#spring time affairs

[nocasdatsgay]

Poly Week Masterlist

Happy Poly Week! @polyacotarweek Links will be added to the fic posts as the days pass. Please heed the content warnings on the fic post. All fics can be read as a stand alone.

You are responsible for what content you consume.

I made a key to give an idea of what to expect:

❤️‍🔥- smut

✨-fluff

🥀- slight emotional/mental angst (all stories have happy endings)

Day One Beginnings: And Then There Were Three

A Neapolitan Bonds Fic: You are invited to the Autumn celebrations as an emissary of Dawn. The High Lord’s mate invites you to meet him after the party is over. Alternatively: The night the mating bond snapped. Pairing: Azriel/Eris/Reader ❤️‍🔥

Day Two Comfort: Even High Lords Need a Break

A Neapolitan Bonds Fic: Eris is over working himself. You and Azriel decide to make him take the hounds for a walk. Pairing: Azriel/Eris/Reader ✨🥀

Day Three Secrets: Spring Time Affairs

Flora (OC) likes to rile her husband up, especially if it means she gets to play with Elain in the process. Pairing: Tamlin/OC/Lucien/Elain ❤️‍🔥

Day Four Adventure: Sharing is Caring

A Neapolitan Bonds Fic: Azriel has a surprise for you after the ball at Hewn City. The surprise is Rhysand and Feyre. Pairings: Azriel/Eris/Reader, Feysand, Reader/Feyre, Azriel/Rhysand ❤️‍🔥

Day Five Favorite Tropes: The Siren’s Song

Nesta Cassian and Azriel go to the middle to investigate an illegal trade route that is involved in some assaults in the Court of Nightmares. But instead of a headquarters they stumble upon the very field that’s being harvested. CW for Sex Pollen Pairing: Cassian/Azriel/Nesta ❤️‍🔥🥀

Day Six Celebration: The Rite of Spring

A Spring Time Affairs fic. A Calanmai fic. Tamlin and Flora complete the rite, going to find their loves once it is done and the next day help with cleaning up the festivities. Pairing: Tamlin/OC/Lucien/Elain ❤️‍🔥

Day Seven Free Day: Baby of Mine

A Spring Time Affairs Fic: After Calanmai and forgetting to take the tea, Flora is pregnant. The problem is, she doesn’t know if Tamlin or Lucien is the father. CW Pregnancy Pairing: Tamlin/OC/ Elain/Lucien✨🥀

[stood-onthecliffside]

FLEETWOOD MAC AND TAYLOR SWIFT

[candaceallan]

WINTER - A LOVE STORY (sort of)

February - the longest short month of the year.

[clumsycapitolunicorn]

.

[contact-guy]

I was seized with a fervor and could not rest until I illustrated one of my favorite scenes from Sherlock Holmes: the Adventure of the Devil's Foot. While Holmes and Watson take a holiday in the Cornish countryside for Holmes's health, multiple people in the nearby village are found driven mad or dead from horror. Holmes deduces a substance that was burned in their presence is to blame. With a bit of the mysterious powder and a gas lamp in hand, he proposes an experiment to Watson...

content warning for drug use!

I'm not sure if it's supported by the canon but in my mind this is the first time Holmes ever apologies to Watson and he is so overcome with emotion that he immediately makes it weird

Text under the cut:

"It is not for me, my dear Watson, to stand in the way of the official police force. I leave them all the evidence which I found. The poison still remained upon the talc had they the wit to find it. Now, Watson, we will light our lamp; we will, however, take the precaution to open our window to avoid the premature decease of two deserving members of society, and you will seat yourself near that open window in an armchair unless, like a sensible man, you determine to have nothing to do with the affair. Oh, you will see it out, will you? I thought I knew my Watson. This chair I will place opposite yours, so that we may be the same distance from the poison and face to face. The door we will leave ajar. Each is now in a position to watch the other and to bring the experiment to an end should the symptoms seem alarming. Is that all clear? Well, then, I take our powder--or what remains of it--from the envelope, and I lay it above the burning lamp. So! Now, Watson, let us sit down and await developments."

They were not long in coming. I had hardly settled in my chair before I was conscious of a thick, musky odour, subtle and nauseous. At the very first whiff of it my brain and my imagination were beyond all control. A thick, black cloud swirled before my eyes, and my mind told me that in this cloud, unseen as yet, but about to spring out upon my appalled senses, lurked all that was vaguely horrible, all that was monstrous and inconceivably wicked in the universe. Vague shapes swirled and swam amid the dark cloud-bank, each a menace and a warning of something coming, the advent of some unspeakable dweller upon the threshold, whose very shadow would blast my soul. A freezing horror took possession of me. I felt that my hair was rising, that my eyes were protruding, that my mouth was opened, and my tongue like leather. The turmoil within my brain was such that something must surely snap. I tried to scream and was vaguely aware of some hoarse croak which was my own voice, but distant and detached from myself. At the same moment, in some effort of escape, I broke through that cloud of despair and had a glimpse of Holmes's face, white, rigid, and drawn with horror--the very look which I had seen upon the features of the dead. It was that vision which gave me an instant of sanity and of strength. I dashed from my chair, threw my arms round Holmes, and together we lurched through the door, and an instant afterwards had thrown ourselves down upon the grass plot and were lying side by side, conscious only of the glorious sunshine which was bursting its way through the hellish cloud of terror which had girt us in. Slowly it rose from our souls like the mists from a landscape until peace and reason had returned, and we were sitting upon the grass, wiping our clammy foreheads, and looking with apprehension at each other to mark the last traces of that terrific experience which we had undergone.

"Upon my word, Watson!" said Holmes at last with an unsteady voice, "I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable experiment even for one's self, and doubly so for a friend. I am really very sorry."

"You know," I answered with some emotion, for I have never seen so much of Holmes's heart before, "that it is my greatest joy and privilege to help you."

He relapsed at once into the half-humorous, half-cynical vein which was his habitual attitude to those about him. "It would be superfluous to drive us mad, my dear Watson," said he. "A candid observer would certainly declare that we were so already before we embarked upon so wild an experiment. I confess that I never imagined that the effect could be so sudden and so severe." He dashed into the cottage, and, reappearing with the burning lamp held at full arm's length, he threw it among a bank of brambles. "We must give the room a little time to clear. I take it, Watson, that you have no longer a shadow of a doubt as to how these tragedies were produced?"

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

"𝐌𝐫. 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧" - 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭

𝙱𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍’𝚜 𝙳𝚊𝚍!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔𝙱𝚛𝚊𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚎𝚢𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝟸𝙺 𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝕽𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖞: @proxy-princess

⚠️ spoilers in the warnings ⚠️

warnings: pet names, jealous!rafe, possessive!rafe, best friend’s dad, older!rafe, ownership kink, swearing, threats, begging, praise, brief unprotected sex, rough sex, choking, teasing, edging, the reader was drinking at the bar but is not drunk, Sofia as the wife, cum play, creampie, rafe slaps the reader, brat taming

💌 𝓐𝓼𝓴: Ooooooo what about fatherfigure!Rafe, with edging because we didn't listen to him while we were out with friends

⭐️unedited⭐️

3.2K

Reader’s POV:

If looks could kill, Mr. Cameron’s gaze would do it. He insisted on Spring Break being a family affair—him, his perfect wife Sofia, and the twins. We were too old for this shit… Getting babysat at the bar in Cancun, but he wouldn’t allow it any other way.

The crowded club is a barrage of neon lights as the music beats on, hammering in your chest. The Spring Break energy was thick, palpable, feeding you, leaving you feeling like you didn’t have a care in the world. Your short dress clings to your skin, sticky with humidity, swaying with every twirl and grind of your hips. Your body’s loose; head light, buzzing from the tequila you and Elise downed at the bar earlier.

The song changes, making Elise screams with delight as they play your song, twirling around, her toffee-colored hair sticking to her dewy skin. You look over your shoulder, clocking your chaperone, staring, nursing the same whiskey he’s been sipping since you told him you were going to dance. Rafe relaxes in the both a little more, his gaze unwavering, not casual or protective as usual. Something different entirely. His gaze is intense, dark, and lingering.

You test his intentions, turning around, giving him a glance at your dress from the front: low-cut and tight. An outfit begging the wordless question from Rafe earlier in the night at dinner, ‘were you really gonna go out like that?’ His gaze condescending at the time, now you know the real reason as his hungry eyes rake up your bare legs, studying the curves of your hips, getting lost in your cleavage before matching your eyes.

“Best trip ever!” Elise screams over the music, pulling your attention back to her as she continues to dance, utterly oblivious to her dad’s focus. The crowd thickens around you, making it harder to see him. But no matter how many people stood between the two of you, you couldn't help but escape the heat of Rafe’s eyes stealing glimpses between bodies, his cerulean stare drilling into your back.

You look toward the bar, smiling as you see another set of eyes on you: a young, devilishly handsome frat boy wearing his letters on a weathered snapback. Nowhere near as hot as Mr. Cameron. He smiles back at you, leaning back into the bar, his striped button-down shirt pulled across his gym-toned chest. He yells something at his brothers, gesturing toward you on the dance floor. His smile widens as he weaves through the dense crowd with his friends, pushing closer and closer. You glance back toward Rafe, as he watches the scene before him. His ringed hand wraps tighter around his glass, knuckles white; jaw clenched as he follows the boy's guide straight to you and Elise. Rafe matches your gaze, a knowing smirk curling on your glossy lips. Well, well, well. Sofia leans in, tilting her sleepy head on his shoulder, and you swear you can see his body recoil from her touch.

You spin Elise under your finger, grinding to the beat, baiting the frat boy closer. “Hey,” he yells over your shoulder. “You’re stunning.” Your eyes lift to his, giving him your sweetest smile, just stoking the fire. The two of you start to dance, shifting closer and closer. You turn around, pressing your ass into him, guiding his hands to rest on your hips as the two of you move together, the angle of your body giving you the perfect view of your best friend’s dad.

Rafe looks like he could crawl out of his skin, every fiber of his being holding himself back from charging out on the dancefloor himself, dragging you out of the bar entirely, but he can’t do that. What the fuck are you gonna do about it, Mr. Cameron? Elise melts into her frat boy, lips locking mere seconds after meeting him, making you laugh dizzily.

“Fuck,” the boy behind you groans as you grind your ass into his clothed cock, heart racing as the liquor courses through your veins. You smile, turning your cheek into him, riding a high off Rafe watching on. You glance toward the booth, eyeing Rafe shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His muscular chest rises and falls, controlled breaths as he tries to contain his feelings around his wife. His attention hasn’t faltered; if anything, it’s gotten sharper. The man is about to risk it all and fast.

You hook your hand around the boy's neck, pulling him closer, coaching his movements. His lips press against your neck just like you were hoping. Your head falls back on his chest, fucking with Mr. Cameron completely. Rafe takes a sip of liquor, slamming the glass down, making you bite your lip to hold back a laugh. You give Rafe a wink before spinning around, wrapping your hands around the pretty boy’s neck.

”Yo,” Elise’s brother Rex reaches out for your arm. You look in his direction, and he smiles, gesturing toward the door. ”Let’s go.”

”What?” Elise gasps as she pulls away from her frat boy’s lips, looking back at her twin brother in annoyance.

“Dad says it’s time to head back to the condo. Our car is here.”

Elise groans dramatically, tossing her head back in protest. “Fuck no, Rex. Tell him ‘no’. He can’t be serious. It’s not even that late.”

“You can tell your dad we’re not ready to leave yet. I’m sure these guys will get us back to our place safe and sound. Isn’t that right?” You coo.

“That’s right,” the frat boy pulls you closer, burying himself in your neck as his hands fall down your body, resting dangerously low.

“We’re having fun,” Elise adds. “Tell dad to ‘fuck off,’” she snickers, knowing that’s the last thing that Rex will say, getting the point across nonetheless.

Rex groans in annoyance, his patience with the two of you thinning. “He’s not gonna like that.”

“Yeah?” You laugh. “Well, he doesn’t like much, so…” Rex rolls his eyes, trudging back through the crowd toward his parents as the two of you start dancing again. You gaze at Rafe, feeling his frustration from across the bar. ”Shots?” You ask.

”Shots!” Elise answers with a smile. Your crowd moves toward the bartop, pushing through the masses. You rest your hands on the rail, leaning in slightly to get the bartender's attention. The frat boy moves in behind you, resting his chest against your back, leaning close to whisper something in your ear that you didn’t quite catch, you, laughing nonetheless.

You look to the left, watching Rex deliver the news to his dad—Rafe’s nostrils flare, brows pinched in anger. He raps his signet ring against the tabletop, planning his next move. His eyes lock on yours. “Let’s go.” He forms the words.

You raise an eyebrow and smirk, rolling your eyes like a rebellious teen. “No,” you mouth back.

Rafe hangs his head, shoulders heaving with a deep sigh before he returns his eyes to you. “You know him?” The frat boy asks, picking up on the exchange that Elise was too drunk to notice, making your stomach fall. The reality of the situation sinking in for the first time.

“Not important,” you smile, resting your hands on his.

“The fuck, man?” The boy behind you spits as a large hand wraps around your arm.

“Let’s go,” Rafe clips, his tone low and commanding, barely audible over the music but firm enough to send your stomach fluttering.

“Can we help you?” The frat boy steps to Mr. Cameron, putting space between the two of you, making your heart race.

“Hey, baby,” you smile; the pet name making Rafe's eyes widen in disbelief. “I know him. He’s Elise’s dad.” You rest your hand on his chest and your head on his shoulder. “We’re not ready to leave, sir.”

“Now,” Rafe warns, his voice sharper than ever, leaving no room for argument.

“Well, Mr. Cameron. You’re not my father. So… If you’d like Elise to leave, that’s a conversation you need to have with your daughter. Not me.”

Before he can respond, Elise stumbles between the two of you, drink in hand, sloshing a little on her dad’s designer shirt. “Dad, what the hell? Just go. We’re fine. We. Are. Fine,” she slurs. “We don’t need you to babysit. Don’t you trust us?” She pouts, but Rafe doesn’t care about hurt feelings; his eyes trained on you as you assure the handsome frat boy beside you that Elise’s dad is just overprotective.

Mr. Cameron eases his tone, taking a new angle entirely, leaning into the bar to get closer to you. “It’s not safe here, princess.” Butterflies swirl in your stomach as that term of endearment falls so easily from his lips and fuck does it sound good. “M’not askin’.”

The bartender sets the shots in front of you, giving you the perfect opportunity to brush Rafe off. You can see Mr. Cameron out of the corner of your eye as you lift the clear liquor to your lips, his sharp jawline coiled as he loses complete control over the situation. You toss the shot back, eyes pinching shut as you swallow quickly. You look in Elise’s dad’s direction again, rolling your eyes as you see Sofia’s hand resting on his shoulder, Rafe’s mother’s ring glinting on her bony finger in the lights of the Mexico club. She looks up at him lovingly, her warm eyes soft, oblivious to the storm brewing.

“Rafe, let’s head back to the condo. Let the kids have their fun.” Mr. Cameron stands there unmoved, lip-twitching in a fury. “Come on,” Sofia soothes, using her calm tone to temper his overprotectiveness to no avail. “Elise and y/n will be fine. They’re adults. Remember?” She chuckles teasingly.

“Cheers?” Elise calls over to you as she passes you another drink, trying to ease the tension.

“Cheers, baby!” You squeal, turning your attention to your best friend, paying no mind to the man stewing behind you. No doubt getting dragged away by his wife as you tip back another.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Elise laughs as she looks toward the exit, giving you an excuse to look as well. Rafe final gaze is your last warning. This is far from over.

The condo is quiet, the only sound from the open window as the ocean roars below. You look down at your phone, seeing your best friend's message letting you know she was safe with her new friend, forming a plan to sneak back into your place before sunrise.

You lay under the covers, heart beating a little quicker than usual, knowing what would happen any moment. You snuggle under the crisp cotton sheets, hiding away your surprise for him. Your outfit wasn’t practical, and it wasn’t meant for sleep. Your outfit was for one person and one purpose. The salty breeze slips through the room, rustling the light white curtains. You look up at the ceiling, smiling to yourself. Whatever came next, it wasn’t going to be on your terms.

CREAK.

Footsteps—soft and deliberate, the sound moves closer and closer. You try your best to snuff out the smile playing on your lips. The sound of Rafe’s measured strides grows louder and closer; your quickened heartbeat is now racing. The door to your room cracks slightly before opening. You let out a little yawn, rolling your head to the side, meeting his darkened eyes. Rafe’s big body filling the doorway.

You flutter your lashes, playing innocent instead of defiant. “Mr. Cameron?” You ask sweetly as you prop your body up enough to have the sheet slip off your lace-clad breasts. Rafe’s hand clamps over his mouth, rubbing away something. Maybe it's a smile seeing you this way, but either way, he’s shocked. “What’s wrong?”

Rafe steps through the doorway, shutting and locking the door behind him. He doesn’t answer, holding together his last shred of composure as he takes a deep breath. “You think this is funny?” He asks, making the hair on the back of your neck stand straight.

You tilt your head slightly, lips pouted as you look up at him, bewilder and naive. “Funny? What do you mean?” You beat your lashes, your doe-eyed act in full force. “Did I do something to upset you, Mr. Cameron?”

He lets out a deep, gravelly laugh, not buying a second of this little act you were putting on. His hands cross over his broad chest, biceps straining the sleeves. He walks to the edge of the bed, looking down at you, binding his hand around the headrail, looming over you ominously, resisting the urge to put his hands on you. “You know exactly what you did,” he chides through gritted teeth. “Pushin’ me with that fuckin’ dress. Dancing with that boy at the club. Taunting me all night long.”

“You didn’t like my dress?” You ask dumbly.

“You’re not dense,” he snaps. “Stop actin’ like it. Shit doesn’t suit you.” Rafe leans in, his forearm flexing as he twists his hand around the metal, his other tracing up the bed, moving closer and closer. “N’you’re still doin’ it,” he mumbles needily as his rough finger dusts over the lace cup over your lingerie, making your nipple harden under his touch.

Your fingers clutch the sheet, pulling it back with your eyes locked on his. His gaze tears away from yours, breath hitching before he can even stop it. The hunger in his eyes is undeniable now; his control over the situation fraying by the moment. His nose scrunches, lips tightening into two straight lines, all but losing that war he was fighting before.

“What the fuck are you doing? Huh?” He hisses.

Your hands fall down your body, guiding his gaze to follow the leader, looping around the lace bands at your hips before tugging them over your thighs. “What do you mean, Mr. Cameron?” You whisper. “M’just getting comfortable.”

“Stop fucking with me,” he warns, his voice cracking with rage and lust as the line between the two blurs. The corners of your lips curl upwards as you widen your thighs on the mattress.

“Too bad you can’t do anything about it. Huh-” Your words sputter out as Rafe’s hand wraps swiftly around your throat, pinning you to your pillows.

“You don’t fuckin’ listen,” he growls, making goosebumps prickle across your skin.

“What are you going to do about it, Rafe?” You choke. His eyes burn into yours, control hanging by a thread. His hold around your neck gets tighter, making your pulse pump in your ears. “Harder, Daddy.”

His eyes roll back and flutter shut, the older man letting out his frustration fast. His hand strikes your cheek, sending your head snapping to the side. You let out a little giggle, as a fraction of the tension releases with the pain. Before you can fully process the moment, he grabs your face in his big hand, pinching your cheeks, forcing your eyes on him. He’s so strong you do all you can, unable to fight his hold, closing your eyes tight.

“Open your fuckin’ eyes,” he shouts. Rafe pushes out a breath in frustration with his outburst. “You don’t get to look away.” Mr. Cameron presses his big thumb between your lips, hooking and pinching harshly, holding down your tongue. You open your eyes to him, making him loosen his hold. You swirl your tongue around his big digit, wrapping your plump lips around him before sucking on his thumb. “You’re a bad girl, testing me like this,” he continues, his tone low and anguished as he observes you.

Without warning, he leans down, lips crashing into yours. The kiss is fierce, demanding, tension-shattering, and full of intent. Rafe’s hands wrap around your body, pulling you closer, kissing you deeper, claiming you as he’s wanted to do all night. He mounts the bed, crushing you under the weight of his big body.

Rafe pulls back slightly, leaving you chasing his lips for more, his heavy, ragged breathing competing with yours. "You're fucking mine," he grunts. “My fuckin’ brat. You needed me to break you. Huh? We’re not doin’ this shit every time. Understand?”

”I understand,” you whisper breathlessly, your voice laced with want. Rafe’s lips contort into a twisted smile as you finally submit to his demands.

“Atta girl,” he drawls as he reaches down, pulling at his pajama bottoms, releasing his long, thick length. “M’gonna make you beg for it,” he mumbles as you whine—his fat tip gliding through your drenched slit, swirling over your throbbing clit.

“You want me, Mr. Cameron. Why not just fuck me,” you plead as you wrap your fingers around his cock, making him hiss out a breath. He grabs your wrist, pulling it off him, forcing you to wrap your fingers around the brass bed rails above you.

"Because I'm not done with you yet," he taunts. “Fuckin’ tease. M’gonna tease you. That’ll show you,” he sneers. “Move your hands and see what the fuck happens.”

You look between your thighs, chest heaving as he starts to thrust through your messy folds, rubbing your clit with every movement. You can hear your cunt squelching as he uses your pussy like a toy, prodding and poking at your entrance, denying you the pleasure of filling you full.

Your thighs start to tremble, a heat building in your belly as you feel yourself about to come undone. You look up at Rafe, the fire burning in his eyes brighter than ever as you tuck your quivering lip between your teeth, holding back your cries of pleasure.

”M’gonna cum,” you snivel as tears gather on your waterline. Rafe looks at you, poking out his lip in that same pout you gave him before.

“Shouldn’t have said that, princess.” Rafe rises on his knees, robbing you of your orgasm, stroking his thick dick, spurting ropes of cum on your aching cunt. You shudder as his sticky load rolls down your slick; sensitivity heightening, making you whimper out a breath at the feeling. Your eyes flutter shut, frustration taking over your being.

“Mr. Cameron,” you breathe, leveling your voice as he pants above you, a smirk painted on his pretty pink lips.

“Baby girl?”

His eyes fall to yours, waiting for what you have to say. “If you don’t give me what I want. I’ll tell your wife. I’ll scream right now. Make sure she knows what a deceitful, whore of a husband she has.”

The threat hangs heavy in the air as Rafe stares down at you, the look in your eyes letting him know you’re not bluffing and he’s hoping you aren’t. “You’re a brat,” he whispers as his hand traces up your body torturously slow. “You really think you can control me. Huh?” You look up at him, nodding as his hand clamps over your mouth, making your eyes widen. “You’re probably right.” Rafe slams his thick cock into your perfect pussy, making you scream against his wide palm, eyes rolling back with his.

tags: (tag list is on my pinned post. If your name is crossed out your tag isn't working 💕): @loserboysandlithium @rafesthroatbaby @theeternaloptimistt @kisses4angels @watchmerora @buckybarnessweetheart @anamiad00msday @namelesslosers @cades-outsider @romaescapes @starkeysprincess @oxpogues4lifexo @unrealmirrorball @sleepiibunniiii @gri959 @rafesgiirl @daryldixon83 @akobx @hyperfixationgirl

[lifeonmarz-blog]

The 12 houses explained: short word format

1st: Aries, Mars, Yang, Dragon, Bee, Face, Eyes, Eyebrows, Voice, Accent, First Glance, Passion, Drive, Self Esteem, 3rd Eye, Intuition, Hard on yourself, Mutable, Patience, Leader, Stoic, Muscles, Neck/Head tension, Animals, Intensity, Head scarf, Tender headed, Attracting energy vampires, Hard headed, Red, Purple, Sexual energy, Humor, Introvert/extrovert, Fear of child baring because loss of freedom, Judgement, Lymph nodes, Guitar, Fast talker, Sharp talker, Forward thinking, Warrior, Personality, Spine...

2nd: Taurus, Venus, Yin, Panda, Neck/Throat, Throat chakra, Mouth, Thyroid, Heart, Pink, Blue, Fluid, Security, Resources, Musician, Silent, Introvert, Nose, Scent, Taste, Parent, Singing, Arms, Dancing, Food, Breeze, Partnership, Sharing, Values, Luxury, Pleasure, Easy going, Soft spoken, Naivety, Split decisions, Indecisive, Moon, Father, Sturdy, Poker face, Children, Trustworthy, Grit, Victory, Horses, Trials...

3rd: Gemini, Mercury, Yin/Yang, Jack Rabbit, Hands, Feet, Speech, Tongue, Lungs, Fast pace, Exercise, excitement, Bounce back, Joy, Vigor, Youth, Fidget, Anxiety, Habits, Expressive, Musician, Storyteller, School, Journalist, Moral system, Networking, Group, Siblings, Questioning, Stocks/trading, Choices, Dedication, Picky, Options, Dare Devil, Flirt, Long lasting, Hopes, Trees/Forest, Art, Comedian, Chances, Materials, Time, Loyal, Boundaries, ...

4th: Cancer, Moon, Yin, Owl, Family, Mother, Compassion, Creation, Birth, Life, Regret, Sleep, Nipple, Breast, Anus, Stomach, Womb, Bellybutton, Heart, Sacral, Blue, White, Yellow, Ocean, Cold, Night, Cycle, Fly on the wall, Unspoken secrets, Pores, Suicide, Whispers, Distracted, Outsider, Alchemy, Caregiver, Chef, Guidance, Critical, Teeth, Passage/Gateway, Humming, Drums, Weight on your back, Pressures, Gratefulness, Gratitude, Obedience, Horse, Animals, Words that cut...

5th: Leo, Sun, Yang, Lion, Spine, Heart, Pets, Fun, Youthful, Children, Love affairs, Expression, Dance, Gymnastics, Loud, Bright colors, Short trips, Friends, Aunts/Uncles, Get togethers, Cars, Innovative, Actor, Protection, Magician, Gardening, Gossip, Alchemy, Adulthood, Relaxing, Bonding, Self destruction, Slick words, Hard work, Spotlight, Sharing, Rebuilding, Clothing, Renewed vision, Drawing board, Companionship, Grounding...

6th: Virgo, Mercury, Yin, Ant, Crane, Praying Mantis, Work environment, Routine, Structure, Time, Patience, Health issues, Hygiene, Nervous system, digestive system, Pancreas, Gallbladder, Notebooks, Writing, Movies, Home, Relaxing, Forgiving, Generous, Social Life, Bonding, Practice, Foresight, Letting go, Stable, Helpful, Tense, Pressure, Negative thoughts, Reminisce, Addiction, Sorrow, Indecision, Indigestion, Saving Finances, Strong will, Codependency, Maturing, Realizing, Criticism, Self Honoring...

7th: Libra, Venus, Yin, Dragon Fly, Peacock, Marraige, Partnership, Contracts, Joint endeavors, Kidneys, Bladder, Blood, Caring what others think, Voice, Accent, Culture, Rebuilding, Learning new ways to do, Home decor, Learning gratitude, Giving, Reseveing, Welcome home, Comfort, Jot, Warmth, Spring, Flowers, New thought processes, Building Legacy, Defending yourself, Possessions, Slower living, Connecting to nature, Center of attention...

8th: Scorpio, Pluto, Mars, Yin/Yang, Vulture, Jaguar, Phoenix Death/Rebirth, Fears, Dark, Dreams, Escaping, Running, Hoarding, Lack, Homelessness, Strength, Stamina, Restart, Hard work paying off, Legacy, Against all odds, Elimination system, Pelvis, All the holes in the body, Burgundy, Purple, Black, Sex organs, Releasing worries, Manipulation, Smothering, Misunderstood, Coffee, Over giving, Partnership, Friendship, Sensuality, Secretion, Body odor, Roses, Fruit trees, Chapel, Railroad, Balancing, Power, Unseen forces, Intimidation, Relaxation...

9th: Sagittarius,Jupiter, Yang, Donkey, Whale, Shark, Liver, Legs, Posture, Religion, Long distance, Foreign travel, New ideas, Creative thoughts, Energy, Witty, Nomad, Idealistic, Larger than life, Focused on success, Friendship, Gatherings, Social Life, Relaxing, Luxury, Boundaries, Tired, Mental Illness, Restrictions, Insecurities, Grandparents, Quiet time, Relationships, Sharing, Attention, Harmony, Rebirth, Hard work, Getting over, Time, Late night thoughts, Male role model, Weight on your back, Responsibilities, Greedy, Guarded, Proud, Protection, Unique, Lavender...

10th: Capricorn, Saturn, Yang, Sheep, Alligator Honey Badger, Cactus, Sterile, Marble, White, Grey, Cold, Winter, Snow, Reputation, Social status, Farming, Popularity, Bones, Skin, Nails, Hair, Sharp, Leather, Goat, Structure, Skin conditions, Over explaining, Hard on others/yourself, Violin, Holding onto the past, Hard choices, Seeing others happen, Collecting, Finding purpose, Unique interest, Creative ways to make money, Standing up for yourself, Tunnel vision, Sharing, Networking, Group efforts, Working on love...

11th: Aquarius, Uranus, Yin/Yang, Moose, Mongoose, Snake, Friends, Parties, Organizations, Goals, Hopes, School, Science, mutable, unique style, Different friend groups, Water, Lakes, Rivers, Driving, Circulatory System, Pituitary glands, Changing course, Fear of change, Social media, Learning to stand alone, Trusting intuition, Defending loved ones, nonchalant, Increasing expectations, Std, Dead tree, Sticking it out, Elders, Community, Taking a stand, Protest, Elections, Politics, Numbers, Releasing restrictions...

12th: Pisces, Neptune, Yin, Fish, Birds, Friends, More to go around, Letting go, Releasing Past, Decor, Eye for style, Luxury, Opinionated, Energy field, Subconscious, Mountains, Fog, Spa, Skincare, Hygiene, Safety, Frienemies, Luck, Protection, Unprovided jealously, Foreign, Secret, Being watched, Self expression, Confidence, Talents, Anxiety, Depression, Breath, Dreams, Sleeping, Ufc/boxing, Always wanting more, Magician, Plants, Sunshine, Exotic, Target, Maturity, Completion...

[prythianpages]

Tonight, the Light of Love is in Your Eyes

Azriel x Rhysand's Sister (reader) | You find yourself in the middle of a political affair, where you seek refuge in a dance with Azriel. And in the spur of the moment, Azriel tells you he loves you for the first time.

warnings: secret love, implied smut (brief mention), you and az being impulsive and risking it all

word count: 1,900

a/n: I used the dialogue of this scene from The Witcher as a prompt for this fic.

“Hybern is still close to Spring. Though they’ve lost the war, it seems their alliance still stands. Bradwell has shown interest in her, it’d be best if she takes his favor tonight. Or even Tamlin’s, they are closer in age.”

Your gaze is fixed forward, but your mind drifts, creeping into the quiet mental conversation between your father and brother. They speak of you, as if your own desires are inconsequential, and it stings more than you let show.

“Why should she? When the High Lord of Autumn, who fought alongside our armies, has six sons and one on the way…”

Breathe in, breathe out. You force the command on yourself, struggling to maintain the composure you’ve perfected over years of courtly life. The mask you wear feels more fragile tonight, your heart threatening to crack the facade. 

You allow your eyes to wander and regret it when you meet the gaze of Bradwell–the eldest son of Spring. He is watching you, green eyes gleaming with a predatory sharpness, his smirk oozing arrogance. As if you’re a prize to be won–a prize already won. The sight of it turns your stomach. 

It’s instinctual almost–the way your eyes gravitate toward Azriel as they always do at the slightest discomfort. He’s been your anchor, your safety blanket for years. He stands just a few steps below you, tall and stoic. 

His hands are clenched into fists, shadows weaving and writhing along his limbs in a frenzy, whispering secrets to him that you ache to hear. His head is turned toward Bradwell and there’s no doubt his gaze is hardened into an icy composure when the eldest of Spring suddenly peels his gaze off of you.  

As you pull your gaze away from the Night Court’s Spymaster, you catch your mother’s eye. She sits beside your father on a much simpler throne. She sends you a sympathetic smile and you cast your gaze down, mask faltering as a blush creeps up your neck.

By the Cauldron, how you wish you could be anywhere but here. You’d much rather be alongside Cassian and Mor, who are most likely indulging in the fine wine and cheeses. The only redeeming part of these insufferable court parties.

“Is it not best to keep our most at-risk enemies close? Spring–”

Your body tenses, each muscle coiling as you listen to the words between your brother and father, their minds still unaware of your presence within them. It’s laughable, almost. Rhysand taught you well. You were a later bloomer when it came to the manifestation of your powers but the daemati power runs strong in you. 

Movement catches your eye. It’s Bradwell. He begins to make his way toward you, one hand already reaching for the sage-green handkerchief embroidered with a golden beast. A token you know he plans to offer. The sight of it makes something in you snap. You can’t take it anymore.

You whip your head around, your heart pounding, and your gaze finds Azriel once more—the only one you want. The only one you’ve ever wanted.

“Azriel, will you dance with me?”

The words escape your lips before you even realize you’ve said them. There’s a brief moment where the world seems to still as Azriel turns to meet your gaze. His eyes widen slightly, shadows pausing briefly in midair–the only sign of emotion he shows. 

But you feel a flutter in your chest.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s danced with you. The two of you have danced plenty of times before. However, it’d be the first time you’d give him your first dance. A notion that seems silly but held to a high esteem in the Court of Nightmares.

You feel your father’s and Rhysand’s gaze also on you–the latter’s eyes narrowing at you. He’s already sensed the lingering presence you left in his mind, and you can feel his talons scratching at the edges of your mental walls. But you hold steady, just as he taught you and push him away.

Azriel keeps his eyes on you yet his shadows peer over his shoulders, the dark tendrils darting back and forth between your brother and father. Cautious and a bit defensive.

It’s your mother who breaks the silence. She had kept her gaze on the dance floor in front of her, that same knowing smile playing on her lips. “It is impolite to keep a lady waiting.”

Azriel nods his head. “Of course.”

He shifts forward–one foot resting on the first step while the other remains on the ground floor. He extends his scarred hand to you, his shadows barely able to contain their excitement, betraying the cool mask he dons.

You smile—truly smile—as you place your hand in his, and together, you walk toward the dance floor. Your heart swells with defiance as you purposefully avert your eyes when passing Bradwell, chin held high. Rhysand’s mental claws scratch harder, desperate to break through your defenses. You continue to shut him out, strengthening the walls of your mind. 

The Cauldron simmers in your favor. As you reach the dance floor, the music shifts to a slower, more romantic melody. Azriel’s hand wraps around yours, his fingers enclosing around your palm while his other hand rests gently at the small of your back. The tension in your body melts under his touch and you find yourself leaning in closer to him, your body always yearning to be with his.

Shadows slither softly around you, hiding within the seams of your black dress like a protective shield. Azriel’s eyebrows furrow and you recognize the brief distant look in his eyes. “Rhys is not happy,” he murmurs. “Your first dance was supposed to be with the eldest son of Spring.”

His jaw clenches and you see the way his shadows curl tighter around him as if to suffocate the jealousy he dares not voice.

“Let him sulk. I get to decide who to dance with, who to be with.”

Azriel was the master of composure. He’s always calm, steady, controlled. But tonight, something in his gaze feels different. There’s something vulnerable there, something pained. He looks away for a moment, as if trying to keep his emotions from manifesting further. 

“I can’t offer you what he can..."

His hand twitches in yours, like he’s about to pull away, but you hold him tighter. “Good,” you respond without hesitation. “I don’t want anything that arrogant ass has to offer.”

Azriel’s eyes snap back to yours, searching, conflicted. He hesitates, as if still grappling with the part of himself that believes he doesn’t deserve this. That you deserve more, much better than him. Someone who can give you the world, not someone who only knows to live in the shadows.

You intertwine your fingers with his, lips curling into a small grin. “Your ass is the only one I want,” you add, your power reaching out to him and gently slipping past his defenses to show him the marvelous view you had of his backside earlier.

And as your thoughts drift to the last night you shared together, where you got to see all of him, Azriel lets out an exhale, his lips mirroring the upwards curl to yours. Taking advantage of the grip you have on his mind, you show him more memories from that night. The way his scarred hands had caressed every inch of your body, his lips following the path his hands made…

 “I can’t give you much,” Azriel’s voice had dropped to a whisper, barely a rasp as he leaned his forehead against yours. His nose brushed with yours, lips hovering right over your own.  “But I can give you everything I have.”

You smiled softly at him, your fingers brushing the side of his face, tracing every line and contour of the male who held your heart. So beautiful, so perfect. 

“That’s all I’ll ever need,” you replied and then closed the small gap between you to kiss him.

The pained look in his hazel eyes melts into something warmer, something sweeter, as he takes in the memories of that night through your eyes. He had never doubted your love, but the weight of his own insecurities—his belief that he was beneath you—constantly gnawed at him.

Every time he touched you in secret, every night you spent hidden away together, he feared that someday you might wake up and realize he wasn’t enough.

But here, dancing with you, the way your eyes held him, he felt that overwhelming doubt ease. To see and feel the depth of your sincerity, as if your very soul called out to his…

“I love you.”

Your heart stilled at the words, your step faltering. In a smooth maneuver, Azriel spins you around, catching you effortlessly before you could stumble. His hands steady you as you face him once more.

 “That’s the first time you’ve said that,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper, though you know Azriel’s shadows are already ensuring no one else can hear your words.

“It can’t be,” Azriel murmurs in disbelief, brows furrowing slightly. 

“You used to think it,” you quietly admit, your gaze dropping for a moment before returning to his. It wasn’t that you had ever meant to pry, but when it was just the two of you, his mind was often at ease, unguarded. Sometimes, his thoughts would be too loud for you to ignore. “But tonight, you finally said it.”

The shadows hidden within the lacey seams of your dress stir and you watch as one of the shadows lingering over Azriel’s shoulders slithers up and curls around his ear. His grip on you tightens and your ears perk up. 

The song is coming to an end and though couples continue to dance and whirl around you, your nose picks up on an approaching scent. Fresh wildflowers and oak—rich and lovely, exuding the essence of Spring. Yet it fills you with dread. You don’t want this moment to end. You’re tired of pretending, of living this life of secrecy.

“Azriel,” you say, one hand reaching out toward his face to turn his attention back to you. A bold move but tonight, you’re ready to be even bolder. “Kiss me.”

His shadows stir, swirling anxiously around him, their whispers warning that too many eyes are upon you both. You can feel his hesitation, the unspoken question in his gaze as he searches your face.

“In front of everyone,” you confirm. Show them I’m yours, you speak into his mind, and only yours.

Azriel pauses, his chest tightening at the implication of your words. He can feel Rhysand’s presence–furious and demanding– trying to slip into his mind. No doubt trying to steer him away from this impulsive display and away from you. 

He feels the weight of the room pressing down on him—the sons of Spring and Autumn watching his every breath.

But all of that falls away when he meets your eyes again. 

There is only you in this moment.

The one who had always been able to see through his walls, the one who made him feel like the most precious thing in the room, the only one he cared about.

“Kiss me,” you whisper again.

And Azriel is not going to let you ask a third time.

Not when the light of love is shining so brightly in your eyes. His hand covers yours on his cheek, and then, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that silences the room.

Whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

a/n: It's been awhile since I wrote for Az. Miss this shadow daddy lol. Part 2 is already up 🫶🏽 you can find it here.

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

fic tag: @noisyinfluencerstrawberry

[blue-ink-pearls]

So, I know people are really desperate for Sandra Lynn to have hooked up with Pamela Dawn instead of Bobby Dawn, and I completely understand that!* Bobby Dawn is slimy and awful and we don't know much about Pamela, so maybe she's better? But it is 100% Bobby Dawn for two very clear reasons:

Sklonda literally said it was him

Bobby Dawn has always been a predator

The first thing we learn about Sandra Lynn's affair during Spring Break Sophomore Year was that she had just left Aguefort (she dropped out her senior year and got a diploma later on) and she was very young. She was asked to join an established adventuring party of people who were older than her and that had lost one of its members. She fell in love with another member of the party that was already in a relationship, they had an affair, and then when the affair was discovered, Sandra Lynn was blamed, kicked out of the party, and her name was smeared as far and wide as possible by the person who had taken advantage of her so that person could absolve themselves, likely in the eyes of their partner and the party.

So what we can immediately deduce from this is that Sandra Lynn was an outsider to her new adventuring party, likely looked down on as "just a kid", maybe disdained for being a dropout, and most definitely resented for taking the place of the (presumably) dead party member. She was in actively dangerous and stressful situations while questing with the party and she probably had little support from the group during that time.

Sandra Lynn was very very vulnerable.

When he met Sandra Lynn, Bobby Dawn would have been about 20 years younger than he is now, likely in his late 30s/early 40s.** Probably still handsome, still a "dashing" active adventurer. He was married to Pamela already (not just in an established relationship), since he had a child by then that was close to grown and I don't think the Church of Sol would be very happy about a child out of wedlock. He would have been a cleric of Sol and probably still preaching "the good word of Sol" but it likely wouldn't have been constant. You can't give sermons while fighting monsters. I'm sure he even saved Sandra Lynn's life a few times!

The thing about Bobby Dawn being a televangelist now, but not then, is that when he was young, he was probably just as good at persuasion, at finding vulnerable people and exploiting their weaknesses to get what he wanted, and yet he hadn't made a name for himself as a televangelist, so people wouldn't know to be wary of him trying to convert or manipulate them.

The scene between Bobby and Kristen, when Kristen is pretending that Cassandra died shows exactly what kind of terrible person Bobby really is. He is happy to find Kristen devastated, that she is having "a real dark night of the soul" and needs guidance. He refuses to help Kristen stay at Aguefort (something that's within his power), despite knowing how beneficial that would be to her well-being, because that goes against his own goals. He is smug and condescending and cruel. He is preying on Kristen's devastation and vulnerability (not knowing it's an act), to draw her back into the fold of the Church of Helio/Sol.

The person who did that to Kristen, is the exact same person who took advantage of Sandra Lynn when she was still basically a kid, just out of high school. He took advantage of her feelings for him, her inexperience and isolation. And then, when they were discovered, he threw her away and made her the villain so he could get away with it.

He ruined Sandra Lynn's life. Yes, she's happy now with her daughter, her partner, and the beautiful home they've made at Mordred Manor with Adaine, Kristen, Lydia, Ragh, Tracker, Zayn, Aelwyn, Boggy, and 15 cats. But Sandra Lynn ended up with self-esteem and relationship issues that she is still dealing with to this day. Those issues ruined her marriage, could have ruined her relationship with Jawbone, and likely played a hand in the difficulties between her and Fig in Freshman Year, as Sandra Lynn saw her daughter take her first steps into the world of adventuring.

Because Sandra Lynn first wanted to be an adventurer and Bobby Dawn took that away from her, just like he tried to do to Kristen.

Bobby Dawn has shaped his career as a high priest of Sol and as a televangelist by portraying himself as the epitome of righteousness. He is rotten to the core, a predator in a job where he is meant to help people, and I CANNOT WAIT to see the Bad Kids take him down.

*I don't really understand it. Pamela Dawn is likely just as bad as Bobby. She's the chief paladin of the church of Sol, her husband is a televangelist and a High Priest of Sol, and she would have been around the same age as Bobby and having an affair with a vulnerable young girl who she then kicked out of the group and slandered. It being Pamela would still be awful!

**Even with the assumption that both Bobby Dawn and his child had their kids at a young age, the math still has to take into account that Sandra Lynn's daughter is the same age as Bobby Dawn's GRANDSON.

[cressidagrey]

Brighten Up the Sky

This started as a prompt from the lovely @satiresunflower, (though it is pretty much unrecognisable from the prompt she actually gave. She did give me permission to go wild though, so this is what you get lol) 

This starts in Chapter 14 of ACOWAR, so some of the sentences are taken verbatim from the original text. I did change it into 3rd person, because me trying to write in 1st person never ends well. I also think there is a longer story in this particular idea, but quite frankly, I don’t have it in me to write it right now. 

Summary:

A Mating Bond between her younger sister and the Night Court’s shadowsinger was the last thing Feyre had expected to spring up…but then, maybe it did make sense. 

Warning:

Public Displays of affection, kinda Nesta bashing, but like...she has her reasons?, Cassian being annoying

(Lovely dividers thanks to @cafekitsune)

“Where are my sisters?” Feyre asked, the thought clanging through her head as jarring as a pealing bell. 

Her sisters

Rhys paused for just a moment, his hand slipping from her hair as his smile faded. “Elain and Nesta are at the House of Wind.” He straightened, swallowing. “I can—take you to them.” Every word seemed to be an effort.

But he would, Feyre realized. He’d shove down his need for her and take her to them, if that was what she wanted. Her choice. It had always been her choice with him.

Feyre shook my head. She wouldn’t see them—not yet. Not until she was steady enough to face them.

“They’re well, though?”

His hesitation told her enough. 

“They’re safe,” Rhys answered quietly. 

"That’s good," Feyre murmured as she took a deep breath in an attempt to calm the swirling, churning emotions inside her chest.

Her sisters...her sisters were safe. That was something. That was enough. For now. 

Only then she realised something else.

“You said Nesta and Elain are at the House of Wind,” Feyre pointed out, her hands clenching, her heart beating faster. “Where’s Alana?” she demanded, singling out her younger sister…singling out her half sister. 

The result of their father’s dalliance with a maid during her mother’s pregnancy with Feyre. Alana was just 6 months younger than her. Alana’s mother had died during childbirth…so their father had been saddled with another squealing infant that his wife was ill-pleased with. 

Nesta liked to say that that affair had eventually killed their mother. Feyre thought it to be ridiculous. It had been a fever and Alana had nothing to do with it, because she had been a literal child…and Alana had lost her voice to the very same fever. Feyre could still remember her singing like a pealing bell when she had been a child…and then…then she hadn’t been able to anymore. Even talking was near impossible for Alana, her throat unable to produce any sounds. 

Even as Alsna had been thrown into the cauldron…Her mouth had been open in a silent scream, but no sound had come out of her mouth. 

A shudder ran through her at that memory.

Alana. Her sweet, quiet younger sister. The sister that always smiled too sweetly and saw too much with those sharp eyes of hers. 

"Where is Alana?" She repeated. The silence in the room hung thick in the air as Rhys continued to hesitate.

A prickle of unease started to make its way up her spine. 

“Rhys, where is Alana?!” she demanded, her voice rising. 

“She’s safe, I swear,” Rhys hurried to promise her. “She’s not staying with Nesta and Elain but she’s safe. She should be here soon. I think…everything else…you should ask her about that.”

His words did little to soothe her worries, the unease that now clawed up her spine stronger.

“You’re not telling me something,” she pointed out, her brow furrowing. “Rhys, what are you not telling me?” 

She thought back to the last time she had seen her sister…thought back to her being poured out onto the wet stone floor from the cauldron…not a noise had come from her…nothing. She had…She had been poured out of the cauldron and had just kneeled on that stone floor as they had forced Nesta into the cauldron after her. 

She hadn’t…she had been…absent. Like the cauldron had taken too much from her. 

And then, in the moment as Mor had pushed Lucien away from Nesta and Elain, Feyre had seen Alana lunge. 

Not for the King of Hybern. Not even for Mor, who would have been closer to her…But for Cassian and Azriel for some reason. She wasn’t sure what had been Alana’s reasoning. Wasn’t sure what…Rhys had grasped all three of them and winnowed them away. 

Her heart was now hammering.

“What did you do with her?” Feyre demanded, her voice growing panicked. “What did you do with Alana? Why isn’t she staying with Nesta and Elain?” Feyre asked, her voice forcedly calm. “Rhys, what is going on?”

There was another moment of hesitation, another moment of silence, before Rhys finally replied. "She just…opted to stay elsewhere."

Those words did little to reassure her.

"Where?" Feyre pressed, her eyes narrowed. 

Rhys sighed. “How about you get into that bath that should be ready by now?” he suggested. “I’ll…tell you some of what happened. But I do think that some of the things should come from Alana and not from me,” he pointed out drily. 

The last thing she wanted to do right now was take a bath, the last thing she wanted to do was to be pacified with pretty words and nice things. That was the last thing she wanted.

But...he was right. She needed to be clean. 

Feyre growled at her mate, but stomped into the bathing chamber, stripping out of her clothing. Her fingers were near-black with dirt and caked blood. 

Rhys snapped his fingers, and her skin was nearly instantly pristine again. “Tell me what happened,” Feyre said flatly, as she sunk into the blood-hot water. “Why isn’t Alana staying at the House of Wind?”

Rhys was silent for a moment as he looked at her, his mouth in a grim line.

Then he let out a deep sigh, sitting down on the edge of the bathing tub. “A lot of things happened,” Rhys said drily. “But the biggest reason why Alana isn’t at the House of Wind is mostly that…I can’t guarantee Nesta’s safety, if she keeps spewing some of her venom in Alana’s direction.”

Feyre’s brow shot up at that, her heart skipping a beat. “What?” she demanded. “Rhys, what are you talking about?” That didn’t sound—didn’t sound like...

To say that Nesta and Alana didn’t get along was an understatement. Nesta gave Alana the fault for seemingly everything and Alana…well, she played deaf. And even more mute than she normally was. Even when Feyre‘s sister hadn’t been able to talk, she had been more than able to communicate if she wanted to, either with her expressive face, or her hands. And still, Alana had pretended like it wasn’t happening. Elain was no better to her…Elain liked to ignore Alana’s very existence.

But Alana wouldn’t have done anything…Alana wouldn’t have…

“Alana doesn’t lose her temper,” Feyre said carefully as she looked at Rhys. “She doesn’t.”

“She didn’t,” Rhys said drily. “My spymaster did.” 

A puzzled frown crossed over her face at that. “Azriel?” Feyre asked, her eyebrows furrowing. “What did he do?”

Azriel had lost his temper with Nesta? 

“If Cassian hadn’t been there, I think Azriel would have torn out Nesta’s throat with his bare hands,” Rhys said with a grimace. “It was…bad.”

Feyre’s jaw dropped.

Azriel, tearing out Nesta’s throat? With his hands? That…that didn’t sound like him. Not at all.

“I...” Feyre had no idea what to say. Why would Azriel have done that?  Feyre couldn’t…Of course, she knew that Azriel was capable of great violence, but he had never…she had never seen him lose his temper with a member of his family. Had never even through that that was a possibility. Whatever Nesta had said, must have been…

If he had gotten this angry on Alana’s behalf…What exactly had been said?

"What did Nesta do? What did she say?" Feyre asked, her voice hard. "What did she say to warrant that reaction from Azriel?" 

Rhys grimaced, shaking  his head. “You don’t want to know,” he said, his voice low. “Trust me, you do not want to know what she said. It's...complicated."

"Complicated, how?" Feyre demanded as she towelled herself off, walking back into the bedroom and pulled on comfortable clothing, her worry mounting. "What could possibly be so bad that you don't want to tell me?" 

If it was bad enough that Rhys didn't want to tell her what exactly happened...what exactly had been said.

"Well, that…” Rhys trailed off.

"Tell me," Feyre demanded again. "What exactly happened after…Hybern?"

Her mate gave in, holding out his hand and she joined him sitting on the edge of their bed.

Their bed.

She was home. Finally.

Rhys sighed.

“After Hybern…Mor dropped Nesta and Elain off at the House of Wind and then came back to the Townhouse. I had…I had Azriel and Cassian, and Alana too” Rhys said quietly and Feyre swallowed. Azriel and Cassian were healed. Rhys had told her that…but somehow she hadn’t been able to believe it…until she had seen it. 

“Amren tried to stop the blood flow from the literal hole in Azriel’s chest. I didn’t notice at first…Alana was kneeling at Azriel’s side…covered in his blood…holding his head on her lap…” Rhys’s violet eyes seemed to be far, far away, as he nearly shuddered, just thinking about it. “Azriel was…in and out of consciousness…but he was just…he was just holding onto her.”

Feyre’s heart was lodged in her throat. Azriel, nearly dead, was just…holding Alana. Her head was spinning as her mind worked hard to comprehend this. 

“The mating bond snapped for them,” Rhys finally said quietly. 

Feyre’s eyes widened. Her mouth went suddenly dry.

The…the mating bond? Alana and Azriel? Mates?

“The mating bond,” she echoed faintly. “The…the mating bond.” 

Feyre was quite sure that her jaw dropped. And that she stared at Rhys like he had just grown a second head.

“Azriel and Alana?” Feyre asked, unable to believe that. Azriel and Alana?! The brooding shadowsinger and spymaster of the Night Court and her youngest sister?

Azriel, who seemed to have a thing for Mor and had never looked at another female as far as Feyre was aware?

Rhys winced at her look.

"Yes, I know," he said quietly, wincing. "That was…my reaction too. I didn’t see it coming. I don’t think that anyone saw this coming...especially not Azriel." 

Feyre’s mind was racing.

Azriel and Alana. Mates.

She couldn’t…she never would have imagined it. Never seen it coming. Not in a thousand years. 

“Have they…” she wasn’t even sure what she was asking.

“Three days late,” Rhys said with a sigh. “They were not willing to wait.” 

“Three day?!” Feyre demanded. As far as she knew, Alana had never even entertained the thought of a suitor. Not that there had been any men that had looked over the fact that she was a bastard…and mute. They had never bothered to look further and Alana had never fussed about it either. 

"Three days," Rhys repeated. "The moment Azriel was well enough to be mobile again, they mated."  Rhys shuddered, his face scrunching up in distaste. “They are insufferable. The both of them.” 

"What do you mean, insufferable?" Feyre asked. A million thoughts were running through her head. Alana and Azriel…mates. They mated. 

"They could not stay away from each other," Rhys said, shuddering again. "They were...touchy. All the time. And so very...cutesy and sweet with each other. Gods, they are nauseating."

Feyre’s eyebrows rose at that. Alana and Azriel. Touchy? Cutesy and sweet? She could barely even imagine it. Alana...and Azriel. Being affectionate. 

"She’s sitting on his lap constantly," her mate groaned, rubbing his eyes hard. "And he is just…constantly touching her. I don’t even think that they have gone a whole five minutes without touching each other."

"And the looks," her mate continued drily. "Gods, they are exchanging these  looks. You would have thought that they are the soppiest, lovesick couple in existence. I did not ever need to see Azriel making heart-eyes at Alana. That was…traumatising."

Feyre pressed her hand to her mouth to muffle a snort. Azriel, making heart-eyes? That was a sight that she could not quite imagine. She…she hadn’t even thought that Azriel was even…capable of making heart-eyes. 

"Cassian and Mor kept poking fun at them. At every opportunity, which they definitely got often. Alana just…ignored them. But Azriel…" Rhys’ lips curled into a smirk. "He was not as amused as Alana by their teasing. He kept threatening violence every five minutes."

Feyre’s eyes widened at that, a laugh escaping her.

Azriel threatening violence for every five minutes that someone teased him about his new mate? She could not picture that either. 

"Cassian started making kissy faces at Alana just to see if Azriel would lose his temper," her mate said, a broad smile on his face. "And let me tell you, he nearly clawed out Cas’ eyeballs for it."

"So she's staying here?" Feyre asked carefully.

Rhys shook his head, his expression growing more serious. "She's at Azriel's house," he explained with a sigh. "It's...the cauldron left her with some...abilities. She’s a daemati…of sorts, at least,” Rhys said with a grimace. “We are still trying to figure out…how exactly it works. You and me…we need to concentrate if we want to read somebody’s thoughts. Alana…she said it was like she was standing in the middle of a market square and everybody is shouting at her,” Rhys said quietly. “We haven’t yet found anybody with shields solid enough to keep her out.”

Feyre swallowed at that. Alana, a daemati…of sorts. Having no control over whose thoughts she heard. No control over how loud everything was. 

“It’s like every mental wall, doesn’t even exist for her," Rhys said with a sigh. "Being around Amren gives her a headache too apparently. Azriel and Cassian are the most relaxing to be around according to her. There minds seem to be...even, analytical."

It sounded like a living hell. No control, no shields. Nothing.

“Is she…” Feyre’s voice was quiet. “Is she doing alright? Considering everything that happened.” 

“She’s fine,” Rhys promised her. “Alana is probably doing the best of them all,” Rhys said, something like amusement bleeding into his voice. “She can tell you all about it."

There was a knock at the door at that moment.

Feyre tensed as her eyes flew to the door.

“That’s her,” Rhys said quietly, placing a soothing hand on her leg. “Are you ready?” 

Feyre took a deep, steadying breath, pushing down her worry and her nerves.

“I’m ready,” she said. 

“Feyre!”

Her sister's voice. Her sister's voice.

Feyre’s heart skipped a beat as her body went rigid.

She couldn’t…she couldn’t believe it. After so long…after believing…believing for so long that she would never hear Alana’s voice…

Feyre remembered with a shudder the sight of small, slight Alana in her translucent nightgown…being poured out of the cauldron onto the stone...She looked nothing like she did now.

She looked well.

That was the first thing Feyre realised. Colour on her cheeks, dark, pin straight hair pinned away from her face and these devasting doe eyes…

Feyre’s eyes roamed over her sister, drinking in the sight of her. Alive. Well. Whole.

She could barely believe it, her mind struggling to catch up. 

"You can talk," Feyre whispered as Alana hugged her.  

She grimaced.

Kinda. This is easier though, she answered, her mental voice slipping into Feyre's mind without her even noticing. My throat hurts if I talk too much.

It was strange, having a voice in her mind that was not her own. Different from when her mate spoke to her down the bond. It was more…pronounced. Clearer, somehow. 

"Are…” Feyre’s voice broke again, her eyes roaming over Alana again. “Are you really alright, Al?” 

She drunk in her sister's face, the pale skin, the freckles that covered her face...she had been pretty as a human but as a fae...as a High fae she was gorgeous.

Alana’s eyes, her sister’s eyes, were still the same. Still that same dark, endless brown that had always seemed to hold so many secrets. She had never met anyone who could hold as many secrets as Alana had.

She looked so healthy, so well and Feyre felt a lump form in her throat. 

She had to fight the sudden urge to cry, as she pulled her sister into another hug. Her sister’s slender arms wrapped around her, pulling her in tight. Like she was never going to let her go again. 

I am alright, Alana promised fiercely. I am better than alright. I am...I am so happy, Fey.

The thought in her mind brought another wave of tears to Feyre’s eyes. She held on to her sister tighter, burying her face against her neck as a sob escaped her and she inhaled her sister’s familiar, comforting scent. Pomegranate and Vanilla, with an underlay of Azriel. 

He treats you well? she asked, cradling her sisters face in her hands. She didn't think that Azriel would...mistreat her but...

Alana’s eyes darkened as she thought of Azriel and her expression softened as a faint smile crossed her face. 

Feyre swallowed again. This was different. This was…her sister had never smiled like that. So open. So happy. So filled with…love. 

And then, very carefully, Feyre felt how Alana pulled at her mind in some sense and then dropped a memory.

For just a moment, it felt like she was in her little sister's body. And she stared at Azriel who looked at her, at Alana with utter and complete adoration, scarred hands cupping her cheeks so gently.

Feyre’s breath caught in her throat at that.

She could feel, could understand the feeling of Azriel’s warm, scarred hand against her skin. The way how the pads of his fingers ran over her jawline, the way how his thumb traced over her lower lip. The way how those hazel eyes of his were filled with nothing but love. 

A shudder ran down Feyre’s spine. That look, the way how Azriel had looked at her sister…it was like the expression in Rhys’ eyes when he looked at her. 

Her eyes flickered to Rhys, where he was patiently waiting in a corner.

He was looking at her with that same look in his eyes. The same look that Feyre knew was mirrored in her own eyes. It was the same, that look. Pure, utter devotion. 

It was the look of a man completely and utterly in love. 

Feyre swallowed as she turned back to Alana, her mind whirling. This was…Alana, her sister…her quiet, shy, closed-off little sister. And Azriel, the Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court. The one that no one saw as anything but sharp and deadly and a ruthless killer. 

He didn’t hurt you, did he? Feyre asked weakly. She didn’t think he would but…

Alana’s expression softened. Her hand gently came to rest on Feyre’s arm and she shook her head, a small smile on her face.

He was gentle as possible, Fey, Alana promised quietly. Gentler than I would have expected. He made sure to go slow, to be careful. He was…he was everything I could have wished for. He has never hurt me more than I wanted. 

Feyre let out a long, shaky breath she didn’t know that she was holding.

She…she had been worried. Worried for her sweet little sister, being together with a man like Azriel. Who was dangerous and deadly and…and lethal. 

What do you mean with no more than you wanted? she demanded suddenly. Alana just grinned at her, her laugh like a pealing bell.

A shudder ran down Feyre’s spine again. Alana’s…her sister’s voice, the sound of her laugh. It was the most wonderful sound that she had ever heard. She could’ve started bawling like a child, but the thought that Alana dropped into her mind just completely derailed her.

He knows what I like, and he’s happy to oblige. 

Feyre’s eyes widened and she choked on nothing.

She…oh Gods. Her face heat in a blush as Alana just continued smiling at her innocently. 

This was her sister. Her quiet, shy, closed-off sister. That was how she remembered her. And now…and now…she was standing in front of Feyre, smiling at her like a cat who had just devoured an entire bowl of cream, telling her that her stoic, broody, deadly Spymaster of a mate was apparently…into things… 

Her sister smirked at her. Alana! Her shy, little sister, who had never even so much as looked at a male with interest, stood in front of Feyre, a smirk on her face as she told Feyre that her mate knew what she liked. 

I was surprised too, you know, Alana’s voice echoed in Feyre’s mind. But well…I like it, and he’s happy to oblige. He’s very good at it… 

But the look on Alana’s face, the utter contentment in her eyes, and the feeling of…of lust from her sister, made it even more mortifying. 

Alana was happy. Her sister was happy and well, and she just radiated happiness. Feyre’s heart soared, seeing her sister like that after so long.  And even the horrifying bits, Feyre could push past.

Seeing her sister happy like this…that was worth a bit of mortification and discomfort. 

So she swallowed her mortification, and just pulled a face at her smirking sister.

Enough with the gory details, for the love of the Mother. she chided her in her head. Alana just let out another pearly bell kind of laugh.

You should come downstairs. Nuala and Cerridwen have given Lucien some clothing and showed him to a bathing chamber. Lunch should be served soon, if you are hungry, Alana said into her mind.

I am famished, Feyre confessed in her mind. “Lead the way,” she said aloud and Alana just rolled her eyes, taking her by the arm and pulling her downstairs. 

And then something else came to her mind. What did Nesta say to you?

Alana sighed. Nothing that matters, her sister said easily as they reached the dining room. Azriel and Cassian were waiting for them.

And then Feyre saw how her sister turned from happy to radiant as soon as she saw Azriel. 

Feyre watched with ill disguised horror, as the spymaster’s shadows came over to Alana, seemingly swarming around her. Whatever bits of naked skin they could find…in this case her hands and face, because she wore a long sleeves high necked gown, they caressed. Nearly sweetly. 

Alana absentmindedly drew her fingers through one tendril as she floated over to Azriel, sitting down onto his lap like that was an utterly normal thing to do. Feyre could just stare as Azriel pressed a kiss against her sister‘s cheek, one scarred hand possessively spanning her waist.

Like this was normal. Like this was something they had done dozens of times…like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like this was their usual routine…and Alana smiled at him, broadly, pressing a kiss against his cheek in greeting. 

It was...it was surreal, watching Alana like this. So much more open, less reserved than Feyre had ever seen her. And the way how Azriel looked at her...Feyre had never seen him express such open and utter adoration before. 

Cassian made a retching sound, catching Feyre’s attention. Azriel’s eyes darkened as he threw an icy look in Cassian’s direction. Alana just snuggled deeper into Azriel’s chest. 

Azriel let out the smallest of chuckles at Alana’s behaviour in his lap, one of his hands coming up to gently play with a strand of her dark hair as he pressed another kiss to her forehead. 

The quiet, brooding Spymaster of the Night Court, who could be downright terrifying when he wanted, completely and utterly smitten by her little sister. 

Feyre could just stare. 

She had not for one moment thought that they would…would be a good match. But here they were. 

Alana...Feyre had never seen her sister like this before. So open, so happy. So...unreserved. She was like a cat, settled in the lap of her male, letting him pet her like she was...like he owned her. And it seemed like Azriel would gladly claim ownership too. The possessive, proprietary look on his face told Feyre all she needed to know. 

“Get a room, for the love of the Mother,” Cassian drawled with a disgusted look on his face as Azriel buried his nose in her sister’s hair and Feyre shot him another dirty look. Alana just stuck her tongue out at him. 

Azriel just bared his teeth at Cassian, a silent warning to watch his tongue in the direction of the woman in his lap, who was busy playing with the buttons on his fighting leathers. 

“What did Nesta say?“ Feyre repeated as she sat down herself. 

The reactions were immediate. 

Azriel growled.

Feyre couldn’t help but flinch slightly. That growl...she hadn’t heard him make that sound before. It sounded utterly terrifying. Alana didn’t even flinch. She just touched Azriel’s chest in a soothing gesture and Azriel immediately quieted down, holding her even tighter. 

It doesn’t matter what Nesta had to say, Alana’s voice echoed in her mind.

“It absolutely does,” Feyre muttered, feeling some anger rising in her. Her sister deserved better than what Nesta had to say. 

I don’t care what she says, Alana replied in her mind. She can believe whatever she likes. She is entitled to her opinion. 

“She can be quiet about her opinion,” Azriel hissed. Only then Feyre realised that her sister must have been projecting her mental voice so that everybody could hear it.

"Azriel." Alana's voice was soft. "It's alright. We both know the truth. It doesn’t matter what she believes"

Azriel looked down at her and a slight frown appeared on his face. He gently cupped her sister's chin, his hazel eyes staring into her dark ones. Feyre could practically hear the silent conversation between them. 

Cassian sighed. "Nesta found out about the mating bond between Azriel and Alana and she didn't take it well," he told Feyre drily.

Of course, she didn’t. Of course, she didn’t. Feyre ground her teeth together. 

"So what exactly was said?" she asked sharply.

Cassian and Rhys shared a look as Azriel let out another warning growl. Feyre ignored him. 

I want to know, Feyre snapped towards Alana. Her sister stiffened. 

Feyre, Alana’s voice echoed in her mind, a hint of warning in her tone. Feyre pushed down a wave of irritation. 

Tell me, Feyre demanded. She was done with secrets. Done with not knowing things. 

It’s nothing, Alana tried to brush her off and Feyre’s irritation flared up in her stomach. 

It is not ‘nothing’. Feyre snapped at her. Her sister’s face was a stoic mask as Azriel let his hand span across her stomach. 

Nesta made a comment about how she was surprised that Azriel hadn't ripped me apart during our...mating. But maybe she shouldn't be surprised because I was a whore anyway, Alana finally answered. How a brute like him was all I amounted to, given that I was a bastard...and then there was some more stuff in that rant about how unfair it was that I had landed on my feet but Elain is...well...Elain isn't doing so good, Alana answered flatly.

Feyre felt her blood boil in her veins. Of course, Nesta would say something like that, the bitter, twisted...- Feyre bit down on the string of curses burning on her tongue. 

Nesta isn't doing well, Feyre. You can't take what she is saying right now to heart, Alana warned her softly. You haven't been in her mind...it's...it's bad.

Feyre felt some of her anger cool down ever so slightly. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t pissed off at Nesta for what she had said. Even if...even if Nesta wasn’t doing well. 

That doesn’t change anything about what she said, Feyre said through gritted teeth. 

I am not defending her, Alana said firmly. I love Nesta. Doesn’t mean that I like hearing her talk about Azriel like that. But Feyre... her voice grew softer. I have seen her mind. Her thoughts. She isn’t in a good place right now.

Feyre grimaced, feeling her anger slowly disappear. She didn’t like it. She didn’t want to. But...maybe Alana was right. Nesta was her sister, and Feyre loved her. Even after everything that had happened between them. 

Still...what she said... Feyre said weakly and Alana’s lips quirked. 

I know, she said gently. I was angry too. I nearly tore her head off. But Azriel...he was furious. I’ve never seen him like that before. 

Feyre didn’t need to be told how furious Azriel had been. The look in his eyes, the clenched jaw and the growl that Feyre had heard...she didn’t need anyone to tell her how the usually stoic male had been absolutely furious about what Nesta had said. 

"I'll talk to her," Feyre said aloud.

She ignored the dubious look that Cassian and Rhys were giving her. Her sister just smiled at her softly and nodded. 

Talk to her gently, she urged in Feyre’s mind. Please. And don’t...don’t try to defend me. It will only start a fight. 

Feyre winced. Even though, she didn’t like the thought of it and not defending her sister went completely against her nature, she knew that Alana was right. And her sister could read her thoughts with ease anyways. 

I’ll bite my tongue, Feyre promised her. Alana smiled at her again, that smile that lit up her entire face. Feyre felt her heart clench at the beautiful sight. 

“Thank you,” Alana said happily, her voice like the most wonderful sound. Feyre had a feeling that that was the thanks not only for agreeing not to defend her but for just...not making a scene. Feyre felt a small, answering smile tug at the corners of her own lips.

Instead, she watched her sister pick up a piece of bread from the plate in front of Azriel and hold it up for him to eat without another word. A silent gesture of acceptance.

Azriel’s lips twitched as he looked at his mate, sitting on his lap like she belonged there. But he obediently opened his mouth, a subtle sign of complete surrender to Alana. 

Cassian made another retching sound. Alana ignored him.

Azriel was the one who kissed Alana.

Feyre could have gone quite a long time without that sight. Especially because it wasn't a simple peck on the cheek or a quick kiss to her lips. 

Feyre could have gone forever without seeing her sister like this, settled in the lap of her mate, their bodies pressed together tightly as Azriel kissed her, devoured her, his hands possessively splayed out on her slender waist. 

"Now you are just fucking with me," Cassian said with a sigh.

Alana just broke out in a fit of giggles as Azriel threw a glare in Cassian’s direction. 

“Maybe I am,” Azriel mused, as Alana settled back into his lap. Azriel’s one scarred hand was back to playing with a strand of Alana’s hair. “Jealous?” he asked lightly and  Cassian actually growled at him.  Azriel snorted, his hand possessively covering Alana’s stomach, who was smiling like the happiest person in the world. 

“Shut up,” Cassian huffed. “I am not jealous. I just don’t want to know what you two get up to at night.” 

"Only at night?" Azriel asked drily. "Brother, you have much to learn."

Feyre groaned internally at the hint in Azriel’s voice as Cassian looked a little ashen, while Rhys burst out laughing and Alana let out another one of her pearly-bell like laughs. 

“Stop tormenting him,” Rhys said with a chuckle as Cassian tried to recover. “He’ll have nightmares for weeks if you continue like this.” 

“That sounds like a you problem,” Azriel replied, completely unrepentant, “not ours.” Alana was still giggling, a sound like tinkling bells in Feyre’s ears. 

“Of course you say that, you bastard,” Cassian said with a sigh as Azriel’s hand on Alana’s stomach started to slowly wander upwards. 

Feyre could see how Alana’s cheeks flushed slightly in response to the possessive touch. How her breathing quickened ever so slightly. Azriel’s lips twitched as he noticed it too. 

"We'll let you deal with Lucien," Alana said suddenly, gaining her feet quickly. "We'll see you at dinner. Az?"

“Coming, sweetheart,” Azriel said and Cassian made another retching sound as Feyre could feel the waves of possessiveness coming off Azriel in waves. Her sister was his. 

In a matter of heartbeats, they were gone. Feyre was left with Cassian and Rhys who were both looking at her intently. 

"Yes, they are always like that, if you wondered,” Cassian said with a roll of his eyes. "I think they are still in the Mating Frenzy."

“Most likely,” Rhys agreed with a chuckle. “But they also don’t seem to care who sees it. Mor is still horrified from walking in on them a few weeks ago.” 

“So would I be in her shoes,” Feyre said honestly and Cassian snickered. 

“They are insufferable, aren’t they?” He said with a grin. Rhys just chuckled. “So utterly happy.”

“Yes,” Feyre agreed, the image of the two of them, completely oblivious to the world around them still in her mind. “Unbelievably so.” 

“They’re also completely and utterly devoted to each other,” Rhys mused. “It is…kind of sweet.” Feyre nodded thoughtfully. 

It was sweet. The way Azriel looked at her sister, how he was so utterly possessive about her. And Alana…there wasn’t a hint of hesitation about her when it came to Azriel. 

"As long as she's happy," Feyre said quietly. As long as Alana was happy.

[heesimp]

omg YES PLS WRITE SOMETHING LIKE THAT IDC HOW IMMORAL IT SOUNDS ILL EAT IT UP

don’t cheat obviously. but send me fictitious cheating scenarios 😋 the dirtier, nastier and more taboo, the better.

warnings: infidelity, creampie.

-

“You’re crazy.”

“Crazy for you, yeah.”

Sunghoon’s mouth attaches to your nipple and doesn’t stop his dick from pushing in and out of your wet, swollen pussy. His hair is a mess the more you rake your fingers through his strands to keep his head level with your breasts for him to suck on. The soft purple love bites around your nipples decorate your skin like artwork.

“What’s crazy is leaving your girlfriend alone just because I said I was horny.”

“You requested a second hotel key and gave it to me for a reason.” He pushes his cock until it’s buried so deep inside of your cunt and catches your body when you arch up into his, moving his face between your tits until they bounce against his face. “I know you want this just as much as I do.”

The blanket that attempted to conceal your dirty affair in has long since fallen off of Sunghoon’s back. With your legs spread impossibly wide and pussy wet and presented in front of him, it was hard to keep him from fucking into you as if his dick was a magnet being pulled into your body.

“I’ll never stop fucking your pussy,” Sunghoon promises when he puts your body down on the bed and resumes his deep, slow thrusts. “Doesn’t matter if my girlfriend’s around or not. You call me when you need to be fucked and I’ll do it for you.”

“You make me so wet.” Your desperate confession makes Sunghoon’s balls clench and he nips at your skin when he pulls one leg against his body to caress.

Your friends are all in their respective hotel rooms none the wiser, although neither of you really care if they found out. They all like you better than his girlfriend on the sheer principle that you’re their friend and she’s never made more than a single attempt to befriend them either. But even so, it’s not like Sunghoon would ever stop pining after you, girlfriend be damned. Even if that relationship was expected of him, and even if he had feelings for her for a brief period of time, none of that will ever compare to how he feels when he’s with you.

Sunghoon’s perfectly chiseled body stands in all of his glory when he picks up his body from yours. The sweat coating his skin makes him look like a Greek God and your pussy clenches around him, causing Sunghoon to look down at where the two of you connect. He flicks your clit with his thumb and you moan straight into the air as your body arches.

“Yeahhhh. What a good fucking pussy. So tight and perfect. It’s my favorite.”

Sunghoon bucks his hips faster and rubs your sensitive nub harshly. It makes you cum immediately. “Fuck me, Hoonie! Fuck me, fuck me!”

The bed squeaks loudly beneath the two of you as his hips jolt the springs below and the sound of the wooden headboard banging the walls feels like something straight out of a porn scene. Sunghoon imagines what might happen if his girlfriend were to walk in on him fucking you with such passion and determination to make you cum as many times as you possibly can, and the thought of her standing in the doorway as he pounds into your tight hole brings him closer to the edge.

“I’d make her watch,” he says as he breaks the silence. He keeps his vigorous pace. “I’d fuck your pussy full of my cum but all she’d do is watch me do it.”

“Yes, fuck!”

“Shit—here it comes.”

Sunghoon pulls himself out until only his tip remains and watches the way his dick pulses as his cum exits his body, pumping you with everything he has to offer. It seeps from around him the more he releases and he can’t help but admire the beautiful mess the two of you have created between your bodies.

He pulls out when he’s finished, squeezing the last few droplets right over your creamy folds before letting his balls rest against them. They’re so warm and smooth on top of your clit and the way he continues to jerk his cock despite finishing makes them bounce deliciously against your pussy.

[nocasdatsgay]

Spring Time Affairs

Day three of @polyacotarweek : Secrets

Summary: Flora likes to rile her husband up, especially if it means she gets to play with Elain in the process.

MasterPost | Poly Week Master Post| AO3 Link

Pairings: Tamlin/OC/Elain/Lucien | Rating: E🌶️| Word Count: 1890

Warnings: smut

A/N: relationships should never have to be a secret. Pretending it is for the thrill however, that is acceptable.

Tagging: @saltedcoffeescotch @ysmtttty

Flora should have been ashamed of herself. Should bring the operative word. But the way Elain’s thigh was shaking where it was draped over her shoulder, she could only focus on bringing her over the edge. How she ended up kneeling under Elain’s pale yellow skirts in the small library on the east end was irrelevant.

Elain was whimpering above her as she sucked and swirled her tongue on her clit just like she liked. Stubborn, she thought. Elain was deliberately fighting her orgasm. Flora knew it. She stopped thrusting her fingers and instead wiggled the pads of them, pressing on that spot that had Elain crying out above her. She grinned as Elain came, damn near soaking her face and hand. Flora licked it all up, pleased when Elain started to push her away because it was too much.

“I swear you stay under her skirts more than I do.”

Lucien’s voice startled her as she pulled away and moved to stand. He was grinning wickedly at his mate, who Flora was pleased to see had a flush on her face and was still catching her breath.

“I can’t help it,” Flora made a show of licking one of her fingers. “She tastes so good.”

“You’re lucky Tamlin is looking for you,” Lucien said. He did look ready to bend her over the table behind her. His gaze turned to his mate. “You are a wicked little female.”

“Whatever do you mean, Lord Lucien?” Elain straightened her skirt with her palms.

Flora’s eyebrows shot up. Elain always flirted by riling Lucien up. And the best way to do so was to address him formally. Flora learned that herself the hard way.

“Flora, lock the door,” Lucien did not look at her as he spoke. “I think I need to have a conversation with my mate about inappropriate uses of the mating bond.”

Flora did not suppress her grin. “Of course. Have fun.”

She left, shutting the door and waving her hand to lock it. She tried to not giggle at the squeal she heard Elain let out as she went down the hallway. She went to her husband’s office first. He was normally there most of the day nearing the end of the year months. Sure enough, Tamlin was at his desk, looking over papers. He looked up as she entered and shut the door.

“Lucien said you were looking for me?”

She walked past the chairs and his desk to sit on the table against the window behind him. It was a test; he knew that. She could tell he knew by the way he rose from his chair and turned to her with a predatory look. She smoothed out the skirts of her sky blue dress. He came up to her, nudging her legs open with his own, his nostrils flaring as he leaned into her.

“You smell like Elain. Gods, were you in the library again?”

“Maybe.” She grinned and watched him plant both of his hands on the table, caging her in.

“Wild flower.” Tamlin growled in her ear. “Are you trying to get caught?”

“Why would I do that?”

Tamlin took one hand and pushed up her skirts further so he could stand between her open legs, forcing them to spread further. He pulled back and stood straighter.

“Because you’re a minx,” he tilted up her chin. Green eyes blown black. “I don’t even remember why I called you in here.”

Flora hummed as he tucked a loose golden brown curl behind her ear.

“What a Lady of Spring you are, smelling like another male’s mate. What would the servants think?”

So that was the game they were playing. The ‘pretend the whole court doesn’t know’ game. Flora liked this game, if only because Tamlin could pretend to be possessive.

“Fuck the servants,” she gasped.

He gripped her hips and pulled her to the edge of the table and pressed his body against her. The bulge of his pants rubbing against her. Her underwear was already soaked from playing with Elain. She whined and pouted when he pulled back. A hand on her thigh inched up under her skirt until a claw hooked her underwear. She lifted her rear up so he could pull them off. He scowled as the blue lacy scrap of cloth came into view.

“Who bought you these? It wasn’t me.” He lifted them higher to look at them better. “They’re too slutty for my tastes.” A lie.

She bit her lip. He knew who, but he wanted her to say it. “Lucien.”

His gaze narrowed on her as he tossed the underwear aside. “You want them to know what a little whore you are.”

“No,” she shook her head.

“You do.” He tsked at you. “This is the third time this month I’ve caught you smelling like them. Do you want the court to think I can’t satisfy my wife?”

She almost snorted. Instead, she feigned shock. “No!” 

“But you do. They don’t know our little secret, do they? They just see you, walking around and smelling like this. Makes you look unfaithful. Do I need to remind you who you belong to?”

She tried to not grin or seem too excited as he unlaced his trousers. He reached up and grabbed her chin forcing her to look at him.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes sir.”

He let go of her chin and his trousers fell to the floor. She looked down and watched him stroke his hard length, the core of her clenching at the thought of what was about to happen. She inhaled as he stepped close to her, wanting nothing more than for him to take her.

“What did you do with Elain?”

Flora looked up, mouth agape. “I- I was under her skirts. I used my mouth.”

Tamlin reached around and grabbed the back of her head, not undoing her braids but holding her still as he pressed his lips to hers. She let his tongue in and he growled while he probed around. He could taste Elain still on her lips and tongue. Flora did not move. He pulled back. He said nothing; only stroked himself once more before pushing into her heat.

Flora fell back on both her hands, head also falling back as she let out a moan. He gave her no time to adjust, not that she minded. She was content to let him take what he wanted from her. Tamlin had other plans.

“Look at me,” a command, laced with the authority of Spring. She lifted her head up, eyes wide open. “Who do you belong to?”

”You.” She whimpered with each thrust, his length hitting that spot inside her. “You, Tamlin.”

He growled again. “And what are our rules?”

”We, fuck, we keep- Tam,” She wrapped her leg around his waist. “We keep it secret.” Another lie. 

“Exactly.” He thrusted into her harder, stroking the pleasure in her higher. “What we do in our bedroom is no one’s concern but our own.”

“Yes, Tamlin.”

“If you’re going to smell like sex during the day, you’ll smell of me.”

“Yes sir,” she cried out. “Only you.”

Tamlin sank his teeth into her neck, causing her to arch against him and yell with her eyes rolling back. He then pulled back and licked at the bite. Her legs tightened around his waist again while he continued to thrust into her, one of her hands going into his blond hair.

Then the doorknob turned and for a moment her heart stopped. She moved her hand and slapped it over her mouth, crying out as she came suddenly.

“Am I interrupting?”

It was Lucien, the bastard. He had the audacity to look innocent as he slipped into the room and shut the door. She was still pulsing around Tamlin, who stopped to look at him.

“What?” He asked, breathing heavily. As if his trousers weren’t around his ankles with his cock buried in his wife.

“The emissary from Summer is here.” Tamlin growled and Lucien grinned. “I just wanted to inform you, High Lord.”

“Get the fuck out and don’t think I won’t punish you for bothering me.”

“Maybe you should punish your wife, since she came the second she thought she was caught.” His eyes flashed at her as he grinned. “I know what you sound like when you cum, Flora.”

“Get out Lucien.” She rolled her eyes. “Weren’t you just with Elain?”

Lucien clasped his hands behind his back. “Elain is a bit tied up at the moment. I can have you join her if Tam wants.”

“Get. Out.”

Command laced Tamlin’s snarling tone. Lucien didn’t drop his grin but exited as requested. Tam threw out magic, locking the door. He turned back to her with a look in his eye. In quick movements, he pulled out of her, pulled her off the table, stood her on her feet and pushed her down across the table. Her skirts were thrown up onto her back and she gasped when he smacked his hand hard against her rear.

“Naughty girl.” He kicked her feet apart and smacked her across her wet cunt. “I didn’t tell you to cum.”

“I’m sorry Tam.” She stood on her toes, hoping he’d do that again. When he did, she moaned loudly, clenching around nothing. “Are you going to punish me?”

“I should.”

She heard him shuffle and felt him push his length back into her. He pulled her upright to be flush against him so he could whisper in her ear.

“You and Lucien both have been so bratty. But I have a meeting. So I’m going to finish fucking you and when I’m done, you’re going put those slutty little panties back on and let my seed drip out your cunt for the rest of the day so everyone knows who the Lady of Spring belongs to.”

“Please.”

He chuckled in her ear, pulling his hips back to thrust up into her. A clawed hand came around her throat while his arm wrapped around her waist as he continued. It didn’t take long for him to finish, growling in her ear as he did so. When he pulled out, she squeezed her legs together and waited. She straightened out her skirts and waited while he pulled up and fixed his trousers.

“Look at my good girl,” he chuckled, coming up beside her to hand her the panties he’d pulled off.

Flora didn’t say anything as she carefully stepped into them and pulled them up. She shivered as she felt his cum slip out of her slowly after she unclenched her legs. She turned to him, batting her eyes innocently at her husband.

“May I be dismissed, High Lord?”

“By the cauldron you make it difficult.” He came up to her, grabbing her by the hair to press his lips to hers before pulling away. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she pressed a quick kiss to his lips one last time. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

She waited by the door until he threw out his magic, unlocking it. She slipped out as if nothing happened and headed straight for Lucien and Elain’s bedroom. Lucien dropped that information for a reason when he barged in and she was about to make use of it.

[millersfinest]

can u make some like generic dating ellie headcannons? (tlou universe preferably)

i love ur writing sm!!

dating ellie williams ◡̈

cw: usual fluff, mentioned love languages, mention of joel’s death (i wanted to be as canon as possible), a little nsfw but nothing too crazy.

note: here are some semi-ooc ellie hc’s!! i feel like im so bad at headcanons, but here you go. thank you for enjoying my work, i hope you like this too pookie!

ellie! is a total introvert to her core, so no matter how she found out about you taking interest in her… she’d probably need some time to think about it.

ellie! would have you freaking tf out over it too. but she means well, she’s just a really bad over-thinker—never wanting to say the wrong thing. but she’d come around and never stop apologizing to you.

ellie! would take a little while to open up to you, if you weren’t friends first. she’s been through a lot in her life, and she fears that her trauma could scare people away.

now, if you were already friends (specifically close friends), you probably would’ve already known her deepest darkest secrets and feelings by the time you started dating. every traumatic event and every fixation she’s had since she was a child.

ellie! thoroughly believes in physical touch and quality time as a love language.

for physical touch: it doesn’t always have to be sexual (she doesn’t complain either way), she just likes to touch you—knowing you’re right there next to her. you could be doing the dishes and she’d come up behind you, leaning her head on your shoulder, with her hands delicately placed on your hips. or standing by the bar at the tipsy bison, with her fingers dipped into any of the pockets of your jeans. keeping you close.

for quality time: she does love her moments alone, but they’re always better with you somewhere near by. sometimes, when she would spend hours painting or drawing in her art room, she’d ask if you could come sit in. so you’d bring your book, or whatever you were doing, and read silently in the same room as her. while a smooth record played in the background. but sometimes, she doesn’t even ask. you could be doing the most boring thing ever, and she’d float around you like a curious bumblebee.

ellie! love, love, loves being babied—even though she’d never admit it. she has a reputation to uphold, of course. during the spring, due to the patrols and supply runs, her allergies would wreck havoc on her. that’s where you come in to nurture her back to health. she’d have tissue stuck up her nose, with her head lying in your lap on the couch. you rubbing your hand over her hair, soothingly.

“if you kiss me right now, i think my sinuses will re-open.”

“ellie, you just sneezed two minutes ago.”

“baby, pleaseeeee! i need it!” and she’d give the craziest puppy dog eyes known to man. and, of course, you’d give in. giving her the sweetest smooch ever. it didn’t open her sinuses, but she knew that. just know… she’s gonna convince you to give her another to be sure.

another scenario would be coming home after a long day at work (idk i feel like doing patrols would be like her main thing). she probably had a rough day with the lingering infected, and came back with a few injuries. the moment she stepped through the door, she’d be calling for you. wrapped in your arms, smelling like the outdoors, you’d slowly undress her and then run a bath. she loved when you’d cater to her in that way—cleaning her cuts, washing her skin from dried blood and dirt. after all that, you’d cuddle in bed, pillow-talking until her eyes shut before yours.

“goodnight, els.” smooch.

ellie! was a little iffy when it came to holidays, but when it came to your birthday it was a special affair. jackson was a healthy and happy little bubble, but because the idea of loss wasn’t foreign to her—celebrating her loved ones was very important to her.

if you didn’t like grand gestures, she’d keep it lowkey. maybe throwing a little surprise for the two of you at home; cooking you dinner, having a movie night, and giving you little trinkets she found on the road. or painting something for you in secret, then giving it to you as a gift.

speaking of cooking…

ellie! has thing for making good food. a part of me feels like joel put her on when she was young, and after he died (yeah, i’m sorry) she made an effort to keep it up. playing guitar was much harder for her since she only had two fingers and a thumb on her left hand—so she decided to pick up something else to stay close to him.

so every chance she can get, she cooks for you or both of you. when you would go on patrols, you’d make sure to pick up cook books from before the outbreak since she found them so fascinating. and you loved being her little food guinea pig. spoiler: she was a fast learner so her cooking skills were pretty good.

ellie! 100% taught you to play the song (that we all know and love) that joel taught her on the guitar. and whenever you knew she needed to hear it, you’d play it for her. and, i swear on everything, there’d be tears in her eyes every time.

and for some freaky stuff… (i won’t get into crazy detail but i just wanna be thorough ;D)

ellie! just loves loving you… making love to you—doing everything that she can to almost prove that you’re everything to her (not that she needs to but she does it anyway).

meaning: at the very best, she’s a service!top. however, i can get behind her being a switch/verse (or maybe i’m bias lmao).

ellie! probably wouldn’t strap as often as the fanfics show. especially being in this apocalyptic world—where would you get them?? if they weren’t hella old… and, i feel like she’d think they were a little silly (but if you wanted to try it, she’d oblige because what you say goes).

ellie! loves to watch the expressions of your features contort into visuals of pleasure. it’s how she knew she was being good for you—doing everything that you asked but better!

your first time: of course she was super awkward. not really knowing where to put her hands at first. but once the heat began to rise, and your bodies began to press together, her entire energy changed! she’s her most confident when she’s in service to someone (in some way)—so she makes it her prerogative to make you feel good and comfortable. you weren’t really expecting that from her, though. it only took one airy moan coming from your lips for her to completely flip the script.

her hands were firmly delicate, and she made sure to be very vocal in your ears and over your body.

overall, ellie williams is a very attentive lover. in many ways than just one.

[driaswrld]

🪷 — A ROYAL AFFAIR . . . THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT

LADY DRIA WRITES . . . ˚ ༘ *

🪷 dearest gentle reader, what is a princess to do when she's caught between two dashing princes, both of which are her childhood friends? — one her betrothed and the other her past love... 4.7k words.

🪷 prince gojo x reader x prince geto jjk regency/royal au, use of regency era terminology, longing and more longing.

🪷 taglist : (lmk if you want to be added or removed!) @angelshimaa @yunymphs @todorokies @satocidal @maeby-cursed @rinniessance @cinnabooonn @shegetsburned @starry-grace2 @selfishdoll @shuuennovirche @wishmemel @riaki @yazzzmints @aphroditisxc @gojorbit @izakyun @satoruoo @irisxyphium @zwtari @/lollipop974 @r0ckst4rjk @softgirlgonehaywire @lilvampirina @brianmaysclog

CHAPTER ONE. . . ˚ ༘ *

L'INCOMPARABLE.

Talks of betrothal began in the last Spring of your youth.

Under the cherry blossom trees, you sit in silence, fuchsia petals decorating the length of your hair in messy scatters.

Satoru Gojo, crowned prince and heir to the Gojo throne, picks the fallen remnants of flowers from your hair one by one as the nobles watch on.

Whispers of ‘they would make such a beautiful match’ and ‘look how the Prince dotes on her’ echo in the brush of the gardens, women whispering among themselves and the men chortling between swings of their mallets — in a near deathly game of pall mall.

“Don’t hide from me,” Satoru dips his head, breath fanning the shell of your ear. If possible, the whispers intensify, cutting past your ears and you bite back a giggle, stifling down the thought that crosses your mind, attention whore.

“I’m not hiding, your highness.” You counter, shifting to the side, your smile hidden behind a porcelain teacup, swift sips of ginger warming your cheeks.

“It’s improper, you know.” The words linger in the air between soft wisps of wind, flurries of foreign fabrics and bright layers of skirts pass your vision — and yet, all is drowned out by him.

Your anointed Prince, the attention whore.

“Improper to gaze upon my companion?” Satoru scoffs, grinning wide, toothy, dimples.

Childhood found you both tethered like bee and nectar, always close, always coming back.

At first, it was through duty, sharp tongued ten year old Satoru Gojo, a prince born with a halo and the title of the realm’s strongest to his name, meeting you, the humble princess of the Western kingdom, born in valor and sprouted in pride, a warrior’s code.

It was a disastrous first few encounters—

(—but then he was your bestfriend, and you his. )

His dear mother, bless her soul, had taken the time out to host this marvelous garden party to welcome the newest maidens into their debuts – moreso, to marry Satoru off quicker than he could leave for another battle, chasing another war – and yet, he cared not to meet with any of the women or entertain them beyond an inch of his being.

Not around you, at least.

“You shouldn’t jest about these things—!” A snort leaves your mouth, and whereas the ever uppity ladies of the palace court gawk at you in utter disbelief and mild disgust, Satoru finds himself bellowing a boyish laugh.

That was the last time he’d laugh like that with you, before a warm spring of youth turned to a burning summer, hot with passion, scorched with lust.

THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT.

Dearest gentle reader,

As all royal scandals do,

It started with an invitation.

We cordially invite you to the Gojo palace grounds to celebrate the betrothal of our crowned prince Satoru Gojo and his bride to be [name] [name].

This author finds herself compelled and rather . . . intrigued.

What a match made in heaven! Our beloved Prince Satoru and his most dearest childhood friend!

Your fingers tremble at your sides, the aura that is the strongest permeates your very being. The soft hum of piano keys coupled with string and bow becomes near inaudible – the power Satoru Gojo has on you is like a moth to a flame, lamb to slaughter.

But I assure you,

When it comes to matters of the heart —

Carefully, your feet carry you across the crowded ballroom, mass of bodies parting the instant they catch a glimpse of your eyes – that desperation is familiar in young women like you – and they pity you.

You, who should be above them, who should be the next Queen, the current Princess consort to be.

And yet.

“I’ve told you endlessly, I will take no wife!” Satoru’s voice is a staccato, bouncing off the walls of the vacant corridor adjacent to the ballroom, echoing past your ears.

Dare I say, our beloved crowned Prince

Is not the strongest.

“Some nerve you have, boy.”

Satoru’s father, the King, is a stoic man.

You’ve come to know this well in your youth. He rules firm and his word remains law. By no means is he the strongest or possesses any more battle capacity than that of any other noble, but he remains a political stronghold.

And his grip over his family — his subjects, remains unwavering.

“I don’t care for your affairs or your crown,” Satoru’s gaze remains hard, even as he meets his father’s ire in tow, and in such a barely secluded place too. “Let one of your bastards have it, my place is on the battlefield doing what you are too cowardly to.”

Your mind runs rampant, palms pressed against the cold wall concealing your presence.

You wonder what Satoru might be thinking — if he’d be so foolish as to forsake his lineage and do away with his duty, if he’d give up simply because his fate was not his choice — he wouldn’t.

No, Satoru is good and kind, and he would see this kingdom to a new realm of peace just with his bare hands alone.

“And that is all? You wish to do away with it simply because it does not suit your childish desires? I have given you everything! And the one thing I ask of you—”

You still yourself at the near animalistic growl that leaves Satoru’s lips.

“She will never be Queen.”

It cuts through you like blades of grass, familiar, scratching at your skin softly, pinpricks of green drawing blood from your calves.

It reminds you of when you were younger, more naive and susceptible to the follies of men and matters of the heart.

“Who’ll marry you if you spend your days swinging a sword and broadening your shoulders?”

“Aren’t there girls your age you can follow around? I don’t care if you’re a princess, we’re not friends.”

“I don’t know why you’d believe he’d ever want to court you.”

Three months, thirteen days.

Your betrothal has long exceeded and broken the record of engagement wait time.

Most women would be married within the same month of betrothal, the longest and most respectable wait time being a month and a half, only due to cases of overdue dowry payments.

Three million dollars was your reverse dowry.

Paid directly from the royal treasury to your father, and four million dollars paid in return. That was how much yours and Satoru’s hands were worth to your families, a testament to the weight you’d both bear by wearing a crown.

Except, you hadn’t been crowned yet. Or married for that matter.

“—summer solstice hunt!” It’s Yuji who exclaims, voice filled with childlike wonder. Recently knighted by Satoru himself and a renowned protege of the Kingsguard, the boy is eager to please. “Who will you cast your bets on, your grace?”

The confines of Satoru’s private study function as a meeting room for idle chatting — he leaves the letters to his advisors when they are of little importance.

Or discards them entirely when he has company, like now.

You sink deeper into the cushioned seat, Satoru’s arm draped over the back of your chair. A tuft of snowy hair falls over his forehead and he breathes a chuckle, your weight curling in on itself with every rise and fall of his chest.

why don’t you want me why don’t you want me why don’t you want me why don't you want me

“It’s out of question to bet on one’s self, no?” Satoru chuckles and it earns a cackle from Yuji, who, despite himself, has already casted his own bet on his annointed Prince. “I wouldn’t want to make anyone’s head bigger than it ought to be.”

The summer and winter solstice brings with it two separate ceremonial festivals — the hunt being the most anticipated due to its cutthroat competition among nobles and peasants alike.

That, and the prize.

The winner of the hunt, the man or woman to capture the famed primordial stag — which is really a regular stag trained and bred to elude even the most skilled knights — would be rewarded a grand jewel from the Queen’s vault.

Gentle reader,

The famed jewel for the taking

This summer, is none other than—

“I’ve placed my bet on you,” you comment plainly with a shrug and Yuji beams.

It isn’t unlike you to root for one of Satoru’s proteges, the ones fairly skilled and new to knighthood – you’ve always found yourself cheering for the peonies in a garden full of roses — the underdogs full of potential . . .

Satoru glances over to you, and for a second you miss how his gaze lingers.

“You’re too kind, Princess…” Yuji sighs, near dreamily. “I will no doubt do well now that I have your favor on my side.”

( losing dogs, satoru wants to say. all you ever do is bet on losing dogs. )

“You have her bet, not her favor.” Satoru scoffs dramatically before you can even think to lend Yuji your well wishes. “It isn’t something given, it’s something won. And from a maiden, not a Princess consort.”

She’s spoken for, is all you hear though.

There’s an air of uncertainty that passes between you and Satoru that only thickens with your closeness.

A pale palm curls around the cross rail of the back of your chair and you lean into his touch subconsciously – it’s warm, secure – he’s saying, I have your favor, don’t I? Tell me I do.

—The champion’s jewel,

A wraith necklace fit for a Queen.

The L’Incomparable.

“Nevertheless, you have my good faith.” You interject, followed by a sharp inhale, and you stand abruptly from your seat. Satoru’s hand falls to his side. He knows what you're thinking.

Three months, thirteen days.

You’ve sat by and watched Satoru deny you marriage – his excuse, that he’s waiting for his coronation first – you’ve watched him continue to entertain the women around him like he’s done since he was merely a squire, plastering a smile on his face from this glass castle he calls home.

He’s close, but never too close. Stringing you on then letting you loose— it’s routine.

It’s eerily similar to your childhood.

“Yuji,” Satoru speaks, soft yet firm. The young boy is on his feet immediately and offers a swift bow to his majesty, handing his service in tow to the call. “Leave us.” Satoru commands, and just as swiftly as he came, Yuji is bowing to you and exiting through the study doors.

L’Incomparable.

The largest internally flawless diamond in the kingdom and the most expensive chain sitting in the Queen’s vault currently, worth eight billion dollars alone.

Allegedly, it was handcrafted as a gift from an ancient Gojo king to his mistress — whom he had knighted and sent off to fight in the war at her wishes once their affair had been brought to light and scrutinized.

A gift he only got to place on her corpse.

Even in death, he loved her. More than he loved his own wife and Queen.

And though many attempts had been made to destroy the necklace, it remains near indestructible.

“Something troubles you.” Satoru murmurs the moment the door clicks shut. His gaze remains strained forward on your form, from where you fiddle with the frayed hem of your gown, back turned to him.

“I simply think of the prospects of the hunt,” you retort. “There are many promising young competitors traveling to partake— I fear my Prince would simply be. . . thwarted, is all.”

L’Incomparable is not a jewel of love.

It's a sickening story of a woman who loved a man who could not love her back in the way she deserved.

A woman who took what she was given, secret meetings, hushed whispers and fleeting gazes.

And when he did, finally love her back wholly and ardently, unable to bury it behind a locked door in the dungeon he called a heart — she was already gone.

“You doubt me?” Satoru’s voice is closer now, and you wonder when he even stood up – if he'd been taking small steps toward you the entire time.

“No.” It leaves your mouth like a prayer, an oath, worship. Every ounce of confidence you have is in him. He has protected you, kept you, safeguarded your sanity and treated you with grace— “Never that.”

( —he is your friend. nothing more than that. )

He exhales, and you hear the faint sound of a swallow, the click of his tongue. Your ear feels hot with the proximity, yet, he inches closer still.

“Will you give this to me, then?” He whispers, faint, uncertain — almost desperate.

And you turn, faces inches apart, breath mingling. “What is it you wish of me, my Prince?” Your pupils dilate.

“Your Prince,” Satoru repeats, like it knocked the wind out of him. It's a common way to address the monarch, you’ve said it before as have others. “. . . asks for your favor in the upcoming hunt.”

He keeps his hands folded behind him, curled into fists and trembling. Your Prince. Yours. Yours.

He’s a gentleman. He was raised right.

This urge—

( you’re his friend. his advisor. his confidant. this is not what he wants. )

The urge to strip you down to nothing but your chemise, lay you on his desk and hike your legs over his hips, show you things you’ve only seen in dreams or read in books — like he’s done to so many women before — he promises himself he’s not a rake, he’s just a man, but when you look at him like that and say his title so softly—

( it will pass. )

“Then,” your breath slows as he steps forward, so easily leaving you pressed back against the hardwood desk, caged by him. “I will grant my Prince my favor.”

Satoru watches in earnest, places his hands on either side of you on the desk as you remove one of your gloves.

Pure white, pearl decor, lace trim.

He would've laughed if he wasn't so enthralled by such a simple thing. Satoru wants to pull the other glove off with his teeth.

“I’ll return it to you,” he says, a promise. He takes the glove as you hand it to him, leaning forward and chasing the remnants of your fingertips against his once you pull away. “When I win.”

( and maybe then, you’ll understand i am devoted to you, wholly and utterly, if only in these moments and never again. )

There's a knock at the door, brief and soft. A maid, come to drop off another stack of letters.

And just as quickly as Satoru had found himself against you, he’s across the room, opening the door.

As if you had never been there.

The only evidence that he had even touched you is the lace cupped in his palm, middle and index tracing over a minute pearl.

L’Incomparable is a jewel of longing.

Morrow brings with it the beginning of joyous festivities.

You woke to another trousseau. This time, from a distant cousin in the Easternmost kingdom.

Attached was a letter of the newest development in her love life – said development being a defected knight nonetheless.

It made you giggle.

The palace corridors are bustling with life.

Servants and attendants eager to welcome early visitors who have come for the summer solstice, robust back and forth on decorations and food and gossip and many a’ things outside the realm of possibility to be discussed in one sitting.

Your lady in waiting, Areta, whom you’ve known since your youth, creeps into your room with a grin as wide as a war banner – you immediately assume the worst, mischief is your pastime but you fear the poor girl takes ‘eavesdropping on court gossip’ to another level.

“My lady, you would not believe—” Areta huffs, journeying to sit with you on the balcony, wiping an imaginary bead of sweat from her brow. “The things I’ve heard today!”

“You hear things everyday, I fear.” You indulge her, as always. And she begins to talk your ear off, all in good faith of course.

Down below in the courtyard, is the sound of smacking wood and the occasional chorus of baritone conversation.

Satoru, who should be attending treaty meetings with his father, bides his time sparring on the cobblestone with the other men of the Kingsguard – the noise wakes you most mornings.

“—talking to Julietta, you know? The girl who attends to the countess? And she said—”

You hum along to Areta’s words, eyes peering over the edge of the balcony, gaze fixed on the crown Prince.

His snowy hair is damp with sweat, Victorian style dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, every swing of his wooden sword causes a commotion — muscles in his back flexing under the sunlight, so easily seen beneath the thin white fabric.

“—that her lady told her that she heard from a cousin-in-law who works at the docks that—”

You wonder what expression Satoru has as he pummels through his underlings playfully, hardly sparring but more play fighting. You imagine he’s grinning wide, crystalline blue eyes shimmering with glee—

“—that Prince Geto is coming for the hunt!”

You choke. Audibly.

Areta is quick to shut her mouth and lend you a concerned gaze. “Princess, are you—”

“I’m alright.” You wave a hand, catching your breath. Prince Geto. If you think about it too hard, you fear your chest might burst open and spill out your insides.

Oh, fair reader, it seems

Our dear protagonist has come upon

A treasure trove of memories.

“You were, ehem, saying?” You twirl your index finger in the air as if to prompt a rewind. “About. . .”

Areta raises an eyebrow, but nods slowly. “About Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law?” The girl questions, dim.

“No!” You interject immediately, twirling your finger in the other direction. Fast forward. “The other thing— the thing you heard!”

“Oh, about Prince Geto!”

Dearest reader,

Suguru Geto enters.

A man of great mystique,

the northern Prince.

And striking opposite of

our beloved crowned Prince Satoru.

“Yes! About him—”

Suguru Geto.

In many ways you could say he was Satoru’s best friend, his greatest rival and worst enemy all at the same time.

Through solstice events, formal gatherings and other royal duties, the same way you met Satoru, you met Suguru through him.

“Well, Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law works at the docks,” Areta begins again, regrettably. “You know? The private harbor where all the spirit and wheat shipments come in, but that's besides the point—”

( suguru was your bestfriend too. in every way it counted. )

“Areta.” You coo, coaxing her to get back to the main point. Why was Suguru coming for the summer solstice hunt? After being away in the North for so long, why now?

The only correspondence you’d had with him was a few letters years ago. And then he stopped writing.

“So, Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law saw the Geto family's ship dock in the private harbor!” The girl exclaims hushedly and you hum to yourself, curious.

Rightfully, you’d hold a grudge about never hearing from Suguru.

But in this moment, you feel no resentment or hurt. Instead, excitement that you might see your old friend once more.

And maybe, you, Suguru and Satoru could spend the summer solstice together— just like old times.

( and that’d be enough to get rid of the heat in your chest when satoru gets too close to you. )

Faithful reader,

she could not have been

more wrong.

Four days remain until the summer solstice hunt.

Satoru is scarce around the palace in preparation for his coronation coming soon and treaty arrangements.

You, on the other hand, have exhausted all your hobbies, biding your idle time helping the other ladies at court pick their gowns for tomorrow's feast — the first of seven nightly ones during the solstice.

Another trousseau is delivered to your chambers when you wake.

This time, you’re taken aback.

Instead of an elaborate stack of gifts, a box of jewelry or even a scandalous collection of seductive corsets and nightgowns to remind you of your predicament—

There's a long wooden box, coupled with a sealed parcel.

Inside the box is a beautiful gown, deep burgundy and shapely. Fitted with a low bust cut and short sleeves. It's a mouth watering dress, one you would've bought yourself if you even knew it existed.

But you've never seen a dress designed like this before, down to the intricate details of the underskirts and the hemming.

It's almost intimate.

When you finally open the parcel, you expect a note, but there's none. Instead, inside is a pair of black silk gloves, so smooth it melts in your palms – your mind immediately goes to Satoru and the glove he still holds hostage for you.

You don't think twice before telling Areta that this is what you’ll be wearing to tomorrow’s feast.

( you ought to thank satoru for this gift by wearing it, no? )

˚ ༘ *

The lights in the dining hall are dimmed perfectly to match the moonlight.

When you slip in from the adjacent corridor, greeting visiting nobles and residents of the palace court alike, a sense of nausea floods the pit of your stomach – what will Satoru say when he sees you? Will he like how the dress looks – or rather how you look in it?

Wait, why do you even care?

You’ve never really cared for these things— it must be the tea you had earlier. You nearly feel faint.

Darling reader,

it was in fact,

not the tea.

Your thoughts don't get the chance to linger very long, as the soft hum of music slows to a halt, and everyone begins journeying to their assigned seats.

Naturally, you fiddle with your gloves, not wanting to sit down at the second table yet.

One, it would be very impudent of a lady of your caliber to be seated without a proper escort by a gentleman.

And two, even though you did decline the few men who asked to escort you, you can't help the anxiety that floods your veins when you begin to realize that so many people are sitting already and you're not!

Sure, you're a Princess, but can't a girl be a little shy?

( not that you were waiting for satoru or anything of course. )

Devoted reader,

our protagonist

is in denial.

“It pains me to see such a beautiful lady left unaccompanied.” A voice flits past your ears, so close you can taste it on your tongue — incense, sandalwood.

( oh god, no. )

Your body turns in an instant, almost too quick, and your underskirts almost trip you as the weight sends you wobbling forward.

“Easy—” Suguru Geto’s arm darts out to curl around your waist, steadying you.

“You're here—” “You’re still clumsy—”

The both of you lock eyes at your shared unison of speech, then chuckle to yourselves.

You let your eyes wander over his features, how much he's grown over these past years.

He’s still as ethereal as the royal painters would describe. Prince Geto, the joy to paint, once in an era type beauty, born to be depicted in art, they’d say.

You don't doubt that.

“You look well,” you say. Suguru glances down at you and shakes his head, as if that is too much of a compliment for him to take. “No, honestly— I don't tease, you look very. . . stately.”

“Are you trying to call me old in a polite way, my lady?” He feigns offense, tilting his head to the side a little. You cover your mouth to laugh.

You don't miss the way his eyes linger on your gloves.

( oh, the gloves ! )

“Your highness,” leaves your mouth in a whisper, half teasing, half regal, and you give a brief curtsy, which he counters with a swift bow. “Would you do me the pleasure?” You grin, extending your hand to him.

Suguru — never Prince Geto, not to you at least — had been your solace, your comfort and your refuge.

The greatest friend you could have asked for in your youth.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Suguru whispers, taking your hand in earnest, escorting you over to the table and pulling your chair out for you — settling himself in the seat across from you, on the other side of the table.

( what a coincidence. )

˚ ༘ *

Time passes in waves.

People are whispering, no doubt. As they always do about you. No matter how hushed, you always hear them.

‘Look at the poor Princess consort, sitting beside an empty chair.’

‘You’d think she’d refer to herself as Lady now instead of Consort—’

‘To think even a Princess is not immune from such things. . .’

‘These things happen when you're sold off to a future King.’

“Bitter.”

Your head snaps up at the sound, dessert fork halting mid stab into your slice of cake.

Suguru’s eyes meet yours, as if he’d been looking at you the entire time, like he reads your thoughts as his own.

The people sitting at the table alongside you both fix their attention on him, the whispers halting.

“The cake,” he leans back in his chair, shrugging strands of his hair out of his face, looking down the length of the table at the spectators, nonchalant. “It's terribly bitter.”

You think you’d open your mouth to scold him a little, to not joke about what people say, royals should never engage in such petty gossip – but instead, you smile in gratitude.

( bitter. everybody's so bitter in this place. )

“That's quite unfortunate.” A familiar voice rings out, your fork sliding out of your hand to rest on the edge of your plate. “I hoped it would be rather sweet tonight.”

When you look over your shoulder, Satoru is already at your side, bending a knee and outstretching an open palm to you. “My Princess.”

He looks. . . disheveled.

Not completely out of order, it's something so small — so minute that only those who know him well would be able to point it out. From the crease of his vest to the shaky rasp in his voice—

And the woman in your peripheral stumbling back into the dining hall from the garden entrance on shaky legs. . .

( so that's what he was doing. )

“Your grace,” leaves your lips in a whisper and he kisses the back of your palm before sinking into his seat.

The way he presses his middle finger against his bottom lip like he’d been burned by the silk makes you raise an eyebrow. Does he not even have the common courtesy of pretending to like the gloves he gifted?

��I’m pleased you took time out of your busy schedule for us regular people.” Suguru chuckles, and Satoru’s mother, sitting near you all at the head table seems far from pleased.

“Well, a small act of kindness goes a long way.” Satoru parries and you force a smile, stabbing your dessert once more. “Especially for someone as regular as you, Prince Suguru.”

If you had initially thought this would be a quaint rekindling of an old childhood friendship, you never felt more wrong than in this moment — the air settles thick between you three.

“Isn't the future King Gojo just so kind?” Suguru addresses you, and you swallow, stifling your laugh.

“I pray for your marriage. . .” One of the Dukes seated at the table jests, to which you fiddle with the hem of your dress, the burgundy falling over your palms as a chorus of laughter ensues.

Marriage.

Suguru notices your gaze on him – or rather far away – and he smiles to snap you out of it. “Lady name?”

Just then Satoru’s hand reaches for yours under the table, halting your fiddling with the fabric, his grip steady and soft.

“Princess Consort.” Satoru interjects with a flat lipped smile, which could be perceived as kind, but to Suguru. . . “She changed titles.”

When was the last time someone called you by your name and not Princess consort? Always that. Not even Princess name.

“Pardon me,” you mumble beneath your breath, your grip on your dress going slack. You shrug your hand free from Satoru’s grip, abandoning your seat in an instant.

Satoru rises from his chair only four seconds afterward.

“Name—” he calls to you, following you out of the dining hall and down a vacant corridor.

Your footsteps evade him as he chases after you wide steps.

But he stops dead in his tracks when he hears you slam the door to an empty side room shut.

My dearest reader,

brace yourself for the

next publication.

Your kind author

bids you farewell.

[spurbleu]

lassitude ✩︎‧︎⁎︎

[ken sato x afab reader]

S. the first time you are vulnerable with Ken Sato, you are half asleep. and for the first time, he is willing.

warnings: none, split pov

a/n: sorry for my lengthy absence, it got extremely busy for me lmao. i dont really like this- but i feel like i cant do much to make it better so here it is

word count: 1.7k

࿓༚︎︎‧⁎︎✳︎⁎︎‧︎༚︎࿓︎

The mumble of the morning stirred you from the pockets of your mattress. It was barely noticeable- the shift of the comforter- cool early air pooling between the hairs on your arm. The faint creak of the floorboards, (never good at keeping secrets) the spruce mumbling an Irish goodbye.

It would be a lie to say you didn’t see it coming. The sight of him.

Skin relearning to stretch over shoulder blades, peeking through your lashes in familiar foresight. The way his hands searched for his clothes through the birth of daylight- its first breaths placid against the bedsheets.

It all felt too beautiful- the apathy. Buried in lithe, lifeless blankets rather than the rhythm of his pulse, the plush of his embrace. The sudden emptiness of morning’s coffin, quilt seams ripped by the assumption that a goodbye wasn’t necessary.

Ironic- for how lonely the man seemed to be, he looked lethargic in the act of leaving. Near comfortable as he dressed, relief from the reclusive slump of his posture breaching a harsh breath that left the gaps of his teeth.

You were more awake now- enough to question why you cared.

He made it easy- cleaned up half the mess, took the other half out the door. And when it was time to ruin it again, he did it with kindness- gentleness in his absence. There was nothing you should’ve resented- he was doing you a favor. But you found yourself hating it more.

You knew it wasn’t a superiority complex- you were near equals as you slept next to each other. It wasn’t that he didn’t like you, because you knew within the next 12 hours, he’d be back again, pale in the face of his own affair.

Confounding. The principle that if he knew he was going to come back, why leave at all?

It struck you then- the putrid smell of your own confusion. The anger you held in the bed of your heart, fueled by the weak and needy creature of your own vulnerability. Its chubby hands wringing the veins that curled around your ribs. It spoke for you.

“Ken.”

It was weaker than you thought it would be- no louder than a whisper. At first, I didn’t even sound like his name- only a pathetic mumble that spelled out his silhouette. It became a bit more tangible, louder, when he turned to face you.

“Good morning.”

He slung his bag over the dip of his shoulder, dressed in the clothes from last night. They were wrinkled now, creased in the same shape as your bed, your floor, your home. It was hauntingly poetic- how he seemed to carry you with him in the quietest of ways.

A crease formed under the base of his lips- a smile. Still dry in early hours- complimenting the tanned sections of his jaw- spring kisses breaking the occasional sallow of his face. It was small, but under the shadow of his tousled hair, it looked near blinding.

(But that was Ken for you, wasn’t it? Blinding. Bright in the ways that make the air in your nose cold- fresh. Humane.)

“…Do you…need something?”

Fuck.

You should’ve followed the script. Typewriter font, black indifference, pretending to be asleep when he crept out the door. Feigning casual when reading the ‘text later’ note he’d leave on the counter of your kitchen, next to a day old, crushed protein bar (although, it would always be your favorite flavor).

But instead, you sat curled into the headboard of your bed, sheets protecting your fluttering gut as sleep fogged the more cohesive thoughts. It peeled back, though, the sensitive ones.

You wanted him to stay.

Although it felt like the first time you had admitted it to yourself, you found the blemish of your confession everywhere.

The pucker of your carpet beneath his socks. The indent on the left of your mattress- matching the round of his shoulder. The cool breath that escaped your lungs- collapsing against the rim of your heart.

And in the brevity of nerve, the one that spoke his name with so little foundation before, you answered him.

“Stay.”

࿓༚︎︎‧⁎︎✳︎⁎︎‧︎༚︎࿓︎

It’s the tilt in your voice that curves under his adam’s apple in a slow gulp- dry. The softer tones blooming under your tongue, coloring your bottom lip in a nude pink- stainless and genuine. Your lash line drooping into a word that looked foreign to the valley of your cheekbones.

Please.

He mirrored you. The slow breath that hollowed ribs, the sharper edges of his shoulders bending to the will of your own. Even his smile began to falter into the same wary, desperate line that creased the corners of your cheeks.

The effortless effect you had on him.

He knew it was happening, somewhere in the canyon of his bone. Mind disconnected from the marrow, as the better parts of him seemed to reflect every vice of yours. Although it was maddening, conscious clawing at the cushion of his skull, he had learned to embrace it.

Held it as he cradled you- bow of your spine splitting his chest in two- revealing the plusher parts of him, affection safely shadowed by the midnight and your snore. (He’d never admit it to you, but he sleeps better in your bed than he does his own. Although Mina suggests it’s about the company rather than the mattress).

Similar to your aftertaste, he was familiar with your vulnerability- a lot worse at hiding it than you might think.

The haphazard stack of protein bar wrappers in the trash (ashamed to say he counted, once. You’ve eaten every single one he’s given you). The grip on his sweatshirt when you pull him through your door- flushed fingertips eager on the cool metal of its zipper. Even while you sleep your body betrays, burrowing yourself into him as if somehow, you’ll leave a mark (equally ashamed, but just a bit more hopeful, he wants you to).

Selfishly, he loved it. How much you made him feel wanted- needed, even. How the cage of your chest opened for him, his nails the shape of a key as he dug into the softer parts of you. Grime dyeing cuticles red, and he’s convinced that if he asked to crawl within you, you’d let him.

Reluctantly, if so. Looking away, pink on your cheeks, spurred by the flash of his teeth. Unwilling to admit he had asked you before you could have offered.

A begrudging devotion.

He swallowed it, syrup sweet against the cast of his teeth.

“You want me to…stay?”

He let his bag drop to the floor, relishing that as he took a step closer, knees to the bed, the center of your throat bobbed. Contrast to your bold request, a shyness in the creases under your eyes and mouth. It reeked of yearning, and made an illness bloom on Ken’s tonsils.

You nodded slowly as he came to lay next to you. If he listened more closely and focused less on the cross of your arms, he would have heard your heart pulsing a morse that sounded dangerously, sweetly, like his name.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Classical, predictable, the way his smirk warmed the edges of his lips.

“Because you never do…” anxious- eyes searching excuses for the lack of a real answer- “…and the protein bars are getting old.”

A genuine laugh furrowed the flesh beneath his collar bone, morning voice still breaking from the aridity of unuse. “What if I left an apple this time?”

You leaned into his chest, pulling the covers to your shoulder. God, did you look good like this. Tucked into him, a little wanting, a little kind. “You’re so boring. If you’re going to leave, at least give me something good.”

Ken placed a hand to his wounded heart. “Boring? Since when is your favorite flavor of healthy boring?”

You sank back onto the mattress, and he followed you, now facing you with his hands folded under his cheek, squishing his dopey smile. Although he didn’t know it- he looked beyond childish- silly in all respects. But that’s what you liked about him, wasn’t it?

“Since the last 200 times.” You exaggerated, imitating him as you leaned on your own hands.

He searched you- not dissimilar to the way he accesses another player. The gate of their shoulder, the click of their jaw- or that slight competitive crinkle that tugged the corners of their lashes- angered by his run before he even hit the ball.

Being in the sport for so long, he had become accustomed to observing others- even from afar. Off the field, he’d find himself looking between the normalcy of strangers under the dark tint of his sunglasses. Envious- to live in blissful ignorance at their own open, bleeding hand.

He supposed that’s why he liked you. Equally as guilty of your own susceptibility- heart on your wrist. But goodness- even this close to you, he couldn’t read the glass over your eyes. As if you were those paintings behind velvet ropes- details clear from a distance, but fogged when you stand too close. Imperfections visible- but never telling.

(did Michelangelo find the Sistine Chapel just as beautiful from the floor as he did from his ladder?)

He hummed, a hand coming to trace the spring freckles that appeared on the plain of your cheek. His heart purred as he watched it bloom, every circle he drew spurring ripples of pink. He was so charmed- to see exactly what he did to you- so closely.

“Alright,” his hand drifted to the strands of hair that covered your ears, tucking it to see just a little more of your blush, “no more protein bars.”

You sighed against his face- and for a moment he was reminded how he had been there- on your lips. The stench of his own fervor- honey sweet between the cracks of its clay.

“Thank god- I was really getting sick of them.”

In his arms, you both dipped into a lullaby of silence, the sunrise cradling the fragile parts of your embrace. Those pockets of insecurity- the questions of why you asked for him to stay, and why he did. The looming assumption that this made you more than what you had been before- made you something, made it different.

You could have spent hours there, steeping in the change- elementary kids too scared to admit they ‘like-liked’ each other. Instead, you both fell asleep again.

࿓༚︎︎‧⁎︎✳︎⁎︎‧︎༚︎࿓︎

When you awoke- you were alone.

Once you slipped out of bed, it was well past 11. Your light feet and sweltering head brought you to the kitchen counter- where you found a plate of eggs, toast, coffee, and a note.

----

Home Soon.

-Ken

ps. hope this is better than the protein bars.

[fangisms]

spring breaks loose

A/N: idk what it is but every evermore song makes me want to write ab this lifeless-eye, sexy-ass, grumpy fool. so first up is ivy! gif creds: @audrey-inspo

Pairings: Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader (implied Slytherin, but it doesn't matter)

Summary: Spring breaks loose, the time is near // What would they do if they found us out? 1.0k words

Warnings: fluff, secret... relationship?, major pining, kissing, lowk toxic friends (lovingly), friends to lovers

Everyone wants to know about your secret fling. But it's not a fling, they just wouldn't get it. It's not some silly affair; you're not even sure there's a word for it under the umbrella term of relationships. What you are sure of is that there is something tying you to Theo that you've never felt with anyone else.

And he feels it, too. It's one of the few things he lets himself feel. How could he resist it? You.

So you meet up some midnights, awkwardly brush knuckles in the courtyard, let yourselves speak candidly with each other while dodging watchful eyes. For a while, it's easy like coloring in the empty spaces between clear cut lines. As long as you've got a steady hand, it should be simple. Even fun. Until you have to start sharing crayons with your nosy group of friends.

"Anyone else want to know what's going on between those two?" Draco says. He nods to Theo's fingertips tracing your kneecap where it's bent over his thighs. And where your wrist hangs from his shoulder as his head rests back against the couch, nearly dozing off.

"Yeah, me!" Pansy chirps.

Mattheo scoffs, pointing at Theo, "look, he's smiling, the wanker!"

He lifts his head, bearing his knowing smirk with pride. He spares a glance at you, then. And you press your palm to your mouth to choke down a laugh.

"Come on," P whines, "tell us!"

"Yeah, if you can kiss in private, you can kiss in front of us, too."

You whip your head round, aghast at Mattheo's request: "We do not kiss in private. We don't kiss anywhere!"

Theo lifts your legs from his lap, "Seems like a good time to turn in—"

"Ah, ah, ah!" Draco urges, "Not so fast"—Surprisingly, Theo settles back down in his seat—"If there's nothing going on, then prove it. Kiss."

Theo looks over at you, defeated. You both know they'll never give this up, it'll be months and months of teasing either way. At least this way will shut them up for a few hours. You shrug, and he rolls his eyes when your friends cheer and whoop.

"You lot are perverted," he sighs, smiling at you, "we need better friends."

You lean in and whisper, "Let's get this over with so we can find new ones."

Theo cocks a brow, leaning in, meeting you nearly halfway when he brings his cold hand to your cheek, thumbing over the warm skin. He's going easy on you, letting you take the lead. You press your mouth to his, clumsy but careful when he shifts closer. He recoils when you put your hand on his chest and slide your tongue against his lips. He'd call himself shy, but you know that look of embarrassment when he pulls away. It makes you smile.

Your idiots clap and form a chorus of 'aw's. Mattheo whistles, breaking Theo away from your piercing eye contact so he can quietly threaten him.

"You didn't have to use tongue!" Pansy shrieks. You scoff and stare at her, counting down from three on your fingers. She bursts out into laughter when you lunge after her on one, tearing off towards the girls dorms in a fit of giggles.

Theo watches you turn back for just a second to wave him goodnight. He holds up his hand, and you twirl around and head for the top of the stairs. Once you're out of sight, he lands a kick to Mattheo's side.

"You complete idiot," he grumbles.

...

You'd been staring at the dark ceiling, listening to girls filter in through the doorway until no one was left downstairs. You couldn't find tranquility enough to sleep or even shut your eyes for a while and pretend.

As the clock chimes once through the window, you shiver and creep toward the crackling fire.

His footsteps are rapid on their way down the stairs. You whip around just as he lands at the bottom of the steps, letting out a breath as he smiles at you. Both shuffling towards each other, he tries not to move too quickly in his subtle desperation.

Still, you nearly crash into each other.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hello.”

“I was just look—”

“Looking for you. Me too,” Theo huffs.

A few seconds linger between your slowly rising chests, your fingers ticking at your sweater’s sleeves, and his pushing through his hair. You open your mouth to speak just as he begins as well, and you both snap your mouths shut.

“No! You were first,” you say.

“Ladies first,” he shakes his head, “please.”

“Alright.” Something in you seizes and what seemed so easier to admit a moment ago has now been snatched from your chest, shriveled into oblivion. “I… really liked kissing you.”

His eyes light up. “Me too.”

You grin and shift a little, surprised at how bright his eyes seem even in the darkness. How his hair still coils sweetly down from his hairline in the middle of the night. And how he can still see right through you when it’s almost pitch black. Save for the dim firelight.

“And also,” he says, “I’d like to kiss you more. For longer. If that’s… if that works for you.”

“Yes! Yes, it does. I do. I do, too.” You’re out of breath at the admission, and he nods, seemingly relieved by your dulcet enthusiasm for him and all he does.

So he kisses you, dipping close and stealing from you what he has always wanted. Just a peck, or maybe it escapes him a little and he leans into it. But he pulls back to find you’re practically attached to him and neither of you want it to end.

“So… I guess this changes everything?” Theo whispers, cupping your elbow when you reach for his shoulder.

You shake your head, “it doesn’t have to.”

“I want it to.”

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