needs to be reunited. That’s why I’m here.”

Leona’s eyes narrow as he processes this, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. “So that’s why your magic didn’t cause blot. And why you’ve been so secretive.”

“Yes,” you admit. “I didn’t want to complicate things. I just wanted to be normal here.”

Leona lets out a scoff, running a hand through his hair. “Normal? In this place? You should’ve known better, herbivore. Especially being around me.”

You sigh, leaning back against the tree trunk. “I know. I should’ve told you sooner. But I didn’t want you to see me as just another royal.”

Leona gives you a sidelong glance, his lips curling into a lazy smirk. “Another royal? Like I care about all that. I’m barely interested in my own kingdom’s politics. Why would I give a damn about yours?”

You blink, momentarily stunned. “Wait, really?”

He shrugs, lying back down in the grass, his arm draped lazily over his eyes. “Look, princess or not, you’re still you. That’s what matters. And as for that mission of yours—” he lifts his arm to peer at you, “—I’m not getting involved in that mess unless I absolutely have to.”

You laugh softly, relieved that he’s taking this much better than you expected. “Thanks, Leona.”

He grunts in response, already seeming half-asleep again. “Whatever. Just don’t make me do extra work.”

You smile, lying back beside him, your heart lighter now that the truth is out. Somehow, you knew Leona wouldn’t care about your title. He’s never been one to get caught up in the pomp and circumstance of royalty. But now, with him beside you, it feels like maybe this mission won’t be so impossible after all.

Azul Ashengrotto

You sit in Azul’s office at the Mostro Lounge, the sleek furniture and polished surfaces doing little to ease the anxiety swirling in your chest. The letter from your family rests on the table between you, the wax seal broken. Azul hasn’t opened it yet, but you can see the curiosity in his eyes.

Azul likes to know everything. He likes to have control, to understand the pieces in play so he can manipulate the board to his advantage. And now, here you are, about to shatter his carefully constructed perception of you.

“So,” Azul begins, his voice smooth as ever, though you can hear the underlying tension, “what’s in the letter?”

You swallow, glancing down at the envelope before meeting his gaze. “It’s… from my family. My real family.”

Azul’s eyes narrow slightly, the faintest hint of suspicion creeping into his expression. “Go on.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “I’m not just a transfer student from another world, Azul. I’m a Crown Princess. Of an empire far across the sea. We haven’t had contact with Twisted Wonderland in over two hundred years.”

Azul’s eyebrows shoot up, surprise flickering across his usually composed face. “A princess?” he repeats, his voice laced with disbelief. “You? Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“I didn’t want anyone to know,” you admit. “I just wanted to fit in. To be… normal.”

Azul stares at you for a long moment, his sharp mind already racing through the implications. “And the magic you used to stop my overblot…?”

“It’s my kingdom’s magic,” you explain. “It’s pure energy, uncontaminated by blot. That’s why it didn’t corrupt me.”

Azul’s fingers tap lightly against the arm of his chair as he considers your words. “So, you’ve been keeping this from me the entire time.”

“I didn’t want to complicate things,” you say, your voice soft. “I didn’t want you to treat me any differently.”

Azul lets out a soft chuckle, though there’s an edge to it. “You didn’t want to complicate things? Darling, you’re a Crown Princess from a lost empire with magic that doesn’t generate blot. Things were already complicated.”

You wince, but he’s not wrong. You knew keeping this secret wouldn’t last forever, but you had hoped for a little more time.

“And this letter?” Azul gestures to the unopened envelope. “What does it say?”

“It’s from my family,” you explain. “They’re reminding me of my mission. The reason the Dark Mirror pulled me here.”

Azul’s curiosity sharpens, his eyes gleaming with interest. “Mission? What mission?”

You take a breath, steadying yourself. “Our magic—my kingdom’s magic—was lost to this land centuries ago. The Dark Mirror believes it’s time to reunite it with Twisted Wonderland’s magic. That’s why I’m here.”

Azul leans forward, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. “Reunite the magic? How exactly do you plan to do that?”

You shake your head. “I’m still figuring that out. But… it’s why I was brought here. And why I used my magic during the overblots. I was trying to restore balance.”

Azul’s gaze lingers on you, and you can practically see the gears turning in his mind. “I see. This… changes things.”

You tilt your head, unsure of what he means. “Changes things how?”

Azul’s lips curl into a sly smile. “Well, if you’re a princess, that means you have access to resources. Power. Connections. I imagine there’s a great deal of opportunity in this… alliance.”

You sigh, giving him a wry smile. “Always thinking about business, aren’t you?”

Azul chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “It’s what I do best. But—” his expression softens slightly, and he meets your gaze, “—I won’t push you. Not on this. It’s… a lot to take in.”

You relax a little, grateful for his understanding. “Thank you.”

Azul nods, though the calculating glint never fully leaves his eyes. “Of course. Just… keep me informed. I’d hate to be left in the dark again.”

You laugh softly, but there’s a sense of relief in your chest. The truth is out, and while Azul is already scheming, you know he won’t push you too far. At least, not yet.

And for now, that’s enough.

Jamil Viper

Living in Scarabia means heat, sand, and secrets. You and Jamil have grown close—close enough that hiding your own secret from him has become a heavy burden. He’s already shared so much with you, trusted you with his frustrations, his ambitions, his deepest thoughts. It’s only fair you do the same.

The two of you sit in the common room of Scarabia, the afternoon heat baking the walls outside. Jamil is making tea, his movements precise and efficient, while you fidget with the letter in your lap. He’s been keeping an eye on you, even though he hasn’t said anything yet.

You can feel it in the air—he knows something’s up.

Finally, as he pours the tea, Jamil’s eyes flick over to the envelope in your hands. “You’ve been staring at that for a while now,” he says casually, though there’s an edge of curiosity in his voice. “Care to share what’s on your mind?”

You hesitate, but you know it’s time. You can’t keep this from him any longer. “It’s… from my family,” you begin carefully, watching his reaction. “My real family.”

Jamil’s brow furrows slightly as he takes a seat across from you. “Real family?”

You nod, the words heavy on your tongue. “I’ve been keeping something from you, Jamil. Something big.”

His gaze sharpens, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. “I’m listening.”

You take a deep breath. “I’m not just a transfer student from another world. I’m the Crown Princess of an empire across the sea. We’ve been isolated from Twisted Wonderland for over two hundred years.”

Jamil’s eyes widen, just for a second, before his expression smooths over into something more neutral. He sets his tea down carefully, though you can see his mind racing. “A princess.”

“Yes,” you say, your voice steadying. “I didn’t want anyone to know. I wanted to live normally here.”

Jamil leans back, crossing his arms. “So, why tell me now?”

“Because I trust you,” you admit. “And… because there’s more.”

Jamil’s eyes narrow slightly. “More?”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “The reason I’m here… the Dark Mirror brought me here to reunite my empire’s magic with Twisted Wonderland’s. Our magic is different—purer. It doesn’t generate blot, and it’s powerful. That’s the magic I used to stop your overblot.”

Jamil is silent for a long moment, processing your words. You can see the tension in his posture, the way he’s trying to make sense of everything you’ve just told him. “So, all this time… you’ve been hiding this from everyone.”

“Yes,” you say softly. “I didn’t want you to think of me differently.”

He lets out a small, humorless laugh. “Differently? You’re a princess from a lost empire, wielding magic that could change the entire world. Of course I’m going to think of you differently.”

Your heart sinks at his words, but Jamil quickly shakes his head, as if realizing how harsh he sounded. “I mean… it’s a lot to take in. But I get why you kept it a secret.”

You exhale in relief. “Thank you.”

Jamil’s gaze softens, though there’s still a guarded look in his eyes. “Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“If this mission of yours… if it starts to get dangerous, tell me. Don’t keep me in the dark.”

You smile, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “I promise.”

Jamil nods, his expression still thoughtful as he takes another sip of tea. “Good. Now, about this magic of yours… I’m guessing you’re not just going to leave it at that, are you?”

You laugh softly. “No, I’m still figuring it out. But I’ll keep you posted.”

Jamil smirks, leaning forward. “You’d better.”

Vil Schoenheit

Of all the people you’ve hidden your secret from, you think Vil is the one who would be the least surprised by the truth. He’s always been perceptive, always seen through the facades people try to present. And yet, as you sit in the elegant parlor of Pomefiore, you feel more nervous than ever.

The letter from your family rests on the table in front of you, its royal seal broken but the weight of its contents still pressing heavily on your mind. Vil sits across from you, perfectly poised as ever, sipping tea with the grace of someone who expects perfection in every aspect of life.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Vil remarks, his violet eyes fixed on you. “Something troubling you, darling?”

You swallow, your fingers twitching nervously. “There’s… something I need to tell you.”

Vil raises an elegant brow, setting his teacup down with a soft clink. “Oh?”

You take a deep breath. “It’s about who I really am.”

Vil leans back slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Go on.”

“I’m not just a transfer student from another world,” you begin, the words heavy on your tongue. “I’m the Crown Princess of an empire across the sea. An empire that hasn’t had contact with Twisted Wonderland in over two hundred years.”

For the briefest moment, you see a flicker of surprise in Vil’s eyes before his expression smooths back into its usual composed elegance. “A Crown Princess,” he repeats, as if tasting the words. “Well, that certainly explains a few things.”

You blink, caught off guard by his calm reaction. “Wait… you’re not surprised?”

Vil smiles, though there’s a sharpness to it. “I suspected there was more to you than met the eye. You’ve always carried yourself with a certain… grace. It makes sense now.”

You let out a small laugh, relief flooding through you. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you figured something out.”

Vil’s smile softens, and he tilts his head slightly. “But why tell me now? Why reveal this secret after all this time?”

“Because it’s not just about me being a princess,” you say, your voice more serious now. “There’s a mission. The Dark Mirror brought me here to reunite my empire’s magic with Twisted Wonderland’s. Our magic is different—purer. It doesn’t generate blot. That’s the magic I used to stop the overblots.”

Vil’s eyes narrow slightly, his gaze sharpening. “So that’s how you managed to stop those overblots without succumbing to the corruption.”

You nod. “Yes. But it’s more than that. I was sent here to restore balance. To reunite the magic of our two worlds.”

Vil is silent for a moment, his gaze thoughtful as he processes this new information. “I see. That’s quite the responsibility.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair. “Tell me about it.”

Vil watches you for a long moment, his eyes flicking over you as if assessing something. Then, with a graceful movement, he reaches across the table and takes your hand in his. “You’ve carried this secret for long enough. I imagine it’s been a heavy burden.”

You nod, feeling the warmth of his hand against yours. “It has.”

Vil’s gaze softens, and for a moment, you see a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes. “You’re not alone in this. If this mission is as important as you say, then you’ll need support. And I intend to be that support.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you squeeze his hand gently. “Thank you, Vil. That means a lot.”

Vil smiles, a genuine smile this time, free of the sharp edges he usually wears. “Of course, darling. Now, about this magic of yours… I imagine it’s quite powerful.”

You chuckle softly. “You have no idea.”

Vil’s eyes gleam with curiosity, and you can tell that he’s already thinking about the possibilities. “Then perhaps it’s time we start planning. After all, if you’re going to reunite the magic of two worlds, you’ll need to do it with style.”

You laugh, feeling lighter than you have in weeks. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Vil.”

And as you sit there, your hands still intertwined, you realize that with Vil by your side, this mission might just be possible after all.

Idia Shroud

You’ve always known Idia Shroud to be an enigma wrapped in blue flames and social anxiety. It’s what made him so interesting to you. His genius and quirks drew you in, even if he spent more time online than in the real world. You started off as friends, but somewhere along the way, things changed. Despite his reclusive nature, you’d found yourself growing closer to him, enough to know there’s something deeper between you two now.

But you’ve been keeping a secret from him. A huge secret. And today, sitting in his dorm room, surrounded by the blue light of his computer screens, you feel that familiar anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

You glance over at Idia, who’s completely absorbed in some new game. His fingers move with lightning speed across the keyboard, his eyes flickering with concentration. “Hey, Idia,” you start, keeping your tone casual, but your hands feel clammy.

He doesn’t look up from his game but hums, acknowledging you. “Hmm? Yeah?”

You take a deep breath. “I need to tell you something.”

He pauses the game—actually pauses it—and turns in his chair, looking at you, his eyes wide with curiosity and maybe a little bit of nervousness. “Uh, this sounds like a boss-level conversation. What’s up?”

You fidget, trying to find the right words. “I’m… not exactly who you think I am. I’m not just a student here at NRC. I’m actually the Crown Princess of an empire across the sea.”

For a second, Idia just stares at you, and you can almost see the gears in his brain grinding to a halt. Then, very slowly, he says, “You’re… what now?”

“A princess,” you repeat, feeling awkward under his intense stare. “My empire hasn’t made contact with Twisted Wonderland in over two hundred years. The Dark Mirror brought me here because I’m supposed to reunite the magic of my empire with this world’s magic.”

Idia blinks. Then he blinks again. “So… you’re like, a real-life anime protagonist?” He tilts his head, and his eyes widen even further. “Wait—does that make me… the side character? Or am I the support role??”

You can’t help but smile at his reaction, a mix of disbelief and excitement. “You’re more important than that, Idia. And there’s more. The magic I have—it’s different. It doesn’t generate blot. I used it to help stop your overblot.”

The room goes silent, except for the quiet hum of his computers. Idia’s mouth drops open, and his hair flares a little brighter, flickering with blue flames. “Wha—huh?! You did what?!”

“I used my empire’s magic,” you repeat, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s pure energy, and I used it to pull you out of your overblot. It’s part of why I’m here. I’m supposed to reunite this lost magic with Twisted Wonderland.”

Idia runs a hand through his hair, looking like he’s about to have a full system crash. “Hold on, hold on. So, you’re a princess, with special magic, and you saved me with it? Like, an actual OP protagonist moment?!”

“Well… yeah, I guess,” you say, chuckling at his reaction. “It wasn’t exactly easy, but…”

“You’re insane,” he blurts out, his voice somewhere between awe and disbelief. “I mean—cool! But also totally insane. This is like something straight out of an otome game or a fantasy RPG. And you’ve been hiding this the whole time?!”

You rub the back of your neck, feeling a bit sheepish. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Idia’s fingers twitch at his sides, and he turns back to his desk, muttering something under his breath. “A real princess… crazy… and you saved me with magic… seriously, this is like level 99 plot stuff.”

You can’t help but smile, feeling a bit lighter now that the truth is out. “So… you’re not mad I didn’t tell you sooner?”

He spins back around, shaking his head. “Mad? No way. I mean, okay, a little blindsided, but this is cool. Way cooler than anything I’ve ever played! And—wait—” He pauses, eyes narrowing, “Does this mean I have to start bowing or something? I don’t do that royal etiquette stuff.”

You laugh. “No, Idia. You don’t have to bow.”

His shoulders visibly relax, and he sighs in relief. “Good. ‘Cause, yeah, not happening.”

There’s a moment of silence as Idia processes everything, his brain probably running a million calculations at once. Then, very quietly, he says, “You really saved me, huh?”

You nod, feeling a soft warmth spread through you. “Yeah. I couldn’t let you go.”

Idia looks down, his cheeks flushing pink, his flames flickering more erratically. “Th-thanks. I guess… I owe you, big time.”

You smile, reaching out to gently take his hand. “You don’t owe me anything, Idia. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He glances at your hand in his, eyes wide, and then back up at you. “So, uh… does this make me, like, your royal confidant or something? Sidekick? Player two?”

You laugh again, squeezing his hand. “How about just you? That’s more than enough.”

Idia blushes harder, his hair flaring a bright blue, but a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Okay… I guess I can live with that.”

As you sit together in the soft glow of his room, the weight of your secret finally lifted, you feel like everything is falling into place. Maybe the Dark Mirror knew what it was doing after all.

Malleus Draconia

The air in the halls of Diasomnia feels different today, charged with a strange energy. Malleus Draconia, the formidable heir to the Thorn Fairy legacy, has always held an aura of mystery, but you’ve come to know him as someone who protects his friends fiercely. You’ve grown closer with him, and the bond you share has blossomed into something deeper.

But there’s one truth that still lies between you—your identity as a princess from a lost empire. You’ve kept it hidden for so long, but now it feels like the right moment to reveal your true self.

As you and Malleus stroll through the gardens, the sun setting in a blaze of colors, you decide it’s time. You can feel your heart racing, but the beauty of the moment encourages you.

“Malleus,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence that’s enveloped you both. “There’s something important I need to share with you.”

His emerald eyes focus on you, curiosity piqued. “What is it, my dear?”

You take a deep breath. “I’m not just a student here. I’m the Crown Princess of an empire across the sea, and I’ve come to reunite the magic of my empire with Twisted Wonderland’s magic.”

For a moment, Malleus is silent, his expression unreadable. “A princess?” he finally says, his voice low and smooth. “Is this why you have been avoiding the subject of your past?”

You nod, feeling vulnerable under his gaze. “Yes. I didn’t want it to change how you see me.”

Malleus tilts his head slightly, his long horns catching the light. “You think I would judge you for your title? You are the same person I care for, no matter your origins.”

A rush of warmth floods through you. “Thank you, Malleus. I was worried you might think I was hiding something from you.”

His expression softens, and he takes a step closer. “You carry a great burden, and it is only fair that you share it with those who hold you dear. But there is more, is there not?”

You bite your lip, hesitant. “Yes. The Dark Mirror brought me here for a reason. I must reunite our two magics—the magic of my empire, which has been lost to time, and the magic of Twisted Wonderland.”

His eyes gleam with interest, and he nods slowly. “And you possess this magic?”

“I do. It’s pure energy that doesn’t generate blot. I used it to help stop your overblot.”

Malleus’s expression shifts from curiosity to admiration. “You wield such power? That is remarkable.”

You feel a rush of pride at his words, but also an ache of vulnerability. “I want to do this, Malleus. I want to restore balance and reunite our worlds.”

He takes your hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. “Then you shall not do it alone. I will stand by your side, and together we shall see this through.”

Your heart swells at his support, and you nod, feeling a sense of determination wash over you. “Thank you, Malleus. That means the world to me.”

As the sun sets behind you, casting a golden hue over the garden, you realize that you are no longer alone in this mission. With Malleus by your side, the path ahead feels bright and full of possibilities.

Ruggie Bucchi

Life at NRC is never boring, especially when you’ve got Ruggie Bucchi at your side. Dating Ruggie had been an unexpected twist of fate—he was sly, resourceful, and could charm his way out of any situation. Plus, his loyalty and sharp wit made him someone you could always rely on. And after Leona’s overblot, when you had used your strange, powerful magic to stop him, you and Ruggie had become even closer.

But there was something you hadn’t told him. Something that’s been weighing on your mind. Sitting on the worn couch in Savanaclaw’s lounge, you glance over at Ruggie, who’s happily munching on some snacks he’d stolen from the kitchen.

“Hey, Ruggie,” you begin, feeling a knot form in your stomach. “Can we talk about something?”

He looks up, still chewing. “What’s up?” His tone is casual, but his sharp eyes pick up on your serious expression. “You look like you’re about to drop some heavy news.”

You take a deep breath. There’s no easy way to say this. “So… remember how I stopped Leona’s overblot? How I used magic that wasn’t from this world?”

Ruggie stops chewing, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah, how could I forget? You were shining like the sun and stopped him without a scratch. Pretty wild stuff.”

You swallow. “There’s a reason for that. I’m not from Twisted Wonderland, but that’s not the whole story. I’m actually a princess—the Crown Princess—of an empire across the sea. The magic I used is the lost magic of my empire, and the Dark Mirror pulled me here to reunite it with this world’s magic.”

Ruggie freezes, the snack he’s holding slipping from his fingers. For a moment, he just stares at you, blinking. Then he bursts out laughing. “Ha! Good one! You really had me for a sec there.”

But when you don’t laugh back, his chuckles die out. “Wait, you’re serious? You’re… a princess?”

You nod, feeling the weight of your confession settle between you. “Yeah. The Dark Mirror brought me here because it’s time to reconnect our magic with Twisted Wonderland’s. It’s my mission.”

Ruggie blinks again, his mouth hanging open slightly. “You’ve gotta be kidding me…” He rubs his head, as if trying to process everything. “You’re telling me I’ve been dating royalty this whole time?”

“Well, technically, yes.” You manage a small smile. “Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

Ruggie is silent for a moment, his brow furrowed as if he’s trying to compute what you’ve just said. Then, with a sly grin, he leans back against the couch. “Well, I guess I always knew I had good taste. Didn’t think I’d end up with a princess, though. What’re the odds?”

You laugh, feeling the tension in your chest loosen slightly. “Does it… bother you?”

He shakes his head, though he still looks a little dazed. “Nah. I mean, it’s a lot to take in, but I’ve always been good at rolling with the punches. If anything, it explains a lot about you. That magic of yours is on a whole different level.”

You sigh in relief. “I was worried you’d think it was too much.”

Ruggie grins, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Too much? Nah. I mean, I’ve dealt with Leona for years, right? Besides, this just means I gotta up my game. Can’t have a princess thinking I’m slacking off.”

You roll your eyes. “As if you’ve ever slacked off.”

He smirks, but then his expression softens. “But for real… you stopping Leona’s overblot? That was something else. I’ve never seen magic like that. You saved him.”

You nod. “It’s the magic of my empire. It doesn’t generate blot. It’s pure energy. I’ve been trying to figure out how to use it properly, but it’s… a lot.”

Ruggie leans back, stretching his arms behind his head. “Well, sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you. But hey, you’ve got me now. I’ll make sure you don’t burn out or anything.”

You smile at him, feeling a wave of affection wash over you. “Thanks, Ruggie. I really appreciate it.”

He winks. “Anything for you, Princess.”

You playfully punch his arm, but you can’t help the warmth that spreads through you. Despite everything, Ruggie always knows how to make you feel at ease.

As the day goes on, you both continue lounging around the dorm, the weight of your confession already feeling lighter. And as you sit there with Ruggie, you can’t help but feel grateful that, out of everyone, it’s him by your side.

Later, when you return to your room, you find yourself thinking about everything that’s happened since you arrived at NRC—the overblots, your magic, the Dark Mirror’s mission. You’ve been carrying this secret for so long, but now that Ruggie knows, it feels like a burden has been lifted.

But then you remember the rest of your mission. You have to reunite your magic with Twisted Wonderland’s, and that’s no small feat.

Still, with Ruggie by your side, you feel like you can handle whatever comes next.

Masterlist

[psformybss]

Dress

pairing: drew starkey x actress!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, implied smut, secret relationship, romantic tension

︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

　

The Outer Banks premiere was a spectacle—paparazzi flashing their cameras, reporters calling out for interviews, fans pressing against barricades, their excitement a tangible hum in the air. To everyone else, you and Drew were just co-stars, maybe friends. But no one knew about the glances that lingered a second too long, the late-night rehearsals that turned into whispered conversations, the way your hands would brush, then hesitate, as if the weight of unspoken words could be felt in the space between your fingers.

No one knew about you and him.

And maybe that’s what made it electric.

The red carpet was a blur of questions and camera flashes, of dazzling lights and the sound of your own name being called. You smiled, posed, turned to let the dress catch the light just right. The fabric—deep red satin, smooth against your skin—hugged you in all the right places. It was elegant, striking, a choice made with careful thought.

Or rather, with someone in mind.

Your eyes searched through the chaos, the interviews, the sea of tailored suits and glittering gowns. And then you found him.

Drew stood a few feet away, mid-conversation with JD, laughter tugging at his lips. He looked effortless, the crisp black suit fitting him like it was made for him. But you knew him too well—you caught the subtle twitch of his fingers, the way his gaze flickered to you in stolen seconds.

It had always been like this.

The slow burn of it all. The silence, the patience, the pining.

A reporter asked you something, and you forced yourself to focus, giving a practiced answer with a charming smile. But you felt him before you even saw him, the warmth of his presence drifting closer, a familiar heat against your skin.

Then, his voice—low, teasing, just for you.

“Did you wear this for me?”

A smirk tugged at your lips, but you didn’t turn, keeping your eyes on the flashing cameras ahead. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Drew leaned in ever so slightly, his breath warm against your ear. “I do know.”

The air between you crackled, charged with something unspoken but undeniable.

From that moment on, it was a silent game of restraint. Posed photos, standing inches apart yet feeling magnetized. Brushing past each other backstage, his hand grazing your hip just enough to make you ache. A stolen glance across the afterparty, his smirk knowing, your stomach tightening in response.

When the event began to wind down, the two of you left separately, as always. But you knew where to go.

His hotel room was dimly lit, the golden glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows on the walls. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing the world outside.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then, he crossed the space between you, his hands finding your waist as if they had always belonged there. His lips hovered just above yours, a breath away.

“You look incredible in this,” he murmured, fingers grazing the delicate strap of your dress.

Your heart pounded. “Yeah?”

His thumb traced along your bare shoulder, featherlight but searing. “Yeah. But I think I’d like it better on the floor.”

A shiver ran through you as his fingers found the zipper, dragging it down at an excruciating pace. The fabric loosened, slipping over your shoulders, gliding down the curves of your body before pooling at your feet.

Drew let out a quiet breath, his eyes darkening as they roamed over you, drinking you in like a man starved. His hands ghosted over your bare skin, barely touching but igniting something deep in your core.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, voice thick with want, “how many times I’ve imagined this.”

Your breath hitched as he closed the distance, his lips finally—finally—claiming yours in a kiss that was nothing like the restrained ones you had exchanged in public. This was hungry, desperate, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you flush against him. The heat of his suit against your bare skin sent a thrill down your spine.

You tangled your fingers in his tie, tugging it loose before pushing his jacket off his shoulders. It hit the floor with a dull thud, but neither of you cared. His hands roamed your body with newfound urgency, fingers digging into your waist, memorizing every inch of skin now bare to him.

When his lips left yours, they trailed down—along the line of your jaw, your throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses that left a searing path. Your head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut as his teeth scraped against your collarbone, as his tongue soothed over the mark he left behind.

“Drew,” you breathed, barely a whisper.

His lips curved against your skin. “Say it again.”

Your fingers found the buttons of his shirt, working them open with trembling hands. “Drew.”

He groaned, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he helped shrug the fabric off, baring the solid planes of his body to you. His skin was warm beneath your palms, his heartbeat steady but hard beneath your touch.

You pulled him back to you, mouths meeting in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and need. He walked you back until the back of your knees hit the bed, and suddenly, you were falling.

Drew was on top of you in an instant, his body pressing into yours, his weight grounding you in the moment. The golden glow of the lamp cast shadows over his face, over the sharp angles of his jaw, the heat in his gaze making your breath hitch.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, dipping his head to capture your lips again, one hand sliding down the curve of your waist, the other tangling in your hair.

You arched beneath him, fingers raking down his back as heat coiled deep in your belly.

“I always have been.”

His mouth found your neck again, then lower, his hands and lips leaving invisible marks all over your skin—ones only he would ever see.

And when he finally made his way back up, lips brushing against yours, his voice was low and full of promise.

“I hope you didn’t like that dress too much.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him down, your answer whispered against his lips.

“I only bought it so you could take it off.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

an: sooo i originally intended for this to be more fluffy and based more on “dress” by taylor swift but i lost the plot somewhere along the way.

[writeriguess]

Katsuki x fem reader where he's reader's boss? It's a big company and he's rich af. Reader is his secretary and they have a secret relationship and often have sex in the office.

Executive Privileges

The rhythmic tapping of keys echoed in the dimly lit office, punctuated only by the occasional shuffle of papers. Outside the towering glass windows, the city glowed beneath the night sky, a sea of lights stretching endlessly beyond the skyline. You shifted in your seat, trying to ignore the intense stare burning into your skin from across the room.

Katsuki Bakugou. CEO of Dynamight Enterprises. Your boss.

And the man who had spent the last hour eye-fucking you from his desk.

"Come here," he ordered, his deep, gravelly voice sending a shiver straight down your spine.

You glanced at the clock—9:47 PM. Everyone else had gone home hours ago. It was just the two of you now, and you knew damn well what that meant.

Swallowing hard, you stood, smoothing down your pencil skirt as you made your way toward his massive desk. His crimson eyes followed your every move, darkening with each step you took. You stopped just in front of him, but before you could say a word, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist as he yanked you forward.

With a gasp, you stumbled, your palms landing on the smooth surface of his desk as he spun you around and pressed his chest flush against your back.

“You know what the fuck you’ve been doing all day, don’t you?” His voice was a low growl, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. One hand trailed down your arm, slow and deliberate, while the other palmed your hip, fingers digging possessively into your flesh.

You swallowed thickly, heart pounding. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A dangerous chuckle rumbled in his chest before his teeth grazed your earlobe, making your knees buckle. “Lyin’ to me now? That’s cute, princess. You really think I wouldn’t notice how you’ve been fuckin’ teasing me? Wearing that tight little skirt, bending over your desk just a little too much every damn time I walked by?”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a smirk. You had been teasing him—just a little.

“You did it on purpose,” he accused, his hand sliding down the front of your blouse, fingertips ghosting over the buttons. “Wanted to rile me up, huh? Wanted me to bend you over this desk and fuck you stupid?”

Your breath hitched as his hand moved lower, hovering just over the waistband of your skirt. “Katsuki—”

“That’s Sir to you,” he cut you off, his grip tightening on your hip. “In here, I’m your boss. And you don’t get to act like a fuckin’ brat without consequences.”

You barely had time to react before he spun you around, pushing you back against the desk. The impact sent papers flying, but you couldn’t care less—not when he was looking at you like that. Like he was about to devour you.

He leaned in, lips brushing against yours but not quite kissing you. “You want me, don’t you?”

You let out a shaky breath. “Yes.”

“Say it properly,” he demanded, his fingers slipping under your skirt, tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“Please, Sir,” you whimpered, pressing your thighs together to relieve some of the ache growing between them. “I need you.”

He groaned, gripping your chin between his fingers and crashing his lips against yours. The kiss was hungry, possessive, all-consuming. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming you in a way that left no room for doubt—you were his.

His hands roamed your body, slipping under your blouse, pushing it up to expose the soft lace of your bra. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, teasing them through the thin fabric.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he muttered against your lips before his mouth traveled lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin until you were a writhing mess beneath him.

You gasped when he suddenly yanked your skirt up, bunching the fabric around your waist. His fingers traced the edge of your panties before hooking them to the side, barely teasing where you needed him most.

“Already so wet,” he mused, dragging a single finger through your slick folds, making you arch against him. “Such a needy little thing.”

You whimpered as he pushed a finger inside you, curling it just right, making your thighs tremble. He added another, moving in slow, deliberate strokes that had you teetering on the edge of desperation.

“Who does this pussy belong to, huh?” His voice was thick with desire, eyes burning with possessiveness as he watched you squirm beneath him.

“You,” you gasped, nails digging into his biceps. “It’s yours, Sir.”

A cocky smirk pulled at his lips. “Damn right it is.”

And then, without warning, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty and aching.

You barely had time to whimper in protest before he unbuckled his belt, pulling it free with a sharp snap. The sound alone made heat pool in your stomach. He undid his slacks with practiced ease, shoving them down just enough to free his thick, aching cock.

You bit your lip at the sight of him, already leaking precum, the sheer size of him making your thighs clench. He caught your stare and smirked.

“Gonna take me like a good girl?” he murmured, dragging the tip along your soaked entrance.

You nodded desperately, fingers gripping the edge of the desk. “Please.”

That was all he needed. With one smooth thrust, he pushed inside, stretching you deliciously around him. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as he filled you completely, the burn of the stretch making your head spin.

“Fuck,” he groaned, gripping your hips as he buried himself to the hilt. “So fuckin’ tight.”

He gave you only a second to adjust before he pulled back and slammed into you again, setting a brutal, punishing pace. The desk creaked beneath you, papers scattering to the floor, but neither of you gave a damn.

All you could focus on was the way he felt inside you, hitting all the right spots, driving you closer and closer to the edge. His grip on your hips was bruising, his breath ragged against your ear as he fucked you like he owned you.

“Not so cocky now, are ya?” he taunted, voice strained with pleasure. “Thought you were gonna tease me all day and get away with it?”

You couldn’t even form a response, too lost in the overwhelming sensation of him pounding into you, dragging you closer and closer to release.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” he panted, his fingers slipping between your thighs, rubbing quick, relentless circles over your swollen clit.

That was all it took. With a sharp cry, your body tensed, pleasure crashing over you in waves as you came hard around him, legs trembling.

“Fuck—” he groaned, his pace stuttering as your tight walls clenched around him. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, spilling his release with a guttural moan.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, breathing heavily, your bodies tangled together.

Finally, Katsuki pulled back slightly, pressing a lazy kiss to your lips before smirking down at you. “Think you’ve learned your lesson, sweetheart?”

You huffed a breathless laugh. “I dunno… might have to misbehave again tomorrow.”

His smirk widened, crimson eyes gleaming with amusement and something darker.

“Oh, you’re really askin’ for it now, princess.”

[novaursa]

hello

Can I have a fem!twin sister Jace, Where she always knew that Hardin was her father and she really loved him, but Daemon kinda take her as her heir and daughter.

She got engaged to Aemond but after Lucerys death they cancel it and during the war she don’t know what side choose. She really love her « husband » but her loyalty goes to the black (maybe because of daemon)

She ride Cannibal and goes to the battle of rooks rest but Aemond and Vhagar can’t attack her.

Idk how you can end it but I’m sure you can do it 🫶🏼♥️

Cursed in Flames

- Summary: You face Aemond at Rook’s Rest. And Dance of the Dragons is never the same again.

- Pairing: niece!reader/Aemond Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 3 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The news reaches you like a shadow across the sea, darkening the horizon of your mind with its terrible weight. You are standing on the cliffs of Dragonstone, watching the waves crash against the rocks far below, when you hear Daemon's footsteps approach. The air is filled with the scent of salt and storm, and the sky above is a heavy gray, mirroring the turmoil in your heart.

You do not turn to look at him immediately, sensing the gravity of what he is about to say. You have always known Daemon’s stride—deliberate, commanding, yet with a subtle grace that betrays his Targaryen blood. It is the same stride he had when he came to you as a child, kneeling before you and whispering tales of dragonfire and ancient Valyria, the stories that shaped your dreams and nightmares alike. But this time, there is something else, a tension in his movements that you have rarely seen, a tension that makes your heart clench in your chest.

"Your brother," Daemon begins, his voice as cold as the wind that whips around you, "is dead."

The words slice through you, sharper than any blade, and you feel the ground beneath you sway as though it, too, has been struck. For a moment, the world stops. The roaring of the waves, the howling of the wind, all of it fades into a deafening silence that drowns you. The image of Luke—sweet, gentle Luke—flashes before your eyes. His bright smile, his laughter that could fill even the darkest of days with light, now extinguished.

You finally turn to Daemon, your eyes wide with disbelief, as if willing him to say it is a mistake, a cruel jest. But Daemon’s face is set in stone, his violet eyes hard and unreadable.

"Aemond," he continues, his voice dropping to a low growl, "killed him. Vhagar devoured Arrax. There was nothing left."

A gasp escapes your lips, and your knees threaten to buckle. The storm inside you breaks free, a torrent of emotions—grief, rage, betrayal—rushing through you all at once. You clutch your chest, as if trying to hold your heart together, but it is no use. The pieces are already shattered, scattered to the winds.

"Aemond," you whisper, the name a curse and a lament all at once. The man you were once betrothed to, the man who had once held your hand in a secret alcove of the Red Keep, who had once whispered words of love and promises of the future—he is now a stranger, a monster. How could he? The question rings in your mind, but there is no answer, only the hollow echo of your heartbreak.

Daemon watches you carefully, his expression unyielding. He has never been one for softness, not even with you, his niece whom he raised as his own daughter. But there is something in his gaze now, a flicker of something almost akin to sorrow. He steps closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. His grip is firm, steadying.

"This engagement is null," he states, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Aemond is no longer your betrothed. He is an enemy of our house, an enemy of yours."

You nod, though your mind is barely able to comprehend the words. The engagement had meant something once, a bridge between the two branches of your family, a hope for peace. But that hope has been dashed upon the rocks like a ship in a storm. There is nothing left but the wreckage.

"He was once... everything to me," you confess, your voice trembling. "How could he do this, Daemon? How could he kill Luke?"

Daemon's eyes narrow, a flash of fire in their depths. "Aemond is a creature of rage and pride, blinded by the lust for power and vengeance. He cares for nothing but his own glory, his own twisted sense of honor. Whatever feelings you thought he had for you, whatever feelings you had for him, they are ash now."

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the sob that threatens to escape. But it is futile. The tears spill over, hot and bitter. Daemon pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms a cage of protection and power. He has never been one to coddle you, but in this moment, he offers you the only comfort he knows how to give—his strength, his presence.

"We will make them pay, all of them," Daemon murmurs into your hair, his voice dark with promise. "For Luke, for our family. This war will not end until the debt is paid in full."

You nod against his chest, the pain in your heart hardening into something colder, sharper. Aemond’s face lingers in your mind, the way he looked at you when you were children, the way his eyes darkened with something more when you were older. But that is all it is now—a memory, a ghost of a past that no longer exists.

You pull back from Daemon, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. Your heart still aches, but there is a new resolve in you, a determination to survive this, to fight for your family, for Luke.

“I will not forget,” you say quietly, your voice steady now. “But I will not let it destroy me, either.”

Daemon nods, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. “Good. We Targaryens are made of fire and blood. Remember that.”

As you stand there, the wind whipping through your hair, you let the words sink in. Fire and blood. That is what you are, what you have always been. The storm may rage on, but you will not be broken by it.

Cannibal’s distant roar echoes through the skies, and you lift your chin, feeling the fire within you begin to burn anew. Aemond may have taken Luke, but he has not taken your will, your strength. You will rise from these ashes, stronger than before. And when the time comes, you will face him—Aemond, the man who was once your betrothed, now your enemy—and you will show him what it truly means to be a Targaryen.

The wind bites at your face as Cannibal’s wings slice through the cold air. You’ve always felt most alive in these moments—when you are at one with the beast beneath you, the two of you merging into a single entity of power and purpose. You are no longer just the daughter of Princess Rhaenyra and the secret of Harwin Strong; you are a force of nature, the rider of the wildest and most feared of dragons. Cannibal roars, a sound that shakes the sky, and you cannot help but feel a grim satisfaction as you see Rook’s Rest below, knowing what is about to unfold.

Aemond Targaryen waits, hidden in the clouds atop Vhagar, the ancient dragon’s formidable presence a weight on the horizon. Aegon is beside him, perched on Sunfyre, whose golden scales glitter like a false promise in the pale daylight. They expect Melys, Rhaenys's scarlet queen, but what they get is something far more dangerous. Something personal.

Your heart beats a war drum’s rhythm in your chest as you approach, hidden by the sun behind you. They don’t see you coming, not at first. And when they do, it’s not Aegon who reacts but Aemond—his shock visible even from the distance. You can imagine his single eye widening, his lips parting in disbelief.

"It cannot be…" he breathes, low enough that only Vhagar might hear him. His thoughts spin in confusion and regret, the memories of what you once were to him clashing with the reality of the battle about to unfold. He’d thought you were lost to him, that the broken engagement was a final, irreparable severing of your fates. But now, here you are, as fierce and untamable as the dragon you ride.

Cole signals Aegon, and the elder brother does not hesitate. Aegon gives Sunfyre his head, and the golden dragon surges forward with all the arrogance and bravado his rider commands. The roar that splits the sky is not just from the dragon, but from Aegon himself, taunting, dismissive.

"Come to burn, have you?" Aegon shouts over the wind. "You’ll find this fire too hot!"

But you don’t respond with words. Cannibal lets loose a torrent of flame, a blackened blaze that reeks of burnt flesh and bones long devoured. The sky darkens with the ash of it, and Aegon’s confidence flickers like a candle in a storm. You feel the heat radiating off your dragon, the primal joy of the hunt thrumming through your bond.

Aemond watches, frozen in place. "Aegon, no!" he shouts, but his voice is swallowed by the roar of dragons and the rush of wind. He can only watch as the two dragons clash.

Cannibal is a creature of nightmares, his blackened scales absorbing the light, making him seem as though he is forged from shadow itself. He dives at Sunfyre with feral speed, his jaws snapping inches from Aegon’s arm. Sunfyre counters with a blast of flame, but Cannibal’s agility is unmatched. He twists in the air, dodging the fire as if it were a mere inconvenience.

Sunfyre is beautiful, a dragon that could have inspired a thousand songs. But beauty is no match for brutality. Cannibal rips into Sunfyre with a savagery that leaves you breathless, his claws tearing through the golden dragon’s wing, nearly severing it from his body. Aegon’s scream echoes in the heavens as he struggles to keep control, the pain of his dragon searing through their bond.

"Aegon!" Aemond roars again, urging Vhagar to move, but his dragon hesitates, sensing his rider’s turmoil. Vhagar is the mightiest of dragons, older than the rest, her wisdom far beyond Aemond’s years. She feels his conflict, the war inside him, and it makes her pause.

You see Aemond’s struggle, the way his grip tightens on Vhagar’s reins, the way his gaze locks onto you even as his brother is mauled in the sky. For a moment, you wonder if he will join the fray, if he will strike you down as he did Luke. But then his eye meets yours, and you see something unexpected—fear, not of you, but for you. The realization sends a cold shiver down your spine, but you don’t have time to dwell on it.

Cannibal snaps his jaws around Sunfyre’s neck, dragging the dragon down toward the ground. They crash through the trees, Sunfyre’s scream a thing of agony as he thrashes, desperately trying to free himself from the relentless assault. Cannibal’s fire ignites the forest below, turning the world into a hellscape of flame and shadow. Sunfyre’s golden scales are marred with blood and soot, his body a broken thing beneath the ferocity of your dragon.

Aemond watches in horror, his mind torn between duty and something far more dangerous—his heart. "Vhagar," he murmurs, "we have to stop this…"

But Vhagar, ancient and wise, does not attack. She circles above, watching, waiting. She feels the bond between her rider and the girl who should have been his wife, and she knows this is a battle not just of dragons, but of souls.

Finally, with a roar that shakes the heavens, Vhagar descends. Her massive form blots out the sun as she lands, the earth trembling beneath her weight. She crashes into Cannibal with all the force of a falling star, but she does not strike to kill. Instead, she pins Cannibal beneath her, her jaws snapping inches from his throat. The wild dragon thrashes, but Vhagar’s strength is unmatched. She holds him there, a warning, not a death sentence.

You feel Cannibal’s fury, his frustration, but also his grudging respect for the older dragon. The battle is over, for now. You sense Aemond’s hesitation, the war raging within him as he prepares to dismount.

But he doesn’t move, not yet. He looks down at you, at the girl he once loved, the girl he might still love, and his world tilts on its axis.

For the first time since the Dance began, Aemond Targaryen does not know what to do. And as Vhagar holds Cannibal pinned beneath her, you both realize that this battle was never just about dragons.

It was always about you.

And it always will be.

The ground rushes up to meet you as you leap from Cannibal’s saddle. The impact is brutal, a shockwave of pain that ripples through your body as you hit the earth with a resounding thud. The air is forced from your lungs, and for a terrifying moment, you can’t breathe. You gasp, struggling to draw in even a sliver of air, your vision darkening at the edges. But you force yourself to move, to push through the pain. You cannot afford to be weak now, not with him approaching.

Aemond’s boots crunch on the scorched ground as he strides toward you, his expression unreadable. You see him through a haze of pain, your vision slowly clearing as your breath comes in ragged gasps. Instinctively, you push yourself up, your muscles screaming in protest, but you will not be caught helpless. Not by him. 

Before you can fully regain your footing, Aemond’s arms are around you, capturing you in a firm, unyielding embrace. His chest presses against your back, his grip like iron as you struggle against him. The more you thrash, the tighter his hold becomes, but he doesn’t hurt you. His voice, when it comes, is a low, soothing murmur in High Valyrian, a language that wraps around you like a soft cloak.

"Beloved, be still in my arms," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. "Calm down." 

The words are tender, almost loving, and they cut through your panic like a knife. His grip doesn’t loosen, but it no longer feels like a prison. Instead, it’s a strange comfort, his presence grounding you as your breath slowly returns to normal. The fight drains from your limbs, leaving only the exhaustion and the ache of what’s just happened.

When you finally stop resisting, Aemond’s grip eases, and he gently turns you to face him. You expect anger, fury even, for what you’ve done to his brother. But as you look into his eye, you find something else entirely—uncertainty. He stares at you as if you’re a puzzle he cannot solve, his usual confidence shaken.

"Aegon…" His voice is rougher now, tinged with something that almost sounds like regret. "You just struck down the King."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with the weight of what they mean. Aegon Targaryen, the King, your uncle—his blood is on your hands now, as much as Cannibal’s. But you feel no guilt, only a cold, burning anger that flares to life at Aemond’s accusation.

"Like you killed Luke," you snap back, your voice laced with venom. The shadow of your father, Daemon, looms large in that moment, his defiance, his unyielding spirit echoing in your words. "You think I care for your brother’s crown when you stole my brother’s life?"

Aemond’s lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile forming as he watches you, admiring the fire in your eyes. It’s as though he expected this from you, and it pleases him to see you still have that flame burning within. He takes a step closer, his expression softening into something dangerously close to affection.

"Always so fierce," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a tone that is meant for you alone. "Just as I remember. Just as you’ve always been."

You can’t decide whether to move away or to stay rooted to the spot. His presence is overwhelming, intoxicating, and despite everything, a part of you aches for the connection you once shared. Before the bloodshed, before the war tore you apart. But the uncertainty gnaws at you, and you remain still as he reaches out, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Even now, I find myself drawn to you," he admits, his tone almost wistful. "Your strength, your fire... It’s what made me want you then, and what makes me want you now."

His words lull you, and despite yourself, you feel the tension in your body begin to ease. There is something in his voice, something genuine, that pulls at the frayed edges of your heart. But before you can fully comprehend what is happening, a shout cuts through the moment.

"My Prince!" Ser Criston Cole’s voice is sharp, commanding as he approaches. His armor is still bloodied from the skirmish, his face set in a stern mask. "Seize her! She is an enemy, a traitor to the crown!"

Aemond stiffens, the tender moment evaporating like mist in the sun. He turns to face Cole, his expression darkening as he steps protectively in front of you. 

"I will do no such thing," Aemond says coldly, his voice hard as steel. "She is mine."

Cole looks shocked, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Prince Aemond, this is treason. The girl—"

"Is to be my wife," Aemond cuts him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We will wed in the tradition of Old Valyria. She will be my queen."

Cole’s face pales, his eyes darting between you and Aemond as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. "This is madness," he insists, his voice rising with urgency. "The council will never accept it. The people—"

"The people," Aemond snaps, his patience wearing thin, "will accept what I tell them to accept. And if they do not, they will burn for their defiance. As will anyone who dares stand between me and her."

The threat is clear, and Cole flinches, realizing the seriousness in Aemond’s tone. He knows better than to challenge a dragon when its fire is so close to the surface. But still, he tries once more, his voice lowering in an attempt to reason with his prince.

"Think of the consequences, my prince," Cole urges, almost pleading now. "This could tear the realm apart."

Aemond’s gaze never wavers as he replies, his voice chillingly calm. "The realm is already torn apart. If it must burn, then it will burn with us as its rulers."

You watch the exchange with a mix of awe and dread. Aemond’s declaration sends a shiver down your spine, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. He’s serious—deadly serious. And in that moment, you realize there’s no escaping the path that has been set for you.

Aemond turns back to you, his expression softening once more as he reaches out to take your hand. His grip is firm, but not forceful, as though he’s offering you a choice, even if you both know that choice was taken from you the moment you leapt from Cannibal’s saddle.

"Come," he says softly, his voice a stark contrast to the fury he directed at Cole. "Let us finish what was started so long ago."

You look up into his eye, searching for some hint of deception, some sign that this is all a cruel trick. But all you find is resolve—and something else, something that looks very much like hope.

Before you can answer, Vhagar releases Cannibal, the great dragon rising from her position with a low, rumbling growl. Cannibal stirs, but he does not attack. Instead, he rises slowly, his eyes locked on Vhagar as he acknowledges her strength, if not her dominance. There’s a truce in the air, fragile as gossamer, but for now, it holds.

Aemond squeezes your hand, his gaze never leaving yours. "Together," he murmurs, his voice filled with a dangerous promise. "As it was always meant to be."

And as you stand there, caught between what was and what will be, you realize that there is no turning back. Not for you, not for Aemond, not for the realm. The dance is far from over, and now, it will be danced to a different tune—a tune of fire and blood, of love and hate, of destiny and defiance.

And you will dance it with him, until the very end.

[xoxorory]

Always With You !

— Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader Fanfic Genre: Humor | Fluff | Universe: Percy Jackson & The Olympians Word Count: ~3.2K (I'M SUCH A YAPPER LOL) Requested:@simpingmyassoff

Rumors Suck.

Camp Half-Blood had two guarantees:

A monster attack at the worst possible time.

Gossip spreading faster than an Hermes kid stealing your wallet.

I usually didn’t give a damn about rumors. People talked all the time, whispering nonsense about quests, secret romances, or how I once beat a kid from Ares’ cabin in an arm-wrestling match. (That one was true, by the way). Most of the time, I either laughed them off or, if they annoyed me enough, handled the situation… directly.

But this time? The rumor was about me. And worse? It actually got to me.

—"You’re, like, way too clingy with Jackson," a girl from Aphrodite’s cabin had said, twirling her hair with fake innocence. —"Like, it’s a little embarrassing to watch," another added, voice dripping with fake sympathy. —"If you keep it up, he’s totally gonna get tired of you and, y’know… want space."

I had laughed in their faces, of course. That was my natural defense mechanism. But now… I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

What if they were right?

Operation: Be Less Clingy (And Probably Die)

I decided to test their theory.

For the first time in forever, I didn’t steal Percy’s hoodie in the morning. I didn’t drape myself over him during sword-fighting practice. I didn’t sneak my hand into his when we walked together. I didn’t—gods help me—hug him like an octopus every chance I got.

And it was… awful.

I felt like a smoker trying to quit cold turkey. Every time I saw Percy, my body physically wanted to reach for him, to mess with his hair, to poke his stupid sea-green eyes, to wrap myself around him like I always did.

But nope.

I had self-control.

I had boundaries.

I was so freaking miserable.

Percy Notices. Obviously.

Percy was a dumbass sometimes, but he wasn’t stupid.

By day three of Operation: Be a Distant, Independent Woman Who Definitely Wasn’t Dying Inside, he had clearly caught on.

Normally, I would find him first thing in the morning, steal his stolen coffee (yes, double theft), and make fun of his bedhead. Instead, I stayed in my cabin, hoping he wouldn’t notice my absence.

But of course, Percy Jackson noticed.

—"Since when did you go full emo?" His voice startled me as I sat on the dock, dipping my feet into the lake.

I sighed. Of course he found me.

—"Go away, Jackson."

—"Nope."

He plopped down beside me and bumped my shoulder, expecting me to shove him back like I always did.

I didn’t.

Silence.

I could feel him staring at me.

—"Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to cause a scene?"

I sighed again, staring at my reflection in the water.

—"I just… thought maybe I should give you some space."

Percy frowned.

—"Space? Why the hell would I want that?"

I hesitated.

—"Because maybe I’m too clingy."

There was a beat of silence.

Then Percy laughed. Loudly.

I punched his arm—hard.

—"I’m serious, dumbass!"

He was still grinning, his stupid adorable face glowing with amusement.

—"Babe, love of my life, my antisocial sea monster—if you were too clingy, don’t you think I would’ve told you by now?"

I bit my lip.

—"Well… they said—"

—"They?" Percy’s expression darkened. "Who put that nonsense in your head?"

I hesitated, but he already knew. His jaw clenched, and I swear I saw his fingers twitch like he was ready to summon Riptide and go on a murder spree.

Hot. But beside the point.

Percy turned to me, grabbing my face between his hands.

—"Listen carefully, because I’m only saying this once. You are my favorite person in this entire camp. If it were up to me, you’d be stuck to me like a damn remora 24/7."

My brain short-circuited.

—"...Really?"

He nodded, seriously.

—"Actually… now that you mention it, I have been feeling kinda abandoned." He sighed dramatically. "Where are my hugs? My spontaneous kisses? My surprise attacks of affection?"

I stared at him, my heart doing stupid things.

—"You don’t get tired of me?"

He grinned.

—"Never."

And just like that, the weight on my chest vanished.

Without thinking, I launched myself at him, wrapping my arms and legs around him in the octopus hug I had desperately missed.

—"There’s my koala!" Percy laughed, holding me effortlessly.

—"Shut up," I muttered into his neck.

He just chuckled, running his hand through my hair.

—"That’s more like it."

Karma Comes Fast (and I Enjoy It Too Much)

Look. I’m not a vindictive person.

But when someone messes with me? Whatever.

When someone messes with me and Percy?

They better start praying.

The next day, I noticed the same Aphrodite girls lurking around, watching us like hawks, probably waiting to see if I’d go back to keeping my distance.

Spoiler alert: I didn’t.

But Percy? He had an even better idea.

As they walked past, he spoke just loud enough for them to hear:

—"You know,babe, I think we should spend more time together. Maybe start sleeping in the same cabin."

I barely held back a laugh.

—"Isn’t that against the rules?" I asked, playing along.

Percy shrugged.

—"Since when do we care about rules?"

From the corner of my eye, I saw the girls freeze. One of them actually gasped.

I lived for this.

But Percy wasn’t done.

He turned to them, voice dripping with petty revenge.

—"Oh, by the way," he said, smirking. "You know what’s funny? People who never had a chance with me acting like they get a say in my relationship."

They paled. One of them choked on her own spit. Then they scurried off, whispering frantically.

I turned to him, thoroughly impressed.

—"That was evil, Jackson."

He grinned.

—"They messed with my girl. Now they know what happens when someone tries to get between us."

I smirked, yanking him closer by the collar.

—"You know what?" I murmured. "I am clingy."

He grinned before kissing me.

—"Good. Never change."

I'm such a yapper lol. I actually had this one half written already LOLL

[vividxpages]

✩‧˚౨ৎ˚✩₊ The Great War PART 2₊✩‧˚౨ৎ˚✩‧

PART 1 + PART 3

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Reader

words: 2800

summary: after meeting Jace by the shore of the sea in secret, the Blacks do everything to reunite the two of you. But will you make it to him safely? And how much are you both willing to risk for each other?

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, arguments and tears, kissing, happy ending

a/n: Part 1 has gotten such love, I needed to write a little sequel. Hope you like it <3

𓆩♡𓆪

Always remember Uh-huh, tears on the letter I vowed not to cry anymore If we survived the Great War

It was like every cell of your being was fueled with fire when you returned to King’s Landing much later that night. Vignettes of the beach and Jace were replaying themselves in your mind, making you walk towards your chambers as if in a trance.

You had seen him again.

You had kissed him goodbye as if it was your last time, although he had whispered promises into your ear that it wouldn’t be. Be alert, stay safe, he had said to you between those last breathless kisses. Mother and I will figure out something.

You smiled to yourself, feeling as if the world suddenly looked just a little brighter, although the corridor in front of you was only lit by torches on the wall.

If had been any more concentrated, you would’ve seen him first.

A shadow slipped from the darkness and before you could scream out or even blink, your older brother had pushed you against the hard stone wall, caging you in and scanning your face with his one remaining eye.

“Taking a walk at midnight, sister?” Aemond rasped out and you wanted to squirm away from him, the sudden unpleasant encounter washing all those happy moments from before away. As you tried to slip past him, he caught your wrist so hard, it hurt.

“Let go of me, Aemond.” You gritted your teeth, struggling against his much stronger hold of you.

“What would mother say if she heard you were without a chaperone, hm?” He challenged you, a cruel smile on his face. “Or even worse…what will our great king say if he learns you’ve been with the enemy?”

Everything in you froze at his implication.

You stared at him with wide eyes, heavily breathing. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” You finally ripped your hand free and resisted the urge to caress the burn in your wrist. This would come later, in the safety of your chambers.

Suddenly, you became painfully aware of how you looked. The disheveled hair, rosy cheeks from the cold by the sea, plump lips bruised from kissing… At least, Jace had been careful enough not to leave purple blue flowers on your neck.

Aemond regarded you with an unreadable expression, crossing his hands behind his back. “I’m not saying anything, since you surely are reminded your place and have not crossed paths with our enemies, am I right, dear sister? But if I catch you riding your dragon to where Vhagar can’t have an eye on you, I’ll shoot you out of the sky myself.”

You stared at each other for a very long time. You hated how mute you were always becoming in your brother’s presence, how powerless they both made you feel, like every bravery Jacaerys had breathed into you had suddenly vanished. A flame blown out by ice cold wind.

“Sleep well.” Aemond whispered before he walked away from you.

With each of his leaving steps, you could breathe a little more freely.

ㅤ♡☁︎⋆｡˚

The following weeks only continued to darken the clouds on your horizon.

A concerning new routine found its way into your days, sleeping in late and staying in bed as you watched the grey sky outside your window. Food you only accepted when you really needed to and although your mother gave you concerning and sometimes scolding looks, no one really cared about how you spent your meaningless days.

You had not attended council and you didn’t believe Aegon was going to let you again any time soon. Helaena sometimes visited you, but she spoke in riddles and could not comfort you. The only person who could haunted your dreams and was miles and miles away, across the Blackwater Bay and out of reach.

Jace had told you to be patient and alert, but it was getting harder to get out of bed every day.

“An afternoon refreshment, my princess.”

You looked away from your window, just as the servant turned away from you and left the room. On the table near your bed, a plate of small cakes and fruit waited for you and in the middle of it, was a small roll of parchment.

You furrowed your brows. No one in the castle sent messages to you.

You slowly unrolled it, your eyes reading over the words written, but not quite understanding them yet.

Tomorrow night. We’ll stage a distraction. North gate. We’ll meet you over the Gullet.

Your head snapped up and hope filled your chest once more.

♡☁︎⋆｡˚

You squinted your eyes once more as you looked over your shoulder, the massive fire at the feet of the Red Keep painting the night red. The Blacks had outdone themselves; every eye of the city was looking towards the destruction the flames caused.

How poetic. You were leaving your home behind unseen, unheard, while it burned.

You focused on the way ahead of you, the dark sea underneath you and your dragon sparkling underneath the moonlight. You concentrated on the rhythmical wing swing and the prospect of arriving at Dragonstone soon, once again reunited with Jacaerys. Forever this time.

You were not coming back. The next time you’d face your family, you would stand on the other side of this war. And you were ready for it.

But so was Aemond.

A giant beast suddenly busted through the clouds beneath you, your scream being swallowed by Vhagar’s roar as Aemond stirred her towards you. You threw yourself to the right, barely slipping past her giant maw as it snapped shut only inches away from your dragon’s wing.

You heard Aemond screaming your name in fury.

“Naejot!“ You screamed, urging your dragon on to go faster, impossibly faster than the beast chasing you. Your heart was pounding all the way up into your throat as you heard Vhagar roaring behind you. One command from Aemond and you’d fall into the ocean like a burned star. You silently prayed the Gullet was almost under you, praying for just another day, just one more-

“Dracarys!”

You braced yourself, thinking of the dark eyes you had loved so much one more time.

But the dragon fire did not come.

Not for you, at least.

♡☁︎⋆｡˚

You still had no idea how Rhaenys had reached you in time or why Aemond had decided to flee then.

Perhaps, you were not worth the fight.

You would’ve never thought to be so thankful at such an idea.

You barely had the time to thank Rhaenys before you had been led through the darkness around Dragonstone, still needing to stay invisible until you had reached the safety inside those walls.

And once you reached them, Jacaerys was there, pulling you tightly against his chest and holding you as if you could simply vanish with the wind every second. You had allowed him to look you over, still shaken and with your mind still on this disastrous flight before he had led you to the hall where his parents had been anxiously waiting.

When you had sat down and his hand had slipped out of yours, you already wanted it back.

But first, they needed to know what had happened out there.

You still couldn’t believe your brother had really wanted to kill you.

After you had finished, Daemon sympathetically pushed over his goblet with wine and you gratefully took it and resisted the urge to chug it back in one gulp.

“How could this have happened?” Jace had been thundering for a while now, walking up and down the room, tense and still out of his mind with worry for you. “Our sources have told us Vhagar has been away from King’s Landing earlier today.”

It seemed like not even the queen had an answer for it.

But you had. You sat up a little straighter, biting your lip before you looked into the flames next to you and spoke. “Aemond has been getting suspicious. He knew of our meeting by the sea and…he had warned me not to pursue it again.”

Rhaenyra and Daemon looked at you with surprise, but Jace was a whole different story.

“What?” He looked at you with wild disbelief. “So you are telling me you’ve went out tonight even though you knew Aemond could’ve caught you and done what not to you?”

“What do you think I should’ve done instead?” You asked him quietly, barely a whisper.

He fixed you with a wide-eyed stare, his fingers trembling as he raked them through his curls. “Perhaps not shown up to our invitation if you knew Aemond was suspicious?” He suggested shakingly. “We would’ve found another way without risking your life.”

“There is no other way, Jace!” You shot back, just as hot-headed as he was now. Rhaenyra and Daemon shared a look over the table, perhaps thinking of their own heated discussions in the past. You drew the blanket you had been given tighter around yourself, taming your tongue. “I would’ve died in that castle, one way or another. I might as well could’ve tried to reach you before my end.”

“Do not talk of such things.” Jace whispered, shaking his head. You saw his brown eyes getting teary at the mere thought of it. “Do not-“

“It doesn’t matter now-“

“It matters to me!” He exploded and you leaned back, shocked at his sudden outburst.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Rhaenyra said calmly, jaw tense. “I think this night has been eventful enough for the two of you. We will deal with everything in the morning, but now I believe you should retire. Jace’s room has been readied for the two of you. We are glad to have you with us here, my dear, we truly are.”

The tension could’ve been cut with a knife as you walked back to Jacaerys’ room.

You had started to shiver, the wet strands of your hair clinging to your neck, clothes ruined and dirty by the stormy weather between the clouds. When the door closed behind you and you took off the blanket, you hissed with pain.

“What is it?” Jace looked at you, alarmed. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head. “Not really, but…I think when I took a turn in the sky, one of the reigns came loose and cut me.” It would explain the burning pain in your shoulder. When you tried to raise your arm to take a look, a sudden whimper tore through you.

Jace was in front of you in an instant, steadying you as he intently looked at your face. “Don’t move too much. I’ll take a look at it, okay?”

“It’s fine…” You did not feel fine.

“Let me help.” Jace said, adding in a whisper: “Please.”

It was quiet once again between you as he slowly led you to the edge of his bed. It would’ve been romantic if you hadn’t been such a mess, but Jacaerys did not seem to care about your appearance. He walked around his room with a mission, collecting a warm washcloth from the basin and a bandage, just in case.

You watched him silently as he went on his knee in front of you and slowly started to peel away your rider’s jacket from your shoulder. You breathed through your teeth as the fabric came away bloody, the burn of the rope worse than you had expected. Now, with the adrenaline leaving your body, the pain came knocking at your door.

Jace grimaced at your pain, intertwining your hand with one of his own as the other gently began to dab at the cut, making you wince with every little motion. “Sorry.” He mumbled, his thumb brushing soothingly over your palm. “It looks like the bleeding has stopped some time ago. That’s good.”

You nodded, still mute and exhausted as you let him take care of you. You almost wanted to sink back into his sheets and simply disappear in them.

“I’m sorry for losing my temper like this.” He said quietly after a while as he wrung out the cloth into the small basin to his feet. “I should’ve stayed composed, especially after the night you had. You are braver than all of us, ñuha jorrāeliarzy. I just- I could never forgive myself if something happened to you. We were thoughtless with this idea and impulsive and-“

“And I am glad of it.” You interrupted him softly. You argued with yourself if you should tell him how you had slowly rotted away in King’s Landing, withering without his light and the love his family embraced you with.

“You’ve gotten hurt.” He interjected gravely.

“Which wasn’t your fault.”

“But-“

You raised a hand, wanting to cup his cheek, but quickly stopped when it burned.

Jace was still kneeling in front of you, taking your hand in his and bringing it to his lips so he could softly kiss your knuckles. You could almost smell how worried he was about you, how he was still battling with himself, making himself think this was his fault. He brushed back a lost curl from your face and smiled sadly. “I forget myself. You’ve had a long journey. I do not want you to suffer even more, I’ll go fetch a Maester.”

“It’s only a scratch.” You joked tiredly, which earned you a doubting look. “Please, Jace. I’ll be fine until morning. I just need you. I’ve longed to be with you like this again for so long.”

“I’ve missed you too.” He said hoarsely, slowly rising to his feet, adoration burning in his eyes. “I could barely stay calm all day. Perhaps I’ve dreamed up that you’re here now.  If so, I never want to wake up again.”

You smiled at him, a real smile this time. “Then I’ll be dreaming with you, Jace.”

And finally, you could see a smile on his face too. “I will get some clothes for you.”

Quietness came down on the room once more, the comfortable kind this time.

You watched from the bed as Jace rummaged through his closet and pulled out one of his longer tunics, all warm cotton and his scent coating it. He helped you with your shoes, insisting that you should not move a finger anymore tonight. He lovingly kissed your ankles and took the most care that you wouldn’t have to lift your injured arm too much as he slid the piece of clothing over your form.

“There.” He looked at you warmly as you shuffled back into the sheets. “Gods, I have missed seeing you in my clothes. My bed.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, although you knew you did not have the strength anymore to do exactly what you wanted to do with him. Your muscles were sore and your bandaged shoulder only good for one night, but you knew Jace was going to wait a lifetime for you if he had to.

Perhaps a whole lifetime laid ahead for the two of you now.

You nestled yourself against his chest as he slipped beneath the covers with you, sighing happily as your head fit perfectly into the place where his neck met his strong shoulder. A dark curl was tickling your forehead and as he closed his arms around you, one leg shifting to fit between your thigh, you knew you were home.

You listened to the sound of him breathing, your bruised hearts slowly calming down until you were sure they were beating in sync. Only a few candles by the bed lit the room and you felt yourself slowly drift into a well-deserved sleep.

But there was one thing still tormenting your love’s mind.

“It’s just…” Jacaerys whispered into the darkness of his room. You could feel him swallow tightly, his fingers trying to calm himself by caressing your spine. “Tonight made me think of Luke. And knowing you’ve been up there, with Vhagar so close to you- I can’t lose you, my love. I can’t.”

You shuffled until you could look at him, chest aching at the unshed tears in his beautiful eyes.

“You won’t lose me.” You promised him, wiping away his tears. “You will never lose me, Jace, I promise you. I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

He sniffled, but nodded fiercely. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You whispered and lifted his chin so you could kiss him.

The kiss by the beach had grown into a wildfire, untamed and fueled by the desperation of wanting each other for so long. This one made you dizzy for a different reason.

There was a final calmness to it as your lips softly moved against each other, tasting every second like the world only slowed down for you. It was slow and relishing, like the first breath of fresh air after a lifetime of holding your breath. Your nose brushed against his as your hand found its way into his curls and if your shoulder had been any healthier, he would’ve hoisted you into his lap.

But unlike the other times you had come together, you had all the time in the world now.

And tomorrow, the sun would rise and shine just a little brighter, because you had finally found each other.

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

(I'm writing a third and final part 3, so let me know if anyone would like to be tagged when I post it 🥰🎀)

[austinbutlerslovers]

But Daddy I Love Him

Label Mature 18+

Summary You are a well mannered socialite with a life carefully planned. Until you meet a reckless biker with a devil-may-care charm.

Drawn to his freedom and fire, you abandon the rules that once defined you, leaving behind a gilded life for one that finally feels real.

-Based on the Lyrics But Daddy I love him

💝Romantic Smut 💝 Secret romance • opposites attract• socially unaccepted• private affair• running away from home• lover to boyfriend• sweet talk •praising •body worship • P in V • multiple orgasms •creampies 🔗 Masterlist

But Daddy I Love Him

The New Year’s Eve gala is in full swing. Chandeliers hang from the large elaborate white tent spread across the sprawling lawn of an elegant estate, the lights glimmering above a sea of glittering gowns and tailored tuxedos on the dance floor

The clinking of champagne glasses blends seamlessly with the soft hum of the live orchestra. It’s like a scene straight out of a movie—one you’re desperately trying to escape.

You’re tired of the rules, the polite smiles, and the suffocating weight of “perfection.”

You’re fleeing to the only one who gives you solace—the only one who makes you feel alive.

Ducking back into the mansion through a side door, you move quickly and quietly, the lavish decor of the halls passing in a blur.

The sound of laughter and music fades behind you as you make your way toward the servants exit, the place you told him to meet when you called earlier, desperate to break out of this gilded cage.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you approach the door feeling the anticipation and the thrill. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. If your parents caught wind of who you were sneaking off to see, the fallout would be explosive. But that only makes you more determined.

As you push open the heavy wooden door, the night air greets you once more, crisp and biting against your bare shoulders. And then you see him-

Benny Cross

He leans casually against his motorcycle, his leather jacket catching the moonlight. His sandy brown hair is tousled perfectly, his piercing blue eyes gleaming with mischief as he watches you approach. A slow grin spreads across his face, the cigarette dangling from his lips long forgotten, crushed under his boot as his attention locks entirely on you.

“You look real fancy in that dress,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “Doesn’t look like it belongs on someone sneaking out the back.”

You grin as you saunter toward him. “And that bike doesn’t look like it belongs at a New Years Eve Gala,” you quip, slipping your arms around his neck.

“Guess we’re both out of place, huh?” he teases, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you closer.

Without another word, you kiss him, pouring all your frustration, your rebellion, and your longing into it. His lips are warm and soft, his hands gripping you like he never wants to let go.

You know your parents would lose their minds if they knew, but right now, you couldn’t care less. Benny is your secret, your escape, your freedom.

“Take me,” you whisper in his ear between kisses. “Take me to my parents’ estate. No one’s home—they’re too busy with their little party.”

His eyes darken with desire, and without a word, he shrugs off his leather jacket, draping it over your shoulders, the warm, worn leather carrying his familiar scent. He swings over his bike smoothly and pulls you up behind him without hesitation.

The roar of the engine echoes through the quiet night as he speeds through the residential streets, the cold wind whipping through your hair. You cling to him, your heart racing—not just from the speed, but from the thrill of being with him.

Your estate is eerily quiet when you arrive, the grand house dark as you lead Benny upstairs. When you reach your bedroom, you barely get the door shut before he’s on you.

His hands are rough pulling his leather from your body and sliding up your back to the zipper of your dress. “This thing’s way too fancy for you,” he teases, his voice low and gravelly against your neck.

With one fluid motion, he pulls the zipper down, his fingers brushing your bare skin as he lets the fabric fall.

Without wasting a second, his hands find the clasp of your bra, and with a practiced flick, he unhooks it, letting it fall to the floor.

He slips his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down swiftly, leaving you bare before him.

Stepping back, he takes his time, his eyes raking over you like a man starved. His expression hungry and raw. “Standing there, looking like that… you’re gonna ruin me, sweetheart.” He says his tone longing.

His hands go to the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one quick motion, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the tight ridges of his abs.

Then, his fingers work at the button of his jeans, the rough material sliding down his hips with ease before hitting the floor with a dull thud. Your eyes trail downward, catching on the sight of him—heavy and hard, the impressive size of his cock making you bite your lip.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes linger, a proud grin tugging at his lips.

You reach for him, desperate to feel him against you and pull him down into a kiss, your lips crashing together in a fiery collision of need and longing.

His hands find your waist, gripping firmly as he walks you backward toward the bed, lowering you down with enough force to make you gasp against his lips.

He settles on top of you, his weight pressing you into the plush mattress, his broad shoulders framing you as he pushes your thighs apart beneath him, claiming the space between them as his own.

His lips are rough and unrelenting as they trail down to your neck. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp, and he takes full advantage of the sound, pressing his mouth to the sensitive hollow of your throat as he flicks his tongue.

His hands explore you, leaving no inch of skin untouched. The calluses on his fingers drag over your soft curves, teasing and torturing until you’re panting and writhing beneath him.

“Benny,” you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, needing more.

“Patience sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice filled with promise. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He grips your hips, his strength overpowering as he pulls you closer, positioning you exactly where he wants you. His hand slides between your thighs, his rough fingers testing and teasing you as they glide through your slickness. A low hum of satisfaction escapes his throat, the feeling of how wet you are driving him wild.

“I can feel how much you need me,” he breathes, his voice thick with desire. “I’ll give you everything, sweetheart. Every last bit of me.”

His fingers slip away, leaving you aching for him and before you can catch your breath, he lines himself up, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a promise only he can satisfy. He pushes the thick unyielding length of his cock into you, stretching you wide, filling you in a way that steals your breath.

His size is overwhelming—the heat of it, the weight of it—and as he sinks in deeper, your head falls back, a moan spilling from your lips as his name escapes you in a broken cry.

His low groan follows, rough and guttural, vibrating against your chest as his body presses firmly against yours, leaving no space between you.

You clutch at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he pauses for the briefest moment, letting you adjust to the sheer size of him.

“I know just what you need, sweetheart,” he promises, his breath warm against your skin and he rolls his hips forward with a force that sends you arching against him, each powerful thrust driving you into a haze of pleasure as the world around you dissolves.

Your broken cries fill the room, each one more desperate than the last as his muscles flex beneath your touch determined to claim every part of you.

His hands grip your shoulders, holding you firmly in place as he pushes deeper, his pace relentless, every stroke of his cock sending shockwaves through your body, leaving you spiraling, completely lost in the raw, consuming heat of him.

You moan loudly, your nails digging into his back as the tension in your body builds to an unbearable peak. He leans down, his lips finding yours again in a messy, desperate kiss as his pace quickens.

Your breaths grow frantic, your heart pounding as your walls tighten around his cock pulling him deeper with every thrust.

“Benny!” you moan, his name spilling from your lips in broken cries as your orgasm crashes over you.

He groans in response finding his own release with one final thrust. He buries his cock deep, holding still as he comes, his cock filling you with warmth as he breathes heavily against your neck.

For a moment, neither of you move as the pleasure subsides, leaving only the sound of your ragged breaths and the feel of his steady heartbeat against your chest.

His hands slide up your sides, his touch tender as he strokes your skin, his fingers tracing soothing patterns. “I’ve never felt this way before,” he reveals, his lips pressing a soft lingering kiss on your shoulder then on curve of your neck.

“Me neither,” you whisper, your voice soft and steady, your fingers trailing along his back as you both linger in the moment.

The way he touches you, the way he takes you—is nothing you’ve ever experienced before. 

Benny is raw, he’s real, and he’s entirely yours.

Right before midnight, you return to the New Year’s Eve Gala, together on his bike, just as the first fireworks begin to explode across the sky.

The colorful lights cast you both in vibrant reds, blues, and golds as he helps you climb off his bike, your gaze drawn upward, mesmerized by the bursts of light painting the night sky.

His wraps his arms around your shoulders, holding your back to his chest as you both watch the fireworks in silence. It’s a perfect moment, fleeting but beautiful. You turn to look back at him, and he’s already watching you, his eyes filled with something you can’t quite name but feel entirely the same.

“Happy New Year Benny,” you say softly.

He pulls you closer, his arms tightening around you as his lips brush your ear. “Happy New Year,” he whispers, his voice low and full of longing.

Before you can say anything more, he turns you fully and captures your lips in a deeply passionate kiss filled with everything words could never convey.

Above you, the fireworks burst across the sky in a riot of colors, but all you can feel is him and the way he holds you, the way he kisses you, and it’s as if time has stopped in a moment where nothing else matters.

As the kiss ends, his hands cradle your face, his thumbs gently brushing your cheeks. “Next year,” he says his eyes searching yours with a mix of determination and longing “let’s make it so we don’t have to sneak around to be together.”

You softly smile, your heart full despite the knowledge that the morning will bring new challenges. Still, you meet his gaze with quiet resolve. “I’d like that Benny,” you whisper back.

As the fireworks fade, you know this is the beginning of something neither of you can, or wants to, walk away from.

As weeks turn into months, you secretly become Benny’s girl. You learn about his world—his biker crew, their late-night rides, and a freedom you’d only dreamed of.

He, in turn, is fascinated by your wit, your intelligence, and the quiet fire he sees growing behind your polished exterior whenever you’re with him. It’s a fire he knows only he can stoke, and it makes him fall for you even harder.

But the secrecy begins to weigh on you both. Your parents start to notice your frequent absences and your growing disinterest in their meticulously laid out plans for your future. Their questions start to surface, sharp and invasive, pressing against the fragile haven you and Benny have created.

Benny encourages you to tell them the truth but you always hesitate.

As Benny picks you up late in the evening, he leans against his bike, watching with an amused grin as you carefully climb down the lattice outside your window.

The pale moonlight highlights your outfit a simple leather jacket borrowed from him, thrown over a fitted black tank top and denim skirt, your feet in new leather boots for the escape. It’s a far cry from the polished dresses and heels your parents expect, but it’s undeniably you.

You cross the lawn to him quickly, your heart racing with both adrenaline and anticipation.

“We can’t keep sneaking around forever,” he says his voice low as you approach, “We’re not doing anything wrong. You deserve to live your life.” He confirms.

You roll your eyes as you throw your leg over the bike. “And what, Benny? You think my parents will suddenly roll out the welcome mat for the guy who picks me up in the dead of night on his motorcycle?” you retort, settling behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist. “Let’s be real—they’d lose their minds.”

He glances over his shoulder at you, his expression serious before you see the teasing curve of his lips. “Doesn’t mean we’re wrong,” he grins before revving the engine.

The clubhouse is quiet, the others long gone for a weekend rally leaving the space eerily still. Benny pulls his bike into the lot, parking near the entrance as you climb off, brushing your hair back from your face.

Inside, the air smells like leather, smoke, and the faint tang of whiskey—a stark contrast to the world you’ve left behind for the night at your father’s weekend tennis matches with all his influential friends.

Benny leans against the pool table, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with his piercing blue eyes in a way that makes your pulse race.

His arms look even bigger with his muscle tee revealing the taut, hard defined muscles of his biceps. The tension between you is unusually heavy, the air charged with unspoken words until he finally breaks the silence.

“How long are we gonna do this?” he asks, his voice tinged with frustration. “Sneaking around like I’m some dirty secret?”

You take a step closer, realizing how much he’s been hurting, and your gaze drops, unable to meet his eyes. “You don’t understand,” you plead softly. “They’ll try to destroy us, Benny. They’ll say you’re not good enough, that you’re a bad influence—“

Benny cuts you off. “And what do you say?”

The question hangs in the air, the weight of it pressing down on you, and as you lift your eyes to meet his the raw emotion in your gaze says everything. “I say I love you, Benny,” you whisper.

For a moment, Benny’s eyes soften, brimming with everything he’s been holding back. Then he closes the distance in an instant, his hands finding your waist as his lips crash into yours, his kiss hungry and unyielding as if he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment.

You clutch at his shoulders, your fingers tangling in his hair as the world around you dissolves. He lifts you effortlessly, setting you down on the edge of the pool table. His rough hands slide down your thighs, hitching up the hem of your skirt as he steps between your legs, his body pressing hard against yours.

“I love you so much ,” he whispers against your lips, his voice trembling with need. “You drive me absolutely insane.”

He tilts your head back, giving him full access to your neck as he trails kisses down your skin, his stubble leaving a delicious burn in its wake. Your breaths come in quick, shallow pants, the air charged with everything you’ve both been holding back.

He unbuttons and unzips his jeans, then his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him, his rough fingers slipping between your thighs and pulling your panties aside.

He hitches your leg around his waist, his hands gripping your thighs firmly as he thrusts into you hard, taking you right there on the edge of the pool table.

His movements are rough, relentless, each powerful stroke sending a jolt of pleasure through you as you wrap your arms around his neck, holding on tightly as he drives into you with raw, consuming desperation.

The sound of your gasps and his low grunts fill the air, mingling with the slick, wet sounds of his hips thrusting between yours, driving into you hard and fast on the pool table.

“You’re all I want ” he whispers against your neck, his voice strained and raw with emotion .”You’re everything I need” he says breathlessly, his lips trailing rough kisses along your jaw as his thrusts render you senseless. The way he snaps his hips pushes you to the brink, your cries echoing off the walls as he takes you apart piece by piece.

The rhythm of your bodies moving together becomes frantic, urgent, as if this is all that matters. His hands hold you in place, his fingers digging into your hips as his body claims yours on the table with unrelenting force.

The intensity of him—his strength, his touch, his heat—sends you spiraling into a place where nothing else exists. Nothing else matters—only him, only this.

As you orgasm, your body trembles, your walls clenching tightly around his cock, drawing a deep, guttural groan from him as his movements falter.

With a final thrust, he buries himself deep, his warmth spilling into you in surges, then his hands tighten on your hips as he pulls back entirely, the sensation sending a shudder through you both.

The room grows quiet again, the only sounds your heavy breathing and the faint noise of the city outside filtering through the walls.

He pulls you into his arms, holding you close to rest your head on his shoulder. He presses a soft kiss to your temple as he strokes your hair back, his voice gentle but serious. “We have to tell them baby.” He confesses. “I don’t want to hide like this forever.”

You lift your head to look at him, your fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. “I’m scared,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” he says firmly, his blue eyes locking onto yours with unwavering resolve. “You don’t have to go back. You could stay with me.”

Your heart aches at his words, the sincerity in his tone making it even harder as you look at him. “I wish I could,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “But they’d come looking for me. I need them to believe I’m still playing by their rules—for now.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he leans down and kisses you again, slow and lingering, to remind you that he’s yours, that this is real, and you feel it—the certainty that no matter what Benny is where you belong.

Benny drives up the familiar path to your estate, the low rumble of his motorcycle softening as he slows to a stop near the driveway fountain. As you climb off the back, you turn to him with a soft smile, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to his lips.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips, your fingers brushing his cheek.

“I love you too,” he says in return, his voice low and steady. His hand lingers on your waist, reluctant to let go. “Good night.” He whispers.

“Good night,” you reply softly, your heart full as you step back.

You dart toward the lattice outside your bedroom window, moving quickly to sneak back inside unnoticed.

But just as you climb the first rung, the front door flies open, spilling golden light across the lawn.

Your heart freezes as your father storms out, his voice thunderous. “You stay away from her!” he roars, pointing a finger directly at Benny.

Behind him, your mother and his influential friends with their wives file out, their presence an intentional show of force.

The women clutch their pearl necklaces and cross pendants, one muttering loud enough for you to hear, “What a mess,” her disdain cutting through the tension.

Benny, who had been idling the motorcycle shifts his weight slightly, planting one boot on the ground as he watches the group come toward him taunting and scorning.

His hand tightens on the handlebar as his piercing blue eyes flick to you, to see if you’re okay, but he doesn’t budge, ready to face whatever comes next.

You glance back at the lattice, your mind racing, but instead of climbing up, you drop to the ground, running toward Benny as the lump in your throat swells almost unbearably. “But Daddy, I love him!” you scream, your voice cutting through the night.

Gasps travel through the group. Your mother’s hand flies to her chest, and your father’s face twists with fury. You know what they’re thinking—this isn’t how their polished, perfect daughter is supposed to behave.

The disdain on their faces, the whispers of the scandal-hungry wives—it all fuels your next move. With the entire crowd watching, you look your father dead in the eyes and yell, “I’m having his baby!”

A stunned silence follows. Your father’s face goes pale, his mouth opening and closing like he’s searching for words that won’t come

The tension is suffocating, but you don’t give anyone time to react. You climb onto the back of Benny’s motorcycle, holding him tightly, your heart pounding as he shifts into gear, the engine roaring to life.

He glances back at you as you ride off, his voice low and urgent. “Are you really pregnant?” he asks.

“No,” you admit quickly, your voice shaking. “But you should’ve seen their faces.”

A grin breaks across Benny’s face as he shakes his head impressed by your wit, and the roar of the engine drowns out everything else as you ride away, leaving the estate and your parents expectations in the dust.

For the next month, you and Benny lay low in the clubhouse. The two of you live upstairs in a loft, savoring the freedom of being together without judgment. The loft is small and rough around the edges, but it feels like a haven —your sanctuary.

Days blur into nights filled with moments of joy, laughter, and quiet intimacy. Benny wakes you with slow kisses along your neck, his lips soft and lingering, pulling you into his arms as sunlight filters through the worn curtains. The warmth of his touch and the way he says your name to wake you feels like a dream.

Morning are spent laying with him in bed, his hands exploring you lazily, tracing soft patterns on your skin as if he has all the time in the world. He teases you with gentle kisses, and mischievously grins when he pulls you closer, whispering how much he loves having you with him.

Afternoons are carefree. He teaches you how to shoot pool downstairs in the clubhouse, laughing when you miss your shot and teasing you mercilessly. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says with a grin, leaning in to steal a kiss as you try to focus.

Often, the two of you take his bike out for long rides, the wind whipping through your hair as you hold him tightly, feeling the freedom of the open road.

Evenings are spent wrapped in each other’s arms after a dash to the diner, your bodies entwined in the bed of the quiet loft. Most nights are passionate, Benny’s touch both tender and possessive, as he makes love to you with an intensity that leaves you senseless, his kisses stealing your breath as he whispers how much he loves you.

“You’re all I need,” he says at times when the moment is just right, the weight of his words flowing from deep within his heart.

He says it when he watches you laugh, carefree and unguarded, in a way you never could before him. He says it when he sees you curled up in his oversized white shirt, a little piece of his world wrapped around you.

He says it when you make him feel like he’s worth something more than the rough edges of his life. You see past the chaos, and the rebellion, and you love him.

As you bask in your new life with Benny, you still can’t ignore the ache that lingers at the edges of your heart. As much as you’ve rebelled against them, you do miss your parents at times.

Then one morning, everything changes.

You’re in bed with Benny, tangled together in the soft light of dawn, when the shrill ring of the phone downstairs at the club’s bar breaks the stillness. Benny groans, burying his face into the crook of your neck as if trying to block it out.

But a moment later, there’s a knock at the loft door. Benny sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and pulls on a pair of jeans, his movements slow, before cracking the door open.

“Your girl’s mom is on the line,” one of the guys says, his voice casual but laced with curiosity. “Guess they figured it all out.”

The words jolt you awake. Quickly, you pull a robe over the shirt Benny gave you to wear to bed, your heart pounding as you follow him downstairs to the bar. The phone sits on the counter, the receiver waiting for you. You hesitate for a moment, nerves swirling, before picking it up.

“Hello?”

Your mother’s voice comes through the line, soft and hesitant but full of emotion. “Your father wants to see you,” she says. “We miss you so much, sweetheart. Please come home —please just come home, we need to speak with you urgently.”

You glance at Benny, his steady gaze on you, offering silent support. You nod, and he returns it, understanding without a word— if you have to go he’s coming with you.

Later that day, you and Benny stand in the grand living room of your parents’ estate, the tension heavy as your father sits across from you.

His demeanor is far from the fiery man who yelled on the lawn that night. He looks tired, even defeated as he finishes his speech “We’ll hold a wedding,” he says, his hands folded tightly in front of him. “You shouldn’t have to live this way—especially if there is a baby coming. We will do what is right.”

You almost laugh at the misunderstanding, but before you can speak, Benny rests his hand on your lower back. “With or without a baby,” he says firmly, his voice steady and unwavering, “I want to marry her.”

You look over at Benny, your eyes meeting his, and in that moment, the depth of his love and devotion leaves you speechless.

Your father stares at Benny for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as if weighing every word. Finally he exhales heavily as he nods, silently agreeing to anything to keep you in his life.

Three months later, the sun shines brightly over the estate as you dance in your wedding dress, the layers of white tulle catching the light. Benny’s hands are on your waist, his grin as wide as you’ve ever seen it.

Around you, the guests smile warmly, not just your parents’ influential friends, but Benny’s biker family as well. The unlikely mix of guests creates a vibrant, joyful atmosphere that you never thought possible.

Even your father, once disapproving, watches with a small smile as you and Benny share your first dance.

Your mother watches, her eyes never dry as she dabs back her tears with a handkerchief, unable to hide her emotions as she watches you and Benny make your way through the crowd, hand in hand, husband and wife.

The gossipers and scandal-lovers—the ones who sneered and whispered at your rebellion—are nowhere to be seen; requested off the guest list entirely.

When the sun dips lower in the sky, you take Benny’s hands, feeling the weight of everything you’ve overcome together. You’re his lady now, his wife, and as you glance at your parents, they smile, their expressions warm and accepting of your choice.

As you turn back to Benny, your heart swells with love as you look into his eyes, knowing you made the right one.

Overcome with emotion you lean in and kiss each other, pouring everything you feel into the moment. His hands tighten around your waist, steady and sure, as your arms wrap around his neck, embracing each other in the love you fought so hard to hold onto—finally living life the way you deserve.

END 🏍️

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[vintagestarlight]

Off Limits

Pairing: Dain Aetos x Riorson sister!reader

Summary: What happens when Xaden finds out about Dain having a relationship with you and makes it clear his sister is off limits?

Word Count: 3.5k(I went a bit overboard on this one!)

Warnings: angst(?), suggestive themes, cursing, fluff

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who showed love on my first Fourth Wing fic I love you all sm! This was requested by an anon and honestly I had way too much fun writing this one so I hope you like it anon! 🤭Hopefully my writing is a bit better on this fic!

Not proofread so please be aware of typos! Hopefully you all enjoy and don't forget my requests are open. I'm hoping to post the first part to my oc story soon and also work on a few requests :)

***as always likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated***

The sparring gym was empty with the other cadets filtering out and heading in different directions in a sea of black. You and Dain remained behind to get one of those moments where it was just the two of you. Not only were you Xaden Riorson's sister, which came with its own challenges, but Dain was your wingleader and fraternization between a Cadet and their chain of command was strictly prohibited by the Codex, so you and Dain were forced to keep your relationship a secret until he graduated. The only people who knew were your squad. Dain stood before you, rolling his shoulders and looking infuriatingly at ease. Your eyes wander over his bare chest and down his sculpted abs. Gods how could he look so perfect covered in sweat? You thought to yourself. "You sure you're up for this Aetos? You're looking a little tired," you remarked, taking your place in front of him. Dain's lips quirked upward in a smirk. "Oh I'm sure," He took a lazy step forward onto the mat. "But I appreciate the concern," He added. "Whatever I just don't want you using being exhausted as an excuse when I win," You retorted playfully while shifting into your stance. "Show me what you've got then Cadet," he chuckled softly.

You struck first, fast and decisive just like he taught you, aiming for his ribs. Dain deflected it effortlessly without so much as shifting his stance. "That was predictable," he said, the two of you now circling each other. "I'm just warming up," You grinned. You feinted left and saw Dain's body shift to block the incoming blow, and you shifted your feet to the right to aim a well placed kick on his thigh earning you a grunt that sent shivers down your spine and made your body flush. Is now really the time to think about your wingleader in such a fashion? Your dragon sent down your bond, half-teasing half-disapproving. You rolled your eyes but said nothing ignoring that she was right. "Is that all you've got?" Dain teased, recovering quickly. You huffed, going in for a palm strike and Dain grabbed your wrist before your strike could land. He twisted your arm gently and spun you so your back was pressed against his front. "Nice try but you're allowing me too much time to counter," he whispered, his lips pressed against the shell of your ear. Your pulse raced and not because of the fight. Dain let go of your arm and stepped back. "Try again," He said, playfulness dancing in his golden brown eyes. "Are you enjoying yourself?" You asked. Dain smirked. "Immensely," He threw a half-hearted swing with his fist, leaving his middle exposed. You ducked under his arm and instead extended your leg, attempting to sweep his legs from under him. He dodged easily and hooked your balancing leg from under, causing you to hit the mat. "If you wanted me on my back Aetos you know all you had to do was ask," you flirted, springing to your feet.

You saw his eyes darken at your suggestion and you used his brief hesitation to lunge forward, aiming a strike at his side. His arm shot out, once again grabbing your arm but you used the opportunity to drive your knee into his midsection. He quickly caught your knee before it could do any damage to his ribs, and his eyes sparked with approval. "Better," He said. He lets go of you and steps backward. “Let's see what happens when I stop taking it easy on you,” He smirked. The next exchange was faster, sharper. He let you once again press the attack but any strike you attempted to land on him he countered with precision. And worst of all-he seemed to be enjoying it.

“Your stance is slipping,” he noted, as he effortlessly parried your next strike.

“Your mouth is slipping,” You shot back, unable to come up with anything better.

“Oh, you like my mouth just fine from what I remember last night,” He flirted.

Your next punch came faster than expected, grazing his jaw slightly. His eyes darkened, his pupils dilating with something you weren’t sure was irritation and you smirked. “That was decent but I wouldn't get too confident just yet," He said. Then he was moving fast, too fast. He pressed the attack now, his movements controlled and methodical leaving you with barely any time to dodge or block his strikes. His palm grazed your rib as you just barely twisted away, your breath coming faster. “Getting tired yet?” Dain asked, his voice way too casual. “You wish,” You taunted. He smirked and you took advantage of the distraction to aim a well-placed palm on his chest, driving him backward. You only just barely managed to shove him backward, his dense muscles working for him(in more ways than one) but you caught a flicker of surprise in his gaze. You carried it through with a high kick to knock him down but he caught your ankle, swept your leg, and you fell backward. He caught you before you could hit the mat too hard and trapped your body beneath his. He still had hold of one of your legs, holding it gently by the back of your calf and he pinned your wrists above your head with his other hand. You struggled against his grip but it wasn’t much use; he was bigger, heavier, and worse-entirely too pleased with himself as he smirked like he won something far better than a sparring match. “Not bad,” he murmured with his face just inches above yours. “But not quite good enough.” “You’re enjoying this way too much,” You remarked, your pulse quickening as he leaned in slightly.

His gaze flickered briefly to your lips and his smirk softened. “Maybe.” Before you could fire back with another retort, he pressed his lips against yours. The kiss wasn't rushed; Dain never rushed he was too controlled for that. The kiss was slow, certain, and firm as though he had already decided this outcome like he had the fight. His lips moved against yours with slow precision, savoring the moment. He wrapped your leg around his waist and ground his hips into you slightly, eliciting a moan from you. He pulled back, his lips ghosting over yours and staring at you with those brown eyes that caused you to melt. “Now that,” he murmured. “was a win.” You exhaled, a smile forming at the corner of your lips as you stared up at him. “Cocky bastard,” you teased. “Care for a rematch?” He smirked, sitting back on his heels. Before you could answer a voice rang out across the gym.

“Am I interrupting?" The voice was low, lethal, and way too familiar and it caused you to freeze underneath Dain. You look over to see your brother standing off to the side with Garrick next to him. "Xaden!" You squeaked. "Get the fuck off my sister Aetos," Xaden growled. His shadows surged forward, dark tendrils ripping Dain off and away from you and Dain slammed onto his back. Simultaneously, his shadows wrapped themselves around your wrists and pulled you backward away from Dain until you stopped at Garrick's side. "Xaden what the fuck!?" You exclaimed, your initial shock being replaced with indignation. You look up at Garrick who only offered a somewhat apologetic smile. Your brother didn't even glance at you, his entire focus on Dain who was picking himself back up with a clenched jaw. "You overstepped Riorson," Dain snapped. "I don't give a damn if she's your sister you don't get to pull that shadow shit with me," He said, his voice rigid. "You know Aetos I'm a bit surprised you had the audacity to go that far, " Xaden took another step forward, his shadows swirling around his feet. "I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to shove your tongue down my sister's throat," Xaden's voice dropped. Her face flushed with embarrassment and you felt Garrick shift beside you, a little uncomfortable. You watch as Xaden stares daggers at Dain and suddenly you weren't sure you recognized your own brother. The man standing in front of you was no longer the older brother who always looked out for you. Instead he was every inch the soldier that Basgiath had forged him into. For the first time in your life, you understood why so many people were afraid of him.

"What the fuck did you just say?" Dain's voice was tight but unwavering. "You heard me," Xaden replied. "And in case you forgot who she was I'd like to remind you who's been protecting her this whole time," Xaden's eyes smoldered with rage but Dain didn't flinch. "She's not your possession Xaden." "No she's not but I am her brother and that makes it my responsibility to make sure she doesn't end up in a situation she's going to regret when she gets hurt," Xaden said, his eyes narrowing. You stood frozen. Xaden said when not if. Does he really think Dain would ever hurt you? You looked up at the hulking man who stood beside you. "Do you think Dain is something I'd regret?" You asked Garrick. Garrick was one of your friends, going back to when you were kids and he always let you tag along with him and your brother, and you knew he would be honest with you. Garrick glanced down at you, hesitating for a moment unsure if he wanted to get involved. "No, I don't think so. But he and Xaden barely tolerate each other so seeing him with you was probably more of a shock than anything," he replied sincerely. "You deserve to be with someone who treats you right and loves you. And Dain seems to love you especially if he's willing to go toe to toe with Xaden to defend you," You smiled and he returned the gesture before Xaden and Dain's voices pulled you back. "I don't need your permission to do anything with her. I certainly don't need you to remind me how to treat her right. And I'm not going to be scared of you and back down like you want. Ever. Not when it comes to her," Dain growled and your heart seemed to stop. Xaden's shadowy presence seemed to grow even more oppressive as he stalked closer to Dain, their faces inches apart. "You're walking a fine line, Aetos. You think you can just play these games with her? Pretend like you're her hero while you're distracting her from everything else around her?"

Dain's nostrils flared and for a split second it seems like they may actually clash with each other. As much as you loved Dain, you weren't entirely sure he was a match for your brother. You opened your mouth to intervene when Professor Devera walked into the gym. "Professor Tavis? Professor Riorson? You're needed to attend a meeting with the other professors," She stated, looking at the situation before her before turning to leave a moment later. Professors? you thought. That must be why Xaden is back but why didn't he mention anything? Xaden's shadows seemed to disappear and his icy gaze glared at Dain. "This isn't the last time we'll be talking about this," He promised, his voice low. Xaden turned away making his way to the gym doors while Garrick gave you a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder before following his friend. You glanced at Dain who's eyes met yours and suddenly, that indignation came back full force. You spun on your heel and stalked after the two men. "Xaden!" You shouted, garnering brief glances from people nearby. Xaden and Garrick stopped abruptly and you came to a stop in front of them, your arms crossed. "Who the fuck do you think you are!" You asked your older brother and Garrick's eyes went wide. "Excuse me?" Your brother asked, peering down at you. "Why are you acting like a total asshole?" You asked angrily and you could hear Garrick chuckle. "Me?" Xaden asks with disbelief. "This is the first time I see you in months and you berate my boyfriend?" You snapped but you cringed inside. Boyfriend seemed a little...immature but you didn't know what else to say. "Considering what I saw him doing, you're lucky I didn't kill him right there," Xaden replied coolly and you gaped at him. "You could've chosen anyone y/n and you choose Aetos?" He asked, incredulously. "I don't need your approval for anyone I want to date," You spit back. "He isn't good for you," Xaden insisted. "You don't get to make that decision for me Xaden!" You raised your voice. "If you want to act like a big brother and look out for me and care for me, by all means please do so," You continued. "But I'm not a little kid anymore and you have to stop treating me that way. You don't get to decide who I can and cannot spend my time with," You finished. Xaden stared at you while you chastised him.

"So I'm supposed to just be fine with you picking probably the worst guy at Basgiath?" He asked you. "Yes!" You snapped. Your sharp words did nothing to dull the pain from Xaden's words. Could he really think your taste in men, or rather your decision making in general, was so bad? Despite how you were yelling at him, you desperately wanted his approval. "And he's not the worst," You continued. Xaden opened his mouth but you cut him. "You need to get over this Xaden because I'm not planning on breaking it off with Dain anytime soon," Once you were finished, you spun on your heel and stalked off. "We're in the middle of a conversation! Where are you going?" He called after you, ignoring the fact he was supposed to be in a meeting. "To fuck my boyfriend!" You shouted over your shoulder. You weren't actually going to fuck him, but you heard Garrick's laugh as you rounded the corner and the look you imagined on Xaden's face made the retort worth it.

Later that night you sat with the rest of your squad in the dining hall with Ridoc and Sawyer fighting over who was stronger-which led to an arm wrestle-Aaric looking somewhere in between bored and amused, Rhiannon shaking her head in amusement at the two boys' antics, and Sloane laughing as the arm wrestle came to a conclusion. You weren't even sure who won. You had tried to eat, you were certainly hungry enough, but the thought of Xaden and Dain's interaction gnawed heavily on your mind. Xaden had intercepted Dain in the corridor as he made his way to the dining hall with his wing and you were instantly uneasy. Xaden wouldn't actually kill Dain. Right? Violet noticed you were uncharacteristically silent. "You okay?" She asked, nudging your shoulder with hers. "She's just upset because big brother Riorson found out she's been getting it on with her wingleader," Ridoc said smugly. You fixed him with a glare and Rhiannon swatted the back of his head causing Ridoc to laugh out loud. "Seriously?" Violet grimaced at the brown haired man sitting across from her before returning her attention onto you. "He's not technically wrong," You muttered. "Dain and I were practicing sparring after everyone left. It escalated and I sort of ended up....underneath him," You finished. Ridoc and Sawyer tried to keep from laughing. "Xaden walked in as Dain was kissing me,"

You took a drink of your water to try and cool the wave of heat that caused your cheeks to flush. Violet's eyes went wide for a moment. "How did he take that?" She asked, everyone listening in. "About as well as you'd expect," You replied. "I'm surprised either one of them walked away alive." You went on. "Don't forget the shouting match you had with him in the courtyard," Ridoc threw out there. You scowled at him and Violet raised her eyebrows in curiosity to which you told her about your confrontation with Xaden. "So I told him I was going to fuck my boyfriend," You finished, your cheeks on fire. Ridoc and Sawyer collapsed with laughter, Rhiannon and Sloane smiled at you proudly, and Aaric had a slight expression of amusement on his face. "Wow," Violet said. "Yeah it wasn't my best moment," You admitted. "I saw Xaden corner Dain in the hallway and disappear somewhere before we all came to the dining hall," You told them. Violet sensed you were uneasy about your brother's conversation with Dain. "I'm sure everything will be just fine. Xaden and Dain may not always be on the best of terms all the time," Violet started. "But Xaden loves you and we all know how well Dain treats you. I wouldn't let it bother you so much," She finished, giving you a small hug.

You happened to glance up to see Dain appear in the entrance to the dining hall and he motioned with his head to follow him. "I'll be right back," You told your squad. "Good luck," Violet said. You made your way across the hall and rounded the corner of the dining hall entrance to see Dain standing a few feet away. "Well you're alive," You joked, but your tone was laced with a little relief. "How did it actually go?" You asked, worry in your eyes. "Xaden had some strong words and honestly I wasn't sure if I was gonna make it until Tavis vouched for me," He joked and you gave him a pointed stare. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "So...is he....okay with this?" You asked, the nervousness clawing at you. "Xaden is Xaden. I don't think he's going to ever be too thrilled I'm with his sister but for now...yeah he seems okay with it," Dain nodded, giving you a smile. You felt your shoulders drop in relief. "We’d better head back before people start gossiping,” he said, the familiar twinkle back in his eyes and you nodded. His hand fell to the small of your back but you heard your name being called. You turn around and see your brother staring at you. "I need to talk to you," He said, his expression unreadable. Dain gave your waist a squeeze and left you and Xaden to talk.

You walked over to where your brother stood and crossed your arms, still a little angry with him. "Thanks for not killing him," you said sarcastically. "I thought about it," Xaden muttered. "Listen, I appreciate you wanting to protect me and I don't want you to think I'm not grateful for you. You're my brother; I'm always going to need you, it's just in a different way now. I'm not a little girl any more you don't have to keep protecting me. Dain...he isn't the enemy Xaden. He wouldn't ever hurt me and I trust him," you told him. Xaden ran a hand through his dark hair, sighing. The words stung he couldn't lie; but not in the way he had expected. There was pride in your voice, a sense of confidence and determination he hadn't anticipated.

"I know and I get you're an adult now....but it's hard for me to see my sister with someone who I could never come to terms with," he admitted. That was putting it lightly. You thought. "If he's good enough for me Xaden, why can't he be good enough for you?" You asked him. He could see in your eyes you just wanted him to say he approved of this relationship, of your decisions, and your words hit him like a punch to the gut. "I'm your brother Y/n no one is ever going to be good enough for you," it came out as a joke but deep down you knew he meant it. "Xaden you can't control everything. You need to let me make my own decisions and learn my own lessons," you said, a little frustrated but with a new understanding of where Xaden was coming from. "I can't be your little sister forever," you added quietly. His chest tightened and for a brief moment he saw a younger version of you in his mind.

When he looked at you, he no longer saw the small kid who always needed her brother to be there. You were no longer the kid who looked at him as though he hung the moon. You had grown up. "You're right. You're an adult now, capable of making her own decisions. But I'll always be here for you; that's what older brothers are for," he gave you a smile and you felt yourself grin. "And can you please try to not threaten Dain as much from now on?" You asked him. "He's not as bad as you think." Xaden raised an eyebrow at you. "We'll see." The two of you walked back towards the dining hall and you smiled to yourself. It was a long road ahead before Xaden would, if ever, be comfortable with you and Dain being together but at the moment he tolerated it. And that was enough for now.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

On Rising Swells

Part Seven of The Pirate AU. As always, 18+ for this series. No smut in this one, but they do take off their clothes for plot(?) ~4.4k words

You expect more to change, after finding out that your husband has strange, unexplainable magic running through his bones, after finding out that he died.

But nothing does, not really. Kori brings your dinner to Jason's quarters, you fall asleep alone, and when you find the courage to make your way above deck in the morning, there isn't a hint of blood on the wooden planks.

Jason keeps his distance, at least his version of distance. He lingers just out of your space, pretends to occupy himself with coiling lines and inspecting the horizon.

The crew treats you as if you've never left, as if an entire ship of soldiers weren't slaughtered in your name. It's almost overbearing, but Rose's lessons with your dagger and Roy's endless, friendly jokes and easy-going conversations lull you into a routine.

The Outlaws' ship is by no means small, but with only so many places to go and Jason's inability to be unaware of where you are, you're not surprised that within a few days he finds his way back into your bed as the moon rises. You should be more upset when he lifts the covers carefully, and oh so slowly, wraps his arms around your middle to pull you back against his chest.

But you can't find it in yourself to be mad, not really. His affliction, as otherworldly as it seems, kept him alive. And for as hurt as you want to be over being on the outside of another secret, what has its clutches on your heart is how much you missed him.

You missed his warmth when you were in Central City. His kisses across your skin. His sweet words and adoration and eyes that shine at you like you hold all the secrets of the world between your fingers.

You missed your husband, so if you trace his scars after his breathing evens out in the night and thank whatever higher power has healed his wounds time and time again, it is no one's business but your own.

The days pass to weeks as you settle into place. You relearn which knot is less likely to slip when you work high on the mast, you find your sea legs during a particularly nasty storm that cracks lightning across the ominous clouds.

You find out exactly how many rounds of ale, wine, and rum you can handle as Jason and his crew spins and sings tales of their adventures.

Their stories no longer seem so tall now that you've seen evidence of magic with your own eyes. The words they share about glowing stones, demigods with impossible strength, and sea monsters no longer ring as falsehoods or myth.

You can't help but be fascinated by Donna's whispered memories of her childhood, of the island made entirely of woman warriors that sound like they come from legend. You're equally enthralled by Roy's stories of Atlanteans and the sorcerers he's met who can command water and sea creatures with just their minds.

But skills and stories aren't the only things you've taken to committing to memory. It's your husband, Jason, who takes up most of your thoughts and time.

The sound of his laugh rings in your ears long since it's faded from the air. The feel of his hand steady on your back lingers even after he moves away. The smell of the sea and leather and something so uniquely him fills your bedsheets even after he's slipped from your side to navigate his ship through choppy waters.

You study him, when he's occupied with shouting orders to his crew, when his back is to you and all you can see is the foreboding red of his hat and coat that sends even the bravest of sailors to a state of panic.

He feels like a mystery sometimes, with scars even he fails to remember where or how he got.

But his breath still shallows the same when you press a kiss to his shoulder. His eyes still darken and focus completely on you in the moments before he drives you into seeing stars. He still kisses you like you're everything he's ever really wanted.

Weeks at sea with him have proven one thing over and over again, Jason Todd is still your husband, and that means he still feels like home, no matter how your doubts fester and curl in the pit of your stomach.

And you've found that you like being at sea, the adventure it brings. You like the crew and the friendship they've offered you. You, though you would never admit it out loud, like Jason. You like that he treats you the same as when you had first gotten married.

You like when he calls you treasure, when he says it as if you're truly the most precious thing in his possession.

You know all this, but you can't seem to stop yourself from darting closer and closer to the ship's railing, eyes fixed on the dark, churning water below.

All of this is true, and all of this you know. Even if it isn't perfect, you're the happiest you've been in years.

The world is at your fingertips, a pirate lord is at your beck and call, and the ships maps have been plotted for an island with sandy beaches and a secret lagoon that Jason swears has the most beautiful waterfall you'll ever see, and he can't wait to see you try jumping from its cliffs.

There's yelling behind you, shouts of your name and pleads, and your brain vaguely catches the word 'sirens'. In the back of your mind, you know that means something, but all you can really focus on is the mesmerizing song filling your every sense.

"Come closer," it– they– the water tells you. The voice is a symphony of everything you've ever wanted, all your innermost desires and longings in the cadence of Jason's.

A part of you knows that doesn't make sense. Jason went below deck to fetch you a heavier coat to stave off the chill of the impending storm, the wind that whips and bites at your face. But logic doesn't rule your mind at the moment.

"I can give you what you want," the ocean sings, and you listen. You don't feel the desperate hands grabbing at the back of your clothes as you launch yourself over the railing, all you notice is that there's suddenly no surface beneath your feet and that the voice– voices in the water are pitching with glee.

The fall is quick. A rush of air against your skin, and then you're freezing. It's enough to shake you from your trance for a moment, for you to realize how much danger you're in, for you to know that no matter how sweet Jason's voice is, it's not really him.

You have just enough time to be grateful you're not wearing the heavy layers of your old dresses, before the symphony of melodies starts again, surrounding you and drawing you back under their spell.

The waves crash over your head, cold fingers brush over your ankles, threatening to pull you down beneath the sea, but you aren't afraid. The song is beautiful, it whispers soothing promises of a pretty garden filled with roses and flowers you've never even dreamed of before.

He– they– sing about the life you were going to have, the life you did have. It weaves ballads of sunrise and sunsets while you lay on silk sheets and you swear you can see all that it's vowing to give you just below the surface of the water.

So you reach for it, draw in a deep breath and swim down and even as your lungs burn and vision blurs, you kick and claw and beg for the chance to just brush your fingers over the tune that's hypnotized you so completely.

The human-like shapes that dart around you aren't important, the bell-like laughs and dark dots that start to take over your vision don't mean a thing.

The voices lament poetry of promises of your future, even as your world starts to go black, "A family," they sing, painting you a picture of Roy, of Artemis, of Kori– the entire crew grinning and reaching for you, "You could be so happy with us."

A hand caresses your face, and the water itself seems to smile at you, beckoning you closer. You think you're about to reach it, you just need a little more, just one more second and everything you've dreamed of since the night you first lost your husband will be yours.

But it doesn't come. What comes instead is an arm around your waist, hauling your head back above the waves. You think you scream, or maybe the sea wails at the loss of you. You kick your feet, shove at the body dragging you through the water and away from the voice.

"Treasure," the voice– no– Jason snaps at you, "It's me, it's me. Stop fighting."

You sag for a moment, confused and exhausted. The song still has a hold on your mind, still has you wanting to dive back below the waves.You were so close, and if he could just let go of you, you could sink back down to where all your desires are waiting for you.

You suck in a breath, soothing your aching lungs as you try to find the energy to fight him. But something stops you.

Just pass his shoulder, a face bares its teeth at you. It's beautiful, with eyes reminiscent of crystal and diamond, but your every instinct screams danger. The thing– the siren lunges at you, and you bury your face in your husband's shoulder for what seems to be the last time as you wait for it to drag you below the waves.

But the siren never touches you. You're hauled into the air instead, Jason's harsh curses filling your ears, as he grapples with keeping one hand on you, and one on the rope tugging you both to safety. You feel nauseous as you scramble to grab onto Jason, digging your nails into the fabric of his shirt to try and steady yourself.

Rough hands grab you once you near the railing, pulling you on deck as you cough water out of your lungs. The hypnotizing melody still hums in your ears, though it grows weaker, you still have the urge to follow it, but Jason's warmth against your side keeps you grounded, even as the ship rocks precariously in the rising waves.

Your throat burns as you sink to the ground. You didn't realize how much salt water you swallowed. Boots pound on the planks around you, gun shots occasionally sounding as the crew shouts at each other, but Jason doesn't move his body from yours. You don't look at him, can't.

You're almost embarrassed, ashamed to have been so desperate for a past you can't go back to that you fell for the siren's cursed song. You knew it wasn't him, that the Jason you married doesn't exist anymore, you just didn't realize how much of a hold that memory still had on you.

You feel even colder now that you're out of the water. You've lost one of your shoes to the sea, and your clothes stick uncomfortably to your body.

Jason says something. You can feel the vibrations of his voice against you, but you don't register the words. He presses a kiss to your temple. It makes your throat tighten. You almost died and, in turn, almost got him killed.

He stands, helping you up on your shaky legs before carefully passing you to Kori. He says something again as you slump against her, you catch the word 'tea' and 'just need a moment', before his presence is gone from your side.

You force your gaze to his back as he leaves. He's soaked, hair matted and dripping. There's claw marks torn into the back of his shirt, down his pants leg, but no sign of blood or injury. The sight makes you all the more nauseous and ashamed.

Kori turns you away from him and guides you below deck, towards the galley. She only stops to let Bizzaro wrap your shivering frame in a heavy blanket. She helps you sit, before flitting around the kitchen, and neither of you speak until she's pushed a hot mug into your hands.

You fidget, reeling, and eyes downcast. Your mind clears more, now that you're out of the air that seemed to vibrate with magic. You remember how you wanted to watch the storm clouds roll in over the horizon. How a soft lullaby started to fill the air, just after Jason left you to go below deck, and how the crew laughed over song.

'Pointless,' Roy had said, grinning and fearless, 'Siren magic can't touch us.' But it had certainly affected you.

"Why didn't anyone else jump," you ask quietly, almost uneasy to hear the answer. You wait for Kori to tell you that you're weak. That you were never meant to be among a crew of ruthless, but none the less talented pirates.

She says none of those things, just sits herself at your side, uncaring that you're slowly creating a puddle of sea water on the bench. "Oh, that would be Garth's spell."

You run a quick mental check, and, no, there's definitely no Garth on this ship. You huff, frustrated at yourself and your own lack of information, "Who's Garth."

She hums, absently mindedly, reaching out to push at your mug, encouraging you to drink, "He is known as Tempest, he sails with The Titans."

She waits for you to drink before continuing, "They owed us a favor, so he cast a spell on us that nulls siren's music. It's a boring story compared to what I usually tell you, no?"

"The Titans," you mumble, taking another sip of the tea. The Titans are familiar enough to you, a group of treasure hunting adventurers that've occasionally taken out some rather dangerous pirates. You think you recall them coming to Gotham once or twice, but you don't think you've ever seen their infamous captain Nightwing, "Why did they owe you?"

Kori pats your knee, eyes going a little sad, "There was… They had an issue with a mercenary. One we took care of. I suppose we forgot the spell's protection didn't extend to you. I'm sorry we didn't think of it and– I'm glad you're safe."

You open your mouth to wave off her apology with your own and explain that you should be thanking her for how much she's done for you, how at home and welcomed she's made you feel with her stories. (and maybe to pry into what mercenary could cause issues for a group like The Titans, who apparently have spellcasters within their crew)

But your words die in your throat as she continues to talk, plucking your empty mug from your hand to place it down, "But, you know, Jason never needed a spell. Even before, siren songs never affected him. He always said it was because he knew you couldn't be out here, that what they were promising wasn't real."

She smiles at you, then, warm and soft and fond, "It's easy to see why he loves you so much."

You think she's trying to make you feel better, and it almost works. You crave stories of your husband from the times you were without him, and it makes your heart ache to know how much he's really, truly loved you even after so much time apart.

But it serves just as much to make you guilty. Maybe you don't love him as much, or as strongly, if you were entranced by the spell. Maybe you're fighting a losing battle, by staying with him and his ship.

Your thoughts are cut short as the galley's doors are thrown open, and Jason, who you barely have time to note is still dripping with salt water, strides over to where you and Kori are sitting.

His eyes dart over you as he kneels at your feet, lifting your hands to rub some semblance of warmth back into your fingertips. "Does anything hurt," he asks gently, fretting as familiar worry lines crease his brow.

He raises your hands to his lips to blow warm air over your skin when you shake your head, his gaze not reassured of your truthfulness. You think he'd strip you bare right there on the table if not for Kori's easy, knowing smile over his mother henning.

She stands, pressing a kiss to your cheek and then one to Jason's, "Go dry off in your cabin, lovers."

Jason spares her a reluctant glance before focusing back on you, "But the storm–"

"Is something we can handle, Captain. Now go on, before they catch a cold," Kori nods to you on her way out the door, voice all light and teasing as she disappears down the hall. It's only then you start to notice that you've been shivering, the blanket nearly as wet as you are.

"Dry clothes first," Jason murmurs, eyeing your one boot. He scoops you up without warning, one arm under your knees and one across your back, to carry you through the door and towards his quarters. You hardly have the energy to protest, but you are aware enough to notice that his skin is warm to the touch.

"How are you not cold," you grumble, fidgeting with the threads of the blanket to occupy yourself. He seems to relax at the sound of your voice, but you can't quite pinpoint why.

He hums as he pushes open the door to his room, walking over to the bed to slowly sit you on the edge. He kneels down, removing your lone boot and making a face as you both watch the water that pours out of it. Jason pulls the blanket from your shoulders, tossing aside before answering, "I rarely get cold now."

He doesn't elaborate, and you want to pry, you do, but his fingers dip under your shirt, callused and hot against your skin. It's distracting in the nicest way.

He removes each layer of soaked fabric with a reverence that makes you want to melt in relief and cry in distress all at once. He peels the stockings from your thighs, a frown crosses his face at the faint scratches across your ankle. "You didn't mention these," he says, eyes snapping up to yours.

"I didn't feel them," you admit, honest. You don't remember losing your boot, didn't feel the claws that tried to drag you down. You just remember how much you wanted to swim deeper, follow the haunting melody that spun around you beneath the waves.

His gaze never leaves you, as he presses a loving kiss to your skin, soothing the sting of the marks, "I'll make it up to you."

That pulls you from your lulled state, and you knit your eyebrows as he begins to kiss his way up your calf, murmuring apologies, "It shouldn't have happened, treasure. Not to you."

"You're being ridiculous," You breathe out, reaching for the linens to cover your bare skin, "It was no one's fault but my own, and I'm fine, you pulled me out of the water."

His hands travel up your legs to rest on your thighs, not hiding his concern over the way you try to hide yourself from him, "My love, being affected by magic is not a burden for you to bear. Everything that happens on this ship is my responsibility. And that goes double for the one that's wearing my ring."

You lose your words at his reaction, his sentiments, unsure of what to do. Jason sighs heavily, wrapping his arms around your middle to draw you close, so that he can bury his face in your chest and listen to the beat of your heart.

You instinctively reach up to card your fingers through his wet hair. It's silent for a moment, and then he exhales shakily, "I thought you had– I was afraid, treasure, when you weren't where I had left you. I couldn't– all I saw were those things trying to lure you further from the ship."

You squeeze your eyes shut at his words. You knew, of course, that Jason was the reason you were alive, safe on board his ship. You knew he was the reason you didn't drown, left to be a meal for the mythical sirens. You knew that you both could have died.

But it's only now that you're settled, out of harm's way and on his bed that it really registers that he'd jumped into the stormy tides after you.

You wonder if he hesitated. You wonder if he doubted, for even a moment, that you were worth the trouble. You know it's unfair, and you can't find the words to ask, so you open your eyes to look down at him. "You're still soaked," you say instead, pointing out the obvious and letting your hand fall from his hair.

He laughs a little, pressing a kiss over your heart, before standing to strip out of his own sea-matted clothes. Jason doesn't bother dressing as he guides both of you towards the center of the bed. You can tell he has half a mind to just lay on top of you, to keep you shielded on the off-chance there's magic still controlling your mind.

You're grateful that he doesn't. He tangles his legs with yours instead, as you lay on your side, and he presses his forehead to yours, eyes blown wide, but so intently focused.

"I can't lose you again," he tells you, one hand pressed firmly against the small of your back, and the other curled around the nape of your neck, holding you steady.

"I don't have the strength for it, treasure," he whispers, voice lowering as he searches your eyes for something, though you can't begin to guess for what. His words are familiar, heavy, and you find yourself wanting to say the right thing.

"I have nowhere to go," you try, hoping your words are what he's looking for, "and I want to see that island you promised me. Santa Prisca, right? With the best rum of all the isles?"

You think you got it wrong, that he might be disappointed, when his arm leaves your waist so he can cup your face, "Darling, you know you can rely on me for anything. Whatever you saw down there, whatever they promised you, I'd find a way to give it to you. You know that, right?"

"I know," you say softly, almost overwhelmed by the sureness of his voice, the firmness of his gaze. Flashes of the life they showed you rear their head in your mind's eye. The garden. The roses. The sunrise on your skin. A family. Him as he was. The past and a future that seemed so secure ripped away.

"And if, treasure– if this isn't enough–"

You surge forward to kiss him, silencing his words. The ache in his voice, the anxieties in his eyes, every part of you wants to quell them. What the sirens showed you is unreachable, and for as broken and confusing as things are now, Jason Todd is your husband. Your vows, your love– none of that has changed even if both of you have.

You only pull away when the tension starts to fade from his body, "This is enough. What they showed me doesn't mean anything. It wasn't real."

He studies you for a moment, thumb brushing over your cheek, "What did you see, love? What called you away from me so desperately?"

"I don't remember," you answer quickly, maybe a little too quickly to be believable. But Jason doesn't press, only wraps you up more securely in his arms, warding off the chill of the ocean that lingers in your bones.

"The sea should calm tomorrow," he murmurs, pressing his face to the top of your head, "With the wind on our side we'll be shore side in a few days and you can try all the rum you'd ever want to, treasure."

It's an olive branch, you think, a way to let you keep your words buried in your throat. Jason would let you drift to sleep, pretend that none of this happened, and he didn't dive headfirst in danger for you, and you didn't lie about why you did. It feels wrong, cruel even, to not attempt to trust in him.

"There was a garden," you whisper like it's a grand secret, "filled with flowers I've never seen before. Some that I didn't even know existed." You know it's not enough, that there's no way he'd believe you'd throw yourself over the side of the ship for just the promise of some pretty petals.

But he smiles into your hair and starts to trace patterns across your back, "Flowers, huh, treasure? I can do that."

"I saw the crew," you breathe out, tucking your face against him to hide whatever weakness you're sure is painting your face.

"Aye," he prompts, dragging his hand tenderly over your spine, "Did you?"

"You were there, too," You say, speaking before you can second guess yourself, voice going even more hushed as the air seems to go still at your admission.

His fingers still on your skin before continuing their absentminded path, "Is that so?"

You nod against his chest, you almost feel lighter, freer, at peeling away some of the armor around your heart.

Jason nuzzles at the top of your head, and starts to press kisses down to your ear, "I am here. With you. That's not going to change." He pulls the blankets higher over your body as you melt against him, all your worries, wrongs, and doubts, quiet and locked away in the back of your mind.

His warmth, his touch, the steady rocking of the ship, and promises of new sights to see on calmer waters is enough to let you succumb to your exhaustion.

But even as you drift off, you can't quite escape from the memory of the siren's song in your ears. A family, they'd sung, an idea you'd never really thought of before, at least not past Jason. But they had sung it to you, pulled it, supposedly, from the deepest parts of your heart.

It nags at you, from the corner of your mind as sleep wins out, even with the steady sounds of Jason's breathing and his fingers soothing over your skin. And it almost feels like, maybe, they knew something you didn't.

[betweenstorms]

The Tide That Binds Us (masterlist) (previous work) Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Siren!fem Reader

“The tide drags us together, lover and monster alike, until our reflections blur upon the water—now I cannot tell where your hunger ends and my surrender begins.”

Simon Riley knew that he had been raised by the sea herself.

His lungs had been shaped by her salted breath, his skin weathered by her touch, both cruel and kind, both lover and executioner. His hands bore the scars of her temperament, the rough callouses of a child she had never coddled, only forged.

He had seen all her faces, too, her serene hush, when the morning tide kissed the shore like a parting lover, whispering secrets in the language of shifting sands. He had also known her rage, the way she screamed in the throat of a storm, a wrathful goddess tearing at the sky, drowning the world in fury. She was treacherous and tender, devouring and divine.

And Simon knew better than most that the sea had no mercy.

She gave as much as she took, offered salvation in the same breath she whispered death. Men like him belonged to her in ways those bound to the land could never understand. She did not love, not in the way a mother should. But she kept him. She had taken men stronger than him, smarter than him, much more cunning than him, pulled them beneath her surface with greedy hands, but she had let him live.

Perhaps the sea had been merciful because he had always served her.

He was not like the others, those who fought against her, who defied her will, who prayed to false gods to spare them from her wrath. Simon had never begged her for favor, nor cursed her for cruelty. He had accepted her as she was, giver and taker, mother and monster, and she, maybe in return, had allowed him to stay, to bathe in her glory.

The lighthouse was his domain, his duty, the golden eye of its beacon sweeping across the darkened bay each night, a silent warning to those who dared trespass upon the inky waters. The men who sailed these shores, fishermen, drifters, wanderers with salt in their veins and wounds on their skin, depended on it. On him. On his care. They never saw his face, only the steady rhythm of his work, the light that cut through the darkness.

Simon’s days were predictable.

Ritualistic even.

He fished in the mornings, pulling silver offerings from the sea’s embrace, his hands deft and unthinking as he worked. He maintained the beacon, tended the building, ensuring the gears moved as they should, oiling the great lantern’s heart. When the skies were clear, he watched the stars, mapping the constellations that stretched above him like scars across the heavens.

The nearest town was miles away, across the bay, little more than a scattering of homes and shops clinging to the coastline. He rarely ventured there unless necessity demanded it—a new coil of rope, a crate of provisions—but even then, he lingered only long enough to make his purchases before returning to his solitary world.

Simon preferred it that way.

Isolation suited him.

The sea had always been his most faithful companion, the only one who knew the language of silence, who understood the weight of solitude without seeking to fill it. She never asked anything of him beyond his devotion, never demanded more than he could give. And yet, beneath her endless surface, beneath the lull of waves and foam, she harbored secrets.

Dark things. Forgotten things. 

Monsters.

One of those monsters haunted him that night.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Simon grunted as he closed a window due to the heavy wind. The sea was uneasy, restless in a way that only those who truly knew her could feel.

That day, sometime after dusk, the wind had shifted, rolling in from the east with an eerie stillness that pressed heavy against the world, the kind that foretold an oncoming storm. Above, the stars burned brighter than they should have, their cold, ancient light stark against the vast abyss. The moon hung low and swollen, full and watching, a silver god casting its glow over the churning water below. The waves lapped against the massive cliffs, carrying secrets meant for no human ear. Dark and murmuring.

They rose and fell like a monster’s sigh.

And then he heard it.

A siren.

He was a man nearing forty, and he knew well the witchery of the sea. The stories whispered in dockside taverns, the warnings etched into the faces of old sailors, the superstitions woven into every knot of a fisherman’s net—he had heard them all. The sea was no gentle mistress. She was a realm of monsters, of unholy things that ruled the waves with claws and teeth and songs that could drown men without a drop of water touching their skin.

He knew of krakens, their tentacles rising like black towers from the depths, wrapping around ships and pulling them into the darkness. He knew of beasts with too many eyes, blinking in eerie unison from the shadows beneath the waves, their gazes filled with unknowable intent. 

And he knew of sirens, too.

Their otherworldly voices were spun from the marrow of dead sailors, their songs as sweet as they were lethal, beckoning men toward ruin with the promise of something beautiful, eternal and inescapable. He had seen one once, when he was just a boy—too young to understand, but old enough to remember.

He could still recall the way his father’s harpoon tore through its body, the way it bled black, ink and brine spilling into the boat, staining his hands, his boots, his memories.

They were wretched things, their bodies tangled with moss and pearls, their scales slick as oil on water, shimmering and shifting, catching the light in unnatural hues of purple, blue, and silver. Their eyes were the worst of it—milky and hollow, pits of white that seemed to pierce and yet see nothing at all.

No pupils, no soul, no mercy.

And their teeth, too sharp and too many for his liking, gleaming like a reflection of the waves themselves, something meant for rending, for devouring, for dragging men into the deep and never letting go.

“Never trust what comes from the sea,” that was what his father had said as he carved into the corpse, his blade slicing through the slick flesh with the practiced ease of a man gutting a fish, stripping it bare from its makeshift jewelry. “Nothin’ that comes from it is ever yours, son. Not her pearls, not her beauty, not her mercy. You take what you need and leave the rest. If you don’t, she’ll take you instead.”

This was the only truly useful thing his father had ever said to him.

But this one—this siren wasn’t singing.

It was crying.

The sound was heartbreakingly beautiful, a sorrow spun from salt and wind that rose from the darkness and wrapped itself around him like a mother’s embrace. It wasn’t the seductive pull of their song, that honeyed, venomous promise of blissful destruction he had steeled himself against countless times before. No, this was different. It was raw, fractured, a sound that felt like it didn’t belong to the world of the living. It was haunting, the way it seemed to call for him and only him. The sound wasn’t human, couldn’t be, and yet it burrowed into his chest and made his heart tighten.

Because it was not a call.

It was pain.

And goddess help him, it was beautiful. It prickled his skin, sent a cold whisper down his spine, not with fear, but with something worse—recognition. As though the grief in that voice did not belong to the sea at all. As though, somehow, it belonged to him.

And Simon, against all reason, felt himself being drawn to it.

His first instinct was to shut the other windows, too. To bolt the lighthouse doors and to wait for the storm he knew would come crawling over the horizon by morning. The sea always changed before a tempest, the air thickening, the tides rising, tense and starved. Simon had learned long ago that no good ever came from listening too closely to what lurked beyond the shore.

And yet—he hesitated.

Something inside him rebelled, some nameless part of him that ached at the tempting sound, that tightened in his chest like an iron fist gripping his ribs. And against his better judgment, he picked up his lantern and left the lighthouse.

Unguarded.

The descent toward the shore was treacherous, even for a man who had known these cliffs all his life. The rocks jutted out like broken bones, slick with sea spray, the pathway winding and deceptive. He knew all too well that every footstep here mattered, knew how easy it would be to fall and disappear beneath the tide, swallowed whole. But he pressed on, lantern swinging in his grip, his breath harsh against the cold wind.

And then the crying stopped.

Simon slowed, heartbeat heavy in his ears. He scanned the shoreline, his keen eyes adjusting to the silver-washed darkness. The sea stretched before him, an endless mouth yawning wide beneath the moon, and the wind howled, but the sobs had ceased, leaving only silence.

He was being watched.

His grip on the lantern tightened.

Simon felt it before he saw it, the unmistakable sensation of something pressing against him from the inside out, an invisible weight that made his breath come shorter, his pulse pound against his freezing skin. He swept his gaze across the rocky shoreline, the lantern's glow flickering weakly against the dark. The tide rolled in sluggishly, dragging kelp and shattered shells and rubbish onto the sand, leaving behind gleaming trails of brine that shimmered like veins of liquid silver. The scent of salt and something faintly metallic filled his lungs.

Then he saw it.

Or more like her.

“Bloody hell,” was all he could muster.

Shimmering scales gleamed under the moonlight, their iridescence shifting, broken and glistening in the pale glow. Empty, sightless eyes stared at him, the gleam of too many teeth bared in silent warning. Her hair was woven from the night itself, strands of pure darkness clinging to her face, tangled in the glistening scales and skin. Braids coiled through the wild locks, adorned with shells and pearls that had long since lost their luster—just like the ones his father had torn from a creature like her.

At first, Simon thought she was nothing more than a trick of the light. A specter conjured by the approaching storm, a cruel illusion spun from shadow and tide, a barbaric joke of his goddess. But then—

She moved.

Not much, only the faintest shift of her webbed fingers against the sand, long nails digging in the grains, but it was enough. Enough to confirm that she was no mirage, no phantom rising from the sea’s depths to mock him.

A siren.

But something was wrong.

Her body lay sprawled on the shore, draped across the wet sand like a broken offering, her black blood pooling beneath her, seeping into the white foam that hissed and whispered as the waves lapped hungrily at her failing form. A ragged wound marred her tail, a savage, gaping bite that had torn deep into her flesh, revealing pale muscle and splintered bone. It was raw, violent, the kind of wound left by a predator—something larger, something hungrier.

As if something had tried to eat her.

Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her translucent throat fluttering with each rattling gasp, as though she were drowning on land, suffocating in air that was never meant to sustain her. But she didn’t look like she was drowning. More like suffering.

Simon stood frozen, the chill of the night pressing into his skin, however, he felt nothing but the pull of her gaze. Those empty eyes, devoid of pupils, locked onto him with a stillness that could unmake a man. Misty and milky white, like pearls rolling in the tide, and yet—they saw him, he was sure of that. Saw through him, into the space where his soul should have been. A shudder coursed through him, sharp and biting, like the cold of the sea itself wrapping around his spine, threatening not to let him go.

He had seen her kind before, but not like this.

Never like this.

Because the sirens Simon knew were born from hunger, nightmares carved from the abyss, their beauty a deception, their cruelty boundless. They did not weep and they did not falter. They were the sea’s daughters, forged in the salt and blood of drowned men. They hunted in packs, gliding through water like living specters, their songs curling through the mist, laced with promise, soaked in death. They spared no one—unless they had need of them. When their numbers thinned, when their kind dwindled, they would let men live long enough to take something from them.

Daughters born with water in their lungs.

Nothing hunted sirens other than humans.

Nothing could.

And yet—

Black tears streamed down her pale, bloodied face, tracing paths across her scales, dripping onto the torn flesh of her body. They mingled with the ink of her, pooling in the sand like an oil slick. The sound she made was not the haunting melody that had drawn countless men to their deaths, not the sweet, treacherous song that pulled sailors into their waiting jaws. It was softer. Raw.

Eerily human.

A fractured sob, torn from something deep and ancient, something that should not have been capable of grief, spilling into the night like the last dying breath of a storm.

It was not meant for Simon to hear.

His feet moved without thought, his boots sinking into the wet sand as he stepped closer. She snarled weakly, her lips peeling back to reveal two sets of teeth, as sharp and long as broken glass. The sound was instinctive, a threadbare defense, but her strength was failing her. Her fingers scraped at the sand, pulling her body toward, or perhaps away from him.

He could not tell which.

Her fear wasn’t for him.

It was for something else.

Simon’s gaze flickered downward, to the wound carved into her tail, the jagged edges of torn scales and raw, glistening muscle. A bite. No clean cut, no wound from battle, but the ruinous mark of something that had devoured and been left unsatisfied. Whatever had done this had been merciless and ancient. It was a claim—one that had not yet been fulfilled.

And she had escaped from it.

Sirens did not flee. They did not beg, did not tremble, did not seek shelter on land, away from the dark cradle that had borne them. They belonged to the abyss, yet this one had crawled to shore. And the terror in her sightless eyes told him why.

She had not really escaped it.

She had only bought herself time.

Simon’s fingers twitched at his side. He should end it. He knew he should. Should put her out of her misery, should stop whatever this was before it became something. But his hand would not move, would not reach for the creature’s neck to kill her. The tide rose, licking at his boots, reaching for her broken body, and yet, she did not fight it. She just looked at him.

He should have ignored it.

Should have let the sea take her back.

But he didn’t.

Simon Riley had never been a man of mercy.

The sea had taught him that early. However, Simon slowly knelt in the sand, his knees pressing into the wet earth, water and blood creeping through fabric, sinking deep. The vastness whispered at his back, the wind curling through his dusty blonde hair like ghostly fingers, urging him away. Goddess, he knew better than to get close—knew what those claws could do, what those teeth had done to men who had come before him. And yet, his body betrayed him, moving against every instinct that screamed at him to turn back, to leave her to whatever fate awaited, to give her back to the sea.

Still, he lowered himself.

His hands rose, palms up—

—a gesture as ancient as the sea itself.

It was foolish, a reckless thing born of madness, a man bowing to the unknown. The sea did not deal in peace. She did not barter in mercy or forgiveness. The sea dealt in flesh and bone, in the sharp edge of hunger and the endless churn of fear.

Just like her daughters.

Simon knew this.

And still, he reached for her.

He spoke before he thought better of it. “You understand me, yeah?”

Her opalescent eyes narrowed.

A response, however weak. Her black tears continued to stream down her face, carving rivers through the salt caking her colorful scales. Her mouth parted, rows of jagged teeth meant for rending flesh stared back at him, but she did not lunge. Did not snap. Did not drag him into the abyss where she had surely taken so many before.

Simon licked his lips, tasting salt and blood. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

The siren bared her teeth again, but there was no strength behind it. Simon only nodded, taking that as an answer.

At least she understood him.

“Listen, creature,” he murmured, shifting his weight slightly, the sand scattering beneath his boots. “If I touch you, don’t want you bitin’ my fuckin’ fingers off, understood?”

She did not speak.

Only watched.

Those empty eyes fixed upon him, hollow as the moon yet brimming with something deeper, something more knowing than they had any right to be. It was unnerving, the way she beheld him, as if she could see past flesh, past bone, past the mortal entity that he was.

As if she already knew him.

But then again, the sea had always known him.

She had claimed Simon long before he had words to name her pull, long before he understood why he would always return to her, why the land had never been enough. He had been raised in the cradle of her bays, rocked by her violent lullabies, shaped by the call of distant waves. He was hers. Her son. More than his own mother’s, more than anyone’s.

And this monster before him?

She was part of that vast, unknowable force.

Another piece of the great and endless goddess. Perhaps this was her wish. The sea had never asked anything of him before. They had provided for each other, mother and son, bound by the quiet understanding that the sea would take as much as she gave.

But perhaps, at long last, she was calling in a debt.

Perhaps this was a favor, whispered in the language of droplets, carried by the hush between the waves—a mother asking her favored son to save her favourite daughter.

Perhaps that was why his hand did not shake as he reached for the siren laying before him.

“Bound by restless waves, I cannot tell if your touch drowns me in desire or devours me in ruin. Which of us wears the mask of the hunter, and which of us the prey?”

[celestemona]

DEEP WATERS

pairing: alhaitham x mermaid! reader

in the stillness of tides, alhaitham unearths a mystery long believed to be legend—a mermaid ensnared, with eyes as deep as the ocean and secrets buried in every wave. drawn by fate and enchanted by her silent song, he finds himself caught between myth and reality. in his quest to understand her world, he risks losing his own heart to the uncharted depths.

cw: part i of ii. fem reader, pronouns s/her are mentioned tho it was written in 2nd person. fluff, fluff. female body specifications; long hair! reader, nudity, slight language barrier’ struggles, characters may seem ooc. shoutout to alhaitham for name you. 15.5k words sue me. not proof-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

Alhaitham’s day began like any other, filled with the structured predictability he deemed essential.

As Akademiya’s scribe, he was used to working methodically on his tasks, knowing exactly what was needed and never exceeding those limits. Efficiency was a virtue he held in high regard, after all.

But today, at the request of Lesser Lord Kusanali herself, he was dispatched to Port Ormos to investigate some potential concerns involving certain texts arriving from the neighboring nation. A diplomatic matter with Chenyu Vale, she had suggested, that required someone well-versed in logic and languages—a task he could accomplish quickly and with minimal interruption to his personal duties.

Now, as he stood on the outskirts of Port Ormos with his task nearly complete, Alhaitham surveyed the bustling dock.

While Port Ormos often seemed chaotic to him, he couldn’t deny the appeal of watching the ebb and flow of commerce, of lives interwoven in casual exchanges and swift negotiations. But just as he prepared to leave, his attention was drawn to a quieter stretch of the coast, an isolated, rarely visited area far from the main docks. This was usually his kind of place: quiet and solitary.

However, today, the silence was broken by something… peculiar. It wasn’t the rhythmic murmur of the waves or the occasional seagulls that caught his attention, but an odd, strained sound. It was faint but persistent—a low occasional growl mixed with something he couldn’t immediately identify.

Curiosity piqued, Alhaitham allowed his gaze to scan the sandy stretch. There was no one else in sight; no sailors, no matras. This area seemed entirely deserted, only adding to the mystery. 

He approached cautiously, his trained eyes alert with every movement. Then, amidst the scattered shells and seaweed, he saw it: a glimpse of something familiar yet entirely strange.

A tail. Long, dark, and unmistakably fish-like, though far more mesmerizing in its iridescent palette and certainly larger than any common marine animal. Its dark blue with a touch of gray caught the light and shimmered with shifting hues as the waves lapped gently over it.

Alhaitham’s breath hitched as his gaze traveled from the fish tail to its source, finally landing on the figure trapped in a tangled mess of fishing net.

This was no ordinary sea creature. No. It was a mermaid.

For a man who prided himself on his calm and logical demeanor, Alhaitham felt an undeniable wave of disbelief and fascination wash over him.

Mermaids were, at best, myths—Fontaine tales told in taverns and old children’s books. In his days as a student, he had skimmed the sparse historical mentions of mermaids, intrigued by their academic mystery, though ultimately dismissing them as baseless stories. Historians had little to offer about them—no language to decipher, no artifacts to study. It was all speculative, fantasy stories wrapped in the very mystique of the sea. And now, here you were, a very real mermaid right before him.

Your form was incredibly otherworldly, almost surreal in its beauty. Long hair clung to your shoulders and breasts, darkened by the water and tangled with delicate, glistening pearls, while the scales on your arms and ribs caught the faint light. But it was your face, contorted with a mixture of fear and frustration, that held him in place. Your sharp eyes, almost snake-like, blinked warily as you noticed his approach, and a low growl escaped your throat, an instinctive warning.

Alhaitham took a deep breath, grounding himself in reality. This creature—no, this mermaid—wasn’t just a legend he could dismiss. You were tangible, vulnerable, and caught in a trap you clearly couldn’t escape from.

Kneeling out of your reach, he chose his movements with calculated care. “Easy there,” he murmured, his tone neutral yet soft, more for his own benefit than yours. He doubted you’d understand, but it was instinctive to try and soothe you. He slowly extended a hand, palm open, hoping you could see he meant no harm.

Your sharp gaze tracked his every movement, a soft, cautious hiss slipping from your lips. You moved your tail against the net, trying once again to free yourself, but the more you struggled, the tighter the net seemed to trap you. Alhaitham’s gaze dropped to your bare torso, noticing the faint shimmer of scales marred by bruises, likely from your attempts to break free.

He looked back at you, meeting your wary, defiant gaze. Your intelligence was unmistakable—in your eyes, he could see a spark of recognition and caution. You knew he was a threat, but also, perhaps, your only chance.

“Alright,” he said, as if reasoning with a wild creature, and began to move carefully toward the edge of the net. You tensed, the sharp gleam of your canines visible as you bared your teeth in warning. Alhaitham paused, feeling a mix of danger and a strange empathy.

“Relax,” he said softly, ensuring his gestures were as non-threatening as possible. You continued to watch him, your expression still wary but curious. Up close, he could see your long, sharp nails, the delicate, translucent membranes between your fingers and the subtle rise and fall of your gills as you breathed shallowly and anxiously. Your beauty was undeniable but in a way that felt unreal, beyond anything he had ever encountered.

Alhaitham slowly reached for the knife at his belt, the blade glinting in the faint light. Your eyes narrowed, a low, almost inaudible growl escaping as you observed him. “I’m here to help,” he assured, keeping his tone calm, as if you could understand his intent through his voice alone.

As he brought the blade closer to the tangled net, your body went rigid, muscles tensing as if ready to spring—or strike. Your gaze locked onto his, every line of your body taut, your breathing shallow and rapid. For a brief moment, he paused, meeting your gaze with a nod of understanding, as if to say: Trust me, just for now.

With practiced ease, he cut a few threads, loosening the net just enough to give you some room. You flinched, your tail contracting involuntarily, but you didn’t pull away, allowing him to continue his work. He cut it carefully, each movement deliberate, keeping his own breathing steady as he watched your response.

He couldn’t help but wonder at the absurdity of it all. Here he was, the notorious and logical Scribe of the Akademiya, performing a rescue for something—or someone—he once dismissed as pure fantasy. The tales he had brushed aside as stories seemed to dissolve before this living being. Yet his mind continued to spin with questions he couldn’t suppress: How did you end up here, trapped in this net? And what would become of you now?

As he cut the last thread, he noticed your injured tail more clearly, a long red line seeping through the translucent scales. A frown crossed his face as he sheathed the knife, feeling the faintest pang of concern.

“You’re hurt,” he said quietly, not knowing if you would understand him. You shifted slightly, flexing your tail as if testing your freedom, your expression cautious but no longer as frantic. Your eyes met his again, and for a moment, something like gratitude flashed in your gaze—fleeting, almost imperceptible, but there.

He couldn’t help but smile slightly, feeling a pull of fascination, his mind instinctively cataloging every feature, every movement. 

Yet Alhaitham’s thoughts clicked into the details of the situation with calculated precision.

He observed the desolate stretch of beach where he found you, far removed from the main port and any regular fishing route. This area was more of a neglected backwater than a place frequented by locals, let alone fishermen. He was certain you hadn’t been captured here intentionally; instead, you must have ventured here alone, in danger or by mistake, only to be caught by the tangled mess of nets, possibly abandoned by a passing fishing boat.

He looked back at you, his analytical gaze softening slightly. Faced with this new reality, you bore little resemblance to the wild, monstrous figures folklore sometimes suggested. You were undeniably alive, aware, and your beauty, strange and striking, had an almost hypnotic quality.

But despite his attempts at rational analysis, concern rooted itself as he examined your injuries.

The wound on your tail continued bleeding slowly, deep crimson droplets blending into the sea water. He didn’t know how long you had been trapped, but the blood loss, however gradual, could spell trouble if left untreated. There was also the issue of eremites and mercenaries who roamed the outskirts of Port Ormos, not to mention treasure hunters and opportunists. You’d be a prize beyond imagination for many of them if they found you in this weakened state…

The weight of your expectant gaze held him in the moment, your snake-like eyes gleaming with suspicion and interest. You watched him closely, trying to understand him as he studied you. He could see in the slight press of your lips, as if bracing to hiss or growl, ready to flee if needed. But he also noticed that, even in your obvious wariness, there was a glimmer of something more—a reluctant trust, perhaps, that he wasn’t here to harm you.

He took a careful step forward, his voice calm. “Can you understand me?” he asked, each word slow and deliberate. 

Silence, save for the rhythmic lap of waves against the shore.

Opting to approach you through another means, Alhaitham raised a hand to his chest, fingertips gently pressing over his heart. He met your eyes, holding your gaze firmly, and said, “Alhaitham,” keeping his voice low, repeating the name once more, “Al-Haitham,” drawing each syllable with deliberate clarity.

You head tilted cutely, eyes blinking expressively. You watched his gesture, your gaze lingering on the hand over his heart, as if trying to decipher the meaning in his movements and tone. He could see your intrigue, the silent intelligence behind your eyes suggesting that, though there was no response, his words had not entirely gone unnoticed.

Satisfied to have given you something to hold onto, Alhaitham took a deep breath to calm himself.

Internally, the scribe wrestled with a series of difficult choices. Returning you to the sea seemed the most logical path, but there was no certainty that you’d survive the injuries. And considering the bystanders lingering in the area, leaving you there could be even more risky. On the other hand, bringing you to his own home was… complicated. The logistics alone were challenging. He lived a fair distance from Port Ormos—nearly half an hour by walking—and carrying you the entire way risked exposure for both you and himself.

As he turned these options over in his mind, you shifted slightly, a barely audible groan revealing you discomfort. The sight stirred an unexpected protectiveness within him. Practicality aside, leaving you in that state wasn’t an option he could consider.

He crouched beside you once again, his expression softening when he met your gaze. “It seems you’ve left me with little choice,” he murmured, half to himself. “I’ll have to find a way to take you with me.”

You blinked, your gaze never leaving him.

When he extended his hand toward you, you immediately stiffened and hissed aggressively, your body tensing as if bracing for what might come next. Alhaitham kept his movements slow and deliberate, waiting until the tension in your shoulders eased enough. When he placed a careful hand beneath you, your damp skin was smooth, cool to the touch, and your scales gleamed slightly even in the last traces of sunlight. Your breathing steadied, though he could still feel your persistent nerves.

He thought for a moment, gauging your weight, and realized it’d be challenging to carry you all the way to his home without attracting attention. He glanced back at the main harbor, then at you, pondering an alternative solution.

Then his eyes landed on an old wooden cart leaning against the weathered side of a nearby storage shed. The cart was small, probably used to transport boxes of fish or bags of supplies from the coast, with thick wheels designed to handle rough paths. Judging by the nets and equipment scattered around it, it likely belonged to a fisherman or trader who had left it unattended for the day.

With a hint of reluctance, Alhaitham assessed the cart and the possible risks of borrowing it. But practicality won out; the cart was discreet and functional, a solution he couldn’t ignore.

Carefully, he carried you toward the cart, moving at a steady, unhurried pace to keep your calm. You were clearly frightened, your body tensing slightly as he approached the cart, but your eyes remained focused on him, not on the unfamiliar contraption.

“It’s the best I can do for now,” he murmured, his tone gentler, as he placed a soft cloth he had found along the cart’s surface, creating a makeshift cushion over the rough wood.

Slowly, he guided you to sit, your injured tail carefully positioned on the padding. Your eyes darted between him and the cart, a flicker of nervousness visible in the way your fingers clenched and relaxed, but you stayed still, watching him intently as he adjusted the cloth around you.

Once he was certain you were settled, he grasped the iron handle of the cart and began to pull, setting a careful yet steady rhythm. The journey ahead was longer than he had anticipated, and he kept his attention on the road, his mind flooded with questions he couldn’t yet answer.

As you both traced the more secluded paths back to his home, Alhaitham found himself glancing over his shoulder at you, curiosity mingling with a cautious sense of awe. The sound of the cart’s wheels rolling over the uneven path filled the silence between you two, a strangely rhythmic backdrop for his swirling thoughts.

This encounter was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He had encountered beings as mythical as they were magical during his studies, but mermaids—real mermaids—had always been a subject wrapped in mystery and skepticism. And now here he was, with a living, breathing mystery being carried by him in an old, borrowed cart, with questions he could hardly begin to ask.

As he neared home, Alhaitham’s thoughts began to drift toward Kaveh, his housemate. The scribe knew he had the right to bring anyone he wanted into his own home, yet he couldn’t entirely ignore the small tug of doubt about what the architect might think of this stranger among them—especially given the undeniable peculiarity of the situation.

When they finally arrived, Alhaitham noticed an unusual stillness in the cart.

Looking back, he was startled to find you breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling with visible effort. Your eyelids fluttered, your gaze unfocused and barely registering your surroundings. He had assumed you were silent due to simple exhaustion, but now he could see your strength waning; the wound on your tail was no longer bleeding heavily, but your skin had lost its previous luster, becoming dull and slightly pale.

He realized, with a start, that you had likely been out of the water for too long, your injuries worsening your condition. Without a second thought, he lifted you into his arms, your weight shifting in his hold as he carefully cradled you against his chest. Your skin was colder than he had expected, and you barely reacted, your head drooping slightly to one side as he carried you through the entrance.

The house was quiet, he noticed. Kaveh was probably finishing a project or relaxing at the local tavern. In a way, it was a relief; Alhaitham didn’t want to face questions yet, not when every minute counted. Quickly, he headed to his suite, knowing the bathroom there would be the best place to stabilize you.

Reaching the bathroom, the scribe laid you on the floor, leaning you against the wall while he turned on the bathtub’s faucet. The water splashed and rose in the tub, filling the room with a soft, familiar sound, and he carefully tested the temperature, ensuring it was comfortable for you.

Once the tub was full, he returned to your side, sliding his arms around you to lift you again, and gently submerged you in the water.

The effect was almost immediate. The tension in your shoulders began to ease, your body relaxing as you adjusted to the gentle embrace of the water. Your tail submerged partially, the scales faintly shimmering as your breathing began to steady. You blinked slowly, your eyes finally regaining some clarity, and your gaze turned to him once more.

Alhaitham found himself watching you, captivated. The way you moved in the water was like observing a creature in its natural element; you were graceful, serene, each of your movements fluid and instinctive, even in such a small space. For a moment, you seemed almost at peace, adjusting to your new environment with a slight sense of wonder.

After a while, Alhaitham sat on a stool nearby, examining the wound on your tail with a more clinical gaze. The cut looked deeper up close, irregular and red along the edges, likely worsened by your struggle against the net.

Carefully, he extended his hand toward it, intending to assess the damage — but at the first touch, you recoiled, a soft yet distinct growl rumbling in your throat. Your eyes locked onto his hand, narrowing in a sharp warning.

“Easy,” he said softly, his voice measured and calm. “I just want to help.”

You held his gaze, still defensive, your eyes distrustful and unyielding.

Alhaitham considered his options, realizing he needed to show you his intentions. Slowly, he rolled up his sleeve, exposing a small area of his forearm. Using a small, sterilized knife from the medical kit he kept nearby, he made a small cut. Without breaking eye contact, he took a roll of bandages and tended to the wound, pressing a small cloth to it to stop the bleeding, then securing it with careful precision.

You watched intently, your sharp eyes following every movement as he applied the bandage and finished his demonstration. He extended his hand, showing you the process was harmless, then gestured toward your injured tail with a look of gentle insistence.

Your gaze shifted from the bandaged arm to his face, and then, slowly, you relented, your tail moving toward him in a tentative gesture of trust.

Alhaitham excused and his fingers moved over the surface of your tail, the scales cool and smooth under his touch, a strange blend of softness and strength. He found himself fascinated by the texture, each scale catching faint glimmers of color as he carefully cleaned the wound and applied a thin layer of antiseptic balm.

Your reaction was hesitant, but you didn’t resist, your gaze fixed on him with a mix of attentiveness and intrigue. Alhaitham was silent, focusing on his task, though he couldn’t shake the strange sensation of examining something so mythical, so utterly otherworldly.

When he finished, he moved back a bit, giving you space to adjust and settle into the bathtub.

For a moment, the room fell silent, and Alhaitham realized you were likely hungry. Recalling his pantry, he remembered there were some canned fish—a simple, if humble, option. He rose, nodding apologetically before heading to the kitchen.

There, he grabbed the can and opened it, the salty, familiar scent wafting into the air. When he returned, you watched him with expectant eyes, your curiosity rekindled. He sat beside the tub again and offered the food, waiting to see how you would react. At first, you wrinkled your nose, suspicion shining in your gaze, but after a moment, you carefully took a piece, chewing it timidly.

It was as if a switch had been flipped. You devoured the rest with surprising intensity, your hunger evident as you finished the fish with quick, eager bites. When you looked back at him, pupils dilated and gleaming, your expression softened into something almost sweet. The unguarded look, the silent request in your face, caught him off guard—you wanted more.

A slight smile played on his lips, amused by your sudden change. Without saying a word, he grabbed another can, opened it, and offered it to you. You accepted it with the same voracious energy, and he found himself even more captivated, watching you eat with a fascination that was part analytical, part genuine curiosity, a faint hint of acceptance surfacing.

“So that’s all it takes to earn your trust, huh? Just a bit of food,” he remarked, his voice carrying a tone of entertainment as he straightened on the stool, arms crossed. His eyes gleamed with rare humor, the softened edge that few had ever seen. When he chuckled, you looked up, momentarily intrigued by the sound.

But that lightness faded as his mind returned to the current situation, his brow furrowing in quiet thought.

Alhaitham couldn’t help but feel unsettled by the scene of this creature from myth, an enigma he could barely believe was real, now looking at him from his bathtub. And he, a man usually content with the solitude of his own space, was now bound to share it with you, a mystery he found himself inevitably drawn to.

He took a deep breath and leaned toward you, his fingers interlacing.

“Where did you come from, huh?” he asked, his voice softer this time, as if coaxing an answer. “How did you end up here in Sumeru of all places?”

Each question felt like a whisper, a thread he was following in search of answers he wasn’t sure you even had.

His gaze lingered on your face, his eyes softened as he searched for some hint of recognition, something that would give him insight into the untold story you carried. But you only tilted your head, watching him with those beautiful, sharp, and intrigued eyes, and he sighed, recognizing that these questions might not yield anything for now.

With a contemplative look, he continued, more to himself now, “I don’t know how long you’ll be staying here, but…” His gaze drifted to the edge of the tub. “We’ll need to get past this language barrier,” he said, watching you carefully, noticing how you seemed to respond, if not to his words, then at least to his tone. You might not have spoken yet, but he had a strong suspicion you understood more than he initially thought.

He straightened up again, arms crossed over his chest, already planning his next steps. “Teaching you some basics should be manageable,” he mused. “You seem smart. I’ll start with simple words. Maybe that’ll give us some common ground.”

His thoughts briefly wandered to the Akademiya’s library. The House of Daena held numerous books and journals, fragments of knowledge, notes from scholars who had studied all sorts of myths. Perhaps there was something in those pages that could hold the answers he needed. He’d make a point to return there tomorrow.

Lost in thought, he murmured, “I can’t keep you in the tub forever, either. We’ll have to address that eventually.” His voice trailed off as he considered the situation more practically. For now, the tub would suffice, but it was far from a long-term solution.

You followed his every movement, though it was clear your interest was more in your surroundings than in him.

Occasionally, your gaze would drift from the dim candlelight to the strange objects decorating the bathroom, absorbing each detail of this world that was foreign to you. Alhaitham found himself staring at you, surprised at how naturally you seemed to fit into the space—a strange contrast considering you were a creature of the water, yet here you were, curious and present in the heart of his world.

Moments passed in silence, both lost in separate thoughts—Alhaitham weighing his options.

Some time later, he noticed the way your eyes began to close, your body finally giving in to the day’s exhaustion. You leaned against the edge of the tub, breathing softly, eyelids heavy. A faint, almost affectionate smile crossed his lips as he murmured, “A long day, no doubt.”

With a low chuckle, he straightened, adjusting the dim lighting to give you peace. “Goodnight,” he said softly, letting the silence of the bathroom settle over you as he returned to his suite.

Once in his room, he shed the day’s fatigue along with his usual attire, slipping into more comfortable clothing. Yet even as he tried to shift his focus, his thoughts returned to you. The mystery of who you were, what you were, haunted him in the most unexpected ways. Every answer led to another question, but that wasn’t the unsettling part. No—it was the quiet fascination you stirred within him, a desire to unravel that he never had felt before.

Heading to the kitchen, he prepared a quick meal for himself. He served a simple broth, letting it simmer as he went over the potential tasks for tomorrow.

Pay a visit to the Akademiya’ library was a must, he concluded. Perhaps he could find some records that might offer insights into mermaid lore.

But there was more to consider—how would he navigate the practicalities of living alongside you? How’d Kaveh react to your existence? The solution to the language barrier seemed a smart move, but could you communicate in the same way humans did? The thoughts accumulated, persisting as he carried his food back to his chair.

Settling in with a book about the different cultures of the desert tribes, Alhaitham tried to immerse himself in its pages, though his eyes drifted now and then toward his suite door. There was a strange sense of responsibility he couldn’t ignore.

When he had read as much as his mind would allow for the night, he got up, walking quietly to the bathroom to check on you one last time.

You were there. You were real.

The faintest trace of a smile crossed his face as he saw you sleeping, your body half-submerged in the water, your tail draped over the side of the tub. The room fell into a gentle silence, the soft rhythm of your breathing the only sound.

He lingered there for a moment longer than necessary, his mind reluctantly calming as he absorbed the peace of the moment. Finally, he closed the door and turned, heading back to his room.

After finishing his nightly routines somewhere else, Alhaitham lay in bed, his thoughts wavering between the strange events of the day and the mysteries tomorrow would bring. But tonight, he allowed himself a rare luxury: to set aside the unknown, choosing instead to let the calm of the moment settle over him.

With one last lingering thought of you, he let sleep claim him, already aware that his life had changed, subtly but irrevocably, the moment he found you.

When the first rays of dawn slipped into the room, Alhaitham woke, his mind returning to the surreal events of the previous day. 

For a brief moment, he wondered if it had all been a trick of his tired mind, but the memory of your cautious yet inquisitive gaze quickly dismissed the notion. Getting up, he adjusted his clothes and headed to the bathroom, his mind already reflecting on the day’s responsibilities—and the unique situation of having a mermaid as an unexpected guest.

Opening the bathroom door, he was greeted by the sight of you already awake, fingers trailing through the water with a kind of childlike curiosity. As soon as you sensed his presence, you lifted your head, and he was met with what could only be described as a warm, welcoming look. Your sharp, reflective eyes held a glimmer of trust, hesitant but undeniably there, as if his arrival was something to be anticipated rather than feared. 

Alhaitham felt a small smile tug at his lips as he observed your response, taking it as a sign that you were becoming accustomed to him.

“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice softened by the quietness of the early hour.

The words seemed to capture your attention even more closely, though he knew the meaning might be lost on you. Still, he kept his tone gentle, observing the way you seemed to listen, almost as if searching for something familiar in his voice. “I see you’re feeling at home,” there was a hint of amusement in his tone, his eyes flicking to the water you were swirling with your fingers.

Turning to the sink, he splashed water on his face and grabbed his toothbrush, methodically following the movements of his morning routine. He was aware of your gaze, fixed on each motion, following the toothbrush in his hand as he brought it to his mouth. Pausing, he looked at you, the faintest smile curving his lips as he leaned back against the sink.

“Curious now, aren’t we? It’s a toothbrush. We use it to… well, keep our teeth clean,” he explained, though he had no real expectation that you’d understand. Nevertheless, there was something strangely satisfying about sharing these little details with you, as if guiding you through the peculiarities of human life.

You watched him closely, your eyes darting between the toothbrush, the sink, and the running water. The slight confusion on your face was so genuine, so openly curious, that he found himself chuckling quietly. “I suppose none of this makes sense to you. But we humans have our habits.”

When he finished, Alhaitham straightened, casting one last look in your direction before heading to the door. “I’ll bring you some breakfast,” he said, as much out of habit as anything else, already noting the slight inquisitive tilt of your head. He lingered a moment longer than necessary, almost reluctant to leave the room, before finally heading to the kitchen to prepare for the day.

Entering the kitchen, he found Kaveh already there, hunched over a cup of coffee with a look that bordered on pure misery. The dark circles under his eyes and his slow, almost agonizing sips of coffee told Alhaitham everything he needed to know.

“Rough night?” Alhaitham’s tone was clearly teasing, though he made little effort to hide his mild disapproval. Kaveh didn’t even bother looking up, merely muttering something unintelligible as he stared at his mug.

“Don’t start,” the other man grumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion. “It’s too early for your lectures.”

Alhaitham’s lips twitched in mockery, barely hiding an ironic smile. “Lectures? Hardly. Just an observation. Maybe a bit of moderation would do you good.”

Kaveh scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. “Moderation isn’t exactly your strong suit either, judging by the amount of research papers scattered around.” He drained his coffee, muttering something about Alhaitham’s inability to keep the house organized and stumbled toward his room, the door closing with a weary thud behind him.

Shaking his head, Alhaitham turned his attention to the fridge, rummaging through its contents with a quiet purpose. He picked a selection of food he hoped might appeal to you—some leftover shrimp, dried fish, and a few other options he thought might please a creature of the sea.

Returning to you, he noticed how your gaze instantly brightened at the sight of the food he held. A barely concealed smile crossed his face as he watched your eager expression, the way you leaned forward slightly, anticipation evident in your wide eyes.

“I see I’ve already discovered the key to earning your trust,” he commented with a soft chuckle, placing the food beside the tub. “A little food, and suddenly I’m not so intimidating.”

Sitting on the stool near the tub, he watched you as you picked up the shrimp, a glimmer of wonder followed by the same fervor with which you had devoured last night’s meal. The moment you tasted it, your expression shifted to one of contentment, and he couldn’t help but be amused by how expressive you were.

“Listen,” he began in a conversational tone, though he knew the full implications were likely lost on you, “I’ll need to be away for a while,” he paused, as if weighing his words. “However, in the meantime, I’ll also check if there’s anything that might be useful for understanding your situation.”

You looked up briefly, eyes attentive, and Alhaitham felt a spark of satisfaction at your apparent focus. It was as if, despite the language barrier, some part of you had grasped the importance of his words.

He continued, a thoughtful tone in his voice, “Besides, I can’t leave you in the bathtub indefinitely, so I’ll work on a more appropriate solution. I’d like to have it back, after all,” he paused, almost speaking to himself, “Then, there’s Kaveh too who I should approach the current subject but I can deal with him later. The most important now is figure out how we’re gonna work on building your vocabulary. Just enough so we can understand each other.”

The statement lingered in the air, half a plan and half a promise.

Alhaitham realized he was already thinking about putting his plans in action, wondering if he might start teaching you simple words and phrases as soon as possible. His fingers tapped absently on his knee as he considered the logistics, the potential challenges—and rewards—of bridging that language gap.

From time to time, your gaze fell on him, as if assessing his intentions, though it didn’t take long before your focus shifted again, captivated by something else now that sunlight bright your surroundings. He marveled at your ability to find fascination in the simplest things, and for a brief moment, he felt a strange pang of something he couldn’t quite identify—a bubbling discomfort in his stomach, almost unsettling.

The silence became comfortable, broken only by the occasional soft sound of the water and  you eating.

Alhaitham’s gaze drifted to the soft morning light stretching across the bathroom floor, and he suddenly realized he’d lost track of time.

A sigh escaped him as he finally rose from his seat. “Looks like that’s my cue.”

Your gaze followed him, an imperceptible questioning look in your eyes that made him chuckle softly. “What?” he said, his voice gentler. “I may not understand where you came from, but I’ll make sure you’re comfortable here.”

With one last look, he left the room to gather his things and prepare for work.

As he adjusted his attire, his thoughts returned to the moments you’d spent observing him—a feeling that lingered, even as he headed to the kitchen for a quick cup of coffee.

Before leaving, he returned to check on you one last time and considered whether or not to lock the bedroom door. He doubted you’d drag yourself around the house and was sure Kaveh wouldn’t intrude on his privacy. So, he only closed the door and make his way to the exit.

He cast one last look behind him before leaving his home and heading toward the Akademiya.

At his work, Alhaitham went through the day with practiced ease. 

The tasks before him were routine; his hands swiftly leafed through documents, marking necessary corrections and assessing reports without losing pace. Occasionally, a colleague would pass by with a nod or a brief greeting, which he returned in his usual, calm manner, though his thoughts kept drifting back to you. He found himself wondering how you were doing, alone and adjusting to the strange, new world of his home.

During lunch, he took a detour to the House of Daena.

The familiar shelves surrounded him, but he was focused, his eyes scanning the spines of books and journals, all marked with references to the ancient legends and myths of Teyvat. Thanks to his access to restricted areas, he pored over some of the oldest and rarest manuscripts, hoping to glean at least a trace of knowledge about mermaids.

Most entries were vague at best—poetic reflections, scattered notes from long-dead historians, and tales from Fontaine that seemed like fables. However, he gathered hints that mermaids, if they existed, were mysterious beings known for their enchantments and charm over men, with powers beyond human understanding. Intriguing, though frustratingly incomplete.

As the sun began to set, Alhaitham finally left the office. 

On his way home, he stopped by a nearby fishmonger’s stall. Fresh seafood was piled high—crabs, shrimp, mussels. Selecting a variety, he figured you would enjoy the options. Just as he was reaching for his mora pouch, he spotted Kaveh rushing toward him from across the plaza, his usually composed friend looking distinctly out of sorts.

“Alhaitham!” Kaveh’s voice was breathless, incredulous, as he skidded to a halt beside him. “You—you need to go home. Right now!”

The scribe raised an eyebrow. “Good to see you too. But if you notice, I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

“No, no, you don’t understand,” Kaveh said, nervously running a hand through his hair. “There’s—there’s a naked woman in our kitchen!”

Both Alhaitham and the vendor froze, the scribe’s mind, thouggh, racing a mile a minute. Kaveh looked genuinely shaken, his cheeks flushed, eyes wide with a mix of panic and disbelief.

“A woman…?” Alhaitham repeated, the words slipping out as he tried to process what his friend had said.

“Yes! A very naked woman! In our kitchen!” Kaveh’s voice dropped to a hiss. “She’s just—she’s in there, rummaging through the food like she owns the place!”

The realization hit Alhaitham like a shock, his pulse quickening. He barely acknowledged the merchant’s chocked stare as he turned, leaving his purchases behind as he quickly made his way home. Kaveh struggled to keep up, throwing his hands in the air.

“Alhaitham, what’s going on? Do you know something? I should’ve known I wasn’t imagining things when I heard voices coming from your room this morning. Since when do you bring women home without even giving me a heads-up? And—she’s stunning! But who—what—?”

Alhaitham didn’t respond. His mind was a whirlwind of questions, scenarios, and a strange, unexpected excitement tinged with worry. He’d hoped you’d stay in the bathtub—not creating legs and wandering around defenseless.

Kaveh was still talking, ranting in exasperation, but Alhaitham only caught fragments.

“Just… be quiet for a moment,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the path as his pace quickened.

Upon arriving home, he opened the door cautiously, Kaveh practically breathing down his neck. Heading toward the kitchen, he felt a palpable tension. And then he saw you.

You were in the center of it, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun streaming through the windows. Your human form was… breathtaking. The long, now-dry locks of your hair cascaded over your shoulders, reaching your waist, framing your face with an ethereal quality that somehow amplified your beauty tenfold. Your features—sharp yet soft, and your eyes, still carrying that same hint of mystery and allure—caught the light, leaving him speechless.

Your skin seemed to glow, luminous in a way that appeared almost otherworldly. And you were indeed very, very naked.

His gaze remained, caught between awe and sheer disbelief. You were in his kitchen, the same creature he had found tangled in the fishing net, and yet, looking at you now, he couldn’t help but feel utterly captivated.

Kaveh stammered beside him, his face bright red as he averted his gaze. “Alhaitham, seriously! Are you going to explain this or just keep staring?”

Snapping out of his trance, Alhaitham cleared his throat, masking his surprise with a carefully neutral expression. He stepped forward, catching your attention. “You… You’re human now,” he murmured, almost to himself, the amazement still lingering in his voice.

You looked up, meeting his gaze with a glint of recognition and curiosity. In that moment, Alhaitham felt a faint trace of familiarity in your eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had formed between you.

Then, to his surprise, you opened your mouth, and a single soft word escaped.

“‘Haitham.”

Alhaitham’s eyes widened. His name—or a version of it—spoken in your voice for the first time.

A strange warmth spread through him as he heard it, his own name seeming to carry an unexpected weight, as if imbued with the raw honesty of a first word. He barely had time to process it before you stepped closer and gently pulled his face toward yours, brushing the tip of your nose against his.

Kaveh let out an audible gasp beside him, his face flooding with color as he stumbled back, practically tripping over his own feet. “Archons above! What is happening to the world?” His voice was nearly a squeak as he pressed himself against the far wall, looking like he might faint from the shock.

Alhaitham, though not someone easily perturbed, found himself momentarily frozen, his pulse quickening as he processed your action. He had read about mermaid customs, albeit only briefly in fragmented records, but it occurred to him that this gesture might mean something— perhaps a greeting, a way of recognizing trust and acceptance.

With that realization, his surprise softened into something closer to warmth. The gesture felt innocent, sincere. Alhaitham’s lips curved upward, and his eyes softened as he met yours. “So, that’s how you say ‘hello,’” he murmured, his voice low, as if not wanting to break the moment.

You tilted your head, amusement gleaming in your gaze for the first time, as if you could somehow sense his thoughts. Meanwhile, Kaveh, still pressed against the wall, looked on with equal parts horror and disbelief.

“Oh, I’m going to lose my mind,” he muttered, covering his eyes as if to give the two of you some privacy. “Alhaitham, please tell me you have some kind of explanation for this—this whole situation.”

Ignoring the other man’s confused state, Alhaitham took a step back. “You surprised me,” he said, his voice softened, warmth in his tone. “I wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t even sure if you could take on a human form, let alone speak so quickly.” He managed a small smile, the corners of his lips curling as he realized he had far more to learn about you than he initially thought.

Kaveh, still covering his eyes with one hand, muttered, “Unbelievable! You're still talking? Only you'd find yourself in this situation and still stay calm.”

Alhaitham shot him a brief look, though he couldn’t entirely blame him. Turning to you, he gently gestured for you to follow. “Come. Let’s find something for you to wear.”

As you followed him, Alhaitham tried to ignore Kaveh’s incredulous expression. He knew he’d be bombarded with questions later, but for now, all that mattered was getting you settled, dressed, and perhaps—if possible—beginning to understand the mystery you had brought into his life.

Alhaitham’s clothes hung loosely on you, but he found a way to tie them securely, adjusting the sleeves and waistband as comfortably as possible. 

While he dressed you, his eyes always averting when they fell on your exposed intimates, you looked down at yourself, wide-eyed and fascinated, tilting your head as if entranced by the strange, soft fabric now covering your skin. He noticed how you examined each new sensation—the way the sleeves brushed against your arms, how the fabric rested on your shoulders, and the feeling of something covering your legs. A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched you try to make sense of it all.

Once he ensured you were clothed, your wound tended, and provided with food that seemed to delight you, Alhaitham guided you back to the main room, where Kaveh awaited.

The architect’s mouth fell open as he observed your every movement, absorbing how you moved with a blend of grace and wonder, entirely captivated by each new detail around you. Blissfully unaware of their gazes, you seemed utterly fascinated by how your own feet flexed and moved, watching them with open curiosity as if they were little, curious creatures.

Kaveh broke the silence, his eyes still wide with disbelief. “Alright… start explaining, or I might think I’m hallucinating. Or still drunk.”

Ever practical, Alhaitham recounted the events precisely, detailing how he found you entangled in fishing nets, the injury you’d suffered, and his decision to bring you home to heal.

“I didn’t know if she would survive in the wild with her injuries,” he added, his tone practical, though he couldn’t help glancing at you to make sure you were still comfortable. “It seemed the most reasonable option.”

Kaveh nodded slowly, his expression blank as he pieced together the story. “So, you’re saying she’s not just some random woman, but actually a mermaid—a living legend—and you decided to bring her here.” He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a low whistle. “I can’t say I blame you. But… what do you plan to do next?”

Alhaitham crossed his arms, his gaze steady. “She’s free to leave whenever she wants. But with her injury”—he gestured subtly to your bandaged leg—“I doubt she’ll go far. Until she heals, she’ll stay here, and I’ll try to learn as much as I can. We still know so little about her species.”

Kaveh raised an eyebrow. “You realize what you’re saying, right? We’re talking about a mermaid, not just some stray animal you can study. People would pay a fortune just to catch a glimpse of her. She could be in real danger if someone else, or even the Akademiya, finds out.”

Alhaitham didn’t waver. “I’m well aware. That’s why, for now, she stays here. I’ll be careful.”

Kaveh, even relunctantly, nodded, his concern gradually shifting to fascination as he watched you stretch your legs, then flex your feet experimentally, giggling with delight.

“Does she understand us? I mean, can she speak our language since she had said your name a while ago?”

A faint smile played at the corner of Alhaitham’s lips. “She’s getting the hang of it.”

Kaveh brightened, leaning forward with a smile. “Ah, well, in that case…” He pointed to himself, speaking slowly and clearly, “Kaveh!”

Your gaze quickly lifted from your feet to study Kaveh, and you seemed to pay considerable attention to his name. With your brows slightly furrowed, you tilted your head, then murmured softly, “Haitham.”

Kaveh’s smile faltered, his face contorting in confusion as he shot Alhaitham an incredulous look, who was suppressing an amused look.

Determined, Kaveh repeated his name, louder this time. “Kaveh,” he insisted, as if pure repetition would yield better results.

You watched him with a mixture of curiosity and slight confusion, though a barely perceptible glimmer of pure mischief crossed your eyes. Confident, you repeated again: “Haitham.”

Alhaitham couldn’t hold back. A low chuckle escaped him, and he shook his head, watching Kaveh’s patience fray as he let out a dramatic sigh.

“Oh, I get it,” Kaveh muttered, crossing his arms and pouting. “I’m just the ‘other guy,’ huh?”

“She’s learning,” Alhaitham reassured, a faint but warm smile touching his lips. “It’ll take time, and she seems to have chosen a starting point.” He looked at you, his gaze softened. This didn’t escape the architect’s sharp eyes, who raised an eyebrow subtly.

In the end, Kaveh rolled his eyes but couldn’t fully hide a smile. “Well, I suppose I’m honored to be in her presence anyway,” his gaze lingered on you, his voice softening with a kind of reverence. “It’s still hard to believe. This—this is actually real.”

Alhaitham’s gaze shifted from Kaveh back to you, his eyes calm but observant. “Yes,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, “it is.” The smile in his eyes remained, becoming a bit more serious. “And I think our lives just got a lot more interesting.”

The conversation continued, flowing naturally between Alhaitham and Kaveh, though their attention rarely drifted from you.

Kaveh’s eyes shone with unmistakable fascination every time he looked in your direction, still grappling with the fact that he was in the presence of a mermaid. Alhaitham, meanwhile, was studying you with a different intent, as if weighing the potential for you not only adapt further, or learn and communicate, but perhaps even bridge the gap between your worlds entirely.

And yet, both men couldn’t ignore your beauty—a graceful, ethereal presence that captivated them even in this simple, domestic setting.

After a lull in the conversation, Kaveh cleared his throat, shifting his gaze between Alhaitham and you. “You know, I was thinking… does she have a name?” He looked at Alhaitham expectantly, as if the answer was obvious.

Alhaitham blinked, his expression unreadable for a moment. He hadn’t even considered it until now; you’d only just learned to say his name, so the thought of you having one of your own hadn’t crossed his mind.

Seeing his hesitation, Kaveh continued, “We can’t just keep calling her ‘she,’ ‘mermaid’, ‘woman’ or something vague all the time. She deserves a name.”

Alhaitham nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. She should have a name… something that suits her.” He looked at you, his gaze contemplative, as if searching for some hidden part of your essence to capture in a single word.

Kaveh, always the creative, leaned forward eagerly. “Alright, how about… ‘Sapphire’? She has that ethereal, oceanic vibe, right?”

Alhaitham frowned slightly. “Too obvious.”

Undeterred, Kaveh tried again. “Alright, then… ‘Pearl’? She has this… luminous quality.”

Alhaitham tilted his head. “A bit too delicate. It doesn’t match her strength.”

Kaveh leaned back on the sofa, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “Alright, Mr. Critic. What do you suggest?”

A faint spark of memory lit up Alhaitham’s eyes, and he looked at you, seemingly lost in thought.

“There was an ancient text I read some time ago about the mythology of a lost kingdom. In it, there was a name that stood out to me… (Y/N).” The name slipped from his lips with a gentle reverence, as if resurrected from some ancient memory.

You looked up, tilting your head at the sound. Something about the name resonated, as if it called to a part of you that you hadn’t realized was waiting for it. A faint glimmer of recognition seemed to flicker in your gaze, and the smallest, almost imperceptible smile curved your lips. Alhaitham noticed, his eyes widening as he observed your reaction.

Kaveh, noticing your response as well, let out a low whistle. “Well, that settles it. (Y/N). It has a mystique aura, something that feels… timeless.”

Alhaitham nodded, his gaze locked on yours with a hint of satisfaction. “(Y/N),” he repeated softly, as if affirming the choice. You responded by smiling at him, your expression open and serene, as if accepting the name as your own.

In that moment, Alhaitham felt a quiet sense of accomplishment, as if he had bridged another small yet meaningful gap between you and the human world. Kaveh, adjusting himself with a smile, looked at you both in reverence. “Well, it seems we’ve officially welcomed (Y/N) into our lives.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The days passed quickly, and Alhaitham found himself studying you almost as closely as you seemed to study the world around you. 

Teaching you turned out to be a surprisingly smooth process—‘hello’, ‘yes’ and ‘no’ being the words you’ve learned easily and used the most along with his name. You absorbed new words with a quiet curiosity, and even when your attention drifted to things like sunlight gleaming on a glass or the smell of incense from somewhere nearby, you still seemed to remember his words as if you’d stored them in a special place in your mind.

Your palette was another revelation for him. While seafood seemed to be a favorite, you showed great interest in trying every dish he introduced to you, from savory curries to exotic native fruits from Sumeru. Alhaitham watched as your eyes widened in surprise at the first taste of a ripe Zaytun Peach, the juice trickling down your chin as you savored each bite. He found himself smiling at how you looked at the fruit as if it were a gift, a piece of magic in the form of sweetness.

One afternoon, Alhaitham arrived home to the sound of aggressive hisses and faint, curious purrs. Concerned, he quickly entered the house to find you pressed against the wall, wide-eyed as a gray tabby cat—likely a neighbor’s runaway—rubbed itself against your legs. At first, you recoiled, showing claws and sharp canines in an instinctive defense. But as soon as the creature began to purr, you softened. Alhaitham watched, amused, as you knelt down, carefully petting the animal with an almost reverent gentleness, murmuring the word “yes” repeatedly as if you were in mutual agreement with the feline’s own rumbling approving.

Then, there was Kaveh. 

The architect’s affection grew towards you—although every time he was determined to make you remember his name, he was met with your unique mischievous smile and the same answer each time: “Haitham.” 

You said it with a bit of cadence, as if relishing how it made him frown in exaggerated frustration. Alhaitham, leaning back in his chair one evening, smirked at the interaction, watching Kaveh’s latest attempt dissolve into another sigh of defeat.

“All right, I see what it’s going on” Kaveh grumbled one day, crossing his arms as you observed him with a playful glint in your eyes. “You’ll acknowledge me properly, eventually.” 

Once, however, you found Kaveh hunched over his workspace, focused on a miniature architectural model. You approached quietly, observing the delicate structures he had assembled with fascination. Noticing your presence, he looked up and saw the appreciative smile on your face, understanding it as a compliment. “At least someone here likes my work,” he murmured with a chuckle. “If only all my clients were this easy to please…” He paused, ironically melancholic, earning an empathetic hum from you.

Both men had fallen into a rhythm around you, somehow more accommodating than they had expected. They adjusted to your needs perfectly, sharing the responsibility of ensuring your comfort, and found themselves both challenged and charmed by your presence.

For you, on the other hand, their world had become a comfortable place, one where you settled into a rhythm of small delights and quiet discoveries.

One day, as Alhaitham prepared tea for the three of you, he found himself reflecting aloud, speaking as if to himself. “I never imagined a mythical creature would be so adaptable,” he glanced at you sitting on the floor of the living room, distractedly munching half an apple and reading the newspaper, marveling at the images and texts with the adorable little sounds of awe you let out. Alhaitham couldn’t hold back the affectionate smile.

Kaveh, sitting cross-legged as he studied his latest designs, looked up and nodded, laughing. “She’s adapted better than I did when I moved here,” he commented. “It’s nice to finally have a roommate who doesn’t critique my design choices every five minutes.”

Alhaitham shot him a look, but he wasn’t offended. “Maybe she knows that beauty is best observed without unnecessary comments,” he replied coolly, his eyes lingering on you as you immersed yourself in your things.

In your own way, you had made your home with them. And, day by day, both Alhaitham and Kaveh were discovering that perhaps they had made their home with you too.

Alhaitham had also been keeping his promise, carefully ensuring your safety and privacy within the walls of his home. 

However, as the days passed, he began to notice that your curiosity was growing restless. Though your injuries were healing well, you seemed all too aware of the world outside, especially whenever you sat by the living room window.

Hours would slip by as you watched the passing crowds, children playing, merchants bartering. He and Kaveh had tried to explain the dangers of going out, cautioning you that it wasn't the best idea until you were fully recovered, but your eagerness to explore was unmistakable.

So, after weighing the pros and cons and discussing the arrangement with Kaveh, Alhaitham made a decision: a small outing, just enough to satisfy your curiosity without risking too much exposure. You needed clothes anyway, something more suitable than his shirts or Kaveh’s oversized tunics. And thus, one sunny afternoon, after a few of your lessons and some necessary safety ensures, Alhaitham guided you through the bustling streets of Sumeru City and towards the Grand Bazaar.

The moment your bare feet touched the warm, sun-dappled street stones, your eyes lit up with childlike wonder. Every detail enchanted you—the intricate architecture, the intoxicating scent of spices in the air, the hum of life around you. Alhaitham noticed the way your gaze darted to every vibrant stall and passing stranger, taking in the chaos with delight.

However, he also noticed something else: the way nearly every man you passed seemed to pause, transfixed, their gazes lingering on you. 

It wasn’t just that they were admiring your beauty—they were captivated, their expressions turning almost dreamlike, as if spellbound. Alhaitham’s brows furrowed as he watched one guy receive a swift smack from his wife when she caught him staring a bit too long. He took a step closer to you, shielding you slightly from the attention, and you, caught up in everything around you, hardly noticed.

You gasped softly as you entered the Grand Bazaar, eyes wide with excitement. The stalls were filled with handmade crafts, woven fabrics, jars of colorful spices, and foods you’d never seen before. Alhaitham, trailing just behind you, couldn't help but feel a flicker of warmth as he watched you light up at each new discovery, as if the world itself had become a treasure chest, and you were here to explore its wonders.

Before long, something shiny caught your attention—a stall laden with intricate jewelry. Without thinking, you wandered away from his side, drawn to the display like a moth to flame. Alhaitham followed, watching as you reached out to touch a delicate hairpin encrusted with tiny, shimmering green stones. 

The vendor, an older woman with a warm smile, caught your fascination and chuckled softly. “A beautiful accessory for a beautiful lady,” she said, her gaze shifting to Alhaitham with a knowing smile.

“Do you like that one?” Alhaitham asked gently. His tone was softened by an affection he didn’t quite manage to conceal.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice almost reverent as you ran your fingers over the hairpin, tracing each glimmering stone as though it held secrets of the ocean within.

He didn’t hesitate, reaching for his pouch and handing the vendor the necessary payment. The woman winked, her smile widening. “Lucky man, I’d say,” she murmured in a voice barely above a whisper, but Alhaitham caught it. He didn’t answer.

With a delighted smile, you thanked the vendor in your own way—a beaming, enchanted expression that lit up the old woman’s face as much as it did Alhaitham’s. You carefully cradled the accessory as if it were the most precious thing you’d ever owned, gazing at it as you walked away. But soon enough, your attention shifted to the scent of roasting fish at a nearby food stall. The vendor there, turning a skewer of freshly spiced fish over an open flame, waved you over with a friendly grin.

As you darted toward the stall, Alhaitham noticed something else in the jewelry display—a pendant with a smooth, iridescent stone that bore a striking resemblance to your tail. Silently, he purchased it, tucking the necklace into his pocket. The vendor gave him a sly look, but he ignored it, focusing instead on you, already entranced by the food stand.

“Oh, to be young again,” the vendor mused as she watched he leaving.

When he caught up with you at the food stall, you were leaning over the counter, staring in awe at the array of delicacies. The stall owner chuckled as you tilted your head curiously, taking in the fish skewers and assorted seafood. “She’s like a little fox in a new den,” he said to Alhaitham, amused by your wide-eyed fascination.

Alhaitham gave a small, knowing smile as he nodded. “You have no idea.”

The scribe exchanged a few coins for one of the skewers, then handed it to you with a small smile. Your fingers barely wrapped around it before you eagerly took a bite—too eager, it turned out, as you winced, the hot fish burning your tongue. Alhaitham sighed softly, his gaze both amused and indulgent.

“Careful,” he murmured, taking the skewer back for a moment and blowing gently on it, cooling it with a practiced patience. Watching him, you imitated his action, blowing on the skewer with the same careful attentiveness, which made his lips tug upward slightly. As he handed it back, you took another bite, this time savoring the flavors more slowly.

As the two of you continued to weave through the market, you marveled at every passing sight—the colors, the sounds of bartering, and the occasional street performer. You paused to watch a dancer swaying gracefully, her movements captivating as her bright clothing fluttered with each spin. Passersby occasionally nodded and greeted Alhaitham, who gave polite nods in return—their eyes going wide open when they saw you standing by his side. His attention, though, often shifted to you, keeping you close as you wandered, enchanted by your enthusiastic wonder.

Eventually, you stopped before a more discreet storefront draped with curtains of deep blue and gold. The sign above bore intricate lettering, and inside, racks and shelves brimmed with garments of all kinds. 

Alhaitham led you in, and you finished the skewer just as he did a quick sweep of the store. Taking the skewer stick, he tossed it into a nearby waste bin and approached the owner, an older gentleman with warm, thoughtful eyes.

The store was a treasure trove of fabrics in every shade, from vibrant hues to rich jewel tones, each piece imbued with a hint of Sumeru’s distinct, earthy style. Alhaitham and the owner spoke in low tones, exchanging opinions on a few pieces he was considering for you. But your eyes soon caught on a different rack—dresses and skirts crafted with delicate fabrics and intricate patterns.

Just then, a younger woman stepped out from behind one of the store’s curtain partitions. She looked you over with a friendly smile, her gaze lingering in admiration. “You have an eye for the finest pieces,” she said, her voice warm. “These are all my father’s designs. Here, let’s find one for you to try.”

She sorted through the rack with a discerning eye before settling on a dress. It was a pearly white, form-fitting but flowing at the hem, with soft layers and gentle ruffles. She led you to the dressing room, helping you into it as you fumbled with the ties and delicate fabric.

When you emerged from behind the dressing room curtain, the woman sighed audibly, her expression caught between pride and awe. Her reaction caught Alhaitham’s attention, and as he turned, his eyes settled on you—and stayed.

The dress fit you in a way that was both modest and striking. The neckline formed a gentle "V" between your collarbones, dipping gracefully but tastefully. The silhouette hugged your curves, enhancing your natural beauty, while the flowing fabric below the waist gave the dress an ethereal elegance, rising just above your heels.

Alhaitham was quiet, his gaze intent, his usual unreadable expression amazed, revealing a glimmer of something deeper—an admiration that ran silently but profoundly through him. He couldn’t look away, as though you’d become the center of his world in that moment.

For a brief moment, you met his eyes, and a silent understanding passed between you. You felt his unspoken thoughts, his breath subtly drawn in awe, and his gaze, filled with softness, lingering as though he was seeing you in a new light.

The shop owner’s voice cut through the moment. “I’d say we’ve found the perfect model for this design,” he said with a chuckle, nodding approvingly at you. “It looks as though it was made for her.”

Alhaitham’s lips curved into a faint smile, and he nodded. “Yeah. Indeed,” he agreed, his tone subdued but genuine. The shop owner offered a discount for future purchases, which Alhaitham accepted gratefully.

After purchasing a few more clothes, Alhaitham approached you and, with a hint of a smile, told you, “You look beautiful.” Though the words were simple, the sincerity in his gaze made them feel more profound. You understood his compliment, your expression softening as you smiled back at him with a shyness that made you glance away, if only for a second.

The shop owner mentioned shoes, but Alhaitham shook his head gently. He knew you’d be more comfortable as you were, free of any restricting footwear.

With your new clothes in hand, you left the place, your eyes still brimming with curiosity. Alhaitham stayed close to you as you continued exploring the bazaar, his mood lightened by the unexpected happiness you seemed to bring him. There was a new excitement in your steps, and he watched with subtle amusement, unable to deny the warmth growing within him as he saw the joy in your expression.

Returning home, you felt content, each step still buzzing with excitement from your discoveries, and the dress Alhaitham bought you flowing like water around you. 

Entering the house, the warm scent of food drifted from the kitchen. Kaveh was already there, busy at the stove, humming softly to himself as he prepared lunch. When he turned around and caught sight of you, his eyes widened, a slow, dazzled-like smile spreading across his face. 

“Well, look at you,” he said warmly, clearly charmed by the sight. “You look wonderful! For the first time, Alhaitham did a good job by buying you this dress,” his tone had a hint of teasing, and you saw Alhaitham’s brow twitch slightly, but he stayed silent, watching the two of you.

Kaveh’s admiration had a certain ease to it, a natural warmth that made you feel instantly welcome. He turned back to the stove, but not without another approving nod at your attire. Alhaitham’s silence prompted him to ask, “So… how was the city?” He threw a teasing glance Alhaitham’s way then at you. “Did our scribe here give you the grand tour all by himself?”

Alhaitham sighed, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “She wasn’t exactly difficult to entertain,” he replied dryly. “Everything was new, so it didn’t take much.”

Kaveh chuckled. 

“Of course it didn’t,” he set the food down, his gaze filled with an amused understanding. Alhaitham merely looked away, feigning indifference, though you sensed a certain pride beneath his casual tone.

During lunch, the two of them recounted little moments from the day—Kaveh enjoying the story of you burning your tongue on the fish skewer, and Alhaitham quietly reliving the way your eyes had sparkled at the Grand Bazaar’s colorful sights. But despite their words, their gazes often turned back to you, captivated by your delight in all the new things you’d encountered.

At one point, Kaveh leaned back, shooting Alhaitham a knowing look.

“So, a personal shopping trip, huh? Just the two of you,” he teased, clearly amused by the idea of Alhaitham guiding someone around. “How sweet.”

Alhaitham narrowed his gaze, giving Kaveh a warning look that said more than words could. But there was a subtle softness in his eyes as they drifted back to you, a sense of quiet caring that you caught, even if he tried to hide it.

After lunch, you noticed Alhaitham start to gathering the dishes, starting to cleaning them as Kaveh made his way to the living room. Walking over him, you lingered, staring at him until Kaveh looked back, caught off guard by your gaze, feeling a bit embarrassed. When you pulled out the hairpin Alhaitham had bought you earlier, he seemed to understand, a faint blush of realization coloring his cheeks.

“Oh, you want me to do your hair?” He chuckled, gesturing for you to sit. “Alright, alright, I’ll help.”

You settled in the chair, feeling his gentle hands working through your hair. He gathered it halfway, securing the rest with the pin and letting loose strands fall around your face. When he was done, he guided you to a mirror, smiling proudly as you took in the sight. The style was simple but lovely, suiting you perfectly.

“Beautiful,” he murmured softly, watching your expression over your shoulders as you took in the effect. For a moment, the two of you were lost in the quietness of that shared moment.

From behind you, a soft sound drew your attention. Alhaitham was standing in the doorway, watching, a fond look on his face. He must have finished cleaning the kitchen but had stayed, observing without saying a word.

You turned back to Kaveh, your gaze warm and filled with gratitude. 

“Kaveh,” you said softly, the name unfamiliar on your tongue but carrying genuine meaning.

His eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face before he grinned, laughing as he leaned back, crossing his arms.

“Finally saying my name, huh?” He teased, though his voice was warm, “I guess even a mermaid knows when to appreciate the finer things.” Despite his playful words, there was an unmistakable happiness in his gaze, as if your small act of gratitude had touched him.

With the meal finished and the midday light softening, the three of you spread out around the house. You curiously inspected the clothes Alhaitham had bought, marveling at the soft fabrics, while the two men chatted in the adjacent room. Kaveh’s voice floated over, calling to his housemate.

“Hey, listen. Cyno passed by earlier inviting us out to the tavern tonight. Tighnari is also coming. I didn’t give him an immediate answer given our… adorable guest,” his gaze flicked meaningfully to you, a question lingering unspoken between the two men.

They both turned, glancing at you thoughtfully. For a moment, you saw them exchange a silent conversation, considering whether the outing might be risky. But then Alhaitham gave a slight nod, resolute.

“We’ll take her with us,” he said confidently. “With the right precautions, it should be fine.” He glanced at you, his eyes filled with the assurance that they’d watch over you. “Besides,” he added with a hint of a smile, “I feel she’d be upset if we don’t take her to explore a little bit more now that she has seen the outside world.”

Kaveh chuckled, nodding. “Then it’s settled. Tonight, we’ll go to the tavern—all three of us.”

As the sky slowly darkened, anticipation hung in the air, the promise of the evening drawing closer. 

The afternoon had drifted by with Alhaitham trying to teach you new words and phrases, but your attention kept slipping back to the new clothes he’d bought. You ran your fingers over the fabrics, turning them this way and that to catch the light, dazzled with the colors and the softness. Alhaitham eventually gave up, sighing in quiet amusement as he noted just how material and delightfully vain you could be—a discovery he should’ve expected.

Later, you wandered into his suite room to bathe, instinctively drawn to the water. The moment you slipped into the warm tub, your legs transformed back into your shimmering tail, scales glinting under the water’s surface. 

It had left Kaveh speechless the first time he’d seen it—his penny dropping at your truly identity. You were truly a mermaid. Nonetheless, he wasn't less captivated by the change and your graceful form. Alhaitham, however, while more composed, could hardly hide his fascination, watching with a quiet intensity every time he witnessed the transition.

After bathing, you found yourself in a familiar routine: sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting as Alhaitham approached with your clothes. This time, though, he brought one of the recent purchase pieces; a beautiful dress in his hand—its fabric being of a rich, jade green; a vibrant hue that reminds of his own eyes-color but that seemed to intensify the shine and warmth of yours only. 

As he helped you ease into it, his fingers lingered as he adjusted the zipper, his gaze studying you, perhaps more than he realized. And though you found yourself shivering at the intensity of his eyes, there you were too—looking up at him, meeting his gaze firmly and sensing an admiration that he only allowed you to see.

“It suits you,” he murmured, his voice low, a hint of awe slipping through his usually neutral tone. In that dress, you seemed otherworldly, like a goddess who had emerged from the depths of the sea, carrying its beauty onto dry land with impossible grace.

He knelt down then to inspect your injury, noting the lingering redness. Alhaitham carefully applied an ointment, his touch gentle but focused, and you watched his expressions shift with a subtle concern. Then, with a slight nod of satisfaction, he helped you to your feet.

After that, you made your way to Kaveh, showing him the hairpin again, calling his name with a soft voice.

His smile grew, a touch of pride in his gaze as he admired the way his name sounded from your lips, and he took great care in doing your hair once more, letting strands fall loose to frame your face as he did before.

Finally ready, you three left for Lambad’s Tavern. 

The streets were alive with the buzz of evening activity, laughter and music drifting through the air as Alhaitham and Kaveh walked beside you. The city was lit by soft lantern light, and you felt a thrill at being part of it all, the world so different from anything you’d known.

At the tavern, the warm atmosphere enveloped you, the scent of spices and roasted meats filling the air.

Alhaitham spotted Cyno and Tighnari across the room almost immediately as the two of them also turned as you approached. Their greeting smiles fainted when their gazes fell on you, a moment of pure awe passing over their faces afterwards. Cyno blinked, visibly stunned, while Tighnari’s foxy-ears twitched, his sharp eyes widening in surprise.

The General Mahamatra, usually so composed, couldn’t seem to look away, his thoughts racing. He was accustomed to beauty in the world around him, yet something about your presence felt almost magical, like an ethereal vision he couldn’t quite understand.

As for Tighnari, his keen senses took in every detail—the way the green dress brought out the otherworldly depth in your eyes, or the elegance of your form. You were unlike anyone he’d ever encountered, and he was captivated, even if he tried to hide it.

Before any questions could arise, Kaveh, ever the quick-thinker, stepped in with an explanation. “She’s an exchange student. From Fontaine,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. “She’s staying with us while she studies…uh, the culture of Sumeru.”

Alhaitham sighed at the obviousness of Kaveh’s excuse, but he didn’t counter it. Cyno and Tighnari shared a skeptical glance, clearly doubting the story, yet they chose not to press further. Instead, Alhaitham formally introduced you, mentioning your name, which you responded to with a slight, graceful nod and a cute ‘hello’ following.

But feeling the need to greet them in the way of your kind, you leaned closer, gently rubbing your nose against theirs. 

Kaveh gasped out loud.

Cyno’s eyes widened, a slight flush crept up his cheeks as he froze, uncharacteristically at a loss. Tighnari, caught off guard, felt his ears tensing, the action both charming and bewildering him. Your giggles bubbled up as you noticed their flustered expressions, a soft, musical sound that filled the space between you all.

Kaveh let out a nervous chuckle. “Ah…yeah, that’s—uh, her way of saying hello. Strange, right? These Fontaine’ people…”

Alhaitham, on the other hand, observed it all with a hint of entertainment, his gaze lingering on you fondly. Watching your interactions, he noted how naturally you’d adapted to his world, your curiosity and unique charm drawing everyone in, effortlessly weaving you into their circle. There was warmth in his eyes, a feeling that spoke of his growing fondness, and you caught his gaze, offering him a small, contented smile.

As the group settled in, you sat across from Cyno and Tighnari, studying them both with unabashed curiosity. 

Still recovering from your unexpected greeting, the two men seemed unsure of where to look, awkwardly averting their eyes when you met their gaze. Alhaitham leaned back in his chair, a hint of amusement in his expression as he explained, “She’s not much for words, as you can see. Rather, she’s more the observant type.”

Cyno and Tighnari nodded, seeming to understand, though their curiosity was hardly quelled. 

The tavern around you started to fill with more patrons, the hum of voices rising, mingling with the occasional laugh, the sounds coming from different instruments and the clinking of glasses. It created a cozy warmth in the dimly lit space, and you felt it settle over you as if you were part of something larger, an integral piece in the lively tapestry of Sumeru’s life.

Kaveh wasted no time flagging down the bartender. “Bring your best wine,” he said with a grand, somewhat theatrical gesture, earning a sigh from Alhaitham.

Meanwhile, Tighnari leaned in toward you, his ears twitching with interest as he tried to engage you in conversation.

“So, do you like Sumeru so far?” he asked, a gentle curiosity in his tone.

You nodded with an enthusiastic “Yes”—the single word clear and confident, though it was accompanied by a slight tilt of your head.

Encouraged, he asked, “Do you enjoy learning about plants and animals?” Tighnari’s eyes sparkled, and you could tell he was ready to launch into an explanation if given the chance.

You paused, then shook your head, “No,” you answered, earning a quiet chuckled from Alhaitham.

“Ah, I see,” Tighnari replied, trying to hide his mild disappointment. “What about... Alhaitham and Kaveh?” His eyes glanced toward Alhaitham, who pretend to ignore his friend’s question.

You didn’t thought twice when you answered “Yes” with an affectionate smile, which made Tighnari smirk.

While you answered, you noticed Cyno observing you intently, his gaze unwavering and sharp. It wasn’t suspicious—it was more as if he were studying a puzzle, his curiosity piqued by your every move. His face softened whenever he noticed the subtle gestures that replaced your lack of words, as though trying to understand this new, unfamiliar way of communicating.

When the food and wine finally arrived, you noticed each man taking their mugs and raising them in a silent toast, exchanging knowing glances.

Intrigued, you pointed at Alhaitham’s drink, brows raised with interest. He looked at you hesitantly. “I’m not sure you’ll like it,” he warned, his tone gentle but unsure. Still, he handed you a mug.

The moment you tasted the wine, your expression twisted as the bitter taste hit your tongue. The others burst out laughing as you grimaced, clearly displeased.

Kaveh, grinning widely, leaned over with an exaggerated shrug. “Not everyone appreciates a fine vintage on the first try,” he teased, eyes sparkling with the warmth of the wine already.

But then, determined, you lifted the mug to your lips and downed the rest in a single go. As you set the mug down, you pointed to it, your eyes sparkling with challenge. The table fell silent for a beat, and then Kaveh broke into a delighted laugh. “Oh, now that’s spirit!” he cheered, filling your mug again with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Alhaitham, a touch surprised but clearly amused, leaned closer and murmured, “Take easy, ok?” His tone was warm, carrying that familiar attentiveness, the kind of care he often tried to mask with practicality. You met his gaze and gave a small nod, though your mischievous smile was enough to tell him you weren’t exactly planning on slowing down.

As the evening went on, the wine kept flowing, and so did the laughter. Kaveh quickly grew tipsy, his cheeks flushed as he leaned into his chair with a self-satisfied grin, occasionally throwing his arm around you, Cyno or Tighnari as he launched into some anecdote about his “architectural genius,” much to Alhaitham’s thinly veiled eye-rolls.

“Oh, and then,” Kaveh slurred, nudging Cyno with a huff, “there was that time Alhaitham here tried to negotiate a ‘reasonable’ discount on my work. Can you believe that?” He snorted, casting a playful, slightly glazed look in Alhaitham’s direction. “I swear, he’d argue the wind into changing direction if it suited him.”

Alhaitham only raised a brow, looking at him with an expression that silently asked for patience. “Kaveh, if I hadn’t ‘negotiated,’ you’d still be working to pay off last month’s tab.”

Tighnari chuckled, watching the exchange. “You two really are quite the pair,” he commented, taking a sip of his drink, his gaze shifting between the two of them with an amused glint.

Cyno, turning his attention to you, said, “Do you always put up with them like this?” His tone was deadpan, yet you sensed a glimmer of humor beneath his serious gaze.

Understanding his question, you nodded, a soft laugh escaping you. They all seemed to lighten up, relaxing in the warmth of your quiet amusement.

As the night deepened, Cyno set his drink down with a look of pure focus. “How about a round of TCG?” he suggested, eyes gleaming with anticipation. Tighnari let out a groan, tilting his head back dramatically.

“Oh no, not this again,” he sighed, but even he knew there was no escape.

Kaveh laughed, rolling his eyes in good-natured defeat.

“Fine, fine. But we’re keeping it short, or we’ll never hear the end of it from you,” he reached for his glass and gave you a playful wink. “Prepare yourself for the most intense game you’ve ever seen,” he said, clearly intending to make a spectacle of Cyno’s enthusiasm.

Curious, you leaned closer, watching as Cyno arranged the cards and dice with meticulous precision. His fingers moved quickly, each card laid down like a sacred ritual. Noticing your interest, he paused to offer a brief explanation of the game’s mechanics. 

“It’s all about strategy,” he explained, his tone almost reverent. “You play a character card, use skills, and roll dice to see how much power you have.” His eyes narrowed, smiling as he continued, “And don’t think it’s as simple as it sounds.”

You blinked, absorbing his words, but you barely had time to form a plan before the game was underway. 

Somehow, against all odds, you won the first round. The table fell into a mix of laughter and shock, each of them offering half-joking explanations.

“Beginner’s luck,” Tighnari insisted, though there was a glint of amusement in his eye.

Alhaitham chuckled softly. “Maybe (Y/N) is just a natural.”

But as the rounds continued, it became clear that “luck” wasn’t the only thing helping you.

One match after another, you swept the table, your fingers moving with a natural, effortless grace as you outplayed each of them. Cyno’s brow furrowed in concentration, and you could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he tried, unsuccessfully, to decode your moves.

Finally, with a mixture of disbelief and exasperation, Cyno looked at his cards in silence. “How…?” he muttered, half to himself.

Kaveh snorted, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Face it, man, she’s just unbeatable tonight. You, my friend, have been dethroned.”

Tighnari grinned, amused by Cyno’s frustration. “It’s impressive, honestly. Even the Champion of TCG is no match for her.”

You laughed, lifting your glass in a playful toast to your victory, which earned a round of mock cheers from the others. 

Alhaitham’s gaze was soft as he watched you—your enthusiasm, the brightness in your eyes as you revel in the thrill of each win. He’d seen you embracing new experiences and adventures of his ordinary day with open arms.

From the quiet enthusiasm when you learned a new word to the happiness back in the bazaar, and now, this lively night at the tavern—he felt an undeniable warmth, a subtle pull that went beyond simple admiration.

Just as another round was about to start, a group of local men, drunk and brimming with energy, pulled Kaveh from his chair and into a circle. “Come on, architect! Show us your moves!” they cheered, clapping their hands and forming a semi-circle for him to lead. With a laugh, Kaveh obliged, seamlessly joining them in the traditional dabke.

You watched in fascination, your attention captivated by the rhythmic stomping and spirited clapping. 

Kaveh’s movements were fluid, each step and stomp precise yet brimming with exuberance. His grin was infectious, and you found yourself clapping along, enchanted by the lively beat that seemed to pulse through the entire tavern.

Noticing your joy, Kaveh reached out and took your hand, pulling you into the half-circle. “Come on! You’ll love it!” he encouraged, and you laughed, letting yourself be drawn into the dance. 

Standing beside him, you mirrored his movements as best as you could, and although your steps were hesitant at first, his laughter and the others’ encouragement quickly dissolved any nervousness.

You found yourself swept up in the joy of the moment, your laughter ringing out as you stomped and clapped in sync with Kaveh. The tavern patrons cheered, a few even joining in to expand the circle. Each beat of the music seemed to echo in your heart, a vibrant, untamed rhythm that made you feel alive. Your hair swayed with each movement, your dress flowed around you as if it had a life of its own. For a brief moment, you forgot everything else, lost in the pure exhilaration of dance and laughter.

Watching from the sidelines, Alhaitham’s gaze lingered on you. 

He didn’t need to say a word; his expression spoke volumes. In his eyes, you were radiant—a vision of grace, strength, and unrestrained joy. He couldn’t help but marvel at how easily you fit into this place, how naturally you became part of it despite its strangeness. His chest tightened, a burning ache settling there, unfamiliar and yet… welcome. He remembered the first time he’d seen you, not too long ago, feeling vulnerable and cautious. Yet here you were, laughter filling the air, eyes alight with joy.

He hadn’t expected this—a mermaid, of all things, to stir something so profoundly human within him. But watching you, he couldn’t deny the feeling. It wasn’t simply admiration or intrigue anymore. It was something real, deeper, something that made his pulse quicken whenever he locked your gazes whenever you shared a fleeting smile or a touch of silent understanding.

A sudden chuckle from Tighnari pulled him from his thoughts, and he glanced over to see his friend smirking knowingly. “Not joining them?” He teased, his voice pitched just low enough for Alhaitham to hear.

Alhaitham glanced back at you, his lips curving in a slight smile. “I’m enjoying the view.”

Tighnari hummed, raising a brow. “Seems like you’re enjoying more than just the view.”

Ignoring Tighnari’s comment once again, Alhaitham focused his attention on you once more. 

When your eyes met, he felt that sensation again—a quiet acknowledgment of something unspoken but deeply felt. He gave you a subtle nod, his gaze lingering, as if committing this moment to memory.

When the dance ended, you were breathless, your cheeks flushed with happiness as you returned to the table. Kaveh, very tipsy and clearly pleased, clinked his glass against yours. “You were fantastic!” he cheered, his eyes bright with genuine pride.

Laughing, you took a sip of your drink, catching Alhaitham’s eye as you did. 

Ever since you started to live with him, sharing his culture, entering in the lonely empty of his heart and connecting with every detail that made of Alhaitham who he is, his intense gaze was something you couldn’t escape from—although neither did you want it when you were so mesmerized by him as he seemed to be with you. 

But tonight, something was different—something indescribable, unknown but pleasant, sent a soft thrill through you. This was more than a shared moment—it was a promise, a silent connection that seemed to anchor you both, even amidst the noise surrounding you.

The night had fully settled by the time the three of you left the tavern. 

The streets were nearly empty, bathed in the soft silver glow of a full moon overhead. A gentle breeze moved through the quiet city, carrying the faint, earthy scent of Sumeru’s flora. Stars scattered like distant lanterns in the sky, each one casting a pinprick of light over the tranquil world below. You looked up, awestruck by the vastness of the sky here. It was as if the city itself was cradled in the arms of the heavens, each corner brushed with stardust.

Alhaitham glanced at you, noticing the quiet wonder in your eyes as you took in the night’s beauty.

In the soft moonlight, your face was illuminated with an almost ethereal glow, your expression open and unguarded. Something about the way you stood there, gazing upwards as if communing with the stars, pulled invisible strings in his chest. Alhaitham found himself watching you in silence, the affection in his gaze hidden in the shadows, an unspoken tenderness that he wasn’t yet ready to voice.

Beside you, Kaveh swayed unsteadily, mumbling to himself in an incomprehensible mixture of words. You giggled, finding his drunken ramblings endlessly amusing, while Alhaitham sighed, shaking his head in disapproval but unable to suppress a small smile. He’d been prepared to carry Kaveh’s weight on his own, but you easily supported your share, surprising him with your hidden strength as you steadied the unsteady architect. You felt Alhaitham’s curious gaze settle on you, but you kept your eyes on Kaveh, helping guide him as he slurred out half-formed songs and laughter.

When you finally arrived at home, the quiet settled around you like a warm embrace. 

Together, you and Alhaitham gently placed Kaveh onto his bed, his face sinking blissfully into the pillows as he drifted into a heavy, blissful sleep. You both lingered for a moment, watching to make sure he was comfortable, before retreating to the living room, leaving Kaveh to his dreams.

Once there, the two of you stood alone, the silence wrapping around you like silk. The dim lamplight cast soft shadows across the room, pooling in the spaces between you. You faced each other, yet no words came—none were needed. 

Your eyes met his, and in that moment, something unspoken passed between you, a silent understanding woven with the night’s intimacy. It was a conversation of looks alone, a language more ancient than words. Your heart felt full, as if it were holding a secret too precious to release.

Alhaitham’s gaze held yours, steady and unwavering, as he reached into his pocket and drew out the small chain he’d bought back at the bazaar. The gemstone's shiny and iridescent hues caught the light, reflecting shades that soon reminded you of your tail’s colors—a perfect echo of your hidden self. 

He held it out to you, his lips curving into a wise smile that reached his eyes.

Without a word, he gestured for you to turn around. You did so, your heart pounding with anticipation as he draped the chain around your neck, his fingers brushing the nape of your neck as he fastened the clasp. The warmth of his touch lingered even after his hands moved away, and you lifted a hand to the pendant, feeling its weight settle over your heart.

Looking down, you felt a surge of emotions, a mixture of joy and affection as you admired the gift. But it wasn’t just happiness—it was something deeper, something far beyond simple gratitude. 

When you lifted your gaze back to him, your expression was serene, eyes glimmering with unspoken emotions.

Slowly, you reached up, placing a hand on his neck and gently pulling his face closer. Without hesitation, you leaned in, touching your forehead against his—a significant and intimate gesture but full of affection.

“Thank you,” you murmured, the words carrying layers of meaning, a depth that went beyond the simple gesture. It was gratitude for more than just the necklace—it was for his kindness, his patience, his caring, for seeing you in a way no one else could. For being a safe harbor in this unfamiliar world.

He was taken aback for a moment, the soft touch of your skin against his both surprising and disarming him. But then, a quiet smile forming as he held your gaze, his hand coming up to gently cradle your cheek. 

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice a gentle murmur, his thumb tracing a light path along your cheekbone.

Your hands lingered on his neck, feeling the softness of its skin and his hair, his own expression melting into something almost vulnerable. 

For a long, endless moment, you stayed there, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, to catch the quiet tenderness in his jade eyes.

Neither of you spoke, letting the silence stretch, filling the room with the weight of implicity emotions. His gaze held yours, steady, and yet within it was a flicker of that deeper, unguarded feeling—a quiet, burgeoning affection that made your heart race.

Time seemed to stand still as you looked into each other’s eyes, a shared warmth weaving between you, a silent promise that neither of you had the words to speak.

And maybe, you didn’t even need it. 

[continue...]

[fakeredhead95]

Mark Grayson X F Best Friend

First ever time writing so be nice!

CW: MDNI, SMUT, 18+ ,

1183 WORDS

The salty air whipped through your hair as you watched Mark chase the retreating waves, his laughter echoing across the empty beach. “This is the life y/n!” He was a whirlwind of energy, always moving, always joking.  You’d known him since you were kids and even though you were both in your late twenties now, he still managed to make you feel like a giddy teenager whenever you were together.  “Come on Mark let's get you out of the sea before it gets too dark” you called. “You do remember I’m a superhero right?” called Mark. “Just shut it and hurry up” you laughed.

You’d come to the beach for a night of stargazing, a spontaneous decision fueled by a bottle of wine and a shared craving for the ocean. The sky was a canvas of glittering stars, the moon casting a silver sheen on the water. It was one of those nights that felt like a secret, a moment just for you two, tucked away from the world. 

Mark returned, his hair damp from the spray, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He sat beside you, shoulders slightly brushing against yours a warmth spread through you. It wasn’t just the summer night, it was the way he looked at you, the way his eyes held a depth you’d never noticed before. “This is so beautiful,” Mark remarked. You couldn’t help but smile this moment was perfect, this evening was perfect.

You talked, not about anything profound, just sharing stories and silly jokes. But the laughter felt different this time, laced with an undercurrent of something deeper. You found yourself wanting to reach out to him and want to touch him, to feel the warmth of his hand in your own. 

As the night wore on, a blanket of clouds rolled in, obscuring the stars. The air grew heavy with moisture, and the first drops of rain began to fall. “Quick y/n let's go” Mark got up and grabbed your hand leading you to seek shelter with him under a dilapidated pier, the wooden plank creaking under your weight. 

The rain intensified a relentless downpour that seemed to wash away the world under you. You were trapped together with only the sounds of the drumming rain and the pounding of your heart.

You’d noticed Mark was still gripping onto your hand, this sent jolts of electricity through you. You looked into his eyes, the rain reflecting their depths, and you saw something you’d never seen before; a vulnerability, a longing that mirrored your own heart. 

Mark's thumb brushed against your cheek, “y/n I can't hold this in any longer”. He leaned in and his lips brushed against yours in a soft tentative kiss. You couldn’t quite believe what had just happened but it felt right. The world seemed to dissolve, leaving only the feel of Marks's lips against yours, the scent of salt and rain mingling with his cologne.

The kiss deepened when all of a sudden Mark shot up “ Oh my god I'm sorry y/n I should’ve never kissed you i’ve crossed the line” you put your hand over Marks mouth and said, “ No Mark this is exactly what I want. I want you now”. He leaned back over to you and kissed you deeper becoming a passionate dance of tongues and hands. You felt a surge of exhilaration, of pure, desire.

“Oh my god y/n I need you” Mark whispered into your ear. 

“I’m all yours baby” Marks hands began to wander and he began to grip your tits, a wetness between your legs started to form. You then began to find your way to Marks waist and you can feel his muscles beneath his shirt as you trace your fingers up and down his chest. 

Marks lips leaves yours for a moment and he starts to trace kisses down your neck, and you shiver with pleasure, and let out a soft moan. He grabs the bottom of your tshirt and lift it over your head exposing your erect nipples. He sucks your tits taking you all in then he pinches one of your nipples between his fingers.

“Mark…” you pant your voice barely above a whisper. “I want you to fuck me… right he right now”. Mark’s eyes darken with desire as he hears your words. He pulls you closer leading you to lay down, he grabs your underwear and rips them off by the seams. “Oops sorry about that” he remarked.

Marks eyes rake over your naked body, taking in every inch of you. He reaches out and grabs you by the waist pulling you closer. He was between your legs still fully clothed you could feel his rock hard cock against your wet entrance. He wastes no time and rips his tshirt of his head and pull his shorts down revealing his fat cock pressing against your stomach, and you know that you need him inside you. “Enough teasing now Mark, please fuck me, please just fuck me” you whined.

He lines himself up with yout entrance, his eyes locked onto your as he pushed inside you “FUCK y/n” Mark called out, you cry out as he pushes inside you. “Im so fucking wet for you” you moaned. Your walls stretching to accommodate his fat throbbing cock. Mark begins to move, his hips thrusting against yours as he fucks you with a raw, primal need. You needed him each thrust your bodies together in a dance as old as time itself.

You lie there, your body trembling with pleasure as Mark Grayson’s hand wraps around your neck. It’s not a tight grip, just enough to hold you in place as he fucks you. You call out his name, your voice hoarse with desire.

“Oh fuck, yes oh fuck, harder, Mark harder” you begged your hips bucking to meet his thrust. 

His eyes dark with lust as he watches you, his hand never leaning your neck. The sensation of his rough palm against your skin only adds to the pleasure building inside you. 

You reach up, your fingers tangling in his hair, as you pull him closer, deeper. Marks rhythm falters for a moment before picking up again, his breath hot against your ear. “ You like that, dont you?” he moaned.

“Yes, Yes I love it” you moan your body on the brink of release. Mark’s fingers dig into your hips as he pounds into you, his pace frantic and desperate.  You can deel the orgasm building inside you, your muscles tightening with each thrust. 

And then, one final push, you shatter. Your body convulses with pleasure as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you. Mark’s thrusts become errates as he reach his own climax filling you up with his warm cum, his body collapsing onto of yours. You lie there, panting and spent. Mark rolls off of you, pulling you into his arms.

“Fuck y/n you’re amazing” he murmurs, his lips pressed against your forehead. You smile, your body still humming with pleasure. “I know” you reply, snuggling closer to him.