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[androdconstruction]

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[zsupika]

Love and Deepspace x Reader

> general relationship headcanons

A/N: I've been in the lnd fandom for a few weeks now and I'm so obsessed of this game. Keep in mind these are just some random things that I have in mind when I think of them in a relationship.

>> My requests are open if you have any ideas!

Characters: Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel

Xavier

I imagine him as a very caring boyfriend

He'd listen to what you have to say and whenever you have something that troubles you, try and find a solution

His favorite sleeping position has got to be spooning you with him being the big spoon

He just loves to embrace you and know that you're safe in his arms

While laying like that he loves to breath in your scent

And while you're asleep, he plays with your hair and softly glides his fingers along your skin

It calms him down, especially after aonh day of fighting wanderers

He also likes to go on missions together with he

He won't admit it but whenever you get assigned with a different partner than him, he gets so jealous

He just loves to spend time with you

He's more a listener than a talker

Through the entire year he takes notes on the things that you mentioned you wanted to have

When your birthday comes up he buys all those things for you!!

Although he loves to spoil you on valentines day with flowers, chocolate and lots of kisses, he doesn't really see a point in the day specifically

He buys you flowers every once in a while and doesn't understand why there would have to be a whole day dedicated for it

But if you see it as important, he definitely puts up an effort to make you happy and see a smile on your face

He always blushes when you get him something in return!

He prefers to give, more that receive

He also makes sure that you're nicely relaxed after a mission

While you sit on your chair he might come up from behind and give you a soft shoulder massage and some neck kisses to ease your mind and body

I imagine him to smell like lavender and fresh laundry

His favorite drink has to be iced coffee and water

In winter he'll also drink a hit chocolate with you

He loves to add cute toppings and make it delicious

Zayne

As we all know he's a doctor and always very busy

You see him a lot less than you would the other two boys

He appreciates it when you come to the hospital and visit him on his breaks

You'd remind him to relax and take it easy every once in a while

It makes him smile to know that you care for him so much

Him not being able to see you as much makes him sad, so he tries to make the few dates that you go on extra special

He always consideres your wishes and does whatever you desire

You want to stay home with him and watch a movie? Sure, he'd love to. You want to go out to a fancy restaurant? Yeah, he's down.

He has a hard time expressing his emotions with his words, so he's definitely more of a "actions over words" kinda guy

His love language would equal to "acts of service" and "quality time"

His hugs and kisses feel very intimate, because it's his way of expressing his emotions to you

He adores the fact that you understand him so well and that you respect his boundaries

He's a morning person for sure

He likes black coffee

For you he always makes sure that you're healthy

Whenever you get a little sick, he's always worried about you and tries to prevent it with all that he can

It makes you chuckle how much he can get worked up over a little cold

Once you get better he makes sure that you stay healthy and happy

Rafayel

Starting of with a very basic headcanon but I think he'd paint you

But not in the way in which you might think

He wouldn't only paint full on portraits of you but he'd incorporate you into his art in a very different way

He'd draw the landscape of your favorite places

He would use your eye color as the background color of a beautiful still-life

You being around him would inspire him to draw freely without any restrictions

Your laugh would make him move his brush in the same rhythm

Sometimes he'd let you help him with a painting

He also loves to go and search for different ways to create paint with you and look for ingredients

I think even though he's very sassy and bold most of the time, when it comes to intimate moments he'd be rather shy

He blushes a lot!

And definitely has a hard time keeping eye contact with you in those moments

His kisses are more soft and caring than you might think at first

In my eyes he'd be the furthest thing from rough in any intimate situations

He holds you as if you were a fragile piece of glass that could break at any second

He feels like you're the only one who he can let his emotions out on, without feeling judged

Loves sleeping on top of you like a weighted blanket

Slightly snores but not very loud

It's more of a heavier breathing

As we know he's very ticklish

When you two are playfighting you can definitely take advantage of that

He'll be a whining and whimpering mess

Do with that what you want

[happy74827]

After Hours

[Billy x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You never fully believed the saying, “wrong place, wrong time…” until now {GIF credits: moviebuffs on tumblr}

WC: 4,392 (whoops)

Category: Hurt/Comfort {TW — Melinda, threats, mention of drugs + blood, lots of cursing}

I watched this two nights ago with my friend (love you @yoursacredqueenmother) and now here I am… obsessed. The ending was lame ngl but I highly recommend this movie if you like messed up situations (and Josh looking spicy 🥵).

『••✎••』

You hated driving at night. All the darkness outside and the light reflecting from the headlights, it all gave you a headache.

Your eyes darted over to the passenger's seat. It was empty and you were glad. The road was bad enough, you couldn't imagine trying to deal with someone else's conversation while driving.

The only sound was the soft rumble of the car, the whirring of the engine, and the sound of the tires rolling over the rough pavement. Your hands were tense on the steering wheel as you squinted in an attempt to see a few feet ahead of you. There were no lights out here, no street lights or traffic lights, and you were starting to think there wouldn't be any towns, either.

It would be the last straw if you ran out of gas out here.

You didn't even know where you were going, you were just following the GPS's directions and praying it would get you out of this desert and somewhere safe.

You sighed and shifted in your seat, tapping the steering wheel anxiously. You hadn't seen any other cars for a few hours now, which wasn't unusual, but it was still a little nerve-wracking to be driving out in the middle of nowhere.

But of course, as all nightmares go, suddenly, your car made a strange noise and started slowing down.

"Shit!" you hissed, smacking the steering wheel. "Shit shit shit!"

The car sputtered and then finally came to a complete stop, the engine dying. You slammed your hands against the wheel, feeling tears of anger and frustration welling up in your eyes. You were completely and utterly screwed.

You sat in the car for a while, letting the silence and darkness envelop you. The heat had faded quickly as soon as the sun had set, leaving behind an eerie chill that seeped through your clothes and into your skin.

You took a deep breath and looked around, but you could barely make out the landscape around you. It was pitch black and you knew if you tried to leave the car you would lose it immediately and end up getting hopelessly lost. You weren't sure what to do.

You looked over at the empty passenger seat, now wishing more than anything that you had someone with you.

You sighed and laid your head back, trying not to think about how scared and alone you felt.

As you sat there, staring up at the roof of the car, you decided you needed a plan. You couldn't just sit here forever, and if you were going to get anywhere, you were going to need help.

You grabbed your phone from the cup holder and held down the power button, watching as the screen lit up. You had service, thankfully, and a decent amount of battery left. You unlocked the screen and opened the maps app, waiting as it searched for your location.

You watched anxiously as the small circle spun, feeling a pit of dread growing in your stomach as the minutes ticked by.

After what felt like an eternity, the screen finally lit up. You sighed and put a hand on your chest, feeling relieved.

Zoomed out on the map, you looked for the nearest town. You didn’t find one, but you found a gas station… they were sure to have a jumper cable, right?

You plugged the coordinates into the GPS and started the car again, hoping that it would start.

It didn’t, of course. The whole point of getting stranded was that your car wouldn't start. So, you had no choice but to walk.

You grabbed a bag from the back seat and threw a few necessities inside, along with your wallet, your phone, your charger, and a small pepper spray bottle that your best friend had insisted you carry.

You were glad she'd been so insistent, you'd never have thought you'd need it.

You slung the bag over your shoulder and opened the door, stepping out into the chilly air. You shivered and closed the door, locking it, and then turned away from the car, setting off into the dark.

The moon was hidden behind thick clouds and the wind whipped around you, kicking up sand and rocks that stung your face and hands. You shivered and wrapped your arms around yourself, pulling your coat tighter around your body.

You wished you'd had the foresight to bring a thicker jacket or something, but you hadn't planned on getting stranded.

The walk was slow, the uneven ground and lack of light making the journey difficult. You could hear the wind howling around you, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched.

You kept walking, trying not to think about what could be lurking in the shadows, watching your every move.

Finally, after about twenty minutes, you spotted a light in the distance. You picked up your pace, your heart racing. As you got closer, you could see it was the gas station, just like you'd hoped.

You jogged up to the doors, pushing them to open but finding them locked.

You groaned and knocked on the glass, looking inside. There were no lights on, and you couldn't see anyone.

"Hey!" you yelled, pounding on the door. "I need help!"

There was no answer, and you were starting to think no one was inside.

You sighed and sat down on the concrete, putting your face in your hands. You had no idea what you were going to do now. The stupid location said it was open twenty four hours a day, so where was the damn staff?

You were about to get up and try the door again when you were startled by the light above the doors flickered on. You looked up and saw a woman standing behind you, her dark hair flat and dull. Her clothes were a mess, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

She looked exhausted, and when she spoke, her voice was strained but polite.

"Can I help you?"

Your eyes widened, and you scrambled to your feet, trying not to look panicked. But when you noticed the name tag pinned to her shirt that read ‘Melinda,’ your fear melted away and you let out a sigh of relief.

"Oh thank god, I thought no one was here," you laughed.

She didn't laugh with you, her face remained emotionless.

"Sorry, I was in the back," she explained. "What can I do for you?"

"My car broke down… honestly, I don’t remember where. It was really dark, and I don’t know this area." You shook your head and continued, "I was hoping I could buy a jumper cable or something? Just enough to get me out of here."

She nodded slowly, her expression never changing.

"Yes, they should be near the back with the other supplies." She paused, eyeing you warily. "I would offer coffee along with it, but… we're out of stock at the moment."

"That's fine," you said. "Just the cable will do."

She nodded again and stepped past you, pulling out a key and unlocking the door. She stepped inside and motioned for you to follow her. You did, and the moment you entered, a rush of cold air hit you, making you shiver.

She walked to the counter, her footsteps echoing on the tiled floor. She stopped at the register and began pressing buttons, her movements slow and methodical.

You couldn’t really care at the moment, as your eyes roamed the store, searching for the cables.

You walked down the first aisle, but didn’t see them. You kept walking, and when you came to the second aisle, you spotted them. You were about to grab them, but then you noticed the hall with the bathroom sign hanging from it.

Suddenly, the bottle of water that seemed so important earlier became a major regret. You hadn't gone to the bathroom since before your car broke down, and it was starting to catch up with you.

You took a step towards the bathroom, glancing back to the cashier. You could see her staring down at the counter, her fingers pressed to the keys, not really typing.

You didn't want to interrupt her, so you decided not to ask. You hurried into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You flipped the lock, and then turned to face the mirror.

You grimaced at the sight of yourself. Your hair was messy and your face was dirty. You splashed some water on your face, and then grabbed a paper towel and dried yourself off before doing everything you had to.

You left the bathroom, planning on returning to the aisle, but then you heard a noise.

A small sound, a whimper, like a puppy in pain.

You looked down the hall, trying to find the source. It sounded like it was coming from the storage room.

"Uh, hello?" you called, taking a hesitant step towards the door. "Are you alright?"

There was no response, just another small, pitiful cry.

You bit your lip and pushed the door open, stepping into the darkness.

"Hello?" you said again. "Is someone there?"

The door creaked behind you, and then closed. You spun around, panic rising in your throat. You reached for the handle, but before you could grab it, something moved in the darkness.

You jumped back, a gasp escaping your lips.

Something moved in front of you. You couldn't tell what it was, or where it was, but you knew it was there.

You took a step back, trying to stay calm. Your heart was racing and your palms were sweaty.

"Please, I just need help with my car," you pleaded.

A low, guttural growl came from the shadows. It sounded like a wild animal, and when it moved again, it was close enough that you could see the outline of its form.

It was… not tall. Not in the slightest. In fact, it probably was only taller than you by an inch, if at all. It was hunched over, its shoulders curved inward, its spine protruding slightly.

It took you a long minute to realize that it was just a guy in a chair. Man, you were blind.

He had on a denim jacket, and it hung off his small frame, the sleeves rolled up. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and he was trembling slightly. That’s when you noticed the bundles of red tape around his eyes, mouth, arms, and legs. He also seemed to be bounded to the chair, strapped down and unable to move.

“Oh my god,” you breathed. You stepped towards him, reaching out a hand, but he jumped out at you, attempting to attack. Though, it was pretty much useless on his end. He couldn’t move more than a couple inches in any direction.

He started to speak afterwards, but the tape had prevented it from being coherent, and all you could make out was a low, angry rumble.

"No! No, no, no!" You stepped back, putting your hands up. It was rather pointless and stupid of you too, because the tape had also covered his eyes, you just looked like an idiot. But, still, you kept them up. "I'm not going to hurt you, I just need some help with my car!"

He growled at you, a low, threatening sound, but then he stopped, seeming to realize that you were telling the truth. He was breathing hard, and his chest was heaving, and then he mumbled something under the tape.

"What?" You asked.

He mumbled again, but you couldn't understand him. It was like talking to a brick wall.

You hesitated, but then moved forward, reaching up to take the tape off. If you had to guess that was probably what he was mumbling about.

He flinched when you touched him, but then relaxed. You peeled the tape away from his face, both the strands across his mouth and the one over his eyes, and dropped it to the floor.

He was breathing heavily, and when you looked up at him, you were surprised by how young he looked. His face was pale and his lips were dry. His hair was greasy and tangled, and the side of his head was badly burned and bruised. There was even dried blood on his temple.

“Jesus, what happened to you?"

He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"Get me the fuck out of here, and I'll tell you," he hissed.

His voice was surprisingly smooth, despite how rough he looked. His words were short and sharp, like he was angry.

You weren't sure what to do, but then he started moving.

"Please," he said, his voice sounding desperate. "I promise, I won't hurt you. Just, please. Please get me out of this fucking chair."

"Did that… lady put you in here?”

"Yes, Melinda," he spat. "She's a nutcase psycho. Drugged me and… and… whatever the fuck. Just get me out of here!"

He sounded more frantic now, and his eyes were wide and pleading.

"Well, I-” You started to say, but he cut you off.

"Well what? What’re you waiting for?!”

“I- I need a jumper cable. My car broke down outside… somewhere. I'm not from around here, and- I don't know where I am. I can't exactly go anywhere until my car's fixed."

He looked at you with the most exasperated look you'd ever seen. It was almost comical, how exaggerated the expression was, but then he seemed to relax.

"Alright, how about this…” he said, his voice low and soothing. "You let me out of this shitty chair, and I'll help you fix your car. How's that sound?"

You didn't know what to say. He didn't seem like he was lying, and he seemed to be genuine about his fear. But could you really trust him? You still had no idea who he was or where he came from.

He seemed to sense your hesitation, and his expression softened.

"Look, I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "But I can't really help you unless I can get out of this stupid chair. And if we stay here, Melinda's going to find us, and trust me, you do not want to deal with her."

"And if she finds us, what will she do?"

"Look at Sheila over there wrapped up like a fucking Christmas tree," he replied, jerking his head towards the woman's corpse.

You gasped, covering your mouth.

"Oh my god, I didn’t even notice," you mumbled.

"Yeah, well, she's been dead for about an hour now, so," he said.

"And- and you've been sitting here, tied up the whole time?!"

"Yeah, it's fucking awful," he grumbled. "Now, will you help me, or not?"

"Oh, uh, yeah." You looked down at the remaining tape, trying to decide how best to go about it.

"Just, hurry up," he urged.

"Ok, ok." You reached for the tape, and he leaned forward, letting you pull and tug on the strips.

After a minute, you had all the tape off that was pinning him down and he was able to stand up. Again, he wasn’t that tall, maybe a five to six inches above five feet, but that didn't stop him from moving fast. He darted around the room, looking around frantically, and then grabbed a crowbar from a nearby shelf.

"Where did you even-"

"Not the time," he interrupted.

He turned towards you, his expression hard. He was pretty intimidating, and it wasn’t just because of the crowbar. He was skinny, but muscular, and the way he moved was fluid and agile, like a predator.

Though, you couldn’t help but noticed how attractive he was, with his expressive eyes and the way his hair was pushed back from his face. He was gorgeous.

"Hey," he snapped. "You listening?"

You blinked, and nodded.

"Sorry," you said, shaking your head. "This has just been a very, very strange night."

"Tell me about it," he grumbled. "That’s why when I’m done with her, we are getting the fuck out of here."

"Done with her?"

"Well, yeah, obviously. We're not just gonna let her get away with this shit."

"Um, are you sure that's a good idea? She's, like, a million times your size," You smiled at the small joke, but he didn’t seem amused at all, so you added, "Not to mention, hurting people seems like a bit of an extreme response."

"Hurting people is kinda her thing," he muttered.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off.

"Look, are you coming with me, or not? Because, if not, then just leave. You're already making this way more complicated than it needs to be."

"I can’t leave, not until my car's fixed," you protested. "That's why I'm here in the first place.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated.

"Ok, fine, fine," he relented. "Whatever. You can come with me, but just don't slow me down, alright?"

"Right," you said, nodding.

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue. He just started walking, motioning for you to follow. You did, and soon the two of you were standing outside the storage room, the door open and the hallway beyond shrouded in darkness.

"Alright, the plan is, I'm going to distract her and make her pay," he whispered. "While I'm doing that, you're going to grab the keys to her car or whatever and get it started. We'll meet up outside and drive off, and that'll be the end of it."

"You're… very confident for someone who was tied up to a chair five minutes ago," you had another attempt at lightening the mood, but he just gave you a pointed look.

Again, he didn’t seem amused. "Yeah, well, she's a bitch, and I don't appreciate being treated like a goddamn lab rat."

He has an odd way of speaking, you noticed. His words were short and clipped, and he never used more than he needed. It was a little intimidating, but mostly it was just kind of interesting.

"How’d do you even end up like that, anyway?"

He gave you another one of his annoyed looks. It was weird how much he could convey with just his eyes, but the look was gone almost as soon as it appeared.

"Don’t ask stupid questions,"

"Well, it seems like a reasonable question, considering the circumstances," you retorted.

He rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Look, do you want my help or not?"

"Um, yeah. Yeah, of course,"

"Then stop asking stupid questions and focus on the task at hand. You get the car, I'll take care of Melinda. Simple."

You didn't know what to say, so you just nodded. He seemed pleased with your response and began to lead the way down the hall, moving quietly and staying close to the walls.

You followed him, keeping your footsteps light. As you went, you thought about the situation.

Melinda, in the five minutes of knowing her, never struck you as the violent type. A little socially weird, yes, but not violent. It seemed out of character, and you wondered if she had a reason for acting the way she did. Or maybe she was just crazy, like the guy had said.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you saw him hold up a hand. You stopped, and he pointed to the corner. You looked, and saw Melinda's form moving past the entrance to the hall, a flashlight in her hand.

The man motioned for you to stay put and moved silently towards the entrance. You watched him, unable to do anything else.

When he reached the opening, he paused. He was still, and for a moment, you thought he had lost his nerve.

He didn't hesitate for long. In one quick motion, he darted out of the hall, his crowbar held high.

Melinda jumped back, the light from her flashlight swinging wildly as she tried to regain her footing. She swung her flashlight at him, and the metal bar made a dull clang when it collided with her temporary weapon.

He stumbled, but managed to stay on his feet. He lunged at her again, but this time she was ready. He had stopped fast when she pulled out a gun, pointing it at his head.

I guess he was telling the truth.

“Just stop, okay? You can leave now, I'll let you go. Just don't-"

"Give me one good reason why I should listen to a word you say," the man interrupted, his tone low and menacing.

She stammered, trying to think of an answer. She didn't get the chance, though. Her eyes had caught sight of you, and she had noticed that you weren't where she had left you.

"Oh, oh god," she whispered, her voice filled with horror. "No, no, no. No, you weren't supposed to-"

The man swung the crowbar, and the gun flew out of her hand, skidding across the floor.

He moved in quickly, swinging his arm again. She dodged, and the metal bar hit the wall, creating a large dent in the plaster.

Melinda backed away, her hands raised, her eyes wide.

"I'm sorry, okay?" she cried, backing away from him. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry?! You… you drugged me and tried to…” He paused, stopping momentarily before pointing the crowbar at her face. “The point is, sorry isn't going to cut it, you bitch."

He swung at her again, and again, she dodged.

She was fast, and he wasn't, and soon, he had lost his balance. She shoved him hard, sending him flying backwards.

He landed hard on the ground, the wind knocked out of him. He didn't move, and Melinda stood over him, panting and wild eyed. The gun found her hands again, and she pointed it at his head, her hand trembling.

You had to do something. You couldn't just stand by and watch him die.

You did the only thing you could think of.

You went into your bag and took out the very same pepper spray that you had been carrying since the start of this nightmare, and fired.

The stream hit her right in the eyes, and she screamed, dropping the gun. It hit the floor with a loud thunk, and you dove for it, picking it up and pointing it at her.

"Don't move," you yelled, your voice shaking. "I'm warning you. I'm not afraid to use this."

Actually, that was a lie. You were absolutely terrified, and your hands were trembling so badly that you were barely able to keep a grip on the gun.

But you couldn't back down now. Not after everything you had been through.

She had stopped screaming, but was still clutching her eyes, tears streaming down her face. She was moaning and stumbling around, trying to find her way back to the wall.

She finally found it, and leaned against it, her eyes closed.

"Please, please don't hurt me," she sobbed. "I didn't want to do it. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. Please don't hurt me."

You glanced at the man. He was staring up at you, his expression unreadable.

"I should take that gun and shoot you right now," he said. "After what you did, I should kill you."

"Please," she whimpered.

He stared at her, and for a moment, you didn't know what he would do. Then, he got to his feet, picking up his crowbar as he did so.

Before she can even react he took a swing, hitting her right in the stomach. She gasped and fell to the floor, curling up into a ball.

He took another swing, this time aiming for her face.

You stepped forward, about to tell him to stop, but the blow didn't land.

Instead, he stood there, the crowbar held high. Melinda was looking up at him, her face red and streaked with tears.

"I just needed money," he spoke, his voice low and harsh. "That's it. Money. No one was supposed to get hurt, just a simple robbery with no one getting hurt."

She said nothing, just stared at him.

You, on the other hand, were frozen in shock. Robbery? He was robbing the damn station?

He sighed and lowered the crowbar, shaking his head.

"It's not like I wanted to do this, okay? I needed the money, and it was just an easy target. But you couldn't just let me get away, could you? You just had to make it difficult. Now look at the mess we're in."

"You were robbing?” Your voice was small, barely above a whisper, but it still cut through the tension like a knife.

He didn't turn, but his shoulders sagged slightly.

"Look, it's not what you think, okay?" He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I was in trouble, probably still am, and I needed money. Lots of it. That's why I picked this place, because it was an easy target. I wasn't planning on anyone getting hurt, I was just going to rob the place and get out. I wasn't expecting this crazy lady to come along."

He gestured to Melinda, who was still curled up on the ground.

"I was just trying to rob the place," he repeated. "It was nothing personal. And look, you helped me, so I guess I owe you one, or whatever. So, let's just call it even, and we can go our separate ways. Deal?"

“Even Melinda?” You asked, your voice shaking.

He paused, and his eyes flicked over to the woman on the ground, a slight grimace crossing his face.

"Of course not. She was a psychopath who tied me up and threatened me, and I'm not about to just let her walk away after all the shit she's pulled."

Melinda looked up at him, her face contorted with fear. He didn’t seem to care though, but what he did was tell you to leave, and that he'll take care of things.

So, you did, but not before grabbing your bag, and not before snagged out those car keys of hers. The odd thing you did notice though, while leaving the store, was how the entire floor seemed wet. It wasn't until about an hour of just simply waiting in the dark that you figured why.

And you realized as you saw the sudden rise of flames, the smoke billowing from the open door, that you indeed did not have that help from that mystery man after all.

Your car will remain broken.

So, I wrote this long piece of work because I went searching and found ABSOLUTELY NOTHING (which honestly it’s a crime given how fine he was in this movie — at least people realized it with Mike lmfao) so I wrote what I wanted to read.

I hope that this becomes a Rhys Montrose type of situation (For those who don’t know what I mean, this character Rhys from Season 4 of the show, You, had no fanfics on here and I basically jumpstarted it by writing like 4 of them lol) because I feel this character and movie deserves more hype and attention. Just look up edits of Billy from the movie and you’ll see what I mean.

Anyways if you’re actually still reading, thank you for coming to my ted talk. Hopefully you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it 🫶✨

(Also, if you see any more fics of this man… pls tag me. I’m desperate lmfao)

[karniss-bg3]

WRITING PROMPTS? Ayo how kar'niss react to being called pretty? Sucks the only time you can compliment him he takes it wrong. Weeps.

Kar’niss lowered his body to the lush grass below, taking time to rest his weary legs from a long days travel. The evening had fallen on the green fields where they decided to make camp, Tav nearby working hard at getting a fire going. The moon had come to rise casting a silver-toned hue over the landscape, particularly over the resting drider. Tav took notice as this was a rare moment of quiet for the pair often on the go with little time to stop. They admired their companion allowing their gaze to wander over every unusual feature he possessed, appreciating even the most minuscule detail.

“You’re beautiful,” Tav said, their voice quiet.

At first Kar’niss didn’t register what had been said much less that it was directed at him. His head raised to acknowledge the other, his head tipped to the side in confusion.

“Who are you talking to?”

“You. We’ve not had many moments to speak on our travels. I’m just now able to take you in, all of you. You’re beautiful,” Tav reaffirmed, their eyes locking from a short distance away.

The drider jerked his torso back, his pedipalps rolled into a tight curl against his lower body. A repulsed snort pushed from his nostrils.

“Do not tease us. We—I am not what you claim.”

Tav dusted off their hands and rose from their crouched position, daring to wander toward the defensive creature nearby. They stood defiantly ahead of him, eye level with Kar’niss lowered as he was.

“I’m not teasing. I mean what I say.”

They reached toward him, the tips of their fingers brushed a few rogue strands of hair from his face in a tender pass. Kar’niss retreated from the touch using his long legs to back away from the gesture. Every experience in his life up to this point told him it was a trap, a way to force his guard down to inevitably be stabbed in the back. Tav saw how tense his body had become, the wariness oozing from every pore. Tav approached their nervous companion with soft, careful steps.

“I won’t hurt you. I know...you’ve been told that before and others betrayed your trust. It’s why I helped you, I couldn’t stand by and watch them abuse you any further.” Tav inched closer until they resumed their previous position in front of him.

Kar’niss’ gaze lingered on Tav with deep rooted skepticism. His legs shifted beneath him, nervously trotting in place until he eventually settled.

“W-We..We..I. I! I—don’t understand.” Tav leaned in closer, a thin smile steadily stretched over their lips. “Then...allow me to explain,” they began. “Your eyes are a wonder, I feel safe knowing they are ever watchful.”

“No. Ugly, unnatural,” Kar’niss grumbled, his shoulders falling into a slump.

“Not ugly, not unnatural. I enjoy them, very much.” Tav lifted a hand to trace around the cluster of dark orbs on his forehead. They saw them blink out of sync which made them smile all the more. Kar’niss crossed his arms over his chest in a bid to self soothe still waiting for the worst to come.

“Your hair is soft and delicate. The moonlight does me a service by dancing upon each strand with such grace. My fingers can hardly resist getting lost in them.” They brushed the back of their hand along the wayward strands that kissed Kar’niss’ shoulder.

He shook his head, tipping his head back as if to spare Tav’s fingers the insult of touching him. “Ratty, thin, a disgrace,” he argued.

They would not be discouraged, knowing full well how much the Absolute had torn his confidence to shreds. “Your body, all of your body, is a marvel. Unique, strong, stunning.” Tav stepped closer, allowing their hips to nestle between Kar’niss’ pedipalps. A hand rested on one of the curled digits to coax it to wrap around their waist, their torsos melding sinfully close.

Kar’niss swallowed audibly and his breath hitched in his throat. “M-Monstrous, abomination, filth.”

His determined companion moved to cup the side of his face, their thumb caressing the rough patch of skin on his cheek. “Your lips, supple and firm. Scarred from a lifetime of torment.” Tav’s eyes fluttered closed, inching their body upward on their toe tips in order to reach.

Kar’niss had no time to process what was happening until it did. Their lips met, a white hot flash of emotion struck the drider quick as lightning. He felt a buzzing tingle that started in his cheeks and soon washed over his whole body like waves crashing over a rocky shore. Tav’s lips were tender, the kiss soft and gentle to allow Kar’niss to move at the pace he desired. At first his response was wooden as if too stunned to respond in kind, his head filling with so many thoughts at once he worried his skull would crack under pressure.

After the initial shock faded Kar’niss found his footing. His pedipalps hooked tighter around Tav’s waist to draw them in, his head craning downward to better meet them to response. At first his mouth’s reply was clumsy, timid, and his hands didn’t seem to know where to put themselves. He placed them on Tav’s shoulders to start and seemingly changed his mind mid-way through, relocating them to either side of their waist. Tav delicately encouraged Kar’niss to tilt his head for a better fit which he complied with easily enough, their hands roaming the length of his chest to feel out it’s shape and texture.

The longer the embrace continued the more Kar’niss’ confidence grew, his lips becoming more aggressive in their pursuit of savoring their taste. He could hear the frantic beat of his heart within his ears, his bulbous backside trembling with an excitement he’d not known in far too long. He was certain this was a dream or some hallucination concocted by his lingering psychosis. Yet Tav didn’t fade or disappear from sight, they remained in place. He could feel their warmth alluring and inviting like a blazing hearth in the dead of winter. He knew then and there he didn’t want to lose this exhilarating experience, he couldn’t imagine going without.

When the kiss broke both individuals had developed a hot blush that streaked across their faces, the sound of aroused panting shared between them. Tav bumped nose to nose with the dazed drider, a satisfied grin tugging at their lips.

“You are not a monster, not to me, not ever. You are Kar’niss and that is all that matters,” Tav whispered. They pressed their foreheads together mindful of his extra eyes, caressing the back of his neck.

Kar’niss had to fight the urge to object to such claims, his mind still saturated in doubt and self-hatred. But after an exchange such as that he did have to wonder...was there still hope for him? Could he have a future, a life, a chance at happiness that wasn’t afforded to him anywhere else?

He was starting to think so.

[glassrowboat]

Can You Trust Me Blind? Dottore.

Summary: Dottore brings a woman home for the night.

Warnings: Smut, blood, Dottore

Word count: 2,100+

Hair twirled around his finger, spinning round and round in circles the same way Dottore would take his own bangs as they slipped out of the multitude of clips and pins he tried to use to wrangle them up and out of the way, only for those two strands to inevitably fall in his face again. It was annoying. A hassle dealing with it as he tried to scrawl out notes between the blue stands blocking his vision, but the locks in his hand seemed far easier to tame as he played with them.

Soft, well taken care of, and a complete mess as it sprawled out across the pillowcase. It wouldn't be a surprise if there was a knot or two jumbled up in there.

His fault, of course.

Dottore was the one who slid his hands into her hair, tangled his fingers in it like he was grasping at a knitted scarf being slowly wrapped around someone in the dead of winter as he tugged her head back. The length of her neck exposed without a hint of shame. A perfect canvas. Just like snow after it fell, painting the world anew.

Every footstep tainting the pure landscape that went on for miles.

To taint. To mar. To ruin.

The scent of perfume had overwhelmed his senses at the time, even had Dottore halting for a moment to burry his nose into her collarbone where she had no doubt dabbed it before heading out for the night. Flowery, feminine, with a faint hint of vanilla to it that was quickly masked over by iron.

Red on his teeth, on her neck, on the sheets below as he rocked into her.

A scream filled his ears.

This wasn't like him, taking a woman back home, let alone to his bed. It had to have been over seventy- maybe even eighty- years since Dottore had gone off and done something as stupid as this. Breaking all rules of common sense (something he had once considered to be a good friend of his) and welcoming her in with little to no trepidation even as the door slammed behind her.

She had looked around curiously, eyes going over the place like she was trying to suck in every last detail of the liminal space. He never was one who bothered with decorations, so there wasn't much to recall. Maybe a photo here, a trinket there, or a jar full of something no one truly wanted to question Dottore about. Nothing out of the usual for him. However, it was nice to see someone showing such a good trait, a healthy one in this wretched world, rather than glancing back at the door like they were already having second thoughts.

She wouldn't have even been the first if that were the case.

This woman had spent a good hour by his side before his sudden...impulse. Yes, that was a good way to put it, he thought as the strands of hair fell from Dottore's fingers.

One of Pantalone's parties Dottore had only agreed to go to because the banker had stuck his foot down and demanded that he come and talk to possible sponsors for the lab himself rather than having the Ninth do all the lip service. A shame, truly, seeing as that's what the man was best at. Might as well do what you're good for in this world. That's how Dottore saw it, anyway.

He had stumbled across this one along the way.

Dottore had been grumbling to himself about having to deal with it all, especially after having to explain the current project he was working on in a way that could only be explained at a kindergarten level of intelligence for the third time as this oaf of a man kept asking the same question in different ways (like changing the font would give it meaning anew), when she had made a snide remark as he passed by.

“I'm sure your little friend there is the type to attempt putting a square peg in a round hole.”

And oh, he couldn't have agreed more.

She wasn't a sponsor herself, or hadn't seemed to be one. Actually, she waved off most of Dottore's questions about her with what could only be described as practiced ease, instead choosing to fixate on his earring. Eyes locked on the thing as she tried to figure out what was in it. Making a guessing game of it. Primordial water? Sap from the leylines? Ligma? Gatorade? …Whatever that is.

However, she proved to be preferential company over the people who were better off waving their wallets in the air than even attempting to listen to his grandiose ideas. Not even the jingling of mora in hefty sacks had been able to keep him from sharing a glass of whiskey with her. The sound of ice clinking against glass and her voice proved to be far more entertaining.

Digs at Pantalone's ‘friends’ as the banker liked to call them, making fun of their outfits (mainly on her end), and insulting their intelligence proved her to be a great way to spend the otherwise dull evening.

Decent company.

That's all it was.

That's all it was supposed to be, even as she toyed with his earring like she had any right to. Blue light reflecting off her skin.

Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to stop her.

Somehow, that hour passed by like it was nothing but a handful of seconds.

Somehow, he leaned in and kissed her as she was making another remark. Something about a Lord this or that ‘needing to let go of the fact he's bald, because we can all tell he's wearing a toupee’ when he could taste the drink on her painted lips.

Just like he could still taste her blood.

She had said right after “I don't think that shade is your color” with a laugh as her thumb brushed over his bottom lip. No doubt trying to smudge the lipstick off.

Dottore couldn't even recall his retort, no doubt he gave one, but right now his mind was running the same scene that just happened on his bed on loop rather than bothering to remember his own words. If it was truly important, he'd no doubt recall them later. After this film in his head stopped reeling, or the tape itself broke from overuse.

Thighs wrapped around his waist, squeezing him tight between soft flesh he couldn't help but worry about bruising under his touch that was urging him closer and closer as Dottore filled her to the brim. Her nails dragging along his back. Hisses of both pain and pleasure bubbling in Dottore's throat as he slowly stilled.

Her moans bordered on pornagraphic as this woman apparently had no issue being loud. Much less in his space of all things.

Their kisses as she tugged him closer. Rushed, frenzied, even when he wanted to take a step back, a big breath, and truly savor this moment as her dress slid off and onto the floor.

It all reeled back to when Dottore stood before her with the cravat he usually wore in hand.

Blue fabric hanging in between them as he pinched it softly.

The reason he didn't even get the chance to see her eyes roll back into her head from pleasure alone.

Dottore was the one who slid it off his neck. Untying it the same way he did every night after being enraptured by his research for days on end before coming home and crashing into bed. A practice so well memorized he could do so with his eyes closed. Ironic, being he was the one to ask to blindfold her.

Half of a sentence was spoken before she just stopped to stare at the cloth. Eyes darted from him and back down to it in a repeated cycle until Dottore had asked the question again.

Louder that time.

Clearer.

Leaving no room for doubt.

“Is this something you're willing to do?”

She had stumbled over herself as she got out an “okay” and “yes.”

That had to be the least sure of herself he had seen her all night.

She hadn't moved much as Dottore slid the cloth over her eyes, only reaching her hand up to rest on his arm, fingers playing with one of the leather bands on his arm as he tied it in place. Like it made it easier to take her mind off the fact she was, quite literally, going into this blind as he made sure to double, even triple, check it wouldn't budge. Not easily, at least.

But still, she let him do it.

A neat bow sealing the deal.

The idea to joke she was like a gift quickly passed as her hand fell back down as the sound of Dottore's mask being placed on the nightstand filled the otherwise quiet space. A soft, subtle click. Only their breathing and that. Echoing as if it were pans clanging against each other.

“Is that why you wanted me blin-”

“Yes.”

What she was going to ask was obvious. After all, if he was in her shoes, Dottore very well would have done the same. Asked questions. Pried into matters that don't concern him.

Red eyes had bore down on her, blue cloth covering away the chance of seeing her looking up at him with the possibility of fear crossing her face.

No panicked looks. Not this time.

It was better this way, he learned. Less chance of someone seeing the scars that plague his skin and….this was why he typically preferred doing this with someone he already knew.

Someone who already knew what to expect from him, who wouldn't suck in a sharp breath as Dottore's hand slid along the curve of her waist to reach behind and tug the zipper of that dress down for her. The little tag between bare fingers as she spoke up again.

Good, she wasn't trusting him blindly.

Maybe she was smarter than he thought, but that doesn't say much when she's in his bed.

“You know, people usually go for biting and scratching instead of something like this when hooking up with what's essentially a total stranger.”

“Yet you agreed. Why?”

“I'm already here, am I not? Would be a real shame to blueball the both of us.”

How crude, but he couldn't help but to agree as Dottore pressed a kiss to her lips even while chuckling against her skin.

And another as he slid his tongue over her lips and pushed her down onto the bed. A small grunt came from her as her back hit the mattress. The zipper already tugged down as she tried to shimy the dress off even as the mattress creaked under her with every move. Old springs that needed to be dealt with.

At the time, he had wanted to promise not to hurt her, not in a way she wouldn't enjoy, anyhow, but now she lay beside him clearly passed out. She has been for the past two hours, thirty-four minutes, and forty-three seconds now. Her back to him. Moonlight peeking in through the window, leaving dust participles visible in the otherwise dark space as the beams shone down on her skin. Lighting up the tiniest bits of blood as bright as an apple seeped through the bandage he placed on her neck after she fell asleep.

All the more visible like this.

He couldn't help but trace his fingers over the cotton.

She really just let some stranger, a harbinger, him of all people no less, do that to her. To feel her pulse under his lips and still dare to break skin. To leave her in the dark as his hands wondered.

Either this girl was incredibly stupid or had no self-preservation instincts.

Maybe both.

For now, this woman was asleep. For now, he wouldn't have to worry about her reaction to what lay under that mask. The scarred man she chose to tumble into bed with. So, for now, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

Dottore couldn't say he would be surprised either way. She sure did seem like the type that could go either way. Laying there like nothing was wrong even as he reached over her and picked up his mask again. Cold to the touch as a familiar weight filled his hands before it slid out of Dottore's fingers again as he set it back down on the table.

The scent of flowers, vanilla, and blood filling his nose.

He didn't understand this woman in many ways. A bit of a flirt, one who thought it far too entertaining to crack jokes, and who seemed all the willing to listen as he rambled on.

She stopped and listened to him.

And all Dottore could ask himself with this information was: what sort of woman was she that she would choose to lay with a monster?

[pin-k-ink]

Zen’in Naoya x Reader

CW: naoya, dub-con, non-con, lots of sexual tension as usual, just naoya being naoya

Naoya had always been prideful of his belongings. Everything had to be perfect, elegant and expensive. He would take great pride in choosing these belongings himself. And he knew he'd always choose perfectly. The interior designer he picked for his study? Perfect. His room, clothes, food and even his cursed technique were flawless too. He was absolutely perfect in every way. But the most beautiful and perfect possession he had chosen by far, had to be you.

You were just eighteen when Naoya took you off the streets and conditioned you to be the perfect maid for him. As long as you were around, he didn't have to lift a single finger. And that's exactly how he liked it. Over time, Naoya found himself growing surprisingly attached to you. All the stupid, dumb, cute little things you did unknowingly charmed him.

Like the way you'd press your thumbs to his nape before starting a massage. "There you go again, my pet," he purred one evening as you worked the tension from his shoulders.

"Does master prefer it elsewhere?" you asked meekly.

"Not at all. I simply enjoy your little quirks."

Or the way you'd carefully color coordinate the fruit you prepared for him each morning. "Why must you make even breakfast so aesthetic?" he chuckled.

You blinked up at him. "I aim to please, master."

He savored how you'd lean in close to help him dress for the day, letting his gaze linger over your gentle curves before growling, "Careful now, you tease. Or I may have to discipline you properly."

That evening at dinner, Naoya ordered you to pour his sake. He watched hungrily as you elegantly filled his cup, bringing it to his lips to sip. So perfectly trained. His eyes shamelessly roamed your body, coveting what little skin you showed. He'd already seen your naked form, though he'd never admit how.

Perhaps some minor uniform adjustments were in order to show off your luscious assets more...no, all those beautiful dips and curves were for his eyes alone.

Later, as you bathed him, Naoya relished your attentive ministrations. The way you dripped aromatic oils into your palms before massaging them over his taut muscles. Ah, there were those dainty thumbs pressing into the nape of his neck just as he craved. You really had memorized every inch of his body's landscape.

"Eyes closed again, pet?" he rumbled. "You know my form that well, do you?"

"However else could I fully appreciate your perfection, master?" you murmured, working lower down his back.

Soon those talented hands would explore lower still, dragging breathy approval from his lips. His beautiful temptress knew just how to enliven his senses, even through the most mundane acts of service. Soon, he wouldn't be able to resist having you properly...

Naoya exhaled a sigh as your nimble fingers kneaded along his lower back, skirting dangerously close to the towel preserving his half-hard cock. He could sense your warm breath brushing his damp skin as you worked, utterly unaware of the escalating hunger smoldering in his gaze.

"You've become quite skilled at this, pet," he rumbled in approval. "Attending to your master's every need like the perfectly obedient little plaything you are."

You made a soft noise of agreement, far too dim to recognize the implicit vulgarity lacing his words. In your naivete, you simply preened at the praise, determined to maintain your flawless service.

Trailing his eyes shamelessly over the swell of your cleavage peeking from the kimono's loose folds, Naoya's mouth curved in a cruel smirk. "Perhaps you ought to loosen these robes, my dear. To better access the full expanses of your master's form..."

Without hesitation, you promptly undid the sash at your collar, letting the garment gape open to bare your breasts and abdomen. Gods, the blank innocence on your pretty face as you exposed yourself, waiting for further instruction with such trusting oblivion.

A low growl rumbled from Naoya's throat as he drank in your naked flesh, now completely on display. Resisting the urge to simply seize and ravage you became a serrated edge against his restraint. But not yet...first he would break you properly through torturous degrees.

"Very good, pet. You're learning, He crooned in silken menace. "Now attend to the rest of me with those talented hands...and put that luscious mouth to use as well."

Inclining his body, Naoya allowed the towel to slip lower, exposing his cock fully as he regarded you with blatant expectation. "Worship your master's perfection and perhaps you'll be rewarded accordingly..."

There was the faintest furrow of confusion as you processed his demand. But your training was absolute. Swallowing your puzzlement, you simply dipped your head in acquiescence and awaited further orders to serve him as the mindlessly adoring creature he'd molded you to be.

The sight of your earnest compliance and vacant pliability made Naoya's shaft throb insistently. Soon that sordid innocence would be expertly defiled upon the altar of his selfish desires. He could already taste the exquisite rapture of physically mastering this vapid little possession of his...

[buckets-and-trees]

Chosen, Part 1: Arrival

Characters/Pairings: eventual Bucky x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Word Count: 3.4k Summary: After surviving three rounds of interviews, you have been invited for a full-day to tour and interview at the estate and headquarters that belong to the Winged Heritage Foundation.

SERIES Content Warnings: SOFT!DARK STORY, cult themes, explicit smut, dubious consent and enthusiastic consent, veiled truths, gaslighting

CHAPTER Content Warnings: none

Notes: I started writing this story with the intention for it to be a long one-shot, but after it shot past 18k, I realized I would need to break it up into installments, so ... expect sort of a slow burn for the plot? Installments will be posted on Mondays and Thursdays.

Shout outs to @stargazingfangirl18, @witchywithwhiskey, @biteofcherry, and @vonalyn for helping me get my ideas sorted out for this trip!

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You scroll through the note in your phone with questions to ask during a final interview as the car pulls off the interstate and starts down a country highway lined with trees.

At least you hope this is the final interview.

You had applied for a basic administrative assistant position with the Winged Heritage Foundation, but after your first interview you had been called by a recruitment officer and asked if you would consider a different position with the organization, one that hadn’t been posted publicly.

You still don’t know what the position is you’re being considered for, but after two more interviews, you had been notified that you were a finalist and invited to a full-day interview and tour of the Foundation’s headquarters – an estate outside of the city. They had even arranged for a professional car service to pick you up and take you there. The offices in the city, where your previous three interviews had taken place, evidently handles most of the business operations for the Foundation, and the estate is where the more focused work takes place.

You are naturally a bit nervous for a fourth - and full day - interview, but you feel you like your nerves are at a healthy level - present but not paralyzing, a small buzz that will keep you focused.

The car slows as it approaches a break in the trees, and your driver signals to turn. As you round the corner, your breath catches in your throat. A wrought-iron gate stretches across a wide driveway, its intricate scrollwork spelling out "Winged Heritage" in elegant script. The gate swings open silently as your car approaches, as if by magic.

The driveway stretches before you, a winding ribbon of pale gravel cutting through a verdant landscape that takes your breath away. Ancient oaks and maples line the drive, their branches reaching across to form a dappled canopy overhead. Bright morning sunlight filters through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground.

As you travel deeper into the estate, meticulously manicured gardens unfold on either side. Vibrant flower beds burst with color - deep purple irises, sunny yellow daffodils, and blood-red roses. The gardens give way to rolling lawns of emerald green, dotted with sculpted topiaries in fantastical shapes.

As the car rounds another bend, a shimmering pond comes into view. Its surface is like polished glass, reflecting the azure sky and fluffy white clouds above. A family of swans glide gracefully across the water, their long necks arched in elegant curves. At the far end of the pond, a delicate bridge of white marble spans the narrowest point, its railings gilded with gold.

The driveway begins to climb a gentle slope, and as you crest the hill, your jaw drops at the sight before you. A magnificent mansion rises from the landscape, its pale stone walls glowing warmly in the morning sunlight. The architecture is a stunning blend of classical elegance, with graceful arches and intricate stonework that seems to ripple and dance as you approach.

The central facade is a masterpiece of symmetry, with wide steps leading up to a grand entrance flanked by towering columns. Ivy climbs the walls in artful patterns, as if guided by an invisible hand to accentuate the building's most beautiful features.

The car follows the curve of the driveway as it sweeps up to the grand entrance before coming to a stop. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself for what lies ahead. The driver opens your door, and you step out onto the gravel, the crunch beneath your feet grounding you in the moment.

A figure emerges from the ornate double doors at the top of the steps, and your heart skips a beat as you recognize her instantly. Natasha Romanoff, the Chief Recruitment Officer, descends the stairs with astonishing grace. Her vibrant red hair catches the sunlight, creating a halo effect that seems almost otherworldly. She's dressed in a sleek black pantsuit that exudes both professionalism and an air of mystery. As your eyes meet hers, you're struck by the intensity of her gaze - piercing green eyes that seem to look right through you.

As she draws closer, you notice a subtle smile playing at the corners of her mouth, a mix of confidence and what you suspect to be mischief. Over the course of your brief interactions up to this point, she had been nothing but professional, but you could feel some alluring pull or energy that seemed to run deep beneath the surface of her controlled demeanor. She had been present in your second interview, conducted the third with one of her associates, and had been the one to schedule you for this.

"Welcome," Natasha says, her voice smooth as silk. "We're so pleased you could join us today." She extends her hand, and you shake it, noting the firmness of her grip.

"Thank you for having me," you reply, proud that your voice doesn't betray your nerves. "The estate is absolutely breathtaking."

Natasha's smile widens slightly. "It is, isn't it? We find that beauty inspires greatness. But come, let's not linger in the driveway. We have a full day and much to show you."

She gestures towards the entrance, and you fall into step beside her as you ascend the stone steps. The massive doors swing open silently, revealing a grand foyer that takes your breath away. The ceiling soars overhead, at least three stories, adorned with an intricate fresco depicting a beautiful sky, birds in flight, and towering trees, bringing the beauty of the grounds into this entry.

Natasha guides you through a doorway off to the side of the foyer, leading you into a small sitting room. The space is elegantly decorated with plush couches, rich mahogany furniture, and intricate paintings on the walls.

"Please, have a seat," Natasha gestures towards one of the couches as she takes a seat in an armchair across from you. You sink into the soft cushions, trying to take in everything at once - the opulence of the room, Natasha's presence, and her piercing gaze.

"First things first,” Natasha says, a professional smile on her face, “the nature of what goes on here is very sensitive and so I'll need you to sign this NDA before we continue." She hands you a stack of paperwork and a pen.

You quickly skim through the document before signing it, feeling slightly uneasy about signing something so quickly without fully understanding what the day ahead of you will entail. But your curiosity outweighs your hesitation and when Natasha takes back the signed document, she slides it into a briefcase by her side.

"Now that's out of the way," she says smoothly, "let me tell you more about our foundation."

She proceeds to give you an overview of the Winged Heritage Foundation – an overview of its history, mission, and values. It's all very intriguing and impressive - but although what she shares is engaging, outside of supporting initiatives identified as important to its founder and possibly something to do preservation of history or historical places and artifacts, you still feel you don’t have any clearer of an idea of what the Foundation’s actual purpose is. But since you have an entire day here, you don’t press the point now, assuming some part of the day will be dedicated to diving deeper into the work they do.

"But enough about us," Natasha says with another enigmatic smile. "Let's talk about what brought you here today."

She pulls out your resume from her briefcase and goes over your experience and qualifications with sharp attention to detail. She asks probing questions that make you feel like she's reading between the lines of your professional achievements.

"Impressive," she comments once she's finished going over your resume. "Your professional and personal character references also speak very highly of you."

Your brow furrows slightly. “Sorry,” you interject, “I don’t remember giving personal references?”

“No, you did not. But we do a lot of work on our end to vet candidates at this point for positions like this. Surely you understand.”

You nod slowly and train your face back into a smile. At least whatever homework they seem to have done on you came back with a positive result.

She leans forward slightly, and you can feel the intensity of her gaze. "We need someone who's truly suited for the responsibilities, but personnel fit is also incredibly important to us.”

“Of course,” you respond. “And what responsibilities exactly would you be looking for me to fulfill?”

Natasha presses her lips together and seems to scrutinize your face more closely. “You’re being considered for two opportunities. Until later in the day when I’ve made a determination on which I’ll recommend you for, I won’t be disclosing that information to you.”

“Oh,” you’re a little surprised at her directness, but you suppose her reason for withholding the information is logical.

“As the Chief Recruitment Officer, I’m very good at what I do, so I’ll know your future with us by the end of the day.”

Natasha rises from her chair with fluid grace. "Shall we begin the tour?" she asks, extending her hand to help you up. You take it, noting the surprising strength in her grip. “I'm eager to show you the wonders of our estate."

She seems to hold your hand longer than necessary, or maybe it’s just your nerves, maybe you looked unsteady standing up and she was only ensuring you were okay.

As you follow her out of the sitting room, you're once again struck by the grandeur of the foyer. Natasha notices your gaze lingering on the fresco above. "That was commissioned by our founder," she explains. "It's said to depict the view from the highest peak of a mountain range that no longer exists."

She leads you down a long corridor, its walls lined with portraits of distinguished-looking individuals. "Our benefactors and notable members throughout the years," Natasha explains. "Each one has contributed significantly to our mission."

The corridor opens into a vast library that takes your breath away. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stretch as far as the eye can see, filled with leather-bound tomes. The air is heavy with the scent of old books and polished wood. Sunlight streams through tall windows, casting a warm glow over the room. The library is a bibliophile's dream, with rolling ladders affixed to the shelves, gorgeous wooden tables for spreading out books for research, and cozy reading nooks tucked into alcoves.

As you walk between the towering shelves, you notice that some of the books look ancient, their spines cracked and faded with age, some even appear to be bound in unfamiliar materials. Others appear to be in pristine condition, despite clearly being very old.

"Our collection is quite extensive," Natasha says, running her fingers along the spines of nearby books. "We have texts dating back centuries, some of which are the only surviving copies in the world."

"How do you preserve them so well?" you ask, unable to hide your fascination.

Natasha's lips curl into a mysterious smile. "We have our ways. Mostly it’s all down to our librarian Jarvis.”

She leads you through a set of double wooden doors at the other side of the library. Once you exit, Natasha leads you through a series of grand hallways, each more breathtaking than the last. The walls are adorned with tapestries and paintings that seem to come alive as you pass, their subjects' eyes following your movement. You could swear you see a figure in one portrait shift slightly, but when you look back, it's perfectly still.

"This wing houses our main offices and research facilities," Natasha explains as you walk. "We have state-of-the-art equipment for analyzing artifacts and documents, as well as a world-class conservation lab."

You pass by rooms filled with people working diligently at computers, their screens displaying what look like ancient texts and complex diagrams. In one room, you glimpse a team carefully examining what appears to be an old manuscript under specialized lighting.

As you continue down the hallway, you notice a door that seems different from the others. It's made of dark, heavy wood and adorned with intricate carvings. Unlike the other doors which are open or have glass panels, this one is firmly shut.

Natasha catches you looking at it. "That area is off-limits, I'm afraid. Some of our more... sensitive projects require absolute secrecy."

You nod but can't help feeling a prickle of curiosity. What could be behind that door that requires such concealment?

Natasha guides you to an elevator at the end of the hall. As you step inside, you notice there are more floors than you would have expected from the outside view of the mansion.

"We have quite extensive facilities underground," Natasha explains as she presses a button for one of the lower levels. "It allows us to maintain the historical integrity of the mansion's exterior while having all the modern amenities we need for our work."

The elevator descends smoothly, and when the doors open, you find yourself in a sleek, modern space that contrasts sharply with the ornate decor above. The walls are a pristine white, and the floors are polished concrete. The lighting is bright but not harsh, giving the space a clean, almost clinical feel.

Natasha leads you down a corridor lined with glass-walled rooms. In one, you see people in lab coats hunched over microscopes. In another, a group is gathered around a large touch screen, manipulating 3D models of what look like ancient artifacts.

"This is our primary research facility," Natasha says, leading you down a wide corridor. "We have some of the most advanced technology in the world at our disposal here."

As you walk, you pass by rooms with glass walls, allowing you to see inside. In one, you spot what looks like a holographic projection of a complex molecule rotating in mid-air. In another, a team of scientists in white lab coats huddle around a table, examining something you can't quite make out.

You pause for a moment, trying to take it all in. The contrast between the classical architecture upstairs and this futuristic facility is striking. "This is incredible," you say, unable to keep the awe from your voice. "I had no idea the Foundation had such advanced capabilities."

Natasha's lips curl into a satisfied smile. "We pride ourselves on being at the cutting edge of research and technology. It's essential for some of our work. We’re also one of the few science labs in the world that still is granted an affiliation with the nation of Wakanda."

As you continue down the corridor, you notice a few doors that aren't made of glass like the others. These are solid metal, with keycard readers and what look like biometric scanners next to them.

"What's behind those doors?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

Natasha's expression doesn't change, but you sense a slight shift in her demeanor. "Those are our most sensitive research areas. Access is strictly limited to senior researchers and leadership."

As if orchestrated for this precise moment, the doors slide open, and two men emerge, engaged in a heated discussion. Or, rather, one of them is heated, and the other is shooting back casual, sarcastic comments.

Natasha clears her throat, “Gentlemen.”

They both stop.

“We have company,” she says, gesturing to you.

The two men turn to face you, and your jaw nearly drops as you instantly recognize them. Standing before you are none other than Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, two of the most famous figures in the world and certainly at the Foundation.

Tony Stark, looking every bit the billionaire genius he's known to be, is dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that probably costs more than your current yearly salary. His goatee is perfectly trimmed, and his hair is styled with just the right amount of casual messiness. There's a faint blue glow visible beneath his shirt - the arc reactor that's become his trademark.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Tony says, his eyes sparkling with curiosity and mischief. He steps forward, extending his hand. "Tony Stark. But you probably knew that already."

As you shake his hand, you can't help but feel a bit starstruck. Tony Stark's grip is brief but firm and confident, his smile charming yet slightly calculating as he sizes you up.

"And this strapping specimen of American values is Steve Rogers," Tony adds, gesturing to the man beside him.

Steve, standing tall and broad-shouldered, offers you a warm smile that seems to light up the room. He's dressed more casually than Tony in khakis and a fitted blue shirt that barely contains his muscular frame. His handshake is strong but gentle, and his blue eyes radiate sincerity.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Steve says, his voice deep and reassuring. "I hope you're enjoying your tour of our facilities."

You manage to find your voice, introducing yourself. “The tour has been nothing but fascinating and impressive so far,” you affirm.

Tony's eyes gleam with interest. "Oh, you’re the one they’ve been wooing, eh? I was sent no less than five reminders this morning that I was to be on my best behavior,” he discloses with a wink.

Natasha rolls her eyes, and you have the suspicion Steve only barely restrains himself from doing so.

"Anyway, welcome to the Foundation," Tony says.

"Stark is supposed to be one of our most valuable researchers," Natasha explains.

"Eh, that’s why you send Steve down to get me back in line when I’m pursuing tangential projects."

This time Steve does roll his eyes.

You can't help but chuckle at the banter between Tony and Steve. Their dynamic is exactly as you'd imagined from what you've seen in the media - Tony's quick wit and sarcasm playing off Steve's more serious demeanor.

"So, what do you think of our little operation so far?" Tony asks, gesturing broadly at the surrounding facility. "Pretty impressive, right?"

Before you can answer, Natasha interjects smoothly. "I'm sure our guest is finding everything quite fascinating, but we should continue the tour. I'm sure you both have important work to get back to."

Tony raises an eyebrow at Natasha, a silent exchange seeming to pass between them. "Right, right. Important work. Can't keep the world waiting, can we?" He turns back to you with a grin. "It was a pleasure meeting you. I’m sure we’ll be seeing you around."

“You’ll at the very least be seeing me,” Steve says. “I believe I’m scheduled to join you for lunch.”

“And I’m not invited?” Tony protests, but he sports an unrepentant grin rather than any genuine offense.

Steve puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder to steer him away, “You’re not the Executive Director of the Foundation, so, no.”

Tony shrugs out of his grip, “And remind me why that is?”

“‘All administrative, no science,’ as you aptly put it so many times when you remind me why you don’t want to listen to what I say.”

“Right,” Tony replies, but does fall into step with Steve heading down the corridor.

As they leave, you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and bewilderment. Meeting two such prominent figures so casually during your interview process only adds to the surreal nature of this experience.

Natasha gently touches your elbow and guides you away from the metal doors and continues down the corridor. "My apologies for that interruption," she says, though her tone suggests she's not entirely displeased. "Mr. Stark has a tendency to... make an impression."

You nod, still processing the encounter. "It's no problem at all. I'm just surprised to see them here. I knew they were involved with the Foundation, but I didn't realize they were so hands-on."

Natasha's lips curl into a knowing smile. "The Winged Heritage Foundation values the direct involvement of all its key members. You'll find that everyone here, regardless of their public status or their position in our organization, contributes actively to our mission.”

She leads you through more state-of-the-art laboratories and research facilities, each more impressive than the last, before returning to the elevator to bring you surface-level again.

As the elevator ascends, you find your mind racing with questions. The encounter with Stark and Rogers, the glimpses of cutting-edge technology, and the air of mystery surrounding certain areas of the facility have only heightened your curiosity about the true nature of the Winged Heritage Foundation is, showing you so much, but not truly illuminating any answers.  

NEXT PART: LUNCH

Welcome to the Winged Heritage Foundation, lovelies. This is only the beginning... Where will this day take you? And what is going on here?

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[velvetdesir3s]

Tutoring sessions: Roman Godfrey x Reader (Prologue)

Summary: Reader goes to the Godfrey mansion for her first day tutoring Roman Godfrey.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: none (for now)

Author’s note: This is the first part of a little series I’m writing. Second part is out! I hope you enjoy!

As you drove up the winding, tree-lined road, the towering silhouette of Roman Godfrey’s house came into view. The mansion stood ominously at the top of the hill, its dark, gothic architecture stark against the sky. You could feel your heartbeat quicken with each turn, a mix of anticipation and unease settling in the pit of your stomach.

The iron gates creaked open as you approached, revealing a sprawling driveway that seemed to stretch endlessly towards the house. The gravel crunched under your tires, the sound echoing in the stillness of the evening. You glanced around, taking in the meticulously maintained gardens and the eerie statues that dotted the landscape, their stone faces frozen in time.

The house itself loomed larger as you neared, its windows dark and uninviting. You parked your car and sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady your nerves. The front door, massive and foreboding, seemed to beckon and warn you simultaneously. Taking a deep breath, you stepped out of the car, the cool air brushing against your skin, and made your way to the entrance, each step bringing you closer to the unknown that awaited within.

Olivia Godfrey, Roman's mother, hired you to tutor him. At first, you were skeptical, of course. You didn’t like him at all. You thought he was arrogant, spoiled and a pathetic excuse for a trust fund baby. But you needed the money. If you wanted to get out of Hemlock Grove, you needed to start somewhere, and she was paying you a great amount of money.

It was surprising how she managed to track you down. You hadn't advertised your services; sure, you had mulled over the idea of tutoring to make some extra cash, but you envisioned helping little kids with algebra, not Roman Godfrey. But when you got the call from her, offering a crazy amount of cash per study session, you couldn’t resist. You had to put your pride aside and get it done.

You thought of a few possibilities as to how she could’ve found you but didn’t like to dwell on it since it freaked you out. This whole family gave you weird vibes; every time you passed by the mansion or the Godfrey Institute, you got shivers down your spine. Ironic, since now you’re technically working for them.

You pushed your thoughts aside and walked up the steps to the front door. Each step seemed to echo in the stillness, amplifying your unease. As you reached the top, you paused, taking in the grandeur of the entrance. The heavy wooden door loomed before you, ornate and intimidating. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and then raised your hand to knock, the sound resonating through the silent mansion.

It didn’t take long before a butler answered the door, gesturing you to come in and wait in the living room. You made your way into the room, setting your backpack next to you on the couch before sitting down. A maid came in immediately, asking if you wanted something to drink or eat. You politely declined, concerned at her anxious expression. After she left, you took in the grand living room, with its plush furniture and elegant décor.

As you waited, you noticed a few framed family photos on the walls and a large window letting in soft, natural light. You couldn’t help but wonder about the circumstances that had made the maid so uneasy.

A few minutes later, Olivia Godfrey came in. She reeked of cigarettes and floral, expensive perfume. She gave you a warm smile that seemed a bit insincere. “Hello, you must be the tutor I hired. Nice to finally meet you,” she said, extending her hand. She shook it quickly, her discomfort not so apparent, before letting go.

“I trust you’re well-prepared for this,” she said, her tone sharp and formal. “I’m somewhat out of touch with modern education, and I’m concerned about ensuring my son receives the best guidance.”

You gulped, somewhat uncomfortable with her tone. “Oh, yeah— you don’t have to worry about that. Today we’re going to start with the basics of calculus and then we’ll move on to—”

“That’s great, honey. Let me just get Roman,” she said, quickly dismissing you.

And just like that, you were all alone again. You leaned back on the couch, sighing to compose yourself.

“She’s such a cunt, isn’t she?”

Roman’s voice cut through the quiet as you stirred on the couch. You blinked awake to find him standing over you, his eyes cold and distant. He sank down beside you with a sigh, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. With a practiced flick, he lit one, the glow of the flame briefly illuminating his face as he took a long drag, the smoke curling around him.

Where the hell did he come from?

You snapped out of your thoughts when he glanced at you with a piercing gaze, removing the cigarette from between his lips with deliberate nonchalance. With a subtle, inviting gesture, he extended it toward you, offering a puff.

“Oh, I don’t smoke,” you replied awkwardly. He smirked, “Of course you don’t,” he muttered, placing the cigarette back between his lips. You rolled your eyes, thinking he hadn’t noticed, but he did and simply smiled to himself.

Then, you heard the unmistakable sound of heels clicking sharply against the floor as Olivia entered the room. She stood in the doorway with an air of poised authority, her gaze fixed on Roman. “Roman, dear, I specifically asked you to be in the living room after lunch,” she said, her tone sharp and controlled, with irritation concealed behind a carefully maintained veneer of sophistication.

“I was taking a shit; I’m here, aren’t I?” he quipped back, taking another drag of his cigarette and blowing the smoke deliberately toward Olivia.

Olivia narrowed her eyes, maintaining her composed exterior. "Charming as always, Roman," she replied coolly. “Do try to behave for your tutor.” She then turned her gaze to you. “I trust you can handle things from here?”

“Uh, yeah—” Before you could continue, she turned and walked out, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.

Roman smirked, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Don’t take it personally,” he said, blowing the smoke into the air. “She’s always got a stick up her ass.” He leaned back, his eyes narrowing slightly. “So, what’s this supposed to be about, anyway?”

You turn to him, your confusion evident. “I was hired to tutor you. Didn’t your mom tell you?”

Roman raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Not exactly. She said I’ve been failing my classes and she’d find a way to fix it,” he explained, taking another drag of his cigarette and flicking the ash into an ashtray. “I figured she’d bribe the school or something.”

Of course he did.

“Well, sorry to disappoint you. We should get to work—”

Roman cut you off with a casual tone, “What if we do something else instead?” His smirk suggested he had something more intriguing in mind.

“What do you mean?” You asked, a little more guarded. You knew about Roman’s reputation for being unapologetically promiscuous. It wouldn’t surprise you if he was suggesting that he wanted to sleep with you right now.

Roman raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Relax, I was just thinking of a change of scenery,” he said with a chuckle. “But if you’re really set on studying, I suppose we can stick to it.” His tone was teasing, but he made it clear he wasn’t pushing further, at least for now.

“Oh, well. Is there anywhere else we could go to start? A couch isn’t really the best place to get some studying done,” you suggested, looking for a more practical setup for your session.

Roman leaned closer, his smirk widening as he set his arm casually on the couch, resting it near your side. “What do you have in mind?” he asked with a teasing tone, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Maybe your kitchen?” you asked, trying to maintain your composure despite the closeness.

Roman leaned back, his smirk softening slightly. “Yeah, the kitchen’s fine,” he said nonchalantly as he rose from the couch and began walking towards the kitchen.

You quickly grabbed your backpack, slinging it over your shoulders, and walked briskly to catch up with him. As you followed Roman through the mansion, the opulent surroundings were hard to ignore. The grand hallway was lined with dark wood paneling and ornate, vintage portraits, casting an almost eerie glow under the soft lighting. The floors were polished marble, echoing with the sound of your footsteps as you walked briskly to keep up with him. Roman’s stride was confident and deliberate, each step resonating with a casual authority.

As you reached the kitchen, the contrast was striking: the space was modern and functional, with sleek countertops and stainless steel appliances. The ambiance was more casual from the mansion’s formal elegance.

“So, what school do you go to?” Roman asked, strolling over to the countertop where a coffee maker sat. He grabbed a cup and poured himself some coffee, then turned around, leaning casually against the counter as he looked at you with a curious expression.

You softly scoffed, incredulous that he hadn’t even paid attention to you before. “We go to the same school. I’m actually in multiple classes with you,” you replied, your tone tinged with a mix of annoyance and disbelief.

Roman raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise crossing his face. “Oh, really?” he said, his tone shifting slightly. “Guess I didn’t notice.”

You walked up to the kitchen table, setting your backpack on it with a sigh. “I guess not,” you muttered, feeling a bit exasperated. Settling down on one of the chairs, you looked up at him and said, “Let’s get to work.”

Roman took another sip of his coffee, watching you with a bemused expression. “Alright, let’s get to it then,” he said, pushing off the counter and walking over to join you at the table. “What’s first on the agenda?”

[ak319]

Lovesick Village Boy x Fem civil servant reader

《Beloved's Veil》

(Warnings: will have themes like possession/horror and abuse) This story will have more than two parts, so enjoy🌼

"Do you like it this far, Ma'am? The village?" Odai’s voice cut through the soft hum of the engine, drawing your gaze to the rearview mirror where his eyes met yours.

"Yes, it’s quite peaceful. I've never lived in a village before."

"You’ll love it, Ma’am. It’s indeed peaceful, which is good for someone like you who enjoys working in a calm environment. The beauty here adds more to the experience." He smiled, his eyes glinting with nostalgia. "This is my second time here. I once drove the Commissioner on a visit. The people are kind too."

"Mhm." You nodded thoughtfully as Odai slowed the car down on a narrow street. Your eyes wandered, taking in the surroundings--quaint homes with old wooden doors, vibrant rugs hung on balconies, and villagers watching the car with curious eyes. "But even the smallest villages have their dark sides. Crime, hardship--they exist everywhere."

"Indeed, ma'am." Odai's voice took on a more serious edge. "I kept news of your arrival under wraps, which is why no one's gathering around our cars." You glanced back at the security vehicle trailing behind, steady and unobtrusive.

"Good," you mused, lighting a cigarette, the flicker of the flame momentarily catching your gaze. "Maybe they are not happy to get a new DC so soon." You chuckled softly, exhaling smoke into the still air. "And what about the other task I gave you? Judging by those wary glances, it might be working."

"Yes, ma'am. I handled it." You'd instructed Odai to spread rumors before your arrival, whispers about your uncompromising nature--how you were a stickler for the law, an officer with unshakeable honesty. It was a strategy you'd wanted to test, a way to plant seeds before even setting foot in Al Razeh. Spread your roots before you even step into the territory, you thought with quiet satisfaction, watching the smoke curl and dissipate into the air, like invisible tendrils laying claim to the village before you.

You, (Y/n), had just been appointed as the Deputy Commissioner, DC, of a district called Kamandik, and your new office--and residence--was nestled in the village of Al-Razeh. It was a quiet place, far from the hustle of the city, a change you welcomed after the long, exhausting journey. Coming from a distinguished family, it almost seemed like destiny had led you to this path. Your lineage boasted army officers, doctors, and civil servants. Your father, a retired military man, had served with distinction, and your mother, an army doctor, had met him through her service. It was that kind of background that had built your discipline and drive.

"Is the Assistant Commissioner going to be there?" you asked, gazing out at the unfamiliar landscape as you approached.

"He will arrive tomorrow, ma'am. His flight got cancelled for today." Odai replied.

Good. You felt a sense of relief. One less formality for today. You leaned back into the seat, letting the exhaustion sink in, already imagining the stillness of your new residence awaiting you.

═════ ◈ ═════

"But I want you to work with me, my son," the old man said, his shivering hands reaching out as his weak, but soft gaze fell upon his youngest. Habib--the kindest, gentlest, and most beautiful of his sons--stood there, looking down at his father. His pale green eyes and thin, golden locks were a wonder, something the village marveled at since his birth. His father, prayed each day that God would grant his son a life as beautiful as he appeared, for Habib had known nothing but pain because of this beauty--this curse.

"Baba, you know they don’t want me to," Habib began, his voice barely a whisper, catching in his throat before it could fully form. The familiar heaviness of his situation silenced him completely as soon as his oldest brother, Basim, strode into the room with an air of command.

"Baba, how many times must we go through this?" Basim’s voice cut through the room like a blade. "I told you--he is not working, and that’s final!"

"He is going to work in the store I go to! With me! He has to do something."

"Him? Are you serious? " Kadir despite being not having the desired strength at the moment stood up from the bed and Habib immediately supported him, his own eyes casted down in his brother's presence.

"Basim, you seem to forget that I am still alive," Kadir said, his voice low but firm, "and I am very much capable of making decisions for this house. Do you hear me?" His words hung in the air, heavy with authority, and Basim, eyes flickering between his father and younger brother, clenched his jaw before storming out of the room, leaving a tense silence in his wake.

Habib finally exhaled the breath he'd been holding, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Don’t be afraid, son," Kadir soothed, resting a reassuring hand on his son's cheek. "I’m here for you. I will always be."

Habib nodded, pressing his lips softly to his father’s weathered fingers. "Just follow what I tell you in the shop," Kadir continued, "and you’ll learn the work in no time."

Outwardly, the Jafaris appeared to be a humble, respectable family--Kadir himself was a respected elder in the community, with his two eldest sons already married. But beneath the surface, the Jafaris were infamous. And though it seemed like many things, perhaps the real reason for the rumors that clung to them like shadows was just one thing--Habib.

Habib woke with a start, his heart pounding as he scanned his dimly lit bedroom. The narrow terrace window was open, a detail he couldn't remember opening himself. No, wait, he had opened it earlier, hadn't he? The memory was foggy. He looked down at the book in his lap, the dim light from the terrace lamp casting strange shadows around the room. Quickly, he turned on the side lamp, its bright light offering a small sense of relief.

He ran his fingers over the pages of The Book of Kings. The words seemed to mirror his own sorrow: “On my heart, this pain and sorrow are so abundant, in mourning for you, the assault on my anxious heart is endless. O heart, you are with me, but you constantly mourn the lost beloved. Every day, we remember you, and at night, we weep for your love, as if my heart cannot reach any solace from your absence and this pain has no remedy.”

Indeed, there seemed to be no remedy. The ache and torment felt as fresh and unyielding as if it had happened just yesterday.

His footsteps were light as he stepped out of his chamber, and with a whispered prayer, he made his way to the kitchen. It was 10 p.m., and most people had gone to bed by 9. He had missed dinner once again. The worried faces of his parents flashed through his mind, contrasting sharply with the indifferent expressions of his brothers.

As he approached the dishes stacked in a corner--likely left there by his mother--he began to prepare his plate. Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, signaling someone's presence behind him.

'No, please-'

The words of the cleric, Nazim, echoed in his mind: “Remember, my boy, never be afraid of anything, for these things feed on fear.” Despite the reminder, he remained paralyzed, his fear not only of the unknown but also of the possibility that it might be Basim, who wasn’t pleased with what Father had said earlier.

The plate in his hand nearly dropped when the person touched him. "God!--Uncle, it’s me, it’s me, Rahim. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you...""

"It’s alright, Rahim." The teenager, Rahim, was the son of Basim, his oldest nephew, and also his best friend. "Why are you awake?"

Rahim smirked and leaned against the counter. "Just couldn’t sleep," his playful demeanor shifted to concern as he took in his young uncle’s appearance. "Uncle... were you sick again?"

"I’m always sick, nothing to worry about."

"You should take better care of yourself. I worry about you. And..." Rahim hesitated, "I doubt that--"

"Rahim, I’m fine. And no, it’s gone. Long gone. Believe me. I’m just... going through some side effects."

"Wow, all that pain and now side effects too, even when you’re free from it? It’s been years! You should see an actual doctor." Rahim was just a toddler when his uncle was afflicted in a way he never imagined possible. Yet, he remembered it all like a vivid nightmare.

"Rahim, please. I am fine," Habib reassured, his voice soft but firm, trying to mask the lingering shadows of his past.

The boy decided to drop the topic for now with an unconvinced sigh. "I brought those pastries you love."

"Why?! You know Brother Basim--"

"Uncle, please. It’s my pocket money, and I get to buy whatever I want for whoever I want." Rahim smiled, and Habib couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound light and comforting in the quiet of the kitchen.

Rahim’s grin widened. He always loved seeing his uncle, who was more like an older brother to him, happy. "Shall I make tea?"

"No, I'll make it. I don't want you waking the whole house."

The two chatted softly, the kitchen door closed to keep their voices from carrying. Basim would be furious if he knew they were up.

"Oh, how could I forget to tell you! When me and my friends were playing, we saw the new DC’s car. She’s here. And from what we’ve heard, she’s very upright and strict too. Which I think is a good thing, considering the previous one was lousy as hell."

"We’ve never had a female DC before, have we?" Habib wondered aloud, trying to recall if he had ever seen any officer around or remembered the last DC’s name.

"Um, no. And do you know her bungalow walls are so high, you can’t see past them! Imagine how cool it must be from the inside. Plus, all the cameras and stuff, which I heard they’re going to put around the village too."

"Mhm, nice." Habib nodded, his smile fading slightly as he sipped his tea. The conversation about the new DC and the changes in the village did little to distract him from the quiet sadness that lingered in his heart.

Part II

[androdconstruction]

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Expert Consultation: Meet with our Red Seal Horticulturist, Cheri.

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At AND-ROD Landscaping & Gardens, we are passionate about creating beautiful outdoor spaces in Bruce Peninsula. Whether you need a clean-up, maintenance, or a new garden, our experienced team is here to help. Contact us today to learn more and transform your garden into a stunning oasis.

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Let's make your garden dreams a reality!

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Love in the Dark: Chapter One

Love in the Dark: You discover an intense connection with an enigmatic dream lover, yearning for a love beyond physical appearances. As your encounters blur the lines between the waking world and the Dreaming, your grapple with the complexities of desire, friendship, and mortality. Can you truly love in the dark?

Warnings: Explicit Material, Explicit Language, Blindfolded Sex.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x NAMEDFem!Reader.

Word Count: ~3.3k

Masterlist | Next

The Dreaming stretches out before you, touched by the diamond stars overhead shimmering brilliantly and auroras rippling beyond mountains to illuminate the night. As you appear this night, you are met with the sight of a bedroom out of a Grecian luxury resort. Billowing gossamer drapes, luxurious linens covering carved furniture, and one of the best views of the realm you have seen to date make it clear he is showing off. Certainly with the dress you appear in. It is as light as the drapes, fluttering in the gentle breeze from the open balcony doors and caressing your skin like the softest material known to man. Or perhaps the Dreaming.

Moving across warm marble, your bare feet carry you out onto the balcony where you are met with the landscape of the realm. Gripping the stone railing, you lean out and take in the sight of flying dreams and nightmares. The realm is always active, no matter what time of day it is in the realm. Someone is always asleep, dreaming, needing the services of the Lord of the Realm. Speaking of which, you have never actually met Dream of the Endless, and you have been visiting the realm to meet up with him for nearly six months by now!

“Well, if I was a bother, he’d probably have kicked me out by now,” you softly speak, a smile stretching across your lips as you recount the memories you have created since becoming cognitively aware of the realm. Initially, he was a friend, showing you the realm with barely a word but with a devotion that truly resonated within your own being. That, that is probably how you ended up falling—satin cloth slithers over your eyes and covers your sight, catching you off guard with a gasp. You smile, reaching up to lightly touch the blindfold as arms snake their way around your waist and a face nuzzles your neck. “This view is spectacular, have you been holding out on me?”

Lips curl against your neck and you receive a sharp little nip for your comment. Giggling, your fingers leave the blindfold to search for the ridiculously soft hair of your Dream Lover. You run your fingers through the strands while leaning back into his embrace. Your relationship with whoever this dream or nightmare is, had begun platonic in nature. But naturally, you had to go and fall in love with him and, well, you have ended up in a physical relationship with a being you have never actually set your eyes on. It meant so much to you because you had fallen in love for who he is and not what he looks like.

He chuckles softly against your skin, the vibrations rippling across your flesh. "Oh, my dear, there are still so many wonders of this realm left for you to discover," he whispers, his voice like the softest of silks, brushing over your senses. You feel him press a gentle kiss to the nape of your neck before guiding you back inside, the satin blindfold still covering your eyes.

As you follow him back into the bedroom, you feel a sudden rush of anticipation stirring within your cunt until it throbs with need. The scent of the room has shifted, becoming musky and rich with desire, a blend that makes your heart race and your breath quicken.

He leads you to the bed, the soft linens yielding beneath your bare feet as you step onto the mattress. With a gentle tug on your hand, he guides you down, laying you flat on your back, the cool, crisp sheets brushing against your skin. You can feel the heat radiating from his body as he moves in close, his breath on your neck sending shivers down your spine.

Slowly, he begins to explore your body, his hands tracing the curves and dips of your form, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He takes his time, savoring every inch of you, as if he's memorizing the shape of your shoulders, the curve of your hips, the softness of your thighs. At this point he has. He pauses to brush his lips against your collarbone, and you arch up, feeling the weightlessness of the blindfold against your face as your senses are consumed by the touch of his skin against yours.

His hands continue their exploration, finding their way to the edges of the gossamer dress, his fingers deftly untying the delicate knots that hold it in place. With a soft whisper of fabric against skin, the dress falls away, leaving you exposed and vulnerable beneath his touch. You can feel the heat of his gaze on your bare flesh, and it sets your entire body aflame, your heart pounding in your chest.

He leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, teasing kiss. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, pressing your body against his. His skin is like velvet against yours, smooth and warm, and you can feel the strength in his arms as he holds you tight, his hands roaming over your back, drawing out only the best of sensations. Oh your Dream Lover was built like a god. You knew from the countless times you've ran your hands over his body, stroking, caressing.

As your kiss deepens, his fingers trace the outline of your lips, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through your entire body and you softly moan. You feel him smile against your mouth, and it's as if he can sense the effect he's having on you, the power he holds over your senses. He trails his fingers down your neck, across your collarbone, to the swell of your breasts, and you gasp at the touch, arching up to meet his hands, your body craving more, demanding the heat and the fire of his adoration.

His lips leave yours, wandering down your neck, his kisses growing more intense, more urgent as he goes. You feel his teeth graze your skin and you squirm against him, whimpering for more. He moves down further still, his mouth finding your breasts, his tongue tracing circles around your nipples, his fingers teasing and pinching them in turn.

You cry out, the sensations overwhelming, your body pulsing with desire. He continues his exploration, his touch growing more demanding, more insistent as he teases and pleasures you, driving you to the edge of ecstasy. You feel as if you're floating, suspended in a world of sensation, and all that exists is the touch of his skin against yours, the feel of his lips on your flesh, the heat of his body pressed against your own.

"Are you ever going to indulge me this night," you gasp, squirming against him. He chuckles darkly, some nights you are as patient as a stream of water slowly eroding rock, and others a lustful creature hungry for every little bit of intimacy you could acquire. His lips brush against your nipple once more before he kisses his way down your stomach, his hands trailing after him, leaving a burning path in their wake.

You bite your lip, anticipation building as he moves lower, his breath hot against your skin. He reaches the apex of your thighs, and you can feel the wetness there, evidence of your desire for him. He pauses for a moment, his fingers lightly tracing the outline of your folds before he dips a finger inside, causing you to gasp and arch upwards.

He smiles against your skin, clearly enjoying your reaction, and begins to explore you further, his fingers delving deeper, finding that spot that sends you over the edge. You cry out, your body trembling as he expertly works his magic, his fingers dancing over your sensitive flesh.

"Please," you beg, "I need more."

He chuckles darkly and moves down further, his lips brushing against your inner thigh as he goes. You feel his hot breath against your cunt, and your body tenses in anticipation. And then, he's there, his tongue flicking against your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. You moan, your hips bucking against his mouth as he continues his assault, his tongue and lips driving you wild with desire.

You can't help but writhe beneath him, your hands tangled in the sheets as he devours you, his tongue probing deep, his lips sucking with just the right amount of pressure. It feels like an eternity, each moment stretching out as he explores and pleasures you, his skill leaving you breathless and wanting more.

"Please," you beg again, your voice barely a whisper, "I need your cock."

"Patience," he murmurs against your skin, his voice vibrating through you, adding to the sensation. "I want to savor every moment." You don't know why he bothers to tell you this, he savors you every night you spend with him.

His words only fuel your desire, your body trembling with need. He continues his meticulous attention, each flick of his tongue and gentle suck sending you closer to the edge. You can feel the heat building, your climax approaching rapidly.

"Please," you gasp once more, desperation clear in your voice. You almost want to wail at him.

As you beg for his cock, Dream Lover merely chuckles darkly and continues his exploration, his tongue now delving deeper, probing your entrance with just the right amount of pressure. You can't help but moan, your hips bucking against his mouth as he drives you wild with desire.

His fingers return to your clit, teasing and massaging it gently, building the tension within you. You feel your climax approaching rapidly, the heat building in your core, your body trembling with need.

Then, it hits you, a powerful wave of pleasure crashing over you as you cry out, your body convulsing in ecstasy. Dream Lover doesn't let up, maintaining his rhythm, milking your orgasm for all it's worth as he drinks in your pleasure.

When your climax begins to subside, he pulls away, leaving you panting and spent, your body still trembling from the intensity of the experience. You can't help but reach for him, wanting more, but he simply smirks and guides your hand back down to the sheets, denying your request for his cock. You whine in your throat in response.

Instead, he moves up your body, his hands trailing over your skin, leaving a burning path in their wake. He pauses at your breasts, teasing and pinching your nipples before moving on, his lips leaving a trail of kisses down your neck and chest.

You squirm beneath him, your body still sensitive from your first orgasm, and anticipation building for more. Dream Lover chuckles, clearly enjoying your reaction, and moves lower, his fingers once again finding your clit, teasing and massaging it gently.

He leans in close, his hot breath against your ear as he whispers, "I told you I wanted to savor every moment." Before you can respond, his tongue flicks against your earlobe and he resumes his expert attention to your clit, building the tension within you once more.

“Oh gods,” you moan, your hips bucking against his hand as he works you towards another climax, his skill leaving you breathless and wanting more. As the heat builds, you feel your second orgasm approaching rapidly, the sensations overwhelming, your body pulsing with desire.

Dream Lover continues his relentless teasing, driving you higher and higher until you cry out, your body shuddering with pleasure as your second climax crashes over you. He doesn't let up, his fingers continuing to massage your clit, once again extending your orgasm and drawing out all you have to give.

As your climax begins to subside, he pulls away once more, leaving you panting and spent, your body still trembling from the intensity of the experience. You reach for him, wanting more, but he simply smirks and shakes his head, denying your request for his cock.

"Patience, my love," he murmurs a second time, his voice vibrating through you, adding to the sensation. "I told you I want to savor every moment." What little patience you have snaps.

"Savor my ass!" You cry out. "You're the one being too nice! Be vicious or something!"

His smirk widens, and he leans in close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. Sometimes you got yourself in over your head and had to be put in your place, and activity he enjoyed every much. "Vicious, hmm?" he murmurs, amusement clear in his voice. "I can certainly accommodate that."

Without warning, he flips you onto your stomach, your body splayed out on the soft sheets. You gasp, surprise and anticipation mingling in your chest. His hands glide over your skin, leaving a burning trail in their wake, his touch firm and demanding.

Dream Lover's lips find the back of your neck, nipping and sucking gently, sending shivers down your spine. His hands move to your hips, gripping them tightly as he enters you from behind, his cock thick and hard, filling you completely.

You cry out, the sensation of being filled so unexpectedly sending shockwaves through your body. He doesn't hesitate, his hips pounding into you, his rhythm relentless and primal. Your body shudders with each thrust, the sensations overwhelming, your nails digging into the sheets..

His grip on your hips tightens, his fingers bruising your skin as he drives into you with a ferocity that borders on violence. You can't help but moan, the pleasure and pain mixing together in an intoxicating cocktail that leaves you breathless and wanting more.

His lips move to your ear once more, his breath hot and heavy as he growls, "Is this what you wanted? To feel me fuck you like an animal?"

You whimper, your body trembling with need as you nod your assent. Encouraged, your lover's hips pick up speed, his cock thrusting into you with a force that borders on brutal.

"Fuck, yes!" you cry out, your voice hoarse with desire. "Harder! I want you to fuck me harder!"

He complies, his hips slamming into you with a ferocity that sends shockwaves through your body. You feel your climax approaching rapidly, the heat building in your core, your body tense with anticipation.

Just as you're about to reach your peak, he pulls out, leaving you gasping and craving more. Oh come on! He flips you onto your back and you can feel the heat of his gaze on your heaving breasts. "Not yet," he growls, his voice low and menacing. "I'm not done with you."

He enters you again, his hips pounding into you with a brutal intensity that leaves you breathless and wanting more. You feel your climax building once more, the sensations overwhelming, your body shuddering with desire. It just wants release.

As your orgasm approaches, he leans in close, his lips finding yours in a bruising kiss that sends a shockwave through your body. He drives into you one last time, his cock deep within you, and you cry out, your body convulsing in ecstasy as your climax crashes over you.

He doesn't let up, his hips continuing to pound into you, his orgasm clearly approaching. With a final, forceful thrust, he cries out, his body shaking as he empties himself inside you.

You feel boneless and spent beneath him, your body still trembling from the intensity of the experience. Your Dream Lover collapses beside you, his breath hot against your neck as he whispers, "I hope that was...vicious enough for you."

You can't help but giggle, your body still humming with pleasure as you turn to face him. "It was..." you begin, your voice soft and breathy. "But I hope you're not done with me yet."

He chuckles darkly. "Oh, my love," he murmurs, his fingers trailing over your skin, leaving a burning path in their wake. "I'm only just getting started."

You wake up, the remnants of your dream still clinging to you like a lover's embrace. Your body aches in all the right places, a lingering reminder of your Dream Lover's touch. As you stretch, you feel the tender bruises on your hips, the delicate markings left by his fingers on your skin.

Your heart races, a mixture of longing and regret filling you as you resign that your fiery passion was just a dream. You miss him, the feel of him inside you, the taste of his lips on yours, the passion that consumes you both. You roll over, reaching for the empty space beside you, wishing he were there, wishing you could feel his warmth, his breath on your neck.

But he's not there, and you're left with nothing but memories and the physical marks on your body a testament to the intensity of your love. You trace your fingers over the bruises, a soft smile playing on your lips as you remember the viciousness of his touch, the way he drove into you, claiming you as his own.

You sigh, your arms wrapping around yourself as you try to hold onto the feeling, the memory of him still fresh in your mind. But it's not enough, and you know it. You need more, you need him, the ache inside you fierce and demanding.

You rise from the bed, the cool air of your bedroom a stark contrast to the heat of your dream. You make your way to the bathroom, turning on the shower, letting the warm water wash over you as you try to calm your racing thoughts.

As you soap your body, you can't help but linger on the marks left by your Dream Lover, his touch as real to you now as it was in your dream. You close your eyes, letting the water cascade over your face as you dream of him, longing for the feel of his skin against yours, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress.

The water begins to cool, and you know you can't stay in the shower forever, no matter how much you wish you could. Reluctantly, you turn off the taps, stepping out of the shower and wrapping yourself in a towel.

You gaze at your reflection in the mirror, your eyes haunted by the memory of your dream. You look gaunt, as if you've been through a battle, and in a way, you have. The battle for his love, the battle to hold onto the memory of him, the battle to fill the empty space inside you that only he can fill.

You dress, pulling on comfortable clothes that hide the marks on your body, the evidence of your love. You make your way through your apartment, the silence deafening, the absence of him like a physical ache.

As you go about your day, you can't shake the feeling that something is missing, that there's a void inside you that nothing can fill. You try to distract yourself, to focus on work, on friends, but it's no use. Your thoughts keep returning to him, to your dream, to the heat of his touch, the passion in his love.

The day drags on, each hour feeling like an eternity as you wait for the moment when you can close your eyes and seek him out in your dreams once more. Because that's where he lives, in your dreams, in your memories. But for now, you must survive, you must find a way to continue on without him in the waking world. Because that's what your life is, a mortal in the waking, loving a man of your dreams.

Date Published: 9/16/24

Last Edit: 9/16/24

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[klausysworld]

Peaceful Power

Valentines day.

Klaus didn't care for it nor understand it.

If you truly loved your person then why did you need a special day to prove it? Every day should be valentines day.

But Y/n loved love so much that something about valentines day was so magical for her.

She was a very calm soul.

Despite being a witch in New Orleans, her patience and compassion was everlasting. They were traits that Klaus deeply admired and was eternally grateful for. Not many people would be so tolerant of him.

She offered other methods to settle his rage.

The first few times he found it silly and embarrassing when they would sit on his art room floor, gentle music in the background as they closed their eyes and meditated until they felt the weight of the day lift off from their shoulders.

She had made him playlists of songs that she knew he would like and were peaceful enough to settle his nerves when he should need to.

A few times he had let her guide him through a yoga routine or two however those sessions almost always ended up with him testing just how many positions he could actually get her into before she was too exhausted for him to carry on.

She was his serenity.

So when she had expressed her passion for valentines day, he knew he couldn't disappoint her. Not that he believed there was a way to disappoint her at this point.

Now Klaus was quite romantic anyway, his main love language was gift giving and acts of service followed closely behind so he wasn't too sure how to really impress her.

However if there was something Klaus was known for it was his dramatic flare.

It was because of this that Y/n found herself blindfolded and wearing noise cancelling headphones while sat in fist class while Klaus stroked her hair and fed her the over priced airplane food. He would of course lift her headphones to whisper to her throughout the flight to ensure she was sated, thankfully Y/n was just fine with the arrangement and rather excited for where they were wind up.

He kept her covered right until he got her to their hotel.

Only when he had her stood on the balcony with the view of the sea before did he allow her senses to return.

A glowing smile lit up her face at the sight and she quickly spun around to face Klaus. He beamed back at her, chuckling when she leaped into his arms and wrapped herself around him like a koala. His grin grew as she repeatedly kissed his face and he spun her around playfully until she dropped her legs back down and leaned over the balcony pointing at the beach excitedly.

"It's so beautiful!" She gasped but he wasn't looking at the landscape, he was just looking at her. "Where are we?" she whispered, her soft voice expressing her astonishment.

"Italy" he answered with a smile as she turned to face him in amazement, "Amalfi Coast to be exact" he added and she squealed.

"For how long?" she asked excitedly and he shrugged

"For as long as you would like" he told her simply and she practically bounced where she stood.

Klaus eventually coaxed her into the hotel room, surprising her further as she was overwhelmed by the valentines theme spread throughout the apartment.

Heart shaped balloons rest in the corners of each room, pink and red candles made the hotel smell heavenly and a sweet little meditation area was set up in the lounge. Their bedroom was covered in heart shaped pillows and roses. Y/n was expressing her appreciation all night before finally resting, her mind filled with anticipation of what would come the following day.

Morning arrived and they spent valentines day on the water, giggling and smiling as they spotted dolphins and reached their hands into the sea to see the fish shimmer. Klaus braided her hair and gradually slotted more and more little flowers into the strands as they day went by.

They ate at a sweet little place just down the road from where they were staying before heading to a cocktail bar and finally laying against the coast, watching as the sun hid below the ocean line and the moon slowly found its way to the top.

"I've always loved the moon" Y/n whispered softly, looking at Klaus from where her head lay on his chest. "It's so peaceful but so powerful, you know?"

"Just like you" he uttered and her heart melted

Klaus's gaze remained on her as her cheeks blushed rose and her eyes softened to the point where he worried that he had made her cry. A singular tear slipped past her eyes before she kissed his lips and tucked her head under his chin comfortably.

"I love you" she mumbled, her voice weak as he wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled the top of her hair.

"I love you so much more, my little valentine"

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 2.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

a former ward of alicent hightower and aemond's childhood companion, shera stark, returns to king's landing after ten years. ten years after the incident at driftmark that left her and aemond permanently disfigured. after so many years apart, shera and aemond are almost strangers. almost.

shera's voice sounds like blue diamond in this clip. a soft, dreamy whisper.

wordcount: 4.2k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence

story playlist

She’d never ventured south before and her nose wrinkled at the thought. What does the south have that the north doesn’t? Warmth, mayhaps– but you can easily make that with a fire! Pretty silks and lots of fruit, she was told. Shera wasn’t entirely sure what use she would have for pretty silks, as they'd dirty right away if she ventured in the snow– and fruit. Surely there wasn’t anything better than freshly picked blackberries and blueberries.

The little girl couldn’t sit still in the wheelhouse as she poked her head to the sliding wood window, brown eyes trying to gauge the landscape. It was certainly green! They had been on the road for a moon and a half and Shera was about to pull out her hair from boredom. The stewardess, Warra, that her father had stowed away with her for the journey, irritated Shera to no end.

‘Sit down!’

‘Stitch inward, not outward.’

‘You’re fraying the thread, be gentle.’

If looks could kill, the poor stewardess would be dead within the first week of the journey. Warra glared back at the impudent child, thinking the exact same thought.  

“You must be Shera Stark,” a young woman cooed, who had greeted the little girl at her arrival to the keep. Her hair was the same shade as Shera’s. She was dressed in a green dress, and it reminded the little girl of the pine forests beyond Winterfell. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Nice to meet… you,” Shera returned, curtsying with a small wobble. “M’lady.” 

Shera felt an odd connection to the woman almost instantaneously, her arms held out for a hug. At the age of five, she was still very much a baby, and craved the warm touch of another person. “Are you my mumma now?” she whispered.

“Oh,” the woman murmured. “You may call me Alicent,” she added, looking slightly confused at the little girl’s request for an embrace. Alicent stared at the child for a moment, seeing herself reflected in her huge brown eyes. She scooped her up and held Shera to her hip. “It’s scary being here all alone, isn’t it?” 

–

The south was no place for a wolf, she feared. Not only her own wolf, but herself as well. She heard their whispers as she arrived in the city, the stares of prying eyes, wishing to catch a glimpse of the infamous Banshee of Winterfell. 

‘Twas an ugly name, Shera thought. Banshees were decrepit creatures with haunting yowls and spindling claws like cracked branches– was she truly so ugly? She hardly spoke, no less screamed, lest she awaken the still tender pain against her neck. Sometimes she would hum a broken tune from her girlhood days, but she would hardly call that a song.

The journey had taken over half a moon and was as agonizingly long as she remembered from her girlhood, even more so now. Cregan opted to leave her alone in the wheelhouse while he rode outside on his horse. She’d much rather be upon horseback than in the sweltering carriage— the movements made her ill, and she spent much of the time with her face firmly supplanted into Moongeist’s fur. 

Jacaerys had offered to take Shera to King’s Landing by dragonback before they left. 

“It would be a much faster and easier journey, my lady. It is even easier than riding horseback.” he exclaimed, his dragon just now grown enough to saddle two. Vermax loomed in the background on the snow laden grass, sniffing the air and making soft trilling noises. He reminded Shera of a whippoorwill. 

“I… I would very much love to, my prince— but I would be blind without Moongeist with me upon arrival and I do not think Vermax would take kindly to another passenger who weighs more than you and I — and is a wolf.” she said softly. Shera wished to keep both feet supplanted on the ground— she would never acclimate to flying upon a dragon or being ferried by ship. She was prone to seasickness, and imagined dragonback no different. 

Moongeist pressed to her hip, guiding her and keeping her on a straight path. Shera’s fingers laced through the thick fur of the wolf, who’d become somewhat of a guardian for her since the incident ten years ago. The loss of vision in her eye threw off her calibration of the world, often leaving her lost and clinging to walls. Cregan had procured the wolf as a pup, six moons after Shera’s return to Winterfell– she hardly remembered Moongeist as a puppy, as she lived on milk of the poppy and venison stew broth for a year. 

The now gigantic wolf, Cregan citing him as a Winter King’s direwolf, acted as Shera’s eyes and balance. She could still see, of course, out of one eye– but her chronic pain debilitated her, rendering her into that sobbing, sniffling, poppy-addled child she was a decade ago. Cregan, whom Shera hardly knew when she returned, was very much the depiction of an angry wolf, pacing back and forth in the maester’s chambers for weeks. She didn’t remember much during those months, but she remembered the movement of Cregan’s shadow, bristled and looming like a creature out of fantasy. 

And now she had returned to the place that started it all– ‘twas her home for eight years. Cregan was here, too, meeting with the Queen and Princess Rhaenyra on matters pertaining to Shera’s betrothal, a sign of goodwill from Alicent to somehow mend the rift between the Starks and the crown.

It all seemed very dreary to Shera. She didn’t wish to be looked at, perceived, much less married to a man, to whom she would have to share the intimacies of her disfiguration with and lay bare beneath.

Shera walked through the halls of Keep, fingers skimming over the familiar yet so foreign stone.

She looked very much like a ghost or banshee in her gown and veil, one she preferred to wear to conceal her scars, flitting through the corridors. She was often dreamy eyed, when people did see her eyes, and certainly was a touch maddened — especially since the accident at Driftmark.

She was a quiet, solemn woman now, tamed by the Queen into a proper young lady as a child under almost solely Queen Alicent’s eye as her ward— an unexpected oath that Viserys upheld, as he’d made a promise to Rickon Stark, the girl’s father, many years before. She had come to King’s Landing at the tender age of five.

Alicent brought up Shera as she saw fit—sheltered and safe, softening her rough edges and wild nature. Shera became the perfect Hightower daughter that Alicent never had, who attended prayer, read the Pointed Star of the Seven front to back and served the Gods with honor, much to the chagrin of Cregan once she returned.

She adjusted her veil as she walked towards the holdfast, thankful for the shield from the resplendent sun. Her hair was coiled into a braided bun, pinned with silver jewelry. 

Shera was much a Northern lady in her appearance now, with copper hair in billowing curls. Her hair hadn’t been trimmed much in her lifetime, and when unleashed from its braided confines, it would fall past her bottom. Her unblind eye was a deep brown, edging on black, and her blind one was a milky, pupil-less blue.

Her stomach churned with anticipation and she mostly felt like vomiting. Her hands were now clenched together tightly, white knuckled, as to distract herself. She wished to see the Queen first— a way to anchor herself to reality, and would be the easiest, along with Helaena, to reacquaint herself with.

As she reached the corridor that held the queen’s chambers at the end, it was oddly bereft of people. She watched as the heavy doors swung open and a svelte figure dressed in black receded from the solar. She blinked profusely, seeing the white hair, long and taken pristine care of— and pin straight. That couldn’t be Aegon, could it? 

The figure turned after closing the doors, facing Shera’s direction, who was still at the very end of a long corridor. It was not Aegon. The leather eyepatch gave it away instantly— Aemond. He had gotten tall, much taller than she by at least a foot. 

They made eye contact, violet to brown— he paused, lips pursed. His form went rigid as he clearly acknowledged her presence; but said nothing. 

Shera said nothing, either. The wind was taken out of her lungs, stolen by him, it seemed. 

His one eye widened in surprise, then narrowed. She couldn’t parse the nature of his expression besides cold, hard steel. His fists clenched and unclenched— and he walked away in the other direction, a corridor off to the left, towards the ramparts. Away from Shera. Purposefully. 

“A-Aem,” she attempted to raise her voice to call to him, but was stopped by the sting of pain. “Aem—!” she croaked again, persisting past her limits. 

He looked at her again and kept going, going… until he was out of sight. Gone. 

Shera wracked a cough, clutching her throat. What… was that? Did he just flee from her? She pushed her utter confusion (and ever creeping despair) aside, knocking on the queen’s door. 

A handmaiden, Talya, answered. “Her grace is expecting company— if you haven’t a prior engagement, you must return later.” 

“‘Tis… ‘tis the company,” Shera murmured, suppressing the urge to hack up a lung. “Shera Stark.” 

The handmaiden’s eyes widened with a gleam of recognition, confusion, and then pity— she stepped aside, bowing her head. 

How Shera tired of those expressions being thrown in her direction. She passed through the threshold, a shaky hand gripped into Moongeist’s fur. 

“Oh— Shera?” Alicent echoed, standing up from the settee she was perched upon. She was radiant, to say the least— her hair was shorter than it had been before, but she hadn’t aged much. Aside from a lingering shadow beneath her eyes and in the depths of her irises. She was tired. “By the Seven, I hardly recognized you, my dear.” 

“Your grace,” Shera whispered in greeting, once again curtsying with wobbly legs. As much as she anticipated seeing Aemond, she wished it’d been after she greeted his mother— she felt the part of a ruffled hen, her fragile demeanor temporarily cracked. “It’s… good to see you— you haven’t aged a day.” 

Alicent rushed to her, only slightly phased by Moongeist, who stood now off to the side in preparations for the Queen’s no doubt touchy-feely welcome. “Your voice,” Alicent murmured, her large brown eyes wide, lips downturned. “It’s… you’re very quiet now, my sweet.” she swallowed, putting her arms around the woman— who now, inherently flinched. Shera, as a child, loved to be showered in physical affection, and loved to be hugged, kissed and snuggled by Alicent. But now, she flinched. Only for a moment— she had to get used to it again, she was much a spooked horse, skittish. 

Shera nodded slowly as Alicent led her to sit. “Yes— I… I cannot sing any longer, I am deeply sorry, your grace.” she looked down at her hands.

Shera loved to sing as a child, Aemond listening to her songs, usually ones associated with the Faith of the Seven, and hummed along while he studied. They were both outcasted children, bullied and poked at to a point where they recused themselves into one another, communicating in a language that they made up— a combination of High Valyrian, which Aemond had lovingly taught Shera at the same time he was learning it, and gibberish. 

“It was a terrible thing, what happened that day,” the queen said, pouring them both tea. “It was a terrible thing with naught justice brought.” 

Shera sipped at the tea, letting out a soft sigh as the warm liquid soothed her irritated throat. “… I remember nary a bit, your grace— only…” she clenched the cup tightly, the memories of that day flooding back. 

“You!” one of the twins bellowed.

“‘Tis I.”

“You claimed my mother’s dragon– you stole Vhagar!” 

“You cannot steal a dragon.” Shera huffed, proverbial feathers already fluffed. 

“I do not remember.” Shera corrected herself. 

“I wish I could forget– I still remember it… all too well.” Alicent echoed. “... you must know, I– we rejoiced with the Gods when we heard we hadn’t lost you. I am remiss that we did not get a chance to say goodbye, though.”

The scream that she would never forget– the slash of Lucerys’ blade piercing and mangling Aemond’s eye.

It was a wail that haunted her dreams still. 

Shera could hardly react– did they want to kill him? Were they going to kill her? She moved, shoving Lucerys down, his head hitting the wall, the blade skidding in the dust. Where were the guards? Where were the adults? Where was anyone?

As Lucerys began to cry, blood trickling from his head, Jacaerys went into a rage– fists swinging with a crooked look in his eye that Shera was afraid he would kill her. If she were to die in a skirmish, she would go down with a fight! Barreling toward Jace, she supplanted her weight into the center of his chest, scratching at his face and snapping her jaws like a rabid dog.

Then she was pushed back– but not by Jacaerys. ‘Twas Baela, the more brazen of the dragon twins. She shoved Shera back, brandishing the same dagger that Lucerys had used– it was still dripping with Aemond’s blood. She wasn’t as close as they had been, but the cut was the same, slitting up Shera’s eye as her vision filled with blood. She felt dizzy and could hardly hear herself scream over Aemond’s wails– she was silent, sputtering for breath. 

“Kill her! She’s going to tell on us, Baela!” one of the other kids had cried. Shera couldn’t remember who. 

Her body went into shock– she didn’t even feel the knife slice her throat, her mumbles coming out as garbled choking, spitting up blood– 

Her hand went to her throat absentmindedly, feeling the raised scar where she’d been slashed by that damned knife. The maesters said it was an act of the Gods that it didn’t hit a prominent vein— but as the Gods give, they taketh away. She couldn’t sing any longer, nor hardly talk above a whisper, and was not able to see out of one of her eyes. It wasn’t taken out like Aemond’s, but muted into a milky blue color. 

“... I’ve missed you much, your grace,” Shera uttered, her hand snaking to Alicent’s as she clutched it with a small tremble.

“We cannot change the past, Shera– we can only… forge our future,” Alicent returned her squeeze with a smile, brows downturned. “... do you wish to marry him, my dear?”

Shera breathed audibly. Did she want to? Was that her wish? No– of course it wasn’t. It wasn’t– Jace had changed much since the incident on Driftmark, but she feared how to tell him that she would wake up sobbing from nightmares about him, about him and his brother and his cousins, brutalizing her. It was twisted, in truth, how when they would share a bed, how they would have to conceive an heir, how she would have to let him touch her. He would be gentle, she knew, he would let her take her time and be studious and princely and all the things encompassing the future King after his mother– but she wouldn’t be able to truly look at him without thinking of that, of the pain, the blood filling her throat, gurgling and drowning in her own life’s essence–

“... yes, your grace.” Shera responded. “I wish to… marry Jacaerys Velaryon and mend the rift between the crown and the Starks.” 

Alicent’s brow furrowed and she regarded Shera for a long moment before nodding. “Then… it shall be done.”

–

Shera felt her skin prickle into goosebumps as she left the queen’s solar. She felt flustered, like she’d been pricked in the bum by a thousand needles– she sorely needed to go to the Weirwood and pray. As she turned to abscond to the ramparts, she was stopped. A pair of arms boxed her against the wall, the scent of dragon and sandalwood overwhelming her senses. Moongeist let out a growl at the intruder, but Shera silenced him with a hand gesture. She knew who it was, of course– she carefully lifted her gaze to him. Aemond.

“Ñuha dārilaros,” My prince, she murmured in High Valyrian– she had rehearsed her greeting to him so many times over the years in her head. Her eyes roved over his form, taking in all of the changes of nearly a decade. He was tall, so much taller than she was now, his once curled hair straightened to a point. His aquiline nose led to his mouth, pursed in anticipation, in challenge. “… it’s good to see you.” 

Aemond’s brow furrowed, his hands still boxing in, as if he were the wolf and she the prey. He looked like a shadow of the boy she once knew— he had all the makings of a predator now, a true dragon in his own right. “Shera,” he grunted. “I’m surprised you remember our lessons, I can’t imagine you use it much anymore, talking to weirwood trees and wolves, or not talking much at all, I’ve heard.” his voice was so laissez-faire, but it held an unmistakable edge to it, like a sheathed blade. 

Her jaw clenched at his tone. She wasn’t expecting a warm reunion like no time had passed, but she wasn’t expecting to be iced out, either. Her mouth twinged in irritation, bleeding into a pang of sorrow in her chest. They had been so close all those years ago, so close that at times it felt they were fused as one— was he so unhappy to see her? She instinctively thumbed over her choker again, poking the tip of her finger into the cool threading to anchor herself. Moongeist pressed to her hip, sensing her change in emotion. The wolf stared at Aemond before nudging Shera’s hand atop his head in an effort to calm her.  “I may not speak it much anymore… but I still remember. We learned it together.”

Aemond’s hand reached out to inspect the veil concealing her face between his thumb and forefinger, as if testing its worth. His violet eye roamed over the outline of her face— he couldn’t quite see all of her from behind the wretched garment, which seemingly agitated him. “You always had such an excellent memory, my lady. You look much like the banshee they say you are with this… veil. Why do you insist on wearing such a thing, it mustn’t be so terrible under there, is it? Not like mine– they took it out. I heard you still have yours, don't you?” he paused, “Why have you returned?” he tugged on the laced curtain, earning him an annoyed whine from Shera and a rumbling growl from Moongeist. He was so callous now, so rough— like unhewn wood, splintering at the edges. 

“I wear it for the same reason you wear your eyepatch– It appears that my brother, your mother and sister, as well as the Gods have other plans for me. I’m to be betrothed.” Shera whispered back, her hand going to her throat as she felt an acute pain from raising her voice a bit too high. 

Aemond’s pupil wavered as he looked her over, concerned over her mewl of pain, then the realization of what she’d said coming over him. “Betrothed,” he said, his voice flat and clipped. “Betrothed,” he repeated again, his grip on her veil increasing. “And who is it? Who dares to try and claim the banshee of Winterfell? I always thought it would be me to claim you, hm? But you ran away to the North and replaced me with a dog.” he eyed the giant black and gray wolf with a curled lip.

A flush of heat came to her cheeks. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me such things, it's a nasty name. I didn’t expect you of all people to pay attention to court gossip,” she scoffed. “It’s none of your concern whom I’m to marry, Aemond.” Shera let out a breath.

“Who. Is. It?” he continued, spitting each word through gritted teeth.

“That isn’t for me to say. Your mother wishes to announce it formally at dinner tonight.” Shera distanced herself from him as he rescinded now, allowing her some breathing room. She smoothed down her dress and fixed her veil. She sighed inwardly, based on his reaction now, that once Alicent announces her betrothed tonight, he will lose it. She can only speculate how severely he will react when he finds out that his once close companion is being betrothed to someone he loathes. 

He squinted slightly, resting his hands behind his back, foot planted carefully on the ground. “I pray then,” he said with somewhat condescension, “that they aren’t terribly important— all the easier for them to be charred fodder for Vhagar’s belly.” 

Shera snorted, twisting her sapphire signet ring on her middle finger, shaking her head. “You jest, my prince.” 

“Not a jest, sweet wolf. Think of it as a promise.”

“You cannot,” she glanced up, her veil rippling with the sudden movement of her head. “You’re unbelievable, do you know that?” 

“What is so unbelievable about my promise?” 

“You act as if you have a claim over me, Aemond,” she whispered his name, her voice taut as she swallowed a sting of pain from the sudden change in tone. “No one has a claim over me, least of all you.” she coughed, her hand clutching her throat as she awkwardly took in a breath, stretching the limits of her injured vocal cords. Shera let out a strained sigh, shaking her head.

Aemond’s nostrils flared at her words, his jaw clenching. “No one? And yet, you let your brother sell you off like a broodmare. Or mayhaps a prized bitch.” he glanced at the wolf at their feet. “You’ll let him sully you? That basta–,”

Another voice broke the heated conversation. “Brother,” a cool tone said. It was Rhaenyra, on her way to Alicent’s solar. “… Shera.” she squinted slightly, violet eyes darting between Moongeist and the pair. 

“Sister.” Aemond responded, clipped and short. 

“Princess,” Shera greeted shakily, bowing her head. 

“We shall see you tonight at dinner, won’t we, Aemond?” Rhaenyra asked, cocking her head. 

“I suppose I can be persuaded. I’m quite busy, though and don’t have much time for idle pleasantries.” he dipped his head, facing away from Shera now. “Ladies.” he bid his farewell, stalking off like a half-cocked dragon. 

Once he was out of earshot, Rhaenyra leaned close to Shera. “You should steer clear of my brother. You were companions once— but he’s different now,” she paused, taking a breath. “I only have your best interest at heart, dearest. For you and Jace.” 

“… thank you, princess,” Shera swallowed, grasping her skirts. “I will… keep that in mind.” 

Rhaenyra gave a nod before disappearing into Alicent’s chambers– leaving behind an exceedingly frazzled Shera, who retreated to the Godswood. 

–

Kneeling down before the ancient weirwood, she clasped her hands together. “For guidance… for peace…” she murmured, staring at the face etched into the red wood, its eyes bleeding. It felt familiar, in a way. 

“So, which is it? The Old Gods, or the new?” a deep voice interjected into her prayers. She didn’t recognize it at all. Glancing over, she took in the figure of an older man, dressed in black leather and cloth with white hair cropped to his shoulders. A sword was strapped to his waist. Dark Sister.

“Prince Daemon,” Shera sighed, not entirely up to verbally spar with the Rogue Prince. “... I am praying to the Old Gods, as is custom in the North.”

“Ah? And here I’d heard you were quite the little septa in your youth, singing hymns like a… delightful little sparrow.” 

“... that isn’t untrue– I… I hold both the Old and new ways–” 

“What does your brother think of such a thing? Northerners are so rigid in their worship.”

“It isn’t my brother’s concern–” 

“Well, mayhaps you shall start learning of the Valyrian gods, if you’re to be married to Jacaerys.”

“I know… a few, my prince. Tessarion, Meraxes, Shrykos….” she paused, brow furrowing under her veil. “Vhagar.” Shera gave a pointed stare to Daemon.

“Ah, knowledgeable you are. You must be a bookworm like my dear nephew. But, you forgot quite a few– Syrax, Meleys, Arrax, Vermax, Caraxes… the list goes on. I won’t fault you for forgetting them. You have quite a few Gods on your plate already, young wolf.” Daemon gave a toothy smile, extending his hand to her. It was ungloved and looked calloused, old scars littering over his skin like shells on a beach. “Do you need assistance getting up?”

Against her better judgment, Shera took his hand. It was warm, unnaturally so like all of the Targaryens. He hoisted her up to her feet, steadying her with an overreaching hand upon her waist. It made her skin crawl.

“Very good,” he hummed. “Enjoy your prayers, Lady Stark.” 

Moongeist grumbled uneasily next to her, eyeing the Rogue Prince with a wary amber gaze. Shera felt sick.

[smoke-and-silver]

Rut Season Headcanons

Diavolo

A separate post for the big man himself.

-

His burgeoning magic affects the entire Devildom. Flowers bloom rapidly and there’s a hum of life in the air like in early spring. His rut creates a ring of magic and fertility right to the edges of his territory. Citizens consider it a lucky time to try and conceive.

He wishes someone would spar with him. He would love to participate in a duel, like he’s always seen his citizens do. He would love to show off for MC, but who’s going to challenge him? His horns thicken and grow longer, the ridges along them growing more prominent. His already impressive rack is nearly doubled in size.

It’s his job to please you. It’s what he was made for. Every inch of dark skin and dense muscle was literally built to service you. Millennia of selective breeding have produced in the most virile mate you could possibly find and he is so eager to show it.

All the modern bureaucracy and paperwork that usually drowns him is abandoned as he attends to what nature truly made him for–invigorating the landscape and pleasing his mate. Not a single aristocrat or demon in the House of Lords is stupid enough to make a fuss about his absence.

For two weeks or so you’re excused from work, classes, anything as he drags you off to the castle all to himself. Every need  you could have is taken care of. His strong hands make easy work of massaging every sore muscle from head to toe. He leaves kisses over every inch of your skin. 

You’re pliant in his arms and the opportunity to scent you is irresistible. His aroma is soft and warm like amber. The smell is deceptively gentle, as any demon gives you a wide berth so long as it lingers on your skin. 

He wants to show you all the abundance his domain can offer. He’s walking you to hidden springs where he can lay you down on the soft moss after a swim, taking you right there as water still drips from your bare bodies. He’s pressing strange fruit to your lips and watching as your teeth sink into the pulp and your tongue licks the juices from his fingers. His entire cycle is a haze of pleasure. Mans is on you relentlessly. You’re pampered so much that you probably leave a few pounds heavier.

Frankly, no one would spar with him. Challenging the Prince of Hell when a flood of hormones is rushing through him is a bit like taunting a wild wildebeest. On a normal day he’s the type to de-escalate, but during rut he’s extra protective, and it brings out some of the tyrant in him.

At the start of his cycle, when his hormones have just started to shift, and he hasn’t yet realized that his season is upon him, a conservative lord makes the mistake of making a rather demeaning comment about the human. 

Usually, he would give a firm reminder that humans are their allies now.

Usually, he would encourage the man to broaden his horizons, or something along those lines.

But today, something twists in his chest. A wave of hot anger comes over him and before he knows it, he’s grabbed the man by his head.

A tense silence falls over the frightened group of diplomats as he lifts the man to eye level. The other demon’s legs kick uselessly. Diavolo’s stature makes it easy to leave the lord dangling in the air as a few agonizing, tense seconds tick by.

–and just as quickly as it came over him, the strange fog leaves his mind. He shakes his head and blinks a few times as if coming out of a daze. Gently, he sets the man back down on the ground, and releases his grasp.

Although he gives an embarrassed apology, it’s clear that something has shifted in the air. As the meeting ends and the frightened demons make their way back to their homes, they notice more flowers in bloom than usual this time of year.

[ezwezz]

lost in your eyes

h.yj x f!reader

genre: fluff!! summary: you and yunjin find yourselves lost in the countryside, so you make the obvious decision to start a livestream. words: 1.1k

yunjin x yn!! my cuties omg hi where are you guys?? they look like a couple lol

the viewers instantly surged in numbers and countless comments came pouring in. most were excited greetings and some were doting on the pair on screen, a few begging for couple poses to screenshot.

"hey everyone!"

"hi guys! thank you for joining us."

you and yunjin stood side-by-side, waving at the camera, which yunjin held as you nestled your chin on her shoulder.

"just to clarify, we aren't lost...we just can't seem to find our members anywhere."

the camera flipped around to reveal the open countryside. fields upon fields of...nothingness.

help where tf are they??? plz r they stranded idk whether to laugh or phone emergency services

"as you can see...there is no sign of civilisation. this may possibly be our 'rural survival' era." you announced, the camera flipping back to you and yunjin.

"but don't worry guys, we're safe, we just need to retrace our steps."

"i could've sworn they came this way..." you glanced around one more time as if your members were hiding somewhere in the barren landscape.

"i know... but i'm starting to think they may have gone down the other path."

"it all looks the same, this feels like the backrooms."

"i know right, we're too city girl for this." you nodded in agreement before hooking an arm beneath yunjin's and starting your trek back down the path.

the woman began replying to comments as you walked comfortably together.

"they're telling us to hold hands." she stated after a moment, a goofy smile on her face.

"guys…we're literally stuck in the middle of nowhere and that's how you're feeling?" you feigned offence but happily complied, gently taking yunjin's hand and intertwining your fingers, lifting it up to show the viewers, who were going wild in the comments.

you two were often affectionate with each other, seemingly having instant chemistry, which the fans quickly picked up on. it didn't take long for you and yunjin to become the most shipped pair in the group, but you didn't mind- you thought it was quite sweet actually, and you could definitely think of worse things to be circulating. not to mention the fact that you'd had a small crush on yunjin for a while now and clearly weren't subtle about it, judging by the copious amounts of dating rumours between you two, but you could usually play it off.

yunjin's opinions on the matter were kind of a mystery to you. she'd never explicitly addressed the shipping, but seemed to entertain the idea, often initiating affection or playfully flirting with you...for the fans, you dejectedly assumed.

you felt yunjin squeeze your hand and glanced up to see a soft smile adorning her features. you reciprocated the affection by squeezing back, the wordless action lighting a welcome warmth in your chest. the sun had begun to melt, plunging you into a golden hue that captured yunjin's eyes, causing them to gleam like sparkling pools of honey. the sight almost took your breath away and you gulped, wary of sinking too deep.

the way they look at each other, i can't absbjsbfh love love love pretty yunjin x yn is canon idc the way they're lost rn....IN EACH OTHER'S EYES

the last comment made you chuckle, and you saw yunjin's face light up on the screen when she read it as well.

"we probably look like an old couple right now. all we need is a dog." she stated with a laugh, causing you to smile shyly.

"or a cat."

"but cats don't like to go on country walks."

"neither do i. we're an old couple trying to be youthful and active while our grumpy cat chills at home, in the city." yunjin giggled loudly, squeezing your hand once again.

"yes that's perfect. let's make it happen." your eyes widened and you were met with her mischievous smirk.

damn you yunjin.

are the dating rumours even rumours at this point we're witnessing y/n's gay panic, live plz yunjin is such a flirt

"we should probably find our way back to civilisation first." you stated, hoping the inevitable blush in your cheeks wasn't too noticeable.

"that's true...maybe instead of going on live we should've called chaewon...?"

"wait why didn't we think of that first? your stupidness is rubbing off on me yunjin." you reached for the phone in your coat pocket, only to find many...many missed calls from your members. yunjin nervously chuckled beside you, also witnessing the horror.

"this is definitely because of your stupidness. why was your phone on 'do not disturb'?" she exclaimed.

"i was trying to experience nature properly!"

when the cottage-core liftestyle backfires because you're literally an idol

"okay everyone, you're about to witness y/n being torn to shreds by chaewon-unnie. prepare to be entertained."

you shot yunjin a dark glare before calling chaewon, the hollow ringing sending cold waves of fear through your body.

"y/n! where the hell are you?? why weren't you answering?! are you seriously on live right now!?"

"uh hi chae..." you glanced to yunjin for help but she simply shrugged angling the camera to show your panicked face instead. "we just got a bit sidetracked..."

"sidetracked??? you went missing and decided to do a livestream! i'm literally going to start developing grey hairs because of you two."

"i'm sorry chae, we're on our way back now...i think."

"you think?! please don't tell me you need a search team to go after you..."

"a search team?? wait... omg i think i see some cars."

yunjin swivelled her head in the same direction as you then gasped, physically jumping for joy.

"yunjin and y/n have navigated the perilous journey and return unscathed." she addressed the viewers as if she were a sports commentator.

you were literally walking for 5 minutes yay! power couple these two are perfect for each other poor chaewon LMAO

"oh thank god." chaewon sighed. "we're waiting by the car. remind me to get you guys those backpack leashes next time." and with that, she hung up.

you and yunjin took one look at each other before bursting into laughter.

"alright guys, sorry this was brief but hopefully you found it entertaining." you told the viewers.

"if you don't see us shitposting on twitter later, assume that foul play is involved by the hands of chaewon-unnie." yunjin added.

"mhm... okay, goodbye everyone! pray for us!" you and yunjin gave the camera a final enthusiastic wave before ending the live.

"that was fun." she stated before rejoining your hands. the action catching you off-guard since the live had ended, but you certainly weren't complaining.

"i reckon we should get lost together more often." you replied.

"in each other's eyes." yunjin wiggled her eyebrows, referring to the earlier comment causing you both to giggle.

"i have no objections."

"hm..." yunjin squeezed your hand, leaning slightly further into you. you squeezed back and relished in the closeness. "can we call our grumpy cat chaewon?" she mused after a moment.

"oh absolutely."

your eyes met once again, this time exchanging an unspoken feeling of adoration.