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illyrianbitch · 8 months ago

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An Education in Malice — Part Seven

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: brief mentions of abuse, beron being a pos, deep self-reflection for both az & reader, a conversation, a confession, and a turning point

Word Count: 5.6k

a/n: this is not properly proofread yet, i couldnt bring myself to read it fully since i was getting self-critical and wouldve never posted

Part Six | Series Masterlist

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The early morning mist still clung to the open fields as you crossed them. Eris stood alone in the expanse, throwing a ball for his hounds. The movement was fluid and practiced, and you found your mind wandering to memories of decades prior —- memories where Eris stood in the same spot, throwing the same ball at younger pup versions of the dogs. Laney trotted beside you as you approached, her pace quickening as she saw the others.

A brisk chill made you pull your coat tighter, but the fabric did little to ward off the cold. It was always peaceful out here, away from the burdens and bustle of the court itself, and Autumn mornings had a cool air that made you feel real, made your skin feel alive.

Eris’s eyes were already on you as you approached him, eyebrows raising momentarily as you took a stand next to him. You mirrored the action back to him, crossing your arms and pulling them tight against your body.

“What’s that look for?”

He gave a casual shrug. "Surprised you've spared some time for me in your incredibly busy schedule.”

You scowled. “You’re so dramatic.”

He chuckled, a low sound that seemed to vibrate through the crisp air, and his lips twitched upwards in amusement at your annoyance. “You’ve been gone a lot.”

Your gaze bounced around his face. He seemed tired— more so than usual, and the freckles on his nose seemed to be less prominent with the lack of color in his skin. You casted an absentminded glance towards the overcast sky before meeting your brother's eyes again.

“Have I?”

Eris hummed. “You have.”

He pulled at the cuffs of his sleeves.

“I’m surprised you noticed,” you said, “You’ve been really busy too.”

Your answer pulled another raise of his brows.

“Of course I noticed,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes that matched the amusement in his tone. “It was so quiet here without you terrorizing everyone.”

You rolled your eyes and Eris grinned at his own words, a look of satisfaction rolling through his features as you scowled deeper.

“You’re not funny,” you said.

He let out a wistful sigh. “On the contrary, little sister,” he mused, “I’m hilarious.”

You threw him a withering glare and his grin widened. He nudged his shoulder against yours. A few hounds scampered back to him, Flint proudly carrying a small red ball in his slobbering jaws. Laney bounded alongside, followed closely by four hounds.

Eris moved gracefully, bringing his body down into a squat to offer a flat palm to Flint. The ball landed in his hand with a small thud.

"The male you’re sleeping with, do you care for him?"

Eris’s voice was so calm, so casual, that you almost didn’t catch what he’d asked you. He didn’t bother to look at you.

You took a sharp intake of breath, looking down at him with widened eyes. “What?”

Eris stood up straight as he tossed the ball back into the distance effortlessly. You watched the hounds race after it, Laney's determined strides putting her ahead of the pack as they joined the others in the field. When you looked back at Eris, he was studying you— waiting for your response.

“Well?”

Your heartbeat quickened and you frowned, pulling your arms tighter against your chest. "What are you talking about?"

He raised an eyebrow, casually pulling a small handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his hands. "Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

You stared at him, feeling a knot of tension tighten in your chest. Your nails dug into your skin through the fabric of your coat. Eris continued, his voice steady. "You've done a great job at covering the scent. But you can't fool me. Don't forget who taught you those tricks."

His eyes were simmering as they met yours again, the amber in them flickering with something guarded— something concerned. You took a steadying breath as you weighed your options. The easiest one was to deny that there was any male at all, to attempt to outplay your brother at the one game he knew best. But it would be foolish to believe that could truly work. Your mind raced again.

The best lies are the ones with truth, Eris always said, you can get away with anything if you approach it right, if you take control of the conversation.

You let out a breath. “I was hoping you wouldn’t find out.”

Truth.

He maintained his heavy gaze. "Is it one of my soldiers?"

You grimaced at his words, letting your face fall into one of slight disgust. "You'd really want to know if I was sleeping with one of your men?"

Take control of the conversation.

The words seem to hit their target as Eris’s lips formed a deep frown. His nose scrunched as he processed the words. He gave you a dismissive hand wave. “Nevermind.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “That’s what I thought.”

A moment of silence passed but Eris’s gaze didn’t leave your face. You forced yourself to look into the distance, to watch the hounds as they chased each other in the grass.

"You didn't answer me.”

You took a breath. "About what?"

"Do you care for him?"

The words ran through you in a wave, one entirely too heavy for your liking.

Months ago, the answer would have been obvious— so obvious that the question itself would’ve seemed like a sick joke. Months ago, it would've been instant. No. You did not care for Azriel. He could've died and you would've celebrated; would’ve laughed at the idea of karma finally finding its way to the family you disliked so heavily.

But something in you had changed recently, changed in a way that made you hesitate at your answer.

You and Azriel hadn't slept together in weeks. And even those times had been a physical release, something meaningless yet sickly sweet. Yet, the moments since had become even more intimate—the times you caught yourself joking with him, caught your own lingering gaze on his form.

You’d gone back for him— and you’d repeated that moment in your head multiple times since, thinking back to that tug you felt in your chest, the strange guilt you felt the minute you’d winnowed away. You’d gone back and fought alongside him, had managed to heal him in a way you'd never been able to do for Eris, never been able to do even for yourself.

You looked at your brother and let out a sharp breath of air.

"No. I don’t."

The words felt forced, strained, and you worried that Eris would see through it entirely— would force you to admit a truth you weren’t sure existed. But he only narrowed his eyes, tilted his head, and then nodded.

“Good,” he said, “That would only make matters worse.”

There was something in his tone that made you run cold and you turned your body to face him, watching as his eyes shifted impatiently, the action almost nervous.

“Eris,” you said cautiously, “What is it?”

A flicker of something ran through his face, something that looked awfully like guilt, like sadness.

“Y/n” he began, but you lifted a hand up, shaking your head at his attempts to soften the conversation, to gently lead into whatever topic had him so bothered.

”Don’t,” you said firmly. “Don’t do that. Don’t use that voice. I’m not a child to be soothed. Tell me.”

Eris sighed. “He’s entertaining the idea of marrying you off to garner more support.”

A name wasn’t needed as your stomach dropped and your hands fell slack at your sides. “No,” you said, shaking your head. “That’s not true.”

Eris’s shoulders slumped. “It’s why I’ve been so busy. I looked into it. It’s true.”

A strange buzzing sensation began to fill your ears. You shook your head as if to clear it, as if the words Eris would say next could change the ones he had already said.

“No,” you repeated firmer. “Brides are taken at their prime, when they become of age. I’ve been of age for centuries. I- No.”

Eris stepped closer. “He’s seeing it as a way to strengthen inner-court allies, to consolidate power in a more immediate way. Access to our bloodline is an incredible link to influence, any of his men will take the chance.”

Your chest constricted as the words sank in and you felt your hands begin to tremble, felt an unsteady flicker at your fingertips. You met Eris’s gaze, eyes wide, breathing heavy.

“He’s punishing me.”

Eris swallowed hard and his eyes filled with a deep, unspoken sorrow. He nodded, unable to find the right words.

”Just give me some time,” Eris finally said, pulling you in by your shoulder. He lowered his head to meet your gaze, his voice falling to a softer, lower tone. “I’ll figure something out, okay? I-I just need some time.”

It seemed as if he was trying to convince himself of his own words too. So you only nodded, looking into the distance once more, eyes tracing the circles the hounds ran around each other.

Even in the open air, in this freedom, they were still pets— still animals that were owned, bred throughout history for a singular purpose.

You’d never realized how much you had in common until now.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

He stepped out of the bath, feeling as the water trailed down his form and the tension in his muscles eased. The steam swirled around him, briefly shrouding him in a comforting fog, and his shadows followed his movements slowly— leisurely.

Azriel’s wing was healed now and he thought of you whenever he moved it. He remembered how he had slipped into unconsciousness at your touch, how your focused, almost tender face was the last thing he saw before succumbing to the darkness. He thought of you in the moonlight, thought of how your voice softened as you talked about Lucien. Most of all, he thought about the words he’s said himself, words intended to be an apology—- a compliment, even. And how you’d recoiled at them as if he had injured you gravely.

He dressed slowly, his mind being lured in every direction but ultimately falling back to you. Azriel glanced down at his hands, at the scars that marred his skin. Amongst his burns were scars from battles, from missions, and if he squinted hard enough, he could envision the blood that stained them still, even after the liquid had been washed off.

Every act he committed was etched into his skin, acts done out of loyalty, out of a need to protect those he loved; a need to be important, to be anything but weak.

Azriel had felt at sea recently, lost even in his own court. He felt like a failure as he watched Rhysand’s worry about Koschei grow throughout the days. He was a spymaster— a warrior. Yet nothing he did seemed to help. His family was restless, on edge, and he felt a bitter pang as his shadows updated him on their every move. Feyre and Rhys had learned to soothe Nyx at night and Cassian and Nesta had begun planning their mating ceremony—something large, grand, and worth her time. He didn’t even want to think of Elain, to think of her alongside the brother that even Azriel’s shadows had grown to like.

He was happy for them. At least, he told himself so. But he couldn’t shake his feeling of unease, as if he was on unsettled ground. Beneath it all was a sickening sense of jealousy. Everyone— even Amren— had found a purpose, had even found a love that softened them. Azriel hadn’t.

Maybe that was why he liked the way he felt when he met with you, liked how it had given him a sense of purpose— even if he disliked what that purpose was for. He felt a clarity now, a focus he hadn’t felt in a long time.

It seemed like a sick joke from the Mother, to give him a sense of purpose when he was alongside you, to find satisfaction in helping you support Eris, the very male Azriel despised with every fiber of his being. If he had grown to respect you in some form, did that mean he respected Eris, too?

The thought made him want to vomit.

It was becoming far too easy for you to cloud his thoughts, to overshadow any duties or obligations he had. Normally he would fight against it, burying himself in work, training, anything to keep his mind occupied. But today, he welcomed it, indulged in the sweet sin of your face in his mind. His shadows drifted around him, whispering in his ears the very things he knew himself. He was beginning to feel seen in a way he hadn’t felt before, by eyes that had seen the same life as him.

And it terrified him as much as it comforted him.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You didn’t have time, as it turned out.

Beron had moved into preparations swiftly—faster than you or Eris anticipated. One night he found you, his eyes gleaming with a cruel satisfaction that had Laney preparing to bear her teeth at him in a snarl— you were grateful he didn’t notice, grateful that she listened to your commands.

”You finally have a purpose to fulfill,” he declared. “I never understood why the Mother cursed me with a daughter as my final kin, but now I understand.”

You’d felt your identity slipping away as soon as he growled those words. In the days since, he forced your mother to tightly pull back your hair each night, to help dress you as a prized calf and parade you at his events for Autumn’s most influential— most cunning—figures. They eyed you with calculating, hungry interest, deciding whether you were suitable for themselves or their sons.

You sat at a table now, the only female among a sea of men. Your mother was never allowed at events like this, never really seen unless she was forced to cling to your fathers arm like a piece of fine jewelry. The plate of food in front of you was half the size of the portions heaped on the plates of the males surrounding you. If you had the energy, you would’ve found it funny. But you didn’t.

You felt like a prey in a pack of savage beasts, their eyes raking over you with a hunger that made you feel sick; made you feel dirty, as if you were covered in a grime you could never fully wash off.

Beron leaned over and placed his hand over yours. Instantly, you clenched and straightened, a wave of revulsion washing over you in a tide. His grip tightened and he leaned in further, lips curling into a sickening, warning smile.

”Smile,” he commanded tightly. “No one wants a scowling bride.”

As a warning, a flame flickered on his palm and a searing pain spread across your exposed skin. You felt the burn, sharp and cruel, but you didn’t dare flinch. You met his eyes and held them— held that cold, hardened gaze, the same one you saw when you’d look in the mirror, in your eyes that looked exactly like his.

This was your defiance of tonight. If anything, you could do this. You could match him.

But your father’s smile widened, seemingly satisfied enough with your compliance, and he leaned back, releasing your hand. The burn throbbed on your skin but you remained still.

You could feel another gaze on you, distinct from the predatory stares of the other males. This gaze was warm, comforting, like the gentle heat of a fire on a cold night or the familiar embrace of a childhood blanket.

You didn’t dare look over. You couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the concern in Eris’s eyes from across the table. It would break you in some way you couldn’t control. With the familiar sense of heat underneath your skin, you sat up straighter, tightened your strained grip around the fork you held, and imagined how it would look in the eyes of every male around you— all but your brother.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel wasn’t sure why he hurried as much as he did— why his wings seemed to go faster, why his winnowing was almost instant. But here he was, standing in front of the cabin he’d become so familiar with, listening as his shadows told him that you seemed troubled.

It was the job of a lone shadow of his to trail you, to keep an eye on this cabin— on this place, and to alert Azriel if anything was of importance. It was a precautionary measure at the beginning of your little arrangement, a way to keep track of everything going on, to always have something watching you— the most unpredictable factor in his life, the thing he never saw coming. But he wasn’t sure why he’d continued to send that shadow out even after you both had come to a sort of agreement, a sort of truce born of a miniscule understanding.

Perhaps it was for reasons like this, for your strange appearances in the Spring Court at nearly four in the morning.

He knew in his gut that something was wrong even before his shadows told him.

You looked so put together— that was the first thing Azriel noticed. The dress you wore was entirely too formal, lacking in the usual flare that accompanied your presence; and your hair was tied back tightly, so neatly and simple it seemed constraining. The way you sat on the grass now, before him, almost resembled the stance of a small child looking at the sky in a sorrowful form of prayer, waiting for a star to shoot by for a wish of yours to be placed upon it.

“Why do you always do that?”

Your voice rang out clear and goosebumps crawled on Azriel’s skin at the sound, a chill making its way through his body. You hadn’t moved, hadn’t bothered looking away from your stare at the sky. Part of him was tempted to remain still, to back further into the darkness that surrounded him.

“Stare at me afar like a creep?” You added.

Finally, you turned to look at where he stood and Azriel found himself stepping forward, allowing his shadows to disappear around his body. He didn’t offer you an answer, opting to flex his hands— his clammy, tense hands— as he continued to walk forward. You followed his every movement.

“What are you doing here?”

Azriel’s voice was neutral, monotone.

You raised your eyebrows. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He frowned at the response. He’d expected something snippier, something more you— he’d grown accustomed to it, to the snark that he’d return easily. He took a moment to think, to rummage through his thoughts like an overly-cluttered junk drawer.

“Don’t you think this is a bit pathetic,” Azriel said, “Sulking on the dirty grass in the middle of the night?”

His voice was stern. But as much as he’d attempted to ensure it was devoid of emotion, there was a trace of something in his words, a hint of concern. A part of him, one larger than he’d care to admit, was pushing him to be softer, to tell you he was worried, to offer help pick you up. But he refrained. You would push him away the minute you sensed a semblance of pity. This he already knew.

You gave a humorless laugh and there was a strained sense of sorrow that Azriel recognized instantly. You stood up. “I guess so. You’d know a thing or two about what being pathetic looks like.”

He gritted his teeth and took a steadying breath. His shadows curled around his wrists and he fought with them as they strained to extend further, to slither down his body and towards you.

There was a tense silence before he spoke again. "I heard Beron is arranging your marriage."

Your head snapped to the side and your eyes met his— the fire in them still visible in the moonlight, but entirely too dull compared to what they’d looked like weeks ago. You took in his form, the straightness of his posture and the tuck of his wings. Even at this hour he was clad in his fighting leathers, poised and deadly like the image of ruin.

“How do you know that?”

Azriel gave a small, almost nonchalant shrug. “I have spies in every court.”

“Doesn't it defeat the purpose if you tell me?”

“Wouldn't you find them, anyways?

Despite yourself, the corner of your lips twitched upwards. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You stared at each other for a moment and Azriel’s eyes seemed to soften with an internal conflict. He cocked his head at you and you forced yourself to look away, finding new interest on the ground below you.

“Is that why you’re here?”

When you met his eyes once more, he took a sharp intake of breath.

“I have nowhere else to go.”

Azriel’s mind reeled again. While he felt stuck in place, forged to the very ground he stood on, his brain threw him into every memory he held of you— back to the first times he’d seen you standing alongside Eris.

He saw the memories in an entirely different light. Before, Eris had domineered over you, had poised his body in front of you and your mother in a way to assert his dominance as the heir to the throne, to remind those around him that you were both females at the end of the day. But now, Az saw it as what it truly was: protection. A bodily shield similar to that he’d done himself to Morrigan, to Amren, to his High Lady.

You never came to official meetings, were never seen at political gatherings. There were multiple reasons for this, Azriel had gathered. First and foremost, you were a female. And to Beron, females had no place in politics—- no place in his court beyond eye candy and child bearing. His wife was always there, yes, but she never spoke. Never did so much as lift her hand. Azriel could’ve believed that she was nothing more than a doll, not truly living; not truly alive. He didn’t even know her name beyond her title, Lady of Autumn, a female that belonged to her court; nameless beyond the one thing that established her— her husband.

And beyond being a female, you were their youngest, their only daughter. You were to be protected, to be molded into the perfect wife, ready to be sold off to the highest— and most powerful— male. He’d never bothered to think about that last fact. He never cared. But as you stood in front of him, he indeed felt bothered, felt unsettled at the idea.

“I feel bad for the male who will be tied to you for the rest of his life.”

“Because I’m that awful?” You scanned his face, your voice veering between wounded and sardonic. “Here I thought you’d be jealous because he’d get to fuck me for the rest of mine.”

Something flashed in Azriel’s eyes and the shadows on his face grew harsher as he clenched his jaw. But then, for a moment, his eyes seemed to soften, turning from a molten brown to a soft honey. “That’s not what I meant.”

"Then what did you mean?"

He took a deep breath and you could’ve sworn you saw a twitch in his hand, saw it move out slightly before he pulled it back in, as if he wanted to reach out, to place a hand on yours.

"Ownership doesn't suit you. Any male who thinks he has a claim on you is in for a rude awakening.”

You looked away. "It's not like I have a choice."

"You always have a choice.”

You met his gaze again, a dry laugh bubbling up. Azriel’s face was serious, sincere, and it made your blood boil with a sense of resentment that felt comical. You could taste it: the bitter feeling in your throat and the burning in your stomach, like something making its way from your esophagus to your mouth.

"Of course you would say that."

Azriel's brow furrowed slightly and his body tensed in response. "What does that mean?”

You shook your head, running your tongue along your teeth before you turned to face him fully, jaw tight, teeth clenched. Azriel wore a sense of self-loathing like second skin. You could smell it on him, could see it in the way he walked, in the way he interacted with those around him. You noticed it from the first time you’d met, watched as he longingly looked at Morrigan, as that self-loathing filled his eyes and dripped into his features. You knew the feeling well, knew how to recognize it.

And you wanted to laugh at the fact. The male before you hated himself so much because he had room to do so. He was powerful enough to let it fester, was comfortable enough to set aside time for his self-pity. The Night Court, despite how much you hated it, had freedoms that yours would never give you. Rhysand granted his family privileges that they never acknowledged. You felt the urge to tell Azriel exactly that, to shove a finger into his chest and chastise him for such foolish, childish sentiments.

But instead, you found yourself asking him a question that took both of you by surprise.

“Why do you despise me?”

Azriel blinked and his shadows stilled, their movements halting around his body. “What?”

“Tell me,” you said, “Tell me why you hate me.”

Azriel’s eyes hardened. “Eris–”

You cut him off. “I asked why you hated me. Not my brother.”

His mouth tightened and he remained silent, his wings twitching slightly as if they bore the weight of his thoughts. The shadows that usually danced around him like a protective barrier were now motionless, and you felt a twisting sensation in your gut, a cold, coiling dread.

"You know,” you said, your voice low, a hint of anger lacing your words. "It's not only hate that I have felt for you."

He stiffened. "Then what else?"

"Jealousy," you admitted, the word leaving a sour taste in your mouth. “Bitter, suffocating jealousy. I'm envious of you, Shadowsinger. You have this court that you love, this family that can get away with anything and you don't even acknowledge it.”

You’d always been a jealous person. By the gods, you’d tried your best to get over it. But it was rooted in something deeper than superficial envy— especially when it came to Azriel.

There was something about the moonlight, about these darkened skies, that made it easier to be honest, something that almost compelled a sense of vulnerability. And as you stared at him, felt his gaze burn into yours, you felt a cold shiver of realization roll throughout your skin.

“I’ve come to realize that you and I are entirely too similar for my liking. And I am so unbelievably envious that I’m punished for everything you are praised for.”

Azriel stilled, his movements slowing as though your words had struck him with the force of a physical blow. His chest tightened and an urgency wrapped itself around his ribs like a vise, constricting with each breath.

Azriel had always hated you. It was a visceral, almost instinctive reaction that he never fully understood until now. You were a mirror of him—a reflection of the darkness he harbored within himself, the parts of him that he loathed. Your cunning, your ruthlessness, this sense of loyalty that left you desperate, that led you to tearing apart pieces of yourself. All qualities he recognized, all qualities he despised in himself.

It was easier to hate you than to face the self-loathing that gnawed at him. To acknowledge that you were a product of your environment, just as he was. But as much as he tried to detest you, as much as he tried to push you away, his hatred for you had spilled into desire, something sickly sweet and thick. It ran down his body and even after he’d scrubbed himself clean, even after he’d rid himself of his urges as he took you from behind—- it was still there, coating his skin. He was unable to rid himself of the burning that had settled in his chest, the longing he refused to admit; because that hatred, that desire, had grown into something else, something just as hot, just as all consuming.

It had turned into admiration.

His expression softened, a flicker of something—regret, perhaps—crossing his face. "You’re right."

A silence settled between you, thick and heavy. Azriel's gaze wavered, his eyes searching yours as if he were sifting through the layers you held. You felt a flutter in your chest, a vulnerable ache that made you want to recoil and step closer all at once.

You stared at him, at the way his wings perched over him like a dark, protective shroud, at how his shadows seemed to radiate off him in waves. The heat beneath your skin intensified, a simmering fire that burned hotter the longer you looked at him. Your eyes drifted to his wing, to the area that had been torn open the last time you saw him. The scar had healed, but the memory of it was still fresh in your mind. You looked back at his face, at the way he hadn’t dared to look away.

Azriel's face was hauntingly and devastatingly beautiful, a creature of the night, perfectly in his element under the moonlit sky. Your chest felt tight, as if your ribs were being pulled apart, making it hard to breathe. You couldn’t save Eris. You couldn’t outrun the fate your father had set for you.

You wanted it all to go away, to forget who you were, where you were.

Without another thought, you threw yourself at Azriel, your lips crashing against his in an angry, heady kiss. The intensity of it was almost violent, something born out of desperation, out of a need to feel something other than the suffocating anger that had taken residence in your heart.

He pulled away for a moment, his brows furrowing as he took in your face. His eyes fell to your lips. You waited for it— for the abandonment of reluctance that had become a routine, for him to stare at you, for that stare to turn hungry, predatory, and for him to surge forward and claim your lips with his. But Azriel didn’t move towards you. He shook his head and took a step back.

“What is it?” you breathed, your voice trembling, edged with frustration. “Have you suddenly gained morals? Do you not want this?”

He hesitated. “No. Not like this,” Azriel said and you bristled at the words. They weren’t entirely dismissive, but they felt charged with something that left your mouth dry, left it difficult for you to breathe. “I don’t want your anger.”

“What does that mean?”

His eyes flickered, as if trying to blink away the thoughts racing through his mind.

“I don’t know.”

The uncertainty in his voice made your chest feel tighter. An almost embarrassing sensation of exposure washed over you, as if your entire life had led to being denied the one sick pleasure you’d found.

“Why did you come here?”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, this time firmer, more desperate. His shadows churned around him, dark tendrils of darkness twisting and writhing like a storm gathering strength, charged with an unsettling energy.

It set you on edge. Your fingers twitched, and you clenched your hands into fists to stop their trembling.

“Well, what do you know?”

Azriel looked at you, a crease in his brows, his expression a mix of pain and relief as he finally responded, his eyes burning. “That you have plagued my mind for weeks.”

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice teetering between curiosity and a simmering anger. It was a blend of emotions you couldn't quite unravel—whether you sought answers or were simply lashing out. “What do you want?”

He shook his head, attempting to take another step back, growing more furious with himself at the motion. You moved closer, bringing your hand to his arm and he felt the burn of your touch through his leathers. You were a nightmare and he felt desperate to keep you as you pleaded with him, voice rising, fiery in spirit and heart.

“Tell me what you want, Shadowsinger.”

You weren't sure what came over you, why you suddenly felt desperate for him to tell you what you felt was true, for him to admit it. It felt like you were on the edge of a great precipice, your heart tugging and tightening in your chest all at once, needing him to look at you, growing anxious, angry, even. You wanted his truth, wanted his confession and his sin all in one.

And then you continued, voice suddenly tender, seeking. “Tell me what you want and I can give it to you.”

He willed himself to look at you and his chest rose with his uneven breaths.

“You,” he managed to breathe, shivering with craving.

Once the admission fell from his mouth, Azriel was done for. “I want you.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

As an extra treat, the wonderfully talented @micahssketchbook gifted us with an illustrated version of this confession 🥹

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

authors note:

yknow.... if theres one thing ill give these angst fuckers credit for is that they are so honest with each other, like tell me why reader is more honest with az than rhys was with his own wife 😭

anyways everyone thank @writingcroissant as usual for inspiring me (forcing me) to finish this part when i was tempted to delete everything

permanent tag list 🫶🏻:

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii

#azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader angst #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar fanfic #azriel angst #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #acotar #acotar x reader #malice series #EIM #an education in malice

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superprofesh · 10 months ago

Text

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 1

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The first time Colt Seavers almost kisses you — on set, with lots of paint involved.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.1k

Tag List: let me know if you want to join! :)

Author’s Note: This is part 1 of what I hope will be a six-part series, but it can be read as a stand-alone too. I am so obsessed with Colt right now that I can't even see straight, so just take this and do whatever you want with it!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The first time Colt Seavers almost kisses you, you’re not sure it actually happened.

You’ve been on set for about two months now, and your job as set decorator for the biggest action thriller of the decade has ended up being way more challenging than you expected. Every day, it’s a new demand from the director — more realistic graffiti, more subtle light fixtures, more beat-up furniture. It’s going to look amazing, but you’re exhausted just thinking about another day of smearing grime on the set walls by hand.

The one bright spot of every day is Colt Seavers. He’s the best stuntman in Hollywood, so naturally he’s been recruited to perform stunts for almost every scene in the movie. Watching him get thrown against walls, riddled with bullets, and dropped from dizzying heights is heart-pounding for you, but nothing gets your heart pounding as hard as when he leans a little too close to you, so close you can see the dusty brown of his eyelashes against his soot-stained skin.

“Nice sign,” Colt quips, dropping onto the picnic table seat next to you. You’re hand-painting a bright-red Do Not Disturb sign for the next scene, and you barely manage to keep from smearing the paint when you whirl to face him. “Is it for your trailer door?”

You give him a mock glare, laughter slipping through the edges. “Very funny. It just so happens that you’ll be kicking this sign in half in tomorrow’s scene, so show a little respect.”

Colt’s eyes sparkle at your words, all his attention focused on you. He leans forward on one elbow, the other reaching up to ruffle the dust out of his hair. “Wow, a handmade prop just for me to kick in half?” He grins, inclining his head in a mock bow. “I’m honored.”

You can’t hide your return grin, or the blush rising under your skin at his close proximity. Colt always has this effect on you — never pushing the limits to make you uncomfortable, just taking up space with you in a way that steals your breath.

“What’s this?” you ask, using your free hand to tug on the shoulder of his fireproof vest. One side is seriously singed, close enough to his skin to set you to worrying.

Colt shrugs, flashing you a crooked smile that makes his left eye crinkle. “Little pyrotechnics mishap,” he informs you casually, brushing imaginary dust off his arm and onto you. You roll your eyes at him playfully. “Ray got a little overexcited with the stun grenades.”

“What?” You can’t keep the concern from slipping into your voice, even though you try to disguise it behind a joking tone. “You’re working with real stun grenades now?”

“Well, yeah,” he says, as if it should be obvious. “It’s only a stunt if it’s real, you know?”

You narrow your eyes, cocking your head to one side. “I think that’s the opposite of how it works, actually.”

Colt just laughs at that, the golden rays of the setting sun turning his tanned skin golden. His smile is warm and directed entirely at you, heating up the blush in your cheeks again. You turn your eyes back to your painting to keep from completely giving yourself away.

These past few months have been both paradise and torture for you. You thought you could hide your crush easily enough — it’s not like you haven’t done that before. But with Colt, it’s different. He sees through your stoic facades and teases out your laughter, searches for ways to make you smile even on your bad days. Whether it’s pulling a goofy face at you from his rig or remembering that you like sour cream in your soup, Colt has found some new way to surprise you every day that you’ve known him.

The thing is, you’re not sure if he’s actually interested in you or just being flirtatious. Misinterpreting the signals would be awkward and painful for you at this point, so you’ve decided that he’s just going to have to make the first move. You’re too old to play middle-school games with him.

Even if he does give you middle-school butterflies all over again.

You don’t realize that you’ve been lost in your thoughts until you notice that Colt has imperceptibly moved closer to your side, peering over your shoulder as you put the finishing touches on the purposely-sloppy sign.

“So I kick the sign in half tomorrow,” he says softly, his husky voice in your ear sending goosebumps over your skin. “What happens if we have to do another take?”

You risk a glance over your shoulder at him, letting a coy smile slip. “Do you really think this is the only one I’ve done?”

Colt just lifts his eyebrows at you and smiles, returning his eyes to the sign in your hands. Colt has a way of burning you up just with his gaze, and you can’t help breathing an inner sigh of relief every time he focuses his attention elsewhere. Concentrating on anything when he’s looking at you is impossible.

“You know, I could definitely give you some pointers on set design sometime,” he mutters, as if he’s genuinely musing on the thought. You know he’s warming up for a joke, so you let him continue, hiding your smile while he watches over your shoulder. “I have tons of experience in your department.”

“Oh, really?” You grab your black paint and begin the focused task of sprinkling the sign with the darker color for a realistic touch. Realism is the key to making memorable set designs, and you’ve mastered the technique.

“Mm-hmm.” You feel the murmur reverberate in his throat when he leans forward, resting his chin on your shoulder while you lightly dab your paintbrush in your paint bottle. Your heart skips at least three beats when you feel his hair tickling the side of your neck, his eyes still locked on the sign as if he’s studying it. Does he really not know what he’s doing to you, or is he doing it on purpose?

You try to keep your hands steady while you feel his chest rise and fall against your shoulder. Struggling to hide the tremor in your voice, you tease, “What could I improve about this piece, then? I can always use an expert opinion.”

He tilts his head to the side, his chin still resting on your shoulder. You can feel the bristly stubble on his cheeks now. It’s an oddly comforting sensation, one that forces every bit of your self-control to the brink in order to keep yourself from moving your face to the side and nuzzling your cheek against his. You feel his face move slightly as his mouth turns up into a smile.

“If you really want some advice…” he begins, lifting one hand up to trace the edge of your sign.

“Careful,” you warn him, “that’s wet paint.”

Colt doesn’t even get close to smudging your paint, but that doesn’t stop you from lifting your free hand to rest on his wrist, holding it in place while you set your paint bottle down. Colt stills at your touch, and your heart accelerates again at the gentle way his fingertips rest on the edge of your sign.

He lets the moment hang in the air between you for a moment, then comments, “I was just going to suggest a nice artist’s signature. See this big gap right here between Not and Disturb? Your name should go there in big red letters.” You’re already swatting his hand away playfully as his serious tone devolves into snickers. “Just like Bob Ross does on TV.”

“You are so ridiculous,” you laugh, glad to feel the tension slipping out of the atmosphere. Colt lifts his chin off your shoulder now, his hair brushing your earlobe as he does.

“No, it would look perfect,” he insists, his eyes sparkling as his smirk widens. “And then I can aim right for your name when I kick it in half tomorrow.”

He laughs out loud when you slam the sign down on the picnic table surface in mock irritation, your grin making your amusement at his joke obvious. The slam sends a few drops of the black paint from your brush flying up, spattering your jawline.

You reach for a dry rag nearby, still grinning as you prepare to respond, but Colt stops you with a hand on your arm. “Allow me,” he says seriously, placing your hand back into your lap and raising his other hand to the side of your face. You freeze in place, unprepared for the wave of emotion that washes over you when Colt touches the side of your jaw softly.

His eyes are still sparkling with humor, and you know he’s about to do something to make you laugh, but you can’t help the feeling that sweeps through your heart when you’re face to face with him, one of his hands holding yours on your lap and the other just beginning to cradle your face. It feels so gentle, so intimate, so right, and your heart aches as you realize that there is no going back from the feelings you’re developing for Colt Seavers.

He hesitates for a split second, his hand hoving on your jaw for practically no time at all, but it feels like a lifetime to you. You watch his dark blue eyes as they dart down to look at your lips, flitting back up just as quickly to latch onto your eyes with a stare that could melt diamonds.

Then the corner of his mouth turns up again into his usual smirk, and he strokes his thumb across your jaw to smear the black paint up the side of your face.

“Now,” he offers, “don’t you think you look more realistic?”

He dissolves into laughter as you reach up and feel the streaks of black now smudged across your face. You immediately reach past him to dip your fingers in your bottle of red paint, giving him a mischievous grin as you slather three fingers’ worth of paint across his nose and cheeks. The combination of his semi-shocked expression and the ridiculousness of his painted face pushes you over the edge into another fit of laughter.

“You’re the one who will be on camera,” you retort, smiling wider than you can remember doing in a long time. “Shouldn’t you be the one who’s realistic?”

“Touché,” he acknowledges playfully, rubbing his face and only succeeded in smearing the red paint further across his face. “Though I doubt Tom Ryder is going to accept any glimpses of my face on camera, so I won’t even have to wash this off.”

You impulsively reach up and drag your fingertip through the splotch of paint on his cheek, resisting the urge to draw a heart and settling on a simple smiley face instead. His own smile resurfaces at that, eyes twinkling as they stay locked on yours.

“If you keep it until tomorrow, you’ll match my sign,” you muse, trying to lighten the atmosphere, which has suddenly grown a bit more intense now that Colt’s gaze is focused on you again.

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t play it off, doesn’t do anything that you expect from him. His breathing seems to slow down, while yours feels like it takes off in a flurry of movement. Colt doesn’t make a move to touch you, but you can feel the distance between the two of you closing infinitesimally.

You’ve never noticed the flecks of silver-gray in his eyes, or the almost-invisible smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, or the ragged cut of his hair right beside his ears. Even the brilliant red streak only serves to bring out the golden tones of his skin, the swirls of blonde in his hair. Every detail of his face seems vivid, as if you’re seeing him for the first time.

His eyes seem to drink you in, too, traveling over every inch of your face before stopping on your lips again. This time, though, he doesn’t flick his eyes back up. Words escape you, as do any coherent thoughts. This is it. He’s actually going to kiss me. This is real.

“Seavers, on set, ASAP.”

The squawk of his walkie-talkie shatters the intense moment, and both of you release a breath that felt like it had been held for an hour. Colt swallows, smoothes his hand over his beard, turns to slip the walkie back into his pocket. You turn back to your painted sign quickly, trying to regain some composure.

Uncharacteristically, Colt doesn’t speak as he stands and turns to walk back to the filming set. He does, however, glance back at you the moment you lift your eyes to watch him walk away. Your heart is still hammering, recovering from his closeness to you.

With a wordless smile, he reaches up, swipes a bit of red paint off his face, and presses it onto the tip of your nose in the shape of his fingerprint. Then he walks away.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Part 2

#hi guys i'm having a full on heart attack over this #please send help #i had an absolute blast writing it #fanfiction #colt seavers x reader #colt seavers fanfiction #original #colt seavers #the fall guy #ryan gosling #ryan gosling x reader #the five times colt seavers almost kisses you (and the one time he does)

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gliphyartfan · 4 months ago

Note

I've been thinking about this a bit and wanted to know your opinion, but every time they involve Reader and The Chain in an isekai, Reader knows the Links from video games.

But what if she/he/they knew about The Chain through The videogames, the comic and the writings it reads on Tumblr, just like we do? A Yandere content writer or consumer of said content, Reader will know how to read the signs and avoid becoming obsessed with she/he/they

Or no

Or you can choose to make them obsess over You, why go back to the stress of modern life where everyone is doing everything they can to survive? Why not just stay and pretend ignorance? Why not be pampered to the extreme and never lift a finger again? Sorry for the people who got hurt in your name, but you didn't know any of them deeply and you didn't witness the scene either, so why bother with something that doesn't affect your new life? Of course You would have to pretend to be stubborn so they don't suspect And being very good to them, but that is already returning the affection they give you, a reward for what they do for you...,all that sounds much better than worrying about working, saving, paying bills...

this is such a juicy premise, won’t lie. A self-aware Reader who knows everything about the Chain.

Like…Wild would blush furiously if they casually mentioned cooking all the stat-boosting meals he used to make.

Or Legend would probably be smug if they quoted his exploits from the games or stories or how people talk about his adventure decades after they were told.

Hyrule might be freaked out at first (like, people know of his journey??? People know about HIM???) but would eventually see it as proof Reader was meant to know them on a deeper level.

and all of them would take it as a personal challenge to live up to every expectation Reader’s have of them.

Now…let’s think about it a bit

Reader would know exactly what’s happening when they catch the boys watching them too closely, when their protective behavior ramps up, or when they subtly isolate Reader from others. They’ve read this all before, heck, Reader might’ve even written about it.

They’d immediately try to keep a safe distance, avoiding favoritism or letting them get too close. But let’s face it, The Chain isn’t going to let that happen. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

They’d be hyper away if Reader’s behavior. The second they start acting evasive, they’ll probably see it as a sign that they’re scared of something and need even more of their ‘protection.’

They might ‘accidentally’ stumble upon Reader’s escape attempts, but make it look natural enough that Reader can’t tell if they are actually aware of their attempt or if they actually stumbled upon them.

Now~ if Reader either consumed or written yandere content, then they are painfully aware of how the chain react to resistance. Every attempt to push them away just makes them cling tighter. Reader is caught in the trap of knowing too much, and that knowledge doesn’t make it any easier to escape.

In fact, Reader would probably overthink the chain’s habits and words and stuff like that (if they are an overthinker.)

Hyrule’s innocent smile, Legend’s sharp tongue, Warriors’ charming words. They ARE genuine.

But they’re also all masks, and Reader would know it. But they also know that the chain will use every trick in the book to keep them if they get a hint that Reader wants to leave.

If they ever find out Reader knew about them from games, comics, and fanfiction? Oh, it’s over. They’ll think it’s destiny, that Reader was meant to be theirs.

Like, I can genuinely see Sky say something like ‘You’ve always known us,” and he’s say it with a gentle, almost eerie smile. “You were always meant to be here.”

And everyone KNOWS if Sky makes such a decision, then they are ALL gonna be stubborn too.

And…

if Reader DECIDES to play along, well can anyone blame them?

Modern life is stressful. Bills, jobs, societal expectations, don’t even get them started on the chaos around the world.

it’s all exhausting. Reader would realize they could have a life of comfort and adoration if they just… stop fighting it.

Sure, they might have some murderous tendencies, but Reader’s read enough fanfiction to know how to keep them happy. Play along, stay on their good side, and reap the benefits of being their one and only obsession.

And if Reader is an introverted who doesn’t like being near too many people and prefers to stay home. Then even better for them! (Both Reader and the Chain)

Reader would make a conscious effort to pretend ignorance. When Wild smiles just a little too widely or Twilight’s growls seem directed at someone standing too close to them, They even feign obliviousness when they see a bit TOO much red on their clothes. (Though Reader would probably find a way for them to NOT kill anyone. Beat the hell out of? Sure no problem. Kill? eeeeh…not so much.)

Reader would reward their affection with kindness. compliments, gratitude, maybe even initiating a hug now and then. It keeps them sated, like giving treats to a pack of overprotective wolves. (Twilight is definitely doing the growly growls of happiness when Reader runs their fingers through his hair.)

Like…Reader knows they’ve probably already done a lot of terrible things in their name, but… well…Reader didn’t witness it, and it doesn’t affect their day-to-day life. It’s easy to compartmentalize when they treat them like royalty, their sole focus on keeping Reader happy.

Time would bring them tea, Warriors would ensure they’d never uncomfortable, and Sky offers you soft, soothing music. Wild hums and cooks. Why go back to stressing about rent when Reader can have this?

I mean…they’d have to pretend to be stubborn at times, just enough to keep the chain from getting suspicious. Let’s face it, if Reader is too accommodating, they might worry they’re hiding something or question why they aren’t more wary.

The trick is to keep them believing Reader is slowly being won over. Let them think their affection is working, and they’ll continue pouring their energy into doting on them rather than spiraling into paranoia.

#gliphy answers anon #linked universe #yandere linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #lu headcanons #yandere linked universe x oc #linked universe x y/n #linked universe x reader

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jaeyunverse · 2 years ago

Text

the 24-hour dating challenge

pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader

genres: fluff, crack, mutual pining, suggestive, best friends to lovers, influencer au

wc: 8145

warnings: profanity, hoon is a loser and down bad sawry, you can’t see the mutual pining but that’s a skill issue on my part bc i swear it’s there, fic is completely from sunghoon’s pov, this was supposed to be short and sweet but it got kinda spicy towards the end LMAOAO but nothing happens so dw!!

summary: being a famous youtuber isn’t easy, especially when you have to constantly come up with new ideas to keep your audience entertained. and this time, your viewers want you to date park sunghoon, your best friend of nearly a decade, for the entirety of 24 hours.

moodboard: one ☆ two

note: omg i didn’t think i would struggle w this oneshot but i lowkey did w the last part ☹️ i think it’s bc it has been a while since i raw dogged a fic HAHDHS anyway i hope the end doesn’t seem super abrupt and y’all enjoy! i would love to hear your thoughts + feedback :’)

inspiration: evelyn and fred (♡)

masterlist

“Your followers want me to do what?”

Sunghoon was positive he’d misheard you. However, part of him hoped you’d confirm the life-altering information you’d casually uttered without even bothering to look away from the TV screen.

“Hoon!” you exclaimed, your fingers aggressively moving about the gaming console. “Oh, my God, they’re coming after me! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK—” you screeched— “Nonononono I can’t take them by myself! You testicle-guzzling cocksucker, why did you die when I needed you the most?!”

Sunghoon watched you struggle warily. Your leg was bouncing with anxiety and your eyes were bulging out of their sockets. He wasn’t entirely sure you were breathing. Beads of sweat were clinging to your forehead, and your face was scrunched up in a weird, constipated expression.

There was a good chance you’d utter fouler insults if he disturbed you while playing, but he couldn’t stop himself from broaching the subject. “Are we just going to pretend you didn’t say the thing you just said?”

“The thing about you being a testicle-guzzling cocksucker?” you gritted. “No.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “The thing about your followers wanting us to date for a video.”

For a few moments, you didn’t deign to acknowledge him. Then, as if a switch inside you had flipped, you pulled the TV’s plug and turned to face him. “Would it be weird?”

Wow. Okay, Sunghoon mused. I think it would be a fantastic idea and a dream come true, but I don’t trust myself around you. Even as a mere friend.

However, instead of voicing his thoughts, the boy simply shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ve been friends for several years now. I’m a regular on your YouTube channel and I think your fans are aware of the dynamics of our relationship. What do they mean when they say they want us to date? Physical intimacy aside, we already do everything couples do.”

“I think they want us to be romantic,” you admitted. “Go on a date, hold hands, cross some lines.”

“Cross some lines?” Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lip curling in a smirk. “Is this you speaking or your subscribers?”

Groaning in exasperation, you shoved his shoulder. He fell back on the couch, laughing. “Shut up, dickface! You know I’ve been swamped this semester. My influencer gig has been seriously lacking. I need to step up—do what they want me to do. Besides, we only have to be girlfriend and boyfriend for 24 hours. It’s really not that big a deal. Are you in or not?”

Sunghoon took a few seconds to mull over your words. Sure, he would love to be your boyfriend for 24 hours. As long as his fantasies were brought to reality, he didn’t care if the whole relationship was fake and short-lived.

For far too long, he’d pined after you. He thought he was doing an excellent job at hiding his feelings, but then you decided to make vlogs for fun. That’s when shit actually went downhill.

Within a few years, you’d amassed a following of over 5 million on YouTube and 3 million on Instagram. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say you’d become somewhat of a local celebrity.

Being one of your closest friends, Sunghoon was often featured in your videos. Initially, he’d baulked at the idea of being filmed, but you’d worked your magic on him. The boy soon found himself being comfortable around cameras.

Even though Sunghoon never started his own YouTube channel, his popularity grew along with yours. His Instagram had garnered over two million followers, and courtesy of his good looks and attractive physique, he’d been offered a bunch of brand deals too.

You’d scowled at how far Sunghoon’s pretty privilege had gotten him. While you busted your ass coming up with unique ideas and editing your videos to perfection, all he needed to do was show up.

What you didn’t know, though, was that part of the reason he’d become a heartthrob among the youth was you.

You might have been dumb and blind, but your followers certainly were not. They’d realised how Sunghoon looked at you—his eyes always twinkled and a fond smile automatically adorned his lips whenever he caught sight of you.

To add to that, your fans had pointed out habits he didn’t even know he possessed. For example: idly braiding your strands; bringing you snacks whenever he swung by your apartment; saying hey, sunshine and giving you a side hug by way of greeting; disguising his compliments as insults.

The list was embarrassingly long.

They’d noticed the elastic he kept around his wrist at all times too—it was one of the two you’d used to tie his hair into little ponytails because you were convinced you could transform him into Boo from Monsters, Inc.

Sunghoon himself had forgotten the reason he wore the elastic around his wrist. All he knew was that it was yours and it felt right. But when he read the comments obsessing about it, he rushed to watch the video your fans were referring to.

And damn, they were right.

Sunghoon didn’t know if you’d seen the comments your fans regularly left on your various social media pages. You’d never mentioned anything about the community calling you “couple goals,” and he was too much of a coward to inquire if you were aware.

It was infuriating to know how transparent he was. Sunghoon wished he’d never gotten used to the camera and let slip his true self.

Perhaps this was the cost of gaining the boyfriend material label—his unrequited feelings exposed for the entire world to see.

Sunghoon would never admit it, but he’d spent the better part of a day reporting everyone who’d shipped him with you. The entire incident had truly made him go off the rails.

However, today’s revelation was unexpected. It was an opportunity. A chance to experience something he’d desired for many years. Suddenly, he found himself thanking those busybodies online instead of cussing them out for being ridiculously invested in his love life.

Sunghoon knew saying yes to your proposition would bite him in the ass later on. He knew he’d crave more of you once he got a taste of being your boyfriend, and giving this fake relationship a shot would definitely make it harder for him to get over you in the future. He knew he was a massive idiot for willingly indulging in impending heartbreak, but he could always cross that bridge when he came to it.

“Okay,” he said, meeting your gaze. “I’m in.”

There was a small chance Sunghoon was getting ahead of himself. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken it upon himself to organise the perfect date.

Being bitchless his entire life wasn’t doing him any favours in performing the task. Originally, he’d figured he would do a quick Google search and plan a day according to the results shown.

Unfortunately, most activities on the list were things the two of you already did on a normal basis. He’d racked his brain to think of a unique idea after scrolling through the internet for hours on end and coming up empty-handed.

Karaoke? Check. Restaurant hopping? Psh, you did that every weekend. Rock climbing? He was scared of heights. Bowling? Boring. Concert? None of your favourite artists were in town. Clubbing? He would rather spend quality time with you than get both of you wasted. Arcade? Basic and low-budget; he didn’t want to be cheap. Road-trip? Needed more than just 24 hours.

Sunghoon wondered if he was the problem. He’d shot down every option he’d come across so far by classifying it as not good enough. His stress levels were skyrocketing trying to make your 24-hour relationship perfect.

An entire day’s research had ended up being fruitless. You’d decided to go through with the challenge on Sunday, so he only had tomorrow to come up with something satisfactory.

Sighing, Sunghoon rubbed his eyes and closed his laptop. He eyed his phone on the bedside table for a few seconds, contemplating whether he should just call you and ask if you had anything in mind.

Before he could rethink his choice, he picked up the device and dialled you.

“Hey.” Your voice on the other end was deep and hoarse. A glance at the wall clock informed Sunghoon it was past midnight, and he’d likely woken you up. Guilt twisted his stomach. “Is something wrong?”

“Sorry, I didn’t realise it was late,” he mumbled. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I was watching a movie and passed out halfway through it. I needed to finish it anyway.”

Lying back on his bed, Sunghoon inquired, “Ready or not?”

“Yeah.” You huffed a laugh. “I finally got around to seeing it. Your choice, as always, is impeccable.”

Though you couldn’t see him, he raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you just say you dozed off in the middle of it?”

“Well, yeah, but that’s because I’m not a stupid nocturnal with no care for their sleep cycle and health.”

“Ouch.” Sunghoon clutched his chest. He could practically hear you roll your eyes. “No need to be so harsh.”

You hummed absent-mindedly, a yawn escaping your lips. “Was there a reason you hit me up, or can I get back to the movie?”

“Oh, yeah.” Sunghoon cleared his throat. “Do you have any suggestions for the challenge? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but I haven’t come up with anything interesting.”

“Not really. I tried researching a bit, and there isn’t much we don’t already do. I’m starting to wonder if the only difference between a platonic and romantic relationship is physical intimacy. I’m sure we can reach a consensus though,” you added.

Sunghoon groaned. “This is proving to be more difficult than I—”

“WAIT!” you interrupted him with an exclaim. “How about a picnic date? We’ve been talking about going on one with the rest of our friends for ages, but it’s never worked out. Let’s go—just the two of us. We can choose outfits for each other too! I’ll order you something online, and you do the same for me. We can spend the rest of our day doing whatever you want.”

Sunghoon’s eyes widened. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“Right?” you giggled. “Maybe we can spread a blanket in the park under a tree and have a nice brunch. I’ll organise it!”

“I’ll take care of dinner and plan another activity for us to do between the two meals.” He grinned. “Looks like we might actually be able to pull this off, Y/N.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited to film a video,” you admitted.

Sunghoon’s heart fluttered, and his lips widened into a smile. “Me too.”

Everything was set. You’d received the dress Sunghoon had ordered for you, and he’d taken delivery of the one you’d bought for him.

Upon opening the package, Sunghoon was surprised to see you’d accidentally ended up matching outfits. While he’d chosen a white summer dress with blue flowers for you, you’d picked out a white graphic tee and low-rise, faded blue, baggy jeans for him.

The fit was minimal—something that he would have purchased if he’d seen it in a mall.

Grabbing a pair of sunglasses and running a hand through his messy hair, Sunghoon made a beeline for his car. He shot you a quick text regarding his ETA before backing the vehicle out of his driveway.

[hoon]: omw be there in 10

[y/n]: okie i’ll wait for u. call me when ur outside!!!!!!!!!

Averting his gaze to the road again, Sunghoon took a deep breath. He’d finally planned the perfect day out. It took a lot of effort and coordination on his part, but the several favours he had to call in were worth it.

He’d probably gone over the top, especially considering the fact that this wasn’t even real, but he was determined not to half-ass anything. He had one chance, and he’d damn well make sure he didn’t waste it.

Turning the corner of your house, Sunghoon dialled your number. “I’m here.”

“Coming,” you popped, the sound of your footsteps descending the stairs audible through the call.

He grabbed the bouquet of flowers from the backseat, got rid of his sunglasses and exited the car. Your door opened a few seconds later, and Sunghoon’s world slipped from under his feet.

God, you were beautiful. So beautiful and so fucking pretty in the dress he’d chosen for you. The material fit you perfectly—it accentuated your upper body and was flowy from your lower waist. The dress was almost ankle-length with a side slit that began at your upper thigh. Your shoulders and collar bones were exposed, a gold pendant filling the empty space the deep square neckline left in its wake.

Your left shoulder was carrying a tote bag, and your right hand was holding a large picnic basket. Much to Sunghoon’s surprise, your free hand was wrapped around a bouquet too.

Snapping himself out of his reverie, he took the basket from you and placed it inside the car. “You look amazing, sunshine,” he breathed. “Just—wow.”

Giggling, you did a little twirl for him. “Thanks! I love what you’ve done with your hair. It makes you more attractive.”

Sunghoon mock-saluted and bowed dramatically, a chuckle escaping his lips. “Took me ten minutes to style it.” Glancing at the flowers in your hand, he asked, “You got me flowers?”

Maybe his eyesight was faulty, but Sunghoon felt your entire demeanour suddenly change. Tucking a stray strand behind your ear, you averted your gaze from his and shyly mumbled, “You took it upon yourself to plan the majority of the day. The least I could do was gift you some flowers.”

Right when Sunghoon thought he couldn’t love you any more than he already did, you went ahead and did this. He’d never received flowers in his life before, and the gesture meant everything to him.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he took the bouquet from you. “Thank you,” he said, voice heavy with gratitude. “Don’t kill me, but I don’t know the name of these flowers.”

Laughing, you pinched his cheek. “They’re asters.”

“What do they mean?”

“Why don’t you search it up when you go home?” you quipped. “Let me know once you find out.”

Sunghoon shrugged and handed you the flowers he’d bought for you. “Sunflowers for my sunshine.”

A wide grin broke across your lips. “They’re my favourite!”

“I know, dummy,” he said, flicking your forehead and opening the passenger’s door for you. “That’s why I got them for you.”

“Be nice!” you complained as he walked around the car. Taking a seat beside you, he started the engine and began driving. “I’m your girlfriend!”

“I just opened the door for you,” Sunghoon pointed out, promptly ignoring the way his heart rate picked up. “I think I’m being gentlemanly enough.”

“That’s not a word.”

“Is too.”

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

“This is why you get no bitches.”

“I got you.”

“Are you calling me a bitch?”

“I’m calling you mine.”

Snorting, you said, “Not your best save, Park.”

Biting down the smile threatening to break across his lips, Sunghoon said, “I’ll survive, but you should really start recording.”

“Right,” you gasped, your eyes widening. Fetching the DSLR from your tote bag and switching it on, you placed it on the dashboard carefully. After ensuring that the camera was rolling, you began, “I’m in the car with Sunghoon right now. He just picked me up, but I lowkey forgot to record it.”

“Y/N was too busy gawking at me,” Sunghoon teased and raised an eyebrow at the lens. “I’m too attractive for my own good.”

“Nobody’s buying your bullshit.” You rolled your eyes. “But if you do think he looks cute, it’s because I chose his outfit.”

“And if you think she looks beautiful, that’s because I chose her outfit.”

You nodded. “He did. We thought kicking off the challenge this way would be cool. Clothes were ordered by both of us individually, which means neither of us had any idea what had been chosen by the other until we met ten minutes ago. Crazy how we still ended up matching.”

“We exchanged flowers too. Y/N got me asters, and I got her sunflowers.”

“Hoon has no idea what asters signify,” you commented and nudged him with your elbow. “He didn’t even know the flowers I gifted him were asters.”

“Don’t shame me for not being a nerd!” Sunghoon defended himself. “Only you can be the kind of person who reads The Language of Flowers and indulges in floriography because they’re bored.”

“Aaaand the worst boyfriend award goes to this guy sitting right next to me,” you announced, shooting him a nasty glare. “He’s been annoying me from the moment he came to pick me up.”

“I opened the door for you!”

“How long are you going to milk the one gentlemanly thing you did?”

Sunghoon scoffed in disbelief. “I thought gentlemanly wasn’t a word.”

“I lied,” you popped and grinned cheekily.

“The problem with this relationship is you, woman, not me.”

Laughing, you turned to the camera again. “We’re going on multiple dates today. I’ve organised a picnic brunch, and Hoon has organised dinner.”

“It’s a surprise,” Sunghoon explained. “But I can assure you that it’s going to be the coolest thing ever.”

You hummed in agreement. “I believe him. He always gives the best surprises. Anyway, I’m going to stop recording now, and I’ll see you guys once we reach the park. I think we’re almost there.”

“Five minutes,” Sunghoon provided.

You grabbed the DSLR and brought it close to your face. Cupping your hand over the lens as if you were telling it a secret, you whispered, “T-minus five minutes to the best picnic date ever. Bye!”

Despite it being June and most kids being on vacation, the park wasn’t crowded.

Even though it was almost 10:30 and the sun was merciless, there were plenty of people jogging on the track. Sunghoon spotted a laughter club in session a few hundred metres away from where you’d laid your blanket under the tree.

Thanks to the clear sky and blowing wind, more than a few people had taken out their own picnic baskets and decided to enjoy the weather. A bunch of middle-schoolers were playing basketball about fifty metres away from your tree, and though Sunghoon would have appreciated the peace, it was fun to watch them run around on the court.

You’d set up the camera immediately upon arrival. Even though it was still rolling, neither of you were aware of it. It lay forgotten to the side, and as far as Sunghoon was concerned, it was just the two of you.

“It’s a beautiful day,” you mumbled, gathering your strands and tying them up in a messy bun. “Really fucking hot though.”

“You have some relief, at least,” Sunghoon said, pointing at your exposed shoulders and flowing dress. “I’m fully covered and positively dying in here.”

You smiled sheepishly. “Oops. That’s my bad.”

Laughing, Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair. “What did you get for us to eat in that basket of yours?” he asked. “It was pretty heavy.”

“Nothing much,” you answered and dragged the basket closer to you. Opening the lid, you pulled out Tupperware containing watermelons, muskmelons and mango slices. You’d also prepared a heart-shaped pizza and baked half a dozen macarons. Finally, you fetched a bottle filled with peach-iced tea and a pair of champagne glasses.

Sunghoon gaped at the assortment of food you’d arranged. “Did you make everything by yourself?”

“I wish,” you snorted. “Mom made the macarons and delivered them via FedEx. I don’t have the patience to bake.”

“Okay, but this is still crazy,” Sunghoon said, amazement evident in his tone. “The amount of effort you’ve put in is insane.”

Blushing, you shoved his shoulder. “Stop! You’re embarrassing me!”

“I’m complimenting you!” he exclaimed, and served himself a piece of the pizza. “Bringing homemade food is the best thing you could’ve done. And God, this is delicious. I’m going to wife you right now.”

You laughed incredulously. “Slow down, Romeo. We just started dating. How about you show me a good time first?”

This. This was exactly the reason why Sunghoon didn’t entirely hate being stuck in the friend zone. Because no matter how much you told people you were just friends and there was nothing going on between the two of you, you were constantly flirting.

The only reason he was afraid of confessing his feelings was that he didn’t know much of the flirting was real. It was the dynamic of your friendship—neither of you thought it was weird making suggestive comments. You were too comfortable with each other to let such things bother you.

Sunghoon could no longer tell whether your relationship was still platonic. He was too hopelessly in love with you to keep knowing the difference between a joke and genuineness. His heart surged every time you said something only a romantic partner would, and his heart shattered every time he reminded himself that you didn’t actually mean it.

You never meant it.

But Sunghoon was a selfish person. He was going to take what he could get. He would rather be unintentionally strung along than give these moments up. The minuscule part of him that hated you for the pain you were causing him was nothing compared to the part of him that loved you unconditionally.

Forcing himself out of his reverie, Sunghoon raised an eyebrow at you. “In front of everyone?”

“You’re so gross!” you snickered, your eyes shining with mischief. “I obviously mean when we get home!”

I’m going to kill myself, Sunghoon thought. I’m going to kill myself before she kills me.

The two of you had finished eating almost thirty minutes ago. Now, you were just lying on the blanket and staring at the sky, having conversations about the most random topics.

You were talking shit about some know-it-all guy in your physics class, but Sunghoon wasn’t really paying any attention to what you were saying.

He was still stuck on what had happened an hour ago when you’d urged him to feed you because “that was what couples did.”

Sunghoon didn’t give a shit what couples did. His biggest problem at the moment was his mind replaying the incident like a broken record. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. He’d already known he was being an idiot by agreeing to come on this date, but he never thought he’d regret his decision this quickly.

“Are you okay?”

Blinking, Sunghoon spared you a glance. “Peachy.”

“Those kids over there are calling us,” you told him, pointing to the basketball court. “We should go see what they want.”

Nodding, he pulled himself to his feet and gave you a hand. Leaving the DSLR under the tree wouldn’t have been safe, so you grabbed it and the two of you made your way to the children waiting for you.

“Hey,” a perky boy greeted you enthusiastically. “I’m Hyun. We’ve been playing basketball for the past several hours. The team that wins 6 out of 11 matches has to treat the other team to ice cream. Unfortunately, 2 of our friends left, and now it’s just the 6 of us divided into 2 teams. We really don’t want to play half-court, but we can’t play full-court with a team of only 3 each. Do you guys want to play the last few matches with us? One match only lasts 15 minutes.”

Sunghoon exchanged a look with you. Then, you glanced at your spot under the tree. Lastly, you checked out your outfit—the slit exposing most of your leg and the lack of coverage for your shoulders.

“I have a pair of shorts and a shirt in my car,” he informed you.

You took a moment to weigh your options. Honestly, playing in the open when the sun was out to torture everyone didn’t sound appealing. There was also the issue of you needing to switch outfits, and you didn’t know if you wanted to take the effort of changing inside Sunghoon’s car.

But kids had always been your weak spot and the little rascals were staring you down with their puppy eyes.

You sighed. “Fine. We’re in.”

“I haven’t played in a while,” Sunghoon admitted. “I think it’s been over 6 months.”

“I haven’t played since varsity girls either,” you said. The kids had left to take a break a few minutes ago and the court was empty save for the two of you.

You’d changed into his clothes, but the shirt was too long for you. So, you’d requested him to tie the extra into a knot at the back. Thankfully, the shorts could be tightened at the waist with lace.

Sunghoon could get used to you wearing his wardrobe.

He idly dribbled the ball the kids had given to him for safekeeping while you stretched your stiff muscles. “Then I guess we get to evaluate whose skills have become more rusty.”

“Free shots?” you asked, eyes alight with a competitive fire and a smirk tugging at your lips. “We can test our aim and get a feel of the baskets on this court. It would be a good warm-up exercise.”

Sunghoon poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Bring your camera here. Record me from up close. I’m going to go for a layup.”

“Wow,” you scoffed but did as you were told nonetheless. Before stepping onto the court, you’d filmed Sunghoon and yourself, explaining that you were about to play basketball with a bunch of kids. Naturally, you’d decided not to record the match in order to respect the privacy of the children. “Don’t you think you’re getting ahead of yourself? I’m telling you right now that I won’t care if you miss the shot. I will use it to humiliate you in the video.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes.

You switched on the DSLR and pointed the lens at him. “We’re doing free shots till the kids come back from their break,” you said. “Hoon’s convinced he can land a layup even though he hasn’t touched a ball for several months.”

“Don’t condescend me,” Sunghoon grumbled as he walked to the 3-pointer line. “It’s not like I’ve completely forgotten how to play. I’m pretty sure I can nail a simple shot.”

“We’ll see.”

“You know what,” he called. “I’m going to dedicate this layup to you so that when I make it, you’ll know not to doubt my athletic prowess.”

All you did was raise an eyebrow.

“This one’s for you, babe!” Sunghoon announced and began running. The ball was a number 6—smaller than the size 7 he was used to. The grip was worn due to excessive use, but he still had complete control over it.

However, he misjudged the distance from the hoop. He realised a second too late that he’d taken the first step of the layup later than he was supposed to.

The ball collided against the rim and rebounded.

“Air ball!” you hollered and zoomed into Sunghoon’s face. “Athletic prowess found to be missing! What a shame!”

His cheeks, along with the tips of his ears, were red with embarrassment. He couldn’t even bring himself to look into the camera after making such a big fool out of himself.

“I am begging you, Y/N. Can we please edit that part out?”

“I’m kicking your ass, Park.”

“I suggest you take the over-confidence down a notch.”

You smirked, dribbling the basketball in place. Sunghoon was blocking the way to your side of the court, and each of the kids on your team had a man on them. Playing in the sun for so long must have tired them out because no one was making an effort to get rid of the shield standing in front of them.

The last match was a 1v1 at this point.

“I’m not in the habit of lying,” you said, and dribbled the ball from between his legs.

Sunghoon cursed under his breath and chased after you, but you were speeding away from him faster than he could keep up. The layup was clean and effortless. You barely broke a sweat.

“SUCK IT!” you screamed. “Your team is going down!”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. He watched your team—Hyun, Chul and Dae—do the victory dance you’d taught them. It was hilarious because none of you had any coordination. The arm wave move made it seem as though all of you were having a seizure.

“We still have fifteen seconds of the match left,” he pointed out, and pat Iseul’s back in reassurance. “Don’t go celebrating just yet.”

“You’re four points behind. Just admit defeat,” Dae said. “We’ve won!”

“We’re not surrendering,” Hajoon said angrily. “Sunghoon will make sure we win.”

“Boys!” you interrupted loudly. “Let’s finish the championship sportingly. We’re playing for fun.”

Chul muttered something under his breath that Sunghoon and you chose to ignore.

“Seojoon,” Sunghoon called quietly. “Now that we have possession of the ball, I need you to pass it to me from below. Then I need Hajoon and Iseul to gang up on Y/N. Don’t push or shove; just keep her away. The worst thing we can do is commit a foul. The rest of the boys won’t be a problem, but I’ll need Seojoon to act as my shield in case they try to take the ball from me. Do not let anyone come near me under any circumstances. I’m going to go for a 5-pointer.”

The trio audibly gasped.

Iseul nervously asked, “Are you sure you can score?”

“Not without the three of you helping me out.” Sunghoon nodded. “Y/N is quick and slippery. Keep your eye on her. We’ll lose if she gets possession of the ball. I’ll take care of the rest.”

The boys let out a sound of agreement and dispersed, taking their respective positions.

Sunghoon searched for you, and when your gazes met, he made a gesture of slitting his throat. This time, you rolled your eyes and dismissed him without a word.

“Let’s start,” you announced with a clap and got into position. He noticed you were standing away from the basket. The rest of your team was too. It dawned on Sunghoon that you’d positioned everyone in a way that would prevent them from committing a foul which would grant his team free throws.

It was smart and reasonable of you to think that way. Sunghoon wasn’t known for landing 5-pointers. Heck, he never even attempted them. He usually went for layups and 3-pointers.

Focusing on the game, he took a deep breath. Seojoon passed the ball at him as soon as you yelled Go!

Sunghoon dribbled to your side of the court immediately. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you hesitate, but your mouth parted in realisation the second you caught onto what he was doing.

“Stay on her!” he yelled at Iseul and Hajoon. “Don’t let her go.”

Sunghoon dodged the rest of your teammates. Seojoon wasn’t doing a good job at keeping them away, but he didn’t have enough time to dwell on it. He could do this by himself as long as you were out of the picture.

Sunghoon eyed the basket and bent at his knees, gathering enough momentum to jump. He’d been hitting the gym more often, and he hoped to God his hard work wouldn’t fail him at such a crucial time.

Exhaling once, Sunghoon jumped and let the ball fly across the court. The moment the ball was out of his hands, you crashed into him, knocking him to the ground and falling on top of him.

“Ow,” he muttered, his arm wrapping itself around your waist on instinct. “That’s foul play.”

Before you could bite back, Sunghoon heard someone scream, “No way! Sunghoon did it!”

Sunghoon grinned and craned his neck to look at his teammates. A laugh tumbled past his lips when he saw them doing the floss dance and playfully teasing the losing team.

The sound of your groan made him avert his attention to you. You’d raised your head to find out whether Sunghoon had made the basket, and upon realising that you’d lost the match, you let it fall on his chest again. “Man,” you grumbled in defeat.

“Aw,” Sunghoon teased. “It happens to the best of us.”

“Who asked?”

Snorting, Sunghoon loosened his grip around your waist. Rolling off him, you laid down on your back in the middle of the court next to him. “Am I supposed to buy you ice cream now?”

He checked his watch before answering, “Nah. Let’s go home and freshen up. It’s almost time for my date.”

“The beach,” you marvelled. Both of you were standing on a cliff overlooking the expanse of sand and water. “I should have guessed.”

Sunghoon agreed. It shouldn’t have been hard to pinpoint the venue of the date once he’d requested you to wear shorts and sandals. However, your obliviousness had worked in his favour.

The entire thing was supposed to be a surprise. It was supposed to sweep you off your feet.

He averted his attention from the ocean to find that you were already staring at him. A soft smile was adorning your face, and with the breeze ruffling your unbound hair, you looked nothing short of a fairy tale.

“Do you remember the last time we came here?” you inquired, and returned your gaze to the view again. Sunghoon didn’t bother to take his eyes off you—he couldn’t take his eyes off you. The reflection of the sunset in your irises was too intoxicating. “Jay, Jake, Yizhuo and Isa were with us. We spent the entire night talking around a bonfire. I couldn’t keep myself awake once the clock struck two. You tucked me close and let me rest my head on the space between your shoulder and neck. You kissed my forehead and promised me you’d wake me up in a few hours.”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything. He only kept staring at the image of the sunset in your eyes—the way the ocean consumed the ball of fire the same way his love for you consumed his very being.

Love shouldn’t hurt this much, he thought. It shouldn’t be this painful.

“I remember the way you smelt,” you continued. “Like vanilla and sandalwood. I remember wanting to pull you closer because you also smelt like home. I hated moving to a new city for college. I missed our hometown. I missed life being simpler. I missed the old times. But those brief moments before I fell asleep reminded me that not everything had changed. The clumsy boy I’d met in kindergarten was still with me. Sure, he was a bigger pain in my ass than he had been when we were kids, but he hadn’t left my side even once. And I knew he wouldn’t for a long time.”

“You’ve been the only constant in my life, Sunghoon,” you mumbled and turned your body towards his. Snaking your arms around his waist, you pulled him into a hug. “Thank you for being a good friend to me. I love you.”

And though Sunghoon knew you didn’t mean it the way he wished you did, he returned your embrace and confessed, “I love you too.”

“What the fuck?” you whispered and let go of Sunghoon’s hand to jog ahead. “WHAT THE FUCK? IS THAT A CANDLELIGHT DINNER?”

Laughing in amusement, he pocketed his hands and watched you freak out. The beach was usually crowded at this hour, but he’d asked Jake—the surfer of their group—if there was anywhere he could spend the evening undisturbed.

“Your eyes do not deceive you,” he joked as he approached you. “I know it’s kind of corny, but this was the most romantic date setting I could think of.”

“Corny?” you exclaimed incredulously. “This is amazing!” Nudging him with your elbow, you teased, “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“You would have known a lot more if you’d asked me out before,” Sunghoon smirked, a suggestive undertone to his comment. “But I suppose we can make do with what we have now.”

You snorted. “You’re insufferable.” Then added, “I don’t want to shoot us having dinner here. Maybe I’ll just film the date set-up and our outfits, but I think I want this evening to remain between us only.”

“Oh.” Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, sure, that works for me. Do you want me to get your camera?”

The next five minutes were spent recording the date he had organised. The food was prepared by Jay, whose chef father had taught him a thing or two before the boy moved to the city for college. Sunghoon had dragged Yizhuo and Isa with him to shop for decor.

They’d bought a soft blanket which was now spread on the sand. He’d also purchased six couch pillows to make the setting cosier. Fairy lights covered the perimeter of the throw.

The coffee table Sunghoon had stolen from himself and brought to the beach was filled with all kinds of your favourite food, a scented candle burning in the centre of it.

Since he’d known he couldn’t escape you to set up everything that he’d planned, he’d begged his friends to do it for him. Obviously, they’d teased him about it on their group chat, but he’d ignored them the way he always did.

“I have another surprise,” Sunghoon popped as the two of you settled down on opposite sides of the table. “I don’t know if you’re going to be up for it though.”

“Is it the wine?” you asked, eyeing the corked bottle partially hidden under one of the pillows. “Because I saw it long back, and I am all for getting drunk.”

Sunghoon chuckled. “Nah, it’s not the wine, but yeah, we’re getting drunk. There’s absolutely no doubt about it. But,” he continued, “I’d been going through Pinterest to search for date ideas when I called you in the middle of your movie a few nights ago. After our talk, I remembered you’d made this board with Karina when you were a thirteen-year-old.”

You gasped and reached over the table to smack his arm. “You stalked my Pinterest?! That is so uncool! There’s tons of embarrassing shit on there! I should have privated those boards when I had the chance,” you muttered to yourself.

“Then I wouldn’t have rented a projector for us to watch a movie after we finish dinner.” Sunghoon grinned cheekily. “We are not watching some sappy romcom though,” he warned. “Soap2Day came in clutch so we can watch Suzume or Guardians of the Galaxy Volume 3. Your choice.”

Your mouth parted in surprise. For a few moments, you didn’t say anything. With a raised eyebrow, Sunghoon watched you struggle to form the words. “Okay, I know it was creepy to stalk you on Pinterest—”

“NO!” you blurted, your eyes widening. “It’s not creepy! I just—No one has ever done anything of this sort for me. I don’t know what to say except… thank you.”

Before he could reply, you buried your face in your hands, and muttered, “Gosh, I sound so ungrateful, but I really do appreciate it. More than I can express.” Raising your head, you looked straight into his eyes. “I have this extremely strong urge to kiss you right now. Would it be fine with you if I acted on it?”

Sunghoon stopped breathing. His smile dropped, and his heart skipped a beat. The entire world could have crumbled, and he would have remained frozen in place, trying to make sense of what you’d just said.

“W—what?” he croaked.

You broke off the eye contact and dropped your gaze to the ground. “Sorry. That was stupid of me—”

“Yes,” Sunghoon breathed. “Yes, it would be fine with me.”

You exhaled, appearing visibly relieved, and that somehow made him feel better about the sharp turn the evening had taken. Of course, he was thrilled you wanted to kiss him, but part of him couldn’t help but wonder if you’d regretted voicing your thoughts.

Licking your lips, you unfolded your legs and scooted away from the table. Instead of standing up, you got on your knees and made your way towards him.

Sunghoon also moved away from the table to make space for you, and once you reached him, you swung your legs on either side of him. Straddling his lap, you towered over him.

Snaking your arms around his shoulder, you glanced at his mouth.

Even though it was driving Sunghoon out of his mind to not close the distance between your lips, he let you take your time. You traced your thumb across his lower lip and then shifted your hand to the back of his neck.

Weaving your fingers through his hair, you let your eyes flutter shut and lowered your mouth over his.

Sunghoon’s entire universe exploded into shards of molten light. A tidal wave of emotions crashed into him, setting his nerves on fire and making fireworks explode inside his chest.

The boy couldn’t have kissed you back any faster. Tilting his head to the side, he pulled you closer by the nape.

Settling in his lap, you tugged at his hair, the nails of your other hand digging into his shoulder.

A groan slipped past Sunghoon’s lips. God, he’d coveted the taste of you for so long, and now that he was finally kissing you, he realised he’d never estimated the magnitude of his love for you accurately before.

Because this… this was everything. Sunghoon felt on top of the world, and pure euphoria was coursing through his veins. He couldn’t get enough of you. A single kiss would never be enough to satiate him. The floodgates were thrown open, and the thought of this being a one-time, impulsive thing made his gut twist painfully.

He knew he needed to tell you. Right here, right now, he needed to tell you the truth.

“Y/N.” Sunghoon gasped, breaking the kiss. He was leaning back now, his weight resting on his left elbow. The desperation and urgency with which you’d come onto him had been more than he could handle. “I need to tell you something.”

Your eyes remained glued to his lips and there was a tinge of disappointment on your face. As if you didn’t want to stop. As if you wanted to keep going.

With a jolt, it dawned on him that you probably wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

The epiphany alone was enough for Sunghoon to consider ditching his plan of confessing his feelings and instead close the distance between your mouths again. But, he steeled his nerves and pushed himself into a sitting position.

He didn’t bother asking you to get up from his lap nor did he bother removing his left hand from your waist. If this confession went sideways, he’d end up losing you anyway.

“What is it?” you whispered, your disappointed expression giving way to concern and nervousness. “Did I go too far? I’m sorry—”

“Stop,” Sunghoon ground out. “Please stop. Let me speak.”

You pursed your lips, but he could tell you were scared shitless. There was fear in your eyes, and he hated making you feel as though you’d done something wrong when you’d given him the one thing he’d wanted more than anything else.

“I…” Sunghoon started, forcing himself to find the courage to say the words. “Y/N, I love you.”

There it was. He’d done it. The cat was out of the bag, and all he could do now was wait with bated breath.

Your mouth parted open, but no sound came out of it. Your face was unreadable. It was void of any emotion. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sunghoon tore his gaze from yours and let out a humourless laugh. “Right. That’s okay—”

But then he felt your hands grabbing his jaw, making him pin his attention on you again.

There was pure, unadulterated joy on your countenance, a wide smile adorning your lips. “I love you too,” you breathed. “Oh, my God, Sunghoon, I love you too.”

Sunghoon blinked. “What?” he mumbled, his mouth set in a pout due to your squishing his cheeks.

You leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his puckered lips. “I love you too,” you repeated.

Gripping your hands, Sunghoon removed them from his face and stared up at you in bewilderment. “You’re serious?”

“Hasn’t it been obvious to you?”

“Hasn’t it been obvious to you?” he shot back. “I’ve loved you since high school.”

You snorted. “So have I.”

“Sophomore year.”

“Same.”

“I knew right after the homecoming ball.”

“Sucker!” you exclaimed. “I knew right after the game!”

Sunghoon frowned. “It’s not a competition, Y/N,” he said, and then added, “But if it were, I would win. The amount of effort I’ve put into hiding my feelings is insane.”

“Sure,” you drawled. “That’s why all my followers keep saying it’s clear you’re in love with me.”

The tips of his ears turned red in embarrassment. “You saw the comments?”

“Of course I did,” you answered, your voice soft. “I just never believed them. The notion never seemed possible. Isn’t it crazy how it was real this entire time?”

Sunghoon chuckled. “We’re idiots.”

“We are,” you said, smiling at him in affection. “To be honest, I wouldn’t have ever said anything about what I truly felt if you hadn’t found the courage to confess to me.”

“I know, I know,” you defended and rolled your eyes when he gave you a pointed look. “I did ask if I could kiss you. Trust me, I was more surprised than you were. Heck, I was fully prepared to play it off by spouting some bullshit in case you said no. What you did for me, Sunghoon… I couldn’t keep the urge inside me anymore. I didn’t care about the consequences. I didn’t care that there would be no turning back—I knew I had to take the risk. And I’m glad that I did.”

Sunghoon’s heart swelled with joy. “Me too.”

“Wait,” you said quickly. “How’d you know you were in love with me?”

Rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, he answered, “While we were dancing at homecoming. You didn’t have a single move in you, but you didn’t wanna be the only one not dancing, so you started doing what you’d learnt in Zumba. It was hilarious—watching you be clueless but still killing it on the dance floor. It made me proud of you, but more than that, it made me realise what I felt for you.”

“Aw,” you cooed. “That’s really sweet of you, but I definitely knew what I was doing.”

“Let’s not ruin the moment by lying to each other.”

“You’re such a dork!”

“It’s your turn now!” Sunghoon grinned. “Tell me!”

“Okay, but you have to promise not to judge me,” you warned. “My story is embarrassing.”

Locking his pinkie with yours, he promised, “I won’t.”

“Remember how you sat with Yeojin at the game?” you asked, to which Sunghoon nodded. “Well, I’d been saving seats for us. I fought a lot of people to keep the seat next to me vacant, but you didn’t even acknowledge me when I called your name. Yeojin caught hold of you, and you went to sit with her without bothering to check if I was around.” Shrugging, you mumbled, “That made me mad and jealous and upset. Not just at her, but at both of you. I’d never been possessive over my friends, and I’d never felt such ugly emotions before. There was only one reasonable explanation.”

Sunghoon’s eyebrows flew up. “Woah. I’m sorry for what I did.”

“Nah, it’s cool. It was loud at the game and I don’t think you heard me.” You laughed and waved him away. “I was being petty. And I know it’s not cute like your story, but that was what made me realise there was a chance I loved you.”

“Cute or not, that was the best story I’ve ever heard,” he said cheekily. “Also, don’t get me wrong—I would love nothing more than have you sit in my lap, but I think we should finish dinner first. Let’s finish what you started once we’re done eating.”

Your eyes widened, and you scrambled away from him. “Right.”

“Wait!” Sunghoon grabbed your wrist before you could get up and go back to the other side of the table. “The asters—what do they signify?”

You smiled and leaned closer to his face, pressing the gentlest of kisses to his cheek.

“Love.”

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odleaisland · 6 days ago

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Forgotten Hollow, home of the vampires we all know and love.

#the casual decades challenge #Caleb Vatore #Lilith Vatore #forgotten hollow

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bg-brainrot · 1 year ago

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Would You Still Love Me? (Astarion x Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Summary: When you ask the question, 'would you still love me if I were a worm?' Astarion's response surprises you in more ways than one.

Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, silly goofy mood, act 3 unascended Astarion

Word count: ~1.7k

You’re chatting with Astarion over dinner at the Elfsong when a question strikes you. It’s an odd one, and you’re not sure if you should ask it. Your curiosity builds as you consider Astarion’s possible answers though and, by the next lull in conversation, you can’t help yourself.

“Astarion?” you ask, spearing a potato on your plate.

The vampire swirls his wine glass, watching the red liquid fall into place before answering, “Yes, dear?”

“Would you still love me if I were a worm?” The question spills out of you, sounding even sillier than it did in your head.

Your lover blinks at you, as if he couldn’t possibly have heard that properly. But when your expression doesn’t change, your eye contact doesn’t drop, no admission of jest is to be seen, he finally says, “Darling, what kind of ludicrous question is that?”

“Well, would you?” you counter, pointing at him with your fork before popping the potato in your mouth.

His face grows pensive as he thinks. It’s a few seconds later before he asks a follow up question, “What type of worm?”

You finish chewing as you think of the worms you know. Not many admittedly– life in the city meant that free patches of earth are few and far between. So you answer the only worm that truly comes to mind, “The earthworm kind.”

“And I would know that it’s you?” he asks, leaning forward now. It seems like he’s invested in the question now, despite his initial reaction.

You nod, as if that’s a given. “Yes, you saw me transform.”

“Hells, I was hoping I could pretend not to know,” he says with a smirk.

“Wicked man,” you retort, shooting him a responding smile.

Astarion’s face looks thoughtful again as he considers the developing situation. “Could I turn you back?”

Now you shake your head vehemently. What use was the exercise if magic would fix you? “No, nothing could turn me back. I’m simply a worm from now on.”

“Hmm, and are you certain that you would love me?” He raises an eyebrow at you in challenge, as if he’s cornered you in your own mischievous little game.

“Of course,” you answer immediately. “I don’t think my little worm brain would be able to think of much else.”

“How sweet… I think,” he says, cocking his head. You suppose it is, though you had meant it as fact. “Well then, one final question, if you would?”

You nod, gesturing for him to continue with your fork. “Go ahead, I’m an open book. Or worm, in this case.”

“How long do worms live?”

You blink, having not expected such a question from him– and truthfully also due to not knowing the answer. “I don’t know. Maybe Halsin would?”

Astarion locates the druid, sitting a few tables away talking to Wyll and Karlach. He raises his voice to be overheard in the din of the tavern. “Halsin, be a dear, how long do earthworms live?”

“A fantastic question, Astarion!” The druid’s voice carries easily with excitement. “It truly depends on the conditions of the worm, but anywhere from a few years up to eight years.”

You balk at that fact. A worm can live how long?

“I’m happy to tell you all about ideal soil conditions–”

Astarion cuts the man off with a loud, “Thank you!” Then he turns back to you. “Well, there you have it.”

“Have what?” you ask in response, confused at the turn in conversation.

“You would live at most eight years. I’m immortal, my love. I think I can manage less than a decade of loving a worm,” he says, rolling his eyes at you.

You’re not sure how to take the casual way that he speaks of your impending wormy death, but you find it oddly comforting to know that he would in fact still love you. You honestly hadn't expected that. “So you’d keep me around? Made sure I stayed healthy and safe?”

He nods, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Naturally.”

You can’t help but laugh at the idea of him keeping you as a pet worm. It seems almost unbelievable. “You wouldn’t throw me into the nearest patch of dirt? Or worse yet, let a bird take me?”

“Gods below, dear,” Astarion responds, aghast, putting a hand over his heart as if he’s been truly, deeply offended. “I would never.” Then he gets a far off look in his eyes and adds, “Well, maybe never. I suppose it depends on if I needed you as bait. But I’m certain I would be able to rescue you after the fact.”

“I would allow it,” you say, with a short nod. “If you’re using me as bait, it’s likely for good reason.”

"And after you pass? I would miss you terribly of course," he says solemnly, with his most maudlin, tragic expression.

"You'd better. And I expect the best soil for my burial," you say, pointing your fork at him threateningly.

“Of course, darling,” he says, only the hint of his smile visible from behind his wine glass. He takes a sip and looks at you again. “Now, why would you ask such a thing?”

You shrug, entirely convinced it was just a passing thought. But, as you poke and prod at your food, you find yourself answering, “I don’t know. What if, before this all ends, something happens to me. I already come with my own scars and problems, gods know how much worse it can get.”

Astarion stares at you over his wine glass, processing what you've just said before responding, "My love, believe it or not, I'm a vampire. I have 'scars and problems' of my own. If you think that anything could happen to you that I wouldn't be able to handle, you'd be sorely mistaken."

You hadn't expected him to say such words so sincerely, and you find yourself a bit taken aback. You love each other, you'd said as much on the night Astarion had been freed from Cazador, but it still feels a bit intimidating to know how deep that love could run. Apparently earthworm deep.

The idea that this man, who would rather bathe in blood than touch an inch of dirt, would continue to love you? Well, despite the inane premise, you find the warmth in your heart to feel very real.

"What about you, darling?" he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. "If I were to become a worm, what would you do?"

You answer quickly, "Easy. I would still love you, probably keep you on my person, and offer you blood or other sustenance when you need it."

Astarion looks at you aghast. "Sweet hells, do not put me in your pocket."

"And why not? I would be extremely careful, and then I would never lose you," you respond, explaining yourself logically. "Besides, even as a worm, who knows what kind of trouble you'd get yourself into."

"I should be saying that to you," he says, placing his wine glass on the table, serious now. "I can't believe you would put me in danger like that. I fully expect you to place me somewhere nice, like the lawn of some pampered Upper City noble."

You think about his proposition for a second before shaking your head. "But then I couldn't take care of you. What if you get stepped on?"

Astarion considers your counterargument with narrowed eyes. “Ugh, fine. I shall stay in your pocket. But I expect you to clean it regularly. And I demand that you get a new lining for it. Silk, preferably.”

“Easy enough to do,” you say, nodding along. “You would be most comfortable worm this side of the Chionthar.”

At that, the man looks pleased, picks his wine glass back up, and reclines back in his seat. “Good. And, for what it’s worth, I'm sure you would make a very cute worm.”

You’re not sure if that’s meant to be a compliment or an insult, but you suspect it’s the former. “Thank you,” you say, smiling at your lover. “You would make a dashing worm yourself.”

“Are you both expecting to turn into worms any time soon?” you hear from behind you. You turn around to see Halsin standing tall over you. His tone is friendly, warm as he continues, “I would be happy to take care of either of you.”

You can’t help the blush of embarrassment that comes over your face. You’re also not sure how to take the words. Is he asking to adopt you both, as worms? Gods, how did you end up here… So you look back to Astarion who is now shooting you a look that says, Now look what you’ve done.

“Err, no Halsin. It was just an odd little conversation we were having. Sorry to cause you any confusion.”

“No need to apologize, my friend,” he replies. “Though if you ever do need help, you know where to find me.” He gives you both an affectionate smile before heading off.

While it’s nice to know that others would care enough to take care of you as a worm, you’d meant the question to be solely for Astarion. You’re left burying your face in your hands to hide your shame.

“So, darling… what did we learn?”

“To never ask Halsin about earthworms,” you mumble through your fingers.

Astarion gives you a ‘tsk’ before responding. “No, my dear. If either of us turns into a worm, we must hide that fact from Halsin." He scrunches his nose in distaste before continuing, "I refuse to live in whatever healthy soil he’s found for us.”

You snort at Astarion’s conclusion, but still find yourself agreeing. “Fair enough. Better yet, let’s try to keep ourselves at the very least bipedal.” The two of you share a laugh, but in the back of your mind you’re already thinking of your next question. I wonder if he would still love me if I were a mimic? I suppose there’s only one way to find out.

#astarion x tav #astarion #fanfic #rogue + rogue #astarion x reader #astarion fluff #would you still love me if i was a worm?#there's no right answer ofc

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narumi-gens · 1 year ago

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yandere!morax/zhongli x adeptus gn!reader

morax finds you where he always does on the few occasions he allows you time to yourself, kneeling in the garden with your hands folded in your lap and your head respectfully tilted down. it's been only a few decades since he took you for his own, a self-reward of sorts for a still freshly won war.

and what are a few decades to the immortal?

he supposes you spend so much time here because the gardens are so wide and open that they make the high, stone walls that keep you caged within his grasp seem slightly smaller by perspective.

there's a soft, spring breeze in the air, which picks up for just a moment as he chooses to sit on the grass directly in front of you with his legs crossed before him and his wrists casually resting on his knees.

your head remains down and your eyes stay closed, choosing not to acknowledge his presence.

"have you not grown bored after spending so much time alone with nothing but your thoughts?" his deep voice and teasing tone shatter the garden's tranquility, yet still you refuse to look at him. "I'm happy to provide you with whatever book you would like. all you need to do is ask."

"my prayers keep me occupied."

it's a dangerous admission on your part. as liyue's archon, he hears every prayer his people make yet he's never once heard yours. which means that your prayers aren't to him.

but he'll indulge you and play your game – for now at least.

"what do you pray for?"

"for liberation." your answer isn't a surprise. what else could you pray for?

"oh? and to whom do you pray?"

finally, you open your eyes and lift your chin to meet his gaze. there's a hardness in them that reminds him of the jewels the people of liyue put so much time and effort into mining. even the warm, gentle wind and the smell of blooming flowers it brings are incapable of softening your demeanor.

"the archons."

any trace of amusement immediately vanishes as his eyes flash dangerously. his pupils morph into the slits of his true, draconic form.

"I am your archon."

he doesn't mention the contract you signed during the archon war in concert with the other adepti, agreeing to protect liyue. he doesn't need to.

although with your powers now sealed away through his own means, there's little protection that you would be able to provide should you ever actually be called upon to do so. the only part of the contract that still pertains to you as you are now, as he's made you now, is the provision accepting morax as liyue's archon.

it's a provision that he worded carefully in the specific contract he offered you, where you not only accepted him as the prime of adepti, but also swore eternal subservience to him as part of it.

"you are one archon," you remind him coldly, raising an eyebrow in challenge, daring him to contradict what is fact. "one of seven."

he offers you a patronizing smile in return.

"tell me, then. which of the remaining six do you think would be foolish enough to answer you?"

he only decides to humor you because he knows the answer is none of them. no archon would risk upsetting the peaceful but precarious balance they had just spent centuries, more than a millennium, fighting for.

and to break this unspoken contract amongst the seven in order to steal his greatest treasure right out from under him wouldn't just be foolish. it would be reckless.

but then his sight turns a pure, blood red that he hasn't experienced since the final days of the archon war. his fingers begin to elongate as they transform into claws. his horns make a grotesque cracking sound as they emerge from his skull. his teeth sharpen as he bares his fangs openly.

because a sudden divine energy has appeared between you and you open your clasped hands to reveal a glowing, teal-colored gem bearing a pair of spread wings.

"the god of freedom, it would seem."

#tumblr is really making me work in order to post my first genshin fic #tumblr is a genshin gatekeeper!#tw yandere #zhongli x reader #morax x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #zhongli #genshin #genshin impact #mel writes #yandere zhongli

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thisblogisaboutabook · 2 months ago

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Bad Idea, Right? - Epilogue

Eris x Reader/Azriel’s daughter - Light angst - Fluff

A decade after the events of “Bad Idea, Right?” Eris and Y/N return to Velaris for Winter Solstice….. and Azalea goes on her first date.

Part 10 - Series Masterlist

10 years later

My eyes narrow as I look to him, “How are you so amiable to this?”

Eris shrugs- yes, shrugs- as if he’s as casual and irreverent as Uncle Rhys. “A few overgrown bats with snowballs are hardly the greatest obstacles of my lifetime. I think I’ll survive.”

I know he sees how skeptical I am but in true Eris fashion, he doesn’t borrow trouble as we stroll through the wintry streets of Velaris.

“You’re being suspect.”

“Oh, my little Spymaster,” he challenges, “shall you tie me up and interrogate me? I know how fond you are of eliciting both pain and pleasure.”

I can’t hide the slight upturn of my lips as I scoff, “Ever the masochist”

Eris only smirks. I know he thinks he’s won in diverting my attention but he hasn’t. Yet, I’ll let him off for now. I am the one who voluntold him to join in in this years snowball fight after all. Eight solstices we’ve spent together now, it was easy enough to reason that if he ever wanted me to “settle down” he’d have to join in on my families antics, however childish they may be.

What I didn’t expect was how easily he’d gone along with my orders to join them. It’s no secret in our relationship that Eris enjoys submission but that tends to be reserved for the bedroom, not in spending time with my family of busybodies.

I should be pleased by his agreeance but call it “spymaster’s intuition”, I’m not buying it. Perhaps I’ll send one of my shadows to referee.

Before we can make it up the drive Azalea is out the door with a beaning smile running toward us. She’s wearing a purple sweater and black skirt with stockings beneath. Her already long legs are further lengthened by chunky heeled black boots. My sister is gorgeous. She’s always been pretty, but she certainly has grown into her features and managed to snag the best of both mother and father’s genes. Her wings tuck in tight as if to combat the chill of the air.

Eris gets one look at her kohl lined eyes and glossy lips and looks to me with a raised brow, mouthing, “makeup?” As if the idea is absolutely abhorrent to him.

I roll my eyes. “She’s a teenager, deal with it.”

Now it’s Eris’ turn at skepticism, deep auburn-brown brows drawing together slightly. Good, let him be- actually, no, no skepticism. After all, Azalea is the entire reason I’m sending him to the snowball battle today.

“Guess what, Azzie?” I divert my attention to my younger sister. “Eris is going to participate in today’s snowball fight.”

“Yeah, I know.” She replies, fidgeting somewhat anxiously.

“Dad told you?” I ask, surprised my father would mention anything of it. He may have become accustomed to Eris’ presence over the years but to openly discuss his participation, whether welcomed or not, was…. Unexpected.

Azalea pauses for a moment before replying, “Mom did- helped her in the kitchen this morning- she’s packed an extra thermos of cocoa for him.”

A soft smile graces my lips at the thoughtful gesture from my mother and Azalea’s shoulders seem to slacken a bit at that.

Odd.

Before I can press further, father steps out the door, two insulated mugs of cocoa in hand as he stalks down the cobblestone path, stopping to pull me in for a hug and a kiss on the forehead and issue a greeting of, “Missed you, ornery.” before turning his gaze to my mate, looking him up and down with a scrutinizing glare. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

Eris dons a pair of weather appropriate boots, leather trousers, and an autumnal tan peacoat.

“Fucks sakes.” My father mutters before stalking back into the house and swiftly returning with a pair of lined Illyrian leathers - shoving the set into Eris’ hands with no further fuss and continuing down the drive.

Eris flashes me a smirk and pulls me into a warmth inducing kiss, triggering a dramatic gag from my sister before sauntering off after him.

I manage to catch an irreverant line from Eris about having fire in his blood and a gruff reply from my father about leaving his ass frozen in the Illyrian wilderness.

“He had them made for him you know.” Azalea’s voice cuts through my eavesdropping, reminding me that my younger sister is still here.

“He what?”

“Dad,” she gestures to the retreating forms of the unlikely pair, “the leathers, he had Emerie commission them for Eris.”

My heart squeezes. “When did he do that?”

“Years ago,” she shrugs, “Once he realized you two are truly happening and it wasn’t just a ‘screw you, dad!’ phase. He had them made in case Eris ever deign to join them for the snowball fight.”

Digesting the information, I can’t help the slight upturn of my lips, “I knew he liked him more than he let on.”

Azalea huffs “Like is a strong word, more like “begrudgingly doesn’t loathe him”

A chuckle escapes me and I realize how grateful I am for this brief one-on-one moment with my sister. “Why don’t we spend time like this together more often?”

Azalea loops her slender arm through mine as we walk along the snow covered path towards the house. “Because if we spend much more time together, items would begin missing from eachothers wardrobes.”

Raising my brow I take in her outfit. “Damn it, I knew that sweater you’re wearing looked familiar!”

———-

The house smells of warm bread and lavender, holiday preparation in full swing. Mother hurries over, fussing over me and taking my coat.

Ever the hostess, I know better than remind her that I’m perfectly capable of hanging up my own coat - thank you very much.

Mother pulls me into a hug and I melt into it, forgetting just how much a mother’s love can soothe the soul. I hope to provide the same sanctuary to my own children someday- but someday is NOT today. We’re immortal, there will be plenty of time for whatever karmic justice I have to face one day, after all the hell I put my own parents through.

And besides- I’m already stressed enough over my little sister, which leads me to the exact reason I sent Eris’ overprotective (and biteable) ass with my father and uncles today.

Azalea has her first date.

She looks to me, worrying her lower lip and I can tell something is bugging her.

“Alright, enough with the nervousness- what’s on your mind, kid?”

Azalea’s eyes roll so far back I’m shocked she can’t see the matter of her brain.

“I’m nearly an adult and it’s nothing. Just my first date, that’s all.” She lies poorly.

I give her my best “scary badass Shadowsinger” glare and she huffs, wholly unimpressed. Dad does it better and honestly, she’s never been affected by his stoic glares either.

Her wings droop slightly and she confesses, “I think Clara likes him.”

Oh- oh. That’s not good. Clara and Azalea have been best friends since they met at a solstice party in the Winter Court when they were ten. It’s now not uncommon for one or the other to be in each other’s respective courts during any given downtime.

“What makes you think that?” I ask, keeping my tone just north of pity, knowing pity will just close her off.

“She gets defensive when I talk about him, and defensive when he comes around. She told me she was going to ask someone to attend Starfall with her this year but soon after he asked me, she said she wasn’t asking anyone, that she wasn’t going… and she never misses Starfall!”

I see. “Perhaps it’s just a coincidence regarding Starfall and she’s still just a bit awkward around males.. not everyone is as forward as you are when it comes to communication.”

I earn yet another eye roll from her at my reference to the many times when she was a child with no filter that she disclosed any and all cringe worthy details of my personal life to any ear that would listen.

“Tell me I’m wrong.” I challenge.

She has the good sense not to disagree.

Sighing she plops down next to me, leaning her head on my shoulder.

“Are you at least a little bit excited for the date?” I ask, resting my cheek on top of her head.

“Yeah, I think so.” She sighs, sitting back upright. “I am. I just don’t want to date someone at the risk of my best friend, you know?”

“If something as inconsequential as a male can come between you two, I have no hope for friendships anywhere. You two are like burrs on a horses ass, inseparable.”

Azalea giggles at the ridiculous analogy that I’d picked up sometime over my years in the Autumn court, and it feels good to see the light return to her eyes.

“Go on your date, have fun. It’s just a date, it doesn’t have to be forever.” I advise as I guide her to her vanity, touching up a few flyaways and immediately regretting it because those little strands of chaos are so quintessentially her.

If someone were unable to look past those, they don’t deserve her.

———————

Gathered in the parlor, Azalea bounces her foot, waiting for her date to arrive. Mother and I watch with amused expressions as she waits.

“Thank the gods the guys are still at the cabin for the snowball fight. Dad’s bad enough as it is but could you imagine Eris? I guarantee you he’d be chomping at the bit to grill this kid with questions.”

Azalea doesn’t miss a beat as she fires back, “You’re one to talk. He’s only speaking from experience, gods knows what you two got up to on your dates. You two don’t exactly scream “modest intentions.”

“Azalea” mother scolds but there’s no real reprimanding behind it, in fact, her eyes dance with mirth.

My shadows however, dance with a bit of agitation.

A knock comes on the door and Azalea freezes.

“Is he here?” Mother questions, standing and heading to peer out the window.

Azalea only groans. “No…. It’s bad news though. Aunt Mor is here.”

I chuckle at Azalea’s disdain. Aunt Mor is somehow even more protective of Azalea than any of the males in her life.

I open the door as she steps in, exuding “cool aunt” energy. She brings me in for a big hug before rushing to Azalea and squeezing her impossibly tightly. Emerie enters behind her with an apologetic look speaking for itself, “I tried to stall her.”

Mor peppers Azalea with all the questions as Emerie takes a seat, knowing better than to intervene. She gives me a knowing look before musing at her wife’s questioning.

“Always searching for the truth, that one.” I mutter. Emerie knows better than to laugh but I don’t miss the mirth in her deep brown eyes.

Azalea is exasperated by the time her date shows up. I realize that until now, I haven’t even asked his name. Though I know it because Mor absolutely asked during her interrogation, three times to be exact.

I notice a figure stepping up the drive and can’t help but take pity on my little sister. Could I let karma take its course after all of the shenanigans the child- excuse me, teenager- put me through in her younger years? Yes. But today I relent… it is solstice after all. Happy holidays, enjoy the gift of peace, Azalea.

With a casual stretch I summon Azalea to the kitchen. “Hey sis, could you help me in here for a moment?”

Mor starts but Emerie, also taking pity on my sister and her suitor is quick to distract her in the best way she knows how. “Say, Elain,” Emerie clears her throat to ensure Mor is paying attention. “Where did you get those shoes- from that new boutique along the Sidra?”

Before my mother can get a word out, Mor is fawning over them- speculating where she’d acquired them.

Good gods, this woman and her shopping addiction. Thank the cauldron Uncle Rhys pays her so well. I’m fairly certain she and Amren’s contributions to the Velaris economy could fund half the city for a month, two if it’s close to the holidays and Mor is on a spree to find the worst possible gifts for those she loves most dearly. Last year she got me a pink pair of bunny slippers- though I begrudgingly admit, they were quite comfortable.

Azalea, cheeks still pink with embarrassment, joins me in the kitchen. “Quick, out the side door with you. He’s coming up the walk.”

Azalea looks to me with relief and gratitude that I’m not quite sure I deserve given that my shadows are practically vibrating with frustration that I won’t let them trail after her.

“Have fun, stay safe, and be home before the males get home from the snowball fight. Eris is going to kill me if he finds out I sent him away just so you could go on a date in peace.”

Azalea nods, throwing on a jacket and hurrying out the kitchen before her date - Alex - arrives to the front door and can be ambushed by the females waiting behind it.

I hear a flutter of wings behind me, I don’t turn to look as a slight figure perches on my shoulder and a small voice proclaims with a sigh, “they grow up so quickly.”

“Flori” I greet the little sprite. Years ago, Eris had pulled some strings to arrange the visitation of a sprite to Azalea’s “sprite garden” - little did he know, Azzie would find her fiercest defender and one of the best of friends in the sprite - who may or may not have become one of my spies. Sprites are notoriously incurably nosey with a love for gossip, making the vivacious little fae quite the asset.

“Do I send a shadow after her?” I ask, toeing the line of giving my little sister freedom and wanting her to be safe.

Flori simply preens “Already vetted him. She’s in good hands.”

I make a mental note to give the sprite a raise.

————————————

“She’s WHAT?” Eris blurts as soon as the words “Azalea” and “date” leave my mouth. He’d managed to make it out of the Snowball fight alive and despite his impassive behavior…. I think he might have had fun.

“Cauldron, say it a little louder, Eris. I don’t think the folks on the continent heard you.”

Eris smacks my ass, whispering with a low timbre, sending a wave of heat straight to my core, “You’re going to regret this later, little shadow.”

I shiver at the show of dominance. It’s not every day that my mate shows his more dominant side… to me, at least. A thrill shoots through me at the promise for the most delicious of punishments later.

My dad enters the kitchen seeming unbothered regarding Azalea’s first date which is a bit surprising to both Eris and I.

“What are you two gaping at me for?” He asks, not bothering to look in our direction as he pours a drink.

You seem quite unbothered, I muse.

He gives a shrug. “What do I have to be bothered about? I won the snowball fight and the day has gone off without any hitches.”

I plan to leave well-enough alone but gods forbid Eris do the same. “So your youngest daughter went on her first date and you’re completely unbothered by it?

“Yup” he says before taking a swig of his whisky.

Eris, ever unable to resist baiting him looks to me and speaks in a low, honeyed tone, “I remember our first date, little shadow.”

Dad falters for only a millisecond before throwing back the rest of his drink, pointedly setting his glass down quite heavily, clanging on the counter and stalking out of the kitchen.

I raise a brow at my mate, “You couldn’t resist, could you?”

His Adam’s apple bobs and he chuckles, putting an arm around me and pulling me in close. “Your father’s annoyance is the second greatest gift I could get this holiday.”

“Second? What ever could be first?” I ask wryly.

He gives me a sultry look, reminding me of the punishment I have coming away.

I smack his shoulder and we head back in to join my family for the evening’s festivities.

———————

Solstice is in full swing and there are a couple of things that never change. One, Amren looks like she just robbed the local jewelry parlor as she showcases the gems she’d been gifted by the inner circle- aside from Mor who gifted her a purple scarf.

Emerie and my mate dance a strange dance of dominance and submission. Eris, who is indeed a fire-wielding High Lord with more self importance than he knows what to do with, out of some faction of guilt and understanding gives Emerie her distance.

Emerie, who up until recently has made her dislike of Eris well known- in that, “I’m-not-going-to-talk about-it-but-make-one-snide-comment-to-Mor-and-I’ll-cut-you” kind of way, keeps her distance from Eris but always ensures she’s between the two.

Yes, Eris and Mor reconcilied decades ago, before I had ever met Eris, but I get it. Emerie and Mor are mates and, wrongs against the other- whether truthful or perceived are hard to forgive when it comes to someone you’re mentally and biologically programmed to love and protect.

The front door opens and in walk Nyx, Aunt Feyre, and Uncle Rhys, closely followed by Aunt Nesta and a sulking Uncle Cassian who is clearly still disappointed that he didn’t win the snowball fight.

Nyx approaches Azalea with a “hey little cousin! Where’s your date?”

Azalea audibly groans but it’s too late. Uncle Rhys and Uncle Cassian both gape.

“Date??”

Azalea groans. “Damnit.”

“Language” mother warns.

“Y/N said ten times worse when she was my age!” Azalea argues but mom only pins her with that practiced motherly gaze that garners no room for argument.

Rhys and Cassian turn to my father waiting for a reaction but he only shrugs. “My daughter is old enough to go on a date, I trust her.” He doesn’t add that he’s the spy master and likely has a fifty page compendium on everything her date’s done since he could walk.

Cassian lets out a low whistle. “I never thought I’d see the day our brother wouldn’t be a brooding, overbearing mess over his youngest going on her first date.

Mor snorts. “You can thank Eris for his lackadaisical response. If he could handle those two,” she gestures broadly toward Eris and I. “he can handle about anything.”

She’s not wrong, I think to myself, my lips upturning slightly.

My father ignores the comment, simply placing an arm around mother and kissing the crown of her head.

Before Cassian or literally any of my aunts or uncles can mortify Azalea or irritate father further, the doorbell rings and Azalea perks up, hurrying toward the door before catching herself, and waiting for someone else to get it.

My shadows have reported who is here and my heart aches for my sister. Clara. Azalea’s best friend whom she believes has a thing for the male Azalea went on a date with tonight.

They’ve been thick as thieves for so long and it saddens me to see her hesitate instead of throwing her arms around her like she normally would.

The rest of the guests seem to feel the same as the heir to the winter court steps in, graceful as ever with her white hair wound into an elegant braid. Her piercing blue gaze takes in Azalea and the tension in the room is palpable, it doesn’t take the tense way my sister holds her wings to sense it.

I give a silent gesture to everyone to carry on as not to make this more awkward.

I can’t tell what the two say to eachother but they both hold themselves stiffly before Azalea nods towards her room, likely so they can resolve things without the biggest busybodies in Prythian hovering.

Eris squeezes my hand. “Care to take a walk my love?”

“Sure” I whisper, feeling a bit flushed from the wine I’d downed before the party.

My father’s hazel gaze tracks us with an unreadable expression as we walk out the door.

————-

As we stroll along the Sidra, I can’t help but smile. We’ve walked along this river countless times over the years but I can’t help remembering the chaotic night we’d gone on our first real date to Sevenda’s and to Aunt Feyre’s art gallery opening. A chaotic yet altogether unforgettable night. Despite the strife of it all, I wouldn’t change anything, because here we are now.

My shadows float around us, as if they too enjoy the night’s breeze. Eris’ heat keeping us just warm enough.

“You’ve served our court quite well little shadow.” Eris speaks, his voice low and Ernest, his lips tilt upward as a shadow winds around his forearm down his wrist, and weaves through his long fingers.

“You have too.” He muses to the shadow. And it’s true, my shadows have made my spymaster skills a valuable asset to the Autumn Court, though Eris has never viewed them as a tool but as an extension of me, of the female he loves.

“It’s an honor to serve your court.” I speak truthfully.

He smirks. “You can lie to yourself by saying it’s mine… but it’s ours.” Before I can object or deflect, he continues, “And I’m the High Lord, as an individual in my employ, you must abide by my law. And I declare that it’s our court.”

I roll my eyes but my stomach flutters. I’ve fallen in love with the Autumn Court and learned how wonderful many of its people are over the years. An “autumnal wasteland”, I’d once called it. And yet, it feels like home now.

“You know-“ Eris continues, fidgeting slightly. Something so unlike him. “Do you remember that night all those years ago, when your sister caught us in that deliciously compromising position on the balcony- and your mother had that vision?” He asks with a hint of vulnerability in his amber eyes.

My brows knit, unsure where this is going. “The burning flame drives away the wild shadow.” I recite, remembering the night clearly. “Eris- what does this have to do with anything? She said herself that her visions don’t always mean anything significant. We’re happy and I don’t plan to leave you anytime soon.”

Eris shakes his head, resting a warm hand on my shoulder, I meet his gaze defiantly. “Look at you. I hope you never lose that spark… that fire burning within you.”

I scoff looking down, trying to hide the feeling of uncertainty in myself.

“Is the Autumn court your home, little one?” He asks, his thumb and forefinger gently clasping my chin and tilting my face so my eyes meet his amber hued gaze.

I can see it, the desperation in his eyes and I cannot give him anything but the truth. My heart races. “Yes.”

Something akin to relief slackens his features. “So, there it is. The burning flame, drove away you. My little wild, wonderful shadow out of the Night Court, to my home in the Autumn Court. To our home.”

Suddenly he spirits a square rectangular box of mahogany with autumn leaves and flames burned into it out of the pocket realm.

“Eris…”

His voice cracks with emotion and he holds up a finger, a silent plea with me to let him get his words out. “You have served our court well over the past ten years, little one, you have shown our people kindness and grace, and you treat the commoners with just as much dignity and respect as nobility- if not more. You have loved me well, far more than I likely deserve but I’m a selfish male when it comes to you and I’ve soaked up every ounce of love you’ve shown me. You are who I want to rule beside, who I want to keep waking up next to every morning. You are the one I would be honored to lead our court with. Please, my mate, do me the honor of fully accepting our bond and becoming my High Lady.”

He opens the box to which a golden ringlet crown of leaves and flame rests beside a ring with a matching band, and a gem that matches the amber stoned necklace he’d gotten me before I even knew we were mates.

All words escape me. It’s not that he hasn’t hinted at having me rule with him someday over the years but he also has recognized that I’m young, that I had personal growth to achieve that was important to myself and yes- recently, I have felt that I’m there. That I could do this, but I’d never said it. My mate has waited patiently, observed in silence, until he could sense I was ready. How could I deny him?

“Yes, Eris. It would be a privilege to be your High Lady, and an even greater privilege to be yours forever.”

He closes the box and spirits it away for now. I’ll wear the ring after I’ve offered him food and consummated the bond, and after we’ve seen a priestess to swear my vows to both him and the crown.

Gods, as if our sex life needs a mating frenzy when we can’t keep our hands off each other as is.

Eris’ eyes water and he pulls me into his warm embrace, a hug that I feel deep in my soul. He kisses the top of my head as I rest my cheek against his chest, listening to his heart thud.

We stand like that for some time before his eyes, so full of devotion, peer into mine, reading me like a book and loving everything he sees. “I love you.” He speaks gruffly.

“I love you too.” I whisper, my voice soft and sincere.

I crash my lips into his and we get lost in eachother.

———————————

When we return to the townhouse and slip out of our coats, I look up to see the family drinking and talking merrily. My father and mother both look to Eris and I. My mother smiles knowingly and father raises a brow. Eris gives him a nod and father raises his glass in silent congratulations. My lips part and I look to Eris.

Eris only flashes his patent smirk. “You may have sent me to the snowball fight with an agenda of your own, but I had one too.”

“You asked his permission?”

“Don’t give me that look, High Lady, I would have asked you regardless. I am a High Lord and can do what I want anyway.”

I just shake my head but my lips curl upward. “You’ll pay for your insolence, High Lord.” I whisper huskily.

Chill bumps rise up his arm but he stays strong. “Oh no, I’ll be punishing you for hiding the news of Azalea’s date from me first. I haven’t forgotten that.”

I look around and see she’s still not rejoined the family. “C’mon, I want to tell her before everyone else.”

Selfishly, I also want to ensure that things are smoothed out between her and Clara.

We head upstairs and I knock on her bedroom door with no answer. “Azalea?” I ask and knock again with no answer. It’s not like her to not answer the door and I don’t hear anything inside. It’s early for her to be asleep and I worry that she and Clara got into a bigger disagreement and Clara left. The thought of Azalea crying herself to sleep tears me apart.

Concern overrides my situational assessment and I turn the handle a moment too late to heed Eris’ sudden warning of “sound ward”.

I gape as the daughter of the Winter Court straddles my little sister’s lap, the two locked in a tangle of tongues and teeth.

“Well, well, well,” I muse at the sight as flashes of the night she’d outed Eris and I’s relationship a decade ago cross my mind. “How things have come full circle.”

“Don’t worry sis, your secret is safe with me.”

———————————————

A/N: Thank you all for reading this fic! I can’t believe it’s done. I hope you enjoyed getting a little peek into everyone’s life years down the road from the main fic. I appreciate each and every one of you who have taken the time to read!

Tags:

ACOTAR General Tags: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139 @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @ahaha0246

Eris Tags: @angiedsv

Series Tags: @b0xerdancer @myheartfollower @ang-taylorsversion @acotarobsessed @uniquecolorwizard @justasillylittlegoofyguy @thelov3lybookworm @starryhiraeth @5moremin @azrielsmate3 @coolepowersthings @isa1b2h3 @inloveallthetime @julesofvolterra @deeshag @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @courtofbatboydreams @yourmumsdumptruck @nebarious @glitterypirateduck @mybestfriendmademe @acourtof-wingspan @paleidiot @anae-naea-zacheria @fandomarchiveilyd @bloodicka @12358

#Azriel #eris vanserra #acotar #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #Eris x Azriel’s daughter #acotar fluff #acotar angst #a court of silver flames #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #eris x reader #eris x oc #autumn court #night court

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comphy-and-cozy · 2 months ago

Text

Fourth Down Conversion - Brady Skjei

Pairing: NFL!Brady Skjei x cheerleader!Reader (f)

Summary: On the sidelines underneath bright stadium lights, a spark flickers between Tennessee Titans star quarterback, Brady Skjei, and you, a cheerleader for the team.

Word Count: 4.7K

Author's Note: Written for @jxmieoleksiaks for @wyattjohnston's Winter Fic Exchange! Hope you enjoy this dive into this AU with everyone's favorite All-American quarterback! Inspired by @smileysvech's NFL Brady moodboard.

Warnings: Mature content (semi-public blowjob), alcohol use, persistent man pursuing a woman, maybe a little too much world building. The standard sexism/sexualization of women that comes with professional cheerleading, etc.

← BACK TO MAIN MASTERLIST

Brady Skjei has everything: Money, fame, talent, devastating good looks. As the star quarterback for the Tennessee Titans, it’s safe to say that he is a man that women want to be with and who other men want to be. Since having a record-setting college career culminating in a National Championship title and a Heisman trophy, he’s continued to excel in the NFL: 2 MVPs and one Super Bowl ring to his name, with the expectation of more to come in the coming years.

His 6-bedroom mansion in Belle Meade is decadent. Luxury marble countertops, a fully stocked wine cellar, and a home cinema satisfy his extravagant lifestyle, known for hosting excellent celebration parties. He’s got a team the size of a small youth soccer team that services his house, cooks his meals, and keeps him in top physical shape in his state-of-the-art basement gym. In essence, his life is pretty close to perfect.

But he doesn’t have a girl.

And not for lack of options—being Brady Skjei certainly has its perks. With Instagram models fawning over themselves, desperate for a chance to be his arm candy for even just a night, he merely has to flash his ovary-bursting smile to win women over. He’s had rumored (but never confirmed) flings with no less than two top tier celebrities, the gossip columns frequently spotlighting the handsome quarterback, his face plastered across glossy magazine covers in grocery stores.

But the truth is, because of his travel schedule and lifestyle, it’s hard for him to casually date. And even if he could, half of the girls in his dating pool only want him for clout. At first, it was nice, even fun, to have his pick of virtually any girl he wanted. But after a few years of it all, he’s started to grow bored of the same desperate, too-eager act. He doesn’t really have the energy or the time to distinguish between the authentic ones and the ones seeking five minutes of fame, so it’s easier to stay single-adjacent, earning himself the unofficial title of playboy millionaire.

The upcoming season will be Brady’s second in Nashville, his seventh in the league, and all eyes are on the Titans, expected to challenge for a title in the postseason. His first season in Nashville, the team made a playoff run for the first time in nearly ten years. There’s a buzz in the city, his name becoming synonymous with something akin to the savior of the state of Tennessee sports.

For you, a three-year veteran on the Titans Cheerleading team, it means tighter expectations, smaller margins of error, and an increased demand for perfection. You’re fortunate to have a remote job that affords you a flexible schedule, allowing you to spend extra time at the studio practicing or at the gym training. It’s exhausting, albeit exciting.

You’ve chatted with Brady a few times, but only surface-level, having seen each other around the Titans’ practice facility from time to time. Enough for you to be somewhat comfortable in his presence, but never enough for you to expect him to remember—or even know—your name, let alone approach you and say hello.

But here he is all the same, greeting you as you sit cross-legged on the ground, your small sewing kit beside you. He frowns at the sight of you sewing in additional padding around the inner hem of your sequined uniform. “What are you doing?”

You tie off the last thread and flip the top right side out to inspect it and ensure there are no visible signs of your doctoring. “I have to add in padding because the sequins cut into my sides.”

“They cut you?”

“Sometimes it makes me bleed on a bad day.”

Brady’s eyebrows crease. “Your uniforms aren’t made in a way that won’t hurt you?”

“The uniforms are made for male entertainment,” you say with a matter-of-fact shrug. It’s true—you’re more than aware of the fact that being under the male gaze is part of your life, part of your job. You accepted that fact a long time ago; you might as well take advantage of your youth and fast metabolism while you can.

“That uniform was made for guys like me.”

It’s a bold statement, one that takes you a moment to recover from. You zip up the case containing your sewing kit and toss it, along with your uniform, back into your bag before you stand and lock eyes with him. If he’s going to be bold, then so are you. “Brady, what are you doing?”

“Wanted to ask you out on a date.” He says it casually, like he had just been walking by when the idea struck his fancy. Like it isn’t completely out of the blue.

Your eyes roll. You watch the way his eyes trail over the Nike Pros you know are just a little too short, gaze traveling down your freshly self-tanned leg. His eyes move back up to meet yours, the dark umber glittering at you along with an expectant smile.

“Don’t you think it’s a little cliche?”

“What is?”

Your eyebrow raises, conscious of the way you kneel—not bend over—to tug your gym bag off the floor. “The cheerleader and the football player?”

A feline smirk crawls its way onto his face. He’s even more handsome with a smile. “It’s a classic.”

“Goodbye, Brady.”

You’re in sweatpants on your couch, splitting a bottle of wine with two of your teammates. Love Island is playing on the television when your phone buzzes beside you. The red alert notifying you of a new Instagram message has you swiping to read it, the blue checkmark catching your attention.

[bradyskjei:] Call me when you’re ready to take a chance. 555-890-4392.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t ignore the way your pulse thumps a little quicker in your throat. It’s no longer just a passing fancy, akin to an intrusive thought that takes over; he’d taken the time to look up your Instagram and send you a message to reaffirm his interest. The thought makes you shiver.

Not only is it quite literally written in your contract, but it goes against your moral compass to entertain the thought, the boundary of not sleeping with your colleagues a firm one for you. He isn’t really a colleague, you tell yourself, not technically, anyway. Either way, it’s a little taboo, and the idea of sneaking around tempts your daring side.

But he also scares you. Not just because of his celebrity, though the idea of being in that level of spotlight is intimidating, too. His reputation isn’t anything you’re interested in; you don’t want to get involved with gossip columns and celebrity drama. It’s also his larger-than-life persona, his lifestyle so much bigger than anything—or anyone—you know.

But you can’t deny that you’re attracted to him.

You don’t reply, assuming that he’s got much more important things to do than check if you’ve seen his DM. But another hour goes by and you see another message.

[bradyskjei:] left on read? ouch.

Part of you is annoyed by the double text, the insistence despite your clear lack of interest—men—but another part of you recognizes his persistence as his way of showing you he really is interested. You’re sure he’s never been told ‘no,’ but there’s something about him that doesn’t make you turn away in disgust. He could have his pick of any girl he wants, and yet here he is, spending his time messaging you and noticing that you’ve read it and not responded.

Your response is simple: “I’m not interested in being a play thing.”

[bradyskjei:] What if I’m not interested in having a play thing?

Admittedly, your curiosity does ring—what does that mean? You stare at the screen, at the electronic keyboard, searching for something to say. Nothing comes, and you decide that no reply is a reply in itself.

Week 9 of the Titans’ schedule is a home game and it’s against the Ravens, one of two other opponents who remain undefeated. There’s an air in the city, a palpable, infectious energy, that’s seeped into every building, street, and stoplight. Having your life revolve around the team, feeding off of their success and contributing to the atmosphere in the stadium, it’s hard not to let that contagious excitement flutter in your chest. You’re a genuine Titans fan, rooting for the success of the team.

So when Brady throws a career-high 4 touchdowns, you find yourself leaping in the air beside your teammates as the whistle is blown and the field is flooded by reporters and players converging in the middle to shake hands. It’s been weeks since he last tried to pursue you, but at the moment, you’re just like every other Nashville resident, and you’re ecstatic that the best football player in the world is on your team.

By the time you’re done packing up your things in the cheerleaders’ locker room, your heart rate has returned to normal. Slipping on an oversized sweatshirt, you sling your Adidas bag over your shoulder and bid goodbye to the few girls left in the room. Brady Skjei is on your mind as you walk out into the lobby, that handsome, heart-melting smile like a fucking teenage heartthrob.

Which is why your heart does a triple flip when you see him walking down the opposite hallway. He turns his head at the sound of your footsteps, a grin breaking out onto his face when he realizes it’s you. “Guess it really is my lucky night.”

Your smile is coy, but you can’t fight the real smile that blooms at the way he beams. There’s a light in his eyes that you’ve never seen before, adrenaline still coursing through his veins from his exhilarating night. “Congratulations, Brady. It was a hell of a game.”

“Thank you,” he says. You like the way he says it, like he’s so genuinely grateful for your compliment. It surprises you, the peek into the real him, the one that’s beneath the big grins and Nike commercials. “Heading home?”

You nod.

There’s a brief air of hesitation, gone so quick you thought you imagined it. Then he asks, “Would you like to get a drink with me?”

“You want me to go out in downtown Nashville, in the city where you just had a huge milestone game and your name is the only thing everyone’s talking about?” You can’t help the incredulous tone of your voice or the pointed look you give him.

He smiles, letting the indirect accolades roll off as if they don’t mean anything to him. Maybe they don’t. “Does that mean you’d be talking about me too?”

You ignore his chide. A vision of flashing cameras, trending hashtags, and an inbox full of hate messages from jealous Instagram models passes through your mind, a dread filling your gut. You’re not ready for that. Not for a few hours with a man you barely know.

“I’m really not in for a crowd,” you say, turning to walk away. It’s the truth, but part of you—you’re really not sure which—wonders if you shouldn’t have rejected his advances. What if you did have a connection?

You only get to take one step before he’s calling after you again.

“What do I have to do to get you to give me a chance?”

You pause, thinking. Then you turn and smile. “Win a Super Bowl. Then we’ll talk.”

Brady is preoccupied all night, constantly surrounded by teammates, friends, family, and beautiful girls. If he remembers your unofficial promise, or intends to act on it, he doesn’t show it; you don’t even get the chance to talk to him amidst the celebration. You don’t hear from him at all, so you assume your lack of interest has caused his own to dwindle, writing you off as a lost cause and moving on to the next target.

About a week after the Super Bowl, you’re at the stadium clearing out your locker in the dressing room. The deep, familiar voice comes from behind you.

“I won the Super Bowl.”

When you turn around, Brady Skjei, Super Bowl MVP is standing in the open doorway. He’s sporting joggers and an expensive-looking sweatshirt, and you wonder what he’s doing at the stadium.

“You did,” you say, not trying to hide the grin that grows on your face. “Congratulations, Brady. You—you’re… really special to watch.”

He looks surprised at your genuine compliment, and he blinks. “Thank you.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be celebrating?”

His smirk is wicked, eyes flicking down to your leggings. “What if I want to celebrate with you?”

God damn, is he smooth. Against your own will, you feel your heart pulse a little bit faster. “Me, huh?”

“Who wouldn’t want to celebrate with the prettiest girl in Nashville?”

“Laying it on pretty thick, aren’t you, Skjei?”

“Just telling the truth,” he says with a wink; you fight the urge to roll your eyes. Then, “How do you like dive bars?”

Pausing, you allow your eyebrows to raise before looking back at him. “All that pining and now you’re okay with our first date being at a dive bar?”

“Who said anything about a date?” he says, winking, then grinning at the expression on your face.

Twenty minutes later, you’re stepping hesitantly out of his truck (that costs more money than you have in your savings account) and walking through the door he opens for you. Your self-preservation radar is blinking as you take in the seedy bar, but Brady’s large, looming presence at your back comforts you. The bar isn’t empty, but it is definitely a dive: dim lighting, a neon Miller Light sign on the wall right beside the ‘Cash Only’ sign written in sharpie, and well-worn barstools create a dingy ambience. The bartender doesn’t look up at the opening of the door, but he does nod in familiarity when Brady approaches the bar. You wonder how in the world he knows about this place.

From the booth you settled in, you watch the two exchange a few words before the bartender sets off to grab the two Bud Lights that he hands him. Back across from you, he slides one bottle across the table at you. He offers the lip of his bottle in a silent toast, which you clink yours against before you take a drink.

“Not so bad, huh?”

“How do you even know about this place?” you laugh incredulously.

“Been coming here since I moved here,” he explains. “Tom—the owner—was one of the few people who didn’t treat me like this huge elephant in the room. It was the only place I could be just… Brady.”

You cast your eyes down, gaze tracing over the initials carved into the wood of the table. You were guilty of doing exactly what he said; making him into someone larger than he is, letting the weight of his name make your decisions about him before even giving him a chance.

“It comes with the territory,” he says, like he can sense your guilt. “Everyone does it.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, I am the savior of Nashville sports,” he says with a cheeky grin, and just like that, any discomfort has dissipated, clearing the air in an instant. Then he asks, “How long have you lived in Nashville?”

At first, you hesitate, debating with yourself how much of yourself you want to reveal to him. You look into his eyes, trying to determine how interested he really is. They glitter as he looks at you, that handsome, all-American charm radiating over his features. But beneath that, you see sincerity, almost a pleading look—maybe for you to just give him a tiny bit of leeway.

“Four years. I’ve been on the cheer team for three,” you ultimately say.

“Dancer?”

Your eyes narrow. True, it isn’t far-fetched to know that the majority of professional cheerleaders have a background and training in dance, but you’re suspicious of how he knows it. Does he know because he’s been around them since being thrust into the world of the NFL, or did he have a more intimate knowledge?

“My sister’s a cheerleader,” he says with a shrug. You get the strange sense he was reading your thoughts. “And, believe it or not, I am capable of making friends that are female.”

“Can you blame me for my suspicion?”

Another broad grin. “Only a little.”

Conversation comes easier than you expect. Turns out, you have more in common than you thought, and in addition to being handsome and talented and successful, he’s also got funny on his resume. He tells you about his sister, his dogs, and how he typically spends his offseasons. The longer he talks, the more you realize he really is just a normal guy beneath a public persona and 8.1M Instagram followers.

Bit by bit, he breaks down the brick wall you’ve constructed around yourself, your hesitance around getting to know him evaporating with each laugh that he pulls from your lips. It surprises you how nice it is to see him like this; it makes you feel special that he’s comfortable enough to peel back a few layers with you. You wonder how many people get to see this version of Brady.

And good lord is he handsome. You’ve never really had much of an opportunity to speak with him up close; you never noticed the scar on his chin, the ridge in his nose, or the freckle on his jawline. Sitting across from him, he looks at you like you’re the only person left in the world, not seeming to notice the handful of other patrons in the bar or their lingering stares.

Being the center of his attention, the subject of his attentive gaze, is intoxicating.

“Man, you are so out of my league,” he says with a self-deprecating chuckle, leaning back against the cushion back of the booth. He shakes his head like he knows he’s in trouble. Even in the dim lighting, his cheeks are tinged with pink.

You can’t help the laugh that barks out in response. “You realize who you are, right?”

“I do.”

“And that you’re quite literally in the biggest sports league in the world?”

He nods, that same sincere look in his eyes as before. “I think you’re insanely beautiful. And talented. And funny. Unless you’re a serial killer, you’re the perfect catch.”

The joke creates an easy opportunity for a laugh, but you find your heart fluttering at his words. As much as you’d like to be immune to the weight of a compliment coming from Brady Skjei, it’s easier said than done. Satisfaction and humility bubble up inside you against your will, and you smile and thank him shyly. It isn’t lost on you that it’s exactly what people say about him.

When you told Brady you’d get one drink with him, you really meant it. But even your impenetrable fortress isn’t immune to his charm; three drinks later, you find yourself pressed against the passenger door of Brady’s car while he mouths at your jawline. His lips are hot against your skin, heating radiating through your body while they trail fire over your neck. A soft moan escapes your lips—it feels so fucking good, so good that you can barely even bring yourself to care that you’re in the middle of the parking lot getting felt up by NFL superstar Brady Skjei.

Your hand clutches onto his bicep, another gasp escaping when his teeth sink gently into your skin. His tongue caresses the sting, finding a tandem that earns another rush of pleasure down your spine. The space between your legs is hot in your leggings, your center seeking out his firm leg; you feel the smirk against your neck before he nudges his knee between your thighs.

His groan rumbles against you when your hips begin to grind yourself against him, creating the friction you desperately need. Soon enough, you’re whimpering shamelessly with his large hand—the one that throws the football—groping at the flesh of your ass to guide you along.

“C’mon,” he murmurs against your lips. “Lemme see you.”

The heat formulates in you faster than you expect, exploding at the apex of your thighs as you cry out. Almost immediately, his hand claps over your mouth to cover the sound, an amused laugh on his face at what he’s done to you, unable to control your own scream. His breathing is almost as heavy as yours when he curses in your ear. “Fuck, baby.”

Your lips are damp from where they were locked with his, feeling slightly swollen as you smile at him when he pulls away, opening the door for you and offering his hand to help you inside the car. “I’ll take you back.”

When he settles back into the driver’s seat, he turns to look at you with a smile before he puts his seatbelt on. Maybe it’s the beer or maybe it’s the fire he lit inside of you, but something makes your hand reach out to stop him, instead leaning over the center console to kiss him hotly. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, accepting your kiss eagerly and allowing you to brush your hand over his thigh. At first, it lingers on the inside just above his knee, but the return of his tongue to your mouth encourages it to draw higher.

Brady’s breath hitches in his throat when your palm comes up to press against the firm bulge beneath his zipper. You like knowing you have an effect on him, like the way he releases a sigh when you apply a little pressure and squeeze him.

“Can I?” Your question is a purr in his ear, fingers toying with the waistband of his joggers.

“You want to get your hands on me before I get to touch you? That’s criminal,” he says.

“Guess you gotta work harder than that,” you tease, liking the power you have over him when his dick is in your hand.

His response is simply a groan, followed by a conceding nod, lifting his hips to help you shimmy his joggers down his legs. It’s a bit cramped in the car, but all you’re focused on is the sizable erection that springs free. Headlights turn on in the parking lot, illuminating the road beside you, and you keep a normal expression even as your hand wraps around his length—you’d almost forgotten that someone could very realistically catch you here, in the act.

He’s warm, soft skin over the very hard appendage. Your fist begins to stroke, earning a lower groan from him. Glancing over, you smile at the way his eyes close; it amuses you that Brady Skjei, one of America’s most eligible bachelors, is falling apart over a handjob in a dive bar parking lot.

When you lower your mouth to his tip, allowing your lips to ever so gently brush the head, you look up at him in another silent question.

Brady practically whines. “Now you get to taste me before I get to even touch you?”

“You already tasted my lips,” you say, fully aware of the innuendo. His answering grumble makes your lips curl up on your face.

His tip is warm, soft against your lips, a dribble of precum leaking out that you catch with your tongue. He’s firm in your mouth, and you find yourself pleased at the physical evidence of his attraction to you. The guttural sound that leaves his throat is motivation to take him further, working your lips around his length.

Nothing about sucking Super Bowl Champion Brady Skjei’s dick in the parking lot of a seedy dive bar is normal, or even remotely how you anticipated your evening would go. But now that you’re here, something inside of you is determined to see it through—if he wants to be a simp, you’re going to give him a reason to be a simp.

Unlike most other men, he has a body part that’s more prized than his penis, but you’re willing to bet that it’s a close second on the list. So you worship him, giving each inch the attention it deserves. Judging by the white knuckle grip he has on the steering wheel, his other hand tangled in your hair to keep it out of your way, you’re confident he approves of your performance.

He grunts out a warning before he finishes, and afterwards, he opens the glove box to fish out a handful of fast food napkins—celebrities, they’re just like us!—and offers you one to help clean up your mouth. “I think I’m in love. D’you want to get married?”

You laugh. “I have to say, a marriage proposal is quite the endorsement.”

“I have a lot to endorse,” he says. “God, you’re perfect.”

Brady drives you back to your car at the arena, one of three vehicles left in the staff parking garage—perhaps the cleaning crew, given how late it is—and he looks at you when he puts the car in park beside yours. “You gonna give me your number this time?”

“I have your number,” you say with a smile. You’re not sure what the last little bit of resistance left in you—you just sucked the guy’s dick in a dive bar parking lot, for Christ’s sake—but it’s what takes the driver’s seat and puts up one last layer of defense.

He smiles back, unbothered by your antics. “I’d like to see you again.” “I’m sure you would,” you reply with a smile, casting a glance down at his lap and earning a chuckle from him.

“I’m serious. A date. Nothing physical. I have to prove to you that it’s not all about that for me.”

You hesitate. “A drink is very different from a date. I could get kicked off the team—”

“I can be discreet.”

“I don’t know, Brady. The consequences are much steeper for me than for you if this goes sideways.”

Brady grimaces—he hadn’t thought of it like that. He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s trying to conjure a magic solution out of thin air. Then he announces, “I’ll take the blame.”

“I’m not sure it works that way,” you say with a sad smile.

“I won them a Super Bowl. I’m pretty much untouchable,” he continues, and he says it without an ounce of ego behind his words. “Breaking the tiny rule of pursuing a beautiful girl—which there is evidence of, by the way—won’t even be a scratch on my record.”

You consider his words. He had a point. Brady Skjei is untouchable in Nashville, and you do have the evidence proving his interest long before you ever agreed to see him outside of Titans-sanctioned events. Would it actually do anything to save you should things go sideways? You aren’t sure, but you think it has to count for something.

There’s also the fact that beneath the surface, through your interactions with him, you’ve found he’s kind, funny, and caring. He’s exceeded all expectations, so much so that he had you humping his leg after just a couple of beers. You feel a flutter between your legs at the thought of what he might have you doing after a real date.

You hate to admit that you’re really intrigued at what a date with Brady Skjei would look like. How it would feel to spend time with him that has a label, an intention. If it’s anything like tonight—simple and fun and easy—it’d be wonderful. Though you’ve tried to ignore it, there’s something there, the hint of a spark. You can’t deny your curiosity to see if it fizzles or flames.

“Just one date?” you ask, and the grin that forms on his face is wider than the one he had after he won his second Super Bowl ring.

“That’s all I need.”

#brady skjei fic #hockey fic #nhl fic #brady skjei x reader #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfiction #divider by @firefly-graphics

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unabashegirl · 5 months ago

Text

Vicious 12 — mafia hs

After his father's death, Harry Styles must take control of the family mafia while dealing with his unpredictable brother, Silas. He meets Y/N Castellano, the daughter of an Italian mafia boss, and learns about their arranged marriage.

Author's note: Happy Halloween everyone! I hope you are all having a great day and are enjoying all the candy and partying.

warnings: smut and cursing

---> vicious masterlist <---

The strip club was a den of dimly lit decadence, a haze of smoke and flashing neon lights. As Harry and Y/N stepped inside, they were greeted by a cacophony of pulsing music and the low murmur of conversation.

The air was thick with the scent of alcohol and perfume, a heady mix that assaulted the senses. Red velvet curtains draped along the walls, concealing private booths where patrons could indulge in more intimate encounters.

The main stage was a focal point of the club, bathed in a spotlight that illuminated the gyrating figures of scantily clad dancers. The dancers moved with practiced grace, their bodies undulating to the rhythm of the music.

Tables were scattered around the stage, occupied by men and women alike, their eyes glued to the mesmerizing performances. Waitresses in skimpy outfits weaved through the crowd, delivering trays of drinks to eager patrons.

The atmosphere was charged with an electric energy, a palpable sense of desire and anticipation. Men and women laughed and whispered, their voices blending with the sultry beats of the music.

"Mr. Styles, Lex, and Charlie! Well, well, what a surprise!" Annika's sultry voice cut through the pulsing music as she approached, clad in nothing but nipple covers and a thong that left little to the imagination. Y/N stood nearby, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness as she took in the scene.

"Annika, it's good to see you," Lex greeted with a charming smile, a rare sight that caught Y/N off guard. She couldn't help but smirk at the realization that it took such a scene to earn a smile from him. Annika's laughter tinkled like a bell, but her gaze was sharp as it shifted to Harry, who stood next to Y/N.

"And who might this be?" Annika's tone held a hint of jealousy as her eyes flickered between Harry and Y/N.

Harry, ever the smooth operator, stepped forward with a smirk. "Annika, this is Y/N," he introduced, his voice low and seductive. "Annika is one of the star performers here."

Y/N offered a polite smile, trying to ignore the way Annika's gaze seemed to linger on Harry. "Nice to meet you, Annika," she said, her voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in her stomach.

Annika's eyes narrowed slightly, a subtle challenge in her gaze as she took Y/N's hand. "Likewise," she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of competitiveness.

“Get me a room in the back. We have business to discuss” Harry commanded Annika, “Tell Jack that we are here too and to meet us with Liam” His tone was cold and sharp. He was there for business, and he needed everyone to know it.

They were shortly escorted to a spacious back room, dimly lit with soft, ambient lighting casting a warm glow. Plush leather couches lined the walls, interspersed with small, elegant tables adorned with flickering candles. The room had an air of exclusivity, with a hint of sensuality lingering in the atmosphere.

“Bring me a whisky,” Harry ordered as he settled into one of the luxurious couches, casually shrugging off his jean jacket and tossing it aside. He leaned back comfortably, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and interest as he lit up a cigarette. Beside him, Y/N took her seat, the tight fabric of her short dress rustling as she adjusted herself.

Lex and Charlie placed their orders, and Annika, the scantily clad stripper, turned her attention to Y/N. Her voice was sharp, cold with an edge of jealousy that didn't go unnoticed.

“You?” Annika inquired, her eyes flickering over Y/N with a mix of scrutiny and disdain. Y/N, however, remained unfazed, meeting Annika’s gaze with a cool, unwavering stare.

“Gin and tonic,” Y/N replied smoothly, crossing her legs elegantly as she settled back against the plush cushions. Her demeanor was poised, confident, and unyielding. Harry couldn't help but admire the way she held herself, the subtle defiance in her posture.

As Annika turned away to retrieve their drinks, Harry glanced sidelong at Y/N, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He found himself oddly pleased by her newfound confidence, the way she refused to be belittled or intimidated by anyone, even a stripper in a back room of a strip club. It was a side of her he hadn't expected, and strangely, it intrigued him.

After the drinks had been served, Annika returned with two more friends in tow. The room seemed to pulse with the beat of the music as they waited Liam and Jack. The woman had been sent by their bosses to entertain Harry and his companions, and they wasted no time in adding to the atmosphere.

Charlie and Lex watched with a mix of amusement and surprise as the dancers moved gracefully around the room, their bodies swaying to the rhythm of the music. It was a refreshing change from their usual routine, and they couldn't deny the allure of the moment.

Annika, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, made a beeline for Harry. With sensual movements, she practically crawled her way onto his lap, her body pressing tantalizingly close to his. Harry, ever the composed figure, watched her with a hint of amusement, his eyes twinkling with something unreadable.

Meanwhile, Y/N observed the scene with a cool detachment, taking slow sips of her gin and tonic as she watched the dancers move around the room. She had no desire to join in the festivities, content to simply observe the chaos unfolding before her.

As the music grew louder and the dancers became more daring in their movements, the room seemed to blur with a heady mix of excitement and desire. Harry, caught up in the moment, allowed himself to be drawn into the seductive dance, his hands moving over Annika's body with a practiced ease.

Annika gracefully detached herself from Harry's lap and sauntered back to the small stage in the room. With a teasing smirk, she slowly peeled off her nipple covers, leaving her completely bare from the waist up. Y/N couldn't help but be entertained by the reactions of the men, who seemed to be utterly mesmerized by the sight before them.

Harry, noticing the small smile playing on Y/N's lips, leaned in closer to her, his voice low and enticing. “Jealous?” he whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her skin. Y/N couldn't deny the intoxicating effect of his proximity, and she took a slow sip of her drink before responding.

“What is there to be jealous of?” she replied, her tone confident. In truth, she felt a sense of empowerment in the room, surrounded by desire and admiration. However, when it came to Annika, there was a flicker of something else entirely.

“The attention?” Y/N giggled, her laughter light and playful as she leaned in closer to Harry. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she pressed her hand against his thigh, feeling the heat of his skin beneath her touch.

“It's not exactly rocket science,” Y/N whispered into his ear, her voice low and teasing. She traced the shell of his ear with her lips, her breath warm against his skin. “Anyone could do it,” she added, her tone playful and inviting.

She could feel the tension between them, the electricity crackling in the air. Y/N enjoyed the thrill of the game, the playful banter that danced between them. It was a dangerous game, but one she was more than willing to play.

"Anyone? Really?" Harry asked, a mischievous smile playing on his lips as he leaned back, taking a drag from his cigarette and a sip from his whiskey. Feeling the closeness between them, he reached out and gently grasped her chin, his touch firm and commanding.

"Dance for me," Harry commanded, his voice low and filled with a hint of desire.

"But there are people—" Y/N started, her protest cut off as Harry's gaze held hers.

"I don't care," Harry interrupted, his tone firm and unwavering. "Let them watch."

There was a challenge in his eyes, a dare for her to step out of her comfort zone. Y/N felt a surge of excitement at the idea, the thrill of being watched adding to the already charged atmosphere between them. Without hesitation, she rose from her seat, the fabric of her dress swaying with her movements as she made her way to the small stage.

As the music pulsed through the room, Y/N let herself get lost in the rhythm. Her body moved with a sensual grace, the movements fluid and hypnotic. She could feel Harry's eyes on her, burning with intensity, and it only spurred her on further.

Much to Harry's surprise, Y/N seemed to know her way around the pole with a grace and ease that left him stunned. She spun around it, her movements fluid and mesmerizing, before effortlessly hanging from it upside down, her hair cascading towards the floor.

Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from her as she moved with a confidence and skill that seemed at odds with the innocent image she often portrayed. There was a raw sensuality to her movements, a fire that burned beneath the surface and captivated him completely.

As she twirled and spun, her body glistening with a light sheen of sweat, Harry found himself entranced by her.

Lost in the moment, she danced for him, letting the music and the heat of the room wash over her. The watching eyes only fueled her desire, and she moved with a newfound confidence, a sultry smile playing on her lips.

She dropped to her knees, the fabric of her dress slipping down her shoulders as she moved. The dress had risen to her hips, revealing the curve of her thighs. Charlie and Lex, who had been watching with rapt attention, were now completely captivated by Y/N and the way she moved. Their gazes were fixed on her, drawn to the undeniable allure she exuded.

Y/N got on all fours, the sway of her hips mesmerizing as she slowly crawled towards Harry. The air in the room crackled with tension as she closed the distance between them, her eyes locked with his.

As Harry leaned back, spreading his legs slightly to invite her closer, he couldn't help but notice the way his men were looking at her. There was a hunger in their eyes that made something primal stir within him. A possessive instinct surged through him, a fierce need to protect what was his.

"Get the fuck out," Harry growled, his voice filled with a fierce possessiveness that sent a shiver down Y/N's spine. But his men seemed transfixed, their eyes glued to her as if under a spell.

"I said the fuck out!" Harry roared again, his frustration mounting as they remained rooted to the spot. It was as if Y/N had cast some sort of spell over them, her body and her gaze holding them captive.

Finally, Charlie seemed to snap out of it, his eyes widening in realization. With a swift, decisive move, he grabbed Lex by the arm and practically dragged him out of the room. The other men followed suit, stumbling out in a daze, as if awakening from a dream.

As the door slammed shut behind them, Harry let out a heavy breath, his chest heaving with pent-up frustration. He turned to Y/N, his eyes dark and intense.

But as Y/N climbed onto his lap, her movements slow and deliberate, Harry pushed aside the jealousy that threatened to surface. He focused on her, on the way her body moved against his, the heat between them palpable.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, Harry pulled her closer, the scent of her intoxicating him. His gaze met hers, a silent challenge passing between them. In that moment, there was only the two of them, lost in the throes of desire and the undeniable chemistry that crackled between them.

"You...," he started, his voice rough with desire and something more primal. "You're playing a dangerous game, Y/N.”

Y/N settled herself comfortably on Harry's lap, feeling the heat of his body beneath her. With a deliberate slowness, she finished sliding off her dress, leaving her clad only in her underwear. She could feel the undeniable hardness of his dick beneath the fabric of his pants as she moved her hips against him, a smirk playing on her lips.

The sensation of him beneath her only fueled her confidence, and she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear.

“Is this what you wanted?” she murmured, her voice low and husky with desire. "To see me like this, to feel me against you?"

She didn't wait for a response, instead letting her actions speak for her. She continued to grind against him, the friction between them sending sparks of pleasure coursing through her body. The room seemed to fade away as she lost herself in the heat of the moment, focused only on the man beneath her and the deliciously forbidden thrill of it all.

Harry's hands came up, entwining in her hair, gently pulling it back to expose her neck to him. He leaned in, his lips trailing along her skin with a hungry intensity. He kissed and nibbled on her neck, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses that made her shiver with pleasure.

Y/N couldn't help but moan softly, her head falling back as his lips worked their magic on her sensitive skin. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the desire and need in his touch palpable.

His hands roamed over her body, exploring every curve and dip as if trying to memorize every inch of her. Y/N arched into his touch, her breath coming in ragged gasps as pleasure coursed through her veins.

Harry's kisses grew more urgent, more demanding, as if he couldn't get enough of her. He sucked lightly on her pulse point, feeling her heartbeat quicken beneath his lips.

Y/N's hands trembled with desire as she reached for the buttons of Harry's shirt, her fingers fumbling in her eagerness to feel his bare skin against hers. The tension crackled in the air between them, the heat of their passion almost suffocating.

With each button undone, she revealed more of his taut, muscular chest, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of him. Harry's skin was warm beneath her fingertips, smooth and inviting as she traced her fingers along his defined abs.

As the last button came undone, she pushed the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor forgotten. Y/N's hands roamed over his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath as she explored every inch of him.

Harry groaned softly as her lips met the heated skin of his chest, her kisses leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She sucked lightly on his collarbone, nipping and teasing with her teeth as she moved lower.

She leaned down, capturing his lips in a heated kiss as she ground her hips against his, seeking friction and release. Harry responded eagerly, his hands roaming over her body, exploring and teasing every curve.

With a low growl, he flipped her onto her back, pinning her beneath him as he claimed her lips hungrily. Y/N moaned into his mouth, her hands clawing at his back as she urged him closer.

Harry deftly undid the clasp of her bra, his breath hitching at the sight of her bare chest. He couldn't help but swallow hard, his desire building with each passing second. With a low groan of appreciation, he took his time kissing, touching, and suckling on each swollen nipple, savoring the way she moaned softly in response.

Her hands tangled in his hair, urging him closer, and he obliged eagerly, his own need growing by the second. The soft sounds of her pleasure only fueled his desire further, and he couldn't wait any longer.

His hand trailed down her body, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of her stomach before dipping lower to the elastic of her panties. With a swift motion, he began to pull them down, the anticipation making his pulse race.

Just as he was about to touch her, a sharp knock on the door shattered the moment, the sound jolting them both back to reality.

"Boss? Liam and Jack are here," Lex's voice came from the other side of the door, a note of urgency in his tone.

Harry cursed under his breath, frustration and desire warring within him. With a growl of annoyance, he continued enjoying her, his body protesting the interruption.

“Boss?”

Harry ground his teeth in frustration at the persistent knocking. "I heard you the first time!" His voice was sharp, a clear sign of his irritation. Y/N couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at her lips, finding his vexation slightly amusing.

Y/N slowly sat up, her movements languid as she retrieved her discarded clothes from the floor. The interruption had brought an abrupt end to their heated moment, leaving her with a sense of frustration and anticipation. She began to dress, the fabric of her clothes sliding over her skin, the memory of Harry's touch still lingering.

Meanwhile, Harry watched her with a hunger in his eyes, his gaze trailing over her as she dressed. He couldn't deny the attraction he felt towards her, the desire that pulsed between them even in the midst of their interrupted encounter.

“I want to take you so fuckin’ bad” he murmured, his gaze intense as it met hers.

Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine at his words, the heat of his gaze igniting a fire within her. She couldn't deny the effect he had on her, the way he made her feel desired and wanted.

--> chapter 13

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