#they stuck in amber stones

[frenchublog]

[reshinless]

he likes whenever you run a hand smoothly through the silk of his hair. kinich is lovestruck, and busy admiring the simplicity of moments like this.

you both didn't have to spend too much energy, neither of you had to even talk. two birds with one stone, he loves the memories you make in bed, fluffy and the other way.

especially when he gets to watch you, or feel your touch on his skin. he never thought he would've liked physical touch this much either.

he feels so special in your arms, his head fit right into the slot beside your nape. he finds himself stuck looking at your body. not even in a dirty way, he's just admiring—not believing that this is his.

he's happy to be called yours just as much, he especially loves to trace small shapes, and circles over your skin when you both are cuddles up together like animals looking for warmth in this cold weather (you both live in natlan)

his fingers are stuck intertwined with yours, just as how his emerald-amber orbs were starstruck, scanning your disshelved appearance. you could only imagine the hearts in his eyes.

loving him felt like Apple cider by beabadoobee; you both liked the same thing and rocked it out like two highschool kids listening to the same band with the same pair of earplugs.

or it could sound a lot like Soren by beabadoobee. he could stay here with you in bed forever just to see you like this endlessly as well. so busy just looking at your beauty, your elegance, even if you never considered yourself handsome, or pretty—you were everlastingly regal to him. juno, even.

your voice as sweet as honey whenever you spoke, no matter what tone, he knew ever since he heard that melody—that was the one he wanted to wake up to everyday.

like now, your slow breathing patterns that had helped him sleep through his insomnia, your head on his chest this time. he could only imagine how cute you would've looked if it were you spooning him. but all the same, he wished moments like this could last forever.

[pellucid-constellations]

Set in Stone

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: The Court of Nightmares is an evil place. Secret agendas, forced marriages, malicious intent; there’s nothing good or pure. But then Azriel finds you.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: Angst but just a little to start

a/n: hi 😌 please enjoy my random inspo after the mess that is my life happened. I plan to write more for these guys so consider this a prologue :)

Masterlist ♡

~~

Time moved slower in the library. 

People spoke quieter, the air stood still, dim sunlight stiffened in lines that cut across endless tables. 

There was no real reason for you to be here. 

None at all. 

You welcomed the faint buzzing in your ears anyway, relished in the quiet you couldn’t find elsewhere. Flipping the page and going to the next, you pretended you did belong. Maybe as a scholar or researcher. Maybe an acclaimed author. An inventor, entrepreneur, alchemist—anything but the bleak reality. 

You were stuck. So, incredibly stuck. 

The high lord was coming today. You knew if you weren't in the hall with your family upon his arrival you would get an earful, but it was difficult to pull away from your beautiful corner of the night court.

No one ever came in here, and if they did they were over a millennium old and cared only for the books on foreign policy and probably the torture of young children, if you had to take a guess. But there was plenty of enjoyable material lining the shelves. Sure, it wasn’t very joyful, but it was informative, and anything was better than listening to your father blab on about your marriage prospects—an uncomfortable conversation that was to come to fruition any day now. 

With any luck, your husband would be a merchant who traveled endlessly or a soldier whose life would come to a quick end, leaving you free of any wifely obligations. But luck was hardly on your side, and as the daughter of a noble you were expecting a husband of the same station. 

And dukes were the absolute worst, all self-important and stagnant.  

An unfamiliar echo sent your head whipping to the side before you could tame your reaction. The library door swung open with such force it sent dusty air flying past your face. Typically, the old men entered meekly, the hefty door difficult for them to open. The abruptness of this entry, the power that seeped across the threshold, had you standing and pressing yourself against the table in milliseconds. 

You weren’t a fighter. Women were not allowed to learn anything of the sort here. You briefly debated if your embroidery skills would be enough to pose a threat to this presence, but that thought wisped away with the flickering shadows twining around your ankles. 

You didn’t recognize him at first. The high lord and his circle didn’t come to court often, and even when they did, they stayed far away on the dais or slinked around in hallways threateningly. And this man especially—the spy—he was almost always cloaked in shadow. 

His shadows weren’t covering him now, instead opting to twist up your body in a terrifying display. Were they searching you? Attempting to suffocate you? Paralyze you? 

It didn’t matter much, not when the shadowsinger himself was standing before you, exposed and armed to the teeth, his amber eyes locked on your own widened gaze. 

Your breath came out in short pants, uncomfortable and hard to capture. Your knuckles went white against the table, and you were sure if you were stronger, fractures would have appeared in the wood. The edge dug into your back. Shadows continued to make paths up your skin. 

The spymaster didn’t look away. 

The trembling began. It started with your jaw, then your legs, and then your chest. Breathing became nearly impossible. 

“Take care of that.” 

The last time the high lord made his rounds in court, those words had been a death sentence. One the man before you had carried out. A simple flick of his wrist and shadows had encased the lowly merchant that had insulted the high lady. His screams still echoed in the hall. 

At least, they echoed for you. 

The merchant was not a good man. Most that resided in the night court were not good people. But death was easy to come by here, and the shadowsinger—with his glaring siphons only inches away—was an executioner. 

Your life was little, meaningless, no direction or purpose other than marriage and continuing a family line, but you wanted to live for the chance of more. For the hope that one day, you might be free of this dank palace. 

Something softened in the spymaster’s eyes, and then he took a step forward, edging his hand towards you, palm up. The screeching of the table at your back made him halt. Your knees were shaking, your book now toppled over to the floor, and the shadows had refused to answer the call from their master. But you stood your ground, expecting a bruise where the table connected to your skin. 

“I apologize,” the Illyrian spoke, causing you to flinch once again. His own features seemed to recoil, and he took half a step back. “I am here on business for the high lord. I only seek the artifact room.” 

If you answered him, perhaps he would spare you. 

Your mouth opened and closed several times before the first sounds left your lips. “In the back. B-by the archives.” 

He nodded, but the action seemed delayed, slowed. As if he was measuring your reactions, trying to anticipate them. When you didn’t flinch again, he sent his hand out once more, this time with more force. Your breath caught, but when the shadows retreated from your body, some of the tension left you. 

The shadowsinger sidestepped, taking the longest route possible around your table toward the artifact room. Once his back was turned, you scrambled. You left the book spine up on the floor, quickly gathering your belongings with shaking hands and trembling fingers. The echoing of the man’s heavy boots rang with each step he took, but it was reassuring—it meant he was getting further and further away. 

It wasn’t until your hand met the sturdy door that fear crept back along the edges of your chest. 

“Your name?” 

The words were powerful, gravelly, but they were soft somehow. Effortfully tamed. 

You gave him your name, but the sound was lost in the swinging of the door.

[steddie-island]

Ogling motherfucker

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles summer pop-up event Rating: M | WC: 999 | TW for mild injury, mentions of blood ao3

“Eddie. Dude.” Gareth kicked Eddie’s sneaker. Judging from his annoyance, it wasn’t the first time his name had been said. “Are you stoned?”

“God, I wish,” Eddie laughed. Even his strongest shit couldn’t win against a heatwave that knocked the power out in half the goddamn town, which was what had brought them to the pool in the first place, and why he was staring at Steve fucking Harrington instead of listening to his best friend. It was Steve's fault for walking around in the tightest red shorts Eddie had ever seen. As if the way they hugged his ass wasn't enough, they were so short that Eddie wondered if he would be able to see the underside of Steve's asscheeks if he bent over. 

Eddie was having a hard time not picturing himself sliding a hand up one of the legs, over Steve's ass, down towards–

“Oh my god.”

“What!” Eddie jumped at Gareth’s tone. Gareth’s face flickered between horror, disgust, and delight, making it clear he wasn't sure how he felt, but Eddie was caught red-handed.

“You were ogling King Steve.” Gareth poked Eddie’s shoulder before Eddie could argue. “That's why we’re here!”

Eddie squawked indignantly. “Fuck you, no it isn't! I wanted to swim!”

“But you're not swimming, you're ogling.” Gareth shook his head. “You gross, horny, ogling motherfucker.”

Eddie wanted to hide behind his hair, but it was piled up on top of his head. “Fine. You wanna swim so bad? I'll take you swimming!” Eddie’s shoulder caught Gareth's stomach as he stood. He lifted the other boy onto his shoulder, and then he sprang into the pool.

Eddie’d been so obsessed with getting Gareth to shut the fuck up that he hadn’t watched where he was heading. They fell too fast, his head hit concrete, and the world went dark. 

***

“Munson, you with me, man?”

Eddie coughed up water. Everything was too bright except for the dark outline of a person above him. He blinked to try to clear his vision. 

Ah, fuck. 

Steve’s brow was furrowed as he touched Eddie’s forehead, making Eddie hiss before slapping his hand away. 

“What the fuck–”

“You got knocked out when you jumped in,” Steve said gently. 

Eddie noticed the crowd that had gathered around them, and Gareth’s worried face. “Ah, shit, no.” He tried to sit up but the world rolled around him. 

“You probably have a concussion. Don’t get up–”

“‘M not laying here,” Eddie said. He unsuccessfully tried to nudge Steve out of the way and got a strong arm around his waist instead. 

“C’mon, stop being a stubborn asshole and let me help you.” Steve pulled Eddie’s arm over his shoulder and hefted him to his feet. He called for Heather to take over as he walked Eddie inside. 

The air conditioner was working, thank fuck. Eddie melted into a plastic chair. “I’m fine, Harrington, don’t gotta bandage me up–”

“Shut up,” Steve said as he pulled his own chair up. Eddie tried not to think about how fucking close they were, how their legs slotted together, putting Steve’s knee close to his dick. 

One of those big hands cupped Eddie’s neck before Steve dabbed at his forehead. “Fuck, that’s tender.”

“Don’t be a baby.” Steve gently wiped at the blood, and leaned impossibly closer to inspect how deep the gash on Eddie’s forehead was. 

“Am I gonna live, doc?” Eddie tried not to sound nervous, like he wasn’t inhaling the scent of cologne, chlorine, and sunblock where his face practically touched Steve’s shoulder. 

“I think so.” There was a crinkling sound, then Steve stuck something to his forehead. “That’ll keep it closed and stop the bleeding.” He sat Eddie back up but didn’t pull away.

The sunlight turned Steve’s eyes a golden amber color. Eddie could make out every freckle, every mole, every hair. His lips looked so fucking soft. Eddie wondered what lip balm he used. 

It was like he couldn’t help it. Their eyes met, Eddie’s breath caught, and then he was surging forward to kiss those lips. It was clumsy and messy, their teeth bumped and Eddie was sure he didn’t even hit part of Steve’s mouth–

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry–” Eddie was ready to throw himself out of the chair and run away. “I don’t know why I did that–” 

“Easy, Munson.” Steve didn’t sound pissed, which was not what Eddie had expected at all. He sounded amused. 

“Why aren’t you kicking my ass?” Eddie sat back. “Not that I’m not grateful, but why aren’t you pounding me into the pavement? I just kissed you.”

“I know that.” Steve’s eyes were even prettier when he was smiling like he was in on a secret that Eddie wasn’t privy to. “I’m a shitty fighter. If I kicked the ass of every non-expert guy I’ve kissed, I don’t think I’d ever leave the hospital.”

There was an almost audible record-scratch. “I… you… guys…?” Eddie asked. 

Steve laughed as he closed the first aid kit. “Yeah, man. I’m bi. People are hot, why limit myself?”

It was the concussion talking. King Steve wasn’t really sitting here, coming out to make him feel better for outing himself. Right?

“Where’d you learn to kiss, anyway?” Steve asked as he put the first aid kit away. Eddie watched his muscular shoulders, the dimples of his back, the way his shorts rode up– “Munson.” 

“Huh?” Eddie pulled his eyes away from Steve’s ass. 

“I said, where’d you learn to kiss like that?” Steve dropped back into his chair. “You could use some more lessons.” 

“You offering, big boy?” Eddie’s head ached, he was sunburnt. That stopped mattering when Steve leaned close enough for their lips to almost touch.

“They do recommend you have someone with you for twenty-four hours after a concussion,” Steve murmured. “What kind of lifeguard would I be if I left you alone, after you’ve been watching me all day…”

Their lips met again before Eddie could defend himself. 

[halfmoth-halfman]

our little secret

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Medic!Reader Synopsis: Soap finally gets all of his answers- and then some. Word Count: 7.4k Warnings: injury mention, pet death mention, child mention Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. part one. part two. part three.

Soap has been in his fair share of safe houses.

He knows what to expect when he hears the words: a sparsely furnished studio stocked with the bare essentials. It’s not a problem for him. Safe houses aren’t meant to feel like houses; they’re there to do their job– to keep their inhabitants safe.

So his confusion is valid when Ghost mumbles something about a “safe house” nearby, only to lead him through the dense woods of the mountains they’re stuck in to the coziest-looking cottage Soap has ever seen.

Soap’s frozen, unable to stop staring at the two-story stone house with dark ivy creeping up the grey stonework and an actual babbling brook winding around the right side of the house where it runs into a small pond in the front yard. He doesn’t know where Ghost, of all people, found the one safe house to come straight out of a fairytale.

“Fuckin’ hell Johnny, stop staring like you’ve never seen a house before.” Ghost’s hand harshly shoves into Soap’s shoulder, and Soap stumbles forward, turning back swiftly to glare at Ghost.

The Lieutenant had been particularly testy for this mission, seeming almost reluctant to take part in any aspect of it; regret had oozed out of every inch of Ghost from the moment he and Soap had touched down here, and Soap can’t figure out, for the life of him, why. It wasn’t like they were forced to be here; Soap was in the room when Price asked for volunteers for this mission. He remembers with exceptional clarity how Ghost perked up– as much a man like him could– and how the masked man was on his feet the second Price asked for volunteers.

If he was so eager for this mission, why did he seem so resistant to everything about it?

Tired and impatient with Soap’s lack of action, Ghost starts up the dirt path toward the cottage. It’s not hard to notice how he drags his steps, leaving small trails behind his boots. Soap follows hesitantly, keeping his head on a swivel as they approach the front door. Ghost tries the doorknob only to find it locked; his eyes slide shut, hand tightening around the doorknob before he lets his hand slide from the brass.

“Maybe we can–” Soap doesn’t get to finish as Ghost steps back to turn his gaze to the black iron sconce hanging next to the door. He pops one of the glass panes out with practiced ease, reaching in where Soap’s only now noticing there’s no lightbulb to grab a small golden key. He pops the glass back into place, sliding the key into the lock and turning.

The door swings open, allowing them into the pitch black of the house. For such a quaint-looking home, the endless void that greets Soap when he walks in is something lifted from a horror movie. Ghost shuts the door behind him, leaving Soap standing in the entryway that’s illuminated only by the misty grey of what little of the sun’s setting light is able to reach through the thick cover of the towering pines and low, looming clouds outside to shine through the small squares of glass on the front door.

“Take your shoes off,” Ghost mutters behind him.

“What?” Soap turns around– ready to ask why he should bother with etiquette for a safe house– but finds Ghost already hunched over, one hand on the wall beside him for balance as he unlaces his boots.

Soap copies him, unsure and so so confused. Ghost is as unbothered as ever, disappearing into the darkness of the house while Soap toes out of his boots. He places them next to Ghost’s, standing up right as the house illuminates in a soft amber glow.

It’s just as cozy inside as it is outside, and Soap is stupefied. His mind can’t comprehend the shadowy figure of death and destruction that is his Lieutenant among the picturesque interior of wooden countertops and decorative plants.

Ghost is none the wiser to Soap’s internal crisis, heading to a large armoire composed of deep brown wood that stands against the cream-colored wall next to the entryway. He pauses, leaning back to look at Soap over the edge of the lacquered door. “Weapons go in here.”

Soap joins him as Ghost unloads his weapons into the cabinet. The outside is unassuming— a normal, if a little taller than usual, armoire— which is why the interior catches Soap so off guard. A second set of doors— grated black metal with a keypad in the center— hang open to give them access to an impressive weapons rack that’s already half-stocked. Soap can’t help but gawk as Ghost works on hanging his knives— arranging them by handle color, then length. It’s done so casually, so routine, as if Ghost has done this a million times.

He wants to ask, but he doesn’t know where to start. What the hell’s up with this “safe house”? How did Ghost find it? Did he set it up? It was hard enough picturing the masked giant in everyday civilian life, let alone browsing for the perfect rustic armoire or a faux fur rug fluffier than a cloud.

Ghost walks away, heading towards the kitchen with an unusual hesitance to his steps– like he’s trying to lighten his footsteps against the hardwood floor. Soap quickly stores his weapons, trailing behind Ghost with less caution. 

The kitchen is just as immaculately decorated as the rest of the house– all creams and beiges, a large window above the sink with a collection of herbs growing on its sill, and little pops of color from the neatly organized pots, pans, and baskets sitting on the shelves.

Ghost rifles through the pantry with his back to Soap, and Soap can’t help himself.

“What’s-”

“Keep your voice down,” Ghost snaps, hushed and threatening.

“Why?” Soap huffs, gesturing to the empty space around them. “It’s not like there’s anyone else here!”

Ghost turns to face Soap with a swiftness that surprises the Sergeant, his shadowed eyes narrowed into a glare so fierce it sends an immediate shock of fight or flight through Soap. 

“Simon?”

Your voice is soft and raspy and startles Soap so badly he swears his heart skips a beat. He whirls around to see you standing across the living room, one foot on the bottom step of the staircase. Dressed only in a hoodie that’s obviously too big for you— and the perfect size for a certain Lieutenant— and a set of fluffy pajama shorts, you rub your eye with the heel of your hand, clearly having just woken up.

Ghost groans behind him, and everything in Soap’s head suddenly clicks together: Ghost’s reason for volunteering for this mission so quickly, his expectation of working on it alone, why he dragged his feet to bring Soap here. All of the puzzle pieces floating around in his mind slide into place as he watches you stumble into the living room, still half-asleep.

After your rescue, you’d been confined to the infirmary for weeks. The team had come to see you, sometimes lucky to catch you for the few minutes you could stay conscious long enough to entertain small conversations. You were put on immediate leave once you were well enough, and in the three months since then, no one has heard from you. 

Soap’s glad to see you despite his mild guilt for disturbing you.

You look much better than when you left�� less like you’d been repeatedly hit by a bus— and well on your way to recovery. There’s still gauze wrapped around your right thigh, and a few of the worst bruises are still present on your skin, in the process of fading. The only lasting injury Soap can see is the deep scar that trails along the left edge of your jaw from your chin to your ear; you’d had trouble talking while in the infirmary, pain buzzing through your jaw anytime you moved your mouth, but now you’re yawning widely without a single care.

You make it halfway to the kitchen when your eyes land on Soap; you freeze, brows knitting together in confusion.

“Soap?” 

“Doc.”

“What’re you….” You trail off, spotting Ghost behind him. Soap watches how you take in their clothes, the dirt and dried blood stained into the fabric, and how your eyes glance over to the open weapons cabinet near the front door. The shift to Doctor Mode is instant; you straighten up, already looking them over for any possible injuries as you hasten your way to the kitchen.

“I’m fine, Doc,” Soap smiles, seeing some of the tension ease from your shoulders. “Lt. got a little roughed up, though.” Your head snaps to Ghost, and Soap steps aside, setting a gentle hand on your back to guide you and your concern toward Ghost. The Lieutenant glares at him over your head, but this time Soap smiles back, a knowing grin plastered on his face as you fret.

“You shouldn’t be up,” Ghost sighs, pulling his angry gaze away from Soap to stare down at you. He’s trying to seem stern, frustrated that you’re up and about, but you pay him no mind. It’s almost sweet, the way his gaze softens the moment he looks at you; he’s concerned for you as much as you are for him.

“‘m fine,” you mumble stubbornly. Ghost rolls his eyes as he lets you look over him. His eyes briefly flick up from your face to Soap before back down to you. Soap’s known Ghost for a long time; he’s learned how to read the subtle changes in those dark eyes, and he can see the way Ghost fights with himself before letting his eyes slide shut in resigned conclusion.

“You need to rest,” he sighs again, faint and gentle, as he lightly grabs your wandering hands and eases them off him. He glances up at Soap again, but Soap avoids his gaze, finding interest in the earthy green toaster and not even trying to hide his grin.

“I will, I will,” you huff. You step back from Ghost, pulling your hands from his to cross your arms over your chest. “Mission go okay?”

You’re talking to him now; Soap realizes when Ghost doesn’t answer. He turns to you with an easy, if a little cocky, smile and a half-shrug.

“Thought they could try and ambush us, but they were no match for us. Right, Lt.?” There’s a quiet, exasperated fuckin’ hell from Ghost, but you’re laughing— your smile not as wide on your left side— and Soap realizes how much he’s missed you.

“We needed a place to lie low for the night-” Ghost starts.

“And this was close by, I get it.” You maintain your smile, nudging Ghost’s arm with your elbow. “Surprised you got here before the storm started.”

“What? That poor excuse for cloud coverage outside? Hardly call that a storm,” Soap scoffs. You shrug, meandering to the cabinet that holds the cups and mugs. 

“If that’s what you want to think,” you tease, but Soap is too busy watching Ghost as he watches you. “All I’m saying is-” The moment you reach up to grab a glass, there’s a hand on your waist and a sturdy body pressed against your back. “-Simon, I can reach just fine-”

He doesn’t listen, grabbing a glass and setting it in your hands while you pout up at him. You roll your eyes, stepping out from in front of him and smiling at Soap like nothing happened.

“All I’m saying is, I’ve lived here for a while; I think I can tell the difference between a little fog and a soon-to-be torrential downpour.” You fill your glass with water as you talk, batting Ghost away when he tries to take the full glass from you the minute you’ve filled it up.

“And since someone-” you send Ghost a pointed glare “-is in such a helpful mood, he can set you up in the guest room for tonight while I go back to sleep.” You saunter past Soap— as well as one can while healing— glass of water in hand.

“Good to see you again, Doc,” Soap laughs as you pass him. You send him a sly wink, playfully bumping his shoulder before heading upstairs. 

A tense quiet looms over the kitchen as Soap and Ghost are left alone. Ghost is staring at him, and he’s staring back, neither one knowing how to break the awkward silence that surrounds them.

Until—

“So,” Soap starts, smug grin crawling across his face and vindication thrumming through his veins. “You and the Doc, eh?”

“Don’t fuckin’ start.”

With that, Ghost marches past him, heading for the stairs and, Soap decides this is going to be one of the top three missions of his life.

-

It’s 5:03 in the morning when Soap is awoken by the loudest clap of thunder he’s heard in his life.

It shocks him awake, shooting straight up from the bed, heart hammering and mind alert. It takes him a minute to realize there’s no immediate danger and that his biggest threat is the blue duvet tangled around his legs. Soap pauses, staring down at the soft blue blanket in confusion.

Why is he-

Oh. 

Right.

Soap takes in the room— cozy just like the rest of the house— taking this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see if he can spot any clues, any slight hints that’ll give him insight on you and Ghost. The two of you are frustratingly thorough, as the only unusual thing he finds is the heavy blanket of rain pouring down the window.

Thunder rumbles above.

A door opens and shuts somewhere in the house.

Soap is of a curious mind— perhaps too curious for his own good— but that same intense inquisitiveness is what gave him enough of a glimpse to discover his Lieutenant’s secret marriage, so who is he to fight it?

He gets out of bed, ignoring the instant chill that comes with leaving the warm covers, and changes into the spare shirt and sweatpants you had Ghost give to him. As quietly as he can, he leaves the room, heading straight down the hall and toward the stairs.

The roll of thunder echoes above once more.

Something metal clatters downstairs.

Soap tiptoes down the steps, peering into the living room when he reaches the bottom step. The lights are off, save for the kitchen, where you sit at the small circular table, and Ghost stands at the counter near the sink, pouring boiling water from an old kettle into a black mug. 

You’re still in your suspiciously oversized hoodie but have changed out of your fluffy shorts, trading them in for long pajama pants decorated with those colorful ghosts from pac-man. Ghost is dressed down significantly, only wearing a thin black t-shirt and matching sweatpants.

Soap should be surprised to see the balaclava still on, but he isn’t.

Ghost sets the mug on the table in front of you before he slides a chair over and sits down next to you. You sit up— almost dragging yourself into an upright position— looking far more exhausted than you had yesterday.

He watches you— attentive and alert in an almost too-intense way— shifting slightly with your every move. You either don’t notice or don’t care, messing with the tea bag and sipping from your cup. You wince when you swallow, and Ghost is leaning toward you, gloveless hand coming to rest just under your jaw. His thumb gently trails along the scar on your jawline, quiet murmurs exchanged and lost on Soap’s ears. 

He should go back upstairs; it’s still early, and this seems like a moment he shouldn’t intrude on.

Soap takes one step backward, the woods beneath his foot whining under his weight and settling with a pop. 

Your attention turns to the stairs, and Soap makes a snap decision. He stands up straight, heading down the stairs and into the living room, doing his best to seem casual and not like he was just spying on you.

Ghost pulls away from you, sitting back in his chair as you smile tiredly at Soap. Your voice is rough, more so than the tired rasp of someone who’s just woken up. “Mornin’, Soap.”

“Mornin’.”

“The storm wake you up?” you ask, setting your elbow on the table to set your chin in your hand. Soap shrugs, taking a seat across from you. 

“I was already up,” he lies. You raise a brow, an amused smile that says you don’t believe him, but you don’t say anything. You lean back, grasping your mug with both hands and letting the warmth soak into your fingers.

He notices the mug first, streaks of the cartoon ghost with a crooked smile peering at him through your fingers. Then his gaze moves to your fingers, where he spots a solid black ring sitting comfortably on your left hand.

“You gonna ask about it?” you ask, grinning at him over the steam as you sip your tea. Soap coughs, rubbing his neck with enough sense to look sheepish. He chances a glance at Ghost, but the man’s eyes stay firmly on you. “It’s fine, Soap. I’m sure you have questions.”

He’ll probably never get this chance again.

Fuck it.

“I have a list,” Soap says, a little too eager, leaning forward on his elbows. 

“You get three.” Ghost’s voice is flat and unamused– a stark contrast to your welcoming demeanor.

“Only three?”

“That’s one. You got two left.”

You scoff, reaching over to pinch Ghost’s arm. He grunts– more in annoyance than pain– giving you a half-hearted glare. It’s not ideal, but Soap will take what he can get. Sorting through the mental list of questions he’s been compiling since he first took notice of this little relationship, Soap tries to pick out the most important ones.

The group sits in silence while he thinks; you slowly work your way through your tea, grimacing around every swallow as the storm looms overhead. Thick raindrops assault the kitchen window, a steady waterfall pouring down the glass. Thunder booms overhead, less severe than before but startling all the same.

“Does Price know about…this?” he asks, gesturing to your ring.

“That’s your question?” Ghost scoffs.

It’s a question that’s confused him for months, so yes it is.

“He does,” you answer honestly. “So does my old Captain. They helped get all the legal stuff sorted out.”

“Legal stuff?” 

“‘s a little difficult getting a marriage license for a dead man. Some strings had to be pulled.” You speak so casually as if that’s a normal thing to say. They’re around each other so often, Soap sometimes forgets that Ghost’s callsign is more than just a nickname; he’s a literal dead man walking, the living phantom of Simon Riley.

“Does anyone else know? Your old team? Laswell?” A cold chill shoots up his spine, “Did Shepherd know?”

“No,” Ghost sighs.

“My maiden name’s on all the paperwork. Price and Owens were thorough,” you explain. “No one knows but them…and now you, of course.”

Soap nods, fully understanding the weight of this secret he now bears, but he has to wonder-

“Would you've said anything? Eventually?”

You and Ghost share a look before you shrug, staring down into your half-empty mug.

“We talked about it.”

“After Las Almas,” Ghost adds. “Got too used to keepin’ it a secret and ended up never bringing it up.”

“Old habits,” you laugh softly. There’s a swell in Soap’s chest at the thought of you two trusting him enough to tell him about your marriage, even if it never actually happened. There were times when he wasn’t sure if Ghost even liked him, but after Mexico…there was a bond there that he’s realized wasn’t as one-sided as he may have assumed.

Your laugh dissolves into a hoarse cough, and Ghost is instantly on his feet.

“Back to bed, let’s go,” he orders, no room for negotiation. You roll your eyes, standing up slowly and favoring your right side.

“Make yourself at home, Soap,” you say in your gravelly voice, glancing out to the endless rain. “It looks like you might be stuck here a while.”

-

The storm doesn’t lessen for the rest of the morning and only worsens the following day; it’s clear he and Ghost will be here longer than initially intended. 

Soap doesn’t mind, though.

He’s been given almost completely free rein of the house, presented with the rare opportunity to snoop without worrying about getting caught. 

He notices the pictures on the third day as he’s coming down the stairs. There’s a tall, thin bookshelf on the wall opposite the bottom step filled to the brim with a vast collection of novels and a few picture frames.

He checks the top picture first, carefully pulling it from the top shelf of the bookcase. It’s a picture of Ghost standing in full gear, sunglasses on over his balaclava, holding a fully grown German Shephard over his right shoulder. The dog is looking to the side where you’re standing in matching gear, hands scratching behind its ears as you make a silly face with your lips pursed. 

“Aw, I miss that dog.”

Soap jumps, nearly dropping the picture frame as you appear next to him, looking over his shoulder at the photo. 

“Christ, you need a bell or something,” he mutters, setting the frame back on the shelf.

“Maybe you shouldn’t let yourself get so distracted,” you tease. You turn to the bookcase, a fond sigh as you look over the various photos. You let yourself sit in nostalgia for only a minute before glancing at Soap with a slight grin.

“You wanna see more?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more.”

You gather the pictures in your arms, leading Soap to the living room. You set the photos down on the coffee table and gesture for Soap to make himself comfortable on the sofa while you disappear into the hallway next to the kitchen. Soap sorts through the pictures. There’s one of Ghost sitting uncomfortably rigid in the back of a helicopter as you and Trip sleep on either side of him with your heads resting on Ghost’s shoulders. Another shows you with your old team, everyone dressed in civvies and sat around a bar table covered in empty glasses. The third is a duplicate of the one Soap had found in your desk in pristine condition. 

“I have this if you want to look through it,” you say as you return a large black book in your hands. You hand it to Soap, and he flips it open while you make yourself comfortable next to him.

It’s a photo album.

An entire photo album of you and Ghost– and sometimes the dog and your old team, but that’s not important.

Soap flips through it in wonder and awe. “Who took all these?”

“My old Captain, mostly. Some were me or one of the others. I think there’s a couple Simon took in there, too.”

“What did I take?” Ghost wanders down the steps, stopping when he sees the album in Soap’s hands. “For fuck’s sake, why does he have that?”

“Don’t mind him,” you huff. You lean over a peer into the photo album, pointing at one in the bottom left corner. “That’s one of my favorites!”

It’s a picture of Ghost passed out on a tattered sofa, exhausted, with the German Shephard curled around his head as he uses it for a pillow.

“Riley was such a good dog,” you sigh wistfully. Soap snorts, glancing over to Ghost. 

“Riley?”

“Wasn't my idea,” Ghost grumbles, looking directly at you. 

“Didn’t think you worked on a team before, Lt.,” Soap says, handing the album over to you so you can flip through the pictures, pulling out ones you want to show Soap.

“It happened on occasion,” Ghost shrugs, thick arms folded across his chest. “Worked with Owens once before, and she was impressed enough to ask for me on certain missions.”

“And because he had a crush on the doctor,” you mumble, laughing to yourself as you slide another picture out. Ghost seems less than amused, but he doesn’t deny it.

“You were a doctor back then?” Soap questions. That doesn’t sound right. He’s seen you in the field with the 141, your uniform completely different from what you’re wearing in those pictures.

You hesitate, pausing in your picture collecting to knit your fingers together and pick at your nails.

“Of sorts.” Is all you say.

“It was a specialized position,” Ghost cuts in, walking around the back of the sofa to set his hands on your shoulders. “Interrogation Specialist.”

“So, you questioned people?”

“I tortured people.” You look up from the photos, meeting Soap’s eyes with a distant gaze he’s seen many times on Ghost. 

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Is that why they called you Hornet?” Is what comes out of his mouth. It’s absurd enough to shock you out of whatever memory you were stuck in, tilting your head in confusion.

“No? Who told you that?”

“Grizzly. He said something about you being like a hornet in a beehive.” 

You have to bite into your cheek to keep from laughing, and even then, a few giggles escape you. You relax into the couch, craning your head up to look at Ghost, “I mean, I guess that works.”

“If that’s not it, then why-”

“We didn't have a medic, so I had to stitch everyone up a lot. And most of the time, we didn’t have any kind of anesthesia, and I didn’t give any warning before I started poking with the sewing needle. Grizzly complained that I was like an aggressive bee, Trip told him those were called hornets, and that was that. Not as cool, right?” Soap wants to reassure you, but your attention is back to the book in your lap.

You gasp, pulling out a photo to hold it up to Ghost, “Remember this?”

Ghost’s answer is immediate, “Don’t show him that.”

Well, now Soap has to know.

You laugh, sliding the picture back into its place, but briefly look over to Soap, mouthing later with a wink.

-

Over the next few days, Soap learns more about your relationship with Ghost. 

He learns that you met during a black-ops mission, where Ghost was meant to help escort your team– and more specifically, you– to a remote base to question some high-profile prisoner.

He learns that the two of you worked so well together for that first mission that Captain Owens made Ghost her go-to for any outside help if the team ever needed it.

He learns you spent years working together before the thought of becoming a couple even entered your minds.

And he learns that after that first time together, you and Ghost developed a specific set of rules for your relationship that’s only grown since.

You’ve told him a couple: no obvious affection in public, don’t compromise a mission for the other’s safety, respect each other’s space and the occasional need to spend time apart, no letters or phone calls unless it’s an absolute emergency.

Most were proposed by Ghost, but you agreed that it was for the safety of both of you.

He puts together clues about some of the other– possibly unspoken– rules when he watches the two of you interact. Ghost takes your health very seriously, and sometimes his tone borders on commanding when he tries to get you to rest or take medicine or drink tea without anything added to it. You sass him and roll your eyes, but do whatever he says every time. It’s the same when you ask him to get you something or try to get him to be a little nicer to Soap when he asks about some aspect of your marriage: Ghost will groan or roll his eyes but always bends to your will.

You don’t ask about each other’s missions, either. Soap watches you reorganize the weapon cabinet one day, noticing the blood on a few of Ghost’s knives. You ask if it’s his or Soap’s and if either of them needs to be looked at, but when they assure you they’re fine, you drop the subject. 

The biggest question for him, though: the rings.

Ghost’s has found its way onto his finger– the first time Soap has seen it there, while you switch between wearing yours on your finger and on that thin chain around your neck.

It’s on your finger this morning, and Soap is fixated on watching you twirl it around your finger absentmindedly while you stare over the back of the couch at Ghost’s back as he makes breakfast.

(That’s another thing– Ghost has done most, if not all, of the cooking since they got here.)

“It’s weird to see him with a ring on,” Soap quietly laughs. You turn to him, pulled out of your husband-watching trance. 

“Yeah, it’s not often we get to actually wear them.”

“One of his rules?”

“One of mine,” you sigh, gaze drifting back to Ghost. You fidget with your ring again, picking at its smooth, rounded edges with your nails.

“No wearing them where anyone can see ‘em, if one of us leaves for a mission then whoever’s staying behind keeps both of them, and if we both have to leave, the rings go in a small safe in my office.”

“That sounds-” Exhausting. “-thorough.”

“You’d be surprised how many captives forget about jewelry. It’s a whole lot easier to get information out of someone the minute you realize they might have someone they want to protect from you.”

There’s an edge to your voice, some kind of mix of nostalgia and resentment and regret.

But Ghost finishes breakfast and Soap decides it’s better not to ask.

-

Day six of waiting out this seemingly never-ending storm and the three of you are sitting in the living room cleaning your array of guns. 

You’re wearing your own clothes for once, a dark cotton tank top and black sweatpants that lets Soap see the full extent of bruising and bandages around your arms. A long bruise stretches across your neck, still purple and blue, and Soap suddenly understands the uneven hoarseness of your voice.

Your hair is up, pulled out of your face so you can focus on your work. Soap can see the scar from the humvee on the side of your head as it disappears behind your ear.

The ear that hides your tattoo.

It’s a quiet afternoon; it’d be a shame to break the peace. 

“When did you get the tattoo?” he asks anyway. You don’t answer until you look up and find him staring back at you.

“What tattoo?” you ask in genuine confusion.

“The little ghost behind your ear.”

Ghost freezes, head slowly turning to look at you. “What ghost?”

“Oh, that. I got it after Russia,” you shrug. “Whole mission was a total shitshow, but it reminded me how easily you can lose someone, so, after, I found the nearest shop and got it done.”

You return to your guns, but Ghost’s eyes are trained on you. Soap can see the gears in his head turning, and he briefly worries that maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.

“Thought we agreed: no marks, symbols, or tattoos.”

A sharp laugh escapes your mouth, eyes flicking up to Ghost in disbelief. “So if I check out that chaotic sleeve of yours, you’re telling me I won’t find a little hornet hidden somewhere in there?”

A beat of silence.

Ghost grunts and returns to his guns and you grin victoriously at Soap.

-

The power goes out on day nine. 

Ghost is messing around with the fuse box. At the same time, you and Soap have decided to follow “sleepover law”, lighting the house up with candles, moving the sofa and coffee table to build a nest of pillows and blankets in front of the lit fireplace, and piling a collection of snacks nearby.

He can hear the two of you laughing in the living room, you exchanging old mission tales for stories about Soap’s nieces and nephews. Ghost sighs, his fourth and last idea to get the power back on failing miserably. He’s frustrated and annoyed and can feel that itch just under his skin that tells him to isolate. 

To do that, he’d have to go upstairs.

And to get upstairs, he’d have to go through the living room and pass by-

Your laugh echoes down the hallway, and Ghost can feel some of the tension ease from his bones. The itch is still there– the immediate need to run and hide to deal with any sort of negative emotion by himself– but it lessens when he remembers you’re nearby.

He shuts the fuse box, deciding he’s not going to get anything fixed right now. Instead, he wanders down the hall, stopping just before he reaches the living room to lean against the wall and listen to you and Soap.

“I have to ask-” Soap starts, mischief laced in his voice, “-the mask. Does he ever take it off?”

“If he wants to,” you reply through gentle laughter. 

“Really? So what if he doesn’t want to? Does he sleep with it on?”

“Sometimes.”

“What about when you two…”

There’s a brief pause before you snort and answer in a quiet purr, “Sometimes.”

“Nah, yer bum’s oot the windae!”

“...I don’t know what that means, but you asked!”

“You’re not serious!”

“Totally am! I mean…I wouldn’t’ve married him if I wasn’t into it.”

Ghost loves you more than anything in the world, but there’s nothing more he wants right now than for a hole to open up in the ground and swallow him whole.

-

It’s late, almost reaching into the early morning hours, and Soap cannot sleep. He doesn’t know what’s keeping him awake; he just knows that no matter what he tries, he can’t fall asleep.

After the third hour of tossing and turning and grumbling, he gets out of bed and heads to the kitchen. He does his best to keep quiet, all his stealth training kicking in.

He’s halfway across the living room when–

“Watch your step.”

It takes everything in him not to scream as your voice travels up from the floor. Soap looks down to find you lying on your back on the fluffy brown rug, your legs outstretched and resting atop the coffee table.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus! What the hell are you doing on the floor?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Came down here for some floor time.”

“Floor time?”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” You raise your brows at him, reaching out to pat the empty spot next to you.

He stares down at you, but you meet his gaze, eyes wide and unblinking to the point it almost freaks him out. Soap relents, bending down to lay next to you. You clap your hands in victory, scooting over to give him more room.

Soap gets himself comfortable, crossing his feet on top of the coffee table next to yours. You two lay in silence, staring up at the ceiling in the quiet dark. 

It is kind of calming, he has to admit.

“I used to do this with Riley,” you speak softly, barely above a whisper. “I’d lay down, and then he’d lay on me. At first, I thought he just wanted to use me as a pillow, but I think it was more of a grounding thing…he was a smart one, that dog.”

“What…happened to him?”

“He got old. K9 unit retired him, and Simon and I took care of him until…Simon was devastated when we had him put down. He refused to come back here for months after. Said the house was ‘too quiet’.”

“Could always have a kid or two,” Soap jokes. “House wouldn’t be quiet for a long while.”

“No,” you snap.

He sits up, propping himself on his elbows so he can face you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s not…you’re fine, Soap.” You release a long sigh, pulling your feet off the coffee table and sitting up straight. You stretch, back popping painfully from too much time on the ground.

“We’ve talked about kids,” you mumble, fingers moving to fidget with your ring. You look back at him– grey moonlight reflecting off your watery eyes. “Maybe in another life.”

Soap pushes himself to sit up completely, reaching out to settle a comforting hand on your shoulder. You flinch at the contact– relaxing when you realize you’re alright– and Soap pulls his hand away with an apologetic smile.

“Another dog, then? Or a cat? Ghost seems like a cat person.”

You make a sound, some sort of half-scoff, half-laugh that’s muddled by the knot in your throat.

“How 'bout a fish?” 

“A fish it is, then.” Soap hears your watery laugh as you wipe your eyes with your sleeve. You scoot back to sit next to him, leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder.

“I’ll name him Soap, just for you.”

"Thanks, Doc."

-

It’s a whole two weeks later from the day they arrived when the water has eased enough outside for Ghost and Soap to go out and check the roads. 

You sit on the porch, tucked into a dry chair and another one of Ghost’s hoodies with a hot mug of tea warming your hands. Initially, you wanted to go with them, but Ghost refused swiftly and sternly. You argued that you needed the fresh air, and the compromise was made that you could settle on the porch and keep an eye out while they walked down the road.

Everything looked good, no mudslides, no floods, no fallen trees, so he and Ghost decided to head back and get ready to leave. 

Soap spots you as they near the house, staring off towards the brook near the house. You look so calm, so serene that he almost hates to disturb you. But Ghost has no qualms about interrupting your peace as he marches straight up to the house. You don’t seem to mind, judging by the way your face lights up at the sight of him.

He’s had almost every question answered, Soap realizes as he watches Ghost offer you a hand to help you out of your chair, and you use the momentum to pull yourself up and kiss him on the cheek. 

There’s only question left-

“Hey, Ghost?” he asks, once the three of you are back inside. 

Ghost pauses his cooking, looking back at him over his right shoulder.

“How did you propose?”

“What?”

Soap expected that, but he hadn’t expected you to start snickering from where you’re perched on the counter next to Ghost with your head resting on his left shoulder.

“It’s just…I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And there’s no engagement pictures in that photo album so-”

“I didn’t.”

“You…what?”

“I didn’t propose,” Ghost sighs.

Oh…

Oh!

Soap turns to you and your triumphant– if a bit smug– grin. “I beat him to it.”

“By two days,” Ghost huffs, turning back to the food on the stove. “Patience is a virtue, but not one of yours.” You giggle, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder over his shirt. Ghost nudges you away with a grunt. You lean back for a few seconds before setting your chin on his shoulder so you can stare lovingly at the side of his face. Ghost sighs, letting it happen and turning briefly to lightly tap his head against yours.

“How did you know?” 

The question spills from Soap’s lips the moment he catches that little interaction.

“Know what?” you ask, turning to lay your head down, smushing your cheek on Ghost’s shoulder.

“That you wanted to propose. How’d you know you were the ones for each other?”

You sit up, eyes never leaving Ghost, who’s gone unusually still. An uncomfortable tension fills the air, swelling like a balloon ready to burst.

“It was after Sweden,” Ghost mumbles minutes later. He puts the stove on low heat and turns to you, your eyes meeting as he steadily holds your gaze. “We were clearing out that abandoned building, and you found this kid, couldn’t have been more than five…maybe six? They were so scared, but you managed to get them to calm down and come with us. We cleared the place but got ambushed as we were leaving. You gave me the kid and shoved me out of the back exit and-”

“Took a bullet meant for you,” you finish softly. Your hand comes up to graze just below your stomach, absentmindedly clenching the fabric over the spot.

The face you made when he’d brought up children flashes through Soap’s mind.

Maybe in another life.

“Didn’t realize how scared I was of losing you until that moment. You always seemed so sure, so indestructible, like there wasn’t anything that could kill you, like you’d always be there. And then you weren’t, and I thought that was the end until you finally got out of surgery. Wasn’t gonna let you get away after that.”

Tears well up in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks. You try your best to wipe them away, a smile of a million different emotions directed at Ghost. Ghost reaches out, sets a hand on your knee, and you meet his eyes before glancing over and realizing Soap is still there– grinning like an idiot.

“Well, I knew the day we met,” you laugh through your tears. Ghost scoffs, playfully squeezing your knee before returning his attention to the food. “It’s true; you can ask Firefly. Moment you started training with us and flipped Grizzly on his ass, I told her, ‘I’m gonna marry that man’.”

“Fuck off.”

-

They’re packed and ready to leave the next morning.

Soap’s tugging on his boots while Ghost locks up the weapons cabinet, and you stand off to the side, watching. You haven’t said a word all morning, just leaning against the wall with your eyes fixated on Ghost. 

Ghost shuts the cabinet with a sigh as Soap finishes lacing up his boots. Ghost glances at him, different this time– a silent ask for a moment alone with his wife.

Soap gets the message, loud and clear.

“Don’t worry, Doc. You’ll be back in your infirmary treating our stab wounds soon enough.” You huff in amusement, giving him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I’ll see you soon, Soap.” He nods at you and turns to head out the door.

He leans against the wall just outside the front door, staring at the clear brook water that washes over smooth stones until he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. He looks over and realizes he can see straight through the glass of the door where you and Ghost stand, feet apart from each other.

He should look away, get a head start down the road.

But when has he ever done that?

Instead, he watches Ghost slide the mask from his face, giving you a single nod before you launch forward and attach yourself to him. He holds you close like he’s trying to absorb you into his body, keeping you as close as physically possible. You pull back from him– only slightly– and Ghost wipes away the tears falling down your face. He reaches behind your neck, messing with the clasp of your necklace before his ring slides down the silver metal to meet yours at the bottom.

Your hands wind their way around the collar of his jacket, pulling him forward into a kiss he eagerly accepts. There’s no such thing as a goodbye kiss in the Riley household; goodbyes imply never seeing each other again, and that is a future neither you will accept. Instead, it’s a promise. 

A promise to stay alive, to come back. 

A promise either of you has yet to break.

You pull away, murmuring something against his lips. Soap’s never been a great lip reader, but it’s not hard to tell what you’re saying.

You better come back to me, Simon Riley.

Always.

Another kiss, and the mask is back on, slid into place by your steady hands. Ghost sets his forehead against yours, one last moment together before the inevitable separation. 

Soap turns away when Ghost steps back from you, focusing his gaze on a small leaf on the ground until Ghost walks out of the house, shutting the door behind him.

“Let’s go, Sergeant.”

[writersdrug]

Mourning Dove

König x Reader

Chapter 1. A New Path

Masterlist

Summary: It's been nearly two months since you and Drew had fled the city for the thick, endless forest. You had escaped the infected, only to get stuck with a monster of a different kind - a selfish, abusive asshole named Drew. But you'd had enough - it was time for your plan.

Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, cursing, abusive behavior and speech, mentions of domestic violence, reader uses sex to her advantage but it's unwanted, so rape

“There’s a city on the other side of the mountain.”

Silence. Nothing returned your statement other than the crunch of leaves and stones under your feet.

“Is this big enough to be a mountain? Feels too small for a hill.”

An irritated sigh.

“Unless it’s smaller than I think…”

Nothing this time. He needs one more push.

“If we go and check it out, there might be some suppli-“

“For fuck’s sake!” Drew finally shouted, turning quickly on his heel and looming over you. You gripped the edges of the map you held, nearly tearing a hole through the thick paper.

“We are not going down there! How many times do I need to beat that into your head?!”

Your eye twitched at the reminder, your body immediately tensing in preparation. Your jaw was still sore from the last time you’d unintentionally worn his patience thin. This time, however, you wanted to poke the bear. You needed him riled up and irritated, particularly at you, for your plan to work.

Play dumb. “I- I just thought- you said we were almost out of water, and I-“

“That’s why I have the fucking water pills.” He snapped. His pupils were nearly drowned in the amber of his eyes with the weight of his anger. “And I showed you how to use the Lifestraw three fucking days ago. Didn’t I?”

You nodded. “Yeah, you- you did, I’m sorry, I just wasn’t sure if-“

“If we’d need clean water? When we’ve been following a stream for ages? And when have two fucking ways to purify the water? Hmm?!”

That was good enough. Not to mention, he seemed like he’d have no hesitation in taking a fist to your eye if you continued to babble on nonsense. You looked at the ground and mumbled an apology.

He sighed. “Don’t open your mouth unless it’s something important, got it?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck did I just say?”

You nearly apologized again, but you stopped yourself. Unsure if he wanted a response at all, so you just stared at the rocky ground beneath your worn shoes. Tears burned on your waterline – that was unintentional, just a reflex after weeks of consequence brought by his ire.

“Good.” He growled. He turned back away from you with an annoyed sigh. “Just- keep up. It’s not even noon.”

You looked up at the yellowed haze of cloud that completely blocked out the sun. It was a miracle he could tell what time it was; you thought he’d lost the ability when his watch had died, permanently stuck on three-o-six. Still, somehow, he was able to keep track of the hours, even though the sun hadn’t shown its face since the fog came around. That was weeks ago, unfortunately. But who was to say he wasn’t lying to you? You weren’t savvy enough to his liking, and he certainly hadn’t kept his distaste for your inexperience a secret. Either he was telling the truth, and it would be another long, agonizing day of journeying – or it was afternoon, and he was just trying to get under your skin.

Walking. That’s all the both of you had done since the first day, the day the virus had shown itself in the country. Drew took you deep into the woods, abandoning the car somewhere in the thicket of trees, once it had run out of gas; burying it under broken branches and smashing the windows with rocks. It could have been some kind of security measure, to make sure the car would be unusable should someone else stumble upon it, or it might have been him taking his anger out on the vehicle. But speculation was satisfying enough for you; better than getting a palm to your cheek for asking the wrong questions at the wrong time.

Then, he began walking, and you followed. A few days turned into a week, which then turned into several weeks. He never had a destination in mind, so it seemed. When you asked what the plan was, he’d answer with a simple “stay alive”. Something about staying on the move, and hopefully, you’d get lucky and stumble upon an abandoned shelter, with sustainable tools and foodstuffs. You’d held onto the ridiculous pipedream for a while, before the hunger became the new normal, and the idea of bathing became a luxury – a joke. You didn’t hope for anything nowadays, besides the wish that Drew would finally cut ties with you and go his separate ways.

Maybe he was right, that you couldn’t survive without him. You’d been the one holding the map since the get-go, yet you hadn’t paid much attention to it. The rivers and valleys and roads had all been branded into the backs of your eyelids, but it meant nothing to you in relation to where you were now. Drew had never asked you for directions; he had his compass and a small, folded map of what you could only assume to be the earth you treaded now. He certainly didn’t need you for help.

You imagined he made a split decision that day, deciding you would be worth the company, if not anything else. But as each day had passed, you felt nothing short of a leech on his back, and he never hesitated to make that known, either. You wondered what else he’d be doing, since half of his time was spent yelling at you or dragging you underneath him. Was the satisfaction of how much you let him push you around enough to drown out the annoyance of your presence? Did fucking you every night help him overlook his abhorrence to you? Or would it have been just a bit too cruel to let you end up like the others? He probably didn’t care about the latter. Besides, you were sure that whatever woodland creatures remained wouldn’t care if he cranked his frustrations out here and there.

“Hey.” Drew called over his shoulder, noticing your furrowed brow. He never liked it when you were thinking – at least, more than any normal, stupid girl should be. “Stop doing that.”

You glanced up at his back, then down at the forest floor. Your feet were sore and blistered, and you had to tread carefully, considering this was certainly your last pair of shoes. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You know what I mean.” He snapped. His eyes darted between his map and his compass, seemingly paying you no mind. But he was always aware of what you were doing; he’d spent a little over a month alone with you in the woods. He knew the difference between your mindless dissociation and your contemplative thinking. It irked you to no end. Your thoughts should be yours, and yours alone. You didn’t like being easy to read, let alone by him.

Which is why you had to be careful. You wanted to bite back, tell him to leave you alone, get lost… hell, you’d been holding back the desire to sink your teeth into his flesh and rip. But then you’d be just like one of those things out there, and you needed everything you could gather to remind yourself that you are, in fact, still human and sane (for the most part). Plus, you needed the plan to work. Drew was quick to anger, a fuse with a minacious, short wick. Despite that this had given you the upper hand, he wasn’t stupid – he’d know if you were purposefully taking it too far. Turning the heat up underneath him too quickly could throw this entire scheme out the window. And you needed this to be perfect. It was your only chance.

So you bit your tongue, dipped your head, and followed after him. Not too closely, at least. You stayed out of reach of his fists should he decide to take his frustrations out on you.

When the sun was gracing the edge of the horizon, and the mountain was descending into a thick shadow, Drew had found a spot he deemed good enough to rest at. The turf was dry, void of any wet leaves or sludge, but it was still cold. The chill of the dirt soaked through your shoes, which were barely holding together – shame on you for deciding to wear flats on your date over a month ago, when the world had started to end – and straight into your feet. You didn’t want to sit down, instead opting to shift from one foot to the other to keep your blood flowing and your legs as warm as they could be.

The space he’d chosen was better than last night’s. A towering wall of rock stood tall, part of the mountain that was far too steep to climb. The ground was decently flat and clear; Drew mumbled that there’d be no fire tonight, since you had mentioned that there was a city nearby, and possibly some of the infected (distance never seemed to be an issue for their senses). He dragged both of your bags under a sturdy fir that guarded the edge of the rock wall, grabbing the tarp, rope, and his knife from his pack. The temporary home would keep your backs protected, facing the drop of the mountain, so you’d only have your fronts to worry about, if anything even dared to trek up the steep incline.

He never let you help him set up camp (if you could even call it that). He had never even let you try. He wanted you to sit there and busy yourself with whatever would keep you occupied, and would help you leave him alone. He didn’t like it when you stood and watched him, but you responded to his bitching by saying the ground was too cold to sit, and there was nothing for you to do. So you followed his next suggestion (more of a demand, but you liked to see the more positive aspect in things – it’s what kept you going through all of this), and went for a walk while he set up the thermal tarp for a basic shelter.

“Don’t leave my line of sight.” He called out. You said you wouldn’t.

Every evening, the constant fog that plagued the daytime would roll down the mountain and disappear for the night. The moon was still no clearer; the thick fir trees blocked any direct light from casting beams with their dense, unforgiving shade. Like a dream, a nightmare that you were never allowed to wake up from. A present state that you were never permitted to know the outcome of, whether you would survive all of this – or even, how long it would be before the virus took you too. In the daytime, when you should be able to see over the trees that descended down the hill, you were met with the smoggy, amber cloud of dew. At nighttime, what little sky that managed to poke through the blanket of pine needles would blend into the darkness of the forest.

The world was a snow globe, shaken up by the creator to make things interesting, and you were still waiting for the clouds of dust to settle before you could make sense of everything. This life must have been too boring for its audience, you supposed, and that’s why you were here.

There was still no explanation for what had happened – at least, not that either of you had heard. But it’s possible that no one knew. It’s more likely that the broadcasters had been infected at their desks before they could spread the information. There was no theory, no hypothesis. None worth wasting energy to relieve the itch in everyone’s brains. There was only the evidence: the wailing, screaming, and shrieking, coming from the west side. The panic that held you down like an anchor when you and everyone on that street had witnessed the bite; the creature’s teeth sinking into another’s throat with no sympathetic yield, the way you realized how stringy flesh really is when it’s being ripped apart.

They looked mostly human, but only in shape. Their flesh was dull, and their veins were a blackened crimson, running like poisoned roots under their skin. Broken bones nor open wounds could stop the gnashing of their teeth. The eyes were clouded with deep red, and the outlines of the iris were barely visible beneath it. It was a sharp reminder that they were people before they were infected with the virus, and an even more painful question: were they still there? Were they dead, or were they living hosts?

Eventually, Drew called you back to the camp, and you hastily returned before his anger could beat you there. You gave in and sat on the cold earth, using your knit cardigan as a buffer from the chill, while he sat under the tarp shelter.

Dinner was a protein bar split between the two of you, and it was eaten in silence. The chewy, peanut-butter-flavored granola did little to satisfy you, but it rounded the rough edge of hunger that had been pinching your stomach. The MRE’s were saved for days when more energy was exerted. You only had so many of those left, and it was unlikely that there would be any more lingering in an abandoned store, if Drew ever did choose to look for more supplies.

It was an unsettling thought: one day, he’d run out of food and ways to purify the river water. His tools would break, batteries would die, clothes would wear down… and the both of you might not be so lucky to happen upon an untouched store. You had just been lucky that Drew carries his rucksack in the back of his car – the fact that he had the car for as long as he did was a miracle. It managed to drag you across thousands of miles of Europe, before the fuel stations had run dry. All in all, he seemed very prepared for an insane situation such as a viral apocalypse, which should have been a red flag. But considering your current position, and how you could have ended up… infected, you weren’t opening that can of worms.

Still, it did beg the question, you thought as you chewed on the never-ending granola. Why did he bring you along?

Up until the day the world collapsed, he’d been nothing but caring and sweet. A little too eager to have you exclusively, you had thought, but who are you to underappreciate affection, wherever you can get it? A gentleman was hard to come by these days – even if Drew barely fit that mold. He was nice enough, paid for dinner the first date, took you to a movie for the second, and fucked you nice on the third. How could you complain about the minor things, when he was a good boyfriend in other aspects?

Things changed drastically when the virus had begun to spread. After witnessing a walking cadaver bite the jugular out of an innocent bystander, he had dragged you out of your shock-induced stupor and into the passenger seat of his car. He had barked orders at you, but you were too busy processing the blood and the half-dead, still-chewing corpses on the streets as you passed them. His words landed on deaf ears, so he smacked you, which then gave him your full attention. So much had happened that one day that you had brushed it off as a necessary action. He couldn’t take care of two people when one of them was in shock, you reasoned. Besides that, you eventually realized how fortunate you were to have escaped in one piece with him. For all you knew, the two of you were the only ones to make it out alive – or, rather, uninfected.

But the change in his behaviour was a permanent one, you soon found out. Every day, you were reminded how much of a burden you were, how he saved your life, how grateful you should be (because apparently asking what the plan was more than once when you didn’t receive an answer was very ungrateful of you), and what you would be if he hadn’t brought you with him: dead. Nearly everything you said to him earned you with spit in your face and a welt somewhere on your body. If you asked him a question, his reply always came to you in a raised voice. You figured that the loss of balance and routine in his own life had driven him to this – he needed something under his control, and unfortunately, you were the only living thing within a twenty-mile radius of him. You became that something. The bird in the cage.

“Y’know I never wanted this.”

You looked at him as you chewed the last bite of the protein bar. It wasn’t a new conversation, though it wouldn’t have surprised you if it was. His actions had been nothing short of hateful.

“I wouldn’t have brought you with me if I could help it.”

You could have. You wanted to say. You could have left me standing in the square. I would have died there and would never be your problem. But you have said this before, and all it did was land you with a bruise somewhere on the back of your head.

You didn’t know if he wanted a response, but on the chance that you could make him angry, you gave one. You needed to. You needed him to be angry.

“I don’t… I didn’t exactly plan this.”

He laughed with disappointment. Apparently, you’d said the wrong thing.

You continued: “But thank you.” Thank you for dragging me into nowhere, for bringing me along with you just to call me useless.

“At least you know what charity is when you see it…” he mumbled, chewing on the last bite of his protein bar. “You know how far you’d’ve gotten on your own?”

You kept your venom tucked away into the corners of your mind. For the plan. “I think- I would have been alright, maybe…”

“You’d be one of them.” He spat, staring into your eyes with malice. He wanted to hurt you, to keep you scruffed with your nose rubbed into the dirt. “You can’t do shit for yourself out here, even when the world’s not on fire. You’re pathetic, y’know that?”

You waited to see if he’d let you off the hook, but he continued to glare at you. Slowly, you nodded your head.

“Answer me.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“… I’m pathetic.” You said quietly. You might have been biting the bullet just to enact your plan, but the words dragged daggers on the inside of your cheeks as you spoke them.

He stared at you a few moments more. You wondered if he was satisfied with your admission, or if he could stand a bit more self-degrading statements from you. The hair on the back of your neck bristled under the intensity of his gaze, so you looked at the ground. A sign of submission, but hopefully one of the last ones you’d allow him.

He stood slowly, shucking his jacket off and dropping it behind him. Your gut grew uneasy as he stalked over to you; your eyes darted between his face, his expression somewhere between irate and smug, and back to the darkening woods behind him. The sun had fully descended behind the mountain now, and you were once again surrounded by the blanket of shadow. You felt a tremor building in the base of your spine as you could only assume what would happen next.

He reached his hand out and held your chin, surprisingly gently – though you still flinched. He dragged your head upwards until your eyes landed on his face. There was cruelty laced into his brown eyes, and his unkempt hair only added to the feral look about him. You knew that the lust was one of the reasons he had kept you all this time – why he brought you around in the first place, you couldn’t say. But, unfortunately for you, there hadn’t been much you could do to keep him at bay. It was better for you if you worked with him instead of against him; at least, that’s what he’d told you every single time, but you had come to believe it. Still, this would be the last time you’d have to endure it.

“Stupid girl…” he muttered, brushing his fingers against your cheek. “You don’t know what’s good for you, do you?”

Saying no would be too obvious – he’d know you were trying to win his approval for a reason, and you couldn’t risk anything tonight. So, you continued to look up at him, letting the tears weave into your lash line.

“Aren’t you lucky to have someone like me?” He continued, cupping his hand over the crown of your head.

You nodded as a single tear spilled down your cheek.

“I don’t like getting mad at you, I swear…” no matter the meaning of his words, they continued to drip from his tongue like slime. You wanted to choke just from the sound of them. “It just seems like you don’t trust me, after all this time…” he smeared the tear against your skin until the water chilled, making you shiver. “… after all I’ve done for you. You don’t think I know what I’m doin’?”

You could feel his fingers working themselves into your hair, and you squeezed your eyes shut. “I’m sorry…” you said for the umpteenth time that day. “I just get worried, and- I know you tell me not to, but I can’t help it.”

“I know, I know…” he murmured, his fingers clenching into the roots of your hair, making you wince and grip his calf, a silent yet timid plea for him to be gentle. “You’re not used to this, I get that. But you gotta leave it in my hands, sweetheart.” He pulled your head back until you were looking up at the sky, making you groan painfully. “You promise me that? You promise you’re gonna let me do what I need to do?”

“M-mhmm-“

“Use your words.”

“I promise-“ you sputtered out.

“Good, good…” he said, releasing your hair. Your head dropped down and rested against his thigh. The plan. Remember the plan. You can use this.

“You don’t need to worry about what I’m doin’. Just tell me what you need and I’ll decide what to do, alright?” He said lowly.

“I- I want it…”

“What do you want?”

You gritted your teeth, then forced yourself to look up at him. “I want it… rough, tonight.”

You heard the growl rumble through his chest, and noticed the subsequent tightening of his pants right in front of your face. It filled you with a nauseating dread, but it would only be one more night, just one more, one more time, and then it’s over-

“All that gotcha worked up, didn’t it?” he chided, folding his arms over his chest as he smirked down at you. As if this wasn’t where he expected the night to go. “All that yelling and orderin’ you around gotcha riled up, darlin'? Looks like you’re starting to know what you’re good for. How you can help, since you’re always asking.”

You didn’t look up at him. It was bad enough trying to stomach yet another night of what you were trying so hard to escape. Now, for him to think that you were starting to crave it; you wanted to grab the nearest rock and bash him in the head with it. Or grab his legs and throw the both of you down the mountainside, to be done with it, once and for all. But, as easy and refreshing as that sounded, you needed this. You needed your freedom. Sacrifices had to be made to have such a thing, especially in this day and age.

You closed your eyes and pressed your cheek to his groin, feeling it stiffen and twitch from behind his pants. You tilted your head back to look up at him, wide-eyed and giving the neediest look you could. He had never been more unattractive to you than now, but the chance to escape had never been more desirable.

“Please…” you said, reaching your other hand up to palm at his abdomen. “I can be good, I can… I can make up for today. I promise.”

He sighed, as though he was surrendering some part of his responsibility and morals. You knew it was a front – the only reason he wasn’t forcing your face into the earth was because you weren’t fighting back this time. He reached a hand down and roughly tapped your cheek a few times. You winced, but held back the urge to jerk away from him. He then rubbed the reddening spot on your cheek.

“Alright then. Show me.”

Just one more time.

Next ->

Taglist: @nic-stars @teenagellamaangel @zhuyingsworld @crypticme @konigswifeyforlifey @zlunia @gremlinmodetweeker

[fanworks-library]

eremetic

(takes place after the events of chapter 14 in The Therapist)

Hours later in the privacy of his cell, Bill Cipher was thinking.

When was the last time anyone had touched him deliberately? Even the sanctioned violence of the guards didn't affect that statistic; since he had woken up here... afterwards he had been mostly relegated to being prodded from a distance, corralled like a stray dog at the pound.

But you.

You

You

You

You had touched him, let him touch you; just the innocent contact of clothed skin had been a mercy he had given up on ever experiencing again, a balm like a glass of water in the desert. Even hours later the method you had utilized stuck with him, phantom sensations from half a day ago shivering down his arms.

Trust me, you told him, like you hadn't already pried open his waking mind and slithered in to make yourself at home. Just trust me. To him the moment had become encased in amber, frozen in time— your fingers lacing with his, pulling him along until he was within reach, before carefully (delicately, affectionately) put his hand on your chest, right above the sternum. The first thing he perceived was the heat (98.9°F, exactly) of your flesh, a soothing source of warmth that sent a flush through his extremities. Just feel there. You feel it? It wasn't until you said it that he became aware of the pulse, almost an afterthought. As you sat still watching him watch you, your life-force fluttered under his fingers. Each beat felt like it was a gift, a fond song of hello hello hello sang just for his benefit. The gesture left him transfixed, anchoring his grip for a better hold. It wasn't until you peered down at your chest in curiosity, the rush of your pulse still kissing his fingertips that he noticed the claws snagging you, keeping you in place.

Something akin to embarrassment flared up at that, at the blatant loss of control and he yanked his hand back.

“Claws but no heart,” you mused, blessedly letting the moment pass.

Even with your easy dismissal of the events Bill couldn't stop thinking about it, turning the implications over in his mind until they were as worn as river stones.

You'd offered him your heart.

Bold as anything you'd put his hand, drenched in blood as it was, over the very core of your being—wrapped in blood and darkness and trust— and let him decide if he wanted to tear it out or not, unflinching.

Hearts were a particular favorite for offerings among his followers; his previous favorites heart-rippers had been the Toltecs, legions of priests carving open chests on edifices made in his likeness.

...But that was before and this was now; his current favorite heart was ensconced in the chest of a goody two-shoes, but pledged to him nonetheless. He didn't even mind it was still beating!

If he was honest, he preferred it that way— the best gifts, in his opinion, were wrapped.

[doomtrooper77]

When he came in about an 11 AM the restaurant wasn't that busy yet. But we were a high-end downtown spot and a go to lunch spot for the big-time businessmen. Hell, I have worked here for three years and while I make OK pay but much better tips, I still couldn't afford to eat here. He came in told the maitre'd he'd take a seat at the bar. This was one of those guys who very presence drew your attention. While he wasn't super tall, about 6'2, he was super wide. While he sat in one bar seat, his shoulders damn near took up half of each seat to either side of him. He was dressed in black jeans, black jeans, black logger boots, black leather club vest, various silver necklaces and big wallet chain hanging on his belt loop.

His heavy foot steps in those thick vibram soles made the silverware and glass vibrate as he walked past the tables to the bar in front the windows. The restaurant had a long bar with seating facing the outer windows. You could sit there and watch the world go by. Which is exactly what he did. My wimpy co-workers were scared to go serve him. I told them I would take care of it.

I walked over and asked him if I could get him anything. He didn't say anything at first, he was focused on the office building across the street. It was a big investment firm, lots of rich big wigs from there came and went all day and every day. Lots of them were regulars to the restaurant. Most of them stuck up assholes. A few seconds past and he turned to look at me. His eyes were like a tigers eye stone; the iris was a mixture of a rich brown to a glowing amber. It was like looking staring at some huge predator in the jungle.

I could tell his eyes did a quick appraisal of me, no threat. He said in a deep voice, "Let me a get a coffee and do you have some kind of breakfast sandwich or pastry". I was about to tell him, we did not do breakfast sandwiches. I said, "Absolutely. I will be right back."

I went into the kitchen and talked to the sous chef and told him what I needed. We were friends and before you know it, I had a plate of croissant sandwiches. Two Steak and Egg and Two Ham and very expensive cheese. I then added a plate of fresh baked pastries to the tray. With a carafe of coffee and headed back out. When I got to him at the bar, I sat the coffee down in front of him and poured a cup. I then sat the plate of sandwiches and the plate of pastries.

He frowned when he saw all the food. "Hey, I just wanted a sandwich.." He said, but I cut him off and said, "No worries, a big guy like you needs to keep his strength up." Those eyes looked at me again and the appraisal changed. He nodded said "Thanks."

I went down to the end of the bar where there were utensil and other items that needed prepping for the lunch rush. While I was working on that I watched him. Watched him eat, and he ate like a predator. Big healthy bites, watching his strong jaw and neck flex as he ate. When it looked like his coffee was running low, I walked back over to fill it up.

He sat there for an hour. The lunch rush started and all of the people in their suits and dresses came in sat down. Some noticed the big leather coated tattooed biker at the bar. Nobody sat down next to him. He had 3 seats to each side of him empty. He had that aura of potential menace that seem to keep people away. Me however, it was like a moth to a flame.

It was 15 minutes later when I noticed his body language change. His focus heightened at something out the window. I shifted slightly and could see 4 men across the street. Two were talking and the other two bigger guys were standing behind one watching. Bodyguards. I recognized the man.

I looked back at the biker at the bar. I could see his face had hardened. His aura of danger darkened. Me the moth was pulled closer to him, the flame. I watched him watch them. Soon enough three men, the guy with the bodyguards, got into a Mercedes and pulled away.

I could see the biker was done and ready to leave. When he turned to find me and ask for his bill, I was already there. "Is there anything else I can get you sir." I asked. "No, just looking for the check." I handed it to him. It wasn't small. $150 bucks for coffee and sandwiches. I braced myself for him to object, but he didn't. I watched him reach into his pocket and pull out a folded fat wad of cash. I watched as his big gloved hand pull four one hundred dollar bills out the wad of hundreds and fifties.

"Keep the change." He said as he put it on the counter. He was getting up to leave and the moth flew into the flame. I touched his massive arm and he turned to look at me. The amber in those eyes were bright as he looked at me. I said, "Sir..." and leaned in. His eyes hardened slightly but he leaned in a bit and I spoke in low tones.

"He comes in three to four times a week. Usually lunch and at least dinner one night. He always sits at a table over there in the corner. Sometimes there is only one guard." I said in a voice just low enough that he could hear me. When I pulled back those eyes were staring at me. The brown and amber seems to swirl and pull me in. I felt like I was standing on a cliff. It was like he was looking into my soul. Then like before, I could tell the appraisal had changed. Before I knew it his big hands was stuffing something into the pocket of my shirt. He stood up and power swaggered out of the restaurant. People looked but didn't want to pull attention to themselves.

I caught my breath and headed to the back. His scent was still around me. It was like leather, musk, and bourbon'y vanilla. It lingered around me like a cloud. Fuck. It was a couple minutes when I remember that he put something in my pocket. I reached in and there was five folded 100 dollar bills. In the middle of the folded cash was a napkin with a phone number on it.

His smell encircled me as I realized I was dancing in the middle of the flames.

[squiddy-god]

"Antique hearts"

Zhongli x reader

Sweet, cute, and domestic fluff with the former geo archon turned charming man. More re-uploads. As usual no beta no prof

♥︎REQUEST ARE OPEN♥︎ don't be shy, send request for any of the fandoms on my fandom list, you can even recommend shows/games if they aren't there. Or even if you just want to chat! Anon is also always open!

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Hesitance was etched along his defined features when you suggested a trip to mondstat, nothing too long, simply a day away from the familiar mountains of liyue. "Are you sure my dear? " He inquired, you nodded smile painted on your face, "it'll just be for a day I promise, there's a place I'd love to take you" 

How could he say no when you gave him such a hopeful expression. He let out a deep sigh, amber eyes closing gently. It was no secret that zhongli was not a fan of mondstat taverns, the oddities that they often served- it simply wasn't his cup of tea. Thankfully you had no intention of taking him somewhere like the cat tail or angel's share, no no, you were planning to take him somewhere you were certain he'd love. "Alright, I suppose a day's visit to the city of wind wouldn't hurt" He agreed, still slightly sceptical. 

Holding his gloved hand in yours you lead the tall man through the stone streets of mondstat. Although the geo Lord stuck out quite a bit in his liyue attire, people still smiled nonetheless. "Dear, where exactly are you taking me? " His inquisitive gaze was locked upon you, the rich hues of his eyes holding a silent plea that it wasn't a tavern. "Well we're almost there! You'll see soon" 

You were indeed right, you soon came to a quaint cafe, a hole in the wall that was almost never packed. 

He took in the sight, a charming sign hung up above and the small chalkboard with a drawn cake and teacup, it gave a calm atmosphere he rather appreciated in a city such as the bustling mondstat. "Wait until you see the inside" You chirped, interlocking your fingers and leading the way. 

The interior was plastered with a warm yellow wallpaper, murals of cities and gardens painted on the walls. It was as if  each wall was a new place, straight from a story book's pages. But truly what caught. His eyes were the antiques. The front room was adorned in cute white shelves stacked with anything from porcelain birds to beautiful oak jewelry boxes. Elegant carvings in the dark wood drew his eyes to inspect them, a shimmer of curiosity lighting his dazzling face. 

You smiled seeing him so happy, the gentle smile he now dawned warmed your heart and you chuckled. The lady at the front desk created you with a warm smile before leading you to a table in the further back of the cafey. Zhongli admired the walls, beautiful flower bushes and charming window shutters tying together in a landscape unfamiliar yet beautiful. 

"This place is quite charming, hmm, even the cloth on the table holds much character, perhaps this place holds interesting stories" He mused holding his chin. He was delighted to learn they had a vast selection of tea, some blends even from liyue harbor, how curious that such a small cafe had such selection. 

His gloved thumb traced the smooth porcelain cup, swirls of gold lining the rim with pale yellow flowers painted on the smooth surface. 

"This is a common shape for tea cups, the design is wider and lends itself to the maximization of surface area" He began, eyes shifting subtlety from the hot liquid to your eyes. You happily listened as he went on, gently placing the cup down on the matching saucer as you intertwined your fingers atop the table. His voice was soothing and calm, the slight rasp lending itself well to his deep vocals. "The reason for this is to focus on the texture and feel of the tea, specifically teas with rich and velvet textures. Hence it is often used to serve black teas such as Sichuan Imperial Gongfu" He finished, a warm smile on his face as he sipped his tea. 

He always loved when you listened to him, he adored how appreciated you made him feel. That twinkle of attentiveness in your eyes as he spoke, yes, he'd make sure to return that love ten fold.

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[pilot-boi]

god now i’m just imagining Blake suddenly realizing and saying “you knew you had to drink the poison”

And Jaune just isn’t able to meet anyone’s eyes

The five sit around a campfire scrounged together from dead brush in an alcove protected from the desert wind. Their conversation is slow, comforting, filled with hushed reassurances and rueful laughter.

With the benefit of distance, of being free, talk eventually turns to Jaune’s missing years. Simple curiousity, simple questions.

He doesn’t answer everything, but every word he says seems to draw some invisible hurt from a wound left festering for too long.

It’s Blake that brings it up.

Of course she is. She was the one to realize they were in a fairytale, the one who reminded them all how to play along with the fantasy while keeping their sanity. Their resident bookworm.

Of course she’s the one who realizes that their friend knew going in that he was probably going to die before the end of “the story.”

“Jaune?” Blake’s voice is quiet, but calm as a pool of water. “You knew, didn’t you?” Weiss can see how her amber eyes narrow, the agitated flick of her ears, but none of her distress is betrayed in her voice.

Which is just as well, because Jaune doesn’t meet any of their eyes, he just watches the fire. The white locks in his hair are stark against the rest, and not for the first time Weiss wonders if they’re a result of age or stress or something worse.

“Not right away,” he replies. And is that better or worse? That it took a little while for him to realize that he’d die before the story’s end, and he still kept to the script? “Before we reached the Red King.”

“Were you… Did you…” Weiss isn’t sure what she wants to ask, or if she even wants an answer. Were you scared? Did you know when it would happen? Were you ready? Did you want it to happen?

“I had to follow the story,” he says eventually, his voice breaking with emotion. Aged beyond his years, and yet still as young as any of them. “I had… It was my role. I couldn’t- I had to-”

“The Rusted Knight drank the poison in her stead,” Ruby says hollowly. “Would you have done it for me?” Jaune’s head shoots up, fast as a bullet, his face a mask as hard as the metal of his helmet.

Blue eyes aged beyond the years of the face they rest in meet silver eyes haunted by death and rebirth. The tension in the air is taut as a bow string, as the two leaders seem to communicate something only they understand.

A chunk of ice the size of her fallen home drops into Weiss’s stomach. The poison. The tea.

If Jaune had been there in time, would he have even hesitated to drink the tea for Ruby? Finally fulfilling his fairytale role? Finally doing something “right?”

Weiss is quite sure that would’ve only ended with BOTH leaders on the verge of ascension, instead of one. Because if Ruby had lost another friend, Weiss is certain that it would’ve pushed her over an edge she would never have returned from.

The desert wind fills the silence.

Jaune’s gaze falls back to the fire. “After the Herbalist, I was desperate to get the story back on track. I would’ve done anything to fix what I broke.”

“Even die?” Yang’s voice is steady as stone, but her hand is shaking in Blake’s grasp.

There are tears dripping down his face. He never processed this, Weiss realizes. He never processed anything, stuck as he was as the only thing changing in a world where everything stayed the same.

“I just wanted to do something right.” His voice sounds like he dropped it on the floor, it shattered, and he kept using it anyway. Cracky in that way it used to in Beacon. Too old and too young.

“I was the Rusted Knight, a paragon of virtue and glory, but I was messing it all up.” As he speaks, his voice gets more frantic, more hitched with tears. “We were at the end, there was no more story left. There was only one thing I could do to make sure they got their happy ending. And- And I-”

“I’m glad you didn’t have to,” Ruby interrupts, her voice choking with tears. I hate that it happened, that she poisoned you, but I’m glad you didn’t have to.” And again, it’s his fellow leader’s voice that draws Jaune out of himself.

But this time he looks like Jaune, all wide eyes and soft edges, not the metal of the Rusted Knight he was protecting himself with before. And Ruby looks like Ruby, older and wiser but with a spark of hope in her teary eyes that Weiss didn’t realize has been missing until they all almost lost it forever.

Ruby stands and walks around the fire, her boots making furrows in the sand, and pulls him into a hug. Jaune blinks, half afraid, half confused.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Weiss barely hears Ruby murmur this over the crackle of the flames, and whether she’s talking about Penny or Alyx or Pyrrha or Atlas or any number of things that both leaders have blamed themselves for over the years, Weiss doesn’t know.

But what she does know is that when Jaune chokes out a sob and buries his face in Ruby’s hair, and Ruby drops to her knees clings to her best friend like he’s the only thing anchoring her to Remnant, something slots back into place in the universe. Something that fractured almost beyond repair on the shore of a razed village of paper stars.

Jaune’s hair is streaked with white, Ruby’s whole body is shaking with sobs, and Jaune is whispering apologies that Ruby is meeting with her own. But they’re both still here. It feels like healing, or the very start of it.

And maybe Jaune would have drunk the poison for Alyx, but he didn’t get to. And maybe Jaune would have drink the tea for Ruby, but he didn’t get to. The world was full of what-ifs, gods the Ever After probably used as them as damn building blocks.

But what matters is that he didn’t, and that he would never have to.

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Until I see you again

Eris x mermaid OC

Based on this prompt by @ghostedgrim

Word count: 2400+

Warnings: swear words; imagining beheading; blood and bruises

For the Day 1: bonds/bargains of @erisweekofficial

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

Eris was exhausted. He had enough of this place, he had enough of his fucking father and his stupid decisions that led to nothing good. Oh, how desperately he waited for the day he could get rid of that old asshole and take over this court. He already had a whole badass list of things he would do.

His eyes roamed over the room and all the faces gathered here. Dead. All of this lordlings who were trying to shove their heads up Beron's ass, would be dead. That was the very first task on his list. Imagining their heads rolling down on the floor, was the only thing that was helping him survive today's counsel.

He had to play his part flawlessly and wait patiently for the right moment to make his dreams come true, but right now, he wasn't able to take it anymore. When the meeting with lords and his father that caused the blood boiled in his veins, was finally over, he stood up and with long strides marched out from the room before someone could stop him. He wasn't able to keep his bored, ruthless mask, it was slowly slipping from his grip. The fire hummed in his veins, asking for permission to burn, to kill, to destroy. He desperately needed time to cool down, to clear his mind before he would do something stupid and expose himself.

Without giving it much thoughts, he headed for the gardens. Maybe the fresh air would do him good. The Mother granted him his wish and he didn't meet a single soul on his way through hallways, nor when he finally got out of that rotten place. Brisk air filled his lungs and part of his burden instantly disappeared. Feeling a bit lighter and completely lost in thoughts, his legs carried him to unmaintained part of the garden and up the hidden path to the forest on the hill behind the Forest House.

It was beautiful sunny day and birds merrily chirped in the crowns of trees. The forest shone with the bright colours of autumn, gentle breeze played with the remaining smell of storm from the other day. Eris took a deep breath and closed his amber eyes. He didn't need sight, he knew this place so well as the back of his hand. His legs sped up until he was running, pushing through the low bushes. He slowed down only when the ruins of the ancient sanctuary dedicated to one of the forgotten gods came into view.

Half immersed in the undergrowth lay the remains of massive pillars and walls, the grey limbs of broken marble statues that used to be white, stuck out among the ivy leaves like canines of gigantic monster. The nature was slowly swallowing what didn't belong there.

Eris always had a very strange feeling in this place bordering on fear. He felt here history that breathed as if it was a living thing, and magic older than his kind soaked in these stones, buzzing under his feet. It was dangerous and repulsing, yet pulling him closer, inviting him to stay. Only here he could be himself and didn't need to hide anything. As a little boy he used to come up here to cry after beating. This was his kingdom, his safe place.

Before he could give in to the lure, the sounds of happy barking reached him, pulling him out of the trance. It took only a single heartbeat and he was surrounded by his smokehounds. The beasts were excitedly jumping around him, trying to lick his face.

"Good boys," Eris relaxed and finally smiled, petting as many heads as he could. From the inner pocket of his jacket he took out the dog crackers that he carried around just in case. These furry beasts always scared his dark thoughts away and cheered him up. With them, it was as if all the worries suddenly disappeared in a puff of steam.

He took out a bow and quiver with arrows from the one of remaining alcoves in the wall. From the moment their master touched those things, the hounds didn't need any command, they instantly knew. Wagging their tails, they fell silent and sniffed in the air. As one they rushed deeper into the forest, closely followed by Eris. His amber eyes turned into two hot coals with excitement from the hunt, playful smirk twisted corners of his mouth.

This was what he needed the most now. The feeling of freedom, the wind playing with strands of his long red hair and a prey to shoot down and later bake on dancing flames. He rushed through the forest, zigzagging between the trees, following his hounds. Their brilliant noses never failed them. Even now they certainly found him some interesting prey. They knew his preferences and loved the challenge as much as he did.

They ran maybe for an hour when a sound of rushing water filled the air. Eris knew this part of the forest as well as the stream ahead. He often hunted around here.

The stream was actually quite small and harmless river, the only source of water for all kinds of creatures inhabiting this place. However, when it started to rain, it turned into a wild torrent that took and killed everything that stood in its way.

The hounds led him for a while down the stream, completely silent, their eyes on something he couldn't see yet. Gradually they slowed down until they stopped, growling lowly. There it was, his prey.

Eris hid behind the nearest trunk and listened. It took him a while to pick up on small whimpers and groans, coming from behind dense bush in the bend of the stream. Something was hiding in there.

He sneaked closer, securing one of the arrows in his grip. He quietly drew the bowstring to its maximum, ready to fire. He peeked out from his current hideaway, looking for the motion. There, among the yellow and orange leaves, a deep blue scaly tail glistened in the faint rays of sunlight penetrating through the treetops above him.

Eris frowned. What the fuck? He'd never encountered so big, strangely coloured snake nor heard about something like that. The tail was as thick as his own waist. What creature could be possibly so big. His gaze followed the trail of glittering scales to the place where the tail started to taper, disappearing in the water. Suddenly an enormous fish fin emerged from the water and splashing all around fell back.

Eris inhaled sharply. His gaze wandered to the other side where scales turned into a skin, a soft looking pale skin with slightly bluish undertone that had never been kissed by sunlight. Small bruises and wounds covered the torso of the young female with long sea-green hair. She lay face down, exhausted in the grass, her chest heaving heavily. She whimpered as she struggled to push up on her delicate arms, pulling herself on the bank. As soon as her fin left the water, she collapsed down and turned on her back, exposing naked chest with two lovely peaks.

Eris could swear that he already felt them in his palms, firm and squishy, hardening as he worked on them. He shook his head to get rid of that picture, to clear his mind once again.

He watched her with bated breath, drinking in the delicate beauty spread on ground before him. The big eyes of the colour of ocean searched the forest around her, but she didn't notice him. Her breath slowly calmed down, full lips lightly quivered. She had to be really scared, being so far away from her home in unknown territory. As far as he knew, mermaids didn't live in Autumn Court, only in ocean and mainly in Summer Court. She was indeed too far. How did she get here?

A small cuts on her tiny neck, the gills, closed up, turning into faint scars. In horror he watched as her tail began to melt before his eyes. He'd never encountered a real mermaid and any of the stories didn't mention that they could come out of the water. The panic gripped his insides at the thought of her turning into a sea foam and perishing just like that. He couldn't just stand here and keep watching, he had to help her.

Putting bow down, Eris stepped out from behind the tree trunk, heading to her. He abruptly halted when his gaze landed on two long pale legs. She wasn't dying, only changing. He'd never seen someone so beautiful in his entire life. His jaw tightened as his gaze roamed over her perfect naked body, slightly glistening as if dusted with glitter, his cock painfully twitching in the pants. He wanted her right there, right now. He hardly controlled his actions. A primal growl sounded in his chest, startling her.

Little mermaid's body fully turned to him, her face a mask of terror. The moment their gazes locked, he froze on spot, the urgent violent need faded into a faint feeling that made his heart fluttering with warmth he never felt till this day. She gasped and struggled to stand up, wailing in the pain. That snapped him out of his stupor. He blinked once, then twice. Wolfish grin slowly spread on his face.

"Let's see who I found wandering in my forest," he tilted his head to the side. The female took a step back, whimpering in more pain. Eris noticed a bloodstain on the place where she stood before. He swallowed hard, the desire to tease her and play with her was all gone instantly. "Are you seriously hurt?"

She didn't answer, only stared at him with those marvellous eyes.

He raised his hands, trying to not to scare her more. "I won't hurt you. Let's start again. I'm Eris Vanserra, a heir to the Autumn Court. Who are you?"

"I'm Mare," she finally spoke. Her voice was trembling, but it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. It was so melodic as the sweetest song in this world and carried the sound of the waves in it, smell of salt immediately hit his nose. The sound was luring him to come closer, his fingers tickled with need to touch her skin. It was so hard to resist it, but he was a stubborn male. Nothing could break him so easily.

"Very well," he said seemingly unaffected, giving her a smile he hoped was kind and reassuring. "How did you get to the forest, Mare? The ocean is quite far from here."

She looked around, searching for the words. It seemed that even speaking was painful for her. "I wanted to see the mainland and got caught in the storm. I think that something hit my head and when I woke up I was here, in this puddle of sweet water." She pointed her tiny finger to the stream with disgust.

Eris snorted, hiding it with his palm.

"I have to return to the ocean," she urged. "I don't have much time."

The urgency in her voice caused the smile to freeze on his face. "What happens if you don't?"

"I'll die," she said simply without an ounce of fear.

A shiver ran down Eris's spine. For some reason he couldn't allow that, but he didn't want to let her go. Not yet. Something in her presence made him feel at peace and so free as he'd never felt before. He narrowed his amber eyes on her, thinking.

"If I help you to get back, what will you give me in return?"

She tilted her head to the side, calculating. Her gaze darted nervously to the setting sun. Then she smiled sweetly. "What would you like to get for your help?"

Eris knew exactly what he wanted. "I want to see you again."

She blinked in shock. "You what?"

"You heard me. I want to meet with you again."

Her big eyes roamed over him, finally properly taking him in. She blushed and her expression softened. "Fine. So will you help me?"

Eris took down his jacket and stepping to her, he wrapped it around her delicate form, trying to not to look at all the tempting parts of her body that caused the fire in his vein roared with need. She was so small that she hardly reached to his chest, his jacket looking like a dress on her.

When she was finally fully covered, he picked her up, tugging her to his chest. She blushed even more fiercely, her heart beating so fast and strongly that he not only heard it but also felt it. He couldn't suppress the gentle expression that softened his features as he looked down on her.

"Fine," he hummed and winnowed them to the coast.

The salty wind ruffled their hair and Mare twitched in his arms, desperate to get back to the water.

"Not so fast," he murmured, tightening his grip on her. He carried her all the way to the line of water, but didn't stop there. He continued until he stood up to his waist in the water.

"Don't forget your promise, Mare."

"I won't," she looked up at him. "Thank you, Eris." With that she reached up and pulled closer to his face. She pressed her cold lips against his, drawing a moan from him. She taste even better than he was imagining.

So slowly he lowered with her to the waves, feeling exactly the moment her legs changed back into the tail. She sank into the waters and he gladly followed her, their lips still dancing, drinking each other. When his lungs started to burn with pain, she pushed him away, and he emerged to the surface, gulping the fresh air. He looked behind him and gasped in surprise. He was at least a kilometer from the shore now. Glittering deep blue tail rose from the waters and fell back down, splashing it into his face. He laughed out as hand caressed his chest.

"I won't forget," ocean around him sang and he knew she was gone. Yet he waited for another ten minutes, hoping to see a glimpse of her hair or tail and only then he swam back to the shore. There he stretched out on the white sand, letting the last rays of sun to dry his clothes. New tattoo on his inner thigh prickled his skin as he listened to the song that was carried on the waves about the red-hair prince with fire in eyes and little mermaid that fell in love on first sight.

[mya-valentine]

Patchwork of Love

Synopsis: Every day, Baizhu’s sweet but clumsy girlfriend returns to the Bubu Pharmacy with fresh bruises and scrapes from her relentless desire to help others. Though her heart is as big as her mishaps, Baizhu dutifully patches her up, offering gentle scoldings and warm care. Baizhu can’t help but fall deeper in love—bruises and all.

Baizhu’s day at Bubu Pharmacy was winding down, and as the sun dipped low over Liyue Harbor, casting an amber glow over the bustling streets, he could feel the familiar tug of concern in his chest. It was about time she showed up.

He had come to expect it. Just as the stars rose in the sky, his girlfriend—sweet, clumsy, and full of life—would stumble through the pharmacy doors with her latest set of injuries, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. Her kind heart meant she could never walk past anyone in need, but her boundless energy and reckless compassion often landed her in precarious situations.

Sure enough, the familiar jingle of the bell over the door rang out, and in she walked, her steps a little uneven but her smile as bright as ever. Baizhu’s eyes softened as they fell upon her. She was cradling her arm gingerly, a fresh bruise forming on her elbow, and there was a smudge of dirt on her cheek. She looked like she had gone through quite the adventure.

“Another busy day?” he asked, his voice laced with both fondness and exasperation as she plopped herself onto the examination bench. He could already see a few bandages peeking out from under her sleeve—undoubtedly from her previous mishaps earlier in the week.

She smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “I couldn’t just ignore the old lady struggling with her cart in the market! And then... well, there was a cat stuck in a tree. After I helped her, I—uh—might have slipped on a loose stone. But don’t worry! I’m fine!”

Baizhu sighed and moved to gather his medical supplies, Changsheng coiling lazily on his shoulders, her head tilting in mild amusement. “You really are something,” he muttered under his breath, but there was no real edge to his words. She was fine—more or less—and he supposed he should be used to this by now. Still, his heart ached a little every time he saw her hurt.

As he approached, she held out her arm without complaint, used to the routine. He started dabbing a gentle antiseptic on her scrapes, his touch light and careful. Her skin was soft beneath his fingertips, and for all her reckless behavior, she had such a delicate presence. He always marveled at the contrast—how someone so kind and gentle could also be so clumsy and accident-prone.

“You’ve got to be more careful,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “If you keep this up, you’ll end up with more than just bruises.”

She winced at the sting of the antiseptic but smiled up at him, eyes warm with affection. “I know, I know. But I can’t help it! When I see someone in need, it’s like… I have to help. Besides, it’s nothing you can’t fix, right?”

Baizhu shook his head, though he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. “That’s not the point. Just because I can patch you up doesn’t mean you should go looking for trouble.”

She laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears, and leaned back a little, watching him work with those soft, trusting eyes of hers. “I don’t look for trouble, Baizhu. Trouble just seems to find me.”

That was an understatement, and he couldn’t argue with it. From what he had gathered, half of Liyue knew her by now—she had helped so many people, from the fishermen at the docks to the merchants in the market, even the Millelith soldiers stationed around the harbor. Her kindness was boundless, and so was her ability to find herself in precarious situations.

Once he was done bandaging her latest scrape, Baizhu carefully examined the bruise forming on her elbow. “It’s just a bruise this time, but if you keep falling like this, it could be worse. Please, at least try to be more aware of your surroundings.”

She gave him a mock salute, grinning. “Yes, doctor!”

He sighed again but couldn’t hold back the smile that broke through. “Alright, let’s get you home.”

They walked side by side, the quiet evening settling around them as the streets of Liyue began to wind down from the day’s activity. The breeze was gentle, carrying with it the scent of the sea. Baizhu slipped his hands into his sleeves as they walked, his gaze drifting over to her every now and then. She was chattering happily, recounting her day and all the people she had helped.

“And then, after the cat, I went to the market to help Mrs. Chen with her cart. She was so grateful, Baizhu! But, um… while I was helping her, I tripped over one of the vegetables someone had dropped and went flying right into a stack of crates! You should have seen it—it was like something out of a comedy show.”

He shook his head, half in disbelief and half in amusement. “You really are unbelievable.”

“I know, I know. But think of all the people I helped today!” She beamed up at him, her joy infectious. “Isn’t it worth a few bumps and bruises if I can make someone’s day a little brighter?”

Baizhu’s chest tightened at her words. She was so pure-hearted, so selfless, and he admired her more than he could ever put into words. But that didn’t stop him from worrying. She was his world, and seeing her hurt—even in small ways—always left him uneasy. Still, he couldn’t bear to stifle that light in her. It was who she was, and it was part of what made him love her so deeply.

As they reached her door, she turned to him, her eyes softening. “Thank you, Baizhu. For always taking care of me.”

He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Someone has to.”

She laughed again, the sound bright against the quiet night, and before he could react, she stood on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’ll try to be more careful. Promise.”

Baizhu’s expression softened, and he gently took her hand, squeezing it lightly. “Good. I’d appreciate that.”

They stood there for a moment, the warmth of the evening wrapping around them like a blanket. It was a quiet, simple moment, but to Baizhu, it was everything. She was everything. And as much as her clumsiness and boundless energy sometimes exasperated him, he wouldn’t have her any other way.

“Alright, go get some rest,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes full of warmth. “Goodnight, Baizhu.”

As he watched her disappear inside, Baizhu couldn’t help the small smile that lingered on his lips. Tomorrow, he knew, would be much the same—she would find someone to help, get herself hurt, and end up in his care once again. But in truth, he wouldn’t trade those moments for anything in the world.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[orqheuss]

Insatiable Gravity (Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow/F!Reader SMUT)

Summary:

You tried to shove your way through their body blockade, annoyance seeping into your words. “What is this nonsense all about? No one’s sleeping on the floor, don’t be daft.” Seeing that their embarrassed stumblings were getting them nowhere, the Slytherin’s hung their heads and stepped aside so you could get through. Seeing the full extent of the room now, you were able to understand their trepidation. “Oh…” There was only one bed. *** When it rains, it pours, and when you and your two Slytherin boys get trapped in a downpour far away from the castle, your only hope at salvation is the little inn down the road. The problem, though? They only have one room available for the night, and the room only has one bed.

Word Count: 8k

Is this a shamelessly self indulgent piece where i let my mind go absolutely feral and write every conceived notion i had about the boys' physical appearance into existence? yes. yes it is. Enjoy.

Rain poured from the sky in thick sheets of water, coating every inch of the small muggle town the trio of students ventured to earlier in the day. The three of you found yourselves stuck under a shop awning, huddled away from the freezing cold droplets, scowls decorating each of your faces like the world had slighted you. The night cast an eerily blue opaqueness on the buildings, the only bits of color spawning from the illuminated windows of the cottages lining the streets. It had been Sebastian’s idea to travel to the muggle village in search for some possible remedies for his sister's curse; he had read something about herbal medicine in one of the many tombs littering the Hogwarts library. In your long search for a cure the sun had quickly set across the horizon, casting a slight glimmer of stars across the sky and bringing forth an onslaught of ink black cumulonimbus clouds and a diamond toned shower. The students knew that they would be stuck there until they were able to apparate away in the morning— it was forbidden to use magic where it could be possibly spotted by one of the muggles milling about. 

You cast your eyes to the boys next to you, taking in their forms against the pounding rain. Sebastian’s hair was slicked back for once, the tresses sopping wet like a sponge and curling slightly at the ends. He had pushed it back once you got out of the downpour, leaving his eyes to be on full display, shining even brighter under the low lamplight. His clothing fared just as well— cloak hanging off his shoulders like a heavily weighted blanket and his white button down near translucent under his green corduroy suit jacket. You felt color creep up your neck and onto your cheeks at the sight of his broad chest peaking through the slits of cloth. It was no secret that the brunette was attractive, many of the girls in your year had made that fact explicitly clear. There was an air about him that drew people in, a moth to a flame in his own way. He was the charismatic, mischievous type that somehow would become your fathers best friend. You can’t help the soft look that takes over your features; a small smile tweaks at the corners of your lips as you admired him in all his glory. His hand was resting on his head, his palm pressed against his hair and pushing back the curls so he could see through the inclement weather. As if feeling your gaze, he turns in your direction and the pools of amber that melt in his irises meet yours for a moment. Caught in the act, you quickly looked away and stared hotly at the stone floor below, your cheeks flowing a startling scarlet out of embarrassment. He snorted at your obvious admiration, turning away to look outwards into the storm once again with a toothy grin pulling at his mouth, his cheeks coloring his own shade of a light rosy hue. 

Risking a glance yet again, you look up through your eyelashes at the second boy, drinking in the form of a disheveled Ominis Gaunt. The normally prim and proper Slytherin looked quite similar to a drowned rat as of late, but much to your chagrin it somehow still suited him. His normally quiffed hair fell across his forehead, significantly longer than you had imagined, and cascaded into his eyes like a blond waterfall. The orange lights that lined the streets glowed in his eyes like brilliant little fires, blazing against his cornflower shaded irises and catching the streaks of lavender lightning that zigzagged in them. Even in the cloudburst that threw itself against the pavement, he still had an air of regality about him— the type of boy your parents hoped you’d marry one day. He oozed old money, from the intricate chained decals that clipped his cloak together to his silver snake cufflinks. The boy may not believe it— he was terribly modest— but he caught the female gaze just as much as the brunette he kept as close company. Your gaze locked on his taut shoulders, trailing from their curvature towards where his collarbones jutted out under his skin and created a lovely shelf atop his chest. The starry birthmarks that lined his body shone through his perfectly pressed shirt, also merely nothing more than a thin sheet thanks to the precipitation, and created a smooth trail down his fair skin from neck to wrist. You were stuck for a particularly long time on his biceps, the muscles that you very rarely saw straining against the satin fabric in a show of wry strength. He had shucked off his robe not long after the rain began, complaining of its weight, leaving him in just his button down and paisley embroidered forest green vest. You gulped deep in your throat, mouth suddenly very dry as you stared for longer than was deemed socially acceptable. The blond did not meet your gaze, unlike his counterpart, but you knew he could feel the heat of your ogling. Looking down once again, you could see a small smile turn the corners of his mouth and tips of his ears blush a soft rosacea out of the corner of your eye. 

You cleared your throat, casting your gaze back to the stout building across from you. The little inn’s windows were frosted over from the cold, the thick water droplets that raced down its panes leaving thin trails of clarity and light. Braziers lined the walls inside, glittering in the autumn night and flinging a radiant apricot-toned light along the puddles lining the streets. You shivered under your layers of drenched clothing, heavy vibrations wracking through your body and drawing the attention of the two boys flanking you once again.

You hesitantly spoke, teeth chattering and voice barely carrying itself into their ears because of the pounding rain. “We should turn in for the night— get out of the rain before we freeze solid. The inn looks like it still has some vacancies.” 

Sebastian made an unsure noise in the back of his throat, mouth stretching into a thin line. “I would prefer we just go back to the castle. It can’t be that far away, we made it by foot earlier.” 

Ominis spoke up from your other side, eyebrows knitted together in annoyance and tone scathing. “Are you the blind one, now? It’s pouring, you dolt. We wouldn’t be able to make it back if we tried, even in the daylight. Not to mention none of us know how to apparate yet, so we’d likely be stuck on bedrest for the next week sick as dogs.” He sighed heavily, milky blue eyes closing as he let his head fall backwards towards the roof. “I think the inn would be our best bet. Let’s just hope they’ll rent to us.” 

The brunette huffed to himself, arms crossing over his chest as he was out voted. The three of you steeled yourself to go back into the downpour, pulling your cloaks tightly around your bodies and hoods over your heads to try and avoid getting more wet. On the count of three, you all sprinted across the large courtyard separating your shelter from the inn. Ominis grabbed tightly onto your sleeve, letting you pull him along since he couldn’t use his location charm. The rain felt like tiny sharp stings against your cheeks; your cloak was unsuccessful keeping out the wet and the chill. 

Sebastian made it to the entrance first, throwing open the door with a loud bang and ushering the both of you indoors. The sudden temperature change once you crossed the threshold sent a shiver down your spine. A large ornate fireplace was tucked against the wall, swirling radiating heat throughout the whole bottom floor of the building and kissing your damp cheeks with a pleasant warmth. You were sure the three of you looked like a right sight— strange clothes hanging from your bones like you were draped in countless, very wet blankets, and dripping onto the wood floor below you. You tried to fix your appearance slightly, pushing your hair out of your eyes and attempting to straighten your top and skirt. The cloth stuck to your skin, making the task near impossible, and eventually you relented in your quest for proper etiquette. You pulled your cloak tighter against your body, shielding your surely see-through shirt from the ravenous eyes of the male hotel patrons. As if sensing your unease, Sebastian leveled his gaze into a glare and took a minute step in front of you, Ominis doing the same but to your rear. Shuffling like a conjoined unit, the three of you approached the front desk with a hope of sanctuary. 

The man in front of you was older, probably about the same age as Professor Weasley, and looked inviting enough to speak to. He smiled hesitantly at your trio, his eyes wracking up and down your sopping wet forms and taking everything you had to offer in. He spoke confidently, but with a question obviously lingering on the tip of his tongue. 

“How can I help you three?” 

Ominis took the lead, subtly shifting into his more prim and proper nature. “We would like to rent two rooms, please. We are traveling through and got caught in the rain; it would be unwise to continue on foot at this time.” 

The innkeep leveled a suspicious stare at the boy, letting his eyes roam from his milky, unseeing eyes to where his shoulder brushed against yours, then across your own form, sticking for a moment where your other shoulder touched Sebastian’s, and then finally up to the brunette’s stoic face. You certainly were an odd bunch. 

He raised an eyebrow at you. “How old are you lot?” 

Ominis straightened his shoulders, standing to his full height and twisting his face into one of the most serious expressions you had ever seen cross his visage. “Old enough to rent a room for one night, I would think. Now, are you going to let my wife, her brother, and I rest after a very long day, or shall we turn our business elsewhere?” 

You fought the blush that threatened to creep up your neck. His wife? Oh Merlin, you were in trouble. Of all the lies to tell, why that one? Of all ways to try and make you seem older…

To your left, Sebastian’s face contorted more into a scowl. 

The blond reached into his cloak and pulled out a small satchel, tossing it onto the countertop before the hotel owner. It jingled as it fell— copper money clinking together in a rich little symphony. 

“I assure you, our coin is good.” 

The man looked shocked, eyes now flickering between the tall boy and the bag of riches. You could see the cogs turning in his mind as he thought about the best course of action— he tended to speak more with his eyes, you noted to yourself. The thought of money seemed to outweigh his qualms about renting to three very obvious teenagers as he reached forwards and grabbed the tiny bag. 

“Only got one room available. Take it or leave it.” 

The two boys stiffened at your sides, their minds filling with similar images of the three of you huddled close together for warmth. You could tell Ominis was about to object, and as hesitant as you also were you knew that there wasn’t another inn for miles. You quickly jumped into the conversation, to hell with what was normally deemed proper. 

“We’ll take it, right boys?” 

Quite frankly, you didn’t really care if they didn’t agree with sharing a room with you. The sweet song of a warm bath called to you like a siren, and you wanted nothing more than to dive deep under the water and let it envelop you. 

Grumbling under their breath, they both nodded their heads. You reached your hand out, taking the key from the kind man and followed in his footsteps as he led you to the room. 

After thanking the kind man again, you could barely make it two steps into the cabin before running into the strong backs of Sebastian and Ominis. They both stood stone-still in the entryway, eyes locked on something in front of them like a doe under the watchful eye of a hunter. Your eyes could only just peek over their shoulders, and upon placing your hands on their forearms as you stood on the tips of your toes, you could feel the heated blush creeping up under their clothes. Your eyebrows crested together in confusion. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” 

You could only describe the atmosphere around you as awkward as both boys cleared their throats and began stuttering out various forms of explanations and decisions about…sleeping arrangements? 

“I-it’s nothing! Don’t worry about it, w-we can figure something out—”

“We can sleep on the floor, i-if that would make everyone more comfortable. It’s only proper that the lady g-get the bed—” 

Merlin, you’d never heard them so shaken before.

You tried to shove your way through their body blockade, annoyance seeping into your words. “What is this nonsense all about? No one’s sleeping on the floor, don’t be daft.” 

Seeing that their embarrassed stumblings were getting them nowhere, the Slytherin’s hung their heads and stepped aside so you could get through. Seeing the full extent of the room now, you were able to understand their trepidation. 

“Oh…”

There was only one bed. 

Ominis spoke up from your side, his hand rubbing at the back of his very red neck. “As I said, we can sleep on the floor if that would make you more comfortable…” His sentence trailed off at the end, nervous about your possible reactions. 

Sebastian nodded his head to your left before catching your eye, causing him to turn his face away and admire the painting on the wall like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. You caught sight of the intense rouge on his cheeks before he was able to hide it, though. 

You sighed to yourself, closing your eyes tightly and fighting off the blush that threatened to color you from the top of your chest to the tips of your ears. You willed away the unseemly images that swam in your mind at the thought of the three of you tangled together on the very small bed. It was barely enough room for two people, let alone three— you’d be pressed as close as possible for the whole night, warm bodies linked together like an intricate knot. Heat pooled in your stomach at the thought of being in the middle of both boys, one pressed against your backside and the other against your front like a tantalizing sandwich. 

You cleared your throat, your mouth suddenly incredibly dry as you schooled your expression into one of neutrality, praying that they couldn’t read your ulterior motives on your face. “I-I’m fine with sharing if you both are. We’re friends— friends can share a bed for a night.” 

You didn’t think it was possible for Ominis to get any more red; any darker and he would resemble a fresh tomato. 

Sebastian heaved a shaky sigh, like he was trying to expel all of the uncouth thoughts and sheer nerves from his system, and cleared his throat again, already turning towards the en-suite bathroom down the tightly packed hallway. 

“I’ll follow your lead. Now, I would like to take a bath and get out of these wet clothes if that’s alright with you.” 

Your reply bounced harmlessly against his retreating form. “O-Okay!” 

Mere moments later, the sound of running water reached your ears. 

The remaining two of the trio stood there in a statue-like pause, stewing in their own personal wet dream for a moment with an uneasy, awful silence. You’d given up trying to shut your mind up by this point, instead trying to adopt a laissez faire attitude about the whole thing and ignoring the ache between your legs that screamed to be taken care of. Merlin, you had never been this worked up before, even in the comfort and privacy of your own room. One measly setback and you’d transformed into a prepubescent school boy!

Ominis was the first to break himself out of his stupor, shuffling around on his feet and dropping his jaw open and closed like a dying fish as he searched for the right words to say. He breathed deeply through his nose, steadying himself before gesturing with his hand towards the rest of the room.

“After you.” Always the gentleman, that one. 

You nodded, whispering a quiet thanks before stepping out of the cramped entryway. The room was scarce, just a single full bed and a rug adorning the wood floor. Some paintings were hung on the wall to make it seem more homely, but the effect honestly just made it seem even smaller. You sat on the mattress, testing the feel under you and the softness of the sheets. They were slightly rough against your hands, but nothing that would deter you from sleep for the night. The bed barely gave way to your weight— the thing had to be made of stone with how hard it was. Maybe the floor would actually be better, you mused to yourself. 

The blond cleared his throat for the upteenth time that night, drawing your attention towards where he leaned against the opposite wall. There really wasn’t much room in the space, if you stretched your foot a little bit further you could touch his. He looked away again, feeling your eyes on his skin— the attention from you felt like a million tiny hot pokers. 

“You should get out of those clothes.” Color flooded his face again once he realized what he said. “I-I mean because your clothes are wet! You could catch a cold— oh Merlin, I am so sorry, that came out entirely wrong—” 

His sentence pittered out at the sound of your giggle. The blond let his shoulders relax slightly, grateful you weren’t offended by his blunder. You stood, beginning to peel layers of your clothes from your body and letting them fall to the floor with a wet plop. Sitting back on the bed, now sans your cloak, blazer, vest, tie, and tights, you smiled mischievously in the boy’s direction, lightly teasing him.

“My, Ominis, if you wanted my clothes off all you had to do was ask nicely.” 

The blond laughed heartily, pushing off the wall and striding the small distance towards the bed, sitting down next to you and crossing one of his legs under him. He fell easily back into the playful banter you’d adopted since your first unfortunate meeting outside the Undercroft. 

“You’d like that, you vixen.” 

This time, his teasing had a different effect than normal— the intimacy of the situation not lost on your subconscious in the slightest. The air around you felt fraught with tension; he was suddenly much closer to you than what was normally deemed appropriate. He seemed to sense this as well, and his body tensed under your watchful gaze. You had jokingly flirted before, both with him and with Sebastian, but this was incredibly different. It felt different. Your hands were nearly touching on the bed, your knees brushing against each other from the angle of your bodies. Ever so slightly, you slid your hand along the bedspread, grazing your pinky against his, listening to his breathing hitch at the shock of your cold skin against his. Not a single breath could be heard in the space, all the blood rushing to your head and your pupils dilating at the barely concealed look of what you could only describe as want in Ominis’ eyes. 

Gods, did he want this as much as you did? Need you as much as you needed him? 

His hand inched the rest of the way, sliding over the top of your fingers and gripping them between his much longer ones. Your breaths mingled in the space between you, the warmth brushing across your freezing cheeks and curling around your pounding heart— the organ could rocket out of your chest at any moment, and you honestly couldn’t bring yourself to care; you just didn’t want him to move away. On the contrary, the opposite happened— Ominis began to move closer. His breathing stuttered in his chest, a soft shaky sigh falling from his open mouth when he felt you do the same.

He licked his lips, eyes half lidded in desire. “We shouldn’t… Sebastian is in the bathroom.” 

You shifted closer, resting your other hand on his knee. Your voice was nothing more than a breath in the wind. “Of course…it wouldn’t be right of us.” 

Your faces inched closer and closer together, noses nearly brushing at this point. The pulsing in your ears muted everything else in the room, not alerting you to the sound of water draining out of the bathtub. What was startlingly loud, though, was the creak of the bathroom door slowly swinging open and Sebastian stepping into the room. The both of you jumped apart like the idea of your skin touching burned you. You quickly stood from the bed, ignoring the very confused brunette who was standing there in only his undershirt and boxers, and nearly sprinted to the washroom, mumbling that you would be taking your turn in the hot water now. 

As soon as the door clicked shut, you threw your face into your hands, groaning as quietly as possible. Why did you do that? You’ve been in love with those two idiots for a year at least, and now you choose to do something about it? Good lord, why now, why you, why them? You wanted to kiss Ominis in that moment more than anything else in the world, it was like his lips were calling to you in the sweetest voice you had ever heard before— curse Sebastian and his terrible timing! You wanted to throw something at him— a chair, yourself, you weren’t picky. 

The thought of the other boy sent your heart into even more of a tissy, thinking back to how scantily clad he was when you ran like a bat out of hell past him. Merlin, his shoulders, his arms, his thighs. Don’t even get you started on that slutty little waist of his. You were burning inside with arousal at the mere thought of him leaning over you, his tanned, heavenly freckled arms caging your head in on either side. 

Jesus fucking Christ. 

You quickly shed the rest of your clothes from your body, taking the time to fold your underwear and slip dress for later and placing them on the sink— everything else you kicked away into a pile next to Sebastian’s things. There was something so…domestic about your clothes mingled together on the floor. Stepping into the scalding hot water sent a lovely shock through your system, heating your freezing skin back to a normal temperature. The moan that left your throat was damn near sinful. You soaked in the water for a good while, letting the stress of the evening shed from you like the droplets of rain smacking against the windowpane. It was complete bliss, being alone with nothing but your thoughts and the sweet smell of the lavender soap that the inn provided. Your thoughts began to wonder again, thinking about what Ominis’ lips would have felt like against yours. They looked so incredibly soft, and you wondered if they would feel like kissing little tiny clouds— if they would be just as pillowy pressed against the rest of your skin. You closed your eyes and let your mind drift, allowing yourself the smallest bit of indulgence in your insatiable appetite. The picture behind your eyes shifted to Sebastian, how the rain ran down his neck, dripping down his pulse and pooling in the tiny dips of his collarbones under the translucent fabric of his collar. You wondered what the water would taste like on his skin. Would it be salty, like sweat? Mild, like rain normally was? Sweet, like the promise of more to come? You bit your lip against the small whine that threatened to leave your mouth, quickly pulling your hand away from where it began to bury in your naked core. No! You couldn’t do that right now, they were just outside the door! 

With the last little bit of self control you had left, you stood from your watery paradise and dried off with the towel hanging on the rack closest to you. You just had to get through this night, then you could go back to the castle and have as much solo fun as you wanted. 

The universe must have truly wanted you to die of embarrassment, because as soon as you left the sanctuary of the bathroom you ran into the scrumptiously sturdy chest of Ominis, causing him to grab you roughly by the hips so you didn’t go tumbling and press his entire body flush with yours. His heavy panting breaths were perfectly level with your ear at that angle, filling your mind once again with the tantalizing thoughts that you fought so hard to keep at bay. Your spine dug harshly into the door jam as you fell back from the velocity of the crash, your heart skipping a beat at the feeling of his fingers tightening against the silk of your shift and the look of intrigued confusion turning down his face at the unfamiliar feeling fabric. Merlin, his face was so close again. His hands glided up your waist, feeling each and every one of your curves like a ship captain charting out the stars, ever so lightly grazing the sides of your breasts before finding purchase on your bare shoulders. Only when his fingers dug deliciously into your skin and you gasped against him did he realize exactly how scantily clad you were. The blond made a noise very similar to a strangled kneazle and lept back, nearly crashing into the other side of the room. If eyes could speak, his would be screaming. Only now with him at arms distance did you notice the absolutely breathtaking pink that took over his entire face and neck, making his beauty marks stand out against his skin like brushstrokes by the finest painter in all the land. You shamelessly trailed your eyes down his chest again, watching it rise and fall from the sheer desperation of his lungs fighting to get air to his brain. Speaking of brains, your eyes made one last jump down to his trousers, finding the fabric pulled taut against his hips and silhouetting a quite lovely shape against his thigh— something you vaguely remember feeling against your own thigh moments ago. You swallowed the moan that threatened to tumble from your throat, your thighs clenching together slightly. You’d drop to your knees and pray at the church of him at that very second if you weren’t so damned shy. 

Ominis scrambled upright fully, dancing from foot to foot out of embarrassment before tripping into the bathroom, only turning slightly in the doorway to throw an apology in your direction. “Oh my— I just— I’m terribly sorry— I’m just going to— oh, Merlin—” 

The door closed with a slam, the lock twisting with a resounding click soon after. 

A dark-colored chuckle from your left drew your attention, twisting your neck towards the waiting Slytherin now man-spreading on the bed, a pillow pressed just so across his lap. The devilish smirk stretched further across Sebastian’s face at the barely concealed arousal that grew in your eyes. Your pupils flickered from his face down to the feather-down cushion, imagining the treasure that you could find underneath the layers of cotton and tuff. 

Somehow you were able to gulp against the Sahara Desert levels of dry that your mouth was at the current moment. 

The brunette patted the bed next to him invitingly, shifting slightly over out of courtesy as you stumbled over, your legs feeling like gelatin from a mix of the lust and exhaustion that mingled in your veins. His eyes never left yours as you sat, feeling him drink in the sight of you in nothing but your underclothes, dangerously dehydrated. 

“How was your bath?” He asked, a smugness you were very familiar with teasing knowingly in his voice. 

You giggled nervously, smoothing your hands down your thighs to wipe the sweat from your palms. “It was nice— very comfortable.” 

Sebastian chuckled again, his face leaning in closer to you like he was whispering a secret. “It certainly sounded like it.” 

It felt like your heart was beating at a mile a minute. Where did this confidence come from all of a sudden? What happened while you were in the bathroom? 

You thought back to the tent in Ominis’ trousers, casting your gaze back down to the pillow adorning Sebastian’s lap. 

There was absolutely no way. Surely not? 

Sebastian answered that question for you when he rested his hand on your thigh, smoothing his fingers up and under the silk fabric slightly and rubbing his thumb against your sweltering skin. “I can say with complete honesty that we also enjoyed your bath.” 

You’d drowned in the bathtub, that had to be the answer for this fever dream— that was the only answer to this sudden shift in personality by your ravenous brunette friend. He looked like he wanted to eat you alive, lick you down to the bone and suck the marrow from inside like a perfectly cooked t-bone steak. You could tell he still had some restraint about him from the way that he fisted the bed sheets he was leaning his other arm on, keeping his body upright and stopping him from all but throwing you onto the mattress and devouring you like his favorite meal. Heat continued to pool more and more in your core, your abdomen tightening against the pleasure pulsing in your lower stomach. 

“S-Sebastian—”

He plowed through your sentence, his niceties and manners giving way to the carnal desire throbbing under his skin. “That being said, I’m sure we could have even more fun out here, couldn’t we?” 

His hot breath fanned across your face like a delectable fire, turning your insides to mush and threatening to do the same with your rational thought. You placed your hand against the center of his very toned chest— Merlin— and pushed him away slightly, inhaling air into your shivering lungs like it was your job. 

“Sebastian, Ominis is right there. We can’t—” 

He scoffed, dragging the hand on your thigh the rest of the way under your slip and wrapping it around your waist, pulling you closer to him harshly, causing you to lose your balance and press as close as possible to him. He leaned his face upwards, something unfamiliar but dangerous glittering in his irises as he whispered in your ear— his sinful smile pinning against the edge of your jaw. 

“I assure you, he liked it too, lovely. I don’t think he’d be opposed to some…” He bit lightly at your earlobe, a soft moan breathing from your lips at his intrusion. “…auditory stimulation.” 

Fuck it. Restraint never did you any favors, anyway. 

He leaned his head downwards towards where your neck met your shoulder, nosing at the soft skin there before letting his teeth run gently against your pulse point. You moaned in earnest this time, not caring one bit if the blond behind the door mere feet away could hear you. 

Good, you thought. Let him hear. 

A loud crash came from the bathroom, startling Sebastian enough that he thrust his head upwards, catching on your chin painfully. You hissed, cradling the bruised bone in your hands as he quickly apologized, turning his full attention to the closed door just beyond. Ominis threw the door open, not even flinching when the door handle violently slammed against the wall, creating a dent in the drywall. 

The blond stood there in all his glory, his chest heaving even harder now and a color closer to a ripe dragonfruit covering every inch of his skin. He had obviously just gotten out of the bath; his hair hung low in his face and dripped water steadily on the shoulder of his white undershirt. He too had taken everything off except his underclothes, his boxers hugging his hips in an absolutely scandalous way that made you want to rip them off then and there and get to the appetizing muscle tenting the fabric— Gods, he can never wear clothes around you ever again. Fighting your eyes to stop ogling the poor man, you cast your gaze to the floor just behind his feet, seeing a long bar of metal still rolling slightly against the tile and the towel that was once wrapped around it. On the wall where there was once a towel rack was now barren, just two holes decorating the space where it once lived. With one final eye flick, you look at Ominis’ hand closest to the scene of the crime, noticing that his fingers were a bright red from all the blood returning to the flesh. The puzzle pieces connected together in your brain after a few sluggish, very horny seconds. 

Oh. Oh my. Ominis heard everything that just happened. Not only did he hear it, he liked it so much he accidentally ripped the towel rack off the wall with his desperation to open the door and hear it without the door muffling your sounds. 

Sebastian must have come to the same conclusion as you, because his grin doubled in size with each passing second as he undressed the flustered blond with his eyes. “Ominis, what’s wrong—” 

The once regal Slytherin crossed the room faster than you had ever seen him move before, quickly feeling his way up the brunette’s arm before grasping at his neck, pulling him closer and crashing their mouths together in a show of more teeth than lips. Sebastian responded eagerly, groaning low in his chest and threading his fingers in the wet tresses of his friend, pulling the blond closer against him in an awkward angle. You stared wide-eyed at the sight before you, watching your two best friends devour each other in a clash of lips and tongue, listening to the unseemly sounds that flowed in the air around them. You couldn’t help the feeble whimper that escaped your parted lips, drawing the attention of the esurient heir of Slytherin. Sebastian whined as Ominis pulled away from the embrace, only to choke on the sound at the sight of the blond surging forwards towards you with just as much ferocity as before and capturing your lips into an equally bruising kiss. His tongue dove into your open mouth, taking your invitation to explore with grandeur and mingling the soft muscle with yours. You fisted at the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer and shifting backwards on the bed, pulling him downwards with you until he was laying on top of you. One of your hands reached up and buried itself in the thick blond locks of the one absolutely inhaling the sweet taste of your lips like the boy before did, your other falling to his waist and pushing underneath the hem of his shirt, running your palm across the hot skin of his stomach. All inhibition and propriety was thrown out the window just as fast as the downpour fell from the sky outside. 

A third hand joined the fray— Sebastian’s resuming his original journey up the side of your underclothes and reaching your stomach, pushing the fabric up your supple thighs until it pooled at your waist, leaving your white cotton panties on show for all the world to see. He groaned in pain at the sight of the obvious wet patch right in the center, diving his face towards your open and inviting neck and biting at the skin there. You keened into Ominis’ mouth, arching your back off the bed and pressing the puddle of molten lava that resided between your legs against the blond’s hard length. He moaned heavenly against your lips, kissing his way down your cheek and jaw until he too latched his teeth onto your neck like his Slytherin counterpart. You were in absolute bliss, your brain shutting off and losing itself in the sweet pleasure that coursed through your entire body. This alone was going to kill you, and you would happily die in this battle of tongue and teeth. 

May Odin take you into his waiting arms as you enter through the gates of Valhalla— this was certainly a war worthy for the land of kings and queens. 

Everything was a rush of emotion, all feelings that had been buried deep down in your souls surging to the surface in one grand swoop. Laying there, a tangle of limbs and underclothes and sugar-scented breaths felt like it was exactly where you belonged in the world. With one head on each side of your neck, you could easily reach up and pull them by the hair closer into your orbit— you the sun and them the lowly planets revolving around your devastatingly bright euphoria. 

You’d be perfectly content letting them worship you like this for the rest of time, but Ominis was always a bit more greedy than Sebastian when it came to the desires of the senses. The blond slowly made his way down to your chest, only stopping to pull your clothes from your body before diving right back into your soft, pillowy hereafter. He found your breasts quickly, letting his skilled hands first squeeze the flesh before tweaking your nipples, making them stand to a perfect peak before latching his mouth to the button and sucking. Your back lifted off the bed more, pathetic whines and mewls tumbling from your throat every so often, only to be broken up by whimpers of your companions' names. Sebastian smiled wickedly against your pulse, continuing to bite and nibble at the skin there as the hand not busy wrapped around your throat reached down and pawed at your other, very neglected mound of flesh. He wanted to only hear those sounds from then on out— wanted to hear even more of them.

Ominis pulled off of your peak with an absolutely raunchy pop, pressing one of his arms against your hips when he felt you grind against his throbbing length as your lovers pleased you. He nipped lightly at the skin in between your mountains, nosing gently at your sternum and whispering against your ribs. 

“None of that yet. Let us take care of you, darling.”

Your heart stopped for a full five seconds— goodbye cruel world. Cause of death: horny boy with a penchant for people-pleasing.

You sighed shakily, your words stuttered and soaking in flustered arousal. “O-Okay…”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest and shaking against you. “Good. You sound so beautiful like this. What I would give to see you spread out below us— my hands can only just suffice my craving.” 

A particularly loud sob falls from your lips at the feeling of Sebastian tweaking your nipple with just the right amount of pressure. “Am I dreaming?” 

It was Sebastian’s turn to laugh, his breath warming the skin of your collarbone. “I really hope not, because then all three of us would be dreaming the same thing. We don’t need Professor Onai to see that in our crystal ball, do we?” 

You rolled your eyes with a huff. “You know what I me— oh fuck!” 

In your blissful haze, you didn’t feel Ominis kiss his way down your body and situate himself between your thighs until he licked a long stripe along the dripping crotch of your panties. The brunette teasing you groaned again in agony at the sight of the other Slytherin’s thoroughly mussed up blond quiff poking out from between your inner thighs. 

With a renewed vigor, Sebastian helped the blond pull your panties down your legs, latching back onto your neck like a leech once the offending fabric was far away from where his hands could roam. Ominis kneeled on the bed, face level with your sweltering center and breathing in the sweet, musky scent of your pleasure. Merlin, you were a goddess— your beguiling center the most saccharine ambrosia to him. He was sure if he ate you how he wished he too would become a god. You reached your hand down, fisting his hair between your trembling fingers and tugging lightly at the root, whining for him to move, to do something. You needed him on a biblical level. After centuries of waiting, Ominis repeated his movement from before, diving into your oceanic sea and lapping at your waves like Poseidon himself. 

You’d never known pleasure like this before— never known indulgence like this before. He flicked his tongue against the painfully hard knot at the top of your center, pushing your clit lightly with just enough pressure before taking it into his mouth and suckling lightly. Stars burst behind your eyes, filling your world with supernovas dyed the color of your partners’ eyes. 

Desperate to make them both feel good too, you reached your free hand towards Sebastian, wrapping your fist around his throbbing member that hung so nicely near your face and pulling it out of the strangling fabric of his boxers. He whined at the cool air against his scorching skin. One of your legs was thrown over Ominis’ shoulder, allowing the boy to get a better grip of you as he wolfed you down like a man starved and allowing you the ability to press his hips closer to the bed, grinding his manhood against the knitted blankets. His resulting moan, more of a growl if you had to be specific, sent vibrations right to the knot that was building in your lower stomach, tightening it closer to its inevitable snap. Sebastian’s eyes never left the scene before him as he sat up to his knees, wrapping his hand around yours and showing you how he liked to be touched as you bathed in the throes of rapture. Soon moans came from the both of you as you picked up on the rhythm, your voices harmonizing like a melodic hymn at the pews of gluttonous lust and stalling the gears turning in the brain of the blond between your legs. He began to shamelessly rut against the mattress below his hips, letting your leg press him down closer and providing an otherworldly amount of pressure against his still clothed cock. The friction pushed the band of his underwear down more and more with each thrust until his member was finally free. His bare skin against the vaguely soft blankets the inn provided felt astronomically better than before. 

At the sound of Ominis’ self pleasuring, the cries of the people he loved so shamefully before in just the comfort of his mind becoming so much for him to handle that he couldn’t wait one more moment to feel something against his agonizingly hard cock, you pull Sebastian closer by his member, hoping he got the message you were trying to convey without words. He luckily did, a hungry look taking over his expression as he got off the bed, pulling your body closer to the edge so your mouth was exactly level with him. He groaned when he felt your soft lips close around the pulsating pink tip of his shaft, your tongue flicking against the prominent vein that stretched from the top to the bottom. Ominis moaned again against your clit, hearing what was going on above him and grinding his member against the bed with more vigor than before, causing you to rock your hips harshly against his face and pull more of Sebastian into your throat. The brunette couldn’t hold back his inhibitions anymore; with a firm grip he wrapped his hand around your neck for a second time that night, using the leverage provided to fuck into your mouth slowly. 

No words needed to be said by anyone involved, each of you taken over by pure, wanton frenzy. Being used by Sebastian was a religious experience in itself, and you just a devout follower eager to please— Ominis your angel from above, pouring devotion into his every move, rewarding you for a job well done. 

Your muted hums quickly became louder against Sebastian’s cock when Ominis pressed a digit into your weeping hole, stretching you just right and curling against the spot that made you believe heaven was real. The combination of your throat vibrating against him and your tongue flicking just under the ridge of his head was all it took to do him in indefinitely, his hips stuttering in your velvet mouth and the hand not wrapped around your throat tugging at your hair, trying to pull you off of him. You held on tighter, your free hand gripping his thigh and keeping him right where he was. 

Absolutely not. 

Sebastian’s eyes rolled back into his head when you closed your lips tighter and sucked, sending profanities to pour from his mouth like a broken faucet. 

“Oh fuck— Yes, Merlin, just like that— Shit, I’m gonna cum. Take it all for me— good girl—” 

You caught every drop of his salty release as it slid down your throat, letting your legs squeeze tighter against Ominis’ skull at the sweeter-than-candy whine that released from the brunette above you. 

With one partner spent, you were determined to meet him soon in his little death and take the other Slytherin with you. With the last bit of your strength, you grinded against Ominis’ face, chasing the orgasm that crested just under the surface of your skin. The blond did the same with a muffled growl, pulling you tighter against his frantic mouth and letting you suffocate him in your enticing embrace as he rutted his hips against the mattress to near completion. With one more strong suck on your clit, timed perfectly with a curl of his finger inside of you, you tumbled over the edge of your metaphorical cliff. Sebastian thought through his orgasmic haze that nearly everyone in the inn must have heard your screaming finish. Ominis followed you soon after, his release staining the sheets below him as your thighs tightened impossibly more against his ears as your climax ripped through your system. 

The three of you crumpled together onto the bed, tangled in a messy knot of limbs and desperately needing a second bath as you fought off exhaustion just enough to climb under the covers. Once the blanket covered all of your naked forms, you dozed off into a pleasant slumber, one arm slung over the waist of the brunette cradled in your shoulder and the other hand resting on the crossed forearms of the blond hugged against your back. Conversation could happen tomorrow; for now, the night was growing old and you needed all of your energy for the trek home tomorrow. 

As you were drifting off into dreamland, you thought to yourself that the soft sound of the rain against the shuttered windows of the inn was the most peaceful sound you had ever heard. 

I think I let the religious trauma go a little too wild with this one, whoops.

***

like what you read? here's more!

[wifeofsnowbaird]

You Can't, You Can't Catch me Now

I'm coming like storm into your town

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/rest on Masterlist

[Mentor!Coriolanus Snow x time-travel, thg-era, tribute!reader x toxic!Finnick Odair (in the Peacekeeper era)]

Warning: gore, blood, gun and knife violence, serious injury, death, physical assult, possibly non-con...as I said, maybe...

Summary: You are a rebel, the last chance of the rebellion against President Snow. You're told to go on one last mission to kill the man who massacred Panem. It took you years to understand your mission when you became [name] Lily Baird, starting from the age of five till before the reaping day of the 10th Hunger Games.

The day you began your plan to destroy President Snow before he became the villain he was meant to become.

'Both sisters, Lucy Gray and [Name] Lily Baird are a part of the Covey, and though they have been chosen as tribute for both District 12 and 9 because of our own mistakes, we hope they will stay safe.'

You knew about [Name] Lily Baird, named after her because your mother was inspired by her fiery personality and strength, but now you realize that you were transported to a time before the Baird sisters died, one of sickness and one because of Coriolanus Snow himself.

'I will kill you, President Coriolanus Snow.'

The list of dead tributes caught Sejanus’ eye. Of course, he had sat down in front of his television to see if the Baird sisters were there but it wouldn't hurt to look once more.

His amber eyes analyzed the rough paper stuck to the fountain, Tributes from 1, 2, and 6, were dead. [Name] Lily was the Tribute who survived from District 9, Sejanus was sure that when Coriolanus had heard that a Tribute from 9 had died he’d probably gotten a heart attack.

But if anything this is what that fucking deranged manic, Dr.Gaul, wanted. 

Quickly killing multiple Tributes and letting one escape was her MO. 

When Sejanus had gotten home, he proceeded to grab meatloaf sandwiches from his Ma that she’d made to give to Coryo before heading out again to visit the Hospital for the Capital people injured during the Arena Bombing. Ma asked why he was heading out again.

“Oh you know, Ma. I’m going to the Hospital to visit Coriolanus.”

She rolled her eyes before extending her arm to wave him away. “ You’re growing up to be just like your Pa, but don’t forget Coriolanus’ book bag, didn’t you grab it once you heard he was injured?”

Sejanus widened his eyes. He’d completely forgotten about the book bag! “ Ah, thanks Ma!” He waved before jogging down the stone steps. 

It was dark when Coriolanus finally was awoken after Sejanus’ visit. He had assumed it was a nurse but the ravaged face of Clemensia Dovecote. Once she screamed, the nurses picked her up to lock her in her room.

But it cursed his mind, and he could never forget her screams of anger and anguish until he died by an angry, cold, person he made in his image. Because he wouldn’t die without knowing that his wrath and revenge could be continued.

A week later, Coriolanus had walked up to you and said those exact words, searching for your distant comfort in place of his cousin or Grandma’am.

You gently hugged him as he slowly buried his head into your neck, thinking of what he’d meant.

‘ Oh, Katniss Everdeen, maybe you became President Snow while fighting against him…’

Hi! sorry for the short post today!

-wifeofsnowbaird

[if you wanna know who made the banners I tagged her on this series' masterlist and my pinned post and reblogged one of her posts!]

[ireadwithmyears]

A Happy Medium (Part 1): Not Enough

Pairing: Tech/fem reader

next part

Word count: 1.9 k (I know, I didn’t think I was capable of writing something this short either)😂

Tags/warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), smut, referenced oral sex (F receiving), discussion of and working through clitoral hypersensitivity, thigh riding

Summary: When your body betrays you in the heat of a moment that is supposed to be enjoyable, you are frustrated. But Tech, being Tech, finds a way to adapt.

Authors note: If you know me, you know that I love Tech. I love him so much and he is wonderful. But if you know me, then you also know that I am very picky when it comes to his characterization, and when it comes to writing him, this has become quite the tricky spot for me, as I’m not totally confident in my abilities to do so authentically. I also, in a completely different vein, wanted to explore a topic that isn’t discussed nearly enough, in my humble opinion. And that is the trials and tribulations of having a female body that doesn’t always make intimacy with others easy due to its own, shall we say, special quirks? So I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone. Because the only way to get better at doing something that makes you uncomfortable, unfortunately, is to keep doing it, and, simply because I thought he would be an excellent partner to work with when it comes to exploring this particular topic, here we are, and I hope you enjoy it. This is to be a three-part miniseries, and it is by no means romantic, perfect candlelit smut handed to you on a tray. It’s explorative, it can be awkward at times and it’s real, and my hope is that some people will be able to resonate with that.

“You may proceed.”

The unfazed, almost nonchalant way in which he says it makes your cheeks heat with a blush. You duck your head attempting to hide it, not wanting to catch the attention of the amber orbs behind his goggles, because this is embarrassing.

It doesn’t matter that he had tried to reassure you of otherwise, even going to the length of pulling up factually backed-up statistics and numbers to demonstrate that this was, in fact, not just a you-problem and that, all in all, it was a quite common and perfectly normal barrier to encounter.

If it was so common, you had thought to yourself with a twist of bitterness that you couldn’t entirely conceal, then why did no one talk about it?

Why did no one tell you that oral sex, which seemed to be coveted as this wonderful, otherworldly experience, instead felt...kind of awful?

Okay, maybe that was overkill. But in all honesty, the first drag of Tech’s tongue across your clit had felt like fire, your entire body going rigid and your breath catching in your throat. You thought you had just been surprised, and decided that maybe if you just stuck it out a bit longer, the sensation would melt into something enjoyable.

But it didn’t. 

You had remained frozen, stuck in the limbo between fight or flight as the all-encompassing,  almost to the point of being painful, sensations continued to build. And then his lips, gentle and curious, had enclosed around the small nub, and before you knew it, you were flinching away, crying out that it was too much and that you couldn’t as you frantically tried to close your legs.

That had begun much more tentative trial and error experimenting, with Tech peppering you with a series of bluntly forward and to the point questions that had made you blush so hard as you answered that you were sorely tempted to hide your face against the pillows.

He had determined, after you had haltingly explained how, when you were getting yourself off, you usually found it easier to move against something, that a change of position and technique was in order.

“You have come to the reasonable conclusion that, due to your sensitivities, it is much more effective for you to be able to maintain and control how much pressure, and how broad and or focussed the stimulation you receive is,” he had stated, fingers lightly tapping against his knee in thought.

You had nodded, because yes? Maybe you hadn’t thought about it so deeply, and only really saw your solution as a means to an end rather than a well-thought out and perfectly logical solution, but yeah—what he had described was such an on-the-nose reflection of your experience that it was easy for you to go along with whatever his line of thought was leading to.

His line of thought, however, had taken you by more than slight surprise and had found you with his expectant gaze looking down at you while your legs straddled one of his broad thighs. You were rendered completely incapable of doing anything but perching there, frozen and unsure, despite knowing in the back of your head what you were expected to do next.

“Tech,” you mutter, your cheeks still heated and unable to tear your eyes away from how your legs rest on either side of his thigh, “I can’t.”

His fingers are light beneath your chin but insistent as he tilts it upward, quirking an eyebrow as he looks down at you. You swear the way his thigh muscles tense and flex slightly beneath you is deliberate. “I think you can,” he counters, and there’s both a slight edge of challenge and a gentler underlying encouragement laced within his tone.

Here you are, perched in his lap and completely bare. Meanwhile, he’s still wearing his blacks, and the heated, slightly rough material dragging against your folds as he presses it up against you has you shivering, your head tilting back.

“Show me,” he tells you, his voice a low command against your ear as he slowly rocks his thigh against you, the material of his blacks catching so deliciously against your clit that you think you might whimper softly. “Show me how you make yourself come.”

“B-but I can’t when you’re just watching me like this,” you say, your voice strained. Despite your protest, you’re tentatively beginning to move your hips, slow and exploring as you try to find what feels good.

“Oh, I can assure you that I will be doing more than simply watching,” Tech murmurs, and before you know it, his face is buried against your neck, the feeling of his breaths causing you to shudder, and his lips, warm as they trace a path upward towards the shell of your ear, where he languidly drags his tongue, make you let out a rather undignified whine.

“Did you know,” he muses conversationally, his voice barely above a whisper, “that the ears are one of the most sensitive erogenous zones on the body?”

“I-is right now really the time for infodumping?” you ask, hands reaching out to grip onto his shoulders, attempting to steady yourself as your hips continue to move, the strong, taut muscles of his thigh firm and heated as they press against your core.

“Mm,” he hums low, a soft exhalation of breath before his lips suddenly close around your earlobe, lightly tugging it as he runs it between his teeth, the result of which seeming to send a jolt of heat straight between your legs, your thighs squeezing around his legs and the careful rhythm you had been building with the slow circles of your hips stuttering in response. “I believe that information to be pertinent, as yours particularly seem to elicit a favorable response to stimulation.” 

You don’t have to look at him to see the shit-eating smirk that’s pulling at the corners of his lips. Not that—with the heated, firm expanse of his thigh dragging against your folds and surrounding your clit with a warm, pleasantly building pleasure—you could really bring yourself to care at this point.

“There are others,” he continues, seemingly unfazed by your quickening breaths or the tight grip you have on his shoulders as you rock your hips with growing speed against his thigh. “I believe it was right here...”

His lips return to a particularly tender spot on the side of your neck, tongue fluttering over the rapidly beating pulse point beneath, listening to the stammered whimper you let out in response. 

“Mm,” he hums against your skin, teeth lightly grazing over the spot. “That’s the one.”

You can’t help the soft moan that falls from your lips, your hips continuing to squirm as you now desperately attempt to chase the high that is taking its sweet time sneaking up on you.

“I quite enjoy how responsive you are to this particular area, but I wonder...”

Tech’s gaze is shameless as he drags his eyes along your form, observing with pleasure your head tilted back with your cheeks flushed, your eyes fluttered shut. They linger on your chest, his lips parting.

“The nipples can also be an extremely erogenous zone for some,” he murmurs, unable to tear his eyes away from how your breasts move as you continue to circle your hips. “What I find that I am particularly enjoying about having you in this position is how they are at the perfect height for me to look at as you pleasure yourself.”

He reaches up, his hand warm and large as it lightly cups one of your breasts, thumb slow and teasing as it drags along the underside, coaxing your nipple to harden. He experimentally rolls the pebbled bud between his thumb and forefinger, and at the stuttered gasp of pleasure he gets in response, he gives it a gentle tweak, softly pulling until you moan.

He leans forward, cupping the other in his hand and blowing out a cool breath against your skin. He leaves a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses that surround the swell of your breast, tongue lightly swirling over your areola before, with a gentle suck, he takes your hardening nipple into his mouth, combining slow, coaxing drags of his tongue and quick, light flicks against it until he feels it fully stand at attention, letting out a pleased hum against your skin.

“I do not wish to neglect other erogenous areas,” Tech continues, and you have to wonder if he knows how thoroughly he’s made a mess of you, your mind engulfed by a thick, pleasure-filled haze that only grows thicker with every touch, every increasingly desperate rock of your hips against him.

“The lower back, notably, is quite the vulnerable area when it comes to being touched,” he whispers, fingernails lightly dragging down your spine. “But I have no intention of neglecting this.”

His hand descends further, lightly caressing over the curve of your ass, before squeezing more firmly, roughly kneading it until you moan, your thighs clenching around his.

“T-Tech,” you whimper, arching and growing more frantic in your movements. “I need, I need more.”

He hums, adjusting to press his thigh more roughly against your pussy, lightly rocking it so that it drags with more pressure against your clit. You whine, your head tipping back, and Tech smirks, taking the opportunity to lean forward and trail his lips towards your ear.

“I can feel how wet you are against me,” he murmurs low against your ear, and you blush, suddenly very aware of the wet trail that clings to the material of his blacks. “Does this feel good?” he asks, his hand back to toying with one of your nipples.

“Yes,” you whine, your cheeks flushed and your head thrown back. “Fuck, yes it does.”

“Then why don’t you show me how good it feels and come?” he asks, voice rough against your ear.

You whimper, his words being the final nudge that pushes you over the edge, your hips feverish as they roll against his thigh. 

Your own thighs have locked around his. You’re only able to focus on the white hot, searing pleasure that throbs through your pussy in long, lingering pulses, until you’re left gasping and clinging to Tech for dear life, tipped forward and slumped against him.

In the silence that follows, you breathe, listening to Tech’s own soft breaths, feeling his gaze, heavy and wanting, fixated on you as you look up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Well,” Tech comments, his voice quiet as his arms settle around you lightly. “I believe that was effective.”

“It was,” you agree, nodding your head, hesitating before continuing. “But I don’t want that to be the only way you can get me off.”

It was nice, there’s no denying that. Far more pleasurable than grinding against your hand or rubbing yourself against a pillow. But it’s still a lot of work for your hips, and perhaps you’re being a little bit greedy for thinking so, but you still want more.

“Of course not,” he murmurs in agreement, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I believe I can learn from my prior missteps and adapt to your sensitivities when delivering oral stimulation, if you would be agreeable to trying it again.”

You hum, nodding your head and looking up at him, a mix of trust and curiosity in your eyes as you study his features.

“Yeah,” you agree. “I think I’d like that.”

Thank you to @moosgraphics for these amazing bad batch themed dividers. And thank you all for reading. If you enjoyed, please consider dropping a reblog. It would be so appreciated.🙏

[honeybeefae]

Mornin’! For the bingo card, could I request Second Chances with either Eris or Azriel? And you can choose nsfw or sfw. Your writing is great either way and you don’t have to do this at all…

thank you

Can We Start Again? (Eris Vanserra x Reader)

BINGO: Second Chances

(This has HEAVY Taylor Swift vibes so if you needed a mood playlist, put on Illicit Affairs. Also, I had the option between NSFW and SFW and I did SFW just cause I’ve been writing so much smut lately! I wanted to write some hurt/comfort. Idk if anyone is still reading these bingos but I want to finish them so thank you if you are still keeping up and I love you guys!! <3)

WARNINGS: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

You weaved through the crowd of bodies as they spun and dipped, offering pleasant smiles whenever your eyes would connect with someone. It was getting late and you were yearning to go back home and rest, your body aching for the soft mattress and warm sheets that awaited you.

It took you a few more strides before you were able to break free from everyone and get out to the balcony for fresh air. Luckily for you, no one else was out here, your body leaning against the cool stone as you took a deep breath to enjoy the silence.

The party was the same as all the others you attended this year. The same people, the same atmosphere, the same music, it felt as if you were stuck in a never-ending loop. 

For once you just wished something new and exciting would happen. Hell, you would even settle for a new dessert at this point. 

“I thought I saw you escape.” A low, warm voice said behind you. It made you jump and you turned with a frown, wondering what this person could possibly want until your eyes met his very familiar amber ones. 

“Eris?” You ask, your tone full of disbelief. 

“In the flesh.” He smirked, giving you a little bow. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you relaxed and rested your elbow on the railing. 

He looked the same as the last time you saw him, with long red hair and eyes full of secrets. You had heard the rumors that he might be here tonight but you had also heard the same at every other party this summer. 

“What are you doing here tonight?” You question, your nerves fizzing from how long it had been since you last talked. “And don’t tell me it’s for the tantalizing conversation. Unless, of course, you have a secret love for court gossip and talks of the harvest.”

Eris shook his head and watched you, his head slightly cocked as he studied you and searched for something. It made you anxious and you suddenly felt very self-conscious, your hands immediately tugging at your outfit. He noticed.

“Stop fidgeting.” He chastised, walking closer to you to take your hand and give it a gentle kiss. “You look beautiful as always.”

“Thank you.” You hum, your hand buzzing as you immediately placed it back at your side. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Would you believe me if I told you it was because I wanted to see you again?” Eris spoke softly, watching the flicker of emotions that went through your eyes at his confession. You frowned, your aura immediately turning cold as you took a step back from him.

It had been years, years, since you had seen Eris. The last time you had he had left you in the middle of the night, a love confession having just sprouted from your lips after he had made you feel like no one else before. You had been a casual thing for years, the two of you gravitating toward one another for a while until it all came to a head that night.

Some nameless fae male who your parents had chosen for you had asked for your hand in marriage that night, his voice arrogant and head high. He was assured that you would say yes but when you looked at Eris, his face fallen, you realized just how deeply you felt for him. So, you refused the propsal.

Chaos had erupted and Eris was quick to step in and remove you from the situation, taking you to that small cabin in the woods that you two escaped to on nights where you just wanted to be alone. He had wiped your tears, held you close, and then made your toes curl and your body feel electrified.

And afterwards, when you were both lazy with sleep, you told him you loved him. You realized your mistake as soon as you saw his eyes, that look forever haunting you. He had then stood, gave you the key to the house, and left. Never contacting you again.

Yet here he stood, smiling at you as if none of that had happened, and you couldn’t stop the anger from rising.

“No. I don’t.” You respond coldly, your jaw clenching as he frowned. 

“Come on, Y/N, don’t be like this.” He sighed, standing straight to run a hand through his hair. It was something he did when he was frustrated. “I want to make amends.”

“Amends?” You scoff, that anger now turning to rage. It felt as if you were about to spit fire at him. “After all these years? After you left me alone? I am fine to be cordial with you but if you think I would ever want to make amends with you, to be friends, you are denser than I thought you were.”

“What I did was wrong, I know. I live with that guilt every day but I want to explain myself, to let you know that I was wrong and stupid and that I’m sorry.”

You had always wanted to hear him say those words to you, to come in like a white knight in a fairytale and profess his love to you. It had been your dream for years…until you realized you didn’t need it. You were fine without him. If he wanted to leave you, to pretend as if you didn’t exist, then you could do the same.

But what you told yourself and what you actually felt were two completely different stories. You could pretend all you want but at night, or in hazy mornings, your heart yearned for his arms wrapping around you.

“I don’t want your sorry, Eris.” You said with a shaky breath, willing your emotions to stay hidden. “I wanted you. I wanted a life with you. I refused proposals, opprotunites, everything for you. You were it for me. And you left.”

“Oh, Y/N,” He murmured, his voice tight as he reached out for you. “My little fox-”

“Don’t call me that,” You snapped, tears now welling up in your eyes. “Don’t act like you have a right to that anymore. You lost it when you walked out that door, Eris. You ruined everything, left our castle crumbling, and the saddest part is that I still try to rebuild it.”

“I loved you. I wanted a life with you, to run away from the courts and just pretend we were the only ones that existed. I had dreams for us. I still do and it’s the most pathetic thing. I hate it.” The tears were now freely falling down your cheeks as you turned away from him, blearily looking out over the dark forest as you tried to control your breathing. 

You hadn’t meant to reveal all of that to him, to let him know just how much he still affected you, but it was like you couldn’t stop. It was as if someone had taken over your mouth. And maybe that’s what you needed. Maybe now that you got all of it, you could finally move on. You could try to find happiness again.

His footsteps came closer as he stood behind you, careful to not touch you. You tensed, waiting for laughter or anger, just wanting him to finally reject you to be done with it. 

“I’m not expecting your forgiveness nor your understanding.” Eris began, his voice barely above a whisper. “The pain I caused you, after all you sacrificed for me, it is truly unexcusable. Something a monster would do…and maybe that’s what I am.”

Your heart clenched as he struggled with the last part. The two of you had talked about how he saw himself, about the things he was going through with his father, and you knew how much it tormented him. It was a dark stain on his soul and you had tried your best to heal it, to show him how love could heal anything. 

“You always saw the best in me, little fox. Even on my worst days, even now, I’m sure, you’re wanting to soothe me. It’s who you are.” He smiled, his hand raising to graze your back before stalling. “I’ve never met someone like you, Y/N. Someone who cares, truly cares, about others and who loves without conspiracy or greed. You simply love to love and that is such a rare, precious trait.”

The knuckles of your hand were white as you gripped the stone of the balcony. 

“Our past was always full of ill-defined lines between lovers and friends. It was what I thought I wanted, no strings attached, because I had convinced myself in my mind that once it was gone I wouldn’t have anything to grieve.” Eris continued, lowering his hand and sighing. “And when you told me you loved me you made me feel alive. It was the first time in my life I thought life was truly worth living, that I had finally be granted true happiness after the hell that I had been through.”

“I remember looking at you, shock, awe, love, and devotion taking hold of me…until reality washed it all away. You have no idea how badly I wanted to say it back, Y/N.” He suddenly cupped your face, the chilly night air causing your breaths to puff out as he trained his eyes on you. “But I could not give you the life you deserved.”

“The only life I wanted was with you, Eris. I only needed you.” You whispered, placing your hands over his. 

“I couldn’t promise you protection, Y/N. Do you think all those years I wanted us to stay secret? To hide you away like I was ashamed of us?” His voice was desperate now. “I would get on my very knees before you in front of the Court, proclaim you as you mine in front of the Gods, but for all I could do the only thing I couldn’t was keep you safe from my family.”

“What they did to my brother’s lover still haunts me. She was an innocent soul but they deemed her ‘unworthy’ and ripped her limb from limb. I couldn’t, wouldn’t, subject you to that.” Eris shook his head, his thumb running slowly over your cheek as a tear rolled down it. “It was easier to leave you to hate me, to wish me dead. I would gladly ruin myself if it meant I was keeping you safe.”

“Why now? Why after all these years have you come to find me?” You asked, your lips quivering. “I don’t understand. That danger is still there, your family is still alive. What difference does it make?”

Eris gave you a soft smile and pulled your hand to his lips, kissing it tenderly. You felt yourself warm in his arms. He was looking at you the same way he had that night only this time, this time it didn’t fade into horror and pain. This time all you saw was adoration.

“I realized I couldn’t live without you.” He murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. “I was a coward and a fool to throw away someone like you, Y/N. I’ve loved you since the moment we met and I haven’t stopped.”

Your lips turned up in a shaky smile at finally hearing those words. All of the anger and sadness you had been holding onto with him vanished, replaced with that love and devotion that had been buried underneath it all. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to simply be in the moment, his magic warming the two of you up as the party continued inside. 

He started swaying you gently, the music barely loud enough as you let out a small giggle as you twirled away and back into his arms. Eris pressed his lips against your ear, smiling from ear to ear as turned you and took a step back.

“Can we start again, please?” He asked, his signature smirk on his lips as he gave you a deep bow and a wink. 

You rolled your eyes but gave him an exaggerated curtsy, returning his wink and holding your hand out for him to take. “A pleasure to meet you, my Lord.”

Eris yanked you into his arms and you let out a small shriek, hitting his shoulder playfully as he dipped his head until your lips were near touching. You looked up at him through your lashes, your cheeks flushed, waiting in anticipation.

“I think we’ve both done enough waiting, little fox. Let’s just skip to the good part.” He flirted, sealing your lips against his as you both savored finding each other again.