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colormepurplex2 · 3 months ago

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Golden Cufflinks | JJK

▻ Golden Cufflinks ↳ Alpha!Jungkook x Omega!f.Reader ⤜ Best Friend's Fiance, Strangers to True Mates ⤜ A/B/O AU | angst, smut, fluff ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 11,742 ⤜ Summary: You’ve never given much thought to finding your true mate, firmly believing it’s something that will happen when it happens. But, when you do find him—thanks to a pair of golden cufflinks—it very well could ruin everything. They say not all’s fair in love and war; you just hadn’t expected your best friend’s wedding to be the battleground. ⚠️ Crass language, talk of designation hierarchy, mild talk of misogynistic practices of the past, confessions of cheating(not by main pairing), anger/arguments, kissing, dick sucking, mild cum intrigue, maybe mild breeding kink if you squint, unprotected v. sex, knotting, lots of slick and cum

Written for @hisunshiine as part of the 2nd Quarter 2023 @bangtanwritershq Awards Season! A/N: Congratualtions, Vanessa. You deserve all the kudos for a job well done during the 2nd Quarter 2023, I hope you enjoy the story!

A special thank you to @downbad4yoongi, @lo1k-diamonds, @moonleeai for the amazing beta services!

Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad

Nerves flutter in your belly as you gather your belongings from the plastic bin at the end of the rolling conveyor belt on the other side of security. As you walk away, your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you have to juggle your purse and jacket to retrieve it.

You feel bad for making Hayun, your best friend for as long as you can remember, wait for a response, but you desperately just want to find your gate and have a seat first. Once you find it and settle in at a chair by the big windows looking out on the tarmac, you thumb to her contact.

“If I didn’t love you so much, I’d probably hate you right now for making me wait so long for a response,” Hayun sasses before her voice softens, “Hello, I love you.”

“Love you, too, girl,” you say, unable to help the smile that tilts your lips up. “Sorry, I’ve been MIA for the last few hours. Things have been hectic. I misplaced my passport this morning, but I finally found it under the bed and then missed the hotel shuttle. I had to call a rideshare, but of course, it took them forever to get through airport traffic, and ugh…” you trail off with a sigh. “I’m sitting down for the first time since I woke up this morning.”

Which was approximately four hours ago at this point. Your flight is set to take off less than an hour from now, so you imagine boarding might start soon. You’re not exaggerating when you say it’s been hectic. It was bad enough waking up at 3 AM, but you’re a chronic planner and stickler for time, so missing your flight was the absolute last thing you wanted to happen.

“Oh, babe, that sucks. I’m glad it’s all worked out, though. I really can’t wait to see you!”

The conversation passes quickly, easing your heart and mind as you catch up on the last twenty-four hours. You haven’t seen Hayun in a handful of years. Her career took her to the other side of the world, and yours kept you where you both grew up. The last time you saw her was through a haze of tears at this very airport when she boarded a plane destined for Seoul, South Korea, where she was adopted from at just two years old.

Visiting each other was always something you both talked about. But, as with most things, life just happens, and eventually, you find yourself making that visit you always talked about for reasons you never considered before—like your best friend tying the knot with a guy you’ve never met.

Sure, you’ve seen pictures of him and have heard him talk in the background of most of the phone calls you’ve exchanged with Hayun over the last few years. But, it was never on your friendship bingo card that the next time you’d find yourself seeing your best friend, it would be her at her wedding.

“I gotta go. They’re about to start boarding.”

“I’ll see you when you land. Can’t wait!”

Hayun disconnects the call, and you gather your belongings to prepare to line up in the boarding queue. It will be a long flight, but seeing Hayun again after so long apart will be worth it.

You fiddle with the bracelet on your left wrist, twisting and pinching at the silver moon charm dangling from the thin chain. Hayun has a matching one. They were presents from your parents on the day you were both recognized with your designations; she was thirteen, and you were fifteen.

The dynamics of Alphas and Omegas have long since changed from what it once was. Legend has it that once upon a time, an Alpha and an Omega were closer to their wolf-kin than how the world is now. Thanks to evolution and science, the only things remaining from that time are the more basic bodily functions—scents, knots, and slick, to sum it up.

The crescent charm on your wrist symbolizes your designation—Omega. But being an Omega doesn’t hold much meaning for you. You don’t feel all that special, and it’s not like you’re rare or any more or less capable than the next person. As it stands, you can see at least a dozen other moons jangling from bracelets, waiting to board the same plane you are.

There are also necklaces, tattoos, and other ways to display a designation scattered around the waiting area. The how of it is mostly regional, sometimes generational. The Beta standing behind you in the queue has a teardrop earring dangling from their left ear, and if it weren’t for the pheromone blockers you took this morning, you might be able to smell their unique scent.

You also have your own smell, a scent that is just you. You’ve been told it’s a sweet, citrusy bouquet like lemonade on a hot summer afternoon. However, also thanks to the blockers, it remains suppressed to the point someone would have to make you bleed or press their nose so firmly against your throat it hurts to smell it.

There really is only one thing that a lot of people are envious of when it comes to an Omega’s designation, and that is that they supposedly have an Alpha true mate out there somewhere that will call to their baser nature. It’s such a rare phenomenon these days that it might as well be part of the legends of old, too.

The bottom line is that no one cares about subgenders anymore; it doesn't matter whether your charm is the Omega crescent, the teardrop of a Beta, or the triskelion denoting an Alpha. In fact, you’re pretty sure you could ask the Beta for their earring and offer them your charm bracelet and no one would bat an eye over it.

Though you’d never do that, considering the chain around your wrist isn’t technically yours. The night after you presented as Omega, when you snuck away with Hayun to lay on a blanket under the stars and moon that was so like the charm hanging from your twin bracelets, you giggled as you exchanged them. Her tiny fingers trembled against your wrist as she secured her silver chain around it. You did the same with your own around hers a second later.

It was that night that you both swore always to be friends. No matter what happened in life or where either of you ended up, you would always remain true to one another. So far, your friendship has been unfailing, a constant thread of comfort and light for you both. No matter how long it’s been, the charm still smells faintly of your best friend—a perk of the charms themselves, holding a token essence of their owners. Hers holds a soft lilac and jasmine scent that you’ve always thought complimented your own citrus notes.

The flight attendant scanning boarding passes beckoning you forward breaks you out of your internal reflections. With a full heart and giddy anticipation curling in your belly, you find your seat and settle in.

It’s a long flight, longer than most flights you’ve taken. But when you finally walk off the plane, make it through customs and immigration, and finally empty into the arrivals terminal of the Incheon Airport, you feel immediate relief, and the hours spent in the air don’t seem so bad.

“Hey, over here!” a familiar voice calls out, catching your attention.

You spin on your heel, confusion setting in for just a moment before it’s replaced by another wave of relief and a little of something warmer. Taehyung, Hayun’s adopted brother, swamps you in a giant bear hug that quite literally sweeps you off of your feet.

“Wow, hey. This is a surprise. What are you doing here? Where’s Hayun?”

Taehyung scrunches up his face, letting out a small scoff. “It’s a good surprise, I hope. Something came up, and she had to meet with the wedding planner and caterer at the last minute. She called me and asked if I could pick you up.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah,” you confirm with a smile. “Good surprise.”

It’s no secret that you’ve always been fond of Taehyung. As a baby, you were toddling around with him long before his family adopted Hayun. She ended up being the sister you never knew you needed, even if you were a few years older.

When she moved to Seoul for work, Taehyung ended up being the physical representation that took her place. He flew out a week before you to help her with planning and will stay for a few weeks after you’ve already headed back home. They may have had their differences over the years, but their sibling bond is stronger than petty arguments and rivalries.

“Ready to get on the road? It’s a long drive.”

Hours later, with the rolling countryside and farms dotting the horizon, you discover the fiasco inside your backpack. The bottle of pheromone blockers you packed this morning somehow got shuffled to the bottom of your bag and popped open. The once-powder-filled capsules litter the bottom of your bag, broken open. Pale blue powder coats your things, the mild flower smell of the medicine lingering in the air.

“Fucking hell,” you groan. “Any chance there’s a clinic somewhere between here and where we’re going?”

“Unfortunately, no.” He frowns, drumming his fingers lightly on the steering wheel, making the triskelion signet ring on his index finger glitter in the mid-day sun. “We’d probably have to turn around and head nearly three hours back to get anywhere near a clinic with blockers. I'm told most people don’t use them anymore these days here. Maybe another one of the wedding party might have some you could borrow if you really need them. But, honestly, I don’t see anyone minding if you don’t use them.”

“Most people here don’t use them anymore?”

“Well, yeah, with the progression of equality and things like that. They’re so great here, way more progressive than back home. It’s very common for Omegas to go off of blockers or never even begin them. Laws have been implemented to punish Alphas who can’t control themselves. The responsibility of remaining safe shouldn’t be solely set on the shoulders of the Omega population.”

Talk like that has only recently become popular back home. You’ve heard the speeches and followed the media and the sources, but you suppose after nearly half of your life taking blockers, it just comes naturally to continue to do so.

“Hm, yeah, okay. I guess it’s no big deal, really. As long as you’re sure people won’t mind?”

Taehyung sniffs the air, his nose twitching. “I think you smell great, but just in case not everyone does, if someone says something, then I’ll personally drive all the way back to the city and pick you up some,” Taehyung promises, giving you one of his swoon-worthy smiles.

The crush you once upon a time had on Taehyung threatens to spark anew at the sight of his charming, boxy grin—a grin you would have once done anything to pull from him. But now, it just fills you with warmth and a homey comfort.

You give him a smile of your own. “Deal.”

“Hayun!”

Her squeal of delight when she turns around and catches sight of you echoes through the open space of the dimly lit bar of the bed and breakfast where the wedding is taking place.

It’s a cozy space with rich dark wood accents and royal blue velvet upholstery. Brass gas lamps and light fixtures give the entire lounge an upscale and chic atmosphere that you know is right up Hayun’s alley.

The few hours you had between checking in at the bed and breakfast and meeting Hayun for her very small—just you and one other person—bachelorette party were spent familiarizing yourself with the grounds.

The ceremony will take place in one of the lavish gardens, and the reception will follow in one of the grand dining halls. For a bed and breakfast, it’s far fancier than any you’ve ever been to. It definitely does not have the mom-and-pop feel that you typically associate with the term ‘B&B’.

“You’re here!” she shrills, throwing her arms around your neck.

Her petite form fits just like it always has against yours. Thick black hair, shorter than the last time you saw it, curls around the rounded lines of her cheeks, and her brown eyes are bright and glisten with happy tears. With her bubbly personality and small, wispy frame, she's always reminded you of a fairy.

You sigh, taking a deep breath and savoring your best friend's soft, floral scent. Thanks to the bracelet tinkling around her wrist, it holds the smallest undercurrent of your sweet citrus. Clearly, she’s not taking blockers; the scents are heavy and delightful. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Hayun sucks in a deep breath that mirrors yours. “Wow, babe, you smell good! Finally gone off the blockers, huh?”

“Uh, kind of,” you chuckle, untangling yourself from her arms. “I brought some, but they broke open in my bag at some point.” You shrug. “Tae said it shouldn’t be that big of a deal.”

“Oh, it’s not. Absolutely not,” Hayun agrees, grinning broadly. “I’ve been off them for years and haven’t had a single issue. Come on, let’s have a drink and catch up!”

You settle in at a table, and it’s not long before Eunseo, Hayun’s other guest, joins you. You’ve heard a lot about Eunseo. Much the same way Taehyung took the place of Hayun for you, Eunseo took your place for Hayun. You half expect to feel some sort of friendship jealousy upon meeting Eunseo for the first time, but it doesn’t come. If anything, you’re immediately fond of the young woman.

The evening carries on, Hayun and Eunseo regaling you with tales from working together and their various adventures around Seoul. Eunseo shows genuine interest in your life back home, seeming eager to hear stories of Hayun’s childhood. She shows a particular interest in Taehyung, asking you in no certain terms more than you think is appropriate to share.

“But you’ve seen it, right?” Eunseo asks. Her elbows rest on the table, and her chin is nestled on her clasped hands, her eyes wide and glassy from the countless glasses of wine she’s had. “I bet it’s huge. Am I right?”

“Ugh,” Hayun groans. “Can we not talk about my brother’s dick. Please.” She makes a gagging sound before slurping down the rest of her cocktail and flagging down a passing waiter for another.

You try to wave off the waiter, but he’s turned toward the bar before you can get his attention. If Hayun has much more to drink, you’re not sure she’ll be able to walk down the aisle tomorrow unassisted.

“I’m just curious. It’s a harmless question,” Eunseo pouts. “Ignore her. Tell me. I just have to know.”

You swirl the straw around in your glass of water before giving Eunseo what you hope is a conspiratorial look. “Well—”

“What?! Ew. Are you really about to answer her? Please, dear god, do not tell me you have seen my brother’s penis. If you’ve seen it—fuck, I might actually puke.”

As much as you probably shouldn’t, you laugh, which earns further protests and obscene noises from Hayun.

“Before you interrupted me, I was going to say that maybe Eunseo should ask him herself.”

Hayun howls a protest, sloshing her new cocktail onto the table as she gesticulates a crude hand gesture in your direction. “Do not. I repeat, do not do that, Eunseo!”

The conversation peters off, Hayun losing herself in another cocktail while Eunseo stares dreamily up at the ceiling.

“I think—hiccup—it's bedtime,” Eunseo slurs.

As if right on cue, a familiar face peeks through the entrance to the lounge. You wave Taehyung down, and he comes jogging across the space to your table. His shirt is rumpled with the top few buttons undone, but his eyes are clear, and you know he’ll be a perfect gentleman.

“Are you sure?” you ask him, pitching your voice low.

“I got this, don’t worry. We finished up a few hours ago anyway.”

Taehyung gives you a warm, private smile before turning to Eunseo. “Hey there, beautiful. Let’s get you on to bed, okay?”

“Where’s my savior?” Hayun asks, frowning after her brother escorting Eunseo from the lounge and back through the front lobby.

“Right here,” you tell her, sliding out of your chair and coming around to her side of the table. “Come on, let’s go.”

It takes you more than twice as long as it usually would to get to Hayun’s room. She leans against the wall in the hall as you dig through her pockets in search of her room key. Once you find it tucked between a few stray bills and her ID, you usher her into the room and deposit her onto the bed.

Her fiance has a room on the other side of the grounds, but after the ceremony, they will both be moving into one of the couple’s suites for the night before jet-setting off to Jeju Island for their week-long honeymoon.

“Am I doing the right thing?”

Hayun’s question catches you off guard. You throw a confused look at her over your shoulder as you rummage through her suitcase in search of something for her to sleep in.

“What?”

She sighs as she rolls over, letting her head hang off the edge of the bed so she can look at you upside down. “Marrying Jungkook. It’s a mistake…so why am I doing it?”

“Hayun…what are you talking about? Jungkook is perfect for you. You guys have been dating for five years, and you told me you’ve never been happier. Where’s the mistake in that?”

The sound Hayun makes is akin to something a wounded animal might make. She flops, flailing her arms and legs like a child throwing a fit.

“That’s the thing, though! I’m happy, but I don’t love him. Oh god,” she cries. “I don’t love him.”

“Hey, hey now.” You abandon the search for sleeping clothes and crawl across the floor until you’re kneeling beside the bed. Smoothing your hand across her forehead, you ask, “Where is all this coming from?”

“He thinks I’m his true mate,” she whispers. The tears leaking from her eyes slide up her face, wetting the edges of her eyebrows before sliding over her forehead and disappearing into her hair. “But I know he’s not mine.”

“Wh—wait, what?” You push up from the floor and move onto the bed, gathering your best friend’s head into your lap so she’s no longer hanging upside down off the side of the bed.

She hiccups a sob, lips trembling as she explains, “He says I’m his true mate, that he knows because of my scent. But he doesn’t smell special to me…how is that possible?”

“Hayun, I don’t—”

“I cheated on him,” she whimpers in confession, cutting off what were going to be your soothing words of affirmation. They sour on your tongue, refusing to be released now.

Your stomach churns at her admittance. “You what?”

“You have every right to judge me. I’m a terrible person. But, when he told me I was his true mate…I panicked. I had to be sure I wasn’t broken, that me not finding his scent special wasn’t just something wrong with me.” Hayun blinks rapidly, trying to clear the tears as they begin to come in earnest. She clutches at the front of her shirt, hand fisting over her heart. “So, I slept with two Alphas that I work with to see if it was any different. I had to be sure. I had to know.”

“Hayun, I-I-I don’t…I’m not—”

“I’m such a fucking mess,” she sobs, curling in on you and pressing her face against your stomach. “I don’t deserve him. I only said yes to marrying him because I don’t want to be alone forever. I can’t be like you. I need someone.”

Her words sting, causing you to flinch involuntarily. You watch as she falls apart in your lap, ultimately giving in to her grief. It’s on the tip of your tongue to call her out on her childish behavior, to set the record straight about your own love life, and to leave her to her wallowing. But…the shaking of her shoulders and soft whines from her remind you so much of a younger and more fragile Hayun—the Hayun of your shared childhoods.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” No matter how you might feel about her actions and the hurtful words she’s spilled, you hate to see your best friend so distraught and broken. “Hey, look at me.”

You wait until her watery eyes peel away from your shirt and meet yours. “Tell me you hate me; it’s okay.”

“Hayun, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. You made…a mistake, that’s all. You were trying to figure things out. But…Hayun, you…you have to tell him.”

She frowns up at you, her expression sobering. “Tell him?”

“He’s about to marry you, Hayun. That’s a big freaking deal…you have to tell him tomorrow morning before anything else happens.”

The laugh that bubbles from her lips is anything but humorous. “I-I can’t do that! He’ll hate me. He’ll call the wedding off!” She shoves out of your lap and stares at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“If Jungkook truly loves you and says you’re his true mate, I don’t see that happening. But, he deserves to know. You have to know that. Either you tell him now, or he finds out years from now, and then it’ll be so much worse,” you try to reason with her.

“He doesn’t have to know!” she whisper-yells, her tears turning from sad to angry in an instant.

You shake your head, unable to believe what you’re hearing from her. “This isn’t right, Hayun. You can’t go into a marriage with someone with secrets like that!”

“It’s not like it’ll happen again. I’m not going to cheat on him while we’re married. Please,” she begs, her face once more softening into saddened anguish. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“He deserves to know, Hayun,” you whisper, remembering your own keen sting of betrayal from many years ago. There is a reason you don’t date much. “You say it won’t happen again?” you ask, trying to buy yourself some time to process everything Hayun just told you.

Her silence is deafening, and you think she’s about to not answer you the way you hope, but, finally, she murmurs, “No. Never. I swear it.”

“Okay. Okay, good. But, he still needs to know.”

Just because you’ve never actually met Jungkook, it doesn’t mean you don’t care for him. He’s the one who puts a smile on Hayun’s face when you can’t. He’s the reason she’s as happy as she is…or has been? Now, you’re not so sure. But, what you are certain about is that Hayun is far too drunk right now to know up from down and is just having a moment of raw vulnerability.

“Are you going to tell him?” she asks, voice a hoarse whisper.

You chew your bottom lip for a moment before slowly shaking your head. Thinking about it, even if you didn’t care for Jungkook, he still deserves to know on pure principle. “No. I won’t tell him.” She lets out a soft sigh of relief, which has you tacking on, “Because it’s not my place to tell him, it’s yours.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles. “Okay.” She doesn’t say anything more beyond that, falling into a listless stupor, all of her energy sapped from the quick argument and endless cocktails from the bar.

After you wrestle her out of her clothes and put on a long nightgown, she tucks easily into bed. You leave a glass of water on the bedside table for her, then exit the room and head to your own.

A pang of uncertainty refuses to quell in the pit of your stomach. You toss and turn most of the night, falling into a fitful sleep just before the sun begins to kiss the horizon. It’s going to be a long day…a battle of wills you never saw coming.

🥀🥀🥀

Jungkook

Today is the big day, and Jungkook couldn’t be happier. Nothing could possibly bring him down from the high he’s feeling. Not even the fact that he is unable to find the cufflinks that were passed down to him by his father.

“Did you check the pockets of all your pants?” Jimin, Jungkook’s best friend, asks from where he’s lounging in one of the chairs on the other side of Jungkook’s hotel room.

“Yes,” he mutters, dumping his entire suitcase onto the bed to rifle through it once again. “I remember putting them with the pile of Hayun’s—oh fuck.”

“That’s great,” Taehyung sighs. “So my sister probably has them.” He checks his watch. “We don’t really have time to go on a scavenger hunt through her room. Jimin and I are supposed to meet the photographer to get started on some of the bride and groomsmen shots.”

Jungkook purses his lips and rakes his hands through his hair as he thinks of a solution. “I’d go look myself, but what if I run into Hayun between here and there? She specifically requested that we not see each other until the ceremony.”

Taehyung hums lightly. “I think I have an idea. The other girls don’t meet for pictures until after we’re done. So…yeah…okay…done,” he murmurs, tapping away at his phone screen. “If they’re in Hayun’s things, they’ll be delivered to you soon.”

“Thanks, Taehyung, you’re a lifesaver.”

Minutes later, Jungkook finds himself alone, Taehyung and Jimin having gone to meet with the photographer. Somewhere out there, beyond the confines of his room, his fiancee is probably smiling and laughing as she poses in front of the camera. If only Jungkook could see through walls. He’d give anything for even just a little glimpse of his bride-to-be.

When Jungkook first met Hayun almost six years ago, he nearly tripped over his own feet trying to track her scent. The meeting he was heading for was instantly forgotten, replaced by a visceral need to discover the source of that titillating aroma that had his hindbrain firing on all cylinders.

Never before had Jungkook experienced something so…primal. It was both alarming and utterly fascinating. Amongst the harsh scents of car exhaust and the warm notes of roasted coffee, Jungkook wove his way through the crowd on the sidewalk to the doors of a little cafe; Hayun was inside, ordering a matcha tea to-go, and the rest was history.

Jungkook sighs, forcing himself to stop daydreaming and fiddling with his shirt's empty cuffs and focus on putting together the rest of his suit.

The scent hits Jungkook a moment before the sound of a soft knock reaches his ears. He’s standing in the ensuite bathroom, mid-skin care routine. Wiping his wet fingers off onto a towel, he draws in a deep breath to confirm the aroma wafting to him from beyond the door of his room.

A roguish smirk quirks up one side of his mouth as he exits the bathroom and moves across the room. Unable to help himself, he opens the door. “Hayun,” he chuckles, fingers wrapping around the doorknob, “I thought we agreed that you…you are not Hayun.” The words tumble from his suddenly numb lips, rasping past his too-dry tongue.

“Umm, no. Not Hayun, sorry. You’re Jungkook?”

The woman standing before him is clearly not his fiancee. The woman’s purple gown is familiar, Jungkook knowing it’s what Hayun chose for her attending party. You’re a friend of Hayun, clearly, yet you smell exactly like Hayun…if Hayun smelled like Hayun times a thousand. The fragrance slams into his olfactory system, and the edges of his vision grow blurry a moment before he shakes his head and steadies himself with a hand on the doorjamb.

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice raspy with his suddenly dry throat. Revelations pounding him right between the eyes, washing through his body and keying right into his most basic of instincts.

Jungkook watches as your nostrils flare, and he knows it’s in that moment that you register his cedar and lavadin scent; the scent that marks him for what—who—he is.

“Jungkook,” you repeat his name, and he wants to howl with delight at how it sounds coming from your lips. “No. You can’t…it’s not—” your voice cuts off a second before you drop the small, black leather box you were holding and turn, disappearing in a flash of violet tulle and silk.

🥀🥀🥀

“Stop! Wait, please!” The shout of your name follows you down the hall, but you’re too focused on getting as far away from him and the feelings threatening to overwhelm you as you can.

“No, no, no,” you chant under your breath as you move as swiftly as the slippered feet will allow you to go without tripping yourself up.

It’s clearly not fast enough. It only takes a few frantic beats of your heart before a firm grip on your elbow draws you to a stumbling halt. The touch is electric, and your skin flushes with goosebumps at the heated contact.

“Don’t run,” Jungkook pants. “Please.”

You wretch your arm from his grip and whirl on him, a sharp remark ready on the tip of your tongue. Only, it dies there, never to be uttered, as your heart thumps violently in response to the look on his face—pure anguish.

Your voice is thread-thin as you finally manage to get words out, “This can’t be happening.”

Jungkook’s brow twitches, his lips tucked between his teeth. His emotions are stark on his face, and the conflict is raw and bare to you. Clearly, he’s warring the same as you, maybe even more so.

“Why do you smell like Hayun?” he asks, his voice soft in contrast to the raging storm you see in his eyes. “Why do you smell more like my true mate than she even does? Is this some wicked, cruel prank?”

You shake your head, intentionally drawing a breath through your mouth in hopes of saving your nose from another assault of his perfect scent. But, instead, his flavor laces over your tongue and slides down your throat to sit like a knot in your belly. You might as well have licked a stripe up his neck for all the good that did.

“I-I don’t know,” you choke out, trying to keep the pool of saliva under your tongue from dripping down your chin.

Jungkook steps closer to you, leading with his nose. He sniffs the air around you and something must not sit well with what he discovers because he rears back and bares his teeth. “Of course,” he mutters as his eyes drop to your left wrist.

Your eyes track his movement as he scoops up your wrist in a loose grip, and you realize it’s the bracelet there that has his attention. Everything clicks into place, and you feel like the faintest breeze could sweep you away with how lightheaded you’re feeling at this moment.

“We traded,” you whisper as if speaking low enough means the admission won’t utterly destroy the world as you know it.

“She’s not my true mate,” he states, voice as low as yours, fevered and quiet. “You are.”

Those words punch you in the chest, nearly taking you to your knees. If it weren’t for the hold Jungkook has on your wrist, you’re sure you’d be in a heap on the floor. As it is, he catches his other arm around your waist as you sway on the spot.

“Y-you shouldn’t.” Your protest is stilted, the words feeling robotic and unnatural as you gingerly press a hand against the arm that’s angled around your ribs. It was your intention to push his touch away, but the most you accomplish is flexing your fingers against the smooth cotton covering his thick bicep.

Somehow, you find yourself back in the room you had fled from just a few minutes ago. Jungkook settled you on the bed and is now pressing a chilled water bottle into your hands.

He kneels before you, headless of putting wrinkles in his black dress slacks. He’s wearing a thin white undershirt, his starched white button-up undone over it. The cuffs of the sleeves flop as he brings his hands into his lap and picks at the edges of his thumbnails.

Your eyes rove the room, catching on the black leather box still sitting on the floor by the door where you dropped it. Inside the box is nestled a pair of golden cufflinks—a pair you now understand have been passed down through the generations of Jeon men.

Absently, you press your thumb to your phone, unlocking it to reveal the text message that has irrevocably changed your life forever.

If you had known Taehyung’s text message requesting help would have led you to where you are right now, you’d probably have ignored it.

Yet, at the same time, if you had, you’d probably have had this revelation with Jungkook in the middle of the ceremony, and it would have caused all sorts of untoward chaos. No, it’s far better that it’s happening now instead of later. Maybe you can get ahead of this and fix it somehow. Though…

“Hey? You okay?” Jungkook interrupts your thoughts. “Fuck, that’s a stupid question. Sorry.”

“Huh? Oh. Umm…yeah. I don’t—what do we do now?” You turn your phone over, finger ghosting over the power button to lock the screen once more.

Jungkook sighs, and you can’t help watching the rise and fall of his shoulders, framing the swell of his defined chest with the action. He’s an exquisite specimen of masculinity, and even if it weren’t for the musky notes of his scent that mark him as your true mate, you’d find him devastatingly attractive.

“We need to tell Hayun. I c-can’t…I can’t marry her. Not when I’ve found—” he cuts off, wincing as his voice breaks. “I should go and find her. Now, before this can go any further. I’m sorry. I’ll, uh, I’ll find you later, okay?”

“Wait,” you call after him. He stops halfway to the door and glances back at you over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t we tell her together?”

Jungkook chews the inside of his cheek a moment, his eyes flicking over your face as he thinks through your suggestion. Slowly, he nods. “Yeah, maybe that’s for the best.”

There is palpable tension between you and Jungkook as you follow behind him out of the main building. He texted Jimin, knowing he’d be the most reliable with his phone on him, asking where the photos were currently taking place.

It only took a few minutes for Jimin to respond that they were almost finished but were currently capturing some group shots on the walking path by the lake on the backside of the property.

You’re vaguely aware of where the lake is located, having given the map of the grounds that was posted on the backside of your room’s door a cursory look the day you arrived. It’s a relatively short distance, yet it feels like miles with the weight of pure dread sitting firmly on your shoulders.

At least it’s not a feeling you’re experiencing alone. Jungkook is right there with you, and you can clearly see the unease in the stiff way his body moves. The tips of his fingers twitch back in your direction every few steps like he’s fighting off the urge to slip them between your own.

The first person you catch sight of is Yoona, the photographer. She’s squatting in the grass, her large DSLR camera held up to her face, as she captures candid moments of Hayun, Taehyung, and Jimin repositioning themselves along the lake's edge.

Your heart squeezes hard at how beautiful Hayun is in her form-fitting silk ivory, off-the-shoulder wedding gown, the lacy bell sleeves fluttering around her hands. Her head is thrown back, the peel of her carefree laughter carrying to you and further crumbling your soul into a million pieces. You ache, not just for the desire to draw closer to your true mate, but for the inevitable aftermath of what is about to happen.

Taehyung is the first to notice you and Jungkook. The smile on his face slowly disappears, replaced by a concerned frown. Hayun catches his expression and follows his line of sight. Her gaze sears into you, and you feel like you might combust into a cloud of ash at any second with the irritation contained in her pretty brown eyes.

“What’s going on?” Hayun exclaims, throwing her hands up in a frustrated manner as she stalks towards you and Jungkook. “It’s not time for your photos yet,” she tells you before her eyes swing to Jungkook. “What happened to not seeing me before the wedding? That was your rule!”

“Hayun, we need to talk.”

“Talk about wh—” she cuts off, her question turning into a gasp. Your wide eyes flick to you. “You told him?”

“What? No!”

Your protest rings out at the same time that Jungkook says, “She’s my true mate.”

A breeze kicks up, sweeping from behind you and tossing errant strands of hair across Hayun’s forehead. You’d give anything for the power to pluck the wind from the air, shove it back…keep it from showering her with yours and Jungkook’s combined scents—a blatant confirmation echoing the words Jungkook just let loose.

Hayun stiffens. Her jaw goes rigid, and her face pales as her nostrils flare. It’s a moment that will be forever written across the band of your friendship. Betrayal flashes through her eyes before morphing into something akin to somber resignation.

“Hayun,” Jungkook begins. “I don’t—we didn’t…I’m sorry. What do we do?” He spreads his hands out in front of himself in a helpless manner.

By this time, Jimin and Taehyung have come up from behind Hayun, faces wary as they take in the scene with growing clarity. You look to Taehyung, hoping he can see the silent plea in your eyes.

“Explain,” Hayun says simply. Despite how collected she seems, you can see the subtle tremble in her hands and the way the muscles in her neck continue to flex and strain as she clenches and grinds her teeth.

Jungkook launches into recounting the events that brought you to his room and broke the proverbial dam. “We—we had no idea. I swear this is the first time we’ve ever met, and gods, the bracelets…” Jungkook trails off, a pained sound rumbling from his chest.

“Is this a joke?” Taehyung asks accusingly, and it’s like a barb to your heart.

“We wouldn’t do that.” Your croaked statement draws Hayun’s attention.

Hayun sniffles, her chin jerking a little higher into the air. “My nose tells me one thing, but my heart tells me another. Did you know about this last night? Is that why you pushed so hard for me to tell him?” The last part is whispered, meant only for you, which hurts even more.

“Hayun, no! You know that’s impossible. I couldn’t have known.”

“Tell me what?” Jungkook asks, having heard despite her whisper, his eyes swiveling between you and Hayun.

You shake your head at him, not wanting to throw further fuel on the fire. “Hayun, please, believe me.”

A pregnant moment full of thick tension passes before it fizzles, and Hayun shakes her head, not in a dismissive fashion but in gentle acceptance. “I believe you,” she tells you. “I guess…I guess there won’t be a wedding in four hours unless you two want…” She trails off, a bittersweet smile tugging at her cherry red painted lips.

Jungkook blanches, wide eyes landing on you. “What? Us? No. I mean, sorry…but—”

Hayun holds up her hand, quelling Jungkook’s flustered response. “I was teasing, Koo, trying to lighten the mood. Um,” she pauses, absently twisting the diamond engagement ring around her finger before slowly slipping it off and closing a fist around it. “Can we talk, though? There’s something I needed to tell you today anyway.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says wearily.

“Tae, do you mind…?” Hayun asks, not even having to fill in the blanks. Her brother instantly steps into his role as protector and savior.

“Don’t worry about anything. I’ll make some phone calls,” Taehyung assures her before grabbing Jimin’s arm and starting back down the walking path.

“I’ll just—” you thumb over your shoulder in the direction Tae and Jimin just disappeared in “—be in my room.”

“Wait,” Hayun calls, pulling your retreat up short. “Come here.” She opens her arms, her hands opening and closing in grabby motions. “Please.”

A sob cracks from your throat as you throw yourself at her, wrapping your arms around her neck. “I’m so sorry, Hayun. I’m so sorry.”

“Hush. None of that. This isn’t anything we could have predicted or stopped from happening. If anything, maybe this is life’s way of getting back at me for what I did to him,” she whispers in your ear. “This is how it’s meant to be.”

Hayun smoothes a hand over your back and releases you. She steps back, using the back of a finger to lift the tears from your cheeks, and gives you a watery smile.

You’re not sure you can speak without completely losing yourself, so you just give her a tight nod and continue back on your way down the path. A part of you wants to hear what she has to say to Jungkook, to be there to soothe any hurts or aches…which is a startling realization that you’d not just tend to Hayun but to Jungkook, too. That internal, visceral part of you yearns to turn on your heel and…protect what’s yours.

It’s an odd revelation to think of Jungkook as yours. Well, yours unless either of you reject the bond. Though, that thought makes your stomach pitch and roil. You have to trail a hand along the wall in the hall leading to your room to keep yourself from curling over your abdomen at just the idea.

Once back in your room, you’re unsure what to do with yourself, so you absently start to gather your belongings and pack them up. Every few minutes, you find yourself pausing to stare at the door, ears pricking at the slightest sound from beyond it.

You’re not sure what you’re expecting. Whether it’s Hayun coming to your room so the two of you can cry together or Jungkook coming to claim y—uh, you shove that thought aside quickly because now is not the time. At. All.

The time for the wedding comes and passes without a single knock on your door nor a text or call on your phone. You’re tempted to go looking. For what, you’re not entirely sure—an answer, maybe, some sort of direction on what you should do now.

Finally, after hours of sitting in silence with just your thoughts for company, a soft knock sounds at your door. The long hem of your dress nearly trips you up in your haste to make it to the door. It swings open, and for some reason, your stomach drops, the flutter of disappointment heavy and unexpected.

“Hey, beautiful,” Taehyung says, his voice soft and full of emotion. “Mind if I come in?”

His necktie is loose, and the top button of his dress shirt is undone. There is a tension in his eyes that wasn’t there earlier. It makes your chest ache.

“Sure,” you say, stepping back and letting him into your room.

Taehyung sighs, perches on the end of your bed, and props his elbows on his knees. His chin rests on an upturned fist, his other hand dangling between his legs, clutching his phone.

He opens his mouth, a single word the only thing coming out, “So.”

“So,” you parrot.

“Hayun wants me to take her home…alone. I’m not sure what all she and Jungkook talked about, but I think they’re at least amicable in agreeing that it would be best if he gave her a few days at home alone before they start the process of separating their lives.” You’re not sure if the bitter tinge in your chest is hurt because Hayun isn’t the one telling you this or because now you have to find your own way to the airport. As if reading your thoughts, Taehyung continues, “I can be back in two days, maybe sooner, depending on traffic. Perhaps they’ll let you extend your stay. If not, I can talk to Jimin—”

“No, Tae, it’s okay. I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry about me. Just take care of Hayun, make sure she’s okay...as okay as she can be, at least. Fuck.” The last word comes out choked, and you gnash your teeth on the inside of your cheek to keep from letting the angry tears out. You have no right to be angry. Hell, you’re not even sure why you’re angry. It just seems like the easiest emotion to feel right now, the only one that doesn’t leave you feeling like your world is slowly imploding.

“Hey,” Taehyung says, bringing one of his big hands up to cup the side of your face. His thumb prods at the swell of your cheek, causing you to release the tension in your jaw. “Hayun isn’t the only one I’m worried about here.”

“I’m fine—I will be fine,” you amend. “I promise. I think I’m just feeling overwhelmed. I’m mad at myself for ruining Hayun’s big day. I can’t believe this is happening at all. This…this just doesn’t happen. This is the kind of shit you read about in books, it’s not supposed to be real life.”

And there it is, you surmise—the truth of the matter. None of what’s happened makes sense. It honestly belongs on the pages of a book or in a movie script, not in your real life. It still feels surreal. If it weren’t for the subtle, lingering ache you instinctively know is associated with finding your true mate but not allowing yourself to fully accept it, you’d think this was all some elaborate party trick or impractical joke.

Taehyung smiles at you, but the unease in his eyes can’t be masked that easily. “I’m not sure what to say or what to do. You’re right. This isn’t a situation I think anyone was prepared for or ever thought possible, actually. But, here we are…and we have to face it the best way we can.” He pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. “I'll tell you what: I’ll text Jimin—he’s a good guy, I think you’ll enjoy his company—and ask him to meet you in the lounge. Have a few drinks, wind down, and try to relax as best you can.”

“Sure,” you say lamely, trying to muster up at least a little bit of enthusiasm.

“That’s my girl.” Taehyung offers you another smile, this one not so tense. “Here, I have something for you.” He fishes into his pant pocket and produces a familiar thin silver chain, a tiny crescent moon dangling near one end.

The sight has your spine straightening. “Right, of course.” You quickly thumb open the clasp on the bracelet around your wrist, letting it fall from your skin for the first time since you put it on when Hayun gave it to you all those years ago. It never felt right to take it off…not until now.

Taehyung helps you swap the bracelet with the one in his hand. The metal feels cold against your skin and you immediately miss the subtle fragrance of Hayun’s scent clinging to your wrist. Though, you suppose that’s what has gotten you both into this mess to begin with. Taehyung explains in soft words how Jungkook explained to Hayun about the scent mix-up with the bracelets—such a silly, seemingly insignificant thing…the catalyst to spark such a colossal moment.

“I’m going to get on the road with Hayun, but I’ll call you as soon as we get to her place and check in on you, okay?”

Sitting at the bar with Jungkook’s best friend seemed like a good idea when Taehyung first presented it to you. But, at the time, you weren’t connecting the dots that Jimin was Jungkook’s best friend. He was just Jimin, the guy that just so happened also to be part of the wedding party that you had met in passing briefly, but he seemed like a good enough person. Now, however, you feel all the awkward tension radiating right between your shoulder blades, emphasized by the silence lingering between the two of you.

You traded in your lilac dress for jeans and a light silk blouse, canvas slip-ons in place of your slippers, yet no matter how comfortable you know your clothing is, you can’t shake the prickling discomfort eating away at the back of your neck.

“Want another?” Jimin asks, nodding to your mostly watered-down rum and coke. It’s barely late afternoon, and as much as Taehyung’s suggestion of a drink sounded like just what you needed, you’ve found yourself not in the mood to drink after all.

“Um, nah. I’m okay, thanks.”

“Cool. Okay. I’ll be right back.” Jimin drums his fingers on the tabletop and pops his lips before giving you a slight head nod and pushing up from his chair.

You watch as he saunters to the long bar, his crescent moon tattoo on the nape of his neck peeking out from the top of his collar, and props his elbows onto the shiny top. His smile is flirty and casual as the bartender, a beautiful woman with long, inky tresses and fiery red lipstick, sidles up in front of him.

They’re too far away for you to hear their conversation, but her tinkling laughter carries across the space, and you know it might be a while before Jimin returns to your table.

Which you’re okay with. Considering you know you’re not exactly pleasant company right now, you don’t blame him one bit. You glance down at your phone, once again reading the last text message Hayun sent you not too long ago.

Eunseo stopped by the lounge around the same time Jimin showed up. If her smile and lingering hug were any indicator, she clearly had a thing for him. She gave you a small wave goodbye before giving Jimin another hug and heading out. Apparently, she was going to follow Taehyung and Hayun back to Hayun and Jungkook’s place to help Hayun with whatever she needed over the next few days.

Does it hurt that your best friend is relying on someone else, her new best friend? Yes. Do you also understand why? Also, yes, but that doesn’t make the sting hurt any less.

You’re just about to give up and retreat back to your room, which the front desk still hasn’t given you a definitive answer about whether or not your stay can be extended while you wait for Tae, when a shadow falls across your table a second before.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Jungkook asks in a low voice.

He fidgets, threading and unthreading his fingers together while he waits for your answer. The suit he had half on earlier is gone, and in its place is a dark pair of jeans, the knees worn fashionably, and an oversized white graphic t-shirt. Black sneakers peek out from the rounded bottoms of his pant legs.

You clear your throat, forcing your eyes away from his and instead on the glass sitting in a puddle of condensation on the table before you. “Oh, I—uh, I was actually about to go. You’re welcome to the table, though. Jimin was—” You cut off, realizing Jimin is no longer in the lounge at all. “Well, he was here,” you add with a frown.

Jungkook scratches a hand across the back of his neck and gives you a hesitant smile. “Yeah, he texted me. He went…well, that doesn’t matter. Could we, um…can we talk?”

“Yes.” The response is out of your mouth before he even finishes asking. “Please, I think I’d like that,” you say, nodding toward the open seat across from you.

A shaky breath rattles from Jungkook as he eases into the empty seat. “Have you talked to Hayun at all?” he asks after a moment’s hesitation.

“A text message, but that’s all. I’m not sure she wants to talk to me right now.” Needing something to do with your hands, you trace a finger along the edge of the water pooled around the bottom of your glass and use your other to poke more drops on the side of your cup, making them race down to join the growing puddle.

Jungkook nods, his lips pursing thoughtfully. “She told me what happened last night. Her confession.” That draws your attention back to him, and you wait, fingers still on the glass, intent on hearing what he says next. “I thought I’d be angrier finding out the woman I’ve been with for years—the woman I was hours away from marrying—had cheated on me…but I’m not. For the life of me, I’m not mad at her…even though I know I should be.”

“How do you feel?”

Maybe it’s none of your business, but you have to ask.

Blowing out a breath, Jungkook slides one of his hands across the table and, giving you plenty of time to protest or pull away, slowly slides his fingers between yours, effectively joining his hand with yours. It’s the first time hand-holding has felt so intimate yet wholly innocent.

“Relieved, I think,” he finally says. “Grateful, maybe? Hayun was hurt. As she has every right to be, but she said she also felt relief, too. I think, as much as she said she loved me, she was still holding back even in the end.” With a rueful shake of his head, he tacks on, “We were just a disaster waiting to happen, held together only by the thin chain of a bracelet. We would have shattered eventually.”

Jungkook’s eyes drop to where your fingers are entwined with his, trailing up to your wrist to land on the object he just spoke of.

“I’m relieved, too,” you whisper. Your eyes meet his as he glances up, and you’re instantly captivated.

This is the first time you’ve allowed yourself to really study Jungkook. His hair is tousled like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. You suppose he probably had been and wonder if that’s one of his nervous ticks.

The bow of his lips is prominent and draws your eyes. Your gaze lingers on his lips, making small mental notes at everything you see, like the tiny beauty mark under his bottom lip. His straight nose leads you to his expressive eyes, so dark and full of secrets you want to be privy to.

To say Jungkook is handsome would be a gross understatement. You’re not sure if it’s the fact he’s your true mate or just simply a gorgeous being, but he is pleasing to the eyes, that’s for sure.

You mentally kick yourself for thinking such thoughts about your best friend’s almost-husband after everything that has just happened. It’s not in good taste to entertain these thoughts so soon, right? True mate or not.

Yet, you can’t shove those thoughts away completely.

“Where did you go just now?” Jungkook asks, tilting his head and studying you intently.

Not wanting to explain yourself and the thoughts you were just having, you choose to ask him a question instead. “So, what now?”

You’re thankful Jungkook doesn’t push you to answer. He shifts in his seat and withdraws his fingers from between yours.

“I think we start with…” he trails off, a playful smile tugging up the side of his mouth as he holds the hand he pulled back in the air in front of you in offering. “Hi, I’m Jungkook.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, you smile. A laugh escapes you, and you instantly feel a thousand times lighter with that simple action.

As you take his hand back into yours, allowing yourself to truly savor the feel of his skin against yours, you realize that no matter what happens with Hayun or the fact that you live thousands of miles apart from Jungkook…everything is going to be okay and maybe you wouldn’t have ignored Taehyung’s text after all.

🥀🥀🥀

Jungkook, 3 months later

The flight was long but worth it. Jungkook stretches as he climbs out of the Uber he took from the airport. You would have picked him up. In fact, you are supposed to pick him up…just, not until next week. He decided to surprise you by coming early. He hopes you don’t mind.

Time seemed to drag to a near stand-still following that fateful day at the bed and breakfast where he was so sure he’d be joining his life with Hayun’s officially. No one could have anticipated what actually went down that day. But, in the end, he and Hayun parted ways on pleasant terms, and it’s actually thanks to her that he’s here right now, a week early.

Jungkook was worried that with everything that happened, yours and Hayun’s friendship might suffer. But, surprisingly—and thankfully—you guys have been getting on great. Hayun has been looking at work prospects in Thailand but, from what you’ve told Jungkook, is planning to visit you and Taehyung for Christmas.

It’s been three months, and not a day has gone by that Jungkook hasn’t talked to you in some capacity. From the moment he offered to be your ride to the airport, and you agreed, he’s thought about nothing other than getting on a plane and following you. The draw to you is just that strong.

You’ve expressed similar feelings, already having planned a return trip to Seoul next month. Neither Jungkook nor you have really talked about what the future holds or how to even begin to navigate it. But Jungkook hopes that during the week he is here, you can both begin to figure that out.

Giddiness makes his tattooed fingers shake as he reaches out and grasps the brass knocker on your door. He gives it a rap against the thick wood and waits. Jungkook counts the breaths as his anticipation rises. It’s only three and a half exhales before he hears the soft pad of your feet on the other side of the door.

Jungkook can imagine you pressing up onto your tip toes in order to peer through the peephole. He’d pay money to be able to see the look on your face when you see it’s him. Not being able to see your face doesn’t take away from the dopamine rush he gets when the sound of your surprised squeal sounds through the door.

“Jungkook!” Your shout is followed by the frantic sound of you disengaging the locks on your door before you swing it open and launch yourself at him. “What the fuck are you doing here? Oh, my gods! Why didn’t you tell me? You’re here!”

It feels good to laugh, but it feels even better to have you in his arms finally. The brief embrace he shared with you at the airport when he dropped you off was not enough and is what drove him to try and come sooner than planned.

Jungkook savors the warmth of your soft body pressed against his, your arms tight around his neck. Running one of his hands up your spine, he clasps the back of your neck and uses his hold there to angle your head away from his neck so he can look you in the face.

“Surprise,” he whispers. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”

You sigh dreamily, your eyes fluttering closed for a second like you’re savoring the feeling of being in his arms. “Pleasant surprise,” you murmur with a smile on your face.

Jungkook can’t help himself. He wants so badly to know if your smile tastes as good as he thinks it will. The press of his lips against yours causes you to melt against him, a throaty sound escaping around the intrusion of his tongue as he works it between your lips.

“Your taste,” he groans, forcing his mouth away from yours before the allure of you can drive him completely mad. Who is he kidding? He’s already there. “I need more.”

🥀🥀🥀

Those words do something to you.

I need more.

They echo the thoughts you’ve been harboring for the last three months. You’ve ached with those words, desperately willing yourself to be patient and let it happen when it’s meant to happen.

But, fuck, it feels so good to have him in your arms, to have his mouth brushing against yours. He tastes divine, a warm sweetness that compliments the musk of his scent that is slowly wrapping itself around you.

“Take me. Take it all,” you urge, completely baring yourself to him, body, mind, and soul. “I’m yours.”

It’s a frenzy, the frantic discarding of clothing. Your fingers work to free him of his jeans while also helping him with the criss-cross straps of your lounging romper. You don’t care that you’re still standing by your front door, bared down to your underwear. The only thing you’re focusing on now is how Jungkook holds you at arm's length and drinks you in from head to toe.

“You…are…everything.” The way he whispers those words crawls under your skin, rooting itself deep in your being. You feel sexy…desired, and unbelievably empty—your body clenches, the ache deep between your thighs. You’ve never been so turned on from just taking your clothes off before, from whispered words and a heated look.

Jungkook allows you to undress him as slow or as fast as you want. You try to take your time and savor every inch of skin you expose. But, you can barely contain yourself when you get to his jeans, shoving them unceremoniously down his thighs with your eyes locked on the many planes and angles of his toned chest and stomach.

Your fingers ghost over his skin, eliciting goosebumps in their wake as you explore the smooth and lush expanse of his shoulders and down his arms. Without needing to say anything more, he gathers you into his arms and covers your mouth with his once more.

It’s a miracle you make it to your bedroom. But, seeing Jungkook sprawled out on your bed is a sight you’ll never forget, with his lowered lids and bottom lip caught between his teeth. You want to taste every inch of him, from the tips of his ears down to the defined muscles of his calves.

Now, though, your gaze focuses on the front of his tented boxer briefs. The dark grey material has darkened even further, where you can see the distinct outline of the head of his cock. Saliva pools in your mouth.

You crawl on the bed, knees slotting between his, your hands on either side of his hips. With your eyes locked on his, you lean down and mouth gently at the wetness. You moan at the flavor of him, your tongue peeking out to seek more.

“Fuck,” you curse. “You taste so good.”

Jungkook lets out a quick breath. “You can’t say shit like that, baby girl. You’re going to make me lose it.” He flicks his eyes up to the ceiling, his lips moving like he’s sending up a silent prayer, before looking back down at you. “You have maybe three seconds before I can’t hold back any longer and tear that ass up.”

You chuckle softly, pouting out your lips in a faux sullen manner. “Yes, sir.”

That earns a growl from Jungkook that has heat racing down your spine as you hook your fingers into the band of his Calvin Klein’s and pull them down. He lifts his hips, helping you free him from their confines.

His cock stands so pretty before you, the full heft bobbing against his belly, smearing a pearl of precum against his golden skin. You dive in, licking at the sticky mess before taking the tip between your lips and lavishing your tongue over his slit.

Jungkook fists the sheets, a litany of curses falling from his lips. “Please,” he chokes.

You keep your eyes locked on his as you inch your way down his length, your jaw forcing itself wider to accommodate as much of him as you can. The blunt head of his cock presses against the back of your throat. You take a steadying breath in through your nose before forcing yourself a little further until your throat constricts around him and you have to pull back.

The second your mouth leaves his cock, saliva stringing from your lips to his tip, Jungkook grabs you and hauls you up over him. You laugh, loving the heat emanating from his body as yours covers his.

“What are you doing?” you gasp.

His strong hands land on your hips and tangle in the band of your panties. “I need these off. Please. I need you. I want to feel you…be inside you.”

You want that, too, you realize, your body already primed and begging for it. The sweet, fragrant notes of your arousal saturate the air, mixing with Jungkook’s to paint a picture of hedonism and wanton desires.

The rest of your clothes come off, your bra and panties are tossed to the side, leaving you utterly bare to him. Your inner thighs slide like velvet over his hips as you move your body against his until you can feel the press of the head of his cock against your entrance.

You wrap a hand around his base, angling him perfectly. It’s a slow descent into madness, the lowering of your body onto his. His eyes bore into yours, pouring out everything that has been building to this moment, this pinnacle that will forever throttle you onto a different path for your future—with him. You can feel every perfect inch slide along your walls as they adjust and welcome him. It’s like sliding home; he is the perfect fit for your body, filling you completely.

The pace you set, at first, is languid. An easy rise and fall of your hips as you both learn the body of the other. Jungkook’s hands mold around your breasts, his thumbs caressing over the pert points of your nipples.

“You feel so good,” you tell him, emphasizing your words with a generous roll of your hips. “So much better than I imagined.”

“You imagined it often?” he asks, a teasing tone to his words.

With the amount of teasing photos and videos you’ve shared with each other over the last few weeks, he knows you have. You can tell he’s just giving you a hard time. That’s fine, because you can…

Jungkook throws his head back as you arch yours, letting his cock hit that special place inside that has you both seeing stars. “Fuck!” His hands drop to your hips, landing with a satisfying smack. His grip tightens, dimpling the supple flesh around his fingers. “Can I knot you?” he asks with a breathless moan. You’ve never taken an alpha’s knot. The idea has your body pulsing around his, flooding slick onto his pelvis as you continue to roll your hips. “Fuck, baby girl, do you like that idea? You want to take my knot like a good girl?”

You can’t even form a coherent thought, much less answer him. The only thing that comes out of your mouth is a panting keen, your chin jerking up and down as you frantically nod your want.

Jungkook braces his feet against the mattress and uses his grip on your hips as leverage to thrust upward, sending you forward onto your hands. He’s relentless, pounding into you from below to the point your eyes roll back, and you have to squeeze them shut. Tiny pinpricks of light burst behind your lids as your body coils tighter than ever before.

You cry out as he sends you over the edge, your body careening into an unfathomable abyss of pleasure. The sounds coming from around his cock as it pounds into you are slick and obscene, debauched yet wholly satisfying.

“Alpha, need your knot,” you mewl, your lips finding the triskelion tattoo over Jungkook’s left pec muscle. You nibble at it, your teeth sinking softly into the skin.

“Oh, baby, fuck…fuck…Fuuuckkk!” Jungkook shouts, the sound turning into a guttural snarl as his body goes primal.

He seats himself completely inside of you with one final, deliberate thrust, and then you can feel the swell of his knot capture within you. It hurts, your pleasure turning into a moment of pain and panic. You squirm, trying to lift your hips from his, but the clasp of his hands on your body won’t let you go far. You whine, “J-Jungkook.”

“I know, baby girl, I know. Relax. Let your body do what it needs to do.”

It’s like those words unlock some inner Omega part of your brain, and suddenly you feel your body rush with endorphins and dopamine as it accepts the thick jets of his cum now flooding in. Like administering a drug, it’s such a fast transition that you feel lightheaded and giddy, sheepish and almost silly over your moment of panic.

“Gods, that feels so…good.” You wiggle in his arms, gasping as his knot pulls tight. You want more, need more of that feeling…need more of his cum. “More, Alpha, please.”

Jungkook pants, a tired smile on his face. You can feel it when his cock pulses inside you, dribbling even more liquid heat into your body in answer to your plea. “That’s my pretty girl,” Jungkook coos, brushing a hand across your forehead. “You’re so beautiful taking my knot, full of my cum.” He curses softly, reverently, and another gush of heat fills your body. “I’m going to take such good care of you. I swear it.”

You fall into a half-sleep, content and sated as you are. There are no worries about the future, nor the past. You are happy…all thanks to a pair of golden cufflinks.

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️ 2024-11-05 ColorMePurplex2

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saintobio · 6 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓. (final part to 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑.)

in the painful memory of what once was, sylus learns that love can't be bound where it was never meant to stay.

♱ pairings. sylus, fem!reader

♱ genre. angst, smut, boss/assistant, 18+

♱ tags. sylus's pov, reader is not l&ds!mc, sylus might be ooc, main story spoilers, razor's dance spoilers, nightplumes spoilers, lots of timeskip, fast-paced, unrequited love, profanity, petnames (kitten, sweetie), espionage, jealousy, brief smut, mentions of pregnancy/impregnation kink, mentions of accidents, suicide attempt, injuries, blood, usage of guns, usage of knife, killings, death, my own theories incorporated into the lore, sylus groveling bcos yall want him to

♱ notes. 9.5k wc. l&ds!mc is referred to here as 'diana'. THIS IS A REPOST of the original post i accidentally deleted. i already posted this several hours ago, so if you’re seeing this new one again, blame my dumbass 🤧 oh well life is life.

Sylus had a part of him that wished things could be different.

Ever since he turned away and left you that night at the alleyway, he didn’t really realize the chain of events his decision would set into motion. He simply underestimated how strongly your threats were backed by the grudge you had on him for bringing the hunter girl from Linkon into his base.

After all, you were just an assistant of his. And her, she was everything to him. It wasn’t just about the Aether Core, too—their bond stretched back into his distant past, into another planet where two of them ruled before the inhabitants of Philos came to ruin everything. Him and Diana had a connection he couldn’t sever no matter how much you had come to mean to him. And he spent years, centuries even, just to search for her.

So, how could a mere assistant he had known for less than a decade have such entitlement to her role in his life?

Eventually, days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. With your prolonged absence from the Onychinus base, Sylus’s business transactions and illicit deals had become increasingly unruly. He had grown too dependent on you as his right-hand woman, relying on your meticulous management to ensure all his illegal activities ran smoothly. Yet now, without your oversight, things were falling apart.

And while he was contemplating how to fill the void your absence had created, the office door slammed open. A subordinate soon rushed in, breathless and wide-eyed. “Boss, she’s betrayed us!” Luke exclaimed. “She’s gone to the Hunter’s Association. We got word that she was a high-ranking intelligence agent there!”

“A.K.A a spy!” yelled the other twin, Kieran, who looked equally hurt at your betrayal. “She fooled all of us. And here, we treated her like family.”

That was how Sylus learned that you had left the N109 Zone, seeking refuge in Linkon City, and had exposed critical intel on Onychinus. At the time, rage naturally exploded within him. Didn’t he take good care of you while you were here? He had given you everything, trusted you, and you had thrown it all away. Four years of falling into his trap. Four years of being his partner in crime, his right-hand woman, his lover. People even saw you as the modern day Bonnie & Clyde. Sylus couldn’t understand the root of your betrayal, couldn’t imagine how letting you slip away from his grasp would cost him so much in return.

When you vowed to do everything in your power to kill Diana, was this just a part of your grand scheme? What other machinations were you orchestrating in your pursuit of revenge?

“She’s a wild animal on loose.” Sylus looked up at the twins, maintaining a calm yet ruthless mien as he sat on the couch. He might be idly tossing a coin like he didn’t care, but inside his brain was chaos ensuing. “Where’s she now? Any news?”

It was Luke who shrugged in response. “She hasn’t been seen anywhere, boss-man.”

“We suspect the Association is hiding her,” Kieran added.

The hunter girl, Diana—the very girl you were jealous of, was sitting next to Sylus throughout the conversation. Their hands were connected by a strong energy linkage that was seemingly ignited by the Aether Cores in their bodies. They couldn’t separate themselves even if they wanted to. And God forbid you would have lost your mind tenfold had you seen their situation right now.

“That g-girl,” gasped the hunter girl, eyes wide in bewilderment at what she was hearing. “Sylus, your assistant. She did all that? She was a spy from the Hunter’s Association?”

Luke tilted her head at the girl, his beaked mask mocking her. “Oh, miss hunter! Haven’t you heard about the HIS? You should know them better than us.”

“Well.. what is the HIS?”

“Hunter Intelligence Services.” Sylus was the one who answered, releasing a deep sigh while rubbing his temples. “They’re top secret. Regular hunters wouldn’t have known about them, because they only deal with people like me.”

Diana looked between him and the twins, rubbing her wrist before moving closer to the boss of Onychinus. Her close proximity allowed him to smell her familiar sweet scent. “Is she… after me? But I don’t understand. If she’s part of the Hunter’s Association too, then shouldn’t we be colleagues?”

Kieran cleared his throat. “Ever since you came—”

“Place a bounty on her head,” Sylus interrupted the twins, and also ignored the question of the girl next to him. She didn’t need to learn the history behind you and him, or why you chose to target her. “Make sure to bring Y/N back to me. Alive.”

“Roger that, boss!”

It was his last desperate attempt to draw you back to him. Now that you had the Hunter’s Association protecting you, Sylus knew that locating you wouldn’t be as simple. Otherwise, he would have easily captured Diana long ago. He convinced himself that the bounty was to punish you, but deep down, he knew it was because he couldn’t bear to lose you to his enemies completely.

It took you a year to return to the N109 Zone.

Did you forget he had eyes and ears everywhere? He was the boss of that infamous No-Hunt Zone. Even if you leaked intel about his residences and the Onychinus base to the Hunter’s Association, Sylus still had a few tricks up his sleeve. He had hideouts in places that even you weren’t aware of, and the residents of the N109 Zone were loyal to him. Too loyal that they wouldn’t give any information to anyone no matter the consequences.

And how foolish were you to forget about Mephisto’s existence?

“Caw! Caw!”

The mechanical crow’s eyes glowed with the same red hue as Sylus’s as it landed on his arm, projecting visions of you entering the underground fight club disguised in an Onychinus uniform. It was almost farcical that you thought you could infiltrate a place Sylus frequented unnoticed.

But then, the vision shifted to you speeding on a motorcycle with a truck in hot pursuit. Sylus quickly recognized the truck’s decals—it was the hitman he often employed for dealing with his enemies, now terrorizing you in a high-speed chase. Without hesitation, Sylus grabbed his leather jacket and mounted his own bike, racing to your location in sixth gear.

He arrived just a minute too late. And what was meant to be a dramatic reunion turned into a scene of you lying unconscious and injured on the road, while the hitman grinned nearby with an expression of triumph. If it hadn’t been for your helmet, Sylus would have been met with the gruesome sight of your shattered skull.

“Mr. Sylus!” the hitman exclaimed, jumping out of his truck with arms outstretched in petty victory. “Can I get the $500,000,000 in cash?”

As Sylus’s gaze fell on your unconscious, injured body sprawled on the ground, a surge of anguish overwhelmed him in ways he couldn’t understand. But it was quickly replaced by seething rage—rage that made him summon his black-red mist, enveloping the hitman in its dark tendrils.

“I said not to harm her,” Sylus growled, his red eye glowing ominously against the desolate highway backdrop. “You failed your task.”

“P-Please, Mr. Sylus! I thought you—”

Without another word, Sylus scooped you up in his arms while his mist dealt with the hitman behind him. The hitman’s desperate cries were soon drowned out by the expanding tendrils, which tightened around him until he was engulfed. Then, in a violent burst, the mist exploded, reducing the hitman and everything around him to dust.

Sylus brought you to his underground hideout immediately after. And an unfamiliar—or perhaps strange—pang tugged at his heart as he gently laid you in bed, his gaze lingering on the road rash you obtained from the crash. The injuries were severe, with patches of skin nearly stripped away in the most brutal fashion he could think of. He could only imagine the burning pain you had to endure as soon as you skidded along the gravel, and Sylus felt his own frustrations knocking at the door knowing that he didn’t have the power to extend his fast-healing abilities to you.

“Tch. My kitten’s reckless as always, riding without the proper gear,” Sylus grumbled, looking at your unconscious body. “You’ve never been one to follow the rules, have you?”

To make up for his inability to save you on time, he applied a potent medicinal ointment all over your body and placed you in an anesthetized state while you healed. His mist enveloped you like a protective shroud the entire time you laid in bed unconscious. Every single day, Sylus tended to your wounds, changing your clothes and bandages, and applying the ointments over your bare body. He even took special care to ensure the twins did not enter your room without his permission.

Despite the care he showed, a persistent question echoed in his mind: Why am I doing this for you? You were his enemy, a traitor, and a woman who had betrayed him. It didn’t make sense.

That afternoon, feeling suffocated from this internal conflict, Sylus decided to leave you in the care of Luke and Kieran while he went to Linkon. He knew he needed space to grapple with the feelings that were driving him to care for you in the first place.

He needed to see the real woman he should be caring for.

Because you had not only exposed intel on Sylus and Onychinus to the Hunter’s Association, you also asked for them to isolate Diana so she would have no way to see or contact him. Who knew that mere feelings of jealousy would spark you to do such trivial things?

Frankly, you were insane. You were dark and twisted like him.

But in a way, it only underscored how similarly deranged the two of you were. Perhaps, in your madness, there was a strange compatibility—one that Sylus found unsettlingly fitting. The suggestion of you two being more a suitable pair than he and Diana gave him an unease that he couldn’t simply shake away.

It should be her. Her. Just her and her alone. He dedicated his whole life into finding her, yet you came into his life to ruin the foundations he had built to meet the person he was supposedly destined for. He had repeated it over and over in his mind like a broken record—the voices in his head telling him to let you go, to hurt you, to make you suffer.

However, as he stood across the pedestrian crossing, watching Diana from afar, a realization hit him like a cold gust of wind. There she was, oblivious to his presence on the other side, but the spark that once ignited in his heart whenever he saw her was gone. Now, his pulse remained steady and his heart stayed still.

With a wary glance around, mindful of any watchful eyes, he decided to pick up his phone and ring hers. It was a good thing he was able to seamlessly blend into the crowd, with his practiced nonchalance making him invisible among the throng of people. After all, he was Sylus Qin, the mastermind of Onychinus—disguise was second nature to him.

“Sylus?” Her voice came through the line, tentative and filled with a mix of emotions as she scanned the faces on the other side of the crossing.

“According to the conditions set by the Hunter’s Association, we shouldn’t be meeting again.” His voice was steady, almost detached, as he kept the phone pressed to his ear. “Or if not, you will be marked as a Tenebra.”

Her eyes eventually found him amidst the walking crowd, keeping an expression on her face that showed both longing and forlornness. “Not the first time someone has been marked a Tenebra because of you,” she managed to slip in a snarky remark in her worried expression. “Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?”

“Are you worried about me?” he nonchalantly asked, watching as she stepped off the curb when the light turned green. Each step was a step closer to him, but nothing changed the pace of his own heartbeat like it should have. Nothing stirred within him as it once did.

“You have the audacity to use a phone when you’re right in front of me,” she snapped, frustration flaring as she yanked the phone from his grasp. Without hesitation, she grabbed his arm, dragging him along with her to escape the dangers of being seen in public. They ended up in an alleyway, a place hidden from prying eyes, an irony that made Sylus chuckle under his breath. The alleyway. Why has that become such a memorable place to him? “Sylus, what’s so funny? I was so scared something happened to you! You couldn’t even call me back or text me the past few days?”

He remained expressionless as he observed her outburst. Strange. In her frantic worry, she reminded him of you, and it was a discomfiting parallel that sent chills down his spine. “I said I’d need to disappear from your life completely, so I have to tie up loose ends,” he began, each word seemingly a dagger to her heart. “We haven’t been able to resonate either way, sweetie. There’s no reason for us to keep meeting.”

“No!” she adamantly denied the thought, pulling him into an embrace. “No, you’re not allowed to disappear just like that! We need to find a way to get—”

“It’s a dangerous gamble to be caught in my world,” he said in a low voice.

But she was stubborn. “I’m already caught in it! So, please, Sylus, take me with you. Take me to the N109 Zone or wherever you’re hiding. I want to be where you are.” And in spite, she uttered words that made Sylus think twice about his perception of you. “It’s her fault that this is all happening. She’s a traitor to you and to the Association. Her loyalty isn’t with anyone but herself, Sylus. She’s the one who needs to disappear!”

Back at his hideout, Sylus was careful to ensure that Diana remained oblivious to your presence in another room. He was already grappling with how to manage the situation—torn between the woman he loved and the woman he had wronged who, ironically, were both now under the same roof. The thought of you two crossing paths was a nightmare he didn’t want to deal with, so he gave strict orders to the twins, notorious for their loose lips and loud mouths, to keep Diana far from you.

Because when Sylus returned to your room, he knew you were awake. The dark classical music playing from the vinyl record had likely stirred you from unconsciousness. It had been nearly a week since the crash, but thanks to his meticulous care, your wounds had mostly healed, leaving only faint scars behind.

“You can’t hide from me forever.” Sylus hovered over you to whisper into your ear, summoning his protective black-red mist to slowly release you. “Wake up, kitten. We have unfinished business.”

When you finally opened your eyes after what felt like an eternity, Sylus told himself it was natural to feel relieved, that it was only right for his heart to soften at the sight of you returning to consciousness. But as you awoke, the voices in his head—the damned, relentless voices—grew louder, mocking him, provoking him, and luring him into darker thoughts. His right eye began to glow like a flickering candle, and when he saw the fear on your face, the words that followed weren’t his own. They were driven by the unforgiving side of him he couldn’t control, a side that thrived on your terror. The beast that couldn’t be tamed.

She’s a traitor.

Punish her.

Hurt her.

Devour her.

While in a heated, dramatic exchange with you, Sylus was spewing words he didn’t mean. He was doing actions without regard. He was mocking your pain. Your jealousy. Your heartbreak. The drive to hurt you was strong in his head, but he fought desperately against it. The demon inside him that tried to consume his every thought. He tried to battle his own self just to protect you.

“I betrayed you because of her!”

His laughter died down, but the amusement in his eyes only deepened, replaced by the wicked smile on his face that enjoyed seeing you suffer. “It’s always been about her, hasn’t it? You see me with her, and you can’t stand it. It eats at you, makes you act out.”

You tried to move away, but Sylus pressed his foot firmly on your wrist. She betrayed you, Sylus. Punish her.

“I’ve seen your struggle,” he continued, his voice soft but laced with corrupt satisfaction. “The way you watched me with her, the way it gnaws at you. It’s almost poetic, really.”

It wasn’t until you reached for the gun on his nightstand, pointing it at yourself, that Sylus snapped out of his dark trance. The horror in his eyes was a stark contrast to the sorrowful shine in yours as you stood there, sobbing in front of him. Each word you spoke was tailed with the pain of a heart shattered by everything he had done and said.

“...All I wanted was your love,” you choked out with tears cascading down your face, “I j-just wanted you to love me. I turned my back on the H.A. for you. I left all my friends and family for you.” Your breathing was still for a moment, but your heart had already been blown into smithereens. “All I had was you. I loved you. I devoted all my body and soul into loving you, Sylus. Why c-can’t I have even a little bit in return?”

Even as his gaze softened and a flicker of regret passed across his face, you had already made your decision when your finger tightened on the trigger. The recoil jolted your wrist, but before the bullet could find its mark, Sylus’s hand shot out and expertly deflected your aim. Instead of ending your life, the bullet shattered a window, ricocheting off the glass and disappearing into the night.

“Are you out of your mind?!” Sylus roared, his voice a thunderous mix of fury and disbelief.

You were barely responding to him as he cupped your cheeks and forced your lachrymose eyes to lock into his crimson ones. It was as though you had already resigned yourself to reality, that ending your own life would have been a better option than being with the man you hopelessly loved.

“Y/N,” Sylus tried to shake you awake, desperate for you to look into his eyes. “Y/N! Enough. Let’s end this game.”

“...I was never playing one with you.”

Sylus was overwhelmed by a profound, indescribable pain that pierced his chest. It was a pain that mirrored yours but was infinitely more intense. “I warned you many times before to never fall in love with me,” he said in a low, softened voice, “It’s for the best, and it’s what will keep you safe. Why don’t you listen?” He longed to pull you into his arms, but the crushing reality was that he only now realized how deeply he cared for you. It was devastating that his awakening had come at the cost of your near-suicide, forced by a love he was unable to return.

Was it truly too late for him to come to terms with his feelings for you? Was it too late to accept that he had fallen in love with you rather than the woman he believed he was meant to be with?

His answer came in the form of a gut-wrenching realization. It manifested in the frantic voice of Diana—the woman he believed he loved, piercing through the haze of his thoughts by yelling, “Sylus, step back!”

“No!” he shouted, his black-red mist swirling to intercept the bullet.

But his efforts came too late. The bullet had already been set in motion, and it tore through the side of your head.

It penetrated your skull with a cruel precision, not just once but twice. And the warmth of your blood seeped through his fingers as he caught your head before you fell onto the floor.

Sylus’s mind raced with the enormity of what had just happened. His face grew ashen as he looked at your bloodied head and lifeless eyes, a wave of acid welling up his chest until he couldn’t breath. But the reason for his suffocation was because of his own guilt and grief. It was at the force of a sledgehammer when he was hit with the admission that he had always been in love with you. All along, despite your tangled mess, it was you who had captured his heart in this world.

His chest tightened, his breaths coming in ragged, broken bursts, while he held you close in his arms. And your last three words, your very last words of “I… love… you…” as you stared despairingly at him was icing on this bitter cake.

No… no!

He couldn’t fucking accept it. He was losing his mind, he was going insane. He was plunging into madness. Utter hysteria. “Y/N, please,” he begged, his voice breaking as your eyes, once full of life and light, were now glazed over with the sheen of death. “Don’t leave. No, I can’t let this happen!” For the first time in a long time, he once again felt hot tears leaving his eyes. It was an emotion so rare it only ever showed toward the people he deeply cared about. “I love you too,” he struggled to say. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said back there.”

Sylus held you close, disregarding the blood staining his clothes while he was consumed by agony and regret. He had driven you to this, pushed you away, and then drawn you back into his orbit only to lose you forever.

Though he may have conquered your heart, in doing so, he had only destroyed the both of you. The memory of your love and the warmth of your touch would haunt him for the rest of his days. And as he held your lifeless body, he knew that he would never be whole again.

But it shouldn’t be too late. No, it shouldn’t! He didn’t know if it was the hysteria or adrenaline kicking into him, but he had thought of an idea—no matter how immoral—that would return you back to him. He just couldn’t weigh which strong emotion he had to deal with first; should he grab the gun and shoot Diana out of anger? Or should he ignore her presence entirely and just focus on you?

Sylus chose to proceed with the latter as he carried you through the corridors of the base, his steps heavy with guilt and his shirt drenched in blood as you remained unconscious in his arms. The hunter girl had followed him in his spiritless steps, her eyes wide with confusion over his anguish.

“Sylus, why are you doing this?!” she demanded, grabbing his arm to halt his progress. “She would’ve killed you. That girl’s a traitor!”

Although he stopped in his tracks, he couldn’t really return her gaze. His eyes could only look at your lifeless ones. “That girl you shot in the head,” he spoke low and in despair, “is my woman.”

Diana was horrified. “But… but you never said—” Before she could finish, the twins intervened, holding her back from pursuing Sylus further. “What about me?”

He had already turned away. “I’ll fulfill my promise to protect you from afar, but this is where our paths part. Do not come near me again.”

Sylus stood over your unconscious body, his eyes bloodshot and tears-streaked, while his heart pounded with a mix of grief and desperation. He had summoned Philip and the finest surgeons he knew to his hideout, where you lay in a medical bed, exposed and vulnerable, as if you were a subject in a desperate experiment.

Philip arrived with a grim expression, his eyes scanning the scene with both skepticism and professional detachment. Sylus could barely contain his desperation as he demanded, “Do everything you can to save her. Even if it means infusing a high-grade protocore in her brain.” After all, he had plenty of that. Sylus had all the resources, protocores of the highest grade, each with their own purpose and capabilities.

Yet Philip hesitated, his face contorting with concern. “Mr. Sylus, you know I can’t do this. She’s gone. The best thing to do is accept—”

That was when Sylus’s composure cracked. He kicked the nearby chair out of rage, tears streaming down his face as he begged, “You’ve done it before. Do it again! Please, I need her to live!”

The sight of Sylus, usually so imposing and dominant, breaking down in front of him was shocking. Philip felt a pang of sympathy toward the Onychinus boss who was willing to do everything for a woman who was already dead. His hands trembled as he spoke, “I-I can try. But I’m warning you, Mr. Sylus… even if she survives this, there’s zero chance her memories will be the same. They may even become altered, and it will be out of our control.”

Sylus’s gaze never left you. “I don’t mind. Just do it.”

Weeks later, Sylus found himself in a secluded alleyway, meeting with a deepspace hunter who was also an enemy of his from another planet. Of course, the atmosphere was tense as both men stood in front of each other, eye-to-eye, carrying a defensive stance from one another.

They were never friends. But that day, they weren’t enemies either.

“How’s she?” Xavier broke the silence first.

Sylus answered with a low voice. “She hasn’t woken up, but she’s stable.”

“Why’d you ask to meet?”

“I want you to look after her,” the Onychinus leader began, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of desperation, “Speak to the Association about taking Y/N back and forgiving her for her betrayal. In return, I’ll step away from Diana’s life. She’s all yours. I just want Y/N to return to her normal life.”

Xavier’s expression was serious. “You’re forgetting you still have a bounty on your head.”

“And you’re forgetting you and your backtrackers destroyed the planet where I was living,” he replied in equal disdain, but only enough to trap Xavier into a wall of guilt and obligation.

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Lumiere—or, in his current form, the deepspace hunter, Xavier. “The HIS will be easy to convince. But what if she wakes up and wants to go back to the N109 Zone?”

Sylus felt a tug of deep sadness pulling at his heart. “She won’t. Her memories of me are gone for good.”

If this was his karma for hurting you, then it was definitely the worst kind.

Sylus maintained a distant watch over you after you returned to Linkon, observing from afar as you rejoined your life with the support of the Hunter’s Association and former colleagues. Each day, he sent Mephisto to monitor your whereabouts, carefully tracking your interactions and daily activities. The mechanical crow often returned with glimpses of your life, which Sylus scrutinized with intense focus as if he were watching a movie. Each glimpse offered him a sense of relief, happiness even, at knowing how easy you were settling back into your old life.

You had been officially dismissed from the Hunter’s Association due to a medical condition that rendered you unfit for duty, but they continued to cover your pension and provided free lodging—likely thanks to Xavier’s persuasive influence over the Association. The official story was that you had been sent on a dangerous mission where a Wanderer had placed you in a life-threatening predicament. The narrative praised your honor and dedication to the end. There was no mention of Sylus, Onychinus, or the N109 Zone. No hint of the life you had once led or the truth behind your memory erasure.

Yet, in a bitter twist of irony, perhaps the story you were told may not actually be farther from the truth.

After all, Sylus was the dangerous monster that sent you to that life-and-death situation.

But at least now, you were well cared for. So much so that Sylus fought to contain his jealousy whenever Mephisto’s eyes relayed visions of you sharing lunch with a physician named Dr. Zayne. He struggled to mask his irritation as he saw the man drape an arm around your shoulders while guiding you out of the hospital or wrapping a scarf around your neck to keep you warm. He would often even drive you home and send you gifts that were masked as tokens of “recovery.”

Bullshit.

Sylus clenched his fist, his thoughts of jealousy consuming him. My girl, he thought in despair, my beautiful girl is cherished by other men, while he remained imprisoned in the desolate shadows of the N109 Zone, longing for you.

Eventually, Sylus felt an overwhelming urge to see you in person. After discovering that you had taken a job at a café in Bloomshore District, he convinced himself that observing you from a distance wouldn’t cause harm. He just wanted to be near you, to ensure your safety, and to protect you from any potential threats.

As he sat on a nearby bench, Luke joined him with a comment. “Boss, you said we needed to disappear from her life.”

Kieran, taking a seat on Sylus’s other side, added, “Do you think she’d recognize us if we walked into that café? If she doesn’t, I’ll give her a hard time with my orders ‘til she remembers us!”

“Ha ha! Let’s do that!”

“Boss, let’s go!”

“Leave her be.” Sylus took a deep breath, adjusting his sunglasses and setting aside his newspaper—part of his disguise—as he watched you through the café window. He noticed the subtle traces of familiarity in your actions, but the connections that once bound you were now distant memories. “...I’m just here to make sure no one’s bothering her.”

The truth was, he wrestled with his emotions each time he visited the café you were working at. He wanted to approach you, to speak to you, but he hesitated each time because of the fear of rejection and the pain of seeing you not remember him holding him back. There were so many what-ifs in his head that it drove him insane to think about.

Because if anything, what if you were already seeing someone else? What if you were already in a relationship with that scumbag doctor from the Akso Hospital?

It was petty jealousy that drove Sylus into stepping into the café. And the first time your eyes met since you resurrected, his heart initially froze, then raced uncontrollably. His heart swelled with hope as you looked up at him, but it was quickly replaced by the lack of recognition in your eyes the moment you spoke from the counter.

“Hi. What can I get you?” you asked, treating him no differently than any other customer.

Sylus was caught off-guard, but he knew he had to play the part. “I, uh, I’ll get an Americano. Large.”

“Alright, sir. And your name, please?” you asked, following your routine without any real interest in the man before you.

But in a way, this was a relief for Sylus. It confirmed that the protocore embedded in your head was functioning as intended, and that any dark memories from the past had been completely erased, even if it meant he was no longer part of your life.

“Skye,” he said with a soft smile. “That’s my name.”

There wasn’t a single day Sylus missed visiting the café.

At first, he worried that his constant presence might seem odd, or that you might think of him as a stalker. But as the days passed, seeing you became an essential part of his routine. A day without catching a glimpse of you felt incomplete, almost maddening. Seeing you was like a drug he couldn’t get enough of.

Initially, you found his regular visits a bit strange, but gradually, the small interactions between you two evolved. Sylus began to appear at the café just when you needed him most—whether it was fixing a broken coffee machine, addressing rude customers, or simply offering a helping hand. These acts of kindness somehow transformed your view of him. What started as a customer-service relationship slowly became more personable, and in recent days, you often greeted him warmly and smiled whenever he walked in. If only you knew how badly it warmed his heart that he got to do things for you without making him feel like he was intruding in your life.

And to be honest, Sylus even felt like he might be—as Luke termed it—foolishly ”crushing” on you.

“Who knew our boss-man could be a hopeless romantic~?”

There was a time when he visited the café, only to find out from your manager that you called in sick from work. Sylus knew where you lived, but going to your place uninvited was a different story. He had to put some boundaries no matter how worried he was for you. But that was when Mephisto became useful; the mechanical crow would simply fly off to your place and observe you from outside. Then, an idea to drop a box of medicines and chocolates at your balcony was something he had thought of at the last minute.

Back in the N109 Zone, Sylus anxiously looked at his crow. “Are you sure she didn’t see you?”

“Caw! Caw!”

“Did she eat the chocolates?” he asked, exhaling a deep breath he didn’t think he was holding.

“Caw! Caw! Caaaw!” Mephisto responded, fluttering its wings as if to reassure him.

And then, that day happened.

The day Sylus finally gathered the courage to ask you out, fate had other plans. And what began as a simple gesture to offer you a ride home during a stormy night quickly escalated into something far more intense.

Because one moment, he was offering you a ride. The next, he found himself in your bed, having the most passionate sex he had ever had with someone. He wasn’t even sure if he could call it that, because it felt more like he was making love to you, even if to you, he was probably just an attractive guy you unexpectedly hooked up with.

So, he had to make himself known. He had to hear his real name leaving your lips. “Sylus,” he breathed into your ear, hands tracing your curves, “Call me Sylus, kitten.”

That night, he was an insatiable man who could only be satisfied by his woman.

When he was buried far too deep inside you, he enjoyed the sight of ecstasy on your face and lavished at the sounds of your titillating moans with his every thrust. Not only did he miss the feeling of your walls tightening around his shaft, he also remembered how badly you used to want him to cum inside you.

And so, he did just that. At his climax, he released hot spurts of seed into your womb, fulfilling a wish from the past that he used to deprive you of.

But as the night progressed and the heat of the moment faded, the conversation shifted to a more profound and emotional terrain. Sylus wrestled with the urge to reveal the truth about his true identity—every painful detail and the secrets he kept from you. Yet, he knew that doing so would only complicate matters further and risk causing you more pain. The idea of hurting you again, after such a meaningful connection, was unbearable to him, especially now that you were still fragile as glass, ready to shatter at any moment.

“Why do I get the feeling that I was the one who experienced a one-sided love before?”

“No, you were loved. You were very loved. There was no one else,” he pressed, forcing you to believe the narrative with his rueful eyes staring back at you. “I was the one who wasn’t worthy of you… But I’d like to try and win your heart again this time. If you allow it.”

“Sylus… I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry for not recognizing you before. I just… I lost a chunk of my memories, and I don’t know if it’s been altered or what, but…” He caressed your back as you took a deep breath. “I’ll try to remember, okay?”

“Please don’t.” He shook his head, crestfallen as he thought of the past that was rightfully erased. “And there’s no need for apologies, sweetie. There wasn’t anything you did wrong.”

Your relationship with Sylus remained unclear since that night. And it seemed as though the roles had reversed—now he was the one left wondering where he stood in your life. Because on the surface, it did seem like you were willing to work on building a relationship with him again, but every encounter you two had were always physical rather than emotional.

Sylus found himself at your apartment frequently, three or more times a week, engaging in intense, passionate encounters. He had lost track of how many times you two could do it in a single night, exploring every possible position, in every corner of your home. He had tried his hardest to make you feel like he was the only man who was more familiar with every inch of your body than anyone else. Yet, despite the physical closeness, he sensed that the emotional barriers between you remained intact.

No matter how deeply intertwined your bodies became, the walls around your heart remained firmly in place, and Sylus knew that there was a part of you he still couldn’t reach.

That, and the fact that he was still seeing you interact a little too closely with that doctor from Akso.

It somehow didn’t surprise you when Sylus’s car showed up outside the hospital to pick you up, and you got on with a guarded look.

“How’s it for my kitten today?” Sylus asked as he secured your seatbelt, his lips brushing against yours in a quick peck. “You didn’t mention you’d be at the hospital.”

You shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. “Oh, I just... didn’t think I needed to inform you of my whereabouts.”

Dammit. He knew you weren’t officially together, but it hurt more than he cared to admit. And it didn’t help that Sylus’s pride couldn’t naturally take it, so he probed more. “That doctor. He’s not your neurologist, is he? It seems a little inappropriate for him to always be around you like that.”

“Well, I’ve known Zayne for a long time,” you merely replied, eyes focused on the view outside rather than the driver of the car. “I’d also appreciate it if you'd be less territorial over me, Sylus. I know you said we have a history together, but I don’t remember a thing, so… I hope you won’t rush me.”

The Sylus you knew back then would have been enraged. Who were you to order him around? Who were you to tell him what he should and shouldn’t do over someone he rightfully owned? But he was a changed man now, and it was all because of you. You were the beauty that tamed him into a powerless beast.

“I understand,” Sylus replied, swallowing his pride as his hands tightened around the steering wheel, focusing on the road ahead. “I apologize.”

He heard you sigh beside him, and a part of him wondered if it was out of sympathy. But before he could dwell on it, you spoke up, your tone more serious. “I was at the hospital today because I had a pregnancy scare.”

Sylus hit the brakes at the red light a bit too abruptly, his heart racing in excitement. “Are you?”

“No, thank God,” you breathed out in relief. “But... can you please stop doing it inside? I really don’t like it. It’s not smart for me to get pregnant by a man I barely know.”

His chest tightened in a way he couldn’t describe. The old you nearly begged him for a baby so he could be yours forever, but he was aware that this version of you right now was not the same. It never would be, and that was the price he had to pay for love.

“I won’t do it again.” Once again, swallowing his pride. “I’m sorry.”

You still invited him to sleep at your apartment that night, and your reason being to work on the memories of him you had lost. Time and time again did Sylus tell you it was better you didn’t remember them, but he could also understand your dilemma when you told him that you always felt like a piece of you was missing ever since that “accident”.

“And this ugly scar on my temple,” you pointed it out, settling into your side of the bed. “What kind of Wanderer did I fight for me to get a traumatic brain injury?”

Sylus placed a tender kiss on your scar. “Perhaps it was a heartless monster more terrifying than a Wanderer.”

Like me.

“Oh, well.” You pulled the sheets over your body, suggesting you two would have no action tonight. “Good night, Sylus.”

“...Sleep tight, kitten.”

You didn’t need to worry, though, because he wouldn’t have touched you even if you had explicitly asked him to. After hearing your words that afternoon—about not wanting to get pregnant by him and asking him to stop being so territorial—Sylus felt the need to pull back and be more cautious in his actions toward you. Your words had cut deep, but he understood you were only protecting yourself from a man who was, essentially, still a stranger to you.

And despite the sting, he had promised himself that he would be patient for the only woman he cared about.

However, that same night was a different story.

No, it was actually way past midnight when Sylus woke up from an agonizing scream that pierced the silence of the night, chilling him to the bone. Instinctively, his hand reached out to the side of the bed where you should have been, but the sheets were cold and empty. And then panic gripped him, forcing him to leap out of bed, his mind racing with a single horrifying thought: the protocore.

He darted outside of your bedroom and deeper into your apartment space, his eyes scanning every shadow, every corner. The image of you, eyes wild and frenzied, ravaged by the effects of the protocore, haunted him.

What if it’s happening now? What if I lose her for good?

The horrifying thought of the protocore making you berserk like a wild Wanderer was always there.

His heart nearly stopped when he saw you on the kitchen floor, curled up, your body wracked with sobs. Relief washed over him to have found you, but it was fleeting, replaced by a deeper, more insidious fear. He tried to approach you cautiously, his voice soft as he placed his hands on your shoulders, “Sweetie, are you okay?”

You flinched at his touch, and when you turned to face him, the sight made his blood run cold. Your eyes, usually so warm, were now wide and filled with tears—tears of terror, of anger. And in your trembling hand, you held a knife, its blade gleaming in the low light as you pointed it directly at his throat.

“Don’t come any closer!” you cried, your voice breaking at every word. Sylus froze, his breath catching in his throat as your sudden hostility surprised him. The knife’s tip hovered dangerously close to his skin, but it wasn’t the threat of violence that shook him—it was the raw, unfiltered pain in your eyes.

“Kitten, let’s talk about it calmly.” His voice was laced with cautiousness.

“Stop calling me that!” You swallowed hard, your grip on the knife tightening. “You! I had a nightmare... about you. But it felt real, like a memory. You were torturing me at your base, laughing... and then, you shot me in the head.”

Sylus’s heart dropped into his stomach at hearing your altered memory. He felt his soul tear apart at the edges as he stared into your tear-streaked face. “It was just a dream. It wasn’t real, kitten.”

But you weren’t listening. “But is it also not real? That you…” You uttered each word with a threatening voice, “are the boss of Onychinus?”

The question hit him like a physical blow. He opened his mouth to answer, but the words were stuck in his throat and refused to form. He was trapped. The situation felt like a dead end—he could deny that your dream was a real memory, but admitting he was the leader of Onychinus would only validate that lie.

His silence alone was an answer to you. And your expression crumbled into one of betrayal at that. “You lied to me! You’ve been lying to me this whole time. How am I supposed to believe anything you say now?”

The anger in your voice enforced the stillness of Sylus’s breath. He knew he had no saving grace from this situation, but still, he took a step closer, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Y/N, I never wanted to hurt you—”

“Get out!” you screamed, the knife shaking in your hand. The sight of you so broken, so shattered, tore him apart. “Get the hell out of my sight! I don’t wanna see you ever again, you monster!”

But Sylus couldn’t leave—not like this, not when you were hurting because of him. So in his desperation, he lunged forward, grabbed your wrist, and forced the knife into his own chest. The sharp pain radiated through him as he plunged the blade in and stabbed himself repeatedly, his face twisted in agony, but not from the physical pain. This was nothing compared to the torment of knowing he was the source of your suffering. Again.

“Even if I can’t die,” he choked out, his voice ragged as he tried to absorb the stinging ache in his chest, “I’ll take all of this pain away from you.”

His own blood soaked his fingers, staining your hands as he released his grip on the knife. It fell on the floor as he stepped back, his heart aching more than his wounds ever could, but those wounds easily healed. The pain of losing you again, on the other hand, would never heal.

He looked at you one last time, seeing his monstrous reflection from your frightened eyes, before turning away. Sylus walked out of the apartment with heavy steps, feeling his soul crushed from your antagonism. He knew he had lost you—perhaps forever—and the realization was more than he could bear.

A haze of cigarette smoke and the clink of glasses filled the air of the bar. Sylus sat alone at the counter, his new glass of whiskey untouched as he stared blankly into the amber liquid. The sting of alcohol was nothing compared to the numbness that had settled in his heart after that agonizing night with you. Every swallow of the hard liquor was a desperate attempt to drown out the torment of recent events, but the pain lingered, and it was damn persistent and unforgiving.

As he poured himself another drink, the muffled sounds of conversation around him blended into a dull roar. That was until a familiar voice cut through the haze—someone he wished he hadn’t come across.

“Sylus?”

He looked up, squinting against the dim light, to see Diana standing before him. He hadn’t seen him for the past year or so. And surely, her presence was unexpected, but he felt a sudden tinge of irritation at the sight of her. While her, she looked both apprehensive and determined, as if she had just made a hard decision to confront him.

“H-How have you been?” she asked the question as a conversation starter, but Sylus could see the faint hint of unease in her eyes.

He then straightened up, and his posture became stiff and defensive. “I told you it’s not wise for us to cross paths,” he said curtly, his voice slurred from the alcohol but still holding a note of finality. He didn’t want to engage, not with her, not tonight.

On the one hand, Diana’s eyes flickered with an emotion he couldn’t quite place—regret, perhaps. “I… I wanted to say sorry for what happened with Y/N. I didn’t realize how much she meant to you. Xavier… told me everything. About you and her.”

The apology was genuine, but the mention of your name was a fresh wound, and he felt the anger and sadness surge again, bubbling beneath his carefully maintained exterior. He wanted to lash out, to blame her for everything, but he swallowed the words, knowing it wouldn’t change a thing. In the end, this was all his doing and he couldn’t point fingers over the mess that he alone had created.

Sylus tried to stand up, the room spinning slightly as he steadied himself. “I’m leaving.”

But Diana stepped closer, her hand reaching out as if to stop him. He simply brushed past her, his movements unsteady but undeniably distancing from her. The desire to remain composed was slipping away, replaced by the harsh reality he faced every day since you were taken from him.

He made his way to the exit, pushing through the bar’s heavy door with a forceful shove. Sylus’s next move was to lean against the wall outside as the cool winter breeze blew on his face.

“Boss.” Kieran’s voice held a note of concern as he and his twin steadied Sylus by wrapping his arms around their shoulders. “We’ll take you home.”

Luke glanced at his brother with a sad glint in his eyes before leading Sylus toward the car. “Maybe it’s time to let her go, boss.”

February nights were the coldest. And it was supposedly the day for lovers, too.

Unlike the couples that littered the riverside, Sylus stood alone, his breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. His dark coat offered little protection against the biting wind, but he stayed committed, his gaze fixed on the empty expanse before him. Four hours had passed since he had sent you the message, and each minute he stood there waiting for you felt like an eternity. The biting cold gnawed at him, but he was determined to wait even if he’d end up getting frostbite. It was the least he could do.

The frozen river’s surface glistened with a thousand points of light as the moon cast its silver glow over the landscape. And for the next thirty minutes that passed, he was still alone.

She won’t be coming, said the voice in his head. Give up.

As he prepared to leave, the ache of disappointment settled in his chest, and his heart skipped a beat as he recognized you, standing cautiously across him, your eyes wide and filled with both curiosity and trepidation. The sight of you, despite waiting in the cold for hours, instantly warmed his freezing body.

“Thank you for coming.” He took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke. “I won’t keep you long.”

You maintained your distance, wary of his next move. “Why did you want to meet?”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he began to peel the scarf from around your neck, and he felt a prick in his heart seeing you flinch. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

He waited until you allowed him to proceed, his fingers brushing against your skin in a touch that was both gentle and reverent. You looked at him with confusion, the chilly air fought by the warmth of your breath. Sylus was just carefully replacing the scarf with the necklace he had given you long ago, the red Beryl crystal catching the light and sending soft, radiant glimmers into the night.

Do you even recognize it?

“I’m just returning a gift, kitten.”

As he fastened the clasp behind your neck, he pressed a tender kiss to the nape of your neck, his lips lingering for a moment before he straightened. That small gesture of his was actually carried by the depth of his affection and regret. And, if you may, it was his silent apology for all that he did to you.

“Sylus…”

His red eyes shimmered, intensified by the bloodshot whites. Sylus stared at your face with a mixture of love and ruefulness clouding his expression. He was looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. And he struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to spill, with his voice breaking as he feathered the snowflakes that rested on your hair. “Take care of yourself. Always lock your doors at night and stay warm.” He took the scarf Zayne gave you, and pulled out a new one from his coat. It was a silly scarf with kitten prints all over it, that he soon carefully wrapped around your face and neck. “Wear that whenever you can.”

Your own eyes were large and rimmed with tears as though you were also hurting inside. “Why are you saying this?” you asked, keeping the weakness inside. “You sound like you’re saying goodbye.”

Sylus’s gaze was suddenly directed back to the river, but it was only because he had to avoid looking at your eyes or he would lose it. “The Association managed to track me here in Linkon and they’re still after me. I just managed to escape, but I can’t stay here,” he explained calmly, “I only came back to this city because of you… But now, I have to disappear, so don’t worry about having me around. I won’t bother you anymore.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and the tears that had been pooling your eyes finally spilled over. “Are you crazy?” you cried, seemingly unable to comprehend the words he was spewing. “You’re leaving me?”

Sylus’s heart broke at the sight of your tears, but he had to restrain any weakness by giving in. Instead, he reached out, and his hand trembled as he wiped a tear from your cheek. “I love you, Y/N.” He wanted to be the first one to say it this time. “Even if you regain all your memories of me—good or bad—I want you to know that I regret every pain I caused you. Even if you hate me, I’ll still love you. Today, tomorrow, and in our next lives.”

Sylus took one last, lingering look at you, his eyes filled with a sorrowful haze that nearly blinded his vision. He turned slowly, walking away from the river’s edge, with each step causing distance from the love he was leaving behind.

And you, you stood there, the necklace around your neck feeling heavy as you watched him disappear into the night. A surge of emotion overwhelmed you, and without thinking, you sprinted towards him. You took quick, long strides just to reach him, pulling him into a tight embrace, and crashing your lips against his in a bittersweet kiss.

Both of you cried as the kiss deepened, and you were encasing each other’s lips in a tight lock. The intensity of your emotions poured out in this poignant, intimate moment. And frankly, Sylus had never been this emotional. No one had ever seen this fragile side of him that he had always kept hidden. After all, what dominant, cruel boss of Onychinus would spill tears over a woman?

But they wouldn’t understand it. They never would.

When you finally pulled away, your eyes were red and swollen from tears. “Be careful,” you sniffled, barely unable to catch the breath you needed for the next. “Keep in touch if you can. And when I’m ready, I’ll find you.”

Sylus’s eyes were also filled with tears, but he managed a forlorn smile as he nodded. He reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle despite the heaviness of the moment. “I’ll wait,” he promised softly, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

“Until we meet again.”

As he stepped back, the distance between you seemed impossibly vast, but the promise in your eyes and the love in his heart made the separation bearable, if only just. And when Sylus turned away, his heart was heavy but full of the hope that one day, you would find each other again. That one day, this distant love would become a cherished memory that you would look back on as you grow old and wrinkled, yet insurmountably happy and content with the life you had lived. With or without him.

PREVIOUS PART

#love and deepspace x reader #love & deepspace x reader #lads x reader #lads x you #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x yn #lds x reader #l&ds x reader #l&ds x you #sylus angst #sylus fanfic #l&ds sylus

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vamptizm · 3 months ago

Text

NOT A SECRET — paige bueckers

pairing : paige bueckers x wnba!fem!reader

synopsis : the bliss of winning the wnba championship causes a big slip up that exposes your relationship to the world

warnings : explicit language, alcohol, cigars and sexual innuendos (if you don’t like the new york liberty, you can replace it with your favourite team idc)

note : i haven’t checked for typos that thoroughly so… my bad

word count : 2.6k

What’s better than succeeding in life in almost every aspect? Sharing that success with someone you love and that loves you back, unconditionally and wholly. Meeting Paige Madison Bueckers had undoubtedly been one of the best things that life had blessed you with, other than your flourishing career. The two of you had met in 2019, both playing for team USA. Later on you would meet again at UConn, playing and succeeding alongside each other for the past four years. It wasn’t until barely a year ago, that the two of you decided to be brave enough to confess your love. But sadly, everything must end for a new chapter to begin, and here you were, living a two and a half hour drive from her to chase your dreams.

Luckily for you, Paige was the most dedicated and passionate girlfriend in the world, making it her mission to attend as many of your games during the playoff season as possible. Today was no different. It was her birthday, her special day, and here she was, supporting you. Hoping to celebrate you, rather than celebrating herself.

You were pacing around the open kitchen of your—extremely overprized—apartment, the nerves and anxiety eating at you like maggots, heart pounding in your throat and hands sweaty. This was by far, one of the most important games in your life so far, if not more important than the game against Iowa only six month ago.

“How about you stop walking around in circles and c’mere?” Paige spoke up from her spot on the malta-beige couch, arm slung over the back rest as her neck craned slightly to look back at you.

“I can’t, I feel like I’m about to throw up.” You spoke, your voice coming out almost like a choked whine, wiping your hands down on your sweatpants for the umpteenth time in the past hour.

You only had an hour left until you had to be ready and at the Barclays Center. Two and a half hours until the final game against the Minnesota Lynx began. You were a mess, and no one could blame you.

Sighing at your distressed state, the blonde lifted herself off of the couch, walking towards you with sympathetic eyes. She hated seeing you this way. It wasn’t the first time, and definitely wouldn’t be the last, but it never burdened her. If you needed to cling to her like a lifeline, she would be there. Every. Single. Time.

“Oh, baby. C’mere.” Her arms opened wide once she was standing a mere foot away from you, wrapping you into a hug. So tight and warm, so comforting and safe that for a moment, it felt like all your worries vanished into thin air. The only thing that mattered was the intoxicating scent and the protective warmth of your girlfriend.

You buried your face into the crook of her neck, arms wrapping around her waist as you allowed yourself to breathe—really breathe—for the first time since you had woken up. “I’m just scared. What if I mess up? What if I disappoint everyone and then I’ll be the rookie that ruined everything.” You mumble into her neck, voice slightly muffled but she understood you perfectly.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.” Paige’s voice was firm, yet it didn’t lack the tenderness and gentleness you so desperately needed. Her hands snaked up, pulling away from the hug just enough to be able to cup your face in them. “That’s bullshit and you know it. You’re on top of the league right now, if not the world. This is not going to ruin your career. It is not going to diminish everything you have achieved and you’re sure as hell not going to disappoint everyone.”

With her hands cradling your face, thumbs brushing against your cheeks and eyes looking deeply into yours, you couldn’t help but tear up. Maybe it was the stress, maybe the nerves, or maybe it was the reassurance and praise that not only her words offered, but her entire presence in that moment.

“You’re going to be great, just as you’ve always been. How many times have you felt just like this and ended up wiping the floor with everyone?”

The way she was looking down at you almost had your knees crumbling, so gentle and sincere. “You think so?” Your voice was quiet, barely above a whisper and if it had been any other situation, you would’ve cringed at yourself.

“Baby, I know so.” Paige didn’t have to say more than that. It was enough to boost your confidence from basement level, to the roof.

You didn’t say much either, choosing to bask in the moment, hands snaking up to lay over hers that were still cupping your face, looking up at her with glassy eyes and a faint smile. In that moment, it was only appropriate for you to inch closer, placing a soft and short kiss on her pillow soft lips.

A smile crept up on the blonde as you pulled back again, “So… How about ‘pre-game good luck’ head?”

“Well… Wait, No! I’m still in distress.”

The arena buzzed with a low hum of anticipation as you stood at the edge of the court, taking in the packed stands, the flashing lights, and the sea of Liberty blue and green. Your heart was pounding—though you'd had nerves all day, they'd sharpened now that the moment was upon you . You scanned the crowd, gaze catching Paige's in her seat near the front. Paige's steadying smile softened the sharp edges of Your anxiety, and you exhaled, focus narrowing. This was it. The moment you had been working your ass of for. It was now or never.

As the whistle blew, your nerves dissolved like mist, replaced by the razor focus of competition. Everything outside the court vanished, your only objective now to take down the Lynx and bring home a win for the team. But as the first quarter unfolded, it became clear this game wouldn't go as planned. Your team struggled to find their rhythm, their usual crisp passes and quick plays seeming off. Shots were bouncing off the rim, free throws missed their mark, and the Lynx defense was ruthless. Every time you managed to drive toward the basket, you felt hands clawing at your arms, hips bumping you hard off course. You fought to keep your form steady, but even your own three-pointers—normally a guaranteed lifeline—fell just short. Beside you, Sabrina was playing through visible pain, her movements cautious, hindered by her UCL injury.

Paige's chest tightened with each missed shot and lost point, her eyes tracking your every move. She could see your frustration mounting, shoulders tensing after every failed attempt, and every bit of her wanted to rush down there, to shield you from the weight of this game. Tell you that she believed in you more than anything.

By halftime, the Liberty had fallen behind by nearly double digits. You felt your stomach knot and churn as you walked back down the tunnel toward the locker room, breath shaky, mind racing over every failed shot, every error. Before you knew it, hot tears were spilling down your cheeks, stinging with the shame of coming up short. You barely noticed the footsteps trailing you until you heard Paige's voice calling out her name, a beacon of comfort piercing her distress.

You slowed and turned, and there was your girlfriend, just outside the locker room door, her eyes brimming with concern. A teasing voice broke the tension—Stewie, giving you a gentle nudge on the shoulder. "Hey, save some of those tears for the win, rook. You're not out of this yet."

Despite yourself, you let out a shaky laugh, and then you were in Paige's arms, face buried against her shoulder. You clung to her, breathing in the familiar scent and drawing strength from your girlfriend's embrace. "I'm playing like shit right now," you mumbled, voice thick with disappointment.

She tilted your chin up, meeting your eyes with steady determination. "Hey, look at me. You've been through worse than this. Most of these people today are here to watch you. You're gonna go back out there and you're gonna play your game. I know you. You're not done." Her words wrapped around you like armor, steadying your nerves. With a last kiss on the cheek, Paige whispered, "Go show them who you are, Ma."

Buoyed by the reassurance, you returned to the court for the second half with renewed fire only ten minutes later. Your team began to close the gap, each player digging deep as they fought to find their rhythm. Your shots began to connect, and your movements were sharper, cleaner, feeding off your team's newfound energy. You could feel Paige's eyes on you from the stands, grounding you with every step.

By the time the game went into overtime, your team had clawed their way to a slim four-point lead, the clock ticking down the final seconds. With a fierce determination, you seized her moment—gripping the ball just past half-court, you made the reckless decision in a split second. You set your stance and launched a deep three-pointer, watching as the ball arched high into the air. The arena fell silent, everyone holding their breath as it spun toward the basket.

And then—swish. The ball dropped cleanly through the net, and the crowd erupted, an unstoppable wave of sound crashing over the court. Your teammates surged around you, pulling you into hugs and shouting in joy, their faces bright with triumph. You felt the overwhelming relief, the weight of victory sinking in as tears of happiness filled your eyes.

Amid the chaos, your gaze instinctively searched for Paige, who was already standing by her seat, pride radiating from her. Without thinking, you ran toward her, your heart full to bursting. When you reached Paige, your threw your arms around her, catching her in a fierce embrace. Before either of you registered what you were doing, you pressed a kiss to Paige's lips, the world melting away in that single moment. You were on cloud nine and nothing could bring you down, anytime soon.

Paige held you close, tears shimmering in her own eyes as she whispered, "I'm so proud of you, Baby. You fucking did it."

And for the first time in a long time, you felt the weight of every struggle, every doubt, lifted, replaced by the solid warmth of love, victory, and the freedom to embrace who you truly were.

But then it dawned on you. The sudden realization of what you had just done and your face dropped, heart pounding impossibly faster in your throat all while Paige continued to hold you close. "Oh my god... Oh. My. God." You could barely manage to find the words, the guilt of what you had just done so impulsively hitting you like a wave and throwing you off that thrown you had been sitting on just a mere minute ago.

"I'm so sorry. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck... Oh god, I fucked up. The whole world just saw that, what do we do?" It was clear as day that you were panicking, the fear of disappointing your girlfriend eating away at you.

Paige however, didn't seem to have lost that smile on her face, her bright eyes almost blinding with the sparkle that shimmered in them, all while gazing at you. "I don't care. We've talked about this before, I want the world to know."

"Really?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, not trusting yourself to keep it from cracking in that moment.

"Yes, really. I would be fucking insane if I had anything against the world knowing that I'm not only dating the most wonderful person alive, but also a champion."

Your frown quickly turned upside down into a small smile, heart searing with love and pride. Not only were you a winner tonight, but with her on your side, you'd be a winner for the rest of your life.

"Now go and celebrate, you deserve it." The blonde began to release you from her grip, a soft grin playing on her lips.

"Come with me." You suggested instantly, not wanting to be apart from her for even just a second, if you didn't have to. "I wanna show off my prettier trophy on her birthday."

Paige's grin melted into a smirk, the sparkle in her blue eyes suddenly clouded and you had to make sure that your own eyes weren't playing tricks on you. "Your trophy, huh? Oh, I'm gonna fuck you so good when we get back home, champ."

Back in the locker room, the team was in full championship mode. As you and Paige stepped in, you were instantly drenched with a spray of ice-cold champagne, your teammates laughing and cheering as they each took turns celebrating. The room was filled with a mix of joyous shouts, laughter, and the sticky-sweet smell of champagne spilling from bottles held high. You could feel the bubbles fizzing on your skin, jersey soaked through, but none of that mattered—this was the taste of victory, and you drank it in like the best moment of your life.

Stewie grinned, grabbing a cigar and offering it to you with a proud nod. “Here you go, rook. You’ve earned it.”

You took it with a chuckle, feeling the weight of the cigar in your hand as you looked around at your ecstatic teammates. You didn’t smoke often, but right now, it felt like the perfect way to mark the moment. As you lit up, you took a slow draw and exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the air, feeling an odd thrill in the movement. Around you, your teammates roared in laughter and cheered you on, playfully tousling your hair and congratulating you as you relaxed further into the moment.

Paige stood slightly apart from the chaos, watching you with an expression of open admiration. Paige’s gaze lingered on you, catching every spark of joy in your eyes, every smile, and every bit of laughter that spilled from your lips. She let herself soak in the sight, wanting to imprint it on her memory—this perfect image of you, triumphant and glowing, a little champagne-drunk and flushed from the celebration. She didn’t care about the sticky residue of the champagne on her own skin or the faint smell of smoke in the air; all she could focus on was you, looking impossibly beautiful.

As you took another drag, exhaling the smoke with an air of confidence that was as charming as it was unfamiliar, Paige’s heart skipped a beat. There was something about the way you held herself tonight, bold and carefree, that sent a shiver down Paige’s spine.

You caught Paige’s eyes and, with a giggle, took a playful step toward her, the effects of the champagne clear in your soft, relaxed gaze. “Are you okay over there?” you teased, tilting your head with a grin, clearly catching on to Paige’s stare.

Paige’s lips curled into a smirk, her voice low as she leaned in, brushing a hand along your arm. “Oh, I’m doing great,” she murmured, her tone filled with a hint of mischief. “Just… can’t wait to get you home.”

Your eyes sparkled with a playful challenge as you smirked right back, the faint scent of champagne and cigar smoke hanging in the air between them. “I’m all yours in an hour or so,” you whispered, leaning in close enough that only Paige could hear.

“Longest hour of my life,” Paige replied, her voice barely above a breath, her eyes gleaming with anticipation as they lingered on your smile.

The locker room buzzed around you, but in that moment, you both were in your own world, two people tangled in a look filled with promises for later, ready to savor every bit of this win—together.

#⇢ ˗ˏˋ vamptizm writes ࿐ྂ #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #wnba #uconn huskies

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satorusugurugurl · 11 months ago

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My Wedding Date is an Escort!

Summary: When invited to your best friend's wedding, you panic. One of the groomsmen, Toji Fushiguro, is your ex-fiancè. Not wanting to deal with probing questions and the embarrassment of being single, your friend Haibara recommends using an Escort! Taking a leap of faith, you book one, the hottest one. Gojo Satoru is hot, sweet, and funny! The package deal! Men and Women pay thousands to go on a date with him (even more, which he doesn't do often). So when your request comes in, the desperation and pleading tone of your voice. Gojo’s heartthrobs, even more so when you tell him you don't want to have sex.

Pairing: Escort!Gojo x FAB Reader

Word Count: 3,682

Warning: Mentions of depression, anxiety, language

A/N: And so part one is complete!! Please let me know what you think! I plan on posting a new part every Saturday! In the mean time I will work on my brain worm fics/requests!!

Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

Gold calligraphy mocked you as you stared at the wedding invitation on your table. Any normal person would have been elated over their best friend getting married. The dresses, cake, looking at venues! It should have been a happy, wonderful time.

And it would have been amazing if your best friend had met her fiance through anyone other than Toji Zenin. Your ex-fiance, the man who broke your heart, who was also the groomsman at the wedding! The same wedding you were a bridesmaid in.

Life fucking hated you.

Your break up was a year and a half ago. It was tucking painful, watching the life and future you had imagined slip away. You were inconsolable for the first few months, but any other person would feel the same if their fiance broke up with them the way Toji had done to you. Part of you liked to think you were getting better; you knew you weren't healed completely.

The closer the wedding came, the more nervous and sick you got. In a month, you would have to face Toji for the first time in over a year. He was doing much better off than you. He got married! He was now Toji Fushiguro and he and his wife had a son!

Fate was a cruel bitch. He was living his dreams: a house, a pretty wife, a sweet, beautiful son. Toji got everything he wanted while you sunk into the darkness of despair. Toji had ruined you, marked you in ways you weren't sure you'd ever heal from. You never wanted to be hurt like that again. That's why you were single.

Single and traumatized. Perfect intro on your dating profile. So yeah, dating wasn't your thing right now.

Which puts you in a messy fucking predicament. You would be at a wedding with your Ex, who was living the life you had always wanted. Why was he given happily ever after while you were left to pick up the pieces of your broken heart? You could already see the pitiful expressions that your loved ones would be wearing, and that made your skin crawl with anxiety.

You could not show up to the wedding alone.

Which is why you were sitting in your kitchen, drowning in anxiety. You stared at your laptop, bouncing your leg nervously as you scrolled on Escorts4y0u.com. Damn, Yu Haibara, for suggesting this to you. You were shopping for a fuckin’ escort!?

You shot his insane suggestion down as soon as he said it. You had begun ranting about how even more embarrassing it would be if your family found out. First, your fiance leaves you a month before your wedding. Then you go and pay for someone to pretend to be your boyfriend all because you couldn’t bear yourself to start dating again?

Amid your nervous rant, Haibara just put his hand on yours. He assured you that no one would know that they were an escort. If they were good at their job, all your family would see was a happy couple. They would be someone to go to the wedding with, and once you paid them, you would never see them again! No one would be the wiser.

“It's their job to make you feel good and help you have a good time. And you deserve to be happy.” Haibara had said with pity in his eyes. Just thinking about his face, that expression, made you cringe to think of the faces of everyone at the wedding.

“Fuck it.” You cursed, clicking on the escort you liked the most.

Gojo Satoru, twenty-eight years old. His profile listed that he was well-educated and came from a prestigious clan. He was charismatic, confident, and kind. You read dozens of reviews. His previous clients gushed over him. All five stars, every single person he’d helped was grateful for him. Plus, Gojo was very attractive. He had pure white hair, was over six feet tall, and had the most stunning blue eyes you'd ever seen. He was the ideal partner anyone would want to take home to meet the family.

Which would explain why he was the most expensive escort on the website.

“¥120,000 for a day!?” You screeched as you bounced your leg faster, doing the mental math in your head. “That’s ¥900,000.00 for a week.” The mere amount of money you were about to spend almost had you slamming your laptop shut. But Haibara’s face crossed your mind; Toji’s face began to form before you shook your head.

Hiring Gojo was your only option. You had to do this to avoid getting hurt again. Plus, you had to use the deposit from your honeymoon eventually. It would be like burying the past!

“Okay, okay, you got this; just book it Y/N!” Getting up, you jumped up and down to hype yourself up before you hit the green phone icon and dialed the number. The phone rang once and twice.

“This is Gojo!” A gruff but cheery voice answered.

You’re sure your soul left your body as you squealed in shock. He answered!? The man you were going not only to pay but also beg to pretend to be your boyfriend?!

“Hello?” A faint hint of humor and curiosity laced the voice in your ear.

You groaned, rubbing your hand down your face with a whine. “S-Sorry, I was expecting a receptionist for something.” You put the phone on speaker before hitting your head against your table.

“Oh! My bad, sorry!” His chuckle was a deep noise through the receiver. “We put our business numbers on the site. It’s just easier for us to schedule our clients like this.” He hummed. “I assume you’re on the escort website?”

“Yes, I—I was wondering if you might be free next month for a wedding? It’s my best friend.”

“Give me a sec.” Shuffling papers filled your anxiety. “A month from today?”

“Yes.”

Gojo hummed happily, “I am free that whole week! So will it be the wedding and reception?” A pen could be heard writing down notes.

”So it’s uhm, it’s a destination wedding. It’s in Kyoto, and I need you for the whole week. If that’s not an issue or problem.”

”Okay, that shouldn’t be an issue. It’s far enough out that I can block my schedule.” He whistled happily, jotting down more notes. “So the whole week, wedding, reception—“

For some odd reason, it sounded like he was hesitating or weighing his options, questioning if he wanted to even take you on as a client. The growing fear of rejection spreads like wildfire through your stomach. You never used to feel like this; you were so happy and confident before. But after everything Toji did, what he said to you after you had—well, it left some really deep scars that still hadn’t healed. When your mind picked at those still healing wounds, making them bleed, you acted before thinking.

”I have the money!” Gripping the table's edge, you stared at Gojo’s headshot on the website. “Please, I need this!”

“Hey, hey! I’m not worried about the money, sweetheart.” His voice was thick like honey; the pet name sounded so sweet. “I’m just making sure I got everything down.” On the other line, Gojo looked down at his calendar. There was something in your voice, desperation, that was genuine.

He’d had tons of clients, and many of them needed help. But in his two years of working in this field, he had never heard such a raw plea for help. Gojo’s interest peaked. Just who were you? What made you so anxious and desperate for his help?

”Let me confirm the details so I can put you in my books, Ms.?” He waited for your name, hearing you sigh in relief as you calmed yourself down

”Y/N, my name is Y/N Y/L/N.”

”Y/N,” Gojo repeated, “Okay, I have you down for next month, the whole week, for a destination wedding in Kyoto.”

You were sighing happily as you relaxed into your chair. “Thank you. It’s 900,000.00. For the whole week?” Gojo cocked an eyebrow, grinning at your straightforward attitude.

”Depends, will food and hotel be included?”

“Yes, we’ll be staying at my parents' inn; they offered to host my friend's wedding. So food, money, and accommodations will be included. Plus, I’ll take care of your travel expenses.”

Gojo turned in his desk chair, biting his lip as he listened to your stern voice. “Okay, so it’s going to be ¥600,000. A lot of the cost goes to food and hotels. Since you’re taking care of it, you get a lovely discount, sweetheart.” A scoff sounded from his phone, making him smile even wider.

”Great, lucky me.”

Gojo bit his lip, chuckling. “Did you want any other additions?”

“If you’re asking if I want to include your other services, no. I don’t need sex.”

“Don’t need sex?” He perked up as Suguru, his roommate, peeked in, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Seriously?”

You gave the phone a confused look as if you were looking at Gojo yourself. “Yes, I’m dead serious.” The line went utterly silent before rich, stunned laughter filled your kitchen.

”Well shit, that’s a first!”

”Glad I could keep you on your toes, Gojo.”

”Nope.”

You blinked. “No, what?” Gojo snickered as you picked up your phone heading into your room.

”I’m going to be your boyfriend. You have a month, one month, to get used to saying my first name.” The seriousness of his tone made you stop in your tracks. “So it’s Satoru to you, Y/N.”

With a blush dusting your cheeks, you giggled, shaking your head. “Alright, that makes sense. Thank you, Satoru.”

”You’re welcome, Y/N. I’ll see you in a month.”

In one month, you were ¥600,000 poorer, and your nerves were shot as you searched for your fake boyfriend at the train station coffee shop. In the last month, you had spoken to Goj—Satoru twice over the. Once to book his services and yesterday to discuss where you were meeting. His company took care of everything else.

It was still surreal that you hired an escort to be your date, and you were waiting for a stranger at a coffee shop. This wasn't like you; it was so unbelievable. You sipped your coffee, looking around anxiously.

It was like a Greek God walked in. He was tall, like his profile said, over six-three. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes as his white fluffy hair bounced with every step. Straightening, you hesitated before lifting your hand and waving at your fake boyfriend. Seeing your arm raised, Gojo grinned, bounding forward as he pulled his sunglasses off.

“Hi! Are you Y/N?” You stood, swallowing as he still towered over you. God, he was dressed nice, all designer brand clothes. Which wasn't surprising with the amount of money you dropped to spend a week with him.

“Yes, I'm Y/L/N Y/N.” You handed him a cup of coffee that he took before sitting at the table. “Thank you again for doing this.”

Gojo grabbed six sugar packets, ripped them open, and poured all of them into his coffee. “Oh, you're welcome! I love seeing people happy.” Your eyes followed his hands as he poured cream into the coffee. “So, what's our story? That way, we're on the same page.” You couldn't help but smile as he sipped the sugary coffee with a grin.

“You have a sweet tooth?” Gojo hummed, taking another drink. “Maybe I'll make you something at the inn; I'm a pastry chef.” Gojo’s eyes went wide as you ran your fingers over the lid of your cup. “That’s a good story, we met at the bakery I wor—”

“You're a pastry chef?!” Gojo’s eyes sparkled. “Seriously?! What shop?!”

“Uhm, I work at Ichigo Cafe? It's in downtown Tokyo.”

“I love that place! The mochi there is the best!” His words had your cheeks burning your cheeks. “The cakes, the ice cream! Hell, the coffee is good too.”

You twirl your thumbs together. “Thank you, as the head chef, that makes me happy.” Satoru sat back, smiling sweetly. “So I uhm, yeah, that's a good story.”

“Yeah, it does. How long have we been together?”

The two of you settled on five months. That way, it was still pretty new. The whole time, Satoru nodded and added to your cover story. Thank god he was easy to talk to, putting your nerves at ear by the time your coffee was finished. Together, you were optimistic that you and Satoru could get through this week without a hiccup.

You both settled in on the train, getting to know each other more like favorite colors, foods, likes, and dislikes. Satoru didn't drink, had a major sweet tooth, and did his escorting gig full-time. He lived with his roommate and best friend, Geto Suguru, and he had a lot of free time.

You told him everything about yourself: likes, dislikes, favorite color, hell, even your blood type. But as the conversation began to dwindle, Satoru tilted his head. Sure, all that stuff was good now for the coming week, but he wanted to know more. Like why you hired him and why you ‘don’t do sex.’ That question had plagued his mind for the last month.

“Can I ask why you hired me?” His question had your head snapping up. “I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but you've been tense since we got on the train. There's more to this than just wanting a date to a wedding.”

“Uhh, is that obvious? I'm sorry. It's just my ex-fiance is at the wedding party with me.” Satoru paid close attention to how your eyes darkened as you looked out the window. “Our breakup was a shock since it happened a month before our wedding. So, I have all these trust issues, and I don't want to date anyone. Because it's easier not to get hurt if you don't put yourself out there.”

“Why did he break up with you?”

“Why didn't he?” The tone of your voice and words had Satoru peeking up. Not in curiosity but surprisingly in anger. Satoru had seen a lot of women and men in his days as an escort. Many are desperate, lonely, and want to have a good time. But whoever had broken your heart had hurt. You in more ways than one. “There were a lot of things that he uhm—listed off.”

You quickly changed the subject, much too fast for Satoru’s liking. But he wasn’t the type to pry, especially when it came to the feelings and comfort of his clients. So he let you change the subject. And the rest of the train ride to Kyoto, even up to your family's inn, the subject stayed clear of your ex. It was bad enough you’d be seeing him soon; you would much rather not talk about him before you saw his face.

You stood in front of the door to your family's inn. Satoru grabbed your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours as you took a deep breath. “Hey, we got this.” God, you hoped Satoru was right; this had to go perfectly.

Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, you stepped inside. The laughter and distant conversations echoed off the halls as wedding guests conversed and chatted while wandering around. You spotted your mother carrying a tray. She took one glance at you before looking away.

”Oh, Y/N darling, good you’re here. Whenever you get a chance, could you help me make some treats for afternoon tea? Everyone is instant with trying those matcha cookies you made last year.” After years of helping out, in the end, your body began to move on muscle memory, but Satoru stopped you, pulling you into his side with a grin.

“Hey, don’t just up and leave me. At least introduce me to your family first, sweetheart.” The bustling, noisy chatter around you stopped as your family and friends just seemed to notice the giant man standing beside you. His arm wrapped around your waist as he leaned down to kiss your temple. “My poor sweet girl is already in work mode. I thought this was supposed to be a vacation.”

”Right, of course, I’m sorry, Satoru. Everyone, this is my boyfriend, Gojo Satoru.”

”Eh!?”

Those sad, pitful reactions you had been so familiar with over the last year and a half were nowhere to be found on the faces of your loved ones. They were faces of shock, curiosity, and joy. A much better reaction, one that had you letting out a shaky breath you had no idea you were holding in. As you basked in relief, dark eyes watched the two of you, reading you.

The afternoon went off without a hitch. Satoru fit in with any conversation thrown his way. From what he did for a living to how the two of you met, he never stuttered or looked to you for help. He was exactly what you needed. With Gojo by your side, you knew you could get through this wedding without losing yourself in the darkness again.

You owed Haibara big time for this.

After the two of you answered several rounds of twenty questions and an early dinner, you and Satoru stepped into your room. You shut the door, sliding back against it as you shut your eyes. “Oh my gosh, that went much better than anticipated.” Satoru chuckled, setting both of your luggage off in the corner of the room.

“You did great.” His praise had you smiling more. “Seriously, this will be a walk in the park!”

You wanted to agree with him, but your mouth remained shut. That was just your family you met with. Things might be a different story when you face Toji. Because despite you not wanting him to, you knew he could read you like a book. He always could tell when you weren’t feeling the best or something was wrong. But maybe, if you keep playing your card right, you might be able to fool him, too.

”Yeah, a walk in the park.” You looked around the room, relieved to find the futon already laid out for you both. But it was missing the extra pillows you had asked for. The pillows that were going to be used to separate you and Satoru. “Huh, I thought my dad said the pillows would be here when we got to the room. I’ll be right back; the shower is just to the right if you want to wash up first.”

“Awesome, thanks a lot.”

As you reached for the door, the handle turned, startling you. Satoru moved so fast, his arms wrapping around you as the door opened wide. “Have you ever heard of knocking before? My girlfriend and I could have been doing something. If you saw that, I would have had to charge you for the show.” Satoru started as the door opened wide, revealing the person standing in front of it, four pillows in his arms.

”You seriously think I believe that?”

Your body went rigid as you stared into the dark eyes of the man who broke your heart. “T-Toji? What are you doing here?” You learned further back into Satoru’s chest, trying to put distance between the man that had stained your life.

“Bringing you your pillows.” He motioned his chin down at them to emphasize his words. “Look, we need to talk.”

Satoru could feel your breath quicken, your chest moving faster with each inhale you took. From your reaction, he could figure out just who exactly this asshole was. This dark-haired asshole who just barged into your room had to be the ex you didn’t want to talk about in any way, shape, or form. Looking at him, Satoru came to one conclusion without even knowing the guy. He was a fucking prick.

”Look, Toji, I’m exhausted. I don't want to talk right now.” You snatched the pillows away from him. “Satoru and I were going to get ready for bed. I require some TLC tonight.” You went to shut the door, but Toji placed his palm against it, preventing it from moving.

”Please, you and I both know this isn’t your boyfriend. I need to talk to you now. Tell your friend here he can fucking wait until our conversation is over.”

The tone and mere attitude of the prick in the door had Satoru seeing red. He released you, turning you to face him, glaring daggers at the man spewing toxic commands. “I’m not a friend.” Satoru spit out the last word. In a flash, his hand gripped your chin, turning you towards him. His other hand rested on the back of your head, pulling you into a kiss.

It was your first kiss in a year and a half, a kiss that was full of rage and passion like you had never experienced before. Satoru’s kiss was for show, but fuck, it had your knees buckling. You matched his pace, kissing him back urgently. His hands tangled in your hair while you fisted his shirt. You prayed that this mini-makeout session was enough to fool your ex. Satoru pulled away to glare at Toji. His chest rose and fell as he slowly licked his bottom lip with a smirk.

“My girlfriend and I were just getting ready to bed, if you caught the drift. If she wants to talk to you tomorrow, she’ll find you. Later.” Without another word, Satoru slammed the door in Toji’s face before turning to face you.

”Wow.” Was all you could manage to say as you ran your fingers over your lips. Seeing you do that while hearing your breathless voice had Satoru fifty shades of red. In his whole career as an escort, he has never lost his cool like that until he was with you.

Oh, he was fucked.

(TBC)

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steveslevis · 9 months ago

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i love you, it’s ruining my life

azriel x cassian's sister!reader - part 2 of 3

summary: Rhysand sends you on the mission to Windhaven alone, and things do not go as planned.

warnings: mentions of violence/blood, poison, mentions of previous assault and past trauma, Azriel being oblivious and upset again

word count: 5.5k

Windhaven, the place you once called home.

Now the place you avoided at all costs, the place where you lived through your worst nightmares and recollected them every single night while trying to sleep in the hell hole of a cabin you were going to be staying in for the night.

You tried your hardest to forget about the night that would haunt you for the rest of eternity, tried to will it from your memory, tried to put up an obsidian wall around it to lock it in.

But there was no forgetting what happened to you, not now, not ever. There was no trusting a male fully ever again, all thanks to the Illyrian customs.

Cillian was the first and last male you ever trusted. He gained your trust, made you fall in love with him, then ripped you to shreds, mentally and physically. The only male you ever trusted was the same one who lured you into that wretched cabin alone and held you down with a knife.

I love you, he had whispered in your ear all those years ago while pinning you to the floor, your wings spread as the knife pressed against one of the central tendons, I just have to do this so everyone knows you’re mine. So you can be a normal Illyrian female.

He was mere centimeters from clipping your wings when Rhysand heard your silent cries, busting into the cabin, making the wicked male scramble away in fear of what might happen to him.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep at all during your stay in the camp, but it was probably better that way. That way you could stay on guard all night, that way you could watch your own back. You had to prove to Rhysand and the rest of the Inner Circle that you could be treated like a grown female, that you were willing to do anything for the Night court.

There wasn’t much time when you arrived at the cabin, you had to set your bag inside and leave almost immediately, heading towards Lord Devlon’s hall for dinner.

As much as Devlon hated your brother, he had nothing but respect for you. That might be partially due to the threats you’d set into his mind a few hundred years ago, or the fact that you’d beat him during training multiple times, but the reason didn’t matter. It was more beneficial for you to be the one to show your face in Windhaven this time around and you knew that, regardless of how much it made your stomach turn. It was important that someone from the Inner Circle came to Windhaven every once in a while under the guise of making sure the camp was still in order, so this was the perfect opportunity to gain important insight as well.

So you sat at the long table for dinner, chatting with those around you in the most civil tone that you could. You couldn’t bear to eat in all honesty, just the thought of having to stay in the cursed cabin for even eight hours for sleep was enough to make you lose all appetite. So, you opted for pushing around some potatoes and meat on your plate all while chugging down four glasses of faerie wine throughout the two hours you were there.

You coincidentally sat to the right of Cormac during the meal, who had Balvard sitting on the left of him, making it almost too easy for you to infiltrate their minds and figure out their foolish plan. The two of them were under the impression that they would be able to take out Devlon with a faebane dagger and control the camps with ease. It made you scoff to yourself when you discovered that neither of them had a backup plan, as if that was going to work out so smoothly for them.

The remainder of dinner after finding out the information you needed consisted of you bantering with some of the Illyrians you had grown up next to, ones who had turned into great warriors through training at Windhaven. The sun had been set for hours by the time you made your way back to the cabin, setting up some wards as you stepped over the threshold.

Exhaustion hit you almost immediately upon changing into your sleep clothes, eyelids heavy as you relaxed onto your side in the large bed next to the fire you’d just lit. You’d assumed you would be wired at this point, you’d planned on not sleeping at all due to the fear instilled deep in your bones.

You cuddled into the blankets, the familiar scent of your old home giving you an eerily comforted feeling passing through your gut. Solace filled you once you threw up a final shield around the small cabin, setting you at ease to know nobody could come in unless you let them in.

Before you knew it, you were fast asleep on the bed.

You awoke a few hours later, disturbed by the noise of the front door swinging open. Your body felt paralyzed in the moment, lethargy taking you over as you slowly turned your head towards the noise. It felt like everything was moving in slow motion as you watched the two males stalk through the door, unable to react in any way as your eyes trailed up to see Cormac and Balvard stepping over the threshold. The smirks on their faces told you everything you needed to know about what was about to happen.

You wracked your brain for how this could’ve happened, how you were immobilized by these two lowly, evil men in front of you, how you fell into their trap so easily, and how the hell you were completely unable to use any power or energy in this moment.

Faebane.

How could you be so foolish? You should’ve known better than to drink the wine so freely at a table of men you barely knew, especially after infiltrating Cormac and Balvard’s minds and discovering they wanted to use the same fucking poison on Devlon.

“Stupid female.” Balvard spat at you as Cormac inched closer to you, hand reaching out for your ankle. “You really thought you could come here, infiltrate our fucking minds to find out our plans, and just get away with it?”

You couldn’t speak, it was like someone was pressing down on your throat as you tried to breathe, there had been some gloriella in your wine, too, you were sure of it. Your body was pulled from the bed and flipped over in one swift tug, you were thrown onto the floor in an instant.

Images of Cillian flashed through your mind as your helpless form was pushed onto the floor, images of his wicked grin that matched the ones both of the males in front of you were wearing currently.

A silent tear slid down your cheek as Balvard spoke, but you couldn’t hear his words. He was still rambling on about how stupid of a female you were, and how you deserved nothing but pain after what you were planning to do to them, but you tried your hardest to drown them out.

There was nothing you could do at this point, as Balvard held your legs down, as Cormac pinned your wings with one large hand while the other pulled a sizable knife from its sheath. There was nothing you could do but close your eyes and hope that it would be over soon.

You had never felt this helpless before, not even when Cillian had pinned you down. At least then you were able to fight back, at least then you had a shred of dignity and pride left, at least then you hadn’t been so foolish as to let someone fucking poison you.

You cursed yourself internally as you squeezed your eyes shut, pain rippling through your body at the first slash of the knife against your wing. The first cut was against the base of your right wing, a long slash that would take months to heal, if it ever did.

A prayer to the Gods repeated itself in your mind as you felt the blood trickle from your wing and onto your back. Your heart ached as the silent tears flowed, wandering to the furthest corners of your mind as you tried to think of anything aside from the pain that was being inflicted upon you. It took everything in you to realize that you had a sliver of power still running through your veins, just enough to call out to your daemati brother, Rhys.

As you shot a quick thought down the bridge of Rhysand’s mind, you were met with a welcoming talon of power. You could feel his concern as you pushed one-worded thoughts to him to get his attention.

Everything alright, sister? He questioned through your mind, urging you to let him see what you’d experienced in the last twelve hours with a kind caress of his power in your mind.

You only had enough power to cry out silently to him, Send help, please. Your mind was closed to him as quickly as it had opened, everything went dark on your end as your energy ran out and you were blinded with even more pain, throwing you quickly into unconsciousness.

The next thing you remembered was waking up to the sound of wailing and begging from behind you, the two men who had you pinned down minutes before were thrown against the wall as their High Lord took pleasure in tearing them to shreds in a slow and painful death. The cries came to a sudden halt moments later, Rhys growing tired of their begging as he decided to shatter their minds and put you out of your misery as quickly as possible.

“R–Rhys–” you sob once their cries stopped, unable to do anything aside from lift a weak finger to point towards the man in the doorframe.

The High Lord’s gaze turns from one of pure rage to one of a worried friend once his violet eyes flick toward where you lay in the middle of the cabin. He takes in the sight in front of him slowly, your pained expression and tear-stained cheeks There’s blood pooled around your midsection, drenching your sleep shirt as you pant in pain on the dusty wooden floor. One of your wings looks fractured in multiple spots, while the other one is mangled from the beginnings of a mutilation.

The sight made Rhysand shudder with anger, fists tight at his sides as he slipped into your mind in order to understand the extent of the situation you found yourself in. You let him in without resistance, unable to hold any kind of mental shield up anymore.

They were going to clip your wings, take away the one thing you had to remind you of your mother, take away the one thing you held so dearly, take away your ability to fly. They were going to make you into the ideal complicit Illyrian female before wiping your memory of the entire night, which he assumed from the extremely prohibited memory tonic rolling on the floor next to you.

Rhys was glad he’d shattered the two traitors inside and out once your memories were collected, realizing how ruthless they had been with you moments before he stormed in.

“D–Don’t tell Cassian.” you plead, eyes focused on Rhys as he took another step into the cabin.

Your pleas took Rhys back to that fateful night all those years ago, the night he found you in this same room, sobbing in the middle of the room after being defiled by another Illyrian male who he nearly ripped to ribbons in the same exact spot where Cormac and Balvard laid in the corner, the male who fled from Windhaven the next morning, likely from threats from Rhysand himself.

Four hundred and fifty years ago was when he vowed to protect you like his own sister. You had begged him that night not to tell Cassian about what he’d seen, the vulnerable state the situation had left you in. The two of you had even made a bargain that night, that he would never be able to reveal the truth about what happened, so long as you remained loyal to him and his family, which he knew you would do regardless.

Four hundred and fifty years ago he promised to be the one to look out for you and make sure you were protected in situations you knew your brother’s unadulterated rage couldn’t handle.

And now, four hundred and fifty years after that fateful day, he’d failed you.

Rhys gave you a sympathetic look, opening his mouth to speak in response to your request, but was interrupted by your brother pushing through the doorway past him. Cassian nearly tripped over his own two feet at the sight of you, stomach churning when he saw your mangled wings slumped on the wood over your limp body.

“Don’t look, Cass.” you beg your brother as he stares at you with wide eyes, knowing the sight will spin him into a fit of rage. In your dazed state, you could see him beginning to seethe at the possibilities of what could’ve happened to you, his breaths quickening at the thought.

Before Cassian can reply, Rhys slips into his mind. She needs her brother right now, not the Lord of Bloodshed ready to avenge her. Let’s get her back to the house before you make any rash decisions, we can come back and rip whoever else deserves it to shreds once she’s safe.

Cassian chokes on a breath as Rhysand tries to reassure him that you’ll be alright. It takes everything in him to compose himself, but he does it for you, his twin, his fiery sister who he’d take an ash arrow to the heart for.

“I can’t—can’t feel—“ you choke out, squirming and groaning in pain as Cassian picks you up from the floor. “My w—wings. I can’t feel them. Did they—they take them away?”

Your pained words strike Cassian like a dagger to the heart, tears welling up as he thinks about how much pain you had to be in.

“No, I promise. They didn’t take them away. They’re–they’re still there, Y/N. It—It’ll be okay,” your brother says in a stern tone as he chokes back his own tears, eyes wide as he watches you struggle in his arms while walking through the cabin’s front door. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

It sounded almost like he was trying to convince himself that it would all be okay as he shot into the sky with you curled up in his arms.

You were in and out of consciousness the entirety of the flight back to the House of Wind, babbling nonsense as Cassian tried to keep you stable in his arms.

The entire Inner Circle was already at the house when Cassian landed, an air of worry carrying through the group as they saw the state of you, more specifically the state of your wings.

Rhysand immediately called for Madja upon seeing the extent of your injuries, and ordered Cassian to take you to your room and to keep you awake until she arrived.

Cassian was up the stairs in a flash, Feyre and Mor on his heels as he rushed to your room, with Azriel quietly following behind them. He laid you on your side, your bloodied wings spread across the bed as you curled up near the edge of the large bed. Your eyes landed on Feyre as he stepped away, a dazed smile spreading across your lips as you reached out a hand for her.

The High Lady gives you a small smile in return, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, which were filled with worry. She grabs your hand, squeezing it gently as she begins to tell you something that you really can’t comprehend over the ringing in your ears.

After a while of her speaking to you and you babbling nonsense in return, you try to sit up abruptly. Both Cassian and Feyre are on you in an instant, pushing you gently back onto your side, quickly telling you that you need to lay down and stay there.

“What is it?” Feyre asks quickly, gripping your hand as you easily give up and fall onto the bed, “Is something wrong, do you need something?”

“Az…” you whimper, fighting the urge to fall asleep right then and there, “W—Where’s Azriel?”

The shadowsinger had been outside the door keeping watch, but his shadows had been listening in on the conversation within as well. The shadows curled around his ear, whispering your name to him, telling him that you requested him, so he silently strode in when he heard. Your tired eyes lit up at the sight of him in the doorway, hand slipping from Feyre’s to weakly beckon him over to you.

Something about seeing you in this state tugged on his heart, tugged on it so much it felt like it was going to rip from his chest. He couldn’t deny your request for him to come closer, not when you looked so desperate and in so much pain, not when his absence in Windhaven was part of the reason you were in this situation in the first place.

He made a mental note to ask Rhys who did this to you as he made his way over to the chair Feyre left for him to sit in, wanting nothing more than to show them what Truth Teller could do.

Azriel’s hand fell next to you on the bed and you immediately rested your own atop his, grinning widely as what felt like delusion set into your bones. Shadows twined around your fingers while the others skittered across your wings as if to soothe them.

“They may—may not be able to save my wings, Az.” you choked out, a bitter giggle coming out as you spoke.

“I’m sure Madja will be able to heal you right up, Y/N. You’ll be better in no time.” Azriel assured you, but he wasn’t sure that was entirely true. “She’ll be here any minute.”

“I—I don’t even care. I just—just need my mate.” you say abruptly while shaking your head, voice barely above a whisper now as you stare at the male, glassy eyes meeting his sharp yet confused gaze.

“Mate?” he replies with a furrowed brow, lips drawing into a frown at your words. He was wondering if you even knew what you were saying at this point, if you were just saying whatever came to your disoriented mind.

“Mate.” you say a little louder this time and the whole room is silent as you reach out for Azriel, your shaky and blood-crusted hand coming up to stroke his cheek. “My mate.”

Your eyes fluttered close with those words, a smile on your lips as you’re overtaken by sleep in the moment. Your hand falls from Azriel’s cheek and onto his lap, and that’s when he feels it. That’s when he feels the shadows of his mind clearing, bringing that band of golden thread to the forefront. A band of golden thread that was tying his soul to yours.

Before Azriel could process the situation unfolding in front of him, Cassian was pulling him from the chair so Feyre could tend to you once more. The High Lady tried to wake you, but nothing worked. Thankfully, Rhysand and Madja rushed into the room mere minutes after you became unconscious, immediately going to work on getting you back to consciousness and ready to be healed.

Cassian tugged at Azriel’s shoulders as the whirlwind began, trying to drag him into the hallway. The shadowsinger resisted, standing behind Feyre as he watched you closely. You awoke immediately when Madja began to tend to your bloodied wings, the sensitive membrane torn to shreds. A cry escaped your lips as she gently worked on them, as Feyre tried her best to keep you in one spot while Madja worked her magic.

Azriel watched with wide eyes, rage rippling through his body as he watched you writhe in pain. He wanted nothing more than to take away your pain, to make sure nobody ever hurt you again, to keep you safe with him forever.

Your brother continued to try to move Azriel from the room, knowing it wouldn’t end well if he continued to watch you writhe in pain as Madja made quick work of healing you. He continued to resist, shoving Cassian multiple times before Rhysand breached his mind, stopping him in his tracks.

I’ll make sure she’s okay. He spoke to Azriel in his mind, staring him down as he squeezed your hand, beginning to take away your pain. She’s safe with me and I’ll take away whatever pain I can, but we need you to leave before you do anything stupid. The bond is too new and who knows what you’ll do if you continue to see her like this.

Azriel straightened against Cassian’s grip, nodding at Rhys as he silently assured him that you would be okay. Eventually, he let your brother guide him into the hallway, noting the glamour Rhysand had added to the bedroom to drown out your cries as Cassian closed the door.

It isn’t until he steps into the hallway that he’s finally able to fully comprehend what just happened. That’s when guilt and fear and pain wash over his body, stinging his chest all at once, right down the bond.

“This–It’s my fault.” he says, falling back against the wall opposite to your bedroom in the hall, his legs unable to hold him up anymore. “I–I could’ve fucking stopped this, I should’ve been there, I should’ve known that this would happen–”

“Woah, Az.” Cassian interjects, reaching for Azriel’s shoulders once again. “You and I both know how stubborn she is. She would’ve refused to go if you were going, and you know it. She thought she had to prove herself to Rhys, just like she always does.”

“I should’ve just–Fuck!” Azriel yelled, shoving his hands into his hair to tug on it roughly out of frustration, “I should’ve fucking sent my shadows, I could’ve seen their plan, I–”

“Azriel.” Cassian interrupted once again, grabbing the shadowsinger to get his attention. “Would you shut up for one second? She would’ve torn those shadows–and you–to shreds if you did that. She’s still under the impression that you fucking hate her, Az.”

Azriel let out a shuddering breath at the thought, a whirlwind of emotions taking over. His mind was racing as he thought of you in the next room, how his shadows couldn’t even infiltrate Rhysand’s glamour to see if you were alright. None of it made sense, you deserved more than him, you should be with someone who actually could keep you safe.

“How long have you known?” Azriel pressed, stern gaze on Cassian as he finally let go of his shoulders.

“Az–”

“How. Fucking. Long.” he insisted, blue siphons flaring with power at his wrists as he reached for your brother.

Cassian sighs, shoulders sagging in defeat as he looks to the helpless man in front of him. “Two–Two years.” he’s quiet as he speaks, voice wavering in fear of what anger the fresh mating bond could bring out of his brother.

“You’ve known for two fucking years?” Azriel seethes, gripping Cassian’s leathers tighter as he growls, “how fucking dare you–”

“I couldn’t tell you and you know it, Az.” Cassian says, releasing himself from Azriel’s grip.

“You’re my brother–”

“And she’s my twin, my real fucking blood sister. I couldn’t betray her like that.” he interjected, shaking his head at the shadowsinger. “She would’ve torn me to shreds, then came for you next. You should know that nobody should interfere with a mating bond, you had to find out from her.”

Azriel took a deep and shaky breath at his words, knowing that Cassian was right in every sense of the word to not tell him for all this time. Eventually he nods at Cassian, deciding that words probably aren’t his strong suit at this moment, he didn’t want to say or do anything he’d regret later.

“C’mon, we should go somewhere else to get your mind–”

“No.” Azriel snarled, shaking his head firmly as his shadows swirled at his shoulders, siphons flaring with that ultramarine power once again. “I need to stay here, to see that she’s safe.”

There was something damn near animalistic in Azriel’s eyes as Cassian gazed at him. In that moment, he knew there would be no getting through to the shadowsinger, not when his mate was on the brink of death on the other side of the door.

Cassian nodded slowly at him, watching carefully as Azriel finally let go of his shoulders. The shadowsinger’s own shoulders sagged and he leaned to rest on the wall behind him, while trying to calm himself. He needed to be in that room, needed to see you, needed to hold you, but he knew there was no use in trying. Not even his shadows could slip under the door to check on you, Rhysand had glamoured the whole room to high hell in order to keep him out and to keep your healing as uninterrupted as possible.

He knew it would take hours, maybe even days before that door opened again, but he didn’t care. He’d stay right there waiting for that lock to click and that glamour to fall just so he could see you again.

And so wait he did.

He waited one hour, which turned into two, which turned into four, which turned into eight.

The wait was so long that Cassian eventually pulled two chairs out of his bedroom so they could sit, and the House nearly forced them to eat some stew that was placed upon the empty chair Azriel refused to occupy.

He only paced, mind racing with thoughts of you, of how he couldn’t feel you any time he tried to tug on the bond. He wasn’t sure how the mating bond worked, how much a glamour could mask it or how your unconsciousness would affect it. Every time he tugged on that golden strand in his chest, he felt nothing on the other end, just resistance that he could only assume was from the inability to fully reach you.

Each unsuccessful tug only drove him closer to insanity, closer to clawing down the door between the two of you to see if Rhysand was truly the reason he wasn’t able to reach you or not.

Just as Azriel was on the verge of another outrage, after waiting for nearly ten godsdamned hours, your bedroom door’s lock clicked. Both Cassian and Azriel’s attention whirled to the door, only to see Feyre standing at the door frame. The door was barely cracked, just enough to see her face, hiding the commotion behind her, hiding the sight of you behind her.

The moment the door opened, a wave of nausea flowed through Azriel’s stomach, the smell of you, the smell of your blood reaching his nose immediately.

The High Lady held out a hand as Azriel took a step towards the door, ready to push her over to finally see his mate.

“She’s waking up now,” Feyre interjects, giving the shadowsinger a stern look that tells him to behave, “she might be really confused right now, she’s been in and out of consciousness for a while so who knows what she really remembers. Be gentle with her, she may not remember what she said before you left.”

Azriel stands up straighter at the High Lady’s words, nodding sternly at her command as Cassian stands at his side finally. Both take a moment to compose themselves while she pulls the door open, revealing the room behind her at last.

The room is in much less of a disarray than they’d expected, likely thanks to a simple snap of Rhysand’s fingers. The only blood to be seen in the room is on your wings, which is currently being wiped away by Madja as you stir slowly.

It takes everything in Azriel not to run up to your side right then, to push Mor from the chair next to you, to take your head into his hands and kiss you and never let you go. But he holds back, waiting for you to finally wake from your sleep.

Your eyes flutter open a few moments later, a wave of confusion washing over you as you do. The last thing you really remember is being picked up by Cassian, off the floor of that Gods forsaken cabin. You really don’t remember how or when you made it back to the House of Wind, or what actually happened to you. At this point, judging by the shooting pain in your back, you weren’t sure if you wanted to remember what happened to you.

Your brother’s name was the first thing to fall from your lips, your weak hand reaching out for him with a watery smile. Tears filled your eyes as he took a step toward you.

“You’re a stubborn little shit, you know that?” Cassian said with a bittersweet smile, eyes flickering between your bruised face and your tattered wings.

“Gotta keep you on your toes all the time,” you rasp out, a small laugh from you finally filling the tense air.

Cassian sat next to you, talking to you lowly as he tried to keep things light, tried to keep your spirits up after he caught a glance of how mangled your wings were, how ruined they might be.

You barely noticed the shadowsinger standing behind him until a shadow skittered across your stomach, trailing to your bandaged wings to survey the damage. It wasn’t until then that you stopped to look at him, to see how stoic he looked while staring at you. His face paled, his jaw clenched as he stood silently at the foot of the bed.

“Are you here to mock me, shadowsinger?” your voice interrupted his thoughts, finally making him look up to meet your eyes.

Azriel’s brow furrowed at your words and Cassian tensed at your side. He only shook his head, an apologetic look crossing his face as he opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by you.

“If you’re here to tell me how I should’ve just sucked it up and gone with you, how I’m only a weak female and I can’t handle missions like this, I don’t want to hear it.”

Oh. Oh, no.

Realization struck Azriel in an instant, you didn’t remember anything about what you’d said to him. He tried to tug on the bond, a sympathetic look in his eyes as his heart lurched for you, but felt nothing.

The pain tonics, they mess with the bond. She cannot feel you, brother, Rhysand said to him wordlessly, watching quietly from the other side of the room, she does not know that you’re reaching out to her, she doesn’t know that you know.

Azriel felt like he was going to vomit, he couldn’t handle it anymore. He couldn’t go another minute without you knowing that he knew. But he knew better, he knew better than to throw this on you while healing from something so severe. So he looked at you once more with a calm and stoic expression, into your fiery eyes, knowing you were putting on a show of hatred just for him.

“I wasn’t going to mock you, Y/N.” Azriel said matter-of-factly, shaking his head at the thought, “I was only going to tell you that I hope you feel better soon, and that I am sorry, for everything.”

Your stern gaze wavers for a moment, confusion crossing your once stern face at his last words. Before you could retort, he was rushing out the door, leaving one shadow behind to keep watch over you.

He thought you needed space, that you needed this time away from him to heal fully before he threw his heart at you, before he confessed how in love he’d been with you for so damn long.

So he left. Left the House of Wind immediately, deciding that you were better off without him for now.

But he missed the tear that slipped from your eye once he fled the room. He missed the way you were tugging against the bond as well, the golden strand too clouded by the tonics and poisons running through your veins to reach either side.

He missed the way you let out a small sob at his absence, fully recoiling into yourself as you thought that the only male you wanted couldn’t stand to be with you for more than two seconds.

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#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #azriel angst #azriel x you

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leclarifies · 3 months ago

Text

i love you. it's ruining my life. (MV33)

✰ max verstappen x popstar!ex!reader ✰

summary: you and max have been broken up for four years now, going no contact for the entirety of those years. never bothering to contact eachother but he invites you to one of his races one day after the last show of your tour, who were you to say no?

genre: angst (im sorry)

wc: 3k

a/n: AHHH, THIS WAS WAS A DOOZY!!!!! i loved writing this (i mostly just like hurting myself more than anything). kind of dark themes tho, ooc max bc he vvv loving and would never cheat on his lover. thank you so much for 100 followers btw!!!!!! i wrote this as a 100 follower special :3 thank you so much for my supporting my short journey as a tumblr writer, you guys inspire me to write even more for you guys. can you imagine that's it's been a week of writing and i've already gained 100 followers?? i love you guys so much.

warnings: mentions of existing relationship with kelly, cheating

"thought of calling ya, but you won't pick up. another fortnight lost in america." - taylor swift, 'fortnight'

isn't it ironic that careers can really separate you from what truly made you, you? being a popstar, touring for months on end, surrounding yourself with new people, new opportunities, made it hard for you to reconnect with the people that helped you from day one.

it wasn't like you cut them off, or stopped talking to them. you tried. you really tried, but sometimes life goes on and people forgive and forget. your old life before you started your career was slowly being etched away and replaced with new pieces.

and maybe that was a bad thing.

"on stage in 2 minutes," a voice snapped you out of your trance, you looked up. you looked amazing in your sparkly dress, it was the last leg of your tour and you were touring in europe.

you had been offered to attend a formula one race this weekend after all of your shows had been concluded, you've been thinking about it, but you're not sure you want to go. one of the people from said past was in attendance and you're not sure if you wanted to immerse yourself in that again.

you didn't think about it for long though, you were due for a show and a show was what you're going to give.

it wasn't long until the weekend, friday to be exact and you had accepted the offer of being on the formula one paddock, you knew that a certain ex-boyfriend was going to be there, racing on the track and you were invited personally by him, which was why you were so skeptical to go.

POPSTAR Y/N BREAKS UP WITH F1 DRIVER MAX VERSTAPPEN.

you remembered the headlines, you remembered what you let go of but seeing someone you still loved after your break up almost four years ago stung a little bit.

you couldn't blame him though, you were the one to break things off all those years ago. it wasn't because you had a terrible relationship with him, but it was more because you both didn't have time for eachother and you could see it in his face everytime you came home to monaco after a long show.

"i miss you, when can you finally stay and actually stay awhile?" max's face looked pitiful and you could only look down at your feet, you felt guilty. you wanted this career, he pushed you for this career but sometimes you wished that you could split yourself in two to cater to both his needs and yours.

you look back up at him, locking eyes with his stormy blue eyes, "i don't know maxie, maybe next month? i don't really have a schedule for next month, i can stay in monaco with you for awhile—"

"you said that last month, when are you actually going to be free schatje?"

"max, i can't give you a definite timeline—"

"what's the point of me being in a relationship with you when i can barely see you?"

it hurt to hear those words come out of his mouth.

maybe that's when you finally realized that he deserved someone normal, someone who wasn't a famous singer and could actually spend time and be there for him.

but here you were, amidst the paddock with a singular security guard because you didn't think you needed more than one, considering security around the paddock was tight in of itself.

the red bull's garage had been nice to you, offering you anything you possibly could need while being on a grand prix, you had politely declined any type of special treatment though, wanting to feel like a person for once in your life.

you wouldn't say your job is the hardest in the world, never. doing what you loved while meeting all of your fans was going to be the highlight of your day, but sometimes the job came with crazy fans that would invade your privacy for selfish reasons, and it made you a tiny bit stressed.

you remember starting out from the netherlands, starring in small gigs before getting signed to a mega corporation in america, which was when you moved. you slowly lost contact with your friends, but you were sure they were proud of you although you weren't proud that you lost contact with them.

you knew that if you contacted them that it would be awkward, there was just no way they would even remember you, right?

you were walking about aimlessly around the paddock, it was free practice day which meant that after the allotted time of the free practice, drivers were free to roam around the paddock however they wanted. you were scared on what you had to face today.

you told yourself to just keep calm, take whatever you got this weekend and just react like a sane person.

saturday came and went, you attended the paddock to watch the qualifying session, of course, max came out on top. was it even a surprise to you? you knew he was the best of the best, you never expected less of him, even after all these years.

sunday was here and maybe it was the anxiety, but you felt like throwing up when you saw max approach you.

"y/n, it's good to see you."

god, those eye-smiles. you could never get tired of them.

"hi max, congrats on starting out pole for this weekend," you told him as you shook hands with him, he was all smiles.

it felt good to see him happy.

"how has the paddock been treating you?" max asked, gesturing all around him, "have you tried the food? it's really good."

you nod as you let go of his hand, clasping it with your other hand, a nervous habit, "yeah, the food's good. how have you been? i haven't talked to you in awhile," a nervous laugh bubbled up from your throat, you were nervous to see him, maybe it was those damn butterflies in your stomach that you couldn't get rid of when he looked at you with those blue eyes of his.

"i know, you've been quite busy right?" max laughed at you, he felt silly conversing with his ex-girlfriend like this, like they didn't have a past.

you could only nod and smile back at him, shoulders tense, "yeah, touring's been eventful. it's the last leg of the tour so i decided to come, thank you for the invite by the way, i really appreciate—"

"max, who's this?" a voice came from behind you, quite condescending if you did say so yourself, cutting you off, you turned your head around to see his girlfriend and his girlfriend's child coming into view, walking towards max and wrapping max with her arm as a possessive embrace.

max kissed her cheek, and that hurt. you didn't want to know why, but you knew. he spoke up afterwards, "this is y/n, she's a singer. i wanted her to come because she had a show here, thought the timing was quite convenient for her. y/n, this is my girlfriend, kelly piquet. she's a model."

you extended your hand as a form of hello before introducing yourself, "hello, i'm y/n—"

"yeah, i know who you are," kelly cut you off again, you were quite taken aback by the hostility, your hand left hanging but then again, max was talking to one of his ex-girlfriends. you thought you would react the same way, so you didn't take it too much to heart. her face was something you'd describe as an angry, possessive tiger, brows furrowed, frown on full display.

"i didn't mean to take time away from your boyfriend. i was just having a little chat pre-race," you tried to give her a smile while returning your hand back to your side, but kelly was adamant about standing her ground.

little penelope was looking at you like she had stars in her eyes, you smiled at her. as if it was a sign of whether she should speak up, she starting speaking to you directly, "hi, i really love your songs. do you think you can stay in the red bull garage and we can take pictures together?"

you giggle and bend down to her level and pat her head, "hi little p, of course we can take pictures together— that's if your mother lets me," you acknowledged that this little girl was no ordinary little girl and was your ex-boyfriend's girlfriend's child.

"can we all talk in private please?" kelly excused the three of them away before you could even give her a response but you understood her. standing back up before walking off deeper into the paddock.

MAX'S POV

"i don't understand why you would invite her!" kelly was pacing around the motorhome, here we were fifteen minutes before race start and here my girlfriend was still yelling over something that happened two hours ago.

"kelly, i just thought it was a good idea. i wanted to invite her because i know p was such a big fan of hers—"

"she's your ex for god's sake, max!" kelly yelled out yet again, "why would i ever approve of her coming to one of your races? let alone be near to p??" her pacing was more feverish now, like she was scared.

i could only sigh, honestly i wasn't too worried about this problem at the moment. the only thing on my mind was the race and only the race.

"look, can we talk about this when i've finished with my race? i really need to focus and you keeping me locked up in here isn't going to help with it," i stood up from my seat, i didn't want to hear anything else come out of her mouth other than a 'okay' and letting me walk out of here.

"don't you think our relationship is at stake here—?"

"if you don't let me go out into the garage, then we're nothing kelly," i say with finality, i wasn't going to let her ruin a race, "i told you, we will solve and talk about this issue later, but you chose to lock me up in here. there will be nothing to salvage if you don't let me do my job."

kelly wordlessly stepped out of the way of the door and let me go, thankfully just with enough time where i could run down and get into the garage, getting me in racing gear.

thankfully the red bull mechanics and officials were understanding enough to let me rush and get inside of my car, getting into the chasis just at the right moment where we would need to drive out.

it was going to be a fine race for me. i knew it. i had enough confidence in myself to know whether i could win a race, and this was one of them.

"and that's p1 max, great race," gp was in my ear, i was proud of myself for winning, but kelly was gnawing the back of my mind. although, the first face i saw when i got out of the car was y/n's.

it felt like my heart stopped beating, i thought i got rid of those stupid butterflies ages ago, but nothing ever beat seeing her smile after i finished a race. she looked so beautiful, so ethereal but i washed those thoughts out of my head.

i had a girlfriend.

i can't run up and hug her because she's my ex. i have a loving relationship in front of me. what was i thinking?

kelly was nowhere to be found in the celebratory pit, i thought that maybe she was still too angry to face me at the moment. it stung a little bit, but she'll get over it. i'm sure.

the night moves on fast, and somehow i found myself still in the garage fixing a few things with the sim, most of the mechanics and staff were long gone. with kelly nowhere to be found. sometimes i felt bad, for still harboring feelings for an ex that left me four years ago.

my relationship with her felt so different with kelly's...

she was like fresh air you would breathe after exiting a club in the middle of the night, the smoke that clouded the air dissipating almost instantly after that fresh air hit your lungs. somehow, even four years later i still find her in little things i do everyday.

against my better judgement, i picked up my phone and i gave her a call.

"hello?"

i breathed out a sigh of relief when i realized she hadn't changed her phone number yet.

"it's me," were the words that left my lips, "you wanna come celebrate with me tonight?" i was picking on my jeans, i didn't want her to say no. i just wanted to spend a little time with her.

"what about your girlfriend? isn't she going to be even more upset with you—"

"can we not talk about her right now?" i closed my eyes and leaned back against the chair i was sitting on, hearing her voice again after a long time just... it felt right.

"max..."

"don't... just don't. i know what you're gonna say and i know it's wrong but i just... i can't do this today. i just won today and the first face i saw was yours, she didn't bother to show up. you can't tell me how to feel, y/n," i rubbed my temples, "meet me in the lobby of my hotel tonight. i just wanna see you."

"if i say okay, will this be a one-time thing?" y/n asked, i could hear the soft rustles of her moving things around, she was probably already in her hotel, resting from her tour when i had called.

"better yet, just drop the address of where you're staying. i'll come to you."

the first thing max did when he saw you was crash his lips into yours, you wanted to push him away, be the better person and tell him that he has a girlfriend but your arms couldn't do it.

your lips disconnected after awhile, he was breathing heavy, face flushed, hands all over you, "i've missed you."

you hum a response, you could barely get out a response when you feel his lips on yours again, this was wrong. all the alarms in your body were telling you to push him off, to yell at him, to reprimand him for basically cheating on his girlfriend.

but you didn't.

and maybe that made you a bad person, but at the moment you didn't care. you just wanted to feel him once more.

you woke up the next morning, cuddled up against max, both of you bare and indecent. he hadn't left yet, maybe he didn't want to leave.

the reality of last night crashed down onto you as you realized what you've done.

"max?"

"yes, schatje?"

the little nickname he gave you never went away. he used to call you that all the time but the feelings that came with it was no longer endearment but horror.

"you need to get back to your girlfriend, i don't think i can do this," you unwrap yourself from his grasps and sit up, back facing him, tears filling your eyes.

"woah, woah. schatje—"

"please, max. i feel like shit. you have a girlfriend and i just slept with you. last night was a mistake," you breathed out and hugged your knees close to your chest. you felt his hand on your back.

"y/n, what are you saying—" you cut him off before he could say anything else.

"i can't give you what you want max. we can't be together anymore. our story ended four years ago, please don't make this mistake. you're going to regret it," you quickly got up and away from his close proximity and got dressed.

you didn't know how to face him anymore.

"can we please talk about it at least? you can't lie and say that you don't feel the same way i do," max's voice came from behind you, you were pacing around the room, you were stressed. he was sitting there, shirtless with his pants on now.

"i do max! and that's the worst part because i knew you're in a relationship but i still let this happen. i am a horrible person. i love you and it's slowly ruining my life. i should've known better!" you turn around to face him, your face red, tears streaming down your face.

max could only sigh and raked a hand through his hair, "schatje..."

"we can't be together max, you know it. i can never give you what she gives you. she can be with you almost all the time max, you threw that all away for me? for someone who can't give you time of day?!" you sob into your hands.

you felt arms wrapping around you as you sob into his embrace.

MAX VERSTAPPEN BREAKS UP WITH GIRLFRIEND KELLY PIQUET ONLY AFTER A FEW MONTHS OF BEING TOGETHER.

you scroll past that headline as you got ready for your appearance to promote your new album, it came out two days ago and you were to debut the new songs on jimmy kimmel.

the tortured poets department.

you hadn't talked to max ever since that night, ever since he tenderly kissed your forehead and told you it was going to be okay and that he would figure it out. he had been blowing up your phone, asking to meet but you didn't have it in your heart to meet him after destroying his relationship like that.

that was two months ago.

you were due on stage in around an hour and that's where you would sing your heart out, leaving whatever pieces of your old self behind when you slept with max for the final time.

"i love you, it's ruining my life. i touched you for only a fortnight."

hello! thank u for reading this fic hehe, hope u guys enjoyed it. thank you again for 100 followers!!!!

#Spotify #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x yn #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fic recs #max verstappen oneshot #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #formula one #formula 1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 x female reader

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inkskinned · 1 year ago

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she's three years younger than i am, and i put on cascada as a throwback, cackling - before your time! i've been borrowing my brother's car, and it's older than dirt, so the trunk is like, maybe permanently locked. when the sun comes through the window to frame her cheekbones, i feel like i'm 16 again. i shake when i'm kissing her, worried i won't get it right.

in 2003, my state made gay marriage legal. where she grew up, it wasn't legal until 11 years later - 10 years ago. if legal protections for gay marriage were a person, that person would be entering 5th grade. online, a white gay man calls the fight for legal marriage boring, which isn't kind of him but it is a common enough opinion.

it has only been 9 years since gay marriage was nationally official. it is already boring to have gay people in your tv. it is already boring to mention being gay - "why make it your entire personality?" i know siblings that have a larger age gap than the amount of time it's been legally protected. i recently saw a grown man record himself crying about how evil gay people are. he was begging us, red in the face - just do better.

i am absolutely ruined any time my girlfriend talks about being 27 (i know!! a child!), but we actually attended undergrad at the same time since i had taken off time to work between high school and college. while walking through the city, we drop our hands, try not to look too often at each other. the other day i went to an open mic in a basement. the headlining comedian said being lesbian isn't interesting, but i am a lesbian, if you care. as a joke, she had any lesbian raise their hand if present. i raised mine, weirdly embarrassed at being the single hand in a sea of other faces. she had everyone give me a round of applause. i felt something between pride and also throwing up.

sometimes one thing is also another thing. i keep thinking about my uncle. he died in the hospital without his husband of 35 years - they were not legally wed, so his husband could not enter. this sounds like it should be from 1950. it happened in 2007. harassment and abuse and financial hardship still follow any person who is trying to get married while disabled. marriage equality isn't really equal yet.

and i don't know that i can ever put a name to what i'm experiencing. sometimes it just feels... so odd to watch the balance. people are fundamentally uninterested in your identity, but also - like, there's a whole fucking bastion of rabid men and women who want to kill you. your friends roll their eyes you're gay we get it and that is funny but like. when you asked your father do you still love me? he just said go to your room. you haven't told your grandmother. disney is on their 390th "first" gay representation, but also cancelled owl house and censored the fuck out of gravity falls. you actively got bullied for being gay, but your advisor told you to find a different gimmick for your college essay - everyone says they're gay these days.

once while you were having a hard day you cried about the fact that the reason our story is so fucking boring to so many people is that it is so similar. that it is rare for one of us to just, like, have a good experience across the board. that our stories often have very parallel bends - the dehumanization, the trauma, the trouble with trusting again. these become rote instead of disgusting. how bad could it be if it is happening to so many people?

i kiss my girlfriend when nobody is looking. i like her jawline and how her hands splay when she's making a joke. there is nothing new about this story, sappho. i love her like opening up the sun. like folding peace between the layers of my life, a buttercream of euphoria, freckles and laughter and wonder.

my dad knows about her. i've been out to him since i was 18 - roughly four years before the supreme court would protect us. the other day he flipped down the sun visor while driving me to the eye doctor. "you need to accept that your body was made for a husband. you want to be a mother because you were made for men, not women." he wants me to date my old high school boyfriend. i gagged about it, and he shook his head. he said - "don't be so dramatic. you can get used to anything."

the other day a straight friend of mine snorted down her nose about it, accidentally echoing him - she said there are bigger problems in this world than planning a wedding.

#splled ink #writeblr #it's really hard to describe what im feeling

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azrielbrainrot · 6 days ago

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Moonlit Shadows - Act II

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: When tasked to find the once famed Temple of the Moon Goddess, Azriel only expected to find old forgotten ruins, if anything at all. He could have never imagined that not only would he find a temple but also someone who would change his life forever.

Tropes/Tags: Star Crossed Lovers (in a way), Forbidden Romance, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, some Angst with a Happy Ending

Warnings: hints of angst, tiny bit suggestive, making out?

Word Count: 8,7k

Rating: 18+

Notes: This part was running even longer than the first one so I split it into two parts and my plans for this story to only have 3 parts have changed into 4. I can't help myself in adding little details to this story, I love these two so much. Also just realized how long it has been since the first part, I'm so sorry for how long it took. Hope you enjoy!

Act I

It's almost unbelievable how much life can change within two weeks, to the point Azriel can hardly remember what it was like to live without a mate, without you. This is only the third time he has come to the temple after you agreed to give the bond a try, and he's already eternally glad you did. Sitting on the steps to the temple, watching the sun set over the mountain while his mate told him about her life was now a normal occurrence. He truly couldn't believe his luck.

Not even a month ago, Azriel would have spent the time he had between missions either training himself to exhaustion or simply doing some more spy work behind his High Lord's back. Every family dinner or outing was plagued by his cruel thoughts, always murmuring about his unworthiness while he watched his friends happy and in love, never allowing him a moment of reprieve. But now he got to meet his mate, talk to her for hours and learn her innermost thoughts. By the Mother, he was even contemplating asking Rhys for some time off for the first time in his life so he could see you more often.

“It's impossible to get tired of this view,” you murmur, taking in the barely visible sun rays as the sky turns different shades of pink and orange. As cliché as it sounds, Azriel thought the same thing as he watched you.

He manages to drag his eyes away from your beautiful, peaceful face, studying the view you'd shared with him. You were right, this view could easily rival Velaris at night. Since the temple sat at the top of the mountain, you could see the entire forest from here, and, as beautiful as the sunset had been, he knows the moonlight brings out the true beauty of this place, and yours as well. It's almost unbelievable how you could become even more captivating than you already were, he could hardly take his eyes off you when the moon rays were shining down on you, reflecting on your white hair and adding an even more intense twinkle to your white, silvery eyes.

“How long have you been living here?”

“Almost four hundred years,” you say, nibbling on the biscuits the temple provided at the wave of your hand. He had learned the temple shared a similar spell to the House of Wind and Rhys' cabin. “I was almost thirty when I came.”

The thought of you locked in this temple for that long brings up memories of the dark cell his father kept him in when he was a child, but he tries to shake them away quickly. You were here of your own free will, and as far as he could tell you rather enjoyed living in the temple. This place couldn't be compared to the cell he'd been in any way.

He hopes you didn't catch where his thoughts went, this bond is hard to control most of the time and feelings often filter through unattended. It's because of the feelings the bond brings up that he often finds himself thinking of those moments he has been trying to forget for centuries as well. It almost feels like the bond is prying open everything he has kept locked away, wanting to lay him bare before his mate.

Still, it was hard to believe that you would be completely satisfied living hidden away, no matter how shiny your cage or how fulfilling your role in the temple was. He enjoys his quiet time a lot more than the average person, something even his family doesn't understand at times, but he can't imagine what it's like to live alone for centuries, with no one's company but your own. Azriel couldn't have survived with only his thoughts as company, not when his mind is such an ugly place, even his duty wouldn't keep him alive then.

You smile up at him before he has the chance to put his worries into the right words. “I know what you're thinking. It gets lonely up here, I can't deny that, and I know I've missed a lot of experiences over the course of my life, some that I might never get the chance to relive, but I've always been happy up here.”

“Do you have any family left? Friends?”

“No. Any friends I had before coming here have probably long forgotten about me, some might not even be alive anymore,” you look at him then, hesitation making itself known in your tone and mannerisms. He might have overstepped without meaning to.

“My parents passed away a few decades ago. They came to visit me as much as they could, and we'd send each other letters every few weeks. They came by to spend every Solstice and birthday with me.” You let out a small laugh, “Once they had a little fight and my mom just showed up here with a bag full of clothes and a couple boxes of cupcakes.” You look down at your hands, a lump forming in your throat, “They're the ones I miss the most.”

“I'm sorry.”

There was a tight feeling coiling around his chest, but he can't quite pinpoint if it was his own response to you being sad or if your feelings were bleeding into his own. All he knew is that he wanted to put a smile back on your face.

“It's okay. They were both close to a millennia old and lived their life to the fullest. I would have liked to be with them in their final moments, but it wouldn't have changed anything.”

“Is it really impossible for you to leave? Even at times like those?”

You clear your throat, trying to get rid of the emotion talking about your parents' deaths evoked. “Yes, being bound to the temple is part of the oath I made. I'm not entirely sure what would happen if I actually managed to break the wards, but I would lose my powers and wouldn't be able to come back at the very least.”

The emphasis you put into the final words told him you thought more would happen. Breaking an oath with a God could very well be fatal, since even a regular bargain made between fae can take someone's life if not fulfilled. He feels a string tightening around his heart as it usually does when he's reminded of your predicament. You will never leave this temple, and, as much as he wants to respect your wishes, he can't help but mourn what your life could have been, what the two of you could have been. There's so much he wishes he could show you, beautiful places he wants to take you to, and people he wishes you could meet.

“There were times when it was hard to be stuck here.” Your voice breaks him out of his thoughts, finding you've turned around, sitting cross-legged as you face him. “Obviously it was hard when my parents died, though the Goddess allowed their ashes to be brought to me so I could scatter them on this mountain,” your eyes travel to his wings, lingering on a few scars that will never leave the leathery skin, “I think it was even harder to bear when Amarantha came into Prythian and imprisoned the High Lords, and then when the war with Hybern broke out.”

You let silence fall between you for a few moments, eyes falling down onto your hands, kneading your left palm with your thumb as the first rays of moonlight made the aura around you more noticeable, a faint white light glowing around your entire body. He hopes it's not sacrilegious to think so, but you truly looked like a Goddess in this moment. His eyes fall onto your hands as well, debating on reaching to hold them in his warm ones when you resume your explanation.

“This power the Goddess shared with me has made me very strong, enough so that She leaves the protection of the temple entirely to me, but the biggest downside is that I can't help outside these wards,” you look up into his eyes then, regret lacing into your words, “I could have helped you. If the oath that gave me these powers didn't include staying in this temple, I could have tried to placate Amarantha before she could take everyone Under the Mountain, or at the very least fight alongside you during the war. A lot of people wouldn't have lost their lives if I could have helped.”

He understands what you mean, he has fought even while injured multiple times, during this war even, not willing to stop when he knows he can help even if it cost him his life, so he knows that watching from afar knowing you could have made a difference had to have been extremely frustrating, but he also can't help but feel selfishly glad you weren't there. The war had been bloody and cruel, if he could he would shield you from that sight if it was the last thing he did.

“You said it was Fate that decided you were supposed to live in this temple and protect it, right?” You nod, confusion written on your face. “Then it wasn't your place to be in the war. The temple was written into your life, and the war was written into ours. There's nothing we can do to change our fate.”

He seems to have said the right thing as you watch his face, the pained expression you previously wore slowly being replaced with a happier one, a smile even making its way into your lips, not quite as bright as before but a good start nonetheless.

“I still wish I could have gone,” you say, a twinkle in your eye, “maybe then you would have been written into my life sooner.”

Azriel had never found himself blushing as often as he does when he's around you in the five hundred years he's been alive. The worst part is it seems like you're not doing it on purpose. You keep complimenting him, showing him how much you enjoy having him in your life effortlessly, as if it's simply in your nature. Still, he can clearly see how much you enjoy the fact that you can bring him to this state so easily, a proud expression obvious on your face as you watch color take over the tips of his ears. Luckily for him, it's extremely easy to turn you into a bashful mess as well.

He shifts his weight onto his palm, leaning closer to you, a swift and fast movement, that of a trained soldier. Your sweet, intoxicating scent assaults him instantly, images of how he would let it intertwine with his own invading his mind for a treacherous moment - the mating bond seldom lets him have a moment of peace. Your breath hitches under his attention, wide eyes locked onto his.

“We've been written into each other's lives from the moment we were born, before our world was created even.” Your eyes travel down to his lips for a beat, the movement was quick enough that he might have mistaken it if it weren't for your proximity. It brings a satisfied smile to his lips as he adds, “whether at the temple or on that battlefield I would have found my way to you. That I can promise you.”

The reaction you give him is nothing short of delicious. Mouth slightly agape as you struggle to maintain eye contact at his confession, the wild rhythm of your heartbeat ringing in his ears and down the bond. He decides to push his luck a bit and test the waters, leaning even closer, enough so that your warm breath meets his skin, eyes dropping to your lips before stealing a cookie from the plate that sat beside you, straightening up as he brings it to his mouth, giving you space once more. He can't help the smile from growing when he hears your intake of breath, eyes dropping to your lap and hands smoothing down your skirt as you try to regain composure.

On one hand, he almost feels bad for teasing you like this, knowing there's a big difference in how you have both led your lives up to this point, even if you're relatively close in age. He would also hate to make you feel actually uncomfortable in any way. But, on the other hand, he wants nothing more than to whisper the most depraved things he wants to do to you so he can watch desire take over your face, so he can erase any semblance of innocence away. Although knowing exactly how experienced or not you are will end up being pertinent information if you both choose to keep chasing this bond, Azriel decides to take mercy on you tonight and change the subject.

“What was your life like before coming here?”

Looking up at him with tinted cheeks and wide eyes, you blink a few times, taking you a moment to answer, probably not expecting him to ask you a question so soon or too lost in your thoughts - he briefly wonders if they're any similar to his. Azriel can almost feel the bond purring, that ancient, inexplicable tether delighted at both your reaction and his playfulness, at your closeness.

“I'd say I used to live a pretty normal life,” you start, focusing on his shadows as they played over the steps, still too embarrassed to keep his gaze, “I used to live in a fairly small town, one of those where everyone knows each other and nothing too exciting ever happens,” a nostalgic smile takes over your lips, remembering your childhood. Azriel wishes he could take you back there, have you show him around the place where you grew up.

“My parents owned a small bakery so I helped them around before coming here. I liked baking with them, I wasn't too bad at it either, though the early schedule wasn't my favorite, I always liked sleeping in.” You seem lost in thought for a moment before shrugging and continuing, “Outside of that I had a few friends and a couple of lovers… nothing special.”

Azriel tries to ignore the sick twist of jealousy he feels at the mention of past lovers, knowing it's completely unfair to you, and irrelevant to your relationship now, but that damned bond doesn't know the first thing about rationality. Rhysand wasn't kidding when he said the mating bond grates, at times it was almost suffocating.

“One of the things I miss the most from those times are my parents' pastries,” you pout slightly, a playful glint in your eyes, “I may be biased but they were delicious.”

“It might not be the same, but I can bring you some from Velaris,” he offers. “The bakeries in town are always putting out new delicious things. I'm sure you would love them.”

“I'd like that very much, Azriel,” you say, that blinding smile he loves so much returning to your lips, a smile of his own mirroring yours. His name sounds like heaven, hell, and everything in between falling from your lips.

“Next time I'll bring you some of my favorites,” he pauses, a thought occurring to him as he tilts his head, “Actually, I don't have too much of a sweet tooth so I'll bring you Cassian's favorites instead. I think you would much prefer the chocolate covered cakes he likes to eat than my lemon tarts.”

“It's a deal then,” you nod at him, extending your hand for him to take, Azriel doesn't resist even for a second, letting you shake his hand as if you were in fact making a business transaction. “And if you come empty-handed I might put in a word with the Goddess and not let you in.” He lets out a chuckle, squeezing your hand before reluctantly letting go, missing the warmth of your palm against his immediately. To think there would come a day where he would actually want someone to keep holding his hand.

“You can bring some of your lemon tarts too, I want to try what you like first,” you tilt your head, “but you're right, my favorite is always chocolate.”

Azriel chuckles, “Both it is.”

The rest of your time together is spent much like this, talking for hours about any and everything. By the time he forces himself to tell you he needs to go back to Velaris, the moon was already ready to make its way for the sun once more, and your eyelids were significantly heavier, trying your hardest to ignore your fatigue in favor of staying with him for as long as possible.

He never knows what to do or say when it's time to say goodbye to you. It's abundantly clear that neither of you want him to leave. There's also always a part of him that fears he won't be able to come back, that for whatever reason the Goddess decides he's not in need of the temple anymore and the wards keep him out of your reach.

Aside from that, your relationship has been walking the line between platonic and romantic from the first day. You wanted to keep your heart and his as safe as possible given the entire situation. He couldn't fault you for that, but that meant you were stuck acting like friends, as if a mating bond wasn't connecting your bodies and souls, and because of it Azriel couldn't grab your cheeks and kiss you like he's been desperately dreaming of, even though your eyes find themselves entranced by his lips as often as the other way around.

As he gets lost in thought, wondering how your lips would taste, your eyes drop to his shadows, unaware of it all. Dark wisps moving from his own natural shadow cast by the moonlight to yours, some of the bravest, more disobedient ones even swirling up to your ankles tentatively. At least they were still being respectful.

“They like me,” you smile brightly down at them.

Like is not a strong enough word to describe his shadows' feelings when it comes to you. At times it's even hard to make them focus on their job as they sit and wonder what you're up to in the temple. Part of this might be his fault since he has always used them to spy on anyone he needed to, and now he's finding it hard to explain to these beings, who struggle with social cues as it is, that spying is a breach of privacy, something he only does because it's his job, and the last thing he would ever do to you, so they can't go and check on you simply because he misses you every second of the day.

Apart from that they've also taken to giving him romantic advice - which has been disturbing to say the least, - whispering words into his ear that they think you would like to hear, trying to guide him to the flowers or pastries they somehow know you prefer as he passes by the market street, even pushing him to sing to you. They go as far as trying to convey their own feelings to you through him, whispering praises in his ear, and in turn making the bond inside him wish he could send his own shadows on a trip to the bottom of the ocean never to return.

“Yes, I think they do,” he says defeatedly as he watches one of his impertinent shadows travel up to your hand, swirling around it as you bring it up closer to your face for inspection. He can't wait to hear how delighted it is of gaining your attention.

“Shouldn't they hide from the light?”

Azriel takes a step closer, holding your hand and ordering the shadows to cross over to his body so he can have this moment with you. Raising his hand up to your cheek, scarred thumb caressing your soft skin as he murmurs, “Not from yours.”

The irony of his mate being someone who quite literally glowed in the dark wasn't lost on him. For some reason, the fact only further proved you were made for each other in his mind. It's almost like the Mother was telling him that no matter how dark his soul was, it would never diminish your light as it glowed ever eternal alongside your Goddess.

“I really have to go now.”

It pains him to say it, but he's already going to be late and that'll raise questions he's been trying very hard to avoid. It was enough of a miracle that Rhys hadn't told anyone - outside of Feyre of course - that Azriel had found his mate, and he would like to keep it that way for as long as possible. They would ask him too many questions he wouldn't know how to answer, and, admittedly, he also wants to avoid the teasing comments while the bond is so fresh - nothing good can come out of giving Cassian and Nesta a way to make him blush with only a couple of words.

“Alright,” you smile up at him, but it doesn't reach your eyes. Every time he has to leave you behind, he considers giving up everything and moving to this temple with you.

You raise on your tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek, his eyes closing as a shudder runs through him, wings coiling tighter into his back. His other hand comes up to the other side of your face, his lips falling upon your forehead as a wave of satisfaction rushes his side of the bond. Both of your hearts beating wildly as he steps away slowly and starts walking closer to the edge of the stairs.

“I'll come back as soon as possible,” he promises one more time before taking flight.

“I know, Azriel. I'll be waiting.”

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

The unmistakable feeling of someone passing through the barrier rushes over you, sending your heart racing immediately. For a moment you think it's Azriel coming by unannounced, a smile breaking out on your lips as you get up to your feet, but a quick look into the bond that lays dormant inside you is enough to tell you he's still in Velaris, far away from the temple.

Your smile drops and a wave of sadness washes over you, freezing you in place, heart dropping at the reminder of the distance that lays between you and your mate, of the days you'll still have to endure alone before his next visit.

You feel movement again, now closer to the top steps, and shake yourself out of unwanted thoughts, pushing them all to the back of your mind as you shake any stray cookie crumbs from your trousers. If it isn't Azriel coming to see you then it's definitely someone coming to visit the temple, and you have a duty to fulfill.

It's only been a few weeks since Azriel first came looking for the temple, you've never had visitors showing up so close together. They're usually few and far in between, leaving you on your own atop the mountain for years at a time as the rumors about the temple die off among most of the population. The prospect of seeing someone again so soon has excitement rushing through your veins, completely overshadowing the solemn feelings from before.

You walk to the mirror, quickly checking your appearance before winnowing straight to the top of the stairs, catching your new visitor by surprise as she walks towards the temple slowly. The gasp she lets out when she spots you waiting for her brings a bigger smile to your lips, making you almost giddy as you cross your hands behind your back.

“Welcome to the Temple of the Moon. I'm the keeper and sole habitant of this temple and I've been tasked to keep it safe from any possible threats as well as helping anyone the Goddess deems worthy of being shown the way, just like you have.”

The well rehearsed speech comes to you naturally, the words flowing effortlessly from your mouth as you take in your visitor's wonder, curious eyes taking in the beautiful place. Of course she didn't have any speech rehearsed but it might as well have been since her next words mirror everyone else's when they arrive.

“I never knew there was a temple here,” the awe in her face brings you the usual sense of pride.

“It's a bit of a secret,” you wink at her, walking closer to the temple, motioning with your hand for her to follow you.

“My grandmother used to say these mountains were the most beautiful place in Prythian so I wanted to spread her ashes here, but I always thought she meant the actual mountains,” she muses. “This place is breathtaking.”

“The temple is hidden behind a powerful spell. I'm afraid when talking about this day your memories will be somewhat limited,” you explain softly as you lead her to the gardens in the back, the perfect view for her grandmother's final resting place.

As you go through the usual explanation, you realize you truly skipped most of it when it came to Azriel's first visit, though you still think you did better than expected given the circumstances. It's easy to forget your own name or any rehearsed speeches when you find yourself face to face with your mate.

The rest of the visit goes by fairly quickly. You lead her to the gardens and let her choose the perfect place among the flowers and trees, helping her spread the ashes as instructed, saying a quick prayer and then allowing her a moment to grieve, standing off to the side while still keeping a watchful eye over everything.

You can't help but let your eyes wander to the spot where you had spread your parents' ashes, the tears lining the young fae's eyes reminding you of the countless ones you had spilled as you went through the same. Over the years you've grown somewhat accustomed to their absence, - never fully, you've long since accepted that would be impossible, - but recent events have made you bitterly aware of it.

You wished you could tell your parents you had found your mate, would give anything to feel the anxiety of introducing them to Azriel. Now you can only imagine nervously writing them a letter, telling them all about the charming fae the Mother had chosen for you. They would show up at the temple the next day, not even the Goddess would be able to keep your mother from meeting her daughter's fated mate. Gods, they would have loved him.

A weak sigh escapes you. Nothing could take away the pain of losing a loved one, but you hope that the thought that her grandmother now lies within the temple's walls will lessen her grief even if just for a moment.

It's time to accompany her back to the stairs in no time, her tearful thanks and goodbyes echoing over the entrance hall. Watching the young fae descend the steps brings you a sense of accomplishment as usual, but this time there's an annoyingly acute emptiness growing inside you, tainting it.

Most visitors don't linger in the temple, only getting what they came for before going on their way, before going back to their busy lives, but as you watch her disappear between the trees, you're left wishing she would have stayed longer, sat with you and talked for a moment.

It wouldn't be fair not to acknowledge that this feeling had always manifested inside you after every visit you've received over the centuries, especially back when your parents were the ones stopping by and leaving you with hesitant glances over their shoulders, but you know that it had only grown more noticeable after Azriel first arrived.

Becoming familiar with someone's presence once again had made you more aware of your situation, more aware of just how many words and thoughts you had been keeping to yourself in your years of seclusion. It reminded you of how alone you truly were up in this temple. Before, the silence had been part of your routine, something you had no problem falling back onto after the rare visitor came and disturbed it. Now it felt like a consistently harder task, the silence ringing too loud in your ears, making you too aware of the echo that followed your footsteps.

Sitting down on the first step, you let out a sigh from deep in your chest, stretching your legs out, only noticing then that you had not changed out of your slippers in your rush earlier. It's a shame, you only really wear your nicer shoes when you have guests, which even with Azriel's more regular visits doesn't happen nearly often enough.

You feel yet another stab through your heart when you realize your first instinct is wanting to share the news with your mate, tell him about your visitor and your silly mistake, tell him how it reminded you of your parents and maybe even confide in him how lonely it all had made you feel.

You've been alone for so long that you had forgotten what wanting to share every exciting thing that happens with someone felt like. What is quickly becoming a familiar ache settles over you at the cold reminder that Azriel isn't within your reach. You'll have to wait until he visits again to share these news with him and see the smile on his face.

It's been over a week since he last came by, which wouldn't be much time at all if he weren't your mate and you couldn't feel him through the bond, so close but so far away. He warned you he would be busy with an assignment, even promised he would make it up to you when he was finished with it, but you can't rationalize how much you miss him or how much you wish he was by your side, and so you keep sitting on those steps well into the night, waiting for someone who isn't coming.

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

With delectable excitement running through his veins, the kind that only you could bring out of him, Azriel takes one last look in the mirror, fixing his shirt and running his fingers through his hair, making sure everything looks perfect and in place before entrusting yet another box of pastries to his shadows. He has been on the hunt for the best chocolate cookies in Velaris ever since you told him they were your favorite, but he also can't stop himself from trying to spoil you in any way he can.

It's been over a week since he last saw you, and Azriel has been counting down the days for your next meeting ever since he left your side. He couldn't help but feel uncharacteristically annoyed whenever he remembered the mission that ended up keeping him away from home, and in turn from you, for several days. Deep down he knew Rhys had actually been giving him more free time to go visit you than he usually would have in other circumstances, even covering for him when he disappeared for hours on end so the others didn't find it too suspicious. Unfortunately, the bond often spoke louder, and with it came a moodiness that Azriel only felt lifting up earlier today, when he started getting ready to see you.

He makes his way downstairs, already worrying about how the flight will mess up the hair he had just been combing through so carefully. If it weren't for the wards surrounding the House of Wind, he would have winnowed straight to the temple.

“You took a bath.”

A voice coming from the sitting room calls after him, effectively stopping him in his tracks, shadows crawling up his tense body. He curses himself, some spymaster he was, so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't even notice he had company nor the forethought to avoid it. It seems he won't be able to leave without anyone noticing after all.

Azriel hesitates for a moment, unwilling to linger and lose even a second of precious time with his mate. Leaving would only make him appear more suspicious though, so he takes a couple steps into the room instead, finding the oldest and the youngest Archeron sisters looking back at him with amusement written in their eyes.

“I bathe.”

“You don't usually use any of the smelling washes.” Nesta's tone sounds nothing short of accusatory, glancing at Feyre while she talks as if trying to prove a point. “Not since recently at least.”

Azriel was never one to overthink about his appearance, perfectly content with keeping things simple, so it really doesn't come as a surprise that his best friend would notice his newly found appreciation for it. He had also not only accepted a few of Mor's invites to go shopping but also started using the clothes, fragrances and even accessories her and Rhys had gifted him over the years - something that unfortunately the High Lord had picked up on too and teased him relentlessly for whenever they were alone.

And, even in his recent distracted state, he would have to be a fool not to notice Nesta's curiosity towards his whereabouts and sudden mood changes. She has even been asking him about his missions, feigning interest in his spymaster duties just so she can catch him in a lie, knowing he would never dress like this to go spy on their enemies.

“Are you suggesting I smell, Nesta?”

“No, you smell amazing,” she clarifies quickly, sounding so sincere that he feels the corner of his mouth twitch up. Now he almost wishes Cassian was here.

“Then what's the problem?”

Knowing Feyre as well he does, it's extremely commendable that she's managing to keep quiet through this whole conversation, even more so that she hasn't said anything when Nesta surely came asking her what she knew. It also sends a certain warmth through him that she's going against her instincts to keep his secret - even though she and Rhysand have probably been gossiping about him every chance they get.

“There's no problem. I'm simply curious,” she says, clearing her throat before adding with a wicked glint in her eye, “you can't tell me you used your best smelling cologne to go on a mission.”

“I didn't say I was going on a mission,” he says, humoring her for a bit.

As amusing as this unexpected back and forth was turning out to be, it was, at the same time, stealing some of the precious time he had with you. He should have already made it out of Velaris, over the mountains where he would winnow straight to you.

“Then where are you going, if you don't mind me asking?”

“I'm going to have dinner with my mother,” Azriel offers, tone not wavering around the lie even for a moment.

“Oh.”

He feels a little bad for lying, especially since he's using his mother of all people as an excuse, but he knows that if he explained the situation to her she wouldn't mind at all. In fact, this reminded him to make some time to visit his mom, not only had it been quite a while since he last went, but he also wanted to tell her all about you.

Hiding the truth from Nesta and the rest of his family wasn't something he was content with either. Azriel knows they would all be overjoyed with the fact that he had found his Mother blessed mate, but he wanted to make sense of the situation before telling them. As things stand you're simply his friend, even with the shimmering bond between you, and you're still up in your temple, far away from everyone. He wouldn't even be able to properly explain the situation or his feelings on it, Gods know he tries whenever Rhys asks. He probably wouldn't even be able to take them to meet you.

Talking to his mother was always easier though. She never expected answers or explanations, she truly only wanted him to be happy. He can imagine the load off her shoulders it would be to find out her son had found a mate. Yes, he needs to make time to tell her, if no one else.

“I hope you have a lovely dinner, Az,” Feyre says, hiding a knowing smile behind her teacup, apparently not helping herself in at least getting a word in.

“Yes, I hope it all goes well,” Nesta adds, recovering rather quickly, the glint returning to her eyes as she likely reminds herself that one dinner with his mother doesn't explain all his strange recent behavior. Maybe he could still make a spy out of her, she's definitely determined.

Azriel simply nods and bids them a quick goodbye, doing his best to walk at a normal place to the front door, a relieved sigh escaping him when he shoots up into the air, passing the wards keeping the House of Wind safe, feeling himself get engulfed by his shadows as they take him closer to you.

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

“When you first showed up I thought you weren't a good flier,” you reminisce, leaning back further into the cushions propped at your back, a smile playing at your lips. “Or that maybe you were still young.”

Azriel's gaze darts around the library at your words, a breath escaping him before his beautiful hazel eyes meet yours once again. Biting your lip, you try to stop your smile from growing as you watch a flush traveling across his skin, crawling up his delectable neck until his rounded ears become tinted with a pinkish color.

“My wings froze in place,” he admits with a soft smile of his own. “It's a miracle I landed on my feet at all.”

A giggle escapes you then, followed by a breathy chuckle from him, remembering the way his knees had buckled under his weight, how your own felt equally as weak in the face of the all-consuming mating bond. The sound echoes around the library for a moment, carrying around the bookshelves and artifacts laying about, a delighted sound that these walls have not been privy to too often, so used to the silence as they were, as you were.

This was the first time you've brought him into the library since his first visit and the initial tour of the temple you had given him. You usually stay outside whenever Azriel comes to visit, either sitting by the steps watching the moon and the stars, or in the garden, on a bench by the flowers; under a tree, taking advantage of the soft grass that grows here with the Goddess' blessing. But as time passes and his visits become more frequent, you suddenly felt the urge to show him different parts of the temple, to have these little dates - if you could even call them that - in different places to make up for the fact that you couldn't leave the temple's grounds. The light rain that fell today, signaling the end of summer, had been the perfect opportunity.

What you didn't expect was for it to feel so much more intimate. It shouldn't have come as a surprise honestly, this is your house after all and even if he had been here multiple times he had never really lingered inside so now bringing him to the room you spend most of your days in feels different, it made your heart beat faster as soon as he walked in, the bond screaming in elation when he sat in the sofa you're curled in almost every day, taking his place by your side. You don't think you'll ever be able to sit here without this image popping up into your mind.

“I think you did good under the circumstances,” you offer, hand twitching at your side, wanting to reach out and touch the flush covering his cheek, reaching for another cookie instead to keep your treacherous fingers occupied.

Azriel had made good on his promise to bring you every pastry and sweet from Velaris, never arriving at the temple without carrying something delicious within his shadows. Today he brought you various cookies of different shapes, sizes and flavors. They were all delicious, their rich taste blooming in your mouth when you bit into them, but it seems he overestimates just how much you can eat, especially since he barely helps you at all - you swear you've only seen him eat one singular cookie since you opened this box.

“It sounds like you're just saying that to make me feel better.” You shake your head in denial, you really weren't, but he continues before you can say anything else. “Us Illyrians take a lot of pride in our flying abilities, you know? I'm not sure I can let this go so easily.” The teasing smile that blooms on his face is completely mesmerizing, it almost makes you forget yourself. “You'll have to let me show you.”

It takes you a moment too long to process his words, your silver eyes too caught up on his inviting lips to pay any attention to what he said. You'd like to blame these moments where your thoughts stray when you look at Azriel on the bond, but you're not so sure it was all its doing. If he notices he doesn't let it show, allowing you to meet his eyes again like nothing had happened.

“You want to take me flying?”

“If you let me,” he murmurs softly. The excitement written in his eyes was contagious, and if you didn't know any better you'd say he had been waiting on a chance to ask you.

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought of the possibility ever since you first laid eyes on Azriel. You had never seen a winged fae before so flying always seemed like a childish dream, but now you couldn't help feeling a hint of wistfulness every time you saw him land swiftly on top of the steps. Who wouldn't want to fly? The thought of the wind caressing your skin as you cut through the clouds sounded heavenly, not to mention Azriel's arms wrapped around you as he held you against him. The thought summons warmth to your chest, and lower.

“I'd like that,” you say, “but I'm not sure if it will work because of my oath. We would not be able to go far.”

“Around the temple should be fine, right?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“It's a promise then,” he smiles brightly down at you. “Next time I'll take you flying. I would take you right now but it's still raining.”

“Do you know when the next time will be?”

The words escape you before your brain catches up to them. The way his smile falters, and some of his shadows rush to him from where they had been lazily swirling around the library makes you want to take them back immediately. You know they do that when he's upset or sad, something you rarely see when he comes to the temple. The thought that you were the one to make him so makes you want to rip out your heart and beg for his forgiveness.

“I'm only curious. I didn't mean anything by it,” you rush to explain, the last thing you wanted was for him to think you blamed him, or expected more of him. Azriel had been nothing short of perfect and understanding given your limitations.

“I would come every day if I could.”

“I know, Azriel.” You can hear the longing in his voice, filtering in through the bond as well, even if he tries to hide it. “I would go to you if I could too.”

Thankfully this brings the smile back to his lips, even if still somewhat overshadowed by the reality of your relationship. You've noticed Azriel has a hard time believing he's wanted, and you probably only make it worse since you have not accepted the bond.

“I'm not sure when the next time will be. I should be free in a couple of days, but if Rhys and Feyre need me in the meantime it might be longer, and I don't want to keep your hopes up if I might not be able to show up after all,” he explains as he reaches out for your hand tentatively, holding it delicately in his as his thumb starts drawing circles over your open palm, sending a tingling feeling shooting up your arm and straight to your chest. Shouldn't you be the one comforting him?

“I'll be here waiting either way, Azriel. I don't want you to neglect your work because of me,” you say, squeezing his hand, holding it tighter in yours.

“I'm not. There's no immediate threats on the court so things have been relatively calm, and I think I've earned some time off for all the years I worked without it.” The two of you were similar in a lot of ways, how focused you could be on your work and loyal to your duty was one of them. “Rhys has been easier on me too,” he adds.

“Does he know?”

“Since the first night,” Azriel nods, “I tried to hide it but he saw right through me. I haven't told anyone else though.”

You frown softly as his words settle between you, biting your lip softly and hopefully hiding it before he notices. You didn't know how to feel about Azriel having to hide you from his family, having to sneak around whenever he visits you. The way your chest constricted as soon as the words left his mouth told you what the bond felt immediately though. Your eyes drop to your still intertwined hands, the sight making your heart flutter despite your inner turmoil.

A mating bond was an extremely rare and beautiful thing, something you would be proud to tell your friends and family all about, the whole world even, but you can't blame him for not telling them anything when there's no guarantee this will work, when you made it clear from the first day that you didn't think it would work. All he had to do was explain the situation for the expected congratulations and joyous smiles to turn into pity and sympathetic words instead.

“I'm sorry.”

Now it was Azriel's turn to frown, leaning closer to you and squeezing your hand, trying to meet your eyes as you focused on his hand, on the shimmering silver string that kept you eternally bound to each other.

“What are you sorry for?”

“It's my fault you have to hide it.”

“Of course not-”

You cut him off with a shake of your head, tugging on his hand. You were tired of him making excuses for you, of acting like nothing was wrong. If his mate were anyone else, he would have probably at least started dating them regularly by now, might have even already accepted the bond.

“I need you to know,” you look up at him, forcing yourself to keep eye contact with every word even when it becomes too much to bear, “if it weren't for the oath I made and if I could leave the temple, if we could live a normal life, I would accept the bond in a heartbeat.”

You can't quite read the expression that falls over his face, and your nerves are making it impossible to keep a cool head. As the silence stretches on, his hand frozen in yours and his hazel eyes staring right into your soul with unwavering intensity, your heart starts beating extremely loud, pouding at your eardrums as the thought that you said the wrong thing invades your mind.

“Azriel-”

“Can I kiss you?”

“What?”

“Please,” he breathes out, a desperately needy sound coming from deep in his chest. Scarred hands come up to hold your cheeks as he leans down, touching his forehead to yours, hazel eyes closing. “I really want to kiss you.”

You're unsure why he thought you could ever deny him such a request. Leaning in the rest of the way, your lips find his in a soft kiss before you lose your courage. It had been entirely too long since you've felt someone's lips on yours and the fact that it was Azriel, your mate, only made the fire starting inside you burn brighter.

A moan crawls up your throat before you even have a chance to think to keep it down. Azriel swallows it gladly, offering you a deep, satisfied groan of his own as the kiss turns more desperate. All the want you've both tried to keep locked away rising up uninterrupted as teeth and tongues clash, your hands tugging at his soft hair while his fall to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

You have no idea how long you're tangled up in each other, the world falling silent while his hands roam your body, but by the time your mind finally clears and you manage to get a grasp on your instincts and on the bond, you find yourself straddling his lap, your dress pushed up to your hips and his shirt half unbuttoned.

Your entire body was glued to him. You could feel every breath he took, the low purring in his chest rumbling against yours, and the evidence of just how much he wanted you pressing against your core. It's as if you had been trying to crawl under his skin, maybe you were, it's not like that would be enough.

Even as you pull apart, chests rising and falling together as you catch your breaths, you don't move away from him, your eyes still closed as you keep your foreheads pressed together. You think it might be impossible to, just the thought makes you want to chain yourself to him, the bond making it difficult to even think at how adamant it is on you keeping your mate as close as possible.

Azriel seems to be of the same mind as he lets out a soft groan, strong arms tightening around you, the sweet pressure pushing an embarrassingly needy and breathy moan past your lips. He leans into your neck, a shiver running through his body as he takes in your scent, the way it deepened with arousal and mixes in with his sending his mind into a frenzy the same way it does yours. If anyone were to walk into this room, they wouldn't be able to tell them apart at all, there wouldn't be any doubts that you were his.

You feel him drop an otherwise chaste kiss to the overheated and sensitive skin of your neck, the way his body tenses at the harsh breath you take in telling you he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into it instead. With how out of practice and needy you are at this moment, you think you'd come undone on his lap if he did, the thought sobering you somewhat.

Calling his name softly, surprised by how breathy and undeniably affected your own voice is, you wait for him to gather his own thoughts, abandoning your neck reluctantly, his half-lidded and blown out hazel eyes meeting yours. You know mating bonds are a lot harder to manage for the males so you can't even imagine what is going through his mind, how hard he has to hold himself back from claiming you as his own when you're soaked and pliable on top of him.

Even though you were the one who called his name, you find yourself at a loss for words in the face of his desire. You don't want to tell him to stop and you don't want to move away from him, but you have to, you both know that. And so you kiss him again instead, softly, apologetically.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fic #azriel fluff #my writing

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steddieas-shegoes · 7 months ago

Text

bad idea right

for @steddiesongfics July prompt using song lyrics from ‘bad idea right’ by olivia rodrigo

rated e | 1569 words | cw: alcohol, super mildly dubious consent because of the alcohol | tags: angst with a happy ending, post break up, exes to lovers, getting back together, sex

📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱

Eddie isn’t afraid to admit that he makes mistakes. Sometimes, he makes big ones.

Answering the call from Steve is the first big one.

“Steve?” It’s been almost a year since he’s heard from him, their breakup being the finite end to any and all communication. “You okay?”

“Eddie! Oh my god. So I’m out right now, and I’m all fucked up, and I was thinkin’ ‘bout that time I got so drunk you had to carry me to my bed.” Eddie’s listening to Steve, but he feels like his soul is leaving his body. “You remember how gentle you were? You were so worried about tripping up the stairs and you kept cussing when you lost your grip. You kissed my head when you thought I was asleep.”

Steve’s words are slurred, but Eddie can make them out fine. He was good at understanding Steve all the time, even inebriated.

“I knew you were awake,” he gulps. Robin’s gonna kill him for even entertaining Steve like this. Actually, speaking of her- “Is Robbie with you?”

“No.” Eddie can hear the pout on his lips. “She’s on a date with her girlfriend.”

Right. She’d mentioned that to Eddie yesterday when they were texting about plans for next weekend.

Robin had refused to be split between her two best friends when they broke up, and rightfully so. She may have been Steve’s platonic soulmate, but she knew that what happened between them wasn’t Eddie’s fault. She made sure to spend time with Eddie when Steve was otherwise busy.

“Are you good to get home? I can send an Uber for you.” Eddie offers even though he’s sure Steve thought of that already. Even drunk, he would know how to get home.

“I can get my own Uber.”

“I know.”

“I missed your voice.”

Eddie is doing his fuckin’ best not to make his second big mistake tonight, but it’s not going well. He knows what’s gonna happen. He knows because he’s weak and loves Steve more than anything even after having his heart torn to pieces by him. Even knowing it’ll only lead to more heartbreak.

“You should get home, Stevie.”

“Missed that, too.”

It’s quieter on Steve’s end now, like he’s stepped away from whatever club or bar he’s holed up in, maybe outside to get some much needed fresh air. Eddie hopes it sobers him enough to realize what he’s done so he hangs up.

“Steve…”

“Can I come over?”

Eddie makes the second big mistake of the night and says yes.

When Steve arrives, he’s a beautiful mess.

He’s drunk, but the ride must’ve helped a little. His eyes are clear, his cheeks not as flush as they probably were before.

Eddie’s waiting at the door when he gets there, standing with a smile that doesn’t belong. He’s trying to be welcoming to a man who did everything to make sure he felt like he didn’t belong.

Steve is in his arms as soon as he makes it to the front door. Eddie’s third big mistake of the night is wrapping his arms around him as if he’d never stopped, as if this last year wasn’t the worst of his life and he’s barely made it through.

“Sorry I called. I didn’t know where to go.”

And now Eddie’s confused. He’s confused because Steve has an apartment of his own, one that he definitely knew how to get to even when drunk. Even if he didn’t, he would’ve been able to call Robin to help. Or Max. Or Lucas.

And he’s sure that Steve’s been drunk in the last year and not called him.

“Why couldn’t you go home?”

“Too quiet.”

11 months ago, almost to the day, Steve Harrington told Eddie Munson that he was too loud, too hyper, too messy.

11 months ago, Eddie Munson gathered whatever he could find in four minutes and left Steve’s apartment for the last time.

11 months ago, Steve ruined a three year relationship because he’d been feeling overwhelmed and didn’t tell Eddie until it was too late.

Now, Eddie Munson is sure that Steve Harrington is about to be his fourth big mistake tonight.

“You wanna come in?” He asks, already knowing Steve’s answer.

“Please.”

Steve is tucked into Eddie’s bed, curled around a pillow, mouth open as he snores quietly. Eddie watches him for a moment before tip-toeing from the room.

Robin’s livid when she answers her phone.

“This better be good. I was two fingers-“

“Steve’s here.” Eddie interrupts what was sure to be too much information about what Robin was getting up to on her date. “Drunk.”

“He just showed up at your house?” Robin sounds less mad now, more concerned, though he’s not sure who she’s more concerned about.

“He called first.”

“And you answered.”

“Yeah. Well.” Eddie sighs. “I’m gonna sleep on the couch, but just wanted you to know he’s safe and I’ll make sure he gets home tomorrow.”

“Eddie, I’m so sorry. He said he was just gonna watch a movie tonight or else I would’ve suggested he go hang with Dustin or something.”

“It’s not your job to babysit him.” Eddie doesn’t like the way she said that, but he’s probably reading too much into it. “He’s an adult.”

“Yeah, no. He’s. I mean, he’s fine. It’s just that we all try to keep his mind busy since…ya know.” Robin explains, though Eddie feels even more confused.

“Since he specifically told me I was too much for him?”

Robin’s silence speaks volumes.

“Eddie?” Steve’s voice is behind him and he’s quick to turn and make sure he’s okay. “Sleep?”

“I’ll text you,” he whispers to Robin before hanging up and turning to Steve. “You should go lay down. I’ll bring you some water.”

“You too?” Steve was blinking slowly, barely awake as he stood in Eddie’s living room.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Stevie.”

“Is it because of what I said?”

It’s not the time for them to have this conversation, and it’s not the time for Eddie to wish he could forget it ever happened so he can hop into bed with Steve. But he thinks Steve is probably sobering up little by little, and if he expects Steve to sleep, he may have to do this.

“You made it very clear how you felt. I’m just trying to respect your space until I can get you home tomorrow.” Robin would be proud of how he’s handling this, he thinks. He’s at least keeping things civil even though his head is screaming at him.

“I didn’t mean what I said.”

Eddie stares at him, tries to find the telltale signs of Steve lying. He doesn’t see any.

Steve’s too tired and too buzzed to hide it.

“Then why did you say any of it?” Eddie feels his chest constricting, his heartbeat racing the longer he looks at him. “Why did you make me think I was too much?”

“My dad came by that day,” Steve’s head falls, his hands wringing in front of him. “My dad had spent two hours telling me I wasn’t enough and that I’d done nothing but disappoint him and I’d never be what he wanted. And it wasn’t the first time, but it was after my boss gave a promotion to someone else even though I was more qualified and my head was killing me and Robin and I had gotten into a stupid argument that morning and it was a bad day.”

Eddie’s staring at him, mouth wide open, watching as the man he loves falls apart.

“It’s no excuse. I shouldn’t’ve said any of it no matter what. Not when it’s not even true. I’ve never felt like you’re too much or too loud.” Steve’s stepping closer now. “I’ve always just wanted to soak up whatever energy you have. And I didn’t know how to tell you that you’re more than I deserve without saying you’re too much for what I can offer.”

Damn Steve Harrington and his charm, even when buzzed, even when exhaustion is causing him to curl into himself.

Damn Eddie’s inability to avoid his fifth mistake of the night.

He doesn’t know if he is the catalyst or if they both are, but suddenly his mouth is on Steve’s and teeth knock together, and there’s a slight taste of blood on Eddie’s tongue.

There’s moans and hands against skin and in hair and hard cocks rubbing against thighs and bruises on hips.

There’s Steve’s head hitting the pillow and Eddie’s mouth sucking marks into his stomach and inner thigh and the blanket falling off the bed as they try to strip out of their clothes too fast.

There’s laughter and soft touches and nails biting into skin and check-ins.

There’s love when Eddie holds his face in his hands as he slides into Steve for the first time in too long, and there’s hope when Steve cries out for more, and there’s passion that Eddie knows he’d never find with anyone else.

After, when there’s sweat and tears and cum and an unfortunate wet spot in the middle of the bed, there’s whispers of tomorrow and the next day and apologies and promises.

It may have been a bad idea answering Steve’s call, but Eddie’s happy to make more mistakes if it means keeping Steve in his arms and being enough for each other.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddiesongfics #exes to lovers #getting back together #angst with a happy ending

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miley1442111 · 8 months ago

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shocker- a.hotchner

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summary: you have some news for your husband.

pairing: aaron hotchner x wife! reader

warnings: fluff, pregnancy, mild angst, happy ending :)

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Aaron had a day off. A day off from work, from paperwork, from travel. And he had you all to himself.

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

He woke up much earlier than you ever would, but instead of getting in his morning thirty-minute run, he stayed in bed with you, allowing himself a few extra minutes of sleep. God, you were gorgeous like this. Unconscious and unbothered, a soft smile on your face as you lay beside him in your shared bed. Most of the time he couldn’t even believe he knew someone like you, let alone married you.

“You’re getting handsy Mr. Hotchner,” you chuckled, swatting his hand that had in fact, landed on your ass.

He chuckled back. “I can’t appreciate my wife?”

You finally opened your eyes, only to roll them at him. He laughed and pressed a kiss against your cheek as you yawned, too tired from the long week to get up yet.

“We should do something today,” he pressed soft kisses to your collarbone as you nodded to what he was saying. “Movie?”

“Nothing new is out,” you reminded him.

“Park?”

“Jess isn’t a fan of the park anymore,” you yawned.

“Shopping?”

You stared at him in bewilderment for a moment. “Are you insane?”

“Yeah, I guess that one was a long shot.”

“We could stay in bed all day,” you offered.

“As much as I would love that,” a harsh smack landed on your ass and you yelped. “We do have two children to look after.”

“Send them to Jessica’s,” you groaned. “We haven’t had any time together in months, Aaron. I adore our kids, but I also adore my husband, and I want to see him.”

Aaron’s heart swelled, and he needed no more convincing. “I’ll call her now.”

You smiled at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

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

God, this day was more than needed.

Sending Jack and Jessie off to their cousin's house meant you and Aaron had a whole morning to watch an entire film, without someone interrupting, then you got up and went to the farmer’s market together, and had a great time.

“I love you,” you smiled, leaning over the centre console of the car as Aaron reversed out of your parking spot. He chuckled, then took your hand.

“I love you too.”

“Aaron,” you smiled.

“Y/n,” he responded, smiling cheekily.

“Are you happy?”

“More than anything,” he smiled. “I love our life, so much.”

“Do you want more kids?” you asked nervously. Truthfully, this is what today had been about. Four weeks ago, you found out you were pregnant. It was an accident, yes, but hopefully not a mistake. How ould he take it? Jess was planned completely and Jack had been planned too (granted, not with you but, you knew the Aaron Hotchener way). This was totally unplanned. You two were both busy people with busy jobs you loved a lot.

“Maybe in a few years-”

“I’m pregnant.”

His mouth opened in shock, then close to a straight line.

“You’re not happy,” you responded for him.

“I’m very happy,” he nodded. “Just… shocked and a little bit confused as to why you told me while I’m driving.”

You chuckled, but the rest of the car ride was silent and your anxiety grew. What if he wasn’t happy? What would happen? Had you ruined the day?

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

You rushed inside the house and away from him, locking yourself in your bedroom under the guise of a nap. You had gotten a full 12 hours of sleep, and now, there you were with a head full of anxious thoughts and awful ideas.

“Can I come in?” he knocked on the door, and you just mumbled a response. You heard him sigh and unlock the door from the outside, and everything came crashing down. Your eyes watered, and immediately wrapped you up in his arms with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” you whispered, tears falling down your face. “It’s ok Aaron.”

“I’m happy about this,” he nodded, reassuring you. His hands cupped your cheeks, turning your attention towards him. “I’m just… surprised. Jess is only 2, and Jack is getting older everyday. I was just scared about the thought of having a newborn. I’m not unhappy, I’m just scared.”

“I’m really scared about this,” you admitted. “Our last pregnancy was less than… easy.”

“This time, I’ll be here the whole time,” he promised.

“Aaron, you’ll be at work and so will I-”

“I’m leaving the BAU. I want to be here more,” he pulled you closer. “I want to be here for you and the kids.”

You stared up at him in shock. “Really?”

“Yes,” he smiled.

"So you'll stay home with the kids?" You asked.

"I want nothing more," he smiled.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #bau team #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds fandom #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fluff #thomas gibson x reader #thomas gibson #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction

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xxaraaq · 9 months ago

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𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙑𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙪𝙚

masterlist

Synopsis | Alicent is a Godly woman who's morals stand high above everything else. She's given everything she's supposed to to the realm. She is so selfless, so fucking her husbands brother is the one thing she can keep to herself, right?

Word count | 1.5k

cw | Infidelity, spoken violence, corruption?

Authors note | Hi y'all. I know I haven't posted in literally the longest time ever but if I'm being honest I've been fighting with life it up until about a week ago it was beating my ass. Anyways, I'm back now, and I hope that this will make up for it, enjoy! Not edited.

She is a good queen.

That’s what she thinks to comfort herself whenever the regrets of her past set in. She has done her duty to the realm, giving birth to formidable sons and a beautiful daughter. She did what she was supposed to do, she just happened to do it with the wrong man.

No one could blame her for her choices. Her husband, a now senile, miserable old man who had no romantic love for her, failed in his role as her source of comfort. Once Rhaenyra went off and fucked her uncle in a brothel, she felt as though she had no true friends, no real allies.

No one except you.

You were the youngest of you, Viserys, and Daemon. Meaning that you had no real responsibilities. You had close to if not no chance of inheriting the iron throne, and you accepted it. Instead of struggling futilely trying to climb your way up the line of succession, you sat back, kicked your feet up, and enjoyed the life of a royal, of a Targaryen.

With you and Alicent being so close in age, you only being four years her senior, she found it easier to converse and jest with you compared to her husband and virtually everyone else around her. You were light hearted, a companion she often sought the company of. And even though her fathers concern grew about the influence you have on her that grows with each passing day, she paid it no mind. After all, she was the queen, and no one could tell her no.

It was the day the ‘rumors’ spread about Rhaenyra that you swooped in. Exhausted, you were the first person she went to to deliver the news.

“Your sister has ruined almost any chance she has at marrying a suitable lord.” Alicent huffs, pacing back and forth around the room. You chuckle, amused by the entire ordeal. “She is a princess, maiden or not, my brother will surely find a wealthy husband for my niece.” You say, trying to ease her nerves. It obviously doesn’t help, her looking at you like you have two heads. “This is nothing to joke about. Your niece might run your entire house into ruin with the horrid accusations circling about. Have you no care in what happens?” She yells, desperate to get you to understand her frustration in it all. “Accusations? Alicent, my closest friend, you are no fool. You and I both know she fucked my brother in a whorehouse. You can speak freely with me, I promise you that.” You stand from your chair, making your way towards her. You love your niece and brother, but you’re also not one to deny the truth.

A tear slips from her eye, the stress of it all pouring down on her. “Oh, my dear, don’t cry.” You cup her face in your rough hands. A chill runs down her spine, something she’s never felt before. The look you have in your eyes is not what she’s seen from you before. Your eyes are dark, a smirk on your face that means nothing but trouble.

“You are a good woman, I must say. A loyal wife, an obedient daughter, a great friend. You never fail to be there to fulfill the needs and wants from others around you. But what about your needs, hmm?” You ask, tone sultry with an emotion she can’t pinpoint. “I-I don’t understand what you mean.” She stutters, growing shy from your demeanor. “You know what I mean, Alicent. When’s the last time you’ve truly felt fulfilled? Rhaenyra is too busy chasing after Daemon like a lost pup to spend time with you. Your husband is still stuck on Aemma even though he’s the reason she passed on in the first place, God's rest her soul. And your father, as much as he may love you, sees you as nothing more than a tool. I am the only one who has genuine intentions for you. The only things I care about ensuring is your well-being and happiness. A life full of not knowing what it’s like to be pleasured and to bring pleasure is not one worth living.”

She knows that you mean this deep down in your heart, and that makes her want to give in all the more. ‘We can’t, what if someone finds out?” She asks, fear covering her features. You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Who would be so impudent as to try and tell the King that his youngest brother is fucking his wife?” You say.

She thinks for a second, then two, then three. “I’m… I’m not certain that having an affair would be for the best.” She says, backing away until she hits the edge of a table. “Let me show you what I could do for you, please? If you don’t like it, just say the word and I’ll never make an advance again, I promise this to you.” You almost plead, desperation laced through every word you speak. You have to have her, you’re sure you’ll die if you don’t.

Her silence fills the room, making your heart beat all the more harder. You almost dropped to your knees to thank the Gods for having you in their favor the moment she nodded her head yes. It was slow at first, a kiss on the neck, a light caress on her thigh, but then you stopped holding back, and you took her to that table in a matter of minutes. You held your hand to her mouth, trying to keep her as quiet as possible as you fucked into her tight cunt with a fervor you’ve never felt before. Everything about her drove you crazy as you corrupted her. The scent of her hair, the softness of her skin, the way she so futilely used her hand to try and push you from her as your thick cock plowed through her.

Your secret relations kept on through the years, past the birth of Ageon and the rest of the children. The both of you knew that all four of them were yours, words not needed to be spoken to know that you were the one to sire the king's heirs and not the king himself.

As everyone grew, so did the tensions concerning the birth of your niece's sons. You had to laugh when you first saw Jace’s brown tufts of hair. How could she be so transparent about her infidelity? It was Rhaenyra’s actions that truly caused the hatred to stir within Alicent. You knew as well as everyone else that it was only a matter of time before things grew too large to keep a blind eye to it all.

The day that Aemond was maimed was one that nobody could ever forget. It was truly just a blurry haze of squeaky voices, deep insults, and the sound of a sheathed blade. The royal blood that covered the pavement that night would never be forgotten. You were the one that escorted the queen back to her room that night, providing an environment where her tongue could be as loose as need be. You shut the door, the creakiness that shows its age filling the silence. “That vile woman and her, her…” She couldn’t even get the words out, she was so furious. “Bastards? Say it Alicent, we all know it to be the truth.” You say, leaning against the stone wall. She groans, hand running over her face as she goes back to her habit of pacing the room. “The king is so shielded by the love he has for her, he can’t even see the vile things she has done.” She says, pupils so dilated with rage she can’t see straight. “Must I remind you that we are in the same boat as her, only that her’s has started to sink while ours stays afloat?” You say, quick to point out the sins she has also committed. The words catch in her throat, taken aback by your sudden correction. “Are you taking her side?” Her voice trembles with stress as she picks at her nail beds. “Do you not remember how I to this day sneak into you room through secrets passageways to fuck you to sleep every night? How I’ve filled your womb with so much seed I’ve impregnated you four times? Or have you forgotten how all our children are bastards as well?” You say, your voice sarcastically sweet as you grip her waist, pulling her backside flush to her chest. You lay kisses on her neck and shoulders, soothing her tenseness almost immediately. “What happened to our son is a tragedy that may never be avenged. But as he said, the reward for losing his eye was much greater than the pain he suffered.” You whisper in her ear.

She is a good queen, she thinks to herself.

She is a good queen, even as she lets you fuck her up against the bed posts, mouth cover by your calloused hands once more to keep her muffled sounds of ecstasy hidden from the outside world

-Nene

#nene #x reader #alicent #alicent x reader #alicent x male reader #alicent x male! Targaryen reader #alicent x Targaryen! reader #alicent hightower x reader #alicent hightower #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd x male reader

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someone-will-remember-us · 1 month ago

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Four years ago, Caroline Darian thought she had a normal life. She was in her early 40s, she had a home in the Paris area, a job as a communications manager, a husband who worked for a TV breakfast show and a six-year-old son. She got on well with her parents, who had retired to the picturesque village of Mazan in Provence in the south of France, to a house with pastel-blue shutters where they would all often spend long summers together in the garden under the mulberry tree and splashing in the pool – with barbecues and music, dinner and board games on the patio and country bike rides with her dad.

Darian remembers the exact moment that this all shattered. It was 8.25pm according to the clock on her kitchen cooker, on a Monday night in November 2020. She had been working from home all day on Zoom calls. She had just put down a bag of Japanese takeaway on the kitchen counter when her mother, Gisèle Pelicot, called and told her to sit down in a quiet spot; she had something difficult to say.

Darian thought of her father’s health – he was heavy, had breathing problems, and France had been in and out of Covid lockdowns. But instead she learned that police had arrested her father, Dominique Pelicot, for secretly filming up women’s skirts in a supermarket with a hidden camera in a bag. Officers investigating his phones, computer and hard drive had found thousands of images and videos stretching over almost 10 years showing that he had drugged his wife then filmed her, unconscious, being raped in her own bed by him and dozens of strangers. There had been at least 70 men, aged from 22 to 71, and police were still trying to identify them all.

Darian didn’t understand what was being said. She felt herself lose control: shaking, shouting, screaming insults about her father, hardly able to breathe. “It was like being hit by a wave,” she says, still struggling to comprehend it four years later. “It was a cataclysm. All my foundations collapsed.”

Darian is sitting in a book-lined room, up a creaky wooden staircase in a publisher’s office on the Left Bank in Paris. The first time we speak, it is days before the verdict in what has become the biggest rape trial in French history, after her mother decided to waive her anonymity and hold the four months of hearing in public, saying “shame must change sides”. Gisèle was embraced by the world as a feminist hero for her bravery and refusal to be shamed, as the trial made global headlines and the family was thrown into the spotlight. Darian is poised and calm, although nervous about the verdict. Channelling her anger into a public campaign to raise awareness of drug-facilitated sexual violence has been a “question of survival”, she says. But on the inside, she describes herself as a “field of ruins”. The previous few nights, she began dreaming about Dominique Pelicot again.

The trial was an “ordeal”, Darian says, “really hard from a human perspective”. Dozens of accused men, now aged between 26 and 74, including a soldier, journalist and lorry drivers, had sat on benches in court, at close proximity to her and her mother. The men seemed so relaxed and “comfortable in their seats”, Darian observed. Video evidence was shown of many of them raping Gisèle in her bedroom when she was in a comatose state, lying limp and lifeless and snoring loudly, with family photos on the dresser and spotty pillowcases on the bed.

Dominique Pelicot hid prescription drugs in a tennis sock inside a hiking shoe in his garage. He crushed sleeping tablets and anti-anxiety medication into Gisèle’s mashed potato, coffee, or the raspberry ice-cream he served her in front of the TV. This would give him seven hours, he told the court, in which his wife was in a state akin to being under general anaesthetic. He would take off her pyjamas, dress her up in underwear he had bought. Then he and the other men would rape her while a camera filmed. Afterwards, Dominique Pelicot said he would wash her and dress her in her pyjamas before she would wake up, groggy but unaware, thinking the blackouts and memory lapses meant something was wrong with her brain. He contacted men online with messages such as “I’m looking for a pervert accomplice to abuse my wife who’s been put to sleep” or “You’re like me, you like rape mode.”

Days after we meet, Dominique Pelicot is sentenced to 20 years in prison and all 50 other men are found guilty of rape, attempted rape or sexual assault. At least 20 more could not be identified and are presumed to be still at large today. Most had denied the allegations, saying they had never “intended” to rape and thought it was a game by a couple of swingers in which “the wife” was pretending to be asleep. Some said that if the husband gave consent it was OK.

Darian has total admiration for her mother – “the true victim of this whole story” – for agreeing to hold the trial in public. Darian went public herself, in 2022, while the investigation was ongoing, publishing a book called I’ll Never Call Him Dad Again, which has now been translated into English for a new edition. It was a kind of diary of the first year after the revelations, illustrating how “trauma expands outwards like a shock wave” through a family.

She had grown up happily with her parents and three brothers. Her father, an electrician who had also worked as an estate agent, and mother, a logistics manager, met when they were 19 and 20 and married soon after. The family lived in a house provided by her mother’s company with five bedrooms and a walled garden in a coveted neighbourhood on the banks of the river Marne just outside Paris. Dominique Pelicot encouraged Darian’s dance lessons and would drive her to school to avoid her getting the bus. She remembered him singing Barry White songs in his Renault 25 as he drove the kids on holiday. All that was sunk for ever by the revelations. She now doesn’t even keep old photographs. “I can’t keep hold of those memories,” she says. “Sometimes they pop up, but that was a previous life; this is now.”

Campaigning “is a way for me to recover some kind of dignity”, she says, having founded a movement called Don’t Put Me Under (#MendorsPas) to raise awareness and support victims of drug-facilitated rape, pushing a new expression into the mainstream in France: “chemical submission”. Drugging most often happens in the home, enacted by family members or people you know, she says, and victims can be adults or children. Before her father’s arrest, “I didn’t have a clue about drugging or drug-assisted rape. I knew about GHB, the date rape drug, in nightclubs and bars, but I didn’t know it was so much more widespread and mostly happened using the contents of the family medicine cabinet.” She wants better training for health professionals and police, and better access to toxicological testing for victims.

She would also like more respect for rape victims in court. She watched in horror when even her mother, a grandmother, who had been drugged into a coma with no recollection of the assaults, was questioned by defence lawyers about whether she might have led the men on.

“I’m really proud of my mum,” Darian says with determination. “She has opened the door. She has led the way for other victims of sexual violence. She’s told them they’re not alone any more. That is strength. So to me she’s a hero … And she did it brilliantly. She walked into this court every single day with hundreds of journalists, being scrutinised by everyone, being humiliated by all these [defence] lawyers. Frankly, you have be strong to do that … She’s an independent and strong woman. And she did it with dignity.”

She describes her mother as having the calm of a “medieval queen” presiding over ruins – a resilience she says Gisèle has had since losing her own mother to cancer aged nine.

Darian, 45, attended the trial with her brothers, David, 50, a sales manager, and Florian, 38, an actor. (She uses the pseudonym Darian because it is a composite of her brothers’ names, in honour of their support, but has taken her husband’s surname). She was a striking figure in the courtroom, head held high, arms folded, sitting metres away from the accused men – many of whom were around her own age – and visibly staring them all in the eye. What did she feel? “I felt anger. They’re cowards.” She said the men stared right back at her: “I was looked at like a sex object during this trial by many of them.” While reporting the trial, I saw Darian’s appearances shift the mood in the courtroom. She was unflinching about the unbearable emotional toll – “How are you supposed to rebuild yourself from the ruins when you know your father is the worst sexual predator of the past 20 years?” she asked the head judge. She was not afraid to regularly shout across the courtroom, “You’re lying!” to the man she no longer called her father, or get up and walk out. At one point, when her father was speaking about her, she retorted: “I want to throw up.”

Within the first days of the trial, it became clear that Dominique Pelicot was reserving perhaps his most twisted evasions for his daughter, refusing to explain what he had done to her and appearing to change his story several times.

What had emerged in the four-year investigation of Dominique Pelicot’s crimes was that no woman in his family was safe. He had hidden cameras in bathrooms and bedrooms at his home and in relatives’ homes, secretly photographing his sons’ wives naked and sharing the pictures and photomontages online, boasting that he was “surrounded by sluts”. He hid cameras in the guest bedroom in Mazan to secretly film his daughter naked and make photomontages of both her and Gisèle naked, comparing their bodies under the title “The slut’s daughter”, which he shared online alongside obscene commentary.

On his computer equipment, police had found a deleted folder called “my daughter naked” and recovered two pictures of Darian, then aged roughly in her 30s, taken at different times, asleep on her side in the foetal position, wearing beige underwear with the duvet pulled back. When police first showed her those pictures, she initially didn’t recognise herself. The lights were on, and she was a light sleeper who would have woken up. She never slept in that position, or went to bed dressed like that, and the underwear she was wearing definitely wasn’t her own. She said in court she was certain she had been drugged, and also probably raped and abused by Dominique Pelicot. “It’s not a hypothesis; it’s reality, I know it,” she told the judges. She said the difference between her and Gisèle Pelicot was that her mother – most unusually in a rape case – had the confirmation of thousands of files of video evidence. Darian, without video evidence, felt, she said, more like the remaining 99% of women who allege drugging, unable to ever know the truth, locked into “doubt and silence”.

In her final appearance in court, Darian said: “I’m a forgotten victim in this case.” Turning to her father, she added: “I know you abused me. You don’t have the courage to tell me.” She, her brothers, her lawyer and even Dominique Pelicot’s own lawyer beseeched him in court to speak honestly about what he had done. Despite the photos, he said he had never touched his daughter and didn’t know who had taken them. One court psychiatrist suggested that for a victim like Darian to go through life not knowing was “mental torture”.

When she walked into that courtroom at the start of the trial, was she convinced he would tell her what happened? “There was a small part of me that was hoping,” she says. “I was really determined to make him recognise the facts. And I failed.”

She pauses and the word hangs in the air. Did she think it was her responsibility to make him speak? “You know I’m always reflecting on that, because I was tough and I asked him in a violent way. Maybe if I had been in a more emotional dimension, he would have told the truth. Anyway, it’s a fail for me.”

She says: “The only victim who knows – and not even the entire truth – is my mum. But even for my mum, he didn’t tell the whole truth or the full story. Even today, we don’t know how many men came to abuse my mother, and when it started. We still don’t know.”

Darian’s brothers, in court beside her, described the whole family’s “devastation”. Her husband, Pierre, a TV journalist, who she says has been a crucial support, also took the stand. He said the discovery on Pelicot’s computer of pictures of Darian apparently asleep in underwear that wasn’t her own “added horror to the horror”. He told the judges it wasn’t a question of “whether she was drugged, but why she was drugged”.

For Darian, the case has robbed her of one of the most basic necessities of life: sleep. How do you doze off at night when you fear you might have been abused in your sleep, when you are terrified you might lose control and become someone’s prey? When she first found out about the allegations, she didn’t sleep for five nights straight. She ended up needing medical help and was admitted to an emergency psychiatric ward where – terrifyingly for her – staff tried to sedate her. Yet the whole issue of sedation “was, you know the reason we were in this nightmare”. This hospital approach was “absolutely not what I needed”, she says. Her body and brain resisted drugs, “so they had to use this massive dose … it was really experimental”. This is now part of her campaign for better support of victims. She has tried to be honest in public about her vulnerability as a survivor, and not look like what she calls a “pseudo wonder woman”. She announced halfway through the trial that she would go into a clinic for a few days to try to recover after “weeks of repeated insomnia”.

Her view of herself has been shaken by the case. Her past has dissolved and weakened her foundations, she says. “I lost a part of me, I lost a part of my identity.” She carries what she calls the “crushing double burden” of being the child of the victim and the perpetrator. “You can’t imagine the sadness and the loneliness,” she says. “I’ve got a part of his DNA. And it’s difficult to be the daughter of the biggest sexual criminal for the past 10, 20, even 30 years, and at the same time be the daughter of an icon like my mum … I don’t know if it’s better to be the daughter of Gisèle or worse to be the daughter of Dominique Pelicot. I’ll have to live with that.”

Back in November 2020, the day after Gisèle broke the news to her children, Darian and her brothers took the train south to the house in Mazan, with its sunny back garden, synonymous with holidays. It was now quite terrifying and they feared all these men would come back at night. Dominique Pelicot had been taken into police custody and would await trial in prison. The children wanted to clear the house and get their mother out in a matter of days – they started selling furniture, emptying drawers, which they found full of debt notices incurred by their father. Darian smashed one of his amateur paintings (a nude). Gisèle left with two suitcases and her dog. Nearly 50 years of marriage had vanished, and she soon filed for divorce.

At that time, Darian was running over in her head odd things that had happened, signs she felt she had missed. She and her brothers, as well as Gisèle herself, had worried she had Alzheimer’s; they had booked neurologists and scans, but the tests always came back normal. Fearful, Gisèle had stopped driving; pinched herself when she took the train to Paris, worried she’d miss her stop; and was convinced she would be diagnosed with a brain tumour. “She was having a lot of blackouts,” Darian says. “She would sometimes seem incoherent on the phone.” Once, Darian’s son called his grandmother to tell her about his rugby tournament, and she started repeating herself nonsensically. Darian took the phone from him and asked: “Mum, what day is it?” Gisèle couldn’t reply.

Another time, Florian and his family had sat down to eat dinner in Mazan after Dominique Pelicot had served his wife a glass of rosé. Her elbow slid off the table and she nearly fell off her chair, seeming to collapse like a rag doll, glazing over, appearing hypnotised. Dominique Pelicot said her family were tiring her out.

Looking back, Darian says, these blackouts always happened in Mazan when Gisèle was with her husband, never when she was in the Paris area with her grandchildren. There were gynaecological problems, too – Gisèle was bleeding despite being post-menopause. A doctor diagnosed an inflammation of the uterus.

Does Darian still feel, as she wrote in her book, that “ignorance is culpable”; that she should somehow have noticed what was going on, despite the extent of her father’s manipulation? “No. Today, I think it wasn’t possible for me to have known. Because everything was premeditated, organised. We are all victims in this family – all collateral victims: my brothers and I, but also our children.”

Video evidence showed that Dominique Pelicot not only invited men to rape his wife in the couple’s marital bed in Mazan. He had also invited men to Darian’s home outside Paris. Just after Christmas in 2019, when Darian was away on a mini-break in Morocco and her parents were house-sitting, Dominique Pelicot invited a 34-year-old warehouse worker to rape his wife in Darian’s guest bedroom. In May of the same year, while alone with Gisèle at Darian’s holiday cottage on the Île de Ré off the Atlantic coast, Dominique Pelicot invited a man to rape her in Darian’s own bed. Video evidence showed the rapes went on for more than five hours that night. Asked in court why he had chosen to do this in his daughter’s holiday home, he said: “There was no symbolism. It could have happened anywhere.”

But Darian thinks the choice of location is meaningful. She also thinks it is significant, given her questions about her father’s potential abuse of her, that the retired nightclub worker who raped Gisèle at the holiday cottage had previously been sentenced to five years in prison for raping his own 17-year-old daughter. “That detail is so difficult to cope with,” she says. “Home is supposed to be a safe place, not that kind of crime scene.” That Dominique Pelicot had raped her mother in Darian’s homes “was like being abused a second time. I was betrayed by my father in different ways.”

With Dominique Pelicot deliberately leaving what she calls a “great fog” over the question of what he may have done to her, she is left with no foothold. She had a vaginal tear that would not heal and needed several surgeries (once, while she was recovering from surgery, her father called her, asking to borrow money). Of the injury she says: “I’ll never know if it’s linked or not. It’s part of an open question – unanswered.”

She believes her father used her as a guinea pig to test out his drug cocktails – his exchanges with men show him commenting on the different effects on a woman who did or didn’t smoke. She was an occasional smoker and her mother was not. It was clear from the police investigation that Dominique Pelicot only confessed to crimes when presented with irrefutable evidence, and often partly at the start. In 2022, while awaiting trial for the rapes of his wife, Dominique Pelicot was questioned about an attempted rape of a 19-year-old estate agent in 1999. She was the same age as Darian at the time, and he had attempted to anaesthetise her with ether. Dominique Pelicot denied it until confronted with DNA evidence on the woman’s shoe. But he offered up a comparison with his daughter, saying that when he undressed the woman and realised she was the same age as her he had felt “blocked”. Instead, the woman broke free and fought him off.

Darian is unsparing in her praise for her mother, with whom she appeared hand in hand in court. But she wrote in her book and says today that, as wife and daughter, they are “in a different place within the family” and have dealt with the bombshell of Dominique Pelicot’s abuse in different ways. She says not knowing if she was drugged or abused weighs heavily on the whole family. Darian feels that without clear evidence, her mother has sought to reassure her that it may not have happened.

In court, near the end of the trial, Gisèle did not want to answer questions from defence lawyers about what Dominique Pelicot may have done to her daughter, saying it was for him to answer that. One defence lawyer suggested there was a family rift. Gisèle replied: “This isn’t a trial of the family.”

Now, Darian speculates that maybe the prospect of a daughter’s abuse is just too much horror for her mother to contemplate all at once. “She is not able, from an emotional standpoint, I think, to face the truth. I think it’s too difficult for her. And it’s hard for me – it’s really hard for me.” But the family remains close and she thinks time will change things.

The trial never fully uncovered why Dominique Pelicot did what he did – if there even was a reason. He told the court: “You aren’t born a pervert, you become one,” citing his own abuse as a child. He said he had been raped aged nine by a nurse in hospital when he was being treated for a head injury. Aged 14, as an apprentice on a building site, he said he witnessed – and was forced to take part in – a group-rape of a woman whom he described as disabled. “It was too heavy to bear,” he told the court.

“To me, it was pure manipulation,” Darian says. “He was choosing his words to make us empathise with him. And he knows exactly how it works … where to press the button.” In the high-ceilinged courtroom, where Dominique Pelicot sat on one side in a glass-fronted dock, and Gisèle on the other, Darian felt there had been an invisible “arc between my mum and dad all through this trial”, in which he was trying to communicate with his ex-wife to let himself off the hook of responsibility. “In life, you decide who you want to be,” Darian says, brushing aside any excuses about childhood. This echoes her mother’s view, expressed in court, that, regardless of their past, a person “chooses” who they become.

Darian says she won’t let Dominique Pelicot’s perversity become “this family’s curse”, that she must stop what she calls the “deviance” infecting generation after generation. (The court heard an investigation is ongoing into whether Dominique Pelicot may have abused any of his grandchildren. He denies any abuse). Darian says her father’s family line was mired in abuse – part of a “dysfunctional family system”. Denis, Dominique Pelicot’s father, whom she remembers in jeans and a biker jacket, with a single earring, had been a violent tyrant. He was a caretaker at a rehabilitation centre for convicts. The court heard that Denis was suspected of grooming and abusing a young girl with learning difficulties who was fostered by the family; Darian calls her Lucille in her book. After his wife’s death, Denis made Lucille his partner. In court, questions were raised over whether Denis also ever brought in men to abuse Lucille. Darian now questions why her parents would later send her and her brother to stay with her grandfather and his partner over the summer, until she said she no longer wanted to go.

Her own son, whom she calls Tom in the book, at first didn’t believe his grandfather could have done harm to his grandmother. “We’ve done a lot of things to protect him,” she says. “When it happened he was six. Now he’s 10. He’s had two and a half years of support from a psychologist. And today he’s in good shape. We really wanted to preserve him. But he’s known the truth right from the start. We told him with simple words that his grandfather was in jail.”

Darian, who works as a senior communications manager at a large company in Paris, says the trial has inspired her to campaign even harder in support of victims of sexual violence. Returning to normal life is key. “My son and my husband are my two pillars in life,” she says. “I’m a mum, I’m married, I’ve got a social life, friends.”

A few days later, at the verdict in the packed Avignon courthouse, she watches with quiet anger as most of the men, some silently weeping, are led away to the cells. Dominique Pelicot will likely spend the rest of his life in prison, and all the other men are convicted. As Darian leaves the court with her mother, hundreds of supporters who have travelled from across France and Europe chant, “Thank you Gisèle” and then begin shouting, “Thank you Caroline!”

We speak again the next morning. She is still feeling shaken. The prison sentences, which ranged from three to 15 years, some of which were suspended, were lower than the state prosecutor had recommended. It is a disappointment. “It’s the wrong message,” she says. “It’s not the message we wanted to send to all the other victims in France.”

This means that for her “the fight is only just beginning”. She has decided to write another book, the behind-the-scenes story of the trial. “Because it’s not what you see from watching TV. And while this trial was happening, there were so many other trials going on where the victims were all alone.”

Gisèle Pelicot, her lawyers say, now hopes to resume “as normal a life as possible”. Darian herself will rest and spend time with her son, husband and brothers, before resuming campaigning.

In the final moments in the courtroom, Darian looked only briefly at Dominique Pelicot before he was led away. “It was the very last time I’ll see him,” she says. “It’s an end point. It’s the very last chapter in what was my life before.”

It will take a while to work through.

“There’s a kind of grief,” she says. “It’s a long process, mourning someone who is still alive.”

(archive)

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