#stolen tides
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Stolen Tides
(A What the Moon Saw Drabble)
Pairing: Yoongi x f!Reader (What the Moon Saw universe)
Genre: Drabble; non-idol AU; friends to lovers; childhood friends; old flames rekindled, angst and fluff
Summary: Time is the great force - it changes everything. The ebb and flow of the tide. The fullness of the moon. It carves mountains, and quiets storms...but it stands powerless in the face of love.
Content Warnings: PG-13, but ALL my content is off-limits to minors; nudity, implied sex, cooking and eating food, mention of minor character death, kissing, cuddling, working through feelings, tears are shed (it's them, so, of course, lol)
Author's note: I literally just posted a poll asking which drabble I should write first, and their first meeting won (which I was stoked about), but then this popped into my head and I just wrote it. I wrote it while I was supposed to be submitting a project with a deadline, because, in the words of MYG, I'm bad boi. But...I had to. I gave them their ending because they deserved it. đ (If you've never read the one-shot this universe takes place in, I recommend starting there!)
And as always, if no one has told you yet today, you are loved and worthy of love! đ§ââď¸đ
*Stolen tide: Occurs when weather and wind conditions suppress the ebb of a flood tide and then the next high tide washes in bringing even higher levels.
    Your lids raised and dipped and raised again, like linens in a summer breeze, as your eyes came into focus. Soft late-morning light spilled through the window onto the golden-brown planks of the oaken floor. The western-facing window was open, and the thin curtains billowed inward with each puff of salty air cresting over the hill off the distant waves. Your eyes tracked a spider plant swaying from where its macrame harness was secured to a hook in the spackled ceiling. You shifted in the white sheets of the queen-size bed to glance around you. The room was small and minimally furnished, but everything within it seemed significant to its tenant. There was a little bookshelf propping up a guitar, and a roll-top desk bearing an open journal and coffee mug. On the other side was a nightstand with an antique lamp perched beside a book splayed open on its face and a pair of black-rimmed glasses. On the far end was a dresser with pretty little mother-of-pearl knobs topped with two potted succulents and an abstract of an albatross in flight, and the accordion door of a closet cracked open to reveal neatly stored clothes and shoes.
  You tossed yourself back against the pillows with a sigh, a smile spreading slowly across your face as images from the previous night developed in the morning light like Polaroid pictures. You reached out to brush a hand over the sheets where he had slept beside you, as naked as you were now. You'd awakened in the middle of the night to find that you'd taken all the covers and to see him, laying there on his stomach - his sweet little ass pale and perfectly bare in the moonlight. You chuckled and bit your lip, slipping out of bed to pull on panties and snatch a flannel from the closet and drape it over your body, pushing up the sleeves to bunch around your elbows. He had always worn his shirts too big, and it dipped down to your mid thighs as your legs carried you toward the scents of garlic and gochujang wafting down the hall.Â
  The kitchen was as simple in its loveliness as the rest of the little house, pale yellow light pouring through the large windows over a vase of poppies on a table flanked by two chairs. And a man who used to be a boy was standing at the other end of the room, rubbing sleep from his eyes in a way that made you question if a single day had passed. Yoongi stood at the little stove in a white tee and grey sweats, his dark hair sticking up every which way and his face puffy from sleep. You had to press a hand to your lips to keep from giggling at his appearance, and when he glanced up you found yourself unable to conceal an amused and extremely endeared grin.
    âWhat?â he asked in sleepy suspicion, his brows up and knitted together as his lips dropped into a pout.
Thirty-two and as cute as he had ever been. You chuckled as you circled around his left, where you turned towards him and slipped your body between his and the stove. Wrapping your arms around his back as he looked down, you regarded him. The same. He looked just the same. His features were a bit more defined, the soft cheeks having sharpened at his cheekbones and jawline, and he was broader and thicker with longer hair that curled at the base of his neck. But his eyes with the dark lashes, his petal pink lips...the way they felt on you...he was the same. You lifted your face to place the gentlest kisses on every feature - the ones that had changed and the ones that hadn't.Â
He let out a soft hum, his left arm slipping around your waist as he shifted you slightly to the side, prodding at the contents of the pan with the wooden spoon in his right hand.
âThe food will burn,â he chided lightly.
But his eyes creased at the corners and his mouth seemed to hover on the verge of a smile. You twisted to glance at the pork belly fried rice before nestling yourself back into him, your head on his chest.
âSmells good,â you murmured into his shirt.
âMm. Itâs just leftovers,â he replied, in the warm, even tone that pierced your heart like a forgotten melody.Â
You pressed back the tears that threatened to come. The moon had seen enough of those last night.
"You were always good at cooking, like your mom,â you sighed into his tee.Â
He didn't reply, but he tucked his cheek against your head, his thumb dragging his shirt up and down your back in tiny tender motions. You held him and he held you, and the pork fat sizzled on the stove, and a wind chime tinkled outside the kitchen window, and far off and down the ocean broke against the rocks.
And then he slowly drew you away from his chest so that he could see your face, his eyes meeting yours with the soft wet glimmer of joy and sadness at once, like the soil after a rainfall - that damp warmth from which beautiful things grow - and you buried yourself there, like a seed dropped from the sky by a bird. Dropped on the side of a cliff by the sea.
  Between mouthfuls of fried rice and kimchi eggs, you told him about college. About your passion for your chosen career. About meeting a boy who wasn't him, who had asked you to be his wife. About how you had chosen a dress and sent out invitations and then said no. Yoongi nodded quietly, but didn't ask why. Then he told you about how his father had succumbed to pneumonia a few years ago, and his mother had moved back to Korea and remarried. You nodded and asked him why he stayed. He shrugged as he pushed his rice around his plate.
  "Want to see something?" he asked with a shy smile, as he dried his hands from washing a final dish.
You nodded, smiling when he took your hand to lead you out of the kitchen door and into the yard at the side of the little house. Ice plant and poppies sprang up among the rocks and sandy dirt, disrupted by a cobbled path leading to a periwinkle blue shed only half as large as the house behind you. Yoongi opened the door.
Inside was warm and the air aglow with little floating specks that caught the light, which you quickly realized, as you glanced around, were flecks of saw dust. It was a workshop. In reverent awe you took in the beautiful pieces crafted from oak, walnut, pine, and redwood. There was a bench, a coffee table, a mirror frame, cutting boards, a spice rack. In and amongst the tools and work surfaces, there were handmade treasures against the walls and stacked on shelves. You took a seat in a sanded-down rocking chair.
  "You made all this?" You asked in disbelief.
Yoongi shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweats, casting proud but bashful eyes over the room.
  "I make them to order. Although, you did find the one thing in here that I started for myself."
You felt warmth fill your chest because you thought he looked a little proud. You swayed in the chair, tucking your legs up under you.
  "It's beautiful, Yoongi. All of it. You're incredibly talented."
  "You started it, you know," he said with a smile, still not meeting your eyes. You cocked your head to the side in question. "You gave me that whittling kit for my birthday."
He shuffled over to a workbench and took a small object in his hand. He approached you, holding it out, and you took it. You turned the little curved knife over in your hands, brushing your thumb over the faded little heart inscribed in pink paint.Â
  "You wanted me to have something to do with my hands, so I would stop biting my nails," he replied, taking the knife back from you and regarding it with warm eyes as he set it aside.
  "You remember that?" You let out a laugh.
  "I remember everything," he said.
He said it like an oath...one you had once sworn. He was looking down at you, and suddenly you were on a little ledge under the stars, and he was pulling you into a kiss, and making love to you, and telling you to run and not look back. Yoongi, your Yoongi. You breathed his name, and he reached for your hands, pulling you up and against him as his lips found yours. He kissed you tenderly and fiercely. He kissed you all the way back to his bedroom where he laid you down in the soft white cotton and made up for lost time.Â
  The sun made its way over hill and down into the western waters, and all the while you stayed wrapped in the sanctuary of each others' bodies, only leaving his bed twice - once to shower together and another time to share a bowl of bibim guksu and some tangerines from the tree in the yard. Now the moon's waning crescent peeped through the curtains to see you laying tangled in Yoongi's arms, his forehead pressed to yours, as he asked a question to which he didn't want the answer.
  "When are you leaving?" His voice was low and soft and deep, so resonant...but you could hear what it lacked, what he was holding back.
  "Why do I have to leave?" You murmured, tracing a place over his chest where your lips had once left a bruise.
The skin had healed long since, but not what laid beneath. Yoongi sighed through his nose, his breath tickling your chin and chest.
  "What does this place hold for you?" he asked, his voice strained, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw as his thumb brushed over your chin. "Just pain and sadness. You got out of here, you're free."
A tear slipped over the bridge of your nose and onto the pillow.
  "I might have left, but my heart never did," you whispered, your voice shaking as years of never forgetting filled the expanse of your chest. "And it never will," you murmured through a little sob.
You pushed yourself back so that you could see his beautiful watery brown eyes and wet cheeks as you asked him a question to which you already knew the answer.
  "Why didn't you leave?" Another tear slipped down his face as he looked at you. "Why, Yoongi? Why didn't you leave? Tell me, Yoongi. Say it. Why didn't you l-"
  His mouth was on yours, and he kissed you back into the sheets as your tears mingled. He kissed you and he kissed you and when his lips finally left yours by a centimeter he whispered his answer against them.
  The moon had seen him find you, and lose you. Now it saw you tell him you would never leave his side.Â
  Some weeks later it sent you both off in a packed-up car (with a rocking chair strapped to the top), as it faded in the light of the rising sun, to start a new part - the best part - of the story of the boy and the girl on the cliffside...
...The part where they lived together, and��in happiness, until the end of their days.
-Fin-
#fic: what the moon saw#stolen tides#yoongi fic#min yoongi fic#bts fic#bts fanfction#bts fan fiction#bts angst#bts fluff#bts reader insert#myg#min yoongi#yoongi fanfiction#min yoongi fanfic#yoongi fanfic#min yoongi fluff#min yoongi angst#min yoongi x reader#min yoongi x you#min yoongi x y/n#yoongi angst#yoongi fluff#yoongi x reader#yoongi x y/n#yoongi x you#young love#friends to lovers#non idol au#best friends au#yoongi drabble
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god i love candela obscura tide & bone because it can go from three people inflitrating a sanatorium with one of them acting rabid and another fainting to a struggle and grappling with trust after witnessing one of the circle members die at the hands of another and i think that is so cool and dandy and i Need episode 2 immediately
#critical role#cr spoilers#candela obscura#candela obscura the circle of tide and bone#circle of tide and bone#this is my first post on this blog and honestly it's so fitting#candela has stolen my heart and soul#aabria my beloved#so obsessed rn#didn't know if i shld tag it as spoilers or not but oh well
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dumping another fic idea i had here but have no idea what to do with:
Two months past, Queen Rhaenyra named her oldest living child "Champion of the Queen's Justice," and before the Driftwood Throne, a hundred men kneel in chains - shipped from their various holdings and away from King's Landing to await their fate.
They call Lucerys Velaryon Seadragon for a reason. Tempests rage and roil in him; they began that night at Storm's End when his uncle reclaimed an eye, but the hurricane built to bursting after the Gullet. The softness of his youth drowned in the tides with Prince Jacaerys.
Beside him, Cregan Stark has pulled Ice from its sheathe, waiting. Waiting. Every inch of him a wolf.
"My brother was good, kind. Fair. Jace possessed a cunning I never quite developed, and where my kindness found its roots in boyhood naivete, my brother understood mercy with a king's weight. In him were all of our mother's best parts and none of her worst." He is nine-and-ten now, five years from his older brother's death, and he has not forgotten. Not for a moment. "The realm did not deserve him, I see that now. His reign would have put The Conciliator's to shame."
A lone brown eye hardens into Valyrian steel.
"Regardless, you stole him from us. There is no mercy for you here."
this?? probably wouldn't even be jacemond? more like jacegan but mostly just platonic bc it would mainly be an exploration of how grief shapes us. there's just smth endlessly interesting to me abt a future where luke outlives jace and his death is luke's "kill the boy" moment that shapes him into an absolute terror ((also corlys is called the seasnake and luke was his heir ok you can't tell me he wouldn't be called the seadragon))
#i assume corlys has ceded high tide to luke in this reality? or he's just dead who knows#jacaerys velaryon#lucerys velaryon#cregan stark#jacegan#jace x cregan#hotd#au#hotd au#fic idea#plot bunny#fic summary#also i've had stuff stolen from my other accounts before so if y'all see this reposted anywhere except here then it's not me#if i ever post it on ao3 i'll update y'all here first
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Happy Queer Media Monday!
Today: On Stolen Tides by Kay Lalock
Idk, there were a bunch that would have logically made more sense tow rite about, but this was the only one that felt right today. Pirates!
(The book cover, showing the black silhouette of a ship, surrounded by green and yellow plants of a jungle.)
On Stolen Tides is a self-published lesbian pirate novel by author Kay Lalock. It takes place in a fantasy world that mirrors closely Great Britainâs colonization of the Pacific, and the anticolonial message is at the very core of this book. It is clear that the author has put a lot of effort into getting that part of the story right, to the point that one might argue that the pirate part of the story falls short.
The plot revolves around Lydia, the daughter of the general in charge of the navy positioned o the colonized island. Lydia doesnât want to be there, but has little choice as she is considered her fatherâs property. She is quietly miserable and longing to go back home to the main country, until she discovers that her father has arranged a marriage for her. So Lydia runs away, and sneaks on a ship that is supposed to head for her home, only to discover that said ship has been taken over by pirates. She strikes a deal with them: Sheâll help them steal culturally significant objects from various generals, in exchange for them arranging a way for her home. While working with them, she learns more about the harm done by the colonization of the island, and falls in love with the second-in-command of the pirates, Laufitu.
Here is a link to it on Goodreads.
Queer Media Monday is an action I started to talk about some important and/or interesting parts of our queer heritage, that people, especially young people who are only just beginning to discover the wealth of stories out there, should be aware of. Please feel free to join in on the fun and make your own posts about things you personally find important!
#I'm still uncertain about this book#like it wasn't bad-bad#but I feel it failed as a pirate story#it focussed too much on the anti-colonial aspect#among others by making the indiginous pirates 100% morally right and noble#which in my opinion missed the point of pirate stories#these are SUPPOSED to be bad people!#not horribly bad but at least a little selfish and a little morally gray#but the author does have a message to say and ends up saying it#so goal acheived I guess but it is still leaving me confused about whether or not to recommend it to people#here yes of course#but I'm planning on putting together a fantasy/steampunk-y book catalogue#and I have NO IDEA whether or not to include this#books#queer books#lesbian books#indie publishing#pirates#On Stolen Tides#book rec#Queer Media Monday
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Everyone here is posting poetical about September, reblogging art and quotes about how itâs finally September. Yeah it may be like for you lot, for me itâs September by the way the streets are unwalkable and the public transport is flooded with university students moving in
#I used to know the changing of seasons by what bugs appeared or what tides we were getting#now I know the seasons by the amount of plastered 18 year olds on any given night of the week#bless them#but also the DREAD I felt watching shopping carts stolen from the asda filled with cheap mattresses and notebooks#my neighbours last year were studentsâŚ#4am! on a Tuesday! WHY!#I thought someone was being seriously injured or something so I ran out and banged on their door asking if they were alright#turns out they were just drunk and scared of a spider#they were shocked I could hear them like. we share the same wall#I hear you bring your boyfriends in EVERY WEEK#it is what it is#and so long as it isnât Loud itâs fine
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Tag Dump // Sagra Dazkar
[ it took all of my fight to make it out alive || sagra ; ic ] [ you left me dead in the water || sagra ; visage ] [ sometimes life is sink or swim || sagra ; musings ] [ i won't stop til i reach the shore || sagra ; aesthetic ] [ now i rise with the tide || sagra ; headcanons ] [ sticks and stones ; broken bones ; leave them on the ocean floor || sagra ; dash games ] [ i've stolen plenty of ships before! || sagra ; crack ] [ fortune fortune smiling fate ; i haven't seen you much of late || sagra x roy ] passionfell [ do you walk in the shadow of men ; who sold their lives to a dream? || sagra x vesaithe ] passionfell
#[ it took all of my fight to make it out alive || sagra ; ic ]#[ you left me dead in the water || sagra ; visage ]#[ sometimes life is sink or swim || sagra ; musings ]#[ i won't stop til i reach the shore || sagra ; aesthetic ]#[ now i rise with the tide || sagra ; headcanons ]#[ sticks and stones ; broken bones ; leave them on the ocean floor || sagra ; dash games ]#[ i've stolen plenty of ships before! || sagra ; crack ]#[ fortune fortune smiling fate ; i haven't seen you much of late || sagra x roy ] passionfell#[ do you walk in the shadow of men ; who sold their lives to a dream? || sagra x vesaithe ] passionfell#tag dump.
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The Read-Cap: Week of March 9, 2024
Looking back on all the books I read/started this week and what I'm planning on reading next.
This week I finally finished reading The Scarlet Veil by Shelby Mahurin and the ARC of Across Torn Tides by Val E. Lane before starting The Prisonerâs Throne by Holly Black. I almost had all three completed too, and have a feeling Iâll technically have the third book finished before the weekâs end but since this post goes live earlier I canât exactly claim it as done just yet. If you are new toâŚ
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#across torn tides#book#forgotten kingdoms#from tormented tides#holly black#lj andrews#Review#shelby mahurin#the read-cap#the scarlet veil#the stolen heir#val e lane#Wrap Up
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at last, my love has come along
Fandom: Gladiator II Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Wife!Reader Rating: PG13 Word count: 2.9k words Summary: After the end of a loveless marriage, your father finds a match for you in General Marcus Acacius. Warnings: age gap, arranged marriage, mentions of maternal and infant mortality, widowed reader, widowed Marcus, past neglect, virgin!reader. A/N: Marcus Acacius has me in a chokehold and he knows I like it. This is a second look at the characters from home in three days, do not wash but happens earlier. You can read them in whatever order you wish. Title stolen from Etta James' At Last.
âWhat is he like? The Dominus?âÂ
âHe is very kind,â said one of the girls who worked on your toga. You nodded, the pearls in your earrings brushing against your skin and making the hairs on your body stand upright.Â
âWhat of my hair?âÂ
âWhat of it, Domina?âÂ
âThe sun has already set. You said the Dominus will be home soon,â you said, fidgeting with the silk fabric that your sisters had presented you with before you began your travel from your village to the city. Something that would help you fit in better with the fashionable ladies and not make your husband, the General, look bad in societyâs eyes.Â
It was not for lack of wealth that you did not own many luxurious fabrics. Only that such things did not reach your village easily and your father, despite his place in the Senate, never brought the right things home. Not for a lack of love for you and your siblings but a lack of taste in womenâs clothing and jewelry.Â
You thought as a young girl of only fourteen that your husband, the first one, would bring you the soft silks and lustrous gold unlike your father. But he did not even bring himself home. You had been married off through letters exchanged between him and your father. It took two of living in his mansion and raising his two children from his last marriage before he finally came home. And when he did, he did not act as a husband should. Not how your older sisters told you he ought to be.Â
When Consus passed, you mourned not as a wife but as a friend.Â
âThe dominus prefers unbraided hair,â the girl standing behind you said. You nodded, registering the information in your heart. You wanted to know all that there was to know about him before he even arrived. Perhaps then you would be pleasing enough to have a fate different from your last marriage.Â
It had been all but a year since you were widowed that your father brought you news that you would be wed to a General who lived in the capital. There was no wedding for you even this once. A repeat of your last fate. You had resigned to never knowing your husband when you reached his grand home and spent your night with servants rather than his bed.Â
How foolish you were to hope.Â
But the situation changed for the better quite suddenly when you received word that General Acacius was returning from his travel soon. You expected that the news would calm your nerves but it somehow achieved the opposite. Fear.Â
When the girls were happy with how they had decorated you for your husbandâs eyes, they led you to his chambers. They left you there alone to stew in your anxieties about how the night would fare. The quiet of the night did not help matters. All that filled the space was the tides of the sea and the occasional clinking of your bangles as you fidgeted with your dress.Â
It was all you yearned for in your last marriage, a night of intimacy as a husband and wife should. But now that you were at the precipice of getting what you wanted, dread filled your chest. Youâd heard from your older sisters and servants what it was like to lay with a man. From their stories, it did not seem enjoyable. Not for women. It was only something to bear for the sake of having children. And all you wanted was to have children.Â
You loved Consusâ children of course. They were all you had in the lonely life you led with him. But they were taken from you soon, married off or sent to battle in many campaigns. And you wanted your own children. Have what your brothers and sisters had. Hold your newborns in your arms and raise them from their first breaths rather than from the middle of their childhood.Â
In your fantasizing of motherhood, you had completely forgotten that you had to be bed by your husband to become a mother. You had forgotten your sisters describe how painful it would be the first time a man took you. If oneâs husband was a barbarian with a big cock, it would hurt each time although not as much as the first. A servant girl told you that she had the luxury of a kind husband who would not touch her if she said she was feeling unwell. But there were also husbands who would beat their women for refusing to perform their marital duties when asked.Â
Your thoughts grew louder and louder in your head until you couldnât hear the ocean anymore. And you most certainly did not hear when the doors opened and your husband entered. When you perceived his presence, he was already sat by you. When he spoke your name, your heart nearly jolted out of your chest.Â
He laughed softly and looked you over with a smile on his plush lips. The candle lights illuminated his golden skin and the strands of gray that interspersed his dark hair. The candle on his other side shone bright to highlight his silhouette, his aquiline nose standing bold, characteristic of a valorous man. The sight had you transfixed and you wondered if his godlike visage aided him in battle. If it distracted his enemies long enough for him to slay them.Â
He reached his hand out to yours, brought it up from your lap and placed a kiss on your fingers. He looked up at you from your fingers, his brown eyes drawing you in like Cupido himself was pulling your strings like a marionette.Â
âI have kept you waiting for long.âÂ
Not as long as Consus did. But you kept the comment to yourself. Youâd never come close to a marital bed but something told you that men did not want to hear about a womanâs previous husband.Â
You spoke for the first time in his presence. âYou are an important man. I understand.âÂ
He smiled, dropping your hand to the space between you but not leaving it. His hand was rough from battle yet gentle in touch. It enveloped yours, exuding a soft dominance like the rest of him did. He was quite large and you winced internally, hoping that it did not translate to his size elsewhere. Did your sisters ever tell you about the relationship between the size of his man and his manhood? You couldnât quite remember.Â
âHave the servants made the home comfortable for you? It has been quite a while since this home had a domina.âÂ
You nodded and licked your lips, wishing you could run out to fetch some water for your drying mouth. âIt is comfortable. And very beautiful. I have never seen the ocean before.âÂ
âThere is nothing like the peace the sound of the waves brings. Nothing like the cool breeze at night and relaxing on the balcony to indulge in the stunning blue expanse.âÂ
âThe sight of the ocean when the sun sets is truly incomparable. I spent many evenings mesmerized by it.âÂ
Like magic, the pressure in your lower belly disappeared. You spoke about the beauty of Rome and indulging in it. He put you at ease, drawing smiles out of you, each one wider than the last. But you had a way of finding something to torture yourself over. As you exchanged details about your past, you blurted the question out.Â
âAm I to your liking?âÂ
âYou are beautiful. Worthy of the praises your father sings of his younger daughter in the senate. And at banquets. The bathhouses and libraries and markets. Rome does not know your name but she knows you.âÂ
âIâŚâ you swallowed, relieved that he found you beautiful but afraid for everything else to come. You were inexperienced but even you knew that beautiful faces were not enough to be an adequate wife. It was not adequate for Consus and you did not want a repetition of that with the General. âI do not know what you require in a wife. But I will learn. I have kept my hair out of braids. I learned that you prefer it that way. I will learn everything else too.âÂ
Please allow me to learn. Do not discard me for my inadequacies before I have the opportunity to prove myself.Â
âYour father also described you as dutiful. I see he was right.âÂ
âStand up,â he said and took your hand once again, guiding you to stand in front of him. âUndress. Let me see you.âÂ
He leaned towards the headboard of the bed, relaxing with his arm draped over it as he looked at you. You felt your heart thud like a galloping horse on the battlefield. Like a good soldier would, you persisted into your own battle and undid the ties and clasps that kept your clothes in place. He sat back, exuding power with his broad shoulders, wide chests and thick thighs spread apart.Â
Something about the situation made you feel like cattle in the market being evaluated by customers. Did the cows feel the way you did? Did they wonder as they were purchased if they would be slaughtered for meat or kept to be bred and milked? At least they had the peace of mind knowing that the man who bought them was satisfied with his purchase.Â
The General hadnât seen you before he took you for a wife.Â
Silk pooled around your legs and the cold breeze heâd waxed poetic about caressed your skin. The cold and the shame of being bare in front of a man persuaded you to cross your arms over your chest. You kept your eyes on the ground, focusing on his feet and yours being so close together.Â
You jumped when his hand grazed your elbow but refused to look at him for fear of what you would find. Disappointment? Disgust? Anger? You could not fathom which would be the worse outcome.Â
âDo not hide from your husband,â he said, gently prying your arms apart. Arms by your side, you dug your fingernails into your palm to keep from covering yourself again. Consus never laid a hand on youâ never bedded you, never hit you. The General had been sweet so far, but you did not know who he was and what he did when angered.Â
He held your hip and caressed your soft skin with his calloused hand. You inhaled sharply, overwhelmed by the proximity of his hand to your core. You pressed your thighs together, your feminine demureness anxious to keep your most intimate parts hidden from menâs eyes.Â
âTurn around. Slowly,â he said, guiding you by your hips. As soon as you faced away from him, you brought your hands back up to cover your breasts. He did not seem to notice as his hand trailed down to your rear and grabbed your flesh in both hands. You whimpered, feeling somehow more exposed though you had not become more naked.
âBeautifulâŚâ he hummed as he rotated you to face him once again. You dropped your arms to your sides as though you had touched a hot pot, his instruction ringing in your ear.Â
âAnd obedient⌠I could not have chosen better. Now show me what you can do, girl.â It was enough for you to finally look up at him. There were none of the expressions you feared you would see. He looked quite relaxed and you were afraid you would ruin that with your ignorance of what you were to show him.Â
âI will do anything you ask,â you answer meekly, hoping he would tell you exactly what he wanted you to do. Hoping he would instruct you every step of the way.Â
âShow me how you will serve me.âÂ
You swallowed, thinking through every bit of information your sisters and servants had given on pleasing a man. It all came down to obedience, to lying down and taking what your husband gave you. Were you supposed to do something else?Â
âP-please,â you whispered, the world distorted as it spilled from your trembling lips. âShow me what I should do.âÂ
He stood up, startling you and forcing you to take a step back. He placed a hand on your lower back and caressed gently like you did a litter of feral kittens when you were a girl.Â
He placed a finger under your chin and nudged you to look up at him. âNothing you should do, beautiful girl. I only want what you want to do.âÂ
âI have neverâŚâ you trailed, shaking your head in denial. âI am still chaste,â you blurted out. He froze in place, deep brown eyes boring into you.
âYour father said you were a devoted mother.âÂ
âTo Consusâ children. Borne by his first and second wives. After his second wife died in childbirth, heâ I raised the children.âÂ
âYou do not want children of your own?âÂ
âI do!â You exclaimed quickly, afraid this life would be taken from you once again. You kept silent throughout your marriage and you couldnât do that again. Not if it meant your womb staying barren. âI do. Consus, heâ both his wives before me died in childbirth and the childrenâ he did not want them to lose another mother. So he never touched me. I am chaste.âÂ
âYour father did not tell me.âÂ
âI did not tell him. Consus wrote to my family that I lost pregnancies. Had my father known that he wasâ that we did not live as a married man and womanâ he would have had me divorce him. Consus did not want that for the children and I could not tell my family the truth until he passed. Please⌠If my father believed I could not bear children, he would not have arranged for our marriage.âÂ
You naively believed your father would have informed the General of your predicament. Giving oneâs daughter to a man when you believed her barren was no small slight. Your felt as though a stone had lodged itself in your throat. You had just doomed yourself and your father. He could march up to the senate come sunrise. Humiliate your father. Take his sword to his neck. All because you were too foolish to know how to please a man.Â
âWhat of you?â
âWhat of me?â You asked, confused. He took your hands in his and guided you to sit on the bed. He joined beside you.
âWhy did you remain loyal to such a loathsome man? One who besmirched you to your family rather than admit to his deficiencies as a man?âÂ
âI was young and foolish. When I realized that he would never give me children, I⌠he had already lied enough to my family about myââ you stopped and shook your head. There was no need to speak ill of the dead man. No need to remind yourself how your barrenness made you the laughing stock of the village. âI resigned myself to the fate the gods had chosen for me. And I grew to love his children as my own.â
âI want more children. I haâ all my sons are dead, a few daughters too.âÂ
You nodded, your chest clenching from the pained look in his eyes. It was universal. Almost everyone whoâd had children had lost children. But the pain never subsided. Youâd seen it in your sisters, noble women of the highest ranking, in servants and slaves. The first time in a General.
âI want to have children.âÂ
He smiled and nodded before picking up your linen stola from the ground and wrapping it around you. He cupped your cheek, his hand engulfing the entirety of your face. He tilted his head, a soft sigh escaping his lips as his eyes bore into yours.
You leaned closer to him, praying you remembered how to kiss from the few times with a servant girl when you were only thirteen. Anticipation and anxiety had your heart racing together. When he finally touched his lips to yours, he quietened every anxiety, leaving only excitement behind. You placed a hand on his armor, the hardness of the metal underneath the leather contrasting the softness of his lips. Your other hand moved of its own accord, finding the nape of his neck. His soft curls tickled your fingers and he sighed into the kiss.Â
He traced your lips with the tip of his tongue and you opened up, welcoming him. A sense of calm settled in you as you explored each other. In his arms, you found safety for the first time since your arrival. His lips coaxed you to the gates of heaven and you followed as you imagined soldiers followed your General into war. With some fear of the uncharted territory yet brave because they trusted his leadership.
When you pulled away from each other, something felt changed. He no longer felt like a stranger. Something in his eyes, an openness inviting you into his life.Â
The ravages of war and time were evident in his features. A scar on the bridge of his nose perhaps from a time he came too close to his own end. His skin was spotted with marks from the sun. His eyes were soft not from the naĂŻvetĂŠ of youth but from seeing the harsh world. His golden skin peeked from under his beard decorated with a few grey flecks. You caressed a patch of skin where his beard did not grow.Â
Not an hour had passed since you met him but in his embrace, glancing into his eyes, you knew life would be peaceful.
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Bound in Silence- Rhysand x fem!Reader part 2
A/n: 8.7k words! Phew! This was definitely a rollercoaster of emotions but, I hope you guys enjoy it!đ
Part 1 here
After surviving her fall, Y/n embarks on a path of healing while Rhysand begins to realize the truth about their bond. As Rhys grapples with guilt and confusion, Y/n must learn to rebuild her life. But when their paths cross again, Rhys will need to fight for her forgiveness, hoping to mend what was once broken.
She shouldnât have survived.
The wind had howled in her ears as she plummeted from the cliffâs edge, the ground rushing up to meet her, a cold, hard end she had welcomed. The pain, the heartbreakâit had been too much, too consuming. But as the world around her blurred, she felt a sudden, violent impact, not against solid ground, but against something softerâbrush and sand.
When she opened her eyes, it was not death that greeted her but the harsh light of dawn streaming through the trees above, the sound of waves crashing against the shore in the distance. She lay in a thicket, a tangled mess of branches and brambles that had broken her fall, offering her an unexpected refuge.
Her body ached with bruises from the impact, sharp pain flaring in her ribs and a throbbing headache pulsing at her temples. She felt the grit of sand embedded in her skin and the taste of salt on her lips. But she was alive.
Y/n struggled to sit up, her hands trembling as she pressed against the ground for support. Panic surged through her. The memories of the cliff, of the choice she had made, washed over her like a tide pulling her under. Had she really leapt to escape the torment of her heart? The betrayal she felt was still fresh, the sting of Rhysandâs indifference cutting deeper than any physical wound.
As she surveyed her surroundings, a dense forest framed her, the trees standing tall like silent sentinels. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground, and the distant sound of waves served as a haunting reminder of the world she had tried to leave behind. But where was she? She had no idea how far she had fallen or where this path might lead.
Y/n took a moment to catch her breath, the air crisp and sharp in her lungs. She was alone, utterly alone, with no family to return to, no familiar faces to seek comfort from. The weight of that truth settled deep in her chest. She had thoughtâfoolishlyâthat Rhysand had been her salvation, her anchor in that hellish place. But in the end, she had meant nothing to him.
Pushing herself to her feet, she wobbled unsteadily, pain radiating through her ribs. The instinct to survive propelled her forward, one shaky step at a time. She didnât know where she was going. The road ahead seemed just as empty as the one behind her.
But it didnât matter. Nothing mattered anymore.
Each step felt heavier, and with every movement, she fought against the urge to collapse back to the ground. The memories of Rhysandâtheir stolen moments, their laughter, and the warmth of his presenceâcrashed over her like the waves she could hear in the distance. He had made her feel seen in a way she had never experienced before, and now that light was extinguished.
As she wandered deeper into the forest, the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows among the trees. Y/n found a small clearing where she sank to the ground, her body protesting at the sudden relief. She closed her eyes, letting the sounds of nature surround her, searching for solace in the rustling leaves and chirping birds.
What she realized, in that moment of stillness, was that surviving wasnât enough. She needed to reclaim herself, to remember who she had been before the darkness took hold. The journey ahead would be long and fraught with challenges, but the thought of facing them alone no longer filled her with dread. Instead, it ignited a flicker of determination.
âWhatever lies ahead,â she whispered to the trees, âI will find my way.â
With that resolve, Y/n pushed herself back up, brushing the leaves from her clothes and glancing around. The forest was alive with the sound of chirping birds and rustling leaves, and she couldnât help but feel that life, despite its challenges, was still worth fighting for.
She pressed on, each step feeling heavier than the last. The forest wrapped around her like a shroud, the branches swaying gently as if whispering secrets she couldnât quite grasp. She staggered through the underbrush, branches snagging her clothes and tearing at her skin, but she hardly noticed. The pain in her ribs was a constant reminder of her fall, pulsing with each movement, and fatigue settled in her bones like a thick fog.
She tried to focus on the path ahead, but her vision began to blur, the edges of her surroundings fading in and out. She needed to find shelter, a place to rest and gather her strength. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows that seemed to dance mockingly around her, urging her to give in to the darkness that threatened to swallow her whole.
With every step, Y/n felt herself growing weaker. Her legs trembled, and the world spun slightly around her. She stumbled, hitting the ground hard, the breath leaving her lungs in a gasp. Panic surged through her as she fought to regain her breath, but the pain from her injuries was overwhelming. She lay there for a moment, staring up at the canopy of leaves above, feeling utterly defeated.
Then, as she struggled to push herself back up, she heard voices in the distance, their laughter ringing through the trees. At first, she thought it might be a cruel trick of her mind, a hallucination born from the exhaustion and pain. But as the laughter grew closer, a flicker of hope ignited within her.
âDid you hear that?â one voice said, clear and bright. âI think someoneâs out there!â
Y/nâs heart raced, a mix of fear and hope flooding her veins. She wanted to call out, to let them know she was here, but the words caught in her throat. She could only lie there, trying to steady her breathing as the voices approached.
Moments later, a group of travelers emerged from the trees, their expressions shifting from joviality to concern as they spotted her on the ground. They were a motley crewârough and worn but with a kindness that seemed to radiate from them. The tallest among them, a woman with long, dark hair and bright blue eyes, rushed forward.
âOh, gods! What happened?â she exclaimed, kneeling beside Y/n. âCan you hear me? Are you hurt?â
Y/n tried to respond, but the words wouldnât come. Instead, she looked up at the woman, her vision swimming as darkness crept at the edges of her sight.
âWe need to get her out of here,â another voice said, a man with a thick beard who stepped forward. âShe looks injured. We canât leave her like this.â
The group quickly moved around her, their chatter fading into a distant hum as Y/n felt herself drifting. Hands gently lifted her, and though every movement sent jolts of pain through her body, the warmth of their concern began to wrap around her like a comforting blanket.
âStay with us, okay?â the woman said, her voice soothing. âWeâre going to help you.â
Y/n wanted to cling to those words, to believe that perhaps this was her chance to find solace. But the world began to fade, the faces of her rescuers becoming blurry as she lost her grip on consciousness. Just before the darkness took her, she felt a warm hand clasp her own, a connection that anchored her for one fleeting moment.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Velaris was a sanctuary, hidden from the world and its chaos, but even its beauty couldnât soothe the turmoil within him. Rhysand leaned against the balcony railing of the townhouse, staring out at the starry sky, yet his thoughts were far from peaceful. Feyre was with Tamlin in the Spring Court, and every moment spent thinking about their time together made his chest tighten with frustration.
He had felt so powerless during her trials, watching from afar as she struggled, battling her fears and doubts. His heart had raced as he witnessed her strength, yet it ignited a fury within him that simmered just below the surface. Tamlin didnât deserve her. He was blinded by his love for Feyre, unable to see the darkness creeping into their lives, a darkness that Rhysand feared would swallow her whole.
âDamn it, Feyre,â he muttered under his breath, clenching his fists. âYou donât belong there.â
The weight of the Night Courtâs responsibilities pressed heavily on him, and he found himself retreating deeper into his thoughts. The war with Amarantha had left scars that would take time to heal. But all he could think about was Feyreâs laughter, the way her eyes lit up in defiance, and the warmth that enveloped him when she was near.
Suddenly, he felt a pang of icy cold hit his chest, a feeling of.....nothing overtaking him. Rhysands body shuddered. He could now feel a string of sorts a....a bond. A bond with her, with y/n. But why was it so empty?
A shiver ran down his spine, and he closed his eyes, reaching out instinctively through the bond he shared with Y/n. Instead of comforting warmth, there was nothing but an oppressive silence. It was as if she had vanished, leaving a void that echoed with despair.
Since when did I have a bond with her? The thought sliced through his mind like a blade. He had dismissed their connection, buried it under layers of his feelings for Feyre. But now, the absence of Y/n felt like a cruel twist of fate, a reminder of what he had ignored for too long.
Panic surged through him as he searched for any hint of her presence, any sign that she was safe. But all he felt was the chilling silence, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy that had once flowed between them.
âY/n,â he breathed, the name feeling foreign on his tongue. âWhere are you?â
He pushed himself away from the balcony railing, his heart pounding in his chest. He needed to know what was happening, to understand why the bond felt so strained, so distant. A part of him clung to the hope that she was simply out of reach, that she was safe and sound somewhere beyond his grasp.
But the gnawing sense of dread would not let him rest. He was tied to her in a way he had never fully understood, and now that connection was fraying at the edges, unraveling into something that filled him with an ache he couldnât quite place.
It hit him then, like a thunderclap in the stillness of his thoughts: Y/n was his mate. The realization sent shockwaves through him, unraveling the tension in his chest and filling him with a potent mixture of dread and yearning.
She mattered. She had always mattered, perhaps more than he had ever let himself admit.
As he stood there, the weight of his decisions began to settle upon him. He had taken her for granted, focused solely on his feelings for Feyre while ignoring the depth of his connection with Y/n.
He had to find her. He had to understand what was happening.
~~~~~~~~~
Y/n awoke in a small, dimly lit room, the soft murmur of voices and the sound of footsteps moving outside the door barely reaching her ears. Her body ached, every movement sending sharp reminders of her injuries. She tried to sit up, but a firm hand gently pressed her back down.
âEasy,â a womanâs voice murmured. Y/n blinked, her vision clearing enough to see the woman from beforeâthe one with long, dark hair and kind, blue eyesâsitting beside her. âYouâre still hurt. Your ribs were bruised, and you were half-frozen when we found you. You need rest.â
Y/n grimaced, ignoring the throbbing pain as she forced herself into a sitting position. She wasnât used to lying still. âIâm fine,â she muttered, but her body betrayed her words, her legs too weak to support her even if she tried to stand.
The woman, who had introduced herself as Lira, smiled gently. âStubborn, arenât you? Itâs alright to let someone help you.â
Y/nâs eyes flicked to the door. The laughter of children and the hum of distant conversations filtered in from outside. She frowned. âWhere am I?â
âA village,â Lira said, watching her carefully. âSmall, but weâre a close-knit community. Everyone knows everyone here. We help each other, share what we have.â
Jealousy flared in Y/nâs chest, sharp and uninvited. A place where people lived in peace, helping one another without a second thought. It was so different from the life she knewâso far from the chaos and heartbreak that had led her here.
Y/nâs voice was rough as she asked, âHow long was I out?â
âA few days. We did what we could to help you recover. But youâve still got some healing to do.â
Silence fell between them. Y/nâs gaze remained on the door, but her thoughts were far from the village. Her mind returned to the cliff, to the crushing despair that had driven her to jump. She had wanted the pain to endâhad thought it would, but here she was, still breathing, still hurting.
Liraâs voice broke through her thoughts. âHow did you end up in that forest? You were in pretty bad shape when we found you.â
Y/n hesitated. She didnât owe this woman her storyâdidnât owe anyone anything anymoreâbut the weight of it pressed down on her, and maybe, just maybe, telling a small part of it would help ease the burden.
âI had a mate,â Y/n said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. Liraâs brow furrowed in sympathy, waiting for more. âHe chose someone else.â
The words tasted bitter on her tongue, but they were the truth. Rhysand had never even known. Never knew that she had felt the bond snap into place, that the invisible thread between them had formed. It didnât matter nowâhe had chosen Feyre, and that choice had shattered her.
Liraâs eyes were filled with gentle curiosity. âWhy didnât you tell him?â
Y/n shook her head, her throat tight. âItâs⌠complicated. He never knew, and by the time I realized, it was already too late. He⌠he was in love with her.â
Lira was quiet for a moment, processing Y/nâs words. âIâm sorry,â she said softly. âThat sounds⌠painful.â
Y/n didnât respond, her gaze distant, as if she could still see the edges of Amarantha's court from where she sat. The love sheâd seen in Rhysandâs eyes when he looked at Feyre had been undeniable. He had never looked at her that way, not even close.
âMaybe we can contact your family?â Lira suggested, trying to be helpful.
Y/nâs jaw tightened, her eyes flickering to Liraâs kind face. âI donât have anyone.â
âNo one at all?â
Y/n shook her head, a cold emptiness settling in her chest. She had no family leftâno home, no place to return to. âItâs just me.â
Lira sighed softly, her brow creasing in thought. âThen stay here with us,â she offered, her voice warm. âAt least until youâre healed, and after that⌠you can decide where you want to go.â
Y/nâs instinct was to refuse immediately. She had seen too much, been through too much, to believe in the kindness of strangers anymore. She didnât trust itânot after what she had lost. And yet⌠this woman, this village⌠they didnât know her, didnât know what she carried, and still, they had taken her in.
âI donât know if I can,â Y/n said, her voice barely audible.
âWhy not?â Lira asked gently. âYouâve been through something terrible, that much is clear. But thereâs no need to face it alone.â
Y/n glanced at her, doubt gnawing at her insides. Could she trust these people? Could she allow herself even a moment of peace in this quiet village after everything?
Lira smiled again, softer this time. âJust think about it. Weâre not going anywhere.â
Y/n gave a small nod, her mind already spinning with the enormity of her situation. She had nowhere to go, no plan for what came next. Maybe, for now, she could stay hereâjust until she figured out what to do.
~~~~~~~~
Rhysandâs mind raced, the weight of realization crashing over him like a tidal wave. Y/n was his mate. It wasnât something he could dismiss anymore, not after the sudden void he felt through the bond. For so long, he had tried to push aside the connection, telling himself that Feyre was his priority. And yet, here he stood, drowning in guilt and confusion as the truth settled in.
She had always been there, a steady presence in his lifeâloyal, fierce, and strong. He had admired her, even cared for her, but it wasnât until now that he understood the depth of that connection. And now, she was gone. Or worseâhurt.
âMother above,â Rhys muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. He had been so blinded by Feyre, so consumed by his need to protect her, that he had failed to notice what had always been right in front of him.
The bond had been subtle at first, an almost imperceptible tether that he had never fully explored. But now? Now it was like a raw wound, aching in a way that made his chest tighten. He couldnât feel herâcouldnât sense her. She was gone from his awareness, and that terrified him more than anything else.
Rhysand clenched his jaw, his thoughts spiraling into a panic. What if something had happened to her? The Night Court had always been a place of sanctuary, but the world beyond Velaris was filled with dangersâdangers that Y/n, in her current state, might not be able to fend off.
âIâve been a fool,â he whispered, the words bitter on his tongue.
Turning away from the balcony, Rhys stormed back inside the palace, his steps quick and determined. He couldnât just stand here and do nothing. He needed to find her, to reach her through the bond, to bring her back if she was in danger.
But how? He had never explored this connection before, had never let himself dwell on what it meant. And now, with Y/nâs presence completely cut off, he wasnât sure where to begin.
His heart pounded, and the gnawing fear clawed at his insides. He didnât know if she was safe. Didnât know where she was. But he would find her, no matter what it took.
Rhysand closed his eyes and reached deep into himself, seeking out the bond, trying to find any flicker of her. He focused on that missing warmth, on the piece of him that felt like it had been torn away. And in the quiet of his mind, a whisperâbarely thereâflickered. A spark of something. Pain. Despair.
He gasped, the sensation hitting him hard, and for the briefest of moments, he felt herâfelt the depth of her agony, the exhaustion, the loss.
âY/nâŚâ he breathed, his voice low, anguished. Wherever she was, she was suffering.
Rhysand knew he had to act quickly. There was no time to waste. He had to find her before it was too late.
With a sharp breath, he called for his wings, already preparing to leave. He will explain everything to his family later. Y/nâhis mateâneeded him now more than ever.
Rhysand landed softly in the clearing where he had last seen Y/n, his heart pounding in his chest. The forest loomed around him, dark and quiet, the air heavy with the scent of earth and damp leaves. Shadows stretched long in the fading light of the moon, casting an eerie stillness over the scene. His wings rustled as they folded behind him, but his mind was already racing, already searching.
This was where he had last seen herâright here, among the trees and the underbrush. She had watched him and Feyre have their conversation after Amaranthas death. Y/n thought she was hidden within the trees but he felt her, he always felt her presence, one would always feel the presence of one's mate. But he was too much of a fool to realize it sooner.
He moved through the clearing, his eyes scanning the ground, searching for any sign of her. A broken branch, a trace of her scentâanything. But the air was thick with silence, and the bond between them was weak, almost nonexistent now.
"Y/n!" Rhysandâs voice echoed through the trees, but no answer came. His shadows spread out, feeling through the dark, desperate to find any trace of her. But there was nothing.
He pressed forward, moving deeper into the forest, the trees closing in around him. The memories of their time togetherâof her strength, her resilienceâpushed him on, even as doubt gnawed at the edges of his mind. What if she was gone? What if she was hurt, or worse?
He couldnât think like that. Not yet. He had to find her.
"Y/n!" he called again, his voice strained, raw with desperation. He stumbled through the undergrowth, his boots sinking into the damp earth, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of his failure bearing down on him.
But the forest remained silent.
Rhysand reached the edge of a small stream, the water trickling softly over the rocks. He crouched down, running his fingers through the mud, searching for any sign that she had been here. Nothing. His chest tightened, his heart hammering against his ribs as the realization began to settle in.
She wasnât here.
His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he rose to his feet. The bond was slipping away, unraveling like a thread being pulled loose. He had never let it guide him before, never truly acknowledged its presence, but now, as it faded, the loss felt like a wound he couldnât heal.
He had to keep searching.
Rhysand pushed further into the forest, his movements frantic now, his wings twitching with the urge to take flight again, to cover more ground. The trees blurred around him, the shadows twisting and bending as his magic flared, but there was no trace of her.
No warmth. No bond. Nothing.
Hours passed in a haze of desperation and despair. The moon climbed higher in the sky, casting pale light through the canopy, but it did little to ease the gnawing fear growing inside him. By the time he reached the edge of the forest, Rhysand felt hollow, the weight of his failure pressing down on him with every step.
He was running out of time. Out of hope.
When he finally made the decision to return to Velaris, his wings were heavy, his body exhausted, but his mind couldnât rest. The flight back felt longer than it should have, his thoughts spiraling into darker and darker places. What if she was gone for good? What if he had missed his chanceâmissed her?
The moment he landed on the balcony of the House of Wind, the emptiness hit him like a tidal wave. He dropped to his knees, his fingers curling against the cold stone as he tried to catch his breath, tried to steady himself.
But the bond was still faint. Almost gone.
He stood slowly, his mind racing. He had searched where he last saw her. He had searched the forest. But there was one more place she could beâher home. The Dawn Court. She was from there, had roots there. Maybe she had returned, seeking refuge among her people.
It was a slim hope, but it was all he had.
Rhysand straightened, determination burning in his veins. He would contact Thesan, the High Lord of the Dawn Court. He had to know if Y/n was there, if she was safe. But for now, all he could do was waitâand that waiting felt like a slow, torturous pull on his very soul.
She was his mate. And she was gone.
The thought settled into his chest like a cold, hard stone, and Rhysand knew that until he found herâuntil he brought her backâthere would be no peace. He would flip this world upside down to find her.
~~~~~~~
Y/n lay back down, her body sinking into the soft mattress as she stared at the flickering flames in the hearth. Liraâs offer lingered in her mind, but doubt gnawed at her. It wasnât just the villageâs kindness that unsettled herâit was the thought of staying, of settling, when her entire world had crumbled around her.
Her heart felt heavy, weighed down by the memories of Rhysand and everything she had lost. How could she heal in a place like this, where people lived in peace and harmony? She wasnât like themâshe carried too much darkness, too much pain.
Still, there was something about this village, something about Liraâs gentle demeanor that made Y/n want to believe, if only for a moment, that maybe she could find some peace here. Just for a while.
The thought was almost laughable. She had no right to peace.
Lira stood up from her chair, sensing Y/n's internal battle. âIâll let you rest,â she said, her voice soft. âBut if you need anything, just call for me.â
Y/n nodded but didnât respond as Lira slipped quietly out of the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts. The sounds of the village continued to drift through the windowâthe laughter, the conversations, the gentle hum of a life Y/n had never known.
Her hand unconsciously drifted to her chest, to where the bond with Rhysand had once tugged at her heart. Now, there was only a hollow ache, a reminder of what had been and what could never be. She had loved himâfiercely, silently, and without hope.
And he had never known.
The thought made her chest tighten again, that familiar grief washing over her. She had been nothing to him, just another face from Dawn, another puppet to use and discard. And now⌠she was nothing at all.
The hours passed slowly. Y/n found herself drifting in and out of sleep, her body still weak from the injuries. In her dreams, she saw flashes of her pastâHer life in Dawn, her little trinkets that she would create to make some living, Rhysand. And then, always, Feyre. Her face haunted Y/n, the reminder of who Rhysand had truly chosen.
When she awoke again, it was darker outside, the village sounds quieter now. Lira hadnât returned, and Y/n was grateful for the space. She needed time to think, to decide what her next move would be.
But even as she lay there, trying to come up with a plan, her mind kept returning to Liraâs offer. A part of her wanted to accept it, to stay here and heal. But another part, the part that had seen too much betrayal, too much loss, didnât trust it.
Would they still welcome her if they knew who she really was? What she had done?
Y/n sighed, turning onto her side as the fire crackled softly beside her. She wasnât sure what her next step would be, but for now, all she could do was rest.
She closed her eyes, forcing herself to take a deep breath. The pain was still thereâdeep and unyieldingâbut for the first time in a long while, Y/n allowed herself to hope that maybe, just maybe, she could find some kind of solace here.
Even if it was only temporary.
In the days that followed, Y/n grew stronger. Lira visited her often, bringing food and checking on her injuries, but never pressing too much. The villageâs quiet kindness was unsettling at first, but slowly, Y/n began to let herself relax, just a little.
She spent most of her time in bed, staring out the window at the bustling village below. Children ran through the streets, and neighbors helped one another with chores and daily tasks. It was a world so far removed from the one she had known that it almost felt like a dream.
And yet, despite everything, Y/n couldnât shake the feeling that she didnât belong here.
Each time she looked out that window, she was reminded of what she had lost, of the bond she had ignored for too long. The thought of Rhysand, out there somewhere, filled her with both longing and anger. She didnât know if sheâd ever see him again, but the silence between them weighed heavily on her.
Still, for now, all she could do was wait. Healing, Lira had said. Y/n wasnât sure if that was possible, but maybe, just maybe, she could try.
Weeks turned into months.
What Y/n had initially believed would be a short stay to recover gradually became something more. She healed, both in body and in spirit, under the quiet care of Lira and the villageâs close-knit community. Slowly, the bruises on her ribs faded, the aches in her muscles eased, and her strength returned.
At first, Y/n had kept to herself, only interacting with Lira when necessary. But as time passed, she began to open up, if only slightly. Liraâs patience had been remarkable, never pushing, always offering a hand when Y/n needed it. The womanâs kindness was a balm to wounds Y/n hadnât realized still bled.
As she regained her strength, she was introduced to more of the villagers. There was Tamir, a kind-hearted farmer who often brought her fresh produce, and Ayla, a weaver who sat with Y/n by the fire on particularly cold evenings, sharing stories about her family and life in the village. They accepted Y/n without question, never asking too much, never prying into her past.
For the first time in years, Y/n found herself in a place that felt almost like home.
It wasnât easy, of course. The memories of Rhysand still haunted her in quiet momentsâhis smile, his laughter, the bond she had felt snap into place and left unacknowledged. But in time, those memories dulled, becoming less sharp, less painful.
She had spent so long thinking about him, about what could have been. But now, as the months slipped by, she began to accept the truth. Rhysand had made his choice, and it hadnât been her. Feyre was his love. And Y/n⌠she was learning to be alright with that.
It wasnât that the pain disappearedâit would always be there, in the corners of her heartâbut it no longer consumed her. She found herself laughing with the villagers, working alongside them, and even joining in the villageâs small celebrations. She was happy, or at least as close to happiness as sheâd felt in a long time.
There were nights when the weight of her past pressed down on her, but those moments grew fewer and farther between. The village, with its simple, peaceful life, had given her space to breathe, to heal.
Lira, especially, had become a close friend. They spent many evenings talking, sometimes about nothing at all, and other times about everything. Y/n found herself confiding in Lira, telling her small pieces of her pastâthe loss, the heartbreak, the weight of being forgotten. Lira never judged, only listened, offering comfort in the form of quiet understanding.
Y/n no longer felt the crushing loneliness that had driven her to that cliffside. She wasnât sure what the future held for her, but for now, she was content to stay in this village, to continue healing, and to figure out who she was without the shadow of Rhysand hanging over her.
She still didnât know what would come next, but for the first time in a long while, she wasnât running from the uncertainty.
~~~~~~~~
Velaris â One year, three months, fifteen days, six hours, twenty-two minutes, and forty-five seconds since Y/n disappeared.
Rhysand had counted every second. Every agonizing, suffocating second since he had realized she was gone. He stood on the balcony of the River House, staring out over the Sidra, his eyes dark with the weight of his obsession. A full year, and he was no closer to finding her.
He had sent his forces, his shadows, his spies, to every corner of Prythian and beyond. The High Lords had been contactedâevery last one of them, including Thesan, the High Lord of the Dawn Court, where Y/n had once called home. His meetings with Thesan had been civil, yet tense.
âShe hasnât returned,�� Thesan had said in one of their many conversations, his voice steady but laced with concern. âIf she were here, I would have told you, Rhys.â
But that hadnât stopped Rhysand from ordering Azriel to watch the borders of the Dawn Court, to scour its lands for any sign of her. He had sent out scouts across PrythianâIllyrian patrols sweeping the mountains, Velaris soldiers keeping their eyes open in the cities, and spies dispatched to the human lands. Nothing.
Nothing for over a year. And it was driving him mad.
Rhysand hadnât rested in months, not truly. His nights were spent pouring over maps, tracing routes, re-reading reports. He had memorized every possible lead, every whispered rumor of a lone female seen wandering the wilderness. But none of them had led to her.
âMaybe she doesnât want to be found,â Cassian had said one night, his voice gentle but firm, as he sat with Rhysand in the war room.
Rhysand had glared at him, his jaw clenched, his hands tightening into fists. âThatâs not an option. Sheâs myââ He had stopped himself before finishing that sentence. She wasnât his mate, not officially. The bond possibly had never snapped for her, but for Rhys, it might as well have. His heart knew it, even if the Cauldron had not sealed the bond. She was his.
Cassian had only sighed, shaking his head. âRhys, Iâm worried about you. We all are.â
And they were. Amren had pulled him aside more than once, telling him to stop his frantic searching, to focus on the things he could control. But she didnât understand. None of them did. Y/n had been his anchor in ways he hadnât even realized until she was gone.
Azriel had been his silent shadow through all of it. The spymaster had spent countless nights by his side, searching with him, strategizing, offering the quiet kind of support that only Azriel could. They didnât need words. Rhys knew Azriel understood what it felt like to long for someone you couldnât have.
But there were momentsâmoments when the weight of his failure pressed down on him so heavily that he felt like he couldnât breathe. He had taken to disappearing from the River House, vanishing into the forests outside Velaris, retracing the steps to where he had last seen her.
And then, there was the cliff. Rhys still remembers how when he smelled the faintest remnants of her scent, right there, right at the edge of the cliff, his chest flared with panic as he frantically searched for her but found no trace. Given how faint the scent was, Rhys knew that she wasnât here recently. But did she kill herself? Did she end up throwing herself off this cliff? Even the mere thought of that made his gut twist, his hands shake. No. She couldnât have died. No body, no proof. ButâŚ..
He stood there, letting the cold wind of the mountains blow past him. The silence that had followed her disappearance.
âRhys, you need to stop this,â Mor had told him after heâd returned from one such trip, disheveled and exhausted. âYouâre tearing yourself apart.â
He had only shaken his head. âI canât, Mor. I have to find her. I need to.â
Mor had looked at him with sadness in her eyes. âWhat if she doesnât want to be found?â
It was the same question Cassian had asked, and Rhys had no answer for it. What if Y/n didnât want to be found? What if she had left because she wanted to stay hidden from him?
But he refused to believe it. He couldnât believe it. There had to be another reasonâsomething he hadnât uncovered yet.
And so, Rhysand kept searching. He kept sending his forces out, kept interrogating every lead, every sighting, every whisper of a female matching her description. He visited the forests, the places they had once been together, hoping for some sign, some shred of her presence.
But there was nothing.
Every day that passed without her only deepened his despair. He had lost weight, his face drawn with exhaustion, his eyes dull with sleepless nights.
But how could he let go of Y/n? How could he forget her, when every part of him screamed that she was out there, somewhere, waiting for him?
His conversations with the inner circle had grown colder, more strained. They were concerned, but they didnât understand. Not really. How could they, when none of them had lost someone the way he had lost Y/n?
Rhysand stared out over Velaris, the city lights reflecting off the river below. One year, three months, fifteen days, six hours, twenty-seven minutes, and thirty-one seconds.
And still, she was gone.
~~~~~~~~~
Y/n sat on a wooden bench outside the small cottage, her eyes watching the children play in the distance. The crisp evening air brushed against her skin, a reminder of how peaceful life had become in the village. Her heart, though, still felt heavy with memories of another lifeâone she had tried to leave behind.
The soft shuffle of feet approached, and Y/n turned to see Elder Miriam, one of the villageâs wisest, sitting down beside her. The old womanâs face was lined with age, her eyes sharp but kind. She had been the one to welcome Y/n when she first arrived, offering a place to stay and a quiet understanding.
âYouâve been here for some time now,â Miriam began, her voice gentle but firm. âLonger than most who come seeking refuge.â
Y/n nodded, her gaze dropping to her hands. âI didnât expect to stay this long.â
âAnd yet, here you are,â Miriam continued, her hands resting on her lap. âThereâs peace in this village, but I see it hasnât reached your heart yet.â
Y/n swallowed, feeling the truth of the words settle inside her. âIâm⌠trying.â
Miriam studied her, the silence between them filled with the soft sounds of the village. âYouâve been through much. That much is clear. But what are you still holding onto, child?â
Y/n hesitated, unsure how to voice the conflict inside her. âThere are people I left behind,â she finally said. âA life I thought I could escape from. But it follows me, no matter how far I run.â
Miriam nodded, her expression thoughtful. âThe past has a way of lingering. Itâs not something you can outrun. Healing doesnât mean forgetting, Y/n. It means learning to live with whatâs happened, not burying it.â
Y/n bit her lip, fighting back the emotions that threatened to surface. âI thought if I stayed here long enough, I could⌠rebuild myself. Become someone new.â
âAnd have you?â Miriam asked, her tone still gentle.
âI donât know,â Y/n whispered. âSome days, it feels like Iâm better. Iâm learning to be happy again. But then, there are days where⌠I feel like Iâm right back where I started.â
Miriam placed a hand on Y/nâs shoulder, her touch warm and comforting. âYouâve come far, more than you realize. But you must ask yourselfâwhat is it youâre truly afraid of? Is it the life you left behind, or is it facing the feelings youâve kept locked away?â
Y/n looked away, the truth painful to admit. âIâm afraid of going back,â she said quietly. âAfraid of what it would mean to confront everything I left behind.â
Miriam nodded again, her eyes full of understanding. âThe village has been a place of healing for you, and itâs given you time. But time, Y/n, doesnât erase the things we carry. It only gives us space to understand them. You cannot live in fear of whatâs behind you. It will find its way to the surface, one way or another.â
Y/n felt the weight of the words settle in her chest. For the first time in a long while, she realized how much she had been avoidingânot just Rhysand, but the truth of her own feelings.
âYouâre stronger than you think,â Miriam said softly. âYouâve survived, youâve healed. But true peace will only come when you allow yourself to face whatâs still left unresolved.â
Y/n took a deep breath, the knot in her chest loosening just a little. âI donât know if Iâm ready.â
âNo one ever is,â Miriam replied with a small smile. âBut readiness isnât the same as willingness. And you, child, have always been willing to face whatever comes. Iâve seen it in you since the day you arrived.â
Y/n glanced at Miriam, the warmth in the elderâs words easing some of the fear that had gripped her for so long. Maybe she wasnât ready to confront everything waiting for her outside the village, but maybe that wasnât the point. Maybe all she needed was the courage to try.
âThank you,â Y/n said quietly, her voice steadier now.
Miriam smiled, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. âTake your time, but donât wait too long. The world wonât wait forever, and neither will you.â
With that, the elder rose from the bench, leaving Y/n alone with her thoughts, the peaceful hum of the village life surrounding her. For the first time in months, Y/n felt the pull of something beyond this quiet havenâsomething she had tried to ignore, but that was always there, waiting.
Maybe it was time to stop running.
A week had passed since Y/n had left the village. The cool morning air nipped at her skin as she stood at the edge of the forest, the place that had been her refuge for over a year. The memory of her time there was freshâboth a blessing and a burdenâbut she had made her peace with it. She had healed, not just physically, but in the deeper places that had been broken for so long.
Her heart was lighter now, no longer weighed down by the constant ache of loss. She was ready to move on, to return to the Dawn Court and begin her new life. A part of her would always belong to the village, to the people she had come to love during her stay, but it was time to face the world again.
The day she left had been filled with quiet goodbyes, but the most difficult one had been with Lira. They had shared a bondâa deep understanding that went beyond words.
âYouâll come visit us, right?â Liraâs voice had been soft, but there was a seriousness in her eyes. She stood in front of Y/n, her hands gripping hers tightly.
Y/n smiled, a bittersweet warmth in her chest. âI promise,â she said. âIâll come back when I can. This place will always be special to me.â
Liraâs lips curved into a smile, though her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. âDonât forget us. And donât forget yourself, either. Youâve grown so much, Y/n. Donât let that go.â
Y/n shook her head, her voice thick. âI wonât.â
Another villager, an elder Y/n had come to cherish, patted her on the back. âYouâll always have a home here,â he said warmly. âNo matter where you go.â
She nodded, grateful beyond words. âThank you. All of you.â
They stood in a quiet circle, the weight of the farewell settling in the cool air around them. The children she had watched over waved from behind the elder, their faces glowing with sadness and hope.
âTake care of yourself,â Lira said softly, pulling Y/n into a tight embrace. âYou deserve to be happy.â
Y/n held her close, taking in the familiar scent of the villageâthe woods, the earth, and the faint traces of fire. âIâll try.â
With one last lingering glance, Y/n turned toward the path that led out of the village, the weight of their love and friendship carrying her forward. She didnât look back. She couldnât. Not this time.
Now, she stood at the gates of the Dawn Court, her heart thudding in her chest. The sprawling palace beyond the gates shimmered under the morning light, and the familiar sight tugged at herâboth comforting and foreign after so much time away.
She was different now, she knew that. The woman who had once been so broken, so consumed by heartache, no longer existed. In her place stood someone strongerâsomeone who had faced the darkest parts of herself and come out on the other side.
Y/n stepped forward, her boots crunching softly against the gravel path. A new life awaited her here. She had accepted that Rhysand was not hers, and with that acceptance came freedomâfreedom to create something new, something that was hers alone.
As she approached the entrance, she took a deep breath, steadying herself. This was home, after all. And no matter how far she had run, she was always meant to return.
The guards at the gate gave her surprised looks, but they bowed respectfully, recognizing her. They knew her face, even if they couldnât comprehend the transformation she had undergone in her time away.
Home. It sounded strange, but as she stepped through the gates and into the Dawn Courtâs embrace, she realized how true it was.
She had come full circle.
With each step, the memories of her old life resurfaced, but they didnât crush her as they once had. Instead, they reminded her of the strength she had gained, the scars she had earned, and the peace she had finally found.
This was a new beginning, and Y/n was ready for whatever came next.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was another miserable day.
He had counted every single second of her absence, the guilt festering in his chest like a poison he couldnât escape. No matter how much time passed, the ache didnât ease. The weight of what he had doneâor rather, what he hadnât doneâcrushed him.
He had searched everywhere, sent emissaries to the furthest reaches of Prythian and beyond. Heâd begged, bribed, and even threatened other courts for information. Thesan had been his most trusted ally in the search, offering resources and keeping an eye out. Rhysand had sent his Inner Circle across borders to find her, but it had all led to nothing. Y/n was gone, and the only thing he had left was his regret.
He hadnât been there for her when she needed him most. Not during Amaranthaâs reign. Not when she had withered under his very nose, and certainly not when she left. His thoughts always returned to those last months. The months he had spent prioritizing Feyreâs safety and neglecting Y/nâs slow unraveling. He had failed her.
He was sitting at his desk, head in his hands, feeling the familiar hollow ache settle deep in his bones, when the door to his study opened.
Azriel stepped in, his shadows swirling around him like an ever-present cloak of darkness. The spymasterâs face was unreadable, but Rhysand knew him well enough to see the urgency in his posture.
âRhys,â Azriel said, his voice calm, but there was something behind it. Something that made Rhysand sit up straight, a flicker of hopeâa feeling he hadnât allowed himself in monthsâstirring in his chest.
âWhat is it?â Rhysand asked, though he wasnât sure he wanted to know. Hope had become a dangerous thing for him, always leading to disappointment.
Azriel paused, letting the weight of the moment sink in. âThesan contacted me. His guards⌠theyâve seen her.â
Rhysandâs heart stopped. For a long, agonizing second, he couldnât breathe. âSeen⌠her?â he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Azriel nodded. âY/n. Sheâs back at the Dawn Court. She returned a week ago. Thesanâs guards have been keeping an eye on her from a distance, but sheâs home. Alive.â
Rhysand felt the floor tilt beneath him. She was back. After all this time, after every failed attempt to find her, every sleepless night spent tormented by guilt, Y/n had returned. The relief that flooded him was overwhelming, but it was swiftly followed by a wave of doubt so strong it made him dizzy.
âI should⌠I should go to her,â Rhysand said, standing abruptly. His mind raced, his heart pounding in his chest. He had to see her, had to know if she was okay. But then he paused, his hand falling away from the desk. His thoughts crashed into one another, the doubt settling in.
Would she want to see him?
âWait,â Rhysand murmured, his voice barely audible. âShould I even go?â He turned to Azriel, his brows furrowing in confusion. âI⌠I wasnât there for her, Az. Not when she needed me most. What if she doesnât want to see me? What if sheâs better off without me?â
Azrielâs dark eyes flickered with something like exasperation, but it was laced with sympathy. âRhys, are you serious right now?â
Rhysand dragged a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his guilt crushing him again. âI ignored her. After Amarantha, after Feyre⌠I neglected her. The last months she was with us, I wasnât there for her. What if sheâs moved on? What if sheâs better now without me?â
Azriel stepped closer, his shadows swirling around his shoulders. âYouâve been searching for her for over a year. Youâve nearly destroyed yourself trying to find her. And now that sheâs back, youâre doubting whether to go to her?â
Rhysand clenched his fists, his jaw tight. âI hurt her, Az. I let her slip away. What if she hates me for it?â
Azriel let out a breath, his eyes softening. âThen you go to her and you tell her that. You tell her how much she means to you, and you beg for her forgiveness if thatâs what it takes.â His voice lowered, more gentle than Rhysand had ever heard it. âYouâve been waiting for this moment, Rhys. Donât let your guilt stop you from fixing what was broken.â
Rhysand stared at his brother, the weight of his words sinking in. He had been waitingâprayingâfor this moment, for the chance to make things right. But now that it was here, all he could feel was fear. Fear that Y/n wouldnât forgive him, that the damage he had caused was too great to repair.
âI will kneel if I have to,â Rhysand said quietly, the words heavy with desperation. âIâll beg her to forgive me, to let me back into her life.â
Azrielâs lips curved into the barest hint of a smile. âThen go. Donât waste any more time.â
Rhysand nodded, though the fear still gnawed at him. But beneath that fear, a flicker of hope remained. He would see Y/n again. He would kneel, beg, do whatever it took to fix the mistakes of the past.
And maybeâjust maybeâhe could find a way back to her.
Rhysand stood in silence for a moment, letting the realization sink in. He wasnât sure what he would find when he saw Y/n, or if she would even want to speak to him. But there was no turning back now.
With a deep breath, he turned to Azriel. âIâm going to Dawn,â he said, his voice steady, though his heart trembled. âI have to see her.â
Azriel nodded once. âGood luck, Rhys.â
Rhysand didnât answer. He didnât need to. He simply disappeared, winnowing into the wind, his heart pounding as he made his way to the one person who mattered most.
~~~~~~~~
Y/n sat at the small table in her home, the afternoon light filtering through the curtains. The room was modest but comfortable, much different than it had been a year ago. Before she left, she had been barely getting by, working tirelessly just to make ends meet. She had spent her days repairing small items, doing odd jobs, always tired, always worn down. Back then, the work had been a necessityâa way to survive, not something she took pride in.
Now, it was different.
Y/nâs fingers moved over the smooth wood of the small jewelry box she had just crafted. She had taken up woodworking after returning from the village, and while it wasnât glamorous, she found peace in the craft. People in the Dawn Court had taken notice of her work, and word had spread. Slowly but surely, she started receiving more commissions, her skills improving with every piece she made.
She wasnât richânot by a long shotâbut she was comfortable. She didnât have to worry as much about her next meal or paying for firewood. Her house, which had once felt so empty and cold, now felt like a home again. The work wasnât just about money anymore. It was about creating something with her own handsâsomething that others appreciated.
Y/n leaned back, wiping the sawdust from her hands, and looked around her small space. It felt like she had finally found a balance. She was content. It wasnât the life she had imagined for herself all those years ago, but it was a good life. She was healing, slowly but surely, and for the first time in a long time, she felt hopeful about the future.
There were moments when her mind drifted to the pastâwhen memories of Rhysand surfaced, and the pain of what could have been tugged at her. But it didnât consume her anymore. She had made peace with it, in her own way, and she knew she had to keep moving forward. This was her life now, and she was determined to make it her own.
Y/n wiped her brow, the scent of fresh wood filling the air as she placed the finished box onto the shelf beside a few others she had completed earlier that week. A soft smile tugged at her lips. It was a simple lifeâone she hadnât expected to loveâbut there was a calmness in it that soothed her in ways she hadnât realized she needed.
Her hands were no longer idle, no longer weighed down by the burden of survival. Now, when she worked, it was with purpose, and each completed piece felt like a small victoryâa testament to her growth, her healing. The dark days when she could barely muster the energy to get out of bed felt distant now, like a different life entirely.
She stepped back from her workbench, glancing around her small home. It was far from luxurious, but it was hers. She had made it feel like home again after being away for so long. She had become part of the local community again, and though life wasnât easy, it was manageableâand even enjoyable at times.
Y/n sighed, letting the moment settle over her. She was content. She hadnât thought it possible after everything she had been through, but somehow, she had found peace.
She walked to the window, looking out at the familiar streets. The weight of the past year didnât feel as heavy as it used to. Dawn had changed for her. Before, it was a place where she had simply existedâbarely making it through each day. Now, it felt like a fresh start, a place where she could rebuild herself without the shadows of her past constantly looming over her.
Her thoughts drifted to the village she had left behind just a week ago. It had been hard to say goodbye, but she knew it was time. They had become like a family to her, and the promise to visit would be kept. But she needed to come homeâto her own space, her own life.
The memory of her farewell lingered, the promises exchanged that they would stay in touch, that they wouldnât forget each other. She smiled at the thought. She wouldnât forget them either. They had been the ones who had helped her when she didnât know how to help herself, and that was something she would always carry with her.
But here, now, she was finally ready to move forward. Ready to build something new for herself.
Y/n was walking through the busy streets of the Dawn, enjoying the calm, steady pace of life here. She had just visited the market, her basket filled with items for her latest craft project. The sun was warm on her face, and for the first time in a long while, she felt truly at peace.
As she turned the corner, two figures in armor approached her. They wore the unmistakable insignia of the Dawn Courtâpalace soldiers. Their faces were unreadable, and as they came closer, she felt an uneasy flutter in her stomach.
âY/n,â one of them said, his voice firm yet not unkind. âYou are required at the palace.â
Her heart skipped a beat, confusion surging through her. âThe palace? Why? Did I do something wrong?â
The second soldier didnât meet her gaze, only repeating the first soldierâs words. âWe need to escort you to the High Lord. Please come with us.â
Fear and confusion knotted in her chest, but the soldiers gave her no further explanation. They began to walk, clearly expecting her to follow. Y/nâs mind raced with questions. Why would High Lord Thesan summon her? What had she done? She couldnât think of any reason sheâd be needed at the palace.
As they passed through the grand gates and into the opulent halls, her nerves only grew. The palace was more beautiful than she remembered, but she was too anxious to appreciate the elegance of her surroundings. The guards led her through winding corridors until they reached a large, ornate door.
One of the soldiers knocked, and the door was opened from within. They motioned for her to step inside.
She hesitated for only a moment before walking in.
The room was grand, with tall windows casting golden light over the finely furnished space. But it wasnât the luxury of the room that caught her off guard.
It was the two men standing inside.
One was High Lord Thesan, smiling warmly, his demeanor calm and welcoming. The other was Rhysand.
Her breath caught in her throat. Rhysand? Her legs nearly gave out beneath her at the sight of him standing there, looking tense, his usual smug expression replaced with something far more serious. His violet eyes found hers the moment she entered the room, and she felt every nerve in her body light up with an old, painful familiarity.
Thesan stepped forward first, his kind smile not wavering. âY/n,â he greeted, his voice smooth. âI apologize for the sudden summons. I imagine this is not what you were expecting today.â
She blinked, still too shocked to speak, her gaze flickering from Thesan to Rhysand and back again.
The High Lord chuckled softly, clearly sensing her confusion. âYou are not in trouble, I assure you,â Thesan said gently. âI wanted to make sure you had a chance to⌠speak with Rhysand. I believe there are things that need to be said.â He glanced between them before adding, âIâll leave you two to talk.â
Y/nâs throat tightened as Thesan gave her one last smile and exited the room, closing the door behind him.
And then it was just her and Rhysand.
The silence was suffocating. Rhysand stood a few feet away, his gaze locked on her, an uncharacteristic tension lining his features. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and filled with a vulnerability she hadnât expected.
âY/n⌠Iâm sorry.â
She didnât respond at first, still trying to piece together how this moment had come to pass. âSorry for what?â she finally asked, her voice sharper than she intended.
âFor everything,â Rhysand said, stepping closer, though he still maintained a respectful distance. âFor how I treated you before⌠for abandoning you. I spent the past year searching for you, desperate to make things right. Iââ He paused, swallowing hard. âI should have told you sooner. You are my mate.â
Her chest tightened, a sharp laugh escaping her lips before she could stop it. âI know.â
Rhysâs eyes widened in surprise. âYou knew? Since when?â
âSince long before you disappeared into Feyreâs shadow,â she replied bitterly. The anger, the hurt, it all came rushing back in full force. âWhy didnât I tell you? Why should I have? Would it have made a difference when you were so focused on her that I may as well have been invisible?â
Rhys flinched at her words, guilt etched deeply into his face. âIt would have mattered,â he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. âYou mattered.â
âThen why didnât you act like it?â Y/nâs voice trembled with emotion, her hands clenching at her sides. âWhy was I nothing more than a tool to you when Feyre came along? I watched youâwatched as you ignored me, as you barely looked at me. And now, after a year of running and hiding, now you come to apologize? You expect me to just forgive you because you finally decided I was worth something?â
Rhysandâs eyes were filled with sorrow and regret, his normally proud and arrogant demeanor shattered. âI donât expect you to forgive me. I came to beg for it, if thatâs what it takes. I was wrong, Y/n, in so many ways. But you have to know, you are my mate, and I will do anything to make this right. I will kneel, I will grovel, I willââ
But she shook her head, cutting him off. âItâs too late, Rhysand. Youâve already made your choice.â
Rhys took another step toward her, desperation in his eyes. âPlease, Y/n. I never stopped caring. I was a fool. But we can start again, weââ
âNo,â she interrupted, her voice firm, though it cracked with emotion. âYou donât get to come back into my life now and demand forgiveness. Iâve rebuilt myself. Iâve moved on. You should have done the same.â
And with that, she turned on her heel and walked out, leaving Rhysand standing alone, the weight of his mistakes heavy in the air.
But Rhysand didnât stop. Determined to win her back, he threw himself into a relentless pursuit of her forgiveness. Every day, he tried to reach her in some way, even if she wouldnât let him in.
He sent her giftsâdelicate, handcrafted items from the finest artisans in the Dawn Court, things that would have brought a smile to her face just months ago. Each time, he watched from a distance as she took them from her doorstep, only to leave them discarded by the door, untouched and unacknowledged.
Rhysand poured his heart into letters, filled with apologies and promises, penned with the kind of vulnerability he had rarely shown anyone before. He would slip them under her door, hoping that maybe one would catch her attention. But each time he checked, the letters remained sealed, never to be opened, reminders of his failure piling up like stones in his chest.
He would linger in the shadows, just outside her home, drawn by the pull of her presence. He watched her move about her dayâworking on her crafts, laughing with neighbors, sharing stories. His heart ached at how vibrant she seemed, yet he felt like a ghost haunting the edges of her life. Each smile she shared with others was a dagger, a reminder of what he had lost.
In moments of bravery, he approached the marketplace, hoping for a chance encounter. He would linger near the stalls, pretending to browse as she passed by, but she never looked his way. It was as if he were invisible, a figment of her past she refused to acknowledge.
He even tried to connect with the villagers, asking about her and expressing his desire to help her, but they were loyal to her. They would only nod politely, never divulging her whereabouts or responding to his inquiries. They could sense the pain behind his facade, and their protectiveness toward Y/n was fierce.
Days turned into weeks, and Rhysandâs resolve only strengthened. He would find small ways to make his presence known. Sometimes, he would send the occasional flower with a note saying, âI miss you.â Other times, he enlisted Azrael to check in on her, to gauge how she was doing. Each report from his friend was a bittersweet reminder of how far he had fallen from her good graces.
Yet despite all his efforts, Y/n remained steadfastly indifferent. She had rebuilt her life without him, and the fortress she had built around her heart was impenetrable. No amount of gifts or letters could pierce it.
As the seasons changed, Rhysand continued his quiet vigil, each day filled with longing and regret, praying that one day, she would see him not as a shadow of her past but as a man who desperately wanted to be part of her future.
Y/n was kneeling in her garden, the vibrant flowers blooming around her, but her heart felt anything but bright. She was lost in thought, trying to focus on her plants when she suddenly sensed a presence behind her. Her instincts kicked in, and she turned quickly, catching sight of a tall figure with dark wings.
âWho are you?â she demanded, standing defensively, her heart racing.
âY/n,â he replied, his voice calm yet intense. âMy name is Azriel, Iâm a friend of Rhysandâs. Iâve been⌠watching over you.â
âWatching over me?â she echoed, confusion and anger flaring up inside her. âWhy? What do you want?â
âI wanted to talk to you,â Azriel said, stepping forward slightly but keeping his distance, as if respecting her space. âAbout Rhysand. Heâs been⌠suffering since you left.â
Y/n crossed her arms, her expression hardening. âI donât want to talk about him. He made his choice.â
âHe didnât know what he was doing, Y/n,â Azriel pressed, his tone earnest. âHeâs been lost without you. The gifts he sent, the lettersâthose were all from a place of regret. He didnât realize how much you meant to him until it was too late.â
âRegret?â she scoffed, shaking her head. âItâs easy to feel regret when youâve moved on with someone else, isnât it? I was nothing more than a passing thought to him while he chased after Feyre.â
Azriel frowned, sensing the pain in her words. âI canât deny that Rhysand made mistakes, but he has changed. Heâs been searching for you for a year. Heâs beenââ
âSearching?â she interrupted, her voice rising. âHow much of a fool do you think I am to believe that? I donât want to be another one of his burdens or a way to soothe his guilt.â
Azriel took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. âI understand your anger, but you deserve to know the truth. You deserve to hear him out.â
Y/nâs heart raced with conflicting emotions. She was furious with Rhysand, yet there was a flicker of curiosity buried deep inside her. âAnd what makes you think I want to hear anything from him? What if heâs just going to hurt me again?â
Azriel stepped closer, lowering his voice. âBecause you deserve closure. You deserve to understand why he acted the way he did. If you donât give him a chance, you might carry this pain forever. You may think youâve moved on, but deep down, youâre still holding onto that hurt.â
Y/nâs expression softened slightly, but she quickly masked it with defiance. âItâs easier to keep it all buried, Azriel. I donât need him in my life. Iâve built something here, a life Iâm proud of.â
âI see that,â he said, nodding. âBut are you truly happy? Or is there still a part of you that wonders what could have been?â
She hesitated, the truth clawing at her heart. âMaybe I could talk to him again,â she admitted reluctantly, the words spilling out before she could stop herself. âBut it doesnât mean I want to forgive him. It doesnât mean Iâm ready to open that door again.â
âJust consider it,â Azriel urged gently. âYou donât have to decide everything right now. But Rhysand is here, waiting for you. He wonât stop until he gets the chance to explain himself. And when youâre ready, you can choose how to respond.â
Y/n turned back to her flowers, avoiding Azrielâs gaze, trying to gather her thoughts. âAnd what if I donât want to respond? What if I just want to forget?â
âThen youâll have that choice too,â Azriel said, his tone calm and understanding. âBut know that you canât run from your feelings forever. If you want to heal, you have to face them.â
After a long silence, Y/n sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. âIâll think about it,â she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
As Azriel nodded, she could feel the weight of his presence, a reminder that her past was still very much alive, no matter how hard she tried to bury it. She knew that eventually, she would have to confront the truth about Rhysandâand about herself.
The sky was painted in soft shades of dusk, the sun casting its final golden rays over the pristine lake. The place Rhysand had chosen was breathtakingâa secluded spot nestled between the hills, where the water sparkled like diamonds under the fading light. Wildflowers swayed gently in the breeze, their vibrant colors contrasting with the deep green of the surrounding trees. It was peaceful, a place that felt almost sacred in its stillness.
Y/n approached the shore, her footsteps slow and hesitant. She had agreed to meet him, but every step felt heavier than the last, like she was walking toward something she wasnât ready to face. Her heart thudded in her chest, her mind filled with doubts, fears, and anger she hadnât yet let go of.
And then she saw him.
Rhysand stood by the edge of the lake, his back to her, his wings tucked tightly against him. The sight of him stirred something deep within herâa pang of old pain, old longing, and something new, something she couldnât yet name. He seemed so out of place here, in this tranquil setting, with the weight of his own emotions heavy on his shoulders.
He turned as she neared, his violet eyes locking onto hers, a myriad of emotions swirling in their depthsâregret, hope, desperation. He took a step toward her, but stopped himself, as if afraid that one wrong move might send her running.
âY/n,â he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. âThank you for coming.â
She didnât respond immediately, crossing her arms over her chest, her posture guarded. âYou wanted to talk. So, talk.â
He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the ground for a moment before he looked back at her. âI donât even know where to begin. I⌠I made so many mistakes.â
âYou can say that again,â she muttered, her voice colder than she had intended.
He nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly. âI didnât realize⌠how much I hurt you. I didnât realize how blind I had been to everything you were going through.â
âI was right there, Rhys,â she said, her voice rising with frustration. âRight in front of you, and you didnât see me. Not once. Not until it was too late.â
âI know,â he whispered, his voice breaking. âI know, and I hate myself for it. I was so consumed by everything happening with Amarantha, with Feyre⌠I thought I was doing what was best, that I was protecting you by keeping you at a distance.â
Y/n scoffed, shaking her head. âProtecting me? By ignoring me? By treating me like I didnât exist?â
Rhysand flinched at her words, guilt flooding his features. âI thought⌠I thought that if I distanced myself, if I kept you away, you wouldnât be hurt. That youâd be safer if you werenât involved in everything that was happening. But I see now that I was wrong. So, so wrong.â
She bit her lip, the anger still simmering just beneath the surface, but there was something else there tooâa crack in her armor, however small. âWhy didnât you just tell me? Why didnât you talk to me?â
He ran a hand through his hair, his expression pained. âI was a coward. I didnât know how to face you, how to admit that I had failed you. And by the time I realized⌠it felt like I had already lost you.â
âYou had,â she whispered, her voice trembling. âYou did.â
Rhysand stepped closer, his eyes pleading. âBut I donât want to lose you forever, Y/n. I canât. I came here to beg for your forgiveness, to do whatever it takes to make things right. I know I donât deserve it. I know Iâve done nothing but hurt you, but Iâm askingâno, Iâm begging you to give me a chance to prove that Iâve changed.â
Y/nâs breath hitched, her heart torn between the lingering hurt and the raw sincerity in his voice. âAnd what if I canât forgive you? What if itâs too late for that?â
He stared at her for a long moment, his expression solemn. âThen Iâll accept that. Iâll accept whatever decision you make. But please, just give me the chance to try. Let me show you that Iâm not the same man who pushed you away. Let me prove that I can be the person you deserve.â
Y/nâs eyes filled with unshed tears, her emotions threatening to spill over. âYou hurt me, Rhys. You made me feel like I was nothing.â
âI know,â he whispered, his voice cracking. âAnd I will regret that for the rest of my life. But you are not nothing. You never were. You are everything.â
She turned away, her hands trembling as she tried to hold herself together. âThis⌠this is all too much. I donât know if I can trust you again.â
Rhysand closed the distance between them, his voice soft but urgent. âI wonât rush you. I wonât push you. But if thereâs even a part of you that thinks we could find a way forward, Iâll wait. Iâll wait as long as it takes.â
She wiped at her eyes, refusing to let the tears fall. âAnd what about the mate bond? You didnât even acknowledge it, didnât tell meââ
âI didnât know,â he said quickly, his eyes wide with desperation. âI didnât know until you were gone, until it was too late. I felt it after you left, like a piece of my soul was ripped away.â
Y/n stared at him, her heart pounding. âI knew,â she admitted quietly. âIâve known for a while.â
His eyes widened, shock and confusion written on his face. âYou knew? Why didnât you tell me?â
âBecause I didnât think youâd care,â she said, her voice wavering. âBecause you were so focused on Feyre, on everything else. I didnât want to be another burden for you to carry.â
Rhysand shook his head, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. âYou were never a burden, Y/n. Never. I was just too blind to see what was right in front of me. And I hate myself for that.â
Y/n turned back to him, her gaze softening ever so slightly. âIâm not ready to accept the bond yet, Rhys. Iâm not ready to just⌠let everything go.â
He nodded, his expression pained but understanding. âI understand. Iâll wait. Iâll wait for as long as it takes, and Iâll do whatever it takes to earn your trust back.â
She swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. âMaybe⌠maybe if we spent more time together, if you showed me that youâve really changed⌠maybe then I could consider it.â
Rhysandâs eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope, and he nodded eagerly. âAnything. Iâll do anything you ask.â
Y/n sighed, the heaviness in her chest lifting just slightly. âThis doesnât mean Iâve forgiven you, Rhys. Iâm not there yet. But⌠Iâm willing to see if you can prove yourself.â
He stepped closer, his voice low and filled with determination. âI will. I swear I will.â
She nodded slowly, a small, tentative step toward the possibility of healing. âWeâll see.â
As Y/n spoke those final words, a calm silence settled between them. The tension that had been weighing the air down began to ease, and the light from the setting sun cast a warm glow over the lake, reflecting in soft ripples on the water. Rhysand, still standing close but not too close, let out a breath he hadnât realized he was holding, his shoulders finally relaxing.
He gave her a tentative smile, one that was full of relief and gratitude. âThank you⌠for giving me this chance,â he murmured softly. âIt means more than you know.â
Y/n glanced at him, her expression unreadable for a moment before a small smile ghosted her lips. âDonât thank me yet. Youâve got a lot of proving to do, Rhys.â
His eyes sparkled with a mixture of affection and determination, and for the first time in a long time, a bit of the old, charming Rhys peeked through. âI plan to, darling. Youâll see.â
She rolled her eyes, but there was no malice behind it, just a faint glimmer of amusement. âDonât get cocky. This isnât a victory.â
âNot yet,â he agreed, a teasing lilt in his voice. âBut itâs a start.â
They both stood there for a while longer, just watching the lake, the breeze gentle against their skin. Y/n didnât pull away when Rhysand took a small step closer, their arms nearly brushing. The proximity felt different nowâless suffocating, more⌠reassuring. As if, for the first time in ages, she wasnât standing completely alone.
Rhysand didnât make any bold moves; he didnât reach out to touch her, respecting the distance she still held. But there was a warmth in the silence, an unspoken understanding that they were no longer quite as far apart as before.
Finally, after a few moments of peaceful quiet, Y/n turned to leave, the conversation having drained her emotionally. She needed timeâtime to process everything heâd said, everything sheâd felt.
As she walked past him, Rhysand called after her gently, âCan I at least walk you back?â
Y/n paused, glancing over her shoulder. For a heartbeat, she considered saying no, but then, with a soft sigh, she nodded. âAlright. But just this once.â
Rhysand smiledâgenuinely, this timeâand caught up to her, falling into step beside her as they began to walk down the path back toward the city. They didnât speak much, the silence between them comfortable now, and Y/n found herself not minding his presence the way she once had.
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As We Are, We Will Be
Summary: A nonsensical question is proposed in one singular moment between a stoic and stoic face in one singular universe.
Word Count: 9k (It was supposed to be short and sweet-)
Tags: Alhaitham X Fem! Reader, Smut, NSFW, Fluff, a lot of fluff, slight angst, soulmate au, slow fic, established relationship, married life, Soft! Alhaitham, attempts at comedy, mentions of aging, slightly jealous! Alhaitham, mutual pinning, soft sex, vanilla, safe sex (wrap it up), riding (cowgirl), fingering, slow sex, making love, really bad expatiations of scientific theories and math, just two nerds in love.
Authors Note: Happy belated birthday and Valentine's Day to my favorite dendro nerd. A continuation of this piece, one I hold dear. A thought experiment based on nothing more than the feverish delirium of love.
It was just for a moment.Â
A mere pasting instance in the contentious momentum of time when a glimmer caught your eyes in the muddled chatter of a crowd, a silver shimmer like starlight.
Interrupting your contemplation as your eyes impulsively search for the source.
A late morning on a Saturday, the markets and stalls were lively with families replenishing a week's worth of groceries. Bodies veering and easing through the bustle of the busty streets.
The wide breadth of life that moved all around you. Like a collection of small dots within the vastness of a universe.Â
But amid the vast collection of blurry faces were the flicker of silvery locks refracting the late morning light. Originating from a pair, an elderly lady and an elderly man, their aged hands intertwined.Â
Time had made her marks upon them, and gravity had pulled down on their wrinkled faces. Yet, the ends of their lips were pointed toward the sky. The corners of their eyes wrinkled as their gazes held each other's faces.Â
From their view, do they not see the starlight hue of their hair? Instead, do they still see the vibrancy and youth of their locks which age had stolen from them?Â
The image of each other reflected in their irises, was it from a time before the hands of gravity pulled on their creased skin and bowed bones? Would you ever be able to find out?Â
âI wasnât aware you had a hobby of people-watching.â A baritone voice ghosts over your ear.Â
Jolting your head to your right, you come face to face with the interruption. Or perhaps, your mind finally registered Alhaithamâs presence just off to the side of you. His arms were weighted down with various bags.Â
Oh, thatâs right, the markets and stalls were lively on the weekend with families restocking groceries for the upcoming week. You and Alhaitham were no different.Â
Glancing up at his ashen trestles and then scanning back at the starlight locks of the elderly couple, and then back to your husband.Â
âHmm, not quite. Just noting the fact your hair is the same color as an old manâs, Haitham.â You catch the subtle twitch of his brow.Â
âIs that so? I hope you are aware youâre not immune to the inevitably of aging, wife,â Alhaitham returns your jest.Â
âWell, with your hair color and grumpiness, Iâd say youâre already halfway there.âÂ
âI neednât expound on your equivalent levels of grumpiness, it wonât be long before your locks share the same ashen hue.âÂ
âI guess thatâs why we get along then, dear husband.âÂ
âThatâs one theory,â he huffs, a simple tone lacking any bite.
You pan your face back toward the crowd, partly because itâs getting harder to hold the neutral position of your lips, partly because your curiosity aches for an untold conclusion.Â
However, when your gaze returned to the ever-bustling sea of people, the pair of starlight hues were nowhere to be found. It was regrettable, but expected, the elderly couple were nothing more than a pair of strangers in a crowd full of unfamiliar faces.
They were just a brief scene that disappeared into the moving tides of people.Â
Leaving you with your unresolved musings.Â
âIs there anything else we need for the week?âÂ
Alhaithamâs voice reels your consciousness back, swiftly you check the crinkled slip of parchment within your hand. Scanning down the list of written items, all with a neat little line crossed through their immaculately penned letters.Â
âIt looks like we got everything we need.â You tuck the list into your pocket.Â
âThen itâs best we get home before our groceries are spoiled by the heat.â Alhaitham readjusts the bags in his hands.Â
A hum takes its place as your response. Pivoting your body in the direction of your shared home. From the corner of your field of view, his strides were paced to coincide with your shorter steps.Â
Studying the numerous bags occupying his hands, you canât help but think itâs quite convenient to have someone as robust as your husband. Maybe it's these weekly grocery runs that are the secret behind his physique.Â
Discreetly, your hand slowly slips between the gap of his arm and body, linking your elbows together. So that your frame and his could withstand the push and pull of the crowdâs contentious momentum.Â
The neutrality of your lips had long slipped away, softened by the familiarity of his warmth. Even as your eyes were pointed on the path ahead, you had an inkling that a similar occurrence was mirrored on his lips as well.Â
An inquiry your curiosity didnât need to peek to resolve.Â
Â
That ache for an untold conclusion morphed into a new musing by the afternoon.Â
The silver shimmer from that elderly coupleâs hair truly was like starlight. Perhaps thatâs the correlation that steered your thoughts down this winding path of pondering.Â
Everyone, from those taking their first stumbling steps of youth to the slowed cane-assisted tramps in their golden years, is technically billions of years old. Or more accurately, the atoms and minerals in everyone are billions of years old.Â
The carbon in muscles, the calcium in bones, and the iron in blood were all forged in the hearts of bygone stars. When those bright beacons burned out they exploded in one last finale, expelling those materials across interstellar space. Stardust that found its way here.Â
Here within you, and here within the slow breaths of the man in front of you.Â
After being around for billions of years, does stardust ever get exhausted?Â
That would be a sensible explanation for why Alhaitham had snuck away amidst hanging up freshly washed laundry.Â
His tall frame stretched the expanse of the couch as his starlight lashes were shut, shamelessly relishing in a nap under the streams of sunlight trickled in from the window.Â
Squatting down you observe the guiltless expression plastered over his resting face, still deep in the trenches of sleep, a small huff passes through your lips. Well, this morning you did have him carry all the groceries from the market back home.
Your husband does deserve this little nap.
Trailing your eyes down his neck you note the lack of a pillow, then as your gaze travels further you note the absence of a blanket as well. Internally, your mind tsks at this forgetful habit of his.Â
Although his body and yours still have youth coursing through your veins, it doesnât mean theyâll remain as impervious as they are now later down the line, especially if preventative measures arenât taken.
Like having a pillow to support oneâs neck, or a blanket to prevent chills from plaguing the body.Â
Standing back to full height, you retrieved the missing artifacts, returning with a plush pillow and light comforter. Â
Even when his head was momentarily lifted to make space for the pillow, and when the spare comforter was draped over him, Alhaitham didnât stir one bit. At times you canât determine if heâs a light sleeper or if his stubbornness refuses to leave the plain of dreams.Â
Itâs a true wonder of life how Alhaithamâs able to sleep so soundly at night given his extensive naps.Â
The vivid sunlight illuminated patterns upon his cheeks and trestles, causing the ashen strands to dazzle in their refraction of the afternoon light. A sight your eyes just couldnât help but be enraptured by.Â
Maybe you could blame the warmth of the sunlight, or maybe the serenity of this quiet Saturday afternoon, or perhaps even these fickle inquiries about his naps for the yawn that left your lips. Now might be the prime time for some research.Â
Lifting up the comforter just enough for an opportunity to slip through, your body settles in the space right against his. Itâs crowded on the couch, the cushions unprepared for two bodies to occupy its entirety, the open edge looming against your back.
Even after all the shuffling and pressing against his dozing frame, your husband didnât budge a bit.Â
Leaden lashes still shut and lips set in that all too familiar line, chest rhythmically rising and falling in time with yours. The very image of unperturbedness under the blessing of sleep.Â
âYou really are like an old man.âÂ
At that mere jab, the corners of his lips tugged down while his eyes remained closed. A quick slip that confirmed your earlier suspicions.Â
âWho knew you were so talented in acting, Haitham,â you snicker.Â
A muscular arm soon enveloped your form, further pressing you against his chest as if to silence any more sardonic quips from entering his ears.Â
It was quite the challenge to stifle those giggles before they could erupt from your lips. Peeking up, thereâs an ever-so-subtle lift at the corners of his mouth. An express which yours mirrored.Â
Studying the details of the lips just a breath away, a new musing worms its way into your thoughts:
 When the hands of gravity and time start to pull down on his skin and yours the same, leaving wrinkles and creases in their wake, will the edges of his lips still curl like this?Â
Would yours mirror the same?Â
A second yawn sneaks past your lips as your lashes grow heavier with each fluttering blink. Claiming a corner of the pillow to lay your head upon, the seconds between each subsequent blink grew longer and longer until your lids were too heavy to lift.Â
Perhaps the stardust in your bones was exhausted, craving a short rest in his warmth.Â
--------------------------------
Thereâs something against your back and your legs are tangled in something, sensations which gradually alert your dozing sense back from the fog of slumber.
At first, you only had the strength to peek open one lid, then promptly shut it. But in the nothingness behind your eyelids, something was halting your limps from stretching the weariness out from themselves.Â
You tried again, this time fluttering both sets of lashes apart ever so slightly. Thereâs a dry film coating your throat and mouth, feeling the impressions of the couch cushions and bundled comforter imprinted into your skin. Â
What time was it?
Blinking away the haze of sleep just enough to notice how the golden rays of a star were missing. A gray overlay was plastered over the living room despite the ticking clock hands displaying that it was late afternoon.
Peering back through the window behind, observing the congregating insipid clouds blocking out the azure sky.Â
A sure sign of rain despite the morning forecast. Rain⌠wasnât there something left unfinished on the clotheslines outside? The groggy recollection of responsibilities creeps into the forefront of your mind.Â
The reign of your weary limbs slowly returns, and your legs languidly attempt to stretch out from the reveal they were caught in. However, their movements only caused a pair of longer limbs to ensnarl them further.
Alhaithamâs legs promptly caught yours, stifling any prospect of escape.Â
Your displeased whine was responded with a disgruntled groan by the man keeping your body locked against his.Â
Wasnât your back looming just about the edge of the couch when you fell asleep? So why are you in this position now?
Your body wedged between the plush backing of the couch and his solid frame, the comforter swaddling you also didnât aid in your immobility. Brawny arm draped over your waist, halting your feeble squirms at freedom.Â
âThe laundry,â you mumble.
âLater.â A blunt interjection from a groggy voice.Â
âItâs going to rain.âÂ
âLess than a 30% chance.âÂ
âHaithamâŚâÂ
Your husband simply burrows his head deeper into the leveled pillow, likely an attempt to leverage the cushy material to block out your grievances. His ashen lashes still stubbornly shut, much to your displeasure.
âAlhaitham.â
No fluctuations in your volume nor tone, but it was enough for one teal eye to peek out from under ashen lashes. Trailing up to a subtle frown to the furrow between your brow, then finally meeting your unamused stare.
âLaundry,â you try again.Â
A silent stare down, one stone face gazing upon an equally stoic face, like an immovable object pressed against an equally immovable object.
Which one will defend their title of most stubborn today?Â
His chest expands with a deep breath, grasp enclosing around your waist before his teal gaze shamelessly vanishes behind closed lashes. Robust frame pinning you further to the back of the couch as he continues to ignore your huffy floundering.Â
âRelease me, donât you dare-âÂ
Your grievance was soon muffled by a gentle hand pressing your cheek into his palatial chest. A move that stupefies the irksomeness bubbling within until it falls defeated into placidness.Â
âWhether it be now or later, theyâll be clean regardless, itâs quite comfortable right here.â The resonance of his voice vibrates in his chest.Â
You respond with a humbled grunt. In terms of strength youâd always lose to your feeble husband, wouldnât you?Â
Thereâs no point in peering up, for the pleased satisfaction of his resting face would bring a sour taste to your tongue. Thus, you merely adjust your limbs, coiling your arms around to his back and pulling his form closer.
Itâs crowded on the couch, itâll be troublesome if Alhaitham were to slip off the edge if his back were to stray any further.Â
At this distance, entangled so closely together, the soft beats of his heart in time with yours like a rhythmic lullaby beckons the heavy to return to your eyelids.
The gentle drumming of his heartbeat coaxes out a final sigh from you, lashes descending down as your vision dims back into the realm of slumber.Â
Slow breaths and heartbeats homogenize into a tender duet, tranquil enough to distract from the sporadic pattering against the glass and gradually increase in consistency.Â
A less than 30% chance of rain doesnât mean that thereâs a greater than 70% chance of no rain. Itâs merely a statistical probability of 0.01 units of more precipitation at a given area in the given forecast area in the time period specified.Â
Known as the precipitation probability, calculated based on two factors:Â
The forecaster's certainty that precipitation will form or move into the area X The areal coverage of precipitation that is expected, then multiplied by 100.Â
Thus, if the forecaster were 90% certain that 30% of the forecast area would receive rain, then the forecast displayed on screens would read as a 27% chance of rain.
A crucial bit of information that seemed to have slipped his mind midst a quiet afternoon.Â
A troublesome miscalculation Alhaitham tsks at internally as he wrings out the pillowcase into a sink before tossing it back into the washing machine. Button-down shirts and blouses, wrinkled from the process of twisting out as much rainwater as possible, sat in damp piles awaiting their turn to be rewashed.Â
As he measures out the detergent he can hear the rattles and clanks of the pot and pans from the kitchen. A late dinner in preparation, a task which was supposed to be his this week.
When he woke up to the pattering of rain drumming against the window panes, the afternoon long gone, it stirred an ever-so-sinking pit of dread. Second only to the unamused stare of his wife as she replicated an overconfident statement:
âLess than a 30% chance, Alhaitham?â
How unfortunate it all was, that the area where this quaint house resides was part of that 30% of the forecasted area.
Teal eyes watch the bedsheets whirl and fumble as they spin in the wash, contemplating the circumstance and further action.Â
There is only one spare bedding set in the closet, so itâd be wise to allow you to have it for tonight as all the sheets and covers get rewashed and dried.
Your bed is about the same size as his, so two bodies wouldnât have an issue fitting. At this rate, the two of you just slept in whichever bed was the most convenient.Â
However, given the current state of things, Alhaitham wonders if he should prepare himself to brave tonight on his bare mattress with a flimsy spare blanket and pillow.
He might as well return to the couch for tonight if that was the case.Â
The accumulation of all the years of science, mathematics, and research, Alhaitham wonders if there was ever a bright mind who came up with a formula to calculate how displeased oneâs wife is.
What would be the factors plugged into the equation? And how accurate would it be?Â
More specifics needed to be gathered, something the man couldnât do in the refugee of the laundry room. Thus, Alhaitham must brave a journey into the kitchen. His slipper-clad footsteps are slow and methodical as the kitchen appears from around the corner of the hallway.
Sights honed in on your back as you stood by the stove, a rich aroma wafting through the air.Â
Sleep still dusted your hair, evident in the few unruly strands sticking up erratically on your head, you made no attempt at fixing it. One hand is too occupied with stirring the pot on the stove, and the other set upon your hip.
Your stance wasnât exactly tipping the scales in his favor.Â
Cautiously, Alhaitham made his way to you. Stopping just a few paces as your eyes peer over your shoulder, stoic gaze halting him in place just a few paces away. The faded imprint of the crumpled blankets and couch cushions on your cheek.
His hand twitches with the urge to run his thumb along the impressions, but rationally warns him of the consequences.Â
âThe laundry?â No discernable tone in your voice.Â
âEverything has been collected and wrung out, Iâll rewash everything tomorrow.â Itâs best to answer your questions this time.Â
âHmm, they were out in the rain for quite a while now. They were dripping out onto the floor when you brought them in.âÂ
âIâve mopped away any rain and mud tracked between the back door and laundry room.â Teal eyes quickly checked the aforementioned area to ensure they were pristine before returning to you.Â
âHmm.â You turn back towards the stove.Â
The soft ticks of the clock accompany the waning drums of raindrops against the glass, the kitchen hood whirring as a ladle continues to stir in a pot. A quiet lull engulfed the home. Treading on the side of caution, Alhaitham inhales deeply.Â
Without opening the box, one will never be able to confirm to fate of SchrĂśdinger's cat.Â
âWhatâs for dinner?âÂ
âHmm? Well, itâs raining tonight, what better to eat on a rainy night than some Sabz Meat Stew, no?âÂ
Heâs careful to not sigh too audibly, lest he goes to bed with a stomach half-full of instant noodles and that miffed stare of yours.
Alhaitham decides to hold his tongue as teal eyes continue to watch you add more spices to the pot. Studying how nicely the apron is tied around your waist.Â
But it wouldnât be wise of him to stand so close when the fabric of his shirt was still damp with rainwater transferred to him by the soaked laundry and sky.Â
His chain of thought was interrupted by the chimes of your phone on the countertop, catching your eyes as well as his to peek at the over. A certain name is displayed across the screen. Itâs as if the hands of fate wanted to throw more salt into his face.Â
Bahram (Manager)
Itâs a Saturday night, for what reason would an employer need to contact an employee so late?
Alhaithamâs focus shifts to your gaze which is still honed in on the screen. A bitter tinge crawls up the tip of his tongue, threatening to spoil his appetite. Perhaps, he wouldnât mind settling down in his bare bed with just a spare comforter without dinner tonight.
âCan you reject the call for me? He can wait until Monday to get me to resolve whatever he messed up,â you scoff before rolling your eyes back to the stove.Â
Swiftly he swipes to decline the call, let your voicemail remind Bahram of the concept of âoff timeâ. The phone whirs again right after the first rejection, but he simply swipes decline again.
Pushing the device away with a bit too much satisfaction in his veins.Â
Glancing back at your frame, he lets out a sigh as he relents. Resting his head into the crook of your neck, careful to leave a bit of distance between your bodies and to not hamper your shoulderâs movement.Â
âHm?â You hum expectantly.Â
âIt was my oversight tonight.â A string of words a bit unfamiliar on his tongue, but stubbornness hasnât been in his favor tonight.Â
âAnd?â
âIâll be more cautious regarding naps.âÂ
âHmph.âÂ
The lull returns, him resting his head on your shoulder and you continuing to watch over the stew. Teal eyes on you and your eyes on the stove. Until your shoulders raise with a deep inhale.Â
âGo get changed out of that wet shirt then set the table, this bastardized version of âsoupâ will be ready in 20 minutes.â You reach for a skillet just off to the side.Â
He hums this time, the liberation from treading in suffocating lull tugs at the end of his lips. He surmises that laying his head against you for a few moments more wonât be so consequential.Â
The patter of raindrops still splattered against the glass panes of the window, drops which warped and blurred the scenery beyond the glass. Not that thereâs any scenery to look at, not with the dreary clouds crowding the sky.Â
A heavy sigh huffs through your nose, curling onto your side as you adjust your pillow.Â
A filling dinner, a warm shower, and soft comforters. Factors that should contribute to a restful nightâs sleep, or at the very least make your eyelids weary with the weight of lethargy.
Yes, perhaps those components shouldâve granted you entry into the reprieve of a dream.Â
If it wasnât for the fact youâve intruded into the domain of slumber twice already today.Â
And the tempter who lured you to do so currently has his arm wrapped around your waist.Â
Alhaithamâs chest rises and falls against your back, soundly asleep without an ounce of guilt over the predicament heâs partly responsible for.Â
Lifting your head off the flattened pillow, your body twists around to fluff the stale stuffing back up before settling back to your position.
His body rested against yours just as it would any other night. But thereâs a weight at the corners of your lips, one only grew heavier as your ears witnessed each content exhale resounding from the man who seemingly stole your sleep.Â
If you were crueler, you wouldâve exiled Alhaitham to the couch or his barren mattress.Â
However, heâd probably sleep just fine regardless.Â
Canting your head up, you flip your pillow to the other side once more.Â
Your rolls and rhythm were abruptly interrupted by the clasp of two harsh hands pulling your hips into his, the contours of his rigor now digging into the plush of your ass. Forcing a stunned gasp up your throat.
âIt seems like my wife has quite a bit of energy.â His timbre deeper from grogginess.Â
Ah, all the twisting and turning you did just to adjust the troublesome pillow must've disturbed him.Â
The softness of your ass cradled against his pelvis through the thin material of a button-down, an item borrowed from his closet that youâve designated as sleepwear, and his sweatpants.Â
âServes him right.âÂ
Your attempts to twist out from his iron-clad hold only ground your ass more against the stiffness, earning a grumble from his lips.Â
âOh? And whoâs fault is it?â You retort, still protesting in his hold.Â
Snaking one hand downwards Alhaitham presses against your lower stomach to arch your ass further into him. Leaning his face closer to yours.Â
âDo you want me to take responsibility?â His whisper ghosts over the shell of your ear.
You could feel the pads of his fingertips tracing under the loose button-down.
âShouldnât you resolve the issues youâve caused?â A huff leaves you.
The outline of his shape pressed along your skin, the plushness of your bottom contrasting against the rigidity.Â
âI can say the same to you.âÂ
The pads of his fingers trail up your heated skin, crawling along your torso, feathering touches alighting your senses like sparks. Massaging the tired yet restless muscles. You sigh in contentment.
The billowing button-down dragged up by his vascular hand, unveiling your skin to the cool sheets. Wandering touches slow as they rest in the valley of your breasts. His fingers enclose around one mount, gently twisting the defenseless nipple.
âH-hey! Hmph-â Barely catching a moan before it fled past sealed lips.Â
âHm?â His lips are now right next to your ears. âSurely you foresaw this, Iâm just helping my wife with all her excess energy.â
His forgotten hand made its presence known as it kneaded your hips, cunning touches breaching under the feeble defenses of your panties. Effortlessly brushing them to the side, long fingers encroaching closer to their destination.Â
Your thighs react, squeezing together to prevent him from venturing further. Unfortunately, it was all in vain, for his fingertips already dipped into an all too familiar sap.
âSee, you seem quite eager,â he taunts.
Stubbornly, your body attempts to buckle away from his influence. Face firmly pointed away from his lest he peeks at your heated cheeks.Â
Alhaitham abandons the perch on your breast, two large hands attempting to tame the bucks and rolls of your hips. He releases a slow sigh into the crook of your neck.Â
âAre you not feeling it tonight?â His hands remain where they were, but the strength missing.
At the lack of resistance, your hips seem to have lost interest in their writhing, staying within his yielding hold. Internally, you chiding your body for being so straightforward. The only thing blocking an answer from exiting your throat was that fickle ego of yours.Â
âWonât you allow me to make up for my blunders today, wife?â He soothes his hand along your leg.
With that stubborn ego of yours still biting down on your tongue, you simply nod your head. Feeling the heat of your cheeks reflected to you by the pillow.Â
Permitting your thighs to give into the tow of his grasp. Allowing the grip of one large hand to pull your bent leg open, exposing your vulnerable cunt. Shielded from the view of the raindrops by a mere blanket.Â
The hand snaked under your waist took swift advantage of the oppurtunity. Sliding one firm finger down to part the fold of your slit as his warm hand cups your greed.Â
Alhaitham continued with the caresses of his fingers. Your lashes and lips pressed tightly shut, your leg still held in his tender hold. His slow breaths brush ghosting your skin.Â
He spreads the slick along your slit, the tips of his fingers ever so often knocking against the bud at the very top. Teal eyes catch the sudden jolts of your body every time it happens.Â
He moves his fingers downwards, slowly parting the now soft folds of your core. Feeling the subtle puckers of your entrance as his touch traced closer, more wetness dribbling out from the honeypot.Â
The tip of his finger now encircles the fluttering hole. Your hip subtly bucked into his hand, as if to lure him in a soundless plea.Â
Breaths getting deeper as your eyes follow his touch, the warm pad of his index finger twirling against your clit. Stoking a burgeoning fire with each slow circle. Your placid sighs fill the lull.Â
His middle finger ventures past the entrance of your satin walls welcomed with a lewd squelch. Curling his finger against slick walls to test the give, he wonders if this hidden oasis is etched into his shape yet.
Diligently, his digit continues to sink in and out of your weeping hole, making your teeth sink into the flesh of your bottom lip. The squelches increased in volume as trickles of nectar began pooling on the sheets. Walls clamping around a lonely finger, it wasnât enough to quell that mounting heat within.Â
A second deft finger joined in, sliding past a hungry entrance. A tangled dance amongst gummy walls as they curled and stretched the space. The lewd squelches resounding in your ear, a whimper trapped in your throat. The heel of his warm palm now pressed flat against the soft mound of your cunt, every movement of his hand resulting in a grind against your clit.Â
Each grind causes a hot flash to shock throughout your body, starting from your curled toes to the very top of your head. The jostling of your hips and legs gradually expels the blanket off the bed.Â
âMmph!â A whine from a sudden surge of bliss when his thick fingers curled against a spongy patch deep within.Â
âT-there! More there!â
Your body writhes, no longer docile under the white searing pleasure frying the ends of every nerve within your being.Â
He gladly obliges. Unrelenting rhythm slipping in and out of your convulsing walls. Ensuring to grind against that spongey patch.
 Your body twitches and flails in reaction. Trying to find some way to handle this surcharge of sensations.Â
Legs instinctively wanting to shut together as if to cease this turbulent sensation, unfortunately, your pitiful strength gave no resistance against his rigid hold.
Piqued by the sweet tune, Alhaitham watches the scrunch in your trembling brows. He repeats his actions, another mewl leaves your lips as your head leans further into his shoulder.
The mellow pace of his fingers suddenly amps up, retreating out only to clap back in as his palm presses into the twitching bud.Â
âAh! Haitham.â
A pressure mounting up, a sirens call beckoning you closer and closer to a hazardous cliffâs edge. The only foundation for your sanity is thousand-count fabric, thus you twist the silk fibers as tremors overtake your body.
Walls clamping down to trap his thick digits inside as it spasms. Muscles tensing and quivering as your back arches away from his chest, parted lips with nothing choking past them.Â
Three thick fingers sink deeper into your pussy without a hint of resistance, as a reward he makes sure to roll your overstimulated clit in firm circles with his palms. Judging from the violent tremors in your legs, it seemed you were almost there.Â
Just at the cusp of rapture when your hand tangles into his ashen-locks, canting your head back so that your panting lips could capture his. Alhaitham returns to gesture with just as much fervor in his kiss, swallowing down your sweet mewls for himself.Â
With a singular gasp, the sirenâs call had beckoned your sanity to drown in the murky depths. Itâs as if you lost control of your body to the possession of pleasure.
Eyes rolled back and lips broke away as breathy moans escaped the prison of your throat, a haze heavy over your thoughts, pride long lost amongst the gale of an orgasm.Â
The beckoning depths of euphoria welcome your descent.Â
Your limp frame rests against him. A light layer of sweat coating your panting chest, blurred vision merging and blending the details of the ceiling above the bed.
Alhaitham coaxes the contractions of your core, riding out the waves of their squeezes and sucks against his fingers. Earning an addictive whimper from you when his digits pulled away. Entranced by the glimmering string of nectar stretching between his fingers and your oasis.Â
Trailing back up to your face, he notes the return of your hazy irises from their ogle of the bedroom ceiling.Â
âBetter?â Teal gaze watching the pants of your chest as they steady.Â
âNo, not at allâ, a statement just at the tip of your tongue, but your lips were busy attempting to grasp deep breaths. The surplus of vigor festering into unquenchable desire. To be closer, deeper, more. You needed more.Â
Where words fail, action must take its place. Even before your mind finishes up the scheme brewing within, your lips catch him off guard, plush lips embracing his in a tender waltz.
Your body rolls back so that your breast can press against his chest through the thin fabric of his stolen shirt.
At the tender caress of your kiss, teal eyes disappear behind ashen lashes, the clasp of his grip loosening. Allowing you the mobility to finally pull your body on top of his, lips never once parting until you were finally settled atop his broad body.
A certain stiffness makes its reintroduction against your roused clit.
Breaking the seal of the kiss as a line of salvia stretches between your tongues, arms pushing against his firm chest to prop your body up as you gaze down at him.
âStill have too much energy?â Haughty eyes peer into yours, yet you can see the ardor oh so thinly concealed behind the brilliant teal.Â
âWhat do you mean? Arenât you the eager one?â You hum, rolling your hips against the rigidness trapped behind the prison of sweatpants.
âHmm.â He sucks in a breath through his teeth.Â
Large hands feel down along the plumpness of your ass as they drag a flimsy bit of fabric down your thighs. Daintier hands pull down the hem of sweatpants and briefs.Â
A fair exchange. Him helping you out of those ruined panties, and you freeing him from a compressed prison of cloth. Discarded and forgotten along the floorboards as the fog of passion obscured them from further consideration.
His vascular hands slide down the curves of your body, settling on your hip as your legs plant themselves on either side of his body. Alhaitham coaxes the hem of his stolen button-down just above your midriff. Sharp eyes surveying the puffiness of your clit, glistening with temptation.Â
Lowering your hips a breathy sigh leaves his lips and yours as the ridges of his cock drag against your slick folds. A few slow rolls starting from his leaking tip sliding down, thick veins skimming against your swollen clit. Precum mixing with arousal in a sinful concoction along his length.Â
Perhaps he should convince you to participate in more naps if he knew itâd make you this excitable.Â
âOh,â you hum aloud, pausing your hips as you reach over to the bedside table.
Pulling open the drawer and rustling about a box followed by the crinkling of foil. Holding up the corner of the packet to your lip, tearing the foil while your gaze held his. Taking your time in dragging the condom out from its package. Easing it down his length while your fingers traced along, feeling each twitch and shudder.Â
âYou sure do know how to test my patience.âÂ
âHmm?â You feign innocence.Â
A pair of shaky breaths mingle as Alhaitham helps position his engorged tip at your dripping entrance. Your hand guides him while raising your hips.
Other hand pressing his chest down for support as your thighs sink back down, a shameful squelch accompanying heavy breaths as your walls welcome his cockâs fat head.
Weeping pussy engulfing his girth in bit by bit until you clit kisses his pelvis. Sending jolts of searing pleasure that caused your satin walls to twitch and tighten.Â
Releasing a breathy sigh as you gather your senses.
Drawing out his cock inch by thick inch, sloppy trails of arousal caught on each ridge before dropping back down. Earning low grunts and sighs each time your satin walls swallowed his girth. The rhythm of your hips is paced and controlled despite how Alhaithamâs fingers dug into your skin.Â
A whine living your drooling lips with each slap of his skin against your clit. Pushing each tantalizing inch to stroke your starved walls until his skin claps against yours with a wet kiss. The bedframe creaks with each calculated movement, back and forth, back and forth the wood sings along.Â
Your head was light, intoxicated by a feverish potion of lust and desire. Feeling him reach the deepest depths, fat tip grinding against those spots which made your legs falter momentarily each time.
Utilizing the strength of both your arms now to support yourself. However, the jolts of pleasure that shot up your spine with each roll of your hips were too maddening to stop.Â
His calloused fingers massage circles into your hips. Squeezing the plush flesh to ground his sanity, watching your lewd face as you shamelessly bounced on him for your pleasure. Observing the subtle ripples with each slap of your hips and the jumps of your perky breast.Â
The ghostly touches of your fingers skim across his lips, prompting his eyes to connect with yours. Lush and glossy lips parted with your deep pants as your lust-hazed eyes peer down at him, unspoken plea inscribed within them. Who is he to not fulfill your desires?
Lurching his upper body up, he answers your plea, capturing your lips with his. Swiping his tongue against your bottom lip, deepening the kiss. A messy and feverish tangle as if to replace the air in your lungs with his.Â
Mewls and whimpers muffled by his skin, your hands moving to perch themselves on his broad shoulders. Your quivering legs grew limp as the strength of his hands took over. Barely processing the sweet nothings whispered as your core relishes in the fullness. Like an ache thatâs been finally satisfied.Â
He wondered if tonightâs excessive vigor was fraying his control, or if your body was just this addictive.Â
By now any notion of decency and integrity has long left you, your hand clawing into his shoulders, marking him with the scars of rapture. A harsh thrust of his hips recoils through you, a wanton moan reverbing off the walls as it forces your tangled lips to part.Â
Tongue unable to produce anything other than strained moans, your head nods into his broad shoulder as your hips ground against his. The wet squelch announces the reciprocation of your walls.Â
The intervals of those unrelenting rams increasing between the tender thrusts, half-lidded eyes trained on the shivers of your body. Cock sliding against satin ridges of your wall. Grunts and pants reverberate through his throat, teeth clenching as your heat engulfs him again. Reaching deeper into your welcoming core as your lips fall open.Â
âIs this not enough?â You could feel the mirth in his whisper.Â
Closer, deeper, more. You want more. Walls aching for more, for his girth to jostle your core more, to extinguish this all-consuming heat within you. Hips floundering in harmony with breathy mewls.Â
Pressing libidinous kisses along his throat feeling the vibrations of his grunts and pants, a deep chuckle was soon felt against your lips.
âGood grief you are a greedy little thing arenât you.âÂ
A deafening slam of skin resounds through the heavy air, swiftly followed by another and another. A new tempo in this waltz of passion takes over like a wave sweeping both of you out to a sea of indulgence.
Possessed by the desperation of chasing a white light, your hand rakes deeper into his toned arms. Seizing anything to prevent your mind from abandoning your sinful body as his girth twitches within your velvety folds.Â
Sanity like a foolish sailor whoâs beckoned by the lure of a sirenâs voice, uncaring of the rocks which will sink them to the very bottom of the bemused tides. Keening against your husband shamelessly, a shameless wife on the cusp of her second fall into ecstasy.Â
The heavy scent of lust, the smothering heat, his unrelenting and unshakable thrusts amalgamating into the spark that lit your nerves alight. Toes arched into the air and eyes reaching the back of your head. Sobs and incoherent babbles resounding through the room.Â
Your devious walls clamped around his dick with maddening convulsions, gummy muscles suckling against his girth eager to quell your aching greed. It was too much.Â
His fingers claw into your soft hips, pressing your cunt flush against his hips with a sloppy slap of skin. The bulbous tip prodding against that weakness deep within you. Bruising grip holding your body in place as his lips crash back into yours.
Swallowing down his breathless groans with your sweet mewls and praddles.
A heat is spilled into the rubber, making your greedy walls quiver amidst the aftershocks of ecstasy. Alhaithamâs hips twitch with each subsequent rip of his orgasm, thrusting his length further into your crowded cavity with each one. The filthiness of it all prolongs your sinful depravity.Â
Chest expanding with pants, your lopsided shirt falling further down your shoulder. Your eyes return from seeing blinding white, exhaustion drenching each fiber of your body.
Limp figure crumbling against your husband as his back lays back on the creaking headboard. Even before your worn mind could conjure a coherent thought, your hands caress his starlight tresses.Â
As his own breath evades him Alhaitham releases one hand to cup your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your smoldering skin, guiding your lips back to his.Â
Basking in the warmth forged between your bodies, between drumming heartbeats and breathless lungs.Â
Two bodies lay under silken sheets, skin freshly wiped clean of sweat as the crisp breeze brushed against the curtains gradually erasing the sinful haze. The cool air aids your rising and falling chest to pace itself.Â
Muscles and bones heavy with fatigue, yet your eyes couldnât bring themselves to retire behind shut lids. Not when those dreary clouds have finally retreated.Â
The moon hangs high in the sky, finally free from the shroud of rain clouds, she sits among the twinkling dots. Twinkling dots were in actuality brilliant stars, some even larger and brighter than the beloved sun.Â
Glimmering lustrously as they traverse through the contentious vacuum of space and past other nameless stars. A scene from a late-morning market trip wanders its way back from the depths of your memory, bringing its musings with it.
âSomething on your mind?â A timbre voice beckons your conscious mind back from its trek.
Teal eyes set upon yours as your heads rest on plush pillows, just a breath away from one another.
âHm, just senseless musings.â Your gaze shifts away from the window.Â
In a changed world with millions of hands will your hands and his find each other to make two pairs of hands?
In a different time with a million pairs of legs, will your steps and his steps still coincide in time with each otherÂ
In a new life with a sea of new faces, will a stoic face and another stoic face spot each other in the crowd?Â
What is the likelihood of those odds?Â
âIf you keep letting your thoughts fester, itâll only bring trouble upon yourself in the morning from sleep deprivation.â He shifts his position, supporting his cheek on his fist as he stares down at your face.Â
You sigh because he spoke exactly what those whispers of rationale were urging you, but the scoffs of pride had deemed these rampant inquiries âchildishâ. However, itâs a bit hard to avoid his eyes now.Â
âI was just musing about the soulmates concept again,â you confess.Â
Alhaitham hums in curiosity.Â
âDo youâŚâ You take a deep breath, forcing the hard-to-vocalize question from your tongue. âDo you think weâll only be together in this life?âÂ
Heâs silent. Just the muted chorus of Summer crickets rejoicing over the conclusion of a rainstorm resounding through the space.
âIn a different time, a different universe, or the next life, do you think weâll be soulmates again?â You muster together the courage to peer up at his face.Â
âI donât recall ever reading an article or paper related to this topic, so itâll be convoluted to get an answer.â He brings his other hand to his face, signifying his musings.Â
Right, there isnât even a definitive answer for what happens after life passes, an afterlife, a cycle, or nothing, no one knows. Was this the only universe where life exists or are there infinitely many far out there in the stars? Does anyone know?
Your hand pulls your blanket up to your face, partially to cover the growing shame creeping up your face. That haughty voice within was right, these baseless questions are silly and childish. Perhaps even too morbid to bring up so unprompted on this weekend night.Â
What were you expecting Alhaitham to even do? Did you want him to give you an answer? What can he even do? A question you canât even begin to understand, why would you even expect him to have some solution prepared?Â
What to do now? Can you just take back your previous words from his memory, so heâll just forget what you said? Maybe just ask him to quell any more mindless musings from plaguing you tonight by placing his lips on your forehead? So that you could finally drift into the realm of slumber.Â
However, is that temporary solution enough? Enough to stifle the contentions and riddles clattering together into a clamorous ruckus in your head? Could sleep even spare you from their tumult?Â
âThe Membrane Multiverse Theory or reincarnation, hm, do you have any personal theories youâd like to share?â The sensation of his fingers grasping yours brings you back to reality.Â
Glancing at him with a quirk in your brow, you wait for him to continue.Â
âWho knows, maybe weâll be the first to publish something for this topic.â His thumb runs along your knuckles.Â
âSo, is there a speculation or possible rationale you feel particular to?â Teal eyes reconnect with yours.Â
âWellâŚâ You sigh, relishing in the warmth of his hand as you concoct a half-baked theory.Â
âThereâs stardust from stars that had burst billions of years ago, that have somehow ended up on this planet. Subsequently, every being on earth has the atoms of stars in them. So, naturally by the law of conservation, the earth is where the atoms of the human body will return.â
âBased on the law that atoms cannot be created or destroyed?â He drones.Â
âYes, they all had to come from something before them. The carbon in muscles, the calcium in bones, and the iron in blood. The atoms that make up you and I might become part of something else, or even of different people too.âÂ
âHm, that sounds probable.â
âBut, then this brings up a whole new host of questions, such as, if the new people our atoms become a part of are even âusâ? Will they ever meet? What if you become a tree and I a rock? What if the atoms of you end up on one side of Teyvat and I on the other end?â
You peer into his irises, but you were just searching for an answer that isnât there.Â
For his beryl irises were impassive. But it was the impassive foundation you needed to ground your rambling thoughts and nonsensical musings into the desolate truth of it all.
The warmth of his hand slips away.
âNever mind, I suppose itâs the most logical to conclude that weâre just soulmates in this instance of time, in this universe, and only here.â Your hand closes over the empty space he left.Â
Maybe itâs wise to dismiss it as silly rambling and then withdraw from his indecipherable eyes. Is it too late to put this plan into motion now?
The weight of a muscular arm is draped over your waist, hand pulling you closer unlike your ploy to escape.Â
âBut I have a few theories I havenât shared yet.â He glances out toward the bedroom window.Â
âWhile the theory of reincarnation currently doesnât have any solid scientific backing, in some way, the law of conservation of mass does give a bit of merit to that notion.â Alhaitham draws circles into the small of your back.Â
You hum in response.Â
âThe atoms that created us will return to the earth after us and become a part of something or someone elseâs molecular structure. A tree or a rock, a human or a beast, itâs all probable. HoweverâŚâ Beryl eyes return to meet yours.Â
âWhatâs stopping them from repeating the same molecular structures as right now?â He asks.Â
Maybe it was his turn to peer into your eyes to search for an answer, an answer currently brewing and forging between your united gazes.Â
âWhatâs stopping these atoms from returning to these exact molecular structures in the future? In a different time, the atoms of us now could one day in the far future come together again and make âusâ once more. Maybe just you, maybe just me, or maybe both at the same time.âÂ
He frees his other hand from the duty of supporting his head, broad body settling down into the bed and blankets, allowing his face to move closer to your level upon his pillow.Â
âWhatâs the likelihood of those odds? Me and you again?â You ask.Â
Alhaitham pauses. All the bright minds of science, mathematics, and physics, have yet to come up with a formula to calculate such a thing.
What would be the factors plugged into the equation? And how accurate would it even be?
The ashen-haired man wasnât sure, but there was at least a statistical observation that would provide some basis.Â
âA true 0% chance is an absolute impossibility, just as nothing can be proven absolutely 100%. Since we don't know the absolutes of time, existence, or physics. So, thereâll always be a non-zero chance.â Feeling the drums of your heartbeat against his chest.Â
âThen, when they do, I think Iâll spend my life pondering what could fit into the spaces between my fingers like this.â He slips his hand into the gaps of yours, intertwining them.Â
Then finally, he saw the smile heâd been yearning for rising on your lush lips. The ends of your eyes crinkle as it make its way to your irises as well. Your grip mirrors his as you nestle your face closer to his.Â
âYou wonât get tired of this stoic face?â You taunt.
âWill you get tired of mine?â He counters.Â
Your shoulders quiver with stifled giggles.Â
âNo, no I wonât,â you promise him.Â
âThen I wonât,â he promises back.Â
His larger hand brings yours closer to himself, all the while your attentive eyes watch failing to keep the curl of your lips under control.Â
âAny thoughts on the Membrane Multiverse Theory? How will your astute mind surmise the possibility of us laying like this somewhere else in the stars?â Honeyed-voice mimicking awe as your face inches closer.
âI believe Iâve shared enough, Iâd much rather hear what your brilliant postulate is.â His tone casted with mirth, but the bite missing from teal eyes.Â
Letting a soft hum, your mind rifling through all the paragraphs and journals your hands had ever thumbed through.
The soft rhythm of his breaths kept time. Stringing the words together on your tongue, you hope this monologue of yours will provide some amusement for him.Â
âIf universes are randomly put into 2 boxes of âyesâ and ânoâ, then on average the number of universes in each box would be the same. For every universe Iâm not with you, thereâll be equally as many where I am with you.âÂ
A coin toss, perhaps it was all just a coin toss after all. Whether or not the Akasha paired a stoic face with another stoic face, for the gaps of your fingers to fit his so perfectly.
It could have all been a coin toss, for one half to stumble upon the other half cruelly parted from them by the hands of unseen gods.Â
âSomething akin to a bijection existing between both sets of universes?â He cross-examines.Â
âMaybe⌠If we were to assign one type âyesâ to a positive integer, and the other type ânoâ to a negative integer, then perhaps we can construct a bijection from the positive and negative integers.â Your brow furrows in contemplation.Â
âIf we submit this theory do you think the Akademiya would publish it?âÂ
âNot likely, bijections are usually made between sets of elements like numbers, not sure if bijections can be applied to something like whole universes. Iâm just hypothesising nonsense,â you sigh.
âBut they did publish the nonsense known as The Lifespan of Love,â he interjects.Â
âHm, then maybe thereâs a non-zero chance theyâll publish our nonsense too.â You stifle a scoff.Â
âHm,â Alhaitham hums in amused agreement.Â
His free hand pulls the covers further up over your frame then smoothing out the wrinkles. Observing the growing delays between your slowing blinks.
âOnly you and I would turn pillow talk into an academic deliberation.â You couldnât hold back the giggle any longer.Â
He sighs in agreement, nestling his head closer to yours on the plush pillows, teal gaze never once leaving yours.Â
âItâll make any romantic keel over and die from how dry it is, wouldnât it, Haitham?â
âI say let them.âÂ
Scoffing and shaking your head at his crude declaration as a yawn slips past your lips, a conclusion to this nonsensical academic deliberation.
With one hand still intertwined in the tender grasp of another you pull Alhaitham closer. So that the spaces of your body could lay against the spaces of his.Â
The warmth of his skin mingling with the warmth of yours, pressed against one another. You drawing mindless shapes into his back, his hand tracing senseless ruins into yours.
Perhaps, an illogical attempt to echt memories into the stardust in your bodies.Â
So he and you could imprint the memory of each other into the very fibers of your beings. Then maybe someday when these atoms return to these exact molecular structures, theyâll remember this too.Â
The law of conservation of mass, the probabilities upon probabilities, and bijections used in an inconsequential pseudo-academic ramblings to no one but an audience of silent stars.
Alhaithamâs certain no academic publisher would spare a glance at them.Â
But this nonsensical instance in the continuum of time, feeling the rhythm of your heart on the other side of his chest next to his own, is his most precious epiphany.Â
Fin~
Šď¸vivalabunbun DONâT PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.Â
#vivalabunbunfics#alhaitham smut#genshin smut#alhaitham x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#alhaitham fanfic#genshin impact x you#alhaitham x y/n#alhaitham fluff#alhaitham x you#alhaitham x female reader#genshin x reader smut#alhaitham x reader smut#alhaitham x yn#alhaitham x you smut#genshin fluff#genshin x reader fluff#genshin soulmates au
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hockey player simon pt 03 // part of this plot // mlist
i swear it was just supposed to be a drabble w no plot
jo heaves a sigh the moment you slide in front of her, and you would have been insulted if it wasn't for the gentle smile she gives right after. still, she's staring at you with that teasing tilt of her lips and her eyes narrowed in humour, one that you're not privy to.
"what?" you finally bite out, fiddling with your iced coffee, feeling self-conscious.
you fleet your eyes to yourself and, yeah, sure you're wearing the same pants as yesterdayâs but c'mon? you didn't get to go back to your place after, well...
at least you didn't repeat your top, and is instead wearing a sweater you've stolen from simon's closet. cashmere, cream and soft, and the material comfortable, if not a little bit loose in the arms that droop past your fingers.
you thought you at least looked like those typical college students in the moviesâeffortlessly chic in a boyfriend sweater, if not a little haggard because who is not when in university?
she finally chuckles, the thrum of her voice easing up the frown that tugged your brows together. âdonât sweat it, superstar. itâs just that iâm still not used to seeing you be a sugar baby.â
you choke mid-sip, her words devouring you like an angry tide. you feel your eyes water in protest, the feeling burning as you sputter.
âiâm notâ!â
âyouâre not what?â tim asks, sliding into the seat beside yours.
you grumble, wagging a finger as you wipe your stained chin with your other hand. jo snorts and fills him in, chuckling all the while as she gestures at your sweater because she knows it couldnât possibly have been yours.
timâs smile turns cheeky, teasing, and he wiggles his brows at you.
âshut up, oh my god,â you whine, rolling your eyes at them, almost shyly, and you feel your cheeks warming. âiâm notâ simonâs not myââ
âoh câmon, babe,â jo says, playfully throwing her mechanical pencil at you. you huff before chucking it back at her, giggling to yourself when it bounces off her arm and rolls into the floor.
tim picks it up for her.
âhe buys you expensive thingsââ her eyes flit to the new promise ring that youâre wearing. you unconsciously hide it behind your palm. âand pays for your tuition which iâm so, so jealous of.â
âdoesnât he fly you around too? in a private jet or something?â tim pipes up, shamelessly snagging away your iced coffee now that youâre too preoccupied to drink it.
âhe doesnât!â
twin brows quirk up in silent judgement.
ââŚhe buys us first class tickets, not, like, a whole jet.â
see? they seemed to say with the way they cock their heads to the side.
you sniff. âitâs for work,â you mumble, remembering the first time simon flew you for his games.
âi mean, for him, maybe. but you? tell me what business do you have in winnipeg?â tim chirps and you almost want to jump him just to make him shut up.
âsugar baby,â jo finishes, singing. âbut i mean, who can blame him, huh?â she grins, her voice dipping into a faux southern accent. âiâd spoil you too, sugar.â
âoh, you flirt,â you trill, taking the opening she offers to change the topic.
tim takes the bait and whines about how jo doesnât do all those things for him, but jo is unmoved, eyeing you knowingly, but thankfully drops it too.
itâs justâ
thereâs a whole stigma to athleteâs girlfriends. for godâs sake, they even have a whole labelâpuck bunnyâwhich is honestly just a dig made up by really shitty men who burn with jealousy . and you know that, butâ
you canât help but wonder if some, not all, of simonâs love for you is because of what you do to him. of what you give him in return. especially since heâs so busy all the time, either flying during the season and is rarely home, or packed with training and other physical regimen during the offseason.
so you wonder if thisâflying you with him on the days the official WAGs are not being flown by the franchise, bringing you to vacation spots on the other side of the ocean, buying you everything you used to only dream of ever havingâwas his way of paying you back for your support and patience and care and love.
tim knocks his shoulder with yours, worry now lining his boyishly charming face.
âyâalright?â
âof course.â you lick your lips. âso did you ever get a copy of the lab sheet from rayan?â
.
you watch from the front seats as the team wrap up practice tonight, their coach looking pleased at their performance. it was still difficult to follow the game, but the players all look content too despite the sweat and their ragged breathing.
they never did know how to hold back even during a practice.
you say your goodbyes to the other people who came to watch, shooting simon a text that youâll be waiting for him in the parking lot, and walk out.
the cashmere sweater, thankfully, is enough to fight off the cool air and the gentle breeze while you make your trek to simonâs distinct range rover, all sleek and pure black like heâs got the damn royals for a passenger.
itâs locked so you hover outside, stuffing your hands in the pockets of your pants, and entertained yourself with making puffs of air like youâre ten again. itâs honestly not too bad to be alone, if it werenât for the sudden swarming of your doubtsâthe very same ones you thought you already shrugged off before taking the cab to the rink.
fuck.
âhey, love,â simonâs voice pierces through your thoughts and you jump, barely smothering the yelp that almost tore itself from the base of your throat.
you swivel, heart pounding, and simonâs beautiful face creases into one of concern.
âare youââ
âsi!â you greet, jogging to him.
he laughs and opens his arms for a hug, one that you excitedly give him. you tuck your cold face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, taking in the antiseptic scent of rink soap and the faint smell of his shampoo.
his body is so warm against yours, and you canât help but melt in his hold, body relaxing at the comfort he brings you.
âyou ready to go home?â he asks like the insinuation that his home is also yours is not heart-stopping and world-changing.
you nod, unable to trust your voice right now.
thereâs something different whenever itâs just you and simonâyour thoughts, for once, are quiet and your confidence in yourself peaking like simon is the only place in this world where you can truly be yourself. itâs not just indulgence, nor tolerance, but itâs pure unadulterated acceptance.
and maybe itâs because of that realization, that flipped switch, that in the lull of your conversation with simon, you bring it up.
âdid you know? my friends think that youâre my sugar daddy.â
you feel him freeze, body going rigid as your words spill into the space between you two. you continue to hide your face away from, avoiding a serious conversation as regret begins to build, shame licking up from your fingertips to your ears.
stupid, you think to yourself. why the hell did i bring it up? fuckâ
then, simon laughs, soft and sputtering, his whole body shaking as he giggles, choked wheezes uncontainable. you tip your head up just enough to catch his eyes, questions filling your tongue, waiting to be spilled, but simon cups your cheek so tenderly before you could doubt anything any more.
âdo i need to be one to spoil you rotten?â he asks like he didnât just shaken the foundations of your doubts.
do i need to be one to spoil you rotten, he said like spoiling you was the norm. like showering you with expensive gifts and booking you expensive flights and helping you with your expensive necessities was something that boyfriends typically do. like your friends are the odd ones for thinking he had to be anything other the man youâre dating to be able to splurge for you.
âno,â you say, dizzy with the weight of your affections.
simonâs smile droops, his eyes clearing. âwas that something that honestly worried you?â
âiââ
the humour leaves him, and simon straightens up at seeing the gravity of the turmoil in your heart. his hands fall to your sides, thumbs hooked in the dip of your hips. he leans forward until his nose is brushing against yours.
âyou know i love you, right?â simon asks, his voice quaking in desperation.
âyeah,â you sniffle, honest because god you mean it. âyeah, si. i know.â
âokay,â he says after a while, still intensely looking at you like you arenât surely anything but a blob in his eyes with how close you two are pressed to each other.
then, his lips brush with yours, so faint, you almost missed it. you shudder at the feeling of itâhow could a chaste kiss feel so intense?âyour lips wobbling as something in your heart bloats.
you feel simonâs lips stretch into a grin from where theyâre ghosting above yours, and then heâs kissing you again, this time deeper and longer. you curl your arms around his neck, feeling like youâre being swept off your feet all over again.
because simon is not good with words, truly, but heâs managed to swing an axe to the cornerstone of your self-doubt and made it crumble.
.
âoh god,â jo sobs in your arms, the two of you snuggled up under your sheets. âthat was a joke! i promise!â
âi know,â you say, giggling. âi swear jo, itâs not you, itâs me.â
she looks up at you, eyes shimmering with tears. âare you sure?â
âyeah,â you croon, bumping foreheads with her. â...âsides, simonâs taking me somewhere to make up for, and i quote, âmaking you doubt how serious i am about youâ.â
she sniffs. ââŚpermission to make a joke again?â
you grab your plushie from somewhere behind you and smack her ass with it.
âow!â
âstop being dramaticâthat didnât hurt.â
[giggles nervously] so uh. đđť
#hockey au#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley#cod x reader#f!reader#suns#guys. guys forgive me for my super self indulgence again đ#this ones long-ish again whew boy
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The Black Dread part one
prompt: after word is sent for Dragonseeds to raise up, you shockingly claim The Black Dread. knowing your stance would all but determine the war, both Alicent and Rhaenyra send emissaries to persuade your allegiance through means of marriage. when tragedy strikes, you fly to war. -> in this part - you claim Balerion and emissaries are sent.
pairing: Jacaerys 'Jace' Velaryon x female!Tyrell!reader pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader -> hair color specified reader -> technically Targaryen!reader -> ALL characters aged 18+
fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon
series masterlist: The Black Dread > > > next part, part two: read here
word count: 4.9k+
note: ALL characters are aged up - they are NOT minors
warnings: hair color specified reader but it's paramount to the story. Dance of the Dragons AU, Balerion lives AU - kinda heavy introduction. political manipulation, i guess no Baela, Rhaena or Alys romantic interests, ALL characters are aged 18 or older, Muses aren't in this part much, stolen Olenna Tyrell quote(s), Dylan Thomas quote.
though Balerion is not shown in the shows [HOTD or GOT], these are some of author's personal favorite fan art pieces: this this one, but maybe this color
Considering the climate, environment, elements, and location of each region with no true diverse distinction or transition between seasons, summers varied in each corner of the Seven Kingdoms. Notably, the mainland experienced vastly different summers in comparison to the constantly humid Westerosi islands.
This was expected.
Where the weather endured in Kingâs Landing is dry and stale - lacking cloud coverage, baking all forms of life under the unforgiving sun - Dorne was ideal: temperate, tropical, the temperature usually consistently comfortable.
Northwest of the continent, off the Westerlands coast in water of Ironman's Bay so dark, secrets remain hidden, summers on the ratified Iron Islands were cold due to the winds blowing from the North. The rocky region wet and slippery from rain; never humid, usually biting.
The Reach boasted pleasant summers; lush and green with fully bloomed gardens, perfectly balmy. The Stormlands lived up to its name and was plagued with frequent storms. These were usually warm rains - opposite the Iron Islands. The Crownland's annually hosted hordes of tourists at their ever popular summer attraction: temperate beaches. And why wouldn't they? The Crownlands's usually kept moderate temperatures and plenty of vast coastline to offer reprieve in the surf.
However, the only exception to sweltering, stereotypical climate that ransacks the Realm is the North - an expansive outlier. You see, in the North, summers are cold but winters are REALLY cold. From Bear Island to White Harbor, the dreary, overcast summer sky reflects on year-round, bright, pristine summer snow, making it glitter and blindingly glow. This results in the curation of a blue-grey filter naturally exclusive in the North.
However, tonight - You weren't ankle-deep in North summer snows. You weren't wheezing in King's Landing. You weren't vacationing in Dorne. You weren't sloshing through the Stormlands.
Tonight, you weren't on the mainland.
Tonight, you were on Dragonstone - ancestral home of your distant, estranged family.
Bullfrogs belted their croaky song, loud and incessant; as if trying to individually greet each twinkling star in the inky sky - the ever faithful audience; intrigued by this reckless and dangerous suicidal showdown you embarked on. Crickets chirped in a soprano choir; dotting around the maze of tide pools - cratered by the same porous, jagged, volcanic rock that defines the unpredictable, natural coastline. Frothing alto waves of dark navy, violent, salty sea brutally crashed against rock - the booming baseline of the frog's and cricket's private duet sang in perfect harmony.
All that was missing was a little red crab with a Jamaican accent encouraging you "kiss the girl".
Night had fallen. The winds were cold as a storm rumbled overhead. Rain fell sideways. Lightning streaked the skies.
You navigated through the dark - a slippery, dangerous feat.
Few windows of the castle gave a subtle, dim light; indicating the residents were more than likely turned in for the night. Still, despite the lack of patrolling guards and other witnesses, you remained in stealth mode. Only fools allowed themselves to feel cocky when their guards go down. When someone allowed their defenses to go down, mistakes are made, capture is imminent, the mission is a failure, and surrender to the enemy's mercy is forced.
Your presence on Dragonstone wasn't for romance - no girls (or boys) for you to kiss. This wasn't a social visit to recreationally mingle with the Velaryon Prince or Targaryen Princess Twins. You're not conducting research curriculum - no time to study flora, fauna, volcanic activity.
To the winged terrors, Dragonstone Island is a recognizable safe haven that promotes healing - the one place these miraculous beasts could relax, ease their defenses; be vulnerable with lowered guards. This sense of safety gives freedom away from the confines of Dragon Riders - simply allowed to be true, authentic, and animalistic.
Currently, a couple dragons sought refuge on the island, nesting, minding their own business; others sought rest, retirement, peaceful isolation. Several took advantage of the heat and loitered around the volcano, the Dragonmont.
They weren't just any dragons, some were rogue, wild; some released after captivity; all unclaimed, riderless. This tempted several persons to rely on arrogant luck and try their hand at harnessing the terrible beasties - but they never returned.
Summer days stretched long, giving limited time to move under the cover of darkness, and the nights progressively shortened each day leading up to the solstice. Your journey was miraculous, having never navigated open water before yet somehow arriving at Dragonstone after setting sail from King's Landing by yourself. Perhaps you had a hidden talent, a subconscious sailor mentality; maybe you were just lucky, or maybe your boiling emotions made you defiantly determined - running on pure spite to stay alive, unharmed, and without capsizing in an effort to complete your mission.
Most of the time, you relied more on logic than emotion, something that helped keep you balanced, grateful, rational. Leading with logic arguably "made" someone intelligent; solution oriented, stubborn, hardheaded, unwilling to compromise (a common foundation when leading with emotion).
Yet logic made you very black and white - no grey area. Logic is cut and dry. Logic is sometimes sophisticated. Logic is also stubborn. Logic abandoned empathy. Logic could be explained. Logic identified applicable reasonings and explanations. Logic is hard to argue against. Logic sustained battles of wit. Logic is sometimes discriminatory. Logic always tells the truth. Logic has limited loopholes.
Logic is fact driven, and when paired with your own rooted moral and religious beliefs, made you subconsciously judgmental.
There's a well-known proverb, quote, "it's not the destination, but the journey." Yet some philosophers think the destination is mundane, anticlimactic, boring, sometimes disappointing and unfulfilling while the journey is much more fulfilling. The journey is what's worth; an adventure, where development inflates, where a story worth telling lies.
Logic is the destination. Leading with emotion is the journey.
Leading with emotion develops thoughtful decisions. Emotions sharpen empathetic abilities. Emotions sometimes changes perspectives, broadens horizons. Emotions allow for differences in opinions. Emotions curates safety. Emotions heightens generosity. Emotions expands willingness to help. Emotions softens situations with compassion. Emotions often strides towards peace. Emotions structures harmony. Emotions accepts all. Emotions could be overwhelming. Emotions don't always have one, single, clear victor.
Leading with emotion makes you easily reactive, being why you made a conscious effort to engage logic; keeping yourself in check.
You often never lost your cool; always having a handle on things, but sometimes, it was a challenge. Emotions demand to be felt, and no matter how hard you train yourself and practice relying on logic, you were still human.
Both leading with logic and emotion made you passionate, sometimes synonymous with stubborn. Either way, you ended up here - on Dragonstone - slinking around in the dead of night as if a criminal on the run, trying to avoid the Rogue Prince's nefarious, outlandishly violent City Watch.
You were dedicated to the truth, hence your willingness to embark on this suicide mission. You know it's out there, becoming desperate to find it; never settling, fed the fuck up of mindless gossip the court whispered and hissed about. Enduring years of scrutiny and unfiltered rudeness made you confident, wanting, and energized to justify your claims, prove self-worth, assign relief, terminate turmoil, tension, and assumption.
Yeah, yeah, yeah - but what truth are you dedicated to? Your family's lineage and heritage, your birthrights, your position in society. Your contributing livelihood. They only thought you a young lady boasting the Tyrell surname - a broodmare to sell off. After Queen Rhaenyra proclaimed herself, you became incessant to prove you were so much more than a pretty fragile rose to be set in a vase.
Truth became your Eighth God; being a dedicated, loyal, trusting, worshipping follower. And the truth was, you're a Targaryen as much as a Tyrell, and by all means, had as much of a right to claim a dragon as any of the rest of them.
You refuse to take detours, cut corners, violate, or cheat to obtain your goal(s); arriving at your desired end result with integrity, completing your mission by barreling through obstacles with laser focus - like a predator stalking prey.
Boots slapped and clicked on wet rock, splashing in puddles, splattering mud up your legs to soak into your breeches. Heavy humidity - thick and muggy air - coated lungs and stuck in nostrils, being suffocatingly stuffy; breathing becoming difficult. You could physically feel the condensation in the air - hair adopting a mind of its own; beaded, clammy skin becoming uncomfortably sticky, palms slick with sweat. You missed the dry heat of the capital.
Dark hood of your cloak hid your vibrant hair; the material swishing, swirling airy fog low to the ground around your creeping form, creating an ominous energy. You half expected a ghost to appear at your flank.
The clanking of the night patrol's armor was heard first, alerting you to a diminishing window; sliding into the mouth of one of the dragon caves in time for the White Cloaks to stalk around the castle's perimeter walkway.
Even with thick rock cocooning your form, the rumbling of the nested dragon's slumber was heard; loose pebbles, dust and other debris showered from the cave ceiling. Despite the heat of the Dragonmont, you heard the slow echo of dripping water.
Your choice to come to Dragonstone, was it a logical decision? Or driven by emotions - fed up with the rumors, sneers, disrespect, critical judgement from everyone in King's Landing? ...yes.
Navigating a dragon lair was dangerous, but navigating a dragon lair with ZERO experience was an anticipated disaster. Surely, you must've lost your mind because no mentally stable person would dare step foot in this cave - let alone scale the depths in search of an ancient beast that could (and possibly wound) treat your charred body as a BBQ appetizer. With a gasp, you slipped on the rocks, hissing when the heels of your palms took the brunt end of impact and slit open; tiny pebbles sticking to your open flesh. You whimpered gently, jagged rocks digging into your knees as you cleared your hands and slowly found your feet.
Even with knowledge of your heritage, you hadn't grown around the scaly Targaryen counterparts like any and every other legitimate offspring. You were long divided from that side of your family, missing out on fascinating Valyrian traditional customs. It made you a slightly bitter.
No dragon egg in your crib. No hours-long practice in the Dragon Pit. No reptilian anatomy studies. No personalized leather saddle embellished with a three-headed dragon. No claim to ancestral privilege or birthright. No unique morality, nor holier than thou complex. No generational beast to inherit.
Skin free from the lingering, invasive, embedded stench of dragon hide.
You used to think learning Ancient Valyrian was a redundant waste of time, education, and resources. You were raised in the ancestral keep in the Reach's capital, Highgarden, under your father, Lord Tyrell, and his beloved wife - the Vanished Princess - which made this secret sleuthing harder to rationalize or explain, given no Targaryen ever lived in Highgarden. Never before were dragons hosted in The Reach, and therefor, a Dragon Pit was never erected.
So, you know how when you're a kid and see something at the store that you really want but your parent says no because you already have too much shit? They might've made their point by saying something, like, "Where do you think you're gonna put all that?"
Well, Highgarden is the toy box and you intend on bringing home one of those enormous stuffed animals won at a carnival / festival.
If anyone knew of this plan, they might've sent you to the medical institute the Citadel in Oldtown operates; involuntarily commit you to the structured research program that studies different mental and physical medical phenomenons.
Truth was, this wasn't even your idea. Your grandmother, who definitely either spent time in one of the Citadel's cells or should, encouraged you. Perhaps that should've been a red flag, but it was too late now, her words echoing in your mind â
Be a dragon.
The gardens you walked through were in fragrant, full bloom; providing a sweet air to combat the foul words you admitted with your arm looped in your grandmother's. You paced evenly through the overgrown foliage, the bees buzzing to drown your words.
"Perhaps, something is wrong with me," you sulked, "because surely, it cannot be this difficult to find a match. It seems I need to lower my standards, I could not attract a decent man if I were covered in honey and he were a fly."
"Perhaps try covering yourself in shit, then," she advised with a knowing smirk.
"Grandmother."
"Well, it's curious, isn't it?" Celia asked.
"What is?"
"All your life, you've always been more Targaryen than Tyrell; fierce, loyal, impulsive, strong, enduring. Yet now, you return nothing more than a rose wilted from King's Landing's stench, moping about failed relations. Have you ever considered that simple men are incapable of supporting the love and marriage of a dragon?"
"Half blooded does not make me a dragon."
"No, but the spirit, wit, intelligence, spunk, ferocity, cunningness, and determination you display proves it." She paused your stroll, secluded canopy shroud by foliage to provide a moment of privacy.
"Not all would think so," you let your eyes roll.
"Who do you speak of?"
"Those who think I am lying about my own Targaryen parentage, citing the color of my hair as evidence. You would think I'm one of the Queen's sons, the way they whisper."
"Do not listen to busy mouths, sweet child, hair cannot be a sole indication of parentage. I know it's easy to cite, but not all descendants of Valyria have silver locks, and should anyone have anything to say, know they are merely bitter and jealous for your hair is the perfect blend of Tyrell auburn and Targaryen silver. A color that is hard to ignore."
"Yet it's not enough to prove myself to them, Grandmother."
Now Celia sounded determined but angry, "You are every bit Tyrell as you are Targaryen. While you might not appear to their biased eye, there's never been denial that you are made in your mother's fire. Pure blooded or not, you're a dragon, my sweet petal."
"So?"
"Oh, for the love of the Gods - so, be a dragon! Dragons do not fret because men don't blink twice at them, they eat those men! Don't beg for approval; maintain your dignity, instill a new opinion, demand respect! Prove your strength, skill, and capabilities - everything the courts would deliberately overlook. Prove everyone wrong, offer contribution to this war, become a valuable asset who would be foolish to send away. Establish your seat at the table and never let anyone talk down on you again," your grandmother snarled with passion. "There's more than one way to prove you have the blood of the dragon."
"Such as? What would you have me do?"
"I hear rumor there remains a host of unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone. The Queen's son and heir, Prince Jacaerys, has called for dragonseeds to try their hand - they need more dragonriders for their war. Claiming your birthright might be the fastest, easiest way to earn the Realm's approval; doubling as undisputed evidence of who you are."
"What a terrifying thought."
"But what a statement it would make," Celia's lips pulled in a smirk, wrinkles deeper, more prominent on sun-soaked, wrinkled skin. "Tyrells might be flowery, we might sigil a rose - but we are resilient and refuse to wilt; even in the heat of dragon fire. The Realm thinks Tyrells are only pretty faces; pretty flowers meant to be seen and never heard, whose sole purpose is to be left on display. Preconceived as uselessly inexperienced during wartimes; criminally green, pure, innocent - judgement that makes them shockingly unprepared for how deep our thorns prick." Both of Celia's hands grabbed yours, squeezing, advising, "Do not go quietly, my petal, make those who doubted you be haunted by their foolish choice to challenge the wrong woman. Let them seep in humiliation and regret their judgement. Allow your successful conquest to be the biggest 'fuck you' to prejudice, the final nail in any coffin of doubt. Toss your wilted rose of fear aside, petal, embrace the fire that burns in your veins; you are Lady Y/N Tyrell of Highgarden, daughter of The Forgotten Princess, and you will not go gentle into that good night. You will be a dragon."
You were ensuring passage by morning light, intent to deliver yourself to Dragonstone.
Parts of the cave glittered with unharvested gems; a lost collection of rarities nobody dared pursue out of fear of the ancient, terrible Valyrian beasties that dwell in those caves. The walls sweat from combined dragon and volcanic heat, tunnels jagged and uneven; zero holes, cracks, or slits the sun could leak through (if it were up); everything terribly dark. At least there was a scattered pile of preprepared torches to light the way. A permanent odor of limestone and fractioned corpses assaulted your sinuses, dried puddles of blood seeped into rock, the scurrying critters who used dragons as hosts echoed with a twinkling charm - the least menacing reminder that you were not alone.
Claimed dragon chambers varied in size; pitstops along the winding pathways that ended at the largest chamber - a dead end. While other chambers were large enough for sometimes several dragons, this final stop could only be described as a jarring, stomach churning, hauntingly pitched ebony abyss of incalculable depth that played tricks on the mind. An abyss. It was like you were staring Death in the face and anxiety was dredged forth from white hot fear.
With a flickering torch alight in a trembling hand, you slowly stalked down the chiseled causeway that ended several lengths into the expansive, bleak nothingness. Pitch black shadows danced; the air felt electric, seemingly vibrating - alive and judgmental.
The glaring cavern besmirched your family name, hauntingly reminding that your disinheritance resulted in your late dragon bloom. The ebony airy sea identifies and heightens fearful insecurity about your estranged family's rejection, their lack of interest and care for your side of the family stinging; their rejection of familial relationships. The darkness predicted your failure, inability, and humiliation.
The cavern challenged your confidence and determination, your staked ownership and proclaimed lineage; labeling your bravery, beliefs and ambition as arrogant. It sneered about your stupidity, weakness, fear, and anxiety; belittled applied effort and desired goals; questioned your true desires and needs; tested your loyalty.
The cavern rejects any and all attempts before you could even try; unraveling your logic, shunning your emotions; proclaims reactive decisions as immature and lacking control, crowning you as dangerously naĂŻve.
The cavern mocked your desperately pathetic need for station and acceptance; revoking and nullifying public (and private) ladyship, dubbing you unladylike - which, in itself, was insulting to your womanhood. Why do men get all the exciting adventure, but when a woman tries, she's crucified for being irresponsible? Smooth ebony waves reflected your maddening, constant effort and want for acknowledged contributions.
To the naked eye, the cavern appeared uninhabited, assuming the habitat was abandoned. The silence was eery; air buzzing with alarm, deceiving humans that attempted to see through the waves of darkness.
To a "true" Targaryen, this was just a sheet of camouflage the fire breathers wield for their privacy.
No wonder the Red Sowing was so... Bloody and devastating.
A growl was heard, something gravely and deep, intimidating and impressive. You frozen, eyes wide as if it would give you night vision, torch flickering, hands starting to shake. Then you saw prominent movement, lungs stalling and heart hammering. Slowly, a large, scaly, stained snout emerged at a sail's pace.
The more the beast stepped into your sight, your mind could only scream one thing - was coming face to face with a dragon logical or emotional? Because whether logical or emotional, this was a dumb fucking idea there was no turning back from.
So, you steeled yourself in position, dewy sweat lining your forehead to soak your hairline.
112 years After Conquest, dragons flew to war at the behest of the Targaryen family over Rhaenyra and her half-brother's claim to Aegon the Conqueror's Iron Throne. Sister-wife, Queen Visenya, rode Vhagar - said to have been the smallest dragon with bronze hide, yet, as rumor had it, still large enough that a horse could ride down her gullet. Sister-wife, Queen Rhaenys, rode Meraxes - who was larger; big enough to swallow horses whole with silver scales and golden eyes.
Then, The Conqueror, King Aegon Targaryen I, rode Balerion - the fiercest and largest, whoâs wingspan could shadow entire towns, swords-long teeth assisting his ability to swallow mammoths whole, and whoâs scales, wings, and fire were pitch black. Balerion was called the Black Dread and was so powerful, he could melt steel, stone, and fuse sand into glass. He never lost a battle - against human or dragon.
Balerion was also the dragon responsible for the Burning of Harrenhal, largest castle in Westeros.
In the year 2 BC, Aegon began his Conquest and engaged King Harren Hoare the Black in his keep, Harrenhal, who refused the Conqueror and was met with Balerionâs flames. In fire so hot, it melts stone like candles, the entire House Hoare was extinguished when Harren and his sons perished in the largest tower - later named Kingspyre Tower - though itâs said they haunt the Wailing Tower.
Since then, of Aegon's Three Dragons, only Meraxes boasted a single rider, but to be fair, in 10 AC, during the First Dornish War, allegedly, both Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes met their demise. Vhagar knew Prince Baelon Targaryen, Lady Laena Velaryon, and Prince Aemond as riders. Balerion knew Maegor the Cruel, Princess Aerea, and King Viserys, who, in the year 94, retired The Black Dread - thinking the beast was nearing his end. The dragon outlived every single rider.
In the year 129, Viserys died and The Black Dread stared you in the eye; curating a vibrating rumble deep within his chest that made the darkness dance. It'd been decades since anyone dared face this terrible beastie, thinking he wasn't long for this world; the pair of you curious about the other, no moves made yet.
There was no backing down, there was no turning away. This is what you wanted, for Aegon the Conqueror's mount to see you as you are - worthy of your of blood. You refused to be told you did not deserve your lineage, the Targaryen name, you would not endure disrespect any longer! You would earn your place in this Godsforsaken family, earn station in this Godsforsaken world, or die trying...
That night, Balerion took to the skies again, doing several laps in the air, soaring over King's Landing to let the residents of the Realm know - he flew again.
Your father's family hailed from The Reach, specifically Highgarden; colorful, temperate, lush, bountiful, and abundant. Your family oversaw 75% of the country's sole wheat, barley, grain, and corn production, even germinating the country's most grand gardens - which decorated a rather generous estate.
Despite the vast, open lands, there had never been need for a dragonpit before, so, when you landed your mount, he was left exposed on the outskirts of the Keep. Considering he was the largest thing, you know, ever, Balerion seemed content out there - so, you didn't worry.
It was strange, however, to see anyone without white hair on dragonback. Even stranger to the Realm to learn of your accomplishment; adding fuel to several fires.
The Green King Aegon asked lazily, a hand waving in the air, "Who?"
His mother, Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower, reminded, "She is of Targaryen seed on her mother's side, but was raised under the Tyrells. She sits to inherit all of The Reach, she will be Lady of Highgarden - "
"Until," Grand Maester Orwyle interjected softly, "her young brother, the Young Lord Tyrell, comes of age."
Aegon waved their words off, complaining, "Yes, yes, but why do we caaaaare about some red headed bitch?"
See, where the Targaryens had trademark white locks, the Lannisters had golden strands. The Starks had deep umber brunette color hair, and while both the Tully's and Tyrell's erred more on the reddish side, the Tully's had darker overtones, like an auburn, and the Tyrell's had lighter, coppery-amber waves. North of the Wall, they say "kissed by fire".
"Because Lady Tyrell has laid successful claim to The Black Dread! To Balerion!" Alicent snapped, quickly adding the snarky punctuation, "Your Grace."
"Well, we have Vhagar - "
"With respect, Your Grace, Balerion could give a singular chomp to any living dragon as Vhagar did Arrax and it would prove fatal," Otto Hightower, the King's grandfather and Hand, quickly stepped in to save his daughter from losing her temper.
"Well, she doesn't even speak High Valyrian," Aegon scoffed, rolling his eyes; lip curled, slouched in his chair.
"Neither do you," Aemond quipped in his Father's Tongue.
Otto continued loudly to prevent Aegon's response, "With The Black Dread now officially out of retirement and in play, the only choice we have is risk facing him in open battle, or..." His eyes shifted to Alicent, pausing, sighing and revealing, "Send an emissary to negotiate terms of an alliance."
"Meaning...?" Aegon drawled.
"Meaning a marriage pact, Your Grace," Otto supplied sternly.
"With respect?" Larys Strong spoke up, "But the Crown is lacking in their eligible bachelors for such terms."
"Or perhaps, what of someone outside the family? Marry two strong allies of the Crowns? Alliances henceforth might not have to include Targaryen marriages," Jason Lannister threw in quickly, but every Small Council member denied him just as swift.
It was reminded, "There's Prince Daeron."
"Lady Tyrell is actually the same age as Prince Aemond, I do not think she is looking for a husband so many years younger than her."
"Didn't Prince Aemond already secure the Baratheons through a marriage alliance?"
"Technically," Otto agreed slowly, "but given the circumstances and turning of tides, Lord Borros can be treated with in other ways should we need to offer Aemond for Lady Tyrell's willing support."
"Rhaenyra will send terms, as well," Alicent reminded. "Lady Tyrell is Prince Jacaerys' age, she might consider breaking his engagement, too."
The Small Council continued their plotting. Prince Aemond remained silent. Nobody so much as threw him a glance.
When the Black Queen Rhaenyra was informed of your heroics and your identity was questioned, her uncle-husband, Daemon, informed, "Daughter of the Forgotten Princess."
And Rhaenys affirmed, "My sister's daughter... Do not mistake her lineage for guaranteed alliance; her mother and I are long estranged, she's lived in The Reach her whole life - she does not know us. Nor owes us any loyalty."
"Perhaps she could be persuaded," Corlys wondered. "The Lady Tyrell is unwed, is she not?"
"As far as accounts go, yes," his wife reported.
"Perhaps a marriage alliance?" Corlys glanced around the table.
"To whom would you propose?" Queen Rhaenyra asked, all sat around the Painted Table.
"If I may be so bold...?"
"Please."
"Given your marriage to Daemon and his daughter's are shared with our own daughter, Laena... Is there truly need for a marriage pact between the children?"
Rhaenyra cocked her head, "You mean to... Disengage my son from his intended, and engage him again...? Like a pawn in chess? My son, Heir to the Iron Throne, married to Lady Tyrell?"
"Why do you sound displeased by the prospect, Your Grace?" Corlys wondered. "I hear the Lady Tyrell is most beautiful, and we need the Tyrell's wealth like we need their dragon, Balerion. If used properly, he can melt castles alone, Your Grace; burn towns, extinguish entire bloodlines, torch this country, melt the bloody Wall. No living dragon rivals him in size, in ferocity, in age nor experience. He's been at rest for decades now... Something tells me there's a reason he's come out of his nest."
"An omen," Rhaenyra agreed, straightening her spine.
"Precisely - the portents are cast, Your Grace."
"Lord Corlys makes a point," Daemon chimed in, "if by marriage, we secure The Reach and take back the Iron Throne with little to no carnage. Should the Greens fight, not even Vhagar could stand against Balerion."
"Prince Jacaerys is a handsome match to offer," another lord agreed, "which should help sway Lady Tyrell to our side."
"Which also frees both Lady Baela and Rhaena for other pacts - if need be."
"But if we have had this thought, I promise so has Alicent," Rhaenyra stood from the table, staring at the triangle of King's Landing, Dragonstone, and Highgarden. "Who would they offer? Who do they have, unwed, unpromised?"
"Well," Rhaenys stood to meet her Queen, "if we had the thought of a marriage alliance, and the thought to break off one engagement in favor of another, who is to say the Greens would not consider the same?"
It was quiet, a shiver shooting down the Queen's spine. "Vhagar and Balerion are familiar with one another," she grit her teeth, "and Aemond is the False King's brother. He's an attractive match, too."
"I think it's worth making the Tyrell's an offer," Corlys sat back in his seat. "They will receive us both and decide their allegiance - just as the Baratheons did, just as the rest of the Realm has or must do as well."
"Let it be done - if Prince Jacaerys agrees," Rhaenyra nodded, looking to her son - wanting his consent and participation in his own fate. Jace proudly lifted his chin and puffed his chest, nodding while nobody noted the looks of near relief on Lady Baela and Rhaena's faces. In a moment, they had been engaged to Jace and Luke without their thought, input, nor consent. In another moment, they were single young women with the tantalizing prospect to marry outside the family.
"I consider Her Grace's offer an honor."
> > > next part, part two: read here
requesting rules and masterlist
HOTD masterlist
The Black Dread masterlist
i'm already writing it, but, poll for the end â
#aemond targaryen#prince aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x f!reader#aemond targaryen x female!reader#aemond targaryen x fem!reader#prince aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x tyrell!reader#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond hotd#jace velaryon#jacaerys velaryon#jacaerys velaryon x reader#jacaerys velaryon x female!reader#jacaerys velaryon imagine#jacaerys velaryon fic#jace velaryon x reader#hotd x reader#hotd x you#hotd x female!reader
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A Thousand Years of Silence|| R. Sukuna
⥠After years of separation, Sukuna is stunned by the reincarnation of his lost love, grappling with overwhelming emotions as he watches her, unaware of their shared past.
⥠short shot
⥠Reincarnation, Emotional Turmoil, Longing, Past Lives
⥠Genre/warnings: Angst, Emotional Distress, Themes of Loss, Unresolved Feelings, unrequited love, sukuna stuck inside of yuujis mind, our love can't do anything (saddd)
⥠Note: he considered you his wife in the past âŚbut now there's nothing there
w.c: 1.1K
VIP: @moonchhu
It had been a millenniumâan eternity stretched far beyond the reach of mortal mindsâsince Ryomen Sukuna last laid eyes upon you. A thousand years since your heart ceased its steady rhythm in his presence since your breath no longer lingered in the air between you. And yet, in all those years, not a single moment passed where he hadnât felt the weight of your absence. Time had become a cruel mockery, an endless river he could not escape, and with each passing century, he had drifted further from anything remotely human. Now, confined within the vessel of a boy, Sukuna had become little more than a ghost in a cageâa god reduced to a whisper, suffocating in a body that wasnât his own.
And then, you appeared once more.
The moment he saw you, the world collapsed. Time, which had weighed like chains upon him for centuries, halted. Each second stretched into eternity as though the gods themselves had chosen this precise moment to mock him. You stood before him, the same yet entirely different, the very air around you pulsing with a vitality he had forgotten. For a fleeting instant, Sukuna forgot to breathe. His breath froze, stolen in reverence, as if the universe had finally granted him a mercy he neither deserved nor expected.
But it wasn't mercy.
It was tormenting.
You were beautifulâmore beautiful than memory allowed. Your hair had changed, shorter and unfamiliar, and the hue of your eyes had deepened, something unknown to him in past lifetimes. The curve of your lips, the way you stoodâthese details were altered, but they were insignificant. It was you. The essence of your being, the soul he had once intertwined with, was unchanged. Everything else was inconsequential. Every lifetime, every version of you was etched into him, stitched into the fabric of his being, as eternal as he was.
He stood still, as though rooted in place, the chaotic landscape of Yuuji Itadoriâs mind fading into nothingness around him. This was a moment he had craved, longed for, even if he hadnât admitted it to himself. He had waited, suffered through lifetimes of bloodshed and isolation, through endless carnage that offered no solace. And now you were here again, alive, breathing, exuding a warmth that struck him like a blow.
It was unbearable.
The rising tide of emotions threatened to drown him, an onslaught so unfamiliar that for a moment, he questioned whether he was still the Ryomen Sukuna he had known. The god reduced to mortal weakness, overcome by the sight of someone who had undone him centuries ago. It was you. Only you could render him powerless in ways no mortal could dream of. Not with weapons or cursesâbut with a simple glance.
You turned, and your gaze locked onto his. For an instant, Sukuna swore the veil of centuries lifted, and it was as if you remembered. His heart quaked in his chest, a sensation so foreign that he nearly lost his composure. He hadnât realized it, hadnât thought that in the deepest recesses of his twisted soul, he had wanted thisâneeded it. The fire that flickered in your eyes burned into him, rekindling the embers of a connection that should have been long extinguished.
Your smile, tender and soft, was like the caress of a breeze on a spring day, brushing against him with a warmth he had forgotten. And yet, here you stood, untainted by the ravages of time. Sukuna, the King of Curses, felt his chest constrict in a way that made him despise the vulnerability you brought out in him. He had razed kingdoms, struck fear into the hearts of gods and men alike, but here he stoodâundone by a memory. A memory made flesh once again.
"Hello, Yuuji," you said, your voice lilting and sweetâso achingly familiar.
It shattered the fragile walls he had built to contain the torrent of memories. The sound of it, that melody, filled him with memories of a time long past. How could something so simple bring him to his knees?
He wanted to laugh at the absurdity, the cruel joke of the gods. How Ryomen Sukuna, who had ravaged nations and reduced men to ash, could be undone by something as simple as a smile. He felt his hand move before he realized it, wiping away a tear he hadnât known was there.
When was the last time he cried? Has he ever?
The realization struck him hard, like a blade lodged deep in his chest.
You noticed, of course. Your brow furrowed in concern, a mirror of a look you had once given him on a mountaintop long ago. The concern that had soothed his battle-weary soul centuries before. "Are you alright?" you asked, and those wordsâspoken with such genuine careâhit him like sunlight breaking through the endless storm of his existence. The cold, relentless winter that had gnawed at his immortal soul thawed, just for a moment.
The irony of it all stung more than he could bear. Sukuna, the god of curses, reduced to something human. Mortal.
"Iâm fine," he murmured, though the words felt inadequate, as though he was saying them more to himself than to you. Fine was a lie, but it was all he could offer in this cursed vessel, trapped in the body of the boy who carried him. His lips curled into a smileânot the mocking, vicious grin that was his signature, but something real, something so rarely seen that it surprised even him.
It was you.
No matter how much time had passed, no matter the distance or the lifetimes, it had always been you. You were his beginning and his end, the one constant in a world that had long since fallen to ruin. Even now, even without your memories, you were the same soul that had captured him once, the only being who had made him feel something beyond rage and bloodlust.
Sukunaâs heartâimmortal, untouchableâbeat again, fiercely, with a strength that shook him to his core. He was not accustomed to this vulnerability, this raw ache that clawed at him from the inside out. The feeling was dangerous, a double-edged blade held to his throat, threatening to cut deeper than any wound he had endured in his many battles. But for you, he would bear it. For you, he would endure a thousand more years of silence, a thousand more years of waiting if that was what it took.
Because it was you. It had always been you.
Bby just wants you to remember him :( ...give him what he wants
#suiwritesđ#sukuna x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#sukuna ryomen x reader#sukuna x you#sukuna ryomen x you#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk x reader#sukuna angst#sukuna ryomen#sukuna#ryomen sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna#sukuna imagine#jjk angst#jujutsu kaisen angst#jujutsu kaisen#sukuna x y/n#ryomen x reader#ryomen x you#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jjk#sukuna and yuji#itadori yuuji#yuuji x reader#yuuji x y/n#jujutsu kaisen ryomen#jujutsu kaisen sukuna
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I'm sorry, Can I Be Yours
Winter X Male Reader
Tags : Childhood Friends, Friends To Lovers, Kiss, Teasing, Fluff, Virgin Sex, Creampie, Good Ending?
The School bell blared, jolting me out of my reverie. I scanned the emptying hallway, searching for Winter's familiar pearly blonde hair. My stomach clenched when I spotted her surrounded by her posse, their laughter echoing down the corridor. Winter, the girl who used to chase butterflies with me at recess, now seemed like a distant star, dazzling yet untouchable.
It wasn't always like this. Back in elementary school, Winter, or Minjeong as I called her then, was the new kid, a shy sparrow adrift in a sea of unfamiliar faces. I, the self-proclaimed schoolyard ambassador, had swooped in, determined to be her friend. We were an unlikely pair â me, the rambunctious chatterbox, and her, the quiet observer with eyes that held galaxies within them. But somehow, it clicked. We built sandcastles that defied the tide, shared scraped knees and ice cream cones, our laughter echoing through the playground.
High school, however, had cast a long shadow over our friendship. Winter blossomed into an ethereal beauty, her smile lighting up every room she entered. Admirers swarmed around her like bees to a rose, and her schedule became a whirlwind of student council meetings, dance practices, and social gatherings. I, on the other hand, remained comfortably obscure, content with the company of my camera and a well-worn book.
The distance wasn't physical, not yet. We still sat together at lunch, a forced routine amidst the chaos. But the easy conversations, the comfortable silences, those had become a distant memory. Now, an awkward tension hung between us, a chasm filled with unspoken words and longing glances that pierced my heart.
One afternoon, at the usual lunch table, Winter was surrounded by her usual crowd, their voices a flurry of excitement about the upcoming school festival. I stole a glance at her, my heart sinking at the coldness in her eyes, a stark contrast to the warmth that used to reside there.
"Hey, Winter," I began hesitantly, my voice barely a whisper above the din. "They were talking about volunteers for the photography booth at the festival. You know I take a decent picture or two."
A flicker of something, maybe annoyance, crossed her features before she schooled her expression into a polite smile.
"Oh, right," she said, her voice devoid of its usual enthusiasm. "Yeah, maybe you can help out. Hana mentioned you were good with that camera of yours."
The casual dismissal stung. Hana? We hadn't discussed the festival, and the way Winter phrased it made it seem like it was Hana's idea, not mine. I forced a smile, the bitterness clinging to my tongue.
"Sure," I mumbled, pushing my untouched lunch tray away. "Just let me know what needs to be done."
The rest of the lunch break passed in a blur of forced conversation and stolen glances. As the final bell rang, I gathered my things, the weight of our strained friendship heavy on my chest. Winter barely acknowledged me as she swept out of the classroom, leaving me adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Was this the end of our story? The question echoed in the empty classroom, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between us.
The following week, a new face appeared in our homeroom class. A girl with long, flowing black hair and a face that could launch a thousand ships, but her posture screamed timidity. She shuffled in, her eyes downcast, avoiding eye contact with the sea of curious faces. The usual welcoming chatter died down, replaced by a tense silence.
As the teacher droned on about expectations and school policies, I couldn't help but steal glances at the new girl. Her name was Lee Seo-Ah, according to the attendance sheet. Unlike Winter, who captivated the room with her mere presence, Seo-Ah seemed to shrink into herself, disappearing into the background.
A pang of sympathy stabbed at my heart. I remembered all too well the awkwardness of being the new kid, the crushing loneliness of trying to navigate unfamiliar territory. Winter, once the shy newcomer, had effortlessly blossomed into the center of attention. Seo-Ah, on the other hand, seemed trapped in a shell of her own making.
When the bell rang, signaling the end of the class, the usual flurry of introductions and small talk began. But Seo-Ah remained isolated, a solitary island amidst a bustling sea. I couldn't just stand by and watch.
Taking a deep breath, I approached her desk, my heart pounding a nervous rhythm against my ribs. "Hi, I'm Y/n," I said, offering a friendly smile. "Welcome to our school."
Seo-Ah looked up, startled, her eyes wide and filled with a flicker of surprise. For a moment, she didn't speak, then a shy smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
"H-hi," she finally mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm Seo-Ah. It's... nice to meet you."
Her shyness was endearing, a stark contrast to the usual boisterousness of the classroom. "Seems like you're new here," I continued, hoping to ease the tension. "Anything I can help you with?"
Seo-Ah hesitated, then bit her lip. "Well, I'm a bit lost. I don't know where my next class is."
Relief washed over me. "No problem at all. I have the same class next. Let me show you the way."
As we walked down the hallway, Seo-Ah spoke in hushed tones, her words punctuated by long pauses. She told me she was from Busan, a coastal city known for its seafood and beaches. She loved art, particularly painting, but was too shy to join any clubs.
I listened intently, offering words of encouragement and pointing out landmarks along the way. To my surprise, Seo-Ah slowly began to open up, her voice gaining a hint of confidence. By the time we reached her next class, a hesitant smile played on her lips.
"Thanks, Y/n," she said, her eyes sparkling with gratitude. "I don't know what I would have done without you."
"No worries at all," I replied, a genuine warmth spreading through my chest. "Welcome to the group, Seo-Ah."
Perhaps, in helping Seo-Ah find her way, I had also found a way to bridge the growing distance between myself and Winter. After all, kindness, like a pebble tossed into a still pond, could create ripples that reached far and wide.
A couple of weeks flew by in a whirlwind of activity. During lunch breaks, I found myself gravitating towards Seo-Ah, her infectious laugh and bubbly personality a welcome change from the strained atmosphere I shared with Winter. We'd discuss everything under the sun â from her passion for painting to the latest K-pop group she was obsessed with. Slowly, her shyness melted away, replaced by a comfortable openness.
One afternoon, at the usual lunch table, Winter caught me engrossed in a conversation with Seo-Ah. Her expression was unreadable, but a flicker of something, maybe jealousy, crossed her features for a fleeting moment before she masked it with a polite smile.
"Looks like you've made a new friend, Y/n," she said, her voice cool and detached.
"Y-yeah," I replied, trying to keep the awkwardness at bay. "Seo-Ah just transferred from Busan. We get along pretty well."
Winter simply nodded, her gaze lingering on Seo-Ah for a beat too long before she turned away to continue her conversation with Hana. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a stark contrast to the easy banter I shared with Seo-Ah.
During that week, I discovered another one of Seo-Ah's talents. While helping her unpack her art supplies after school, she pulled out a sketchbook filled with breathtaking landscapes and portraits. My jaw dropped in awe.
"Wow, Seo-Ah, these are amazing!" I exclaimed, flipping through the pages. "You're incredibly talented."
Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink. "Thanks, Y/n. I actually joined the art club this week. They seemed really nice."
A surge of excitement coursed through me. "That's fantastic! Maybe we can even work on some projects together sometime. I'm in the photography club, and we're always looking for new angles and perspectives."
Her eyes lit up. "R-really? That sounds awesome!"
Over the next few days, Seo-Ah and I spent our free time bouncing ideas off each other. We'd discuss light and shadow, composition, and the emotions a photograph or painting could evoke. With her, there was none of the awkward silences or unspoken expectations that had infiltrated my relationship with Winter. It felt⌠easy, comfortable.
Meanwhile, the distance between Winter and me continued to widen. Our conversations were short and superficial, filled with long pauses and forced smiles. I missed our late-afternoon talks, the way we could just sit in comfortable silence, knowing each other's thoughts without needing to speak them. But Winter was a whirlwind of student council meetings and social gatherings now, leaving me feeling like an outsider peering into a world I no longer belonged to.
One Friday afternoon, while Seo-Ah and I were discussing camera settings in the library, Winter approached our table, her face etched with a forced smile.
"Hey, Y/n," she said, her voice clipped. "Just wanted to let you know there's a student council meeting this evening. You're⌠welcome to join."
Her words felt like an afterthought, an obligation rather than an invitation. Seo-Ah, sensing the tension, chimed in.
"Oh, a student council meeting? That sounds important. You should definitely go, Y/n."
Winter's smile faltered for a second, then she straightened her shoulders. "Yeah, sure," she said, her gaze flickering to Seo-Ah before darting away. "See you guys later."
As she walked away, a knot of frustration tightened in my stomach. Was I missing something here? Did Winter feel threatened by Seo-Ah's presence? Or was it simply a case of her being too busy with her own things to acknowledge our dwindling friendship?
Stepping into the student council meeting room felt like entering a different world. The air crackled with nervous energy, students flitting around finalizing decorations and posters. Minjeong, usually radiating icy efficiency, seemed to have a vibrant life of her own here. Her voice, sharp and clear as she addressed the room, held an undeniable power.
I found myself an empty chair at the back, feeling strangely out of place amidst all the organized chaos. The topic of the meeting â the upcoming school fireworks festival â was a whirlwind of budgets, logistics, and safety regulations. Hana, Minjeong's ever-reliable vice president, rattled off numbers with laser focus, while Minjeong herself managed the discussion with a firm but encouraging demeanor.
As the meeting progressed, I stole glances at Minjeong. The fierce, focused leader I witnessed was so different from the quiet girl who had been my best friend. A pang of longing crossed my chest for those simpler times. Then, our eyes met.
Caught off guard, Minjeong's gaze flickered for a moment before she looked away, a hint of pink dusting her cheeks. A shy smile tugged at the corner of her lips, a fleeting glimpse of the girl I knew beneath the student council president facade. The warmth of that smile sent a jolt through me. Was there still hope for us?
Suddenly, Hana's voice cut through my contemplation. "So, who's up for grabbing some pizza after this? We've still got hours of work to do before the week's out."
A chorus of groans and cheers filled the room. Minjeong chuckled, a soft sound that seemed foreign on her focused face. "Sounds good, Hana. But make it quick, alright? We don't want to be here all night."
As the meeting wrapped up, the room buzzed with newfound energy. Students piled into a corner, chatting excitedly about pizza toppings and movie plans. I hesitated, unsure of my place in this world.
"Y/n?" Minjeong's voice caught my attention. She stood at the front of the room, her gaze hesitant but inviting. "You coming to pizza night?"
The question hung in the air, a test of the fragile thread that still connected us. My heart pounded in my chest. This could be a step forward, a chance to bridge the gap that had grown between us. Or it could be a painful reminder of how far things had changed.
I looked at Minjeong, her eyes filled with a nervous anticipation that mirrored my own. Taking a deep breath, I offered a smile, the same shy smile we used to share in elementary school.
"Yeah," I replied, my voice a little rough around the edges. "I'd like that."
A genuine smile, bright and unreserved, broke across Minjeong's face. It was a small step, a single word in a long conversation, but for the first time in weeks, a flicker of hope ignited within me. Perhaps, amidst the chaos of student council meetings and new friendships, there was still a place for us, for the bond we once shared.
Stepping into the bustling pizza parlor, I was greeted by the aroma of melted cheese and bubbling tomato sauce. Minjeong's friends, a vibrant bunch I only recognized from school hallways, were already digging into their slices, their laughter a welcome counterpoint to the tense atmosphere of the meeting earlier.
Minjeong, perched at the end of a long table, her cheeks flushed with a hint of nervous excitement, spotted me. A radiant smile broke across her face, chasing away the serious leader persona from before. She patted the seat next to her, a silent invitation.
As I settled in, a chorus of curious glances and playful nudges fell upon me. A girl with sparkling eyes and a mischievous grin leaned forward.
"So, Y/n," she began, her voice dripping with friendly interrogation, "how long have you known our Minjeong? Spill the secrets of your epic friendship!"
A wave of heat flooded Minjeong's cheeks, her cheeks turning the color of the pepperoni slices on the table. She mumbled something inaudible under her breath, burying her face in her pizza slice. I chuckled, the sound warming the air.
"Well Actually," I said, taking a bite of my own pizza, "we go way back. All the way back to elementary school."
A collective gasp escaped the group. Stories of elementary school crushes and childhood sweethearts circulated with wide-eyed wonder. Seeing Minjeong squirm under the spotlight only endeared her to me even more.
"She was this shy little thing," I continued, my voice filled with a smile, "always hiding behind her art folders. I just decided she needed a friend and dragged her into all sorts of adventures."
Minjeong peeked at me over her pizza slice, her eyes wide and filled with a mixture of shyness and amusement. My heart stuttered in my chest. Even after all this time, her gaze still held the power to send butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
"And did those adventures include falling head over heels for each other?" one of the guys piped up, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
The question hung heavy in the air. A long silence stretched, broken only by the clinking of silverware and the murmur of conversation. I met Minjeong's gaze, a silent conversation unfolding between us.
"IâŚ," I hesitated, taking a deep breath. "The truth is, Minjeong has always been special to me. Ever since that first day in elementary school, there was something about her. Her quiet strength, her kindness, her way of seeing the world through those incredible eyes."
Minjeong's entire face turned crimson, her lips forming a silent "wow." The rest of the table, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, remained silent, their eyes shifting between us with anticipation.
"And you, Y/n?" Minjeong finally managed to whisper, her voice barely audible. "Do you still feel the same way?"
"More than you know," I said, my voice sincere. "Seeing you all grown up, this amazing leader everyone admires⌠it just makes me realize how much I care about you."
The moment stretched, charged with unspoken emotions. Then, with a roar of approval, Minjeong's friends erupted in cheers.
"Oh my god, you guys are perfect for each other!"
"Finally! It was about time someone confessed!"
Minjeong, overwhelmed by the sudden outburst, hid her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with a mixture of shyness and laughter. My own heart pounded with a mixture of hope and disbelief. Could this really be happening?
As the cheers subsided, a shy smile peeked out from behind Minjeong's hands. Looking at me, her eyes filled with an emotion I couldn't quite decipher. Was it fear? Joy? Relief?
"Well, Y/n," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "It seems like you spilled the biggest secret of all."
I grinned, leaning closer. "Only the one I felt was most important."
The rest of the night was a blur of happy chatter, shared stories, and stolen glances. The seeds of doubt I'd harbored for weeks began to fade, replaced by a warm flicker of hope. Perhaps, amidst the changing tides of high school, our childhood connection could blossom into something more. As we walked home under the soft glow of the streetlights, a comfortable silence settled between us, a silence that spoke volumes more than words ever could. Maybe, just maybe, our story wasn't over yet.
As we strolled away from the pizza parlor, the streetlights cast soft yellow pools on the sidewalk. The air was thick with the unspoken words that hung between us. Finally, Minjeong broke the silence, her voice barely a whisper.
"Y/n," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "Do you⌠hate me?"
The question struck me like a physical blow. Hate her? The girl who had been my closest companion, my confidante? It was a ridiculous notion.
"Why would I hate you?" I asked gently, my voice laced with concern.
"For everything," she mumbled, tears welling up in her eyes. "For how I treated you these past three years. For being so cold and distant."
I stopped walking, turning to face her. Minjeong's face was illuminated by the soft glow of a nearby streetlamp, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"Minjeong-Ah, listen to me," I said, cupping her face in my hands. "You were focused on school, student council, all those responsibilities. It's natural. You've become this amazing leader, kind and strong. I could never hate you for that."
She shook her head, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. "But you must have felt so alone. Like I replaced you."
"It wasn't like that," I assured her, wiping away the stray tear with my thumb. "It just⌠it's a shame we drifted apart. I miss the talks we used to have, the silly jokes, the shared dreams."
A sob escaped her lips, and she buried her face in my chest. Tears soaked through my shirt as she held onto me for dear life.
"I'm so sorry, Y/n," she cried, her voice muffled against my chest. "I'm such an idiot. Seo-Ah is great, and I'm happy she has a friend, but⌠but you're different. You've always been different."
My heart ached for her, for the pain she had unknowingly inflicted. "Seo-Ah's a friend," I said, stroking her hair soothingly. "But you, Minjeong⌠you're so much more."
She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching mine. "More?"
"We grew up together," I continued, my voice soft. "We shared secrets, dreams, a lifetime of memories. Seo-Ah may be a new chapter, but you⌠you're the whole book."
Tears streamed down her face, each one a silent apology. "I-i messed up," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "The thought of losing you to someone else⌠it scared me to death. But I was too scared to admit it, too scared to even talk to you."
Understanding dawned on me. Her coldness, her distance, it was all a misguided attempt to protect herself from the possibility of losing our bond. The irony wasn't lost on me â her actions had almost achieved the very outcome she feared.
Enfolding her in a hug once more, I whispered into her hair, "It's okay, Minjeong. We can start over. Together."
Her body trembled against mine, a mixture of relief and hope washing over her. The night was filled with apologies, whispered confessions, and the bittersweet promise of a new beginning. We walked hand in hand, not as childhood friends, but as something more, something that transcended labels. We walked, not just towards her house, but towards a future we would write together, a future where communication replaced silence, and where the warmth of our friendship could finally blossom into something beautiful.
The walk to Minjeong's house felt different under the soft glow of the streetlights. The air, once thick with unspoken words, now crackled with a nervous energy, a budding promise. As we reached her doorstep, the weight of the emotional rollercoaster we'd just been on settled in.
Minjeong, sniffling and wiping away the last of her tears, looked at me with a mixture of vulnerability and hope. "Would you⌠would you like to stay?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Staying the night at her place felt like venturing into uncharted territory. Was it too soon? Yet, the thought of leaving her on such a vulnerable note felt unbearable.
"I⌠I don't know," I stammered, unsure of the protocol for such a situation.
Tears welled up in her eyes again, threatening to spill over. "Please, Y/n," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "I don't want to be alone tonight."
My resolve crumbled. How could I say no to those tear-filled eyes, to the raw vulnerability she was displaying? "Okay," I sighed, offering her a weak smile. "I'll stay."
Relief washed over her face, a radiant smile replacing the tear tracks. She fumbled with her keys, finally unlocking the door and ushering me inside.
The familiar scent of her home, a mixture of lavender and something vaguely sweet, instantly transported me back to our childhood sleepovers. As I entered her bedroom, the floodgates of nostalgia opened.
The walls were adorned with a tapestry of our shared history â a photo of us grinning goofily at a carnival, a drawing we'd made together during a rainy afternoon, a faded ticket stub from that time we snuck into a movie. Every picture, every memento, whispered of a friendship that had weathered storms, unspoken yet understood.
A choked sob escaped Minjeong's lips as she noticed my gaze tracing the memories on the wall. "It's⌠it's like a museum in here," she sniffled, a shy smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
I walked over to her, my heart overflowing with a cocktail of emotions. "It's beautiful," I whispered, reaching out to touch a photo of us on our first day of elementary school. "A reminder of everything we've been through."
Minjeong's cheeks flushed a rosy pink. As if making a sudden decision, she began to slowly undress, her movements filled with a nervous anticipation.
Shock momentarily paralyzed me. "Minjeong-Ah?" I stammered, unsure of how to interpret her actions.
She looked at me, her eyes shimmering with a newfound courage. "Y/n," she began, her voice barely a whisper, "I know this might seem crazy, but⌠all this time, all I ever wanted was you."
The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with unspoken desires. Before I could respond, she leaned in, hesitantly at first, then with a growing sense of urgency. Her lips met mine in a kiss that was both tentative and filled with a desperate longing.
It was a kiss that tasted of tearful apologies, unspoken confessions, and the bittersweet joy of a rekindled connection. In that kiss, we bridged the gap of lost years, the unspoken words replaced by a silent promise of a future we would write together.
Pulling away, breathless and a little dazed, we stared into each other's eyes. They held a newfound depth, a reflection of the emotions we had shared.
"Minjeong-Ah," I finally managed to breathe, my voice thick with emotion. "I⌠I thought I'd lost you."
"Me too," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes again, but this time, they were tears of joy. "But we're here now, Y/n. And this time," she continued, a determined glint in her eyes, "I'm not letting go."
Hearing those words, I immediately kissed her again. This time with so much passion and hunger to love her even more. minjeong share to play with my tounge,Something that I didn't know she would ever learned.
"M-minjeong-Ah.. You're so pretty". I blurted out, My words of praise basically flies out on its own. Minjeong blushes, Before planting another kiss to my lips. Her soft and plump lips, a cushion to my own.
"I-i want to try it... I-i want to do it with you Y/n". Minjeong blushes, Her hands touching the entrance of her now wet pussy. I blushed deeply, Not expecting that we'll come this far.
But I now know, that we are meant for each other. We both loved each other. I promised, I would never let her down anymore. I would love her with all of my heart.
"I-i'm putting it in Minjeong-Ah. Tell me if it hurts okay"? I gently caresses her face. As I started to slowly thrust my dick into her pussy, Minjeong immediately moaned, Her body trembling, as her hole started to widen, and not long after that. I have successfully inserted my whole dick deep into her pussy. As her hymen broke, Blood soon come out. I panicked, Asking Minjeong if she's alright.
She seemed to be trembling, and crying. I tried to pull back. But minjeong yelled "Noo.. Don't pull it out... I-i can handle it".
I hesitated, I didn't want this experience to hurt her. I explained it to her, that she doesn't need to force herself, and we can take it slowly. But to my suprise, Minjeong push me back, before straddling me.
"No.. No.. I want this.. I need this... Please don't leave me Y/n... I can handle this.. So please... caressing my face let me pleasure you". I immediately blushed hearing those words coming from her mouth. In the end I nodded, Letting her know I'll do it.
Minjeong started to move her hips slowly, Adjusting to the pain and pleasure that her body is currently having. And after a while, She finally found her pace and started to move faster and faster. We both moaned at how good this feels, And I just can't help but to admire her fit body, and her beautiful pair of tits.
"I-i know it's not the biggest... B-but.. Please love them". Minjeong blushes, as she turns her head around. I giggled before planting a kiss to her tits. Admiring them for how perfect they were. Mineong immediately smiled, Before planting another kiss to my lips.
After a while, I felt like I was near to reach my orgasm. As I saw Minjeong Continue swaying her hips, Something took over me and I gently put Minjeong into a missionary position. Minjeong legs immediately craddled surrounding my body, as her legs tightened. Her hand gripped the back of my body, As I kept on kissing her heck.
"Y/n!!! Y/n.. I'm close.. Fuck.. I'm so close..". Minjeong cried, as The pleasure was too much for the both of us. I told her that I'm also close.
"Shoot it inside me... I-it's okay... I want it..".
"W-whatt! No we can't... It's too dangerous minjeong... I'll shoot it outside".
"Noooo.. Please... I want your cum... Please... ".
As minjeong kept begging, and as I closely reached my limit. I can't help but to shoot my seed deep within her womb. As I did this, Minjeong moaned and tightly held me. Our body trembled in pleasure, and we finally reached our euphoria together.
After panting a while, We both Chukled before kissing each other for the last time, as we finally fell asleep. We held each other close, our bodies radiating a warmth that chased away the chill of the night. The room filled with the sound of our gentle breaths and the soft thudding of our hearts, a symphony of rediscovered love and a promise of a future where childhood friendship could finally blossom into something beautiful and everlasting.
Sunlight streamed through the window, painting golden stripes across Minjeong's face. She stirred, a sleepy smile curving her lips. Glancing beside her, she found me still nestled in the sheets, the events of last night replaying vividly in her mind. A blush crept up her cheeks as she remembered the passionate confessions and rekindled love that had blossomed under her very roof.
"Y/n," she whispered, nudging me gently. "Time to wake up. We don't want to be late for school."
I groaned playfully, pulling the covers over my head for a moment longer. "Five more minutes?" I mumbled, the warmth of the sheets and the memory of Minjeong close beside me making it hard to leave.
She chuckled, a sound like wind chimes dancing in a summer breeze. "Not a chance, sleepyhead. We have a whole day of classes and stolen glances ahead of us."
Her words were a sweet melody to my ears. Sitting up, I stretched, my gaze lingering on her. "Thank you, Minjeong-Ah," I said, my voice husky with sleep and unspoken emotions.
"For what?" she asked, tilting her head.
"For everything," I replied, cupping her face in my hands and leaning in for a soft kiss. It was a simple gesture, yet it spoke volumes of the renewed connection we shared.
The morning unfolded in a whirlwind of hurried breakfasts, stolen kisses in between brushing teeth, and nervous excitement as we walked to school together, hand in hand. As we reached our classroom, I was met with a concerned Seo-Ah, her eyes wide with worry.
"Y/n!" she exclaimed, rushing over. "Where have you been? I texted and called you a million times; I was scared something happened!"
My heart twinged with a pang of guilt. Seo-Ah's genuine concern warmed me, and I realized how much I valued our friendship. With a sheepish grin, I turned to Minjeong, taking her hand in mine.
"Seo-Ah," I began, my voice laced with a newfound confidence, "there's something I need to tell you. Minjeong and I⌠we're a couple now."
Seo-Ah's eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of sadness flitting across her face for a fleeting moment. But then, a genuine smile bloomed on her lips.
"Oh wow," she said, her voice filled with unexpected joy. "Congratulations, you two! I always thought you had a special connection."
Relief flooded me. I was worried how Seo-Ah would react, but her understanding and well-wishes warmed the air.
The rest of the day was a blur of excited whispers from classmates, stolen glances across the classroom, and the thrill of a newfound love. After school, Minjeong and I decided to celebrate. We walked hand-in-hand down a street lined with cherry blossom trees, their delicate pink petals showering us like confetti.
"This feels like a dream," Minjeong whispered, her eyes sparkling with happiness.
"A dream I never want to wake up from," I replied, squeezing her hand.
We stopped at a quaint ice cream shop, the aroma of sweet waffle cones wafting through the air. We ordered our favorite flavors, sharing bites and laughing like children. As we savored the cool treat, I realized that sometimes, the most unexpected detours lead us to the sweetest destinations.
Looking into Minjeong's eyes, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within them, I knew that our story was far from over. It was a story of friendship, of rediscovery, and of a love that had weathered the storms of time and finally blossomed into something beautiful. And as we walked into the sunset, hand in hand, with the promise of forever etched in our hearts, I knew this was just the beginning of our happily ever after.
The End
A/n : Hey Guys, Elryuse here. just want to say, This is probably one of my favorite stories/fics that I've ever written so far. The characterization of Winter/Minjeong really fit in this story. But I have to say, Justice for the Seo-Ah man. Initially, In my first draft of the story, Seo-Ah would be a contender for Winter, However while I was writing, I think this is for the best. So I settled for her losing quicker in the story.
And I wanted to apologize to some of you guys, who have requested for a fics, But I'm currently focusing my priority for my ko-fi fans and for people who ordered fics personally. But don't be sad, I would still definitely do some of your requests y'all. Hope you enjoyed this story guys. đ¤
#kim minjeong#minjeong x reader#aespa minjeong#minjeong aespa#aespa winter#aespa#winter x reader#kpop#kpop x reader#kpop x y/n#x male reader#beautiful#update#kpop smut#minjeong smut#aespa smut#romance#regrets#kissing#kiss#high school#love birds#girl love#friends to lovers
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BURNING BRIGHTER THAN THE SUN
summary â the annual maximoff memorial day barbecue has finally come, but so has a softer side of your dominants
warning(s) â established relationship, married wandanat, mentions of dom/sub dynamics, this is 90% fluff, shower sex, quickie, fingering, oral, nipple stimulation, hickies, its relatively tame in comparison to what lives in this au, domestic fluff, mentions of pietro being dead as fuck, men/minors dni
authors note â remember when i said i was taking a little break? yeah i lied and im not sorry about it!
you are in love universe
âĽď¸âš Ë . 18+, men/minors dni âş đ ę°đęą âĄ ď˝Ľ mommy maximoff
The warmth and promise of sunshine had quickly taken hold of Westview, days of long darkness and snow storms came to be just a memory, thawed out by butterflies and the occasional white dove that pecked at the birdfeeder on the back porch of the Maximoff residence. You couldnât understand how the sky was so much brighter in warmer weather, but as you sat beside Natasha on the cusp of solid Earth, you thought it looked bluer than usual. The crashing waves before you licked at your feet and dampened the shorts you wore when the tide dared to try and swallow you whole, but like changing seasons, it never stayed quick.Â
Sunrise had barely hit its peak and already the traces of pink and orange were just another mental memory for the big scrapbook of moments you never wanted to forget. The sand was coarse beneath the fingers that hours earlier had been dug into soft blankets, but refreshing and welcomed despite how small granules crept beneath your nails when you picked it up the wrong way. Natasha hummed an old lullaby beneath her breath, eyes closed and face tilted toward the sun like a lonely flower that had managed to grow in an abandoned field. You knew much about the woman's past, but not enough to understand her connection to the star that brought you light each new day. Now wasnât the time to ask, but you knew that eventually youâd come to know the reason for her methods of relief in hard times.Â
The first weekend of break had come on quick, and the barbeque that Wanda and Natasha had frantically tried to tidy the house for before your attitude interrupted them was merely hours away. Despite the plans and the people coming over, time had been taken out of the day to devote just to you. In this moment, sitting on the edge of solid ground beneath rays of sun that attempted to burn you, you couldnât even explain how truly loved you felt.Â
The beach was empty, void of the presence of others and quiet for your enjoyment, save for the seagulls who squawked over scraps and the waves that crashed against man made piers and naturally jagged rocks. Your toes were coated in sand, your fingers in the same state, but you didnât care to think about the messy things at that moment, you only wanted to focus on the good. The good was Natashaâs arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close like a stray wave might succeed in carrying you out to sea. The good was Wandaâs perfume that lingered around the collar of your stolen shirt like the scent was woven into the cotton. The good was being here, being free and alive. The good was knowing Natasha. The good was having Wanda. The good was knowing love and having love. Â
You laid your head down on the womanâs shoulder, noting how her hair seemed to glow beneath the sunlight. In this moment, it wasnât auburn with scuffs of brown thrown in at the roots, it was orange like fire made by those long before lights and lanterns existed. She was ethereal, sat out beneath the early daylight, bearing her freckles for the sky to adore. Youâd attempted to count them earlier, your gaze stuck on her naked face with blemishes and beauty marks sporadically thrown into the mix, but somewhere after thirty they all blended together and you settled for simply looking at them, admiring how you were somehow allowed to see them.Â
You were happier in spring, happiest in summer, but recently, you have found those seasons in people. Wanda was like the early days of May, where weather was warm but also cold, and sunlight was soft but somehow harsh. Natasha was like summer, late July if you thought about a specific moment. Like the air she was sweet, but like the people she was calm, and like the night she was chaos wrapped up in laughter and loved company. They werenât perfect, you would never call them such, but they were as close to it as people could get.Â
A soft smile graced your features, and though you squinted to lessen the sting of sunlight, Natasha thought you looked stunning. When her eyes reopened and her head tilted downward to look at you, there was only affection smeared across her face. Her eyes that were so meticulously different shades of green had a spark within them that could only speak of the happiness she felt. How words had existed for so long and still there wasnât one to describe the intense feelings that rushed through the both of you, you didnât know, but you were content enough to rest against her with the knowledge that even if you couldnât say it, you were both feeling it.Â
âWeâve gotta head back soon.â Your beautiful moment was ripped into tiny pieces of paper that got caught in the breeze before they made it into the recycling can, and the smile that had turned your lips upward quickly worked in the opposite direction. You shook your head, digging your heels into the sand like the simple action might change her mind and make her forget about the barbeque that was starting at noon. âNot now. I need a couple more minutes of this.âÂ
You giggled softly when she nuzzled into your head, her wild curls tickling your nose because she hadnât bothered to straighten them yesterday. You reached up, taking one of her curls between your fingers and pulling it taught, letting go to watch it bounce back into place and laid against her forehead with frizzy edges. You sighed in content, running your fingers through her wild hair that couldnât be tamed in this state. âI like your natural hair.âÂ
Natasha crinkled her nose at your genuine admission. She puckered her lips and let them rest against your finger that was still in front of her face as you softly brushed strands of hair away from her eyes. âMy natural hair is blonde.â
âThatâs not what I meant and you know it.â You rolled your eyes fondly, snuggling even further into her side despite how hot you felt beneath the sun. No matter the weather you wanted to be pressed up into her, and it was clear that she wanted the same, her arm around your waist squeezed you tight, almost daring you to try and pull away prematurely. âWhen you met Wanda did she have red hair?âÂ
âNo, the red is pretty new. It was brown, a little bit longer than she keeps it now. She was really leaning into the whole emo phase. We could never go out together if she didnât have red lipstick and eyeliner, she always said it completed her look.â Natasha smiled fondly at the memories that came to mind when she thought about the beginning stages of their relationship, and you felt your own heart warm in your chest as you thought about the young couple they had been. You wondered what kind of odds had been stacked against them, but you didnât question it, happy to just live in this happy moment.Â
You let your hand fall back into the sand, rubbing circles that slowly became hearts into the malleable surface. The beach would always be one of your favorite places, but sitting beside Natasha made it better, sweeter. âHow long have you been together now?âÂ
âFourteen years.â Natasha laughed, her own hand reaching out to collect handfuls of sand that she let run between her fingers until only a few granules were left in her palm, and then you watched her repeat the process over again. âSometimes it feels like it was only a couple of weeks ago, and other times it feels like Iâve never lived without her.âÂ
âI never hated her.â You admitted, though you had the slightest inkling that Natasha already knew that. She just had a way of knowing things before you did. There was no possible way anyone could hate Wanda Maximoff, and if you somehow stumbled upon the only person in the world who did, you didnât doubt theyâd meet a quick and painful demise.Â
âI know, moya kroshka.â Natasha laughs softly, so softly the sounds of the waves almost drown her out completely, but you still heard her. Youâd always hear her. âItâs coming up on a full year since we started this whole thing, have any ideas about what you want to do?âÂ
You shrugged your shoulders, reaching for Natashaâs hand when she lost interest in the sand. Sheâd taken her rings off last night and with the early wake-up call hadnât put them back on. The slightest tan kissed her features around where they usually sat, and gently you brushed the pads of your fingers against the pale skin. âI just want to spend it with you both.âÂ
âWe can definitely make that happen.â Natasha hummed softly, laying a gentle kiss on the top of your head where sunlight had kissed your hair. Your roots were warm, hot against her lips, but Natasha didnât flinch away. You knew this moment was coming to an end, but you could appreciate it for the few seconds longer that it lasted. âWanda probably has breakfast ready, milaya. Weâve gotta start heading back now.âÂ
âCan we come back?â You questioned softly, not wanting to speak too loud as if it could ruin the quiet atmosphere around you. As you stood, dusting sand off the back of your legs, you winced at the ache in your back when you finally found your feet and steadied yourself on them. Natasha did the same, a quiet groan slipping past her lips when she reached down to collect your abandoned sets of flip flops. With one hand occupied, she reached the other out to you. Â
âWeâll find a day.â She promised with a nod of affirmation. Your hand fits easily in the palm of hers, your fingers curl around her scarred knuckles while hers lay flat against your unbroken ones. Together youâre a perfect balance. Delicate definitely, but not entirely harmless.Â
Westview sits on the edge of New Jersey, the air tinged with the permanent lingrance of salt and sand. The farther you walk, the less prominent it becomes, but if you know what youâre looking for, the scent of the shore still remains. Houses closest to the water are painted soft colors that linger in the summer sunrises, vacation homes that are only occupied for a handful of months throughout the year, but the deeper you walk the more mundane it becomes. The town is a muted palette of browns and beiges, fences of white and cars of greyscale. Itâs perfectly coherent, acceptably mature, but the Maximoff residence remains the outlier. In the blandness of tans and creams, the two-story house is a soft green color with vibrant red shutters. The cars are normal, though elaborate. Unlike the Hondas and Toyotas that occupy driveways and road space, Natashaâs sleek Corvette Stingray sits beside Wandaâs Audi R8 in the driveway, the only flex of their wealth thatâs apparent. You like it though, like how theyâre so different from everyone else.Â
You make sure to kick the sand still clinging to your heels off before you step into the house, and immediately youâre met with the aroma of sweet sugar and maple. Natasha hums at the change of scent, leaving behind the traces of salt that had tickled her nose the entire walk back to the house in favor of discovering what Wanda had prepared for breakfast. She drags her hand across your back as she passes you, seeking out the presence of her wife.Â
You're slower to follow, taking your time to meticulously stack your flip flops with the rest of the shoes in the entryway. They donât match the aesthetic of Valentino loafers and Prada heels, but you smile at the sight anyways. Your favorite pair of white converse sit beside the shoes Wanda wears into the office every work day, and your balled up pink socks are tucked into Natashaâs running shoes for some reason, but the little traces of your place here makes you feel at home. Youâre not so different from the shore that lingers through Westview in the winter, but unlike the water thatâs abandoned when snow falls, theyâll never forget about you when the seasons inevitably change.Â
âWhere did you leave the stray?â You just barely catch the end of whatever conversation has led to that question when you finally appear in the kitchen. The sunlight is golden now, no longer soft with pink and orange, but it falls over Wanda like the perfect blanket anyways. Sheâs wrapped up in Natashaâs arms, pinned to the stovetop where bacon rests in a hot pan. The only indication that this moment is less than perfect is the hot grease that pops and splatters every other second when Wanda neglects it for too long.Â
âYou know, you should really be nice to me before I start biting your ankles like a real stray.â You hum, your voice carrying through the kitchen like itâs always belonged there, though itâs not a response derived from annoyance like it would have been only weeks ago. Rather, your words are layered with fond exasperation that Wanda finds herself laughing at.Â
Natasha kisses the lawyer's shoulder, squeezes her waist tightly, whispers something in Russian thatâs not entirely audible from how far away you stand, before she pulls away entirely and walks toward the refrigerator. You pout when she pulls out the near empty pitcher of orange juice, setting it down on the island to be poured into glasses when breakfast is ready. It seems you couldâve spent a few more minutes beneath the sun, but you donât complain. This is just as nice, just different.Â
âThatâs my job.â You sulk, letting your naked feet slap against the hardwood floors as you approach with sadness written across your expression. âWanda, your wife took my job.âÂ
Natasha only narrows her eyes at you, the faintest ghost of a smile on her lips that she doesnât even attempt to school. âIt was my job first.âÂ
âWell itâs my job now!â You stuck your tongue out at her, sulking your way over to Wanda who lets you wrap your body around hers like a baby koala. With your front pressed up against hers, you have to crane your head backward to catch a glimpse of her face, but you're pleased to know sheâs already looking down at you. You pout your lips up at her, grinning in victory when she kisses your frown away with a sigh of faux exasperation. âCan I have a new job?âÂ
Wanda laughs at your question, her fingers sliding beneath the waistband of your shorts to sit on the skin of your ass thatâs still marked from days prior. You sighed in relief at the contact, leaning heavily into her chest when she rubs away the lingering ache that truthfully doesnât bother you much anymore. It doesnât last long, thereâs still much to be done before noon rolls around, but you soak up every ounce of domesticity this morning has offered. âSit on the counter and look pretty for me while I finish up with the bacon.âÂ
âAye aye, Captain.â You giggle after saluting her, wiggling out of her arms and sliding your way up onto the countertop thatâs practically become your designated spot since she stopped reprimanding you about sitting up here. Natasha crosses the little space between the edge of the island to where youâre perched watching Wanda cook, and you hum in pleasure when she leans forward to connect your lips.Â
Your hands wrap around her shoulders and fingers tangle into the baby hairs at the nape of her neck. You smile into the kiss, beyond content with the little bubble thatâs existed around you since being roused from sleep at five in the morning. A shriek of surprised laughter fills the kitchen when Natasha pulls away from your lips and buries her face in the crock of your neck, a raspberry tickling the sensitive skin as she blows against it. You squirm away from the sensation, but your arms still keep her locked in place.Â
âHi, Natty.â You giggle, tugging gently at the loose curls that your fingers are twisted between. She smiles at your happiness, pecking your lips a handful of times before she pulls away and whispers back the same greeting. âYou smell like the beach.â You point out, giggling at Natashaâs extravagant eye roll.Â
âYou both smell like the beach and will be taking a shower after breakfast.â Wanda chimed into the conversation, tapping your thigh in warning as she opened the cabinet just beside your head. It had become routine at this point for her to simply work around you, so the clattering of plates beside your ear didnât bother you much.Â
When she turned around to grab the serving plate of belgian waffles on the island, your hand shot out to slap her ass, all thoughts of controlling your limbs forgotten. But really, who could blame you when she was wearing the shortest cotton shorts that had ever been sold in stores? Natasha had to bury her face in your neck to muffle her laughter, and you could feel her wide grin against your skin as you smirked innocently back at Wanda who set a firm glare in your direction.Â
âBehave yourself.â She warned half-heartedly, absolutely no bite to her warning as youâd all just accepted the natural occurrence of the day, your roles as dominant and submissive forgotten about. You liked this exchange, not because you felt any less their equal when they bossed you around and set expectations upon your shoulders, but because it was the faintest glimpse at what life could be if they werenât married and you were really their girlfriend. âDonât even think about it, Natalia.â Wanda warned, already knowing Natasha was about to do the same thing you had been bold enough to accomplish.Â
The redhead merely smirked and shrugged her shoulders, feigning innocence as she pulled away from your embrace and brought the drink glasses and pitcher into the dining room. You hopped off the counter the same as you always do, mimicking Natashaâs shrug when Wanda winced at the action. You grabbed the platter of bacon from her hands and followed after the lawyer who had already exited, eager to see where the day ended up, surrounded by the Maximoffâs closest friends and family members.Â
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The shower water was hot enough to create a thick fog on the glass doors and surrounding mirrors in the en-suite master bathroom, but still it felt cold as you joined Natasha beneath the heavy and unrelenting spray. You shivered despite the heat, reaching for the handle and turning it up even hotter, ignoring the Russianâs protests that her skin was actively melting off her bones. You liked hot showers, but you hated hot baths, and somehow you had yet to find a happy medium that worked for the both of you. Typically youâd compromise and switch off between who melted and who froze, and although it was admittedly your turn to freeze, today was not a day where you were willing to sacrifice feeling in your appendages. Â
You silenced her whines with a desperate kiss, not even attempting to hide your need for her as you backed her up against the cold tile walls and pinned her hands to her sides. Your tongue was unrelenting as it licked and sucked at hers, tasting the minty toothpaste that she had rinsed from her mouth only minutes before youâd sought out her presence. When your teeth bit down on her tongue, just hard enough to send a shock of excitement down to her core, Natasha decided that being pliant in your hold wasnât working for her.Â
You shrieked in surprise when your position switched easily, the hands that had been firmly holding her wrists against the wall now pinned at your sides in the same way. You arched away from the cold tiles, effectively smashing your chests and eager nipples together as you attempted to run away from the cold wall.
âFuck!â You shivered, your lips ghosting over hers. âYou have a fucking Stingray and you still havenât discovered heated walls?! Whatâs the point of having money if you donât use it for good things!â Your words were quickly replaced by breathy moans as Natasha attached her mouth to your chest and greedily sucked a mark into your untouched skin; a mark that wouldnât be easily hidden, especially not with the swimsuit you had been intending on wearing for the party. âFuck, Natââ You pushed her head away, hoping youâd acted quick enough for the damage to be only minimal. The smirk on her lips told you that you hadnât succeeded, and you slapped at her shoulder in exasperation. âYour sister is literally going to be here in two hours, can you contain your vampire impulses until she leaves?!âÂ
âMy sister has fucked her girlfriend in my guest bedroom. A hickey should be the least of her worries.â Natasha threw back at you, attacking her mouth to your nipple with purpose. You had ten minutes to sort yourselves out before Wanda came stomping up the stairs and pulling you out of the shower, orgasms or not. You did not want to spend the entire afternoon and evening hot and bothered because you got pussy blocked by a scary Sokovian.Â
Natashaâs teeth pulled at your nipple, allowing the skin to sting for only a second before she soothed the pain with quick flicks of her tongue. Your other nipple was not privy to the same treatment, but her stumbling fingers attempted to make up for the neglect as she rolled and pinched at the pebbled bud. You shoved her head away from your chest, forcing her down onto her knees and in the direction of where you needed her most. It occurred to you briefly that you should wash her hair as she ate you out, kill two birds with one stone or whatever the saying was, but you quickly backtracked on that idea when her tongue sought out your clit with no lack of drive. Your knees wobbled, your breath got caught in your throat, and desperately your fingers tangled into her hair and pulled her closer. Your hips grinded against her face as she licked and sucked at your nerve with a passion, and you're certain that had the droplets of liquid fire not been falling over her face in a manner that was less than pretty, her chin wouldâve glistened with your arousal.Â
You arched into her touch as your orgasm approached, and Natasha had used the new position of your body as the perfect moment to bury two fingers knuckles deep in your cunt. You gasped in pleasure at the brief sting that came from her actions, crying out her name in pure bliss as she worked you over the edge so quickly you deserved an award for fastest achieved orgasm.Â
She pulled away with dilated pupils, her own lust not forgotten about. You sank to your knees before her, pushing at her shoulders until she complied with your silent request and was laid out on the shower floor. Unlike you, she didnât attempt to wiggle away from the flush of cold against her back, and unlike her, you didnât waste time toying with her nipples. You dove straight into her cunt, lifting one of her legs until it was high enough to drop onto your shoulder. She tasted like she always did, but something about this situation made her more addictive. The spray of the water fell onto her belly, harsh droplets of water tinting the skin pink from not only the temperature but the pressure. One of these days, youâre going to get around to finding out the true pleasure of the detachable shower head, but today was not that day. You didnât tease, much more intent at working her up and pushing her over before Wanda came to interrupt. Her clit throbbed beneath your tongue as you licked at her, and her walls clenched around your fingers as she pleaded for more.Â
âFaster.â She moaned, her head thrown back against the white shower floors. The messy sprawl of her red hair was perfectly angelic, but you had no time to dwell on the sight of her as the minutes ticked down to none. Your fingers set into her at a punishing pace, curling into the sweet spot she loved so much until it was just a symphony of your name that rolled off her tongue in breathy whines and moans. You eased her off of the cliff with a practiced ease, giggling softly when she pushed your head away and subsequently caused water to spray in all directions as it bounced off her wrist. âN-Never letting you talk me into a shower quickie again. I think thereâs an entire lake in my ears.â She panted, splaying a hand across her belly until she had managed to catch her breath.Â
âI mean, technically I didnât talk you into anything. I mouthed you into this.â You giggled, helping her stand and replacing your rough touch with something tender and sweet. You reached for Wandaâs shampoo, not caring that Natasha had her own right beside it. Wandaâs smelled sweeter, and if you were going to be the one to wash the womanâs hair, it would be you who picked the scene she bore for the rest of the day.Â
You rubbed at her scalp, lathered until it bubbled, and eased your fingers through the knotted locks when it was time to wash it out. Wandaâs conditioner sat in her hair when the process was repeated on your head, and you sighed in relief when Natasha scratched her nails against the nape of your neck before trailing her hands down to your shoulders. Her thumbs worked on the soft muscles between your shoulder blades, and you melted into the firm attention.Â
âHow long can we stay in here before she breaks down the door?â You questioned, your eyes fluttering closed as you let yourself relax completely. Even if you hadnât said it, you were beyond nervous to be meeting their family and friends. Some of the people attending their barbeque were big names in the security world, namely Kate Bishop, and you intended on making the best first impression if you were to ever have a career in the same field.Â
âThree minutes.â Natasha chuckled gently, guiding you under the stream of water so she could rinse the soap from your hair. She conditioned you right after, twisting the strands of your hair between her fingers as she worked out the knots and kinks toward the ends. You rinsed her hair when she was done, dragged a loofa across her skin afterward, and then were rewarded with the same loving treatment. âThereâs nothing to be nervous about. Everyone coming knows how much you mean to us. Theyâre all excited to meet you.â Natasha kissed your shoulder before she turned the water off and squeegeed the door clean of droplets and steam, stepping out into the cold first before she offered you a towel.Â
âI know.â You sighed, drying your body as you tried to force your feelings into words. âI just want to make a good impression. These are your friends. Itâs your sister. They matter to you and Wanda.âÂ
âAnd you matter to me and Wanda just as much. If youâre worried about Yelena, thereâs no reason to be. Sheâs going to act like she hates you because she thinks it's her duty as my little sister to vet whoever I choose to spend my time with, but by the end of the night sheâs going to have you trapped by the firepit showing you pictures of her dog. When she met Wanda for the first time, she insulted her in Russian because she thought she wouldnât understand.â Natasha snorted at the memory, and you couldnât help but grin bashfully at the admission. âYouâre going to get along fine, and honestly that worries me. I can barely handle you by yourself.âÂ
âHey!â You slapped at her side, but couldnât help the wide smile that threatened to split your lips in half as you stared up at her. âIâll be on my best behavior, promise.âÂ
âI donât doubt that, ŃŃонОк.â Natasha leaned forward to kiss your lips, and you returned the gesture though a crinkle of confusion settled across your brows.Â
You asked once she pulled away, wrapping the towel tightly around your torso so that you could make a break for the guest bedroom where your outfit for the day remained. âWhat does that one mean?âÂ
âDuckling.â She laughed, and you groaned knowing that it was going to stick around, at least for a little while. Youâd been quite privy to Wanda in recent days, call it making up for lost time if you really had to explain your reasonings, and both the Russian and Sokovian had chalked up your clinginess as acts of a duckling blindly following its mother. If Wanda was anywhere in the house, you were right behind her. Yesterday you had genuinely pouted at the bathroom door when she forbade you from coming in with her when she needed to pee, and unluckily enough for you, Natasha had come into the bedroom at just the right time to watch the scene unfold. âGo get dressed. Yelena said sheâs arriving at twelve which really means sheâll be here in twenty minutes.â Â
You nodded quickly, bolting out of the master bathroom and into your claimed bedroom without a moment of hesitance, not wanting Yelena to arrive before you were dressed. The door wasnât even fully closed before you were dropping your towel and scrambling to find your bathing suit bottoms in the pile of messy clothes stacked on the dresser.Â
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Droplets of chlorinated water lingered on touches of skin that had yet to be dried by the slowly slipping Spring sun; still a ripple of motion in the pool that hadnât yet gone completely still with the fresh absence of bodies in the water. The crack of wood submitting to controlled flames accompanied the music of laughter and conversation that happened around you. The evening was long ahead of you, eternal more hours of company promised, but you didnât feel any obligation to join in on jokes and memories as you fell into Wandaâs lap and snuggled in close, seeking her warmth and comfort as a chill set overtop of you. Youâd been drinking all afternoon, being handed hard seltzers and beers whenever anyone noticed your hands were empty. Youâd finished a handful of Wanda and Natashaâs chosen drinks, taking it upon yourself to try at least one of every flavor they had laying around the backyard. The flush on your cheeks was near permanent at this point, and though the heat in your ears would be gone by morning and replaced with a headache only Advil and sleep could soothe, the kiss on your cheeks would last days before it settled into darkened skin.Â
As promised, Yelena had kept you pinned to the edge of the pool when the sun was still at its highest peak in the sky, showing you pictures and videos of the two dogs she took great pride in caring for. Kate had watched for a while, draped across her girlfriend's shoulder as the three of you laughed at a particular video of Fanny and Lucky dressed up in bowties zooming around their daylight drenched kitchen, but she had excused herself to the bathroom before the end was in sight. Maria Hill had been your savior, though you were content with Yelenaâs easy presence not to mind your trapped position much while it had lasted. The early hours of the afternoon had been filled with conversation and the act of acquainting, but the later hours had told a different story; a wild one. It was the story of how you had come to find this state of mind, far past the point of being tipsy and well on your way to true drunkness.Â
You hummed when Wanda laid her palm flat over your belly, keeping you close and safe in her lap. The soft pad of her thumb tickled your belly button as she adjusted slowly, sinking further down into the lounge chair she sprawled across. The sloppy smile on your face was the truest indication of your contentment, and Wanda, though she wondered who had been the one to feed you so much alcohol without her realizing, returned the grin.Â
Natasha and Yelena were noticeably missing from the circle, but the silhouettes of their wild hair and toned shoulders were figures or darkness in the kitchen that promised a quick return. Natasha, though only an inch or so taller than her sister, wore her curls in a messy bun that slipped lower and lower down her head as the hours carried on. She was easiest to spot from a distance, the shadow of her presence known perfectly to you. Wanda didnât pay you much attention other than the firm hand on your belly, but you were content to just be with her as she laughed and caught up with the blonde woman sat beside her; Carol Danvers.Â
âThey put up a new plaque for Pietro today.â Carol laughed at the inkling of information she had forgotten to share earlier in the afternoon, and Wanda craned her head in hopeful willingness that Carol would share more. âHe wouldâve loved it. Heâs the only bastard on the squad that was dumb enough to have a catch phrase.âÂ
As if that mentioned catch phrase had been sitting on the lips of every person gathered around the fire, it fell from soft tongues without a moment of hesitation. Messy, not at all in tune, but seemingly perfect to Wanda who smiled when horrible Sokovian accents caught up to her ears and the words her brother had made his slogan lived on when even he didnât, âYou didnât see that coming.âÂ
Memorial day has never held much significance to you. It had been just another holiday that sat on the start of summer, sometimes warm enough for gatherings like these, and sometimes not. Until you realized that the American flag folded in militant perfection in the master bedroom was a symbol of remembrance, you hadnât thought it held much significance to the CEOâs either. Even though you hadnât known Pietro, his life ending years before your path had crossed with the Maximoffâs, you smiled. His name had lingered in conversations throughout the day, and you didnât question how loved he still was after years of absence.Â
Wandaâs lips were heavy on the crown of your head when she leaned down to kiss you. You leaned into the touch, your eyes fluttering closed for the briefest second before they opened and found Natasha admiring the sight of you. Two beers retrieved from the cooler near the pool sat in her hands, one cracked open and extended in your direction.Â
âShe doesnât need anymore.â Wanda rolled her eyes, but didnât stop you from grabbing the long necked bottle Natasha offered and adjusting yourself in her lap so that you could sip on it easily, having already spilled one drink down the front of you. With your back against her chest, and your legs situated between hers, you had to crane your neck to catch even the slightest glimpse of her face, but her arms around your torso were the physical assurance of her presence. She rubbed at the skin of your belly that had grown pink and warm beneath the sun, not yet tan, but it would come soon. The hickey on your chest had long since been forgotten, though Yelena had posed many questions of its origin before Kate slapped her shoulder and changed the topic. Youâd been accepted without question, and you found that while some of their friends were painfully intimidating, Maria and Carol, they were truly sweethearts who had the same tendencies of protection as your dominants.Â
When your beer had grown warm, and your cheeks had grown flusher, having been in no hurry to finish it off and replenish it like Yelena was doing, you passed the near empty bottle off to Natasha who had taken it not without an exasperated roll of her eyes and a mumbled sentence along the lines of being nothing but your servant. You had giggled, shrugged your shoulders, and curled further into Wanda who didnât seem to even flinch at your elbow digging into her ribs.Â
Despite your determination to remain awake, sleep won over you just as quickly as drunkenness had. Wanda merely rubbed your back in encouragement, being the single factor that had forced you into soft unconsciousness when conversations still buzzed around you. With your eyes closed and your breathing even, no chance of being woken even by the harshest storm, conversation had naturally flowed away from Pietro and onto you, but both Wanda and Natasha welcomed the new topic if it meant having the welcomed opportunity to boast about just how truly sweet you are.Â
âI see you played the long game, Maximoff.â Maria winked at the Sokovian, her icy blue eyes admiring your innocent form as you attempted to wiggle closer to the auburn haired women who held you tightly. If you could find a way to burrow yourself beneath her skin, she knew that you wouldâve done so already.Â
âPatience rewards those who have it.â Wanda merely smirked in response, running her pruney fingers from hours of holding sweating cans and bottles through your chlorine stiff hair. âShe just needed a little encouragement.âÂ
âShe wasnât the only one.â Natasha rolled her eyes, sipping slowly on her beer that despite the warmth, still brought a piece of home over her longing heart. Russians may drink vodka, but Melina Vostokoff had always preferred a beer.Â
Wanda shrugged, knowing that despite her persistently cold demeanor, she had never truly doubted how her heart yearned for you. âItâs not my fault you brought home a brat.âÂ
âIf I remember correctly, you said the same thing when you met Natasha.â Carol smirked over the lip of her can, her eyes burning holes into the side of Natashaâs face, though the Russian pointedly ignored her stare.Â
âWatch it, Danvers.â She warned, but surrendered to the teasing she had missed in recent months. Life was busy, but theyâd always find a reason to come back together.
#wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x reader#dom!natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff smut#natasha romanoff fluff#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#dom!wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff smut#wanda maximoff fluff#wandanat#wandanat x reader#dom!wandanat x reader#wandanat smut#wandanat fluff#series: you are in love#minors dni ŕ§ŕ
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imagine sally taking percy to montauk over the years. using the hours that he's asleep to sit along the beachside shore. remembering the nights she had with poseidon. basking in the delicate breeze on a soft bed of sand. stolen kisses under the moonlight. a love she never thought she'd find. and then her world came crashing like the tide. now all she has left of poseidon is a child he can't help her raise. but she loves percy with all her might. and they'll be okay soon enough.
and then imagine sally taking paul to montauk. using the hours he's asleep to sit along the beachside shore. remembering the nights she had with percy. making smores with blue-tinted marshmallows. the two of them staying up too late at night bingeing soap operas. a happiness she never thought she'd be able to provide for her son. and then her world came crashing down once more. now all she has left of percy is an empty bedroom and a missed phone call from the otherside of the country. but word from camp is that annabeth found him. and if that rings true. then they'll be okay soon enough.
#percy and sallyâs relationship is actually everything#i need to write more of these two#i love these two with all my heart#percy and sally#the ultimate mother and son duo#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo text post#pjo#percy jackson#sally jackson#sally jackson headcanon
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